Whether Stuyron’s client had eliminated all its targets or the crisis had overcome them and they could no longer pay, the spree came to an abrupt end. For the first time in several grueling days, Sparrow’s team was off active assignment. Each received instructions to return to their cover home and await activation.
After one day of rest in his rented cottage, Sparrow made his request.
He went for groceries on his second day home, to replace the produce that had spoiled on his extended assignment.  On the long road back from Utrecht he recognized Robin on her motorcycle, and knew Kuiper must have agreed to meet; none of the accipiters would stray near each other's cover homes if not.  Both his partners and their handler were in his home when he arrived.  Sparrow put his groceries away and returned with a fresh pot to take one of the four chairs around the coffee table in the den.  Robin and Dove both gave him questioning looks.
"I'm due back in the Hague in three hours," Kuiper said, with a smile but without preamble.
"We can be quick," Sparrow promised.
He poured four small mugs of coffee and sat straight, as he and all his accipiter brethren had been taught to.  Robin and Dove sat the same, while Kuiper's back was against the back of his chair, and his legs crossed.  All eyes were on Sparrow.
"We are dissatisfied," the hawk said.
It had always been rare for any of Stuyron's hawks to make a request of a handler, even though they were assured that their needs would be met.  In their youth, it had been nominally allowed, but tacitly met with reduced privileges and harsher training.  Both Sparrow's partners tensed, but Kuiper only gave a mild, interested look from above his mug as he drank.
"You've been performing excellently," the human noted.
"With the parameters of our work," Sparrow elaborated.
The others recognized what he was talking about.  He had anticipated the slight easing in Robin's muscles, but not the subtle set to Dove's brow.
"Which parameters?" Kuiper was all patience.  "Your per diem can be adjusted as needed."
"We're being given assignments on too short of notice, we can't do our work properly."
"But, like I've said, you've been meeting your objectives with aplomb."
"We aren't thugs, we have standards for our work."
"We are concerned that the last weeks represent a new model for us," Robin rephrased it.
Kuiper raised a finger to quiet them.
"We are working with a client who has a very urgent contract," he explained.  "The expedience is a part of their request.
"And it isn't up to us to negotiate with clients," Dove said.
"Their contract isn't finished?" Robin asked.
"No, it isn't."
"Will there be another week like the last?"
"We'll do whatever we're asked," Dove looked pointedly at the other two.
Kuiper folded his hands in his lap, mug on the table.  He smiled but he weighed his words.
"That is between the client and management," he said.  "You are fulfillment officers, remember."
Sparrow resisted the urge to tap a talon against his beak. He did that when he was nervous. He needed to stop. Suppressing tells was basic training. Dove’s offense at his concerns was having undue effect on him. He couldn’t remember a time in fifteen years that any of the accipiters, at least the ones who would become his team, had been at odds. They’d had unity and cooperation drilled into them from the day they were decanted and delivered to Stuyron as children.
“Is that all?” Kuiper was congenial.
“No. We would like a guarantee that we won’t be asked to compromise our work.”
“We don’t need that,” Dove put in. “Our work is our work.”
“What do you think, Robin?” Kuiper looked to the third.
“We would like our discomfort noted,” Robin chose her words. She looked at Sparrow sidelong. “We don’t want to be undervalued. But we wouldn’t make an ultimatum.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Kuiper switched his legs and knit his fingers together. “I’m sensing something else, Sparrow.”
“The wear on our equipment—”
“I need you to be honest with me, Sparrow,” Kuiper was not much older than the hawks, but he had been involved in their training from the start; he talked, sometimes, like a teacher to a child. “Remember that our service is a machine, and you are modules within it. To keep it running, I have to know what the problem is.”
Sparrow breathed deeply.
“I don’t like killing zoans,” he said.
Their handler’s smile was sickly sympathetic.
“There isn’t to be any discussion of that,” he said firmly. “And I won’t report that you complained, this time. Is that understood?”
“It is,” Dove said, eyes hard.
“I can see, however, if there is an opportunity for your team to take on the higher-profile targets in the coming wave. Those might be more satisfying for you. That’s what I can offer.”
Robin nodded immediately. Dove’s eyes were harsh, but there was a note of pleading to them.
“We’ll accept that,” Sparrow said.
“I’m glad this could be resolved.”
Their handler gave them a nod and left through the back door, where there would be a stealth aircar waiting for him. The hawks looked at one another.
“You should have told us what you were going to say,” Robin said.
Sparrow didn’t say anything. He cast his eyes to the floor.
“I can’t believe you would say that,” Dove glared. “I can’t believe you would think it.”
“There are no jobs you would rather not do?” Robin turned to the bigger hawk.
“It doesn’t matter what we’d rather do, it matters what we’re assigned to do.”
“Well, I agree with Sparrow. We’ve been killing more zoans. There aren’t many of us.”
“There are plenty of zoans. There are millions.
“Very few next to humans.”
“If they’re our targets, they’re our targets.”
“Their Stuyron’s clients’ targets,” Sparrow said.
Dove’s brow furrowed. The three of them were the same submodel, spizaetus pattern: the black crown made his brow look even heavier.
“Why does that matter?
“They aren’t our targets.”
“We are Stuyron,” Dove spoke slowly, clipped his words harshly. “Stuyron brought us in. We would have been disconnected in the baths to die, or thrown out on the streets when we were ten minutes old, but instead we have a place, and we’re cared and provided for. So they’re our clients. Even if we don’t sign the contracts.”
“I’m not arguing against any of that,” Sparrow said.
“Then make sense.”
“If Kuiper comes through,” Robin interrupted them. “We will be working better targets, we’ll have more breathing room, we might not be rushed. That’s half the problem, isn’t it?”
Sparrow nodded, but he wasn’t sure. He had never been curious about a client before, but more and more, he wanted to know at whom they were being aimed and why. And even wanting it felt like betrayal: of his superiors in the company, but also of Dove. And, by Dove’s logic, of Robin as well.
He stood and nodded, stretched his neck to unbunch the feathers around his turtleneck.
“We should be ready whenever we’re called back in,” he said to his partners. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He didn’t wait to see them out, but mounted the old stone stairs to shut himself in his bedroom.