Ryouko found herself tearing up slightly, watching Tricia run towards her father at the doorway to the now heavily fortified IIC facility. It was impossible not to, given the sheer emotion on Tricia's face. She had waited days, long hard days of extended combat, to see her family again.

Her father looked a bit bedraggled, clothes torn in several places, but was otherwise fine.

But it was just her father.

"One of the recon drones found him hiding in the wilderness with some other survivors near their old housing facility," Nadya explained quietly to Ryouko and Asami. "With the ceasefire, it's finally safe to send some drones out to look."

"Where's Mama? Where's Alton?" Ryouko heard Tricia ask, unable to resist eavesdropping with magical hearing.

"I don't know," the man said sadly. "The artillery barrage leveled our flat. I tried looking for them, but then the aliens came and I had to run."

That set off a fresh round of bawling, Tricia's father trying to comfort his daughter while looking on the verge of tears himself.

"We asked the aliens for permission to have drones comb the ruins, but they haven't found any bodies from her family," Nadya said. "That gives hope, at least."

There was a moment of silence.

"It's also possible they're being held captive," Nadya said. "The aliens say they pulled a number of survivors out of the ruins. We're still trying to get them to send us pictures or some other form of verification. They're not telling us where they are, but we have clairvoyants looking."

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" Ryouko asked, looking carefully at Nadya. "You must have known about this for a while."

"I was hoping we could confirm what happened to the rest of her family first," Nadya said, looking down. "Hopefully in the positive, but either way we'd only have to give her one emotional shock. Instead, we just don't know."

They watched Tricia for a moment longer.

"She's resilient," Nadya said. "More than I'd expect for her age. She hasn't drained our grief cube supplies as much as I expected."

"How are the supplies?" Asami asked, turning her voice into almost a whisper. "This town is nowhere near big enough to supply all of us, and now we're cut off from most of it. Those two demon spawns didn't give us much at all."

"We had barely enough for the next few days, at the rate we were using them," Nadya said. "It's a good thing the MSY is extremely paranoid about grief cube stores or we wouldn't have even had that. We would have had to start rationing magic use soon."

"It's a good thing you remembered to bring those crates," Ryouko commented.

"Well, experience teaches you to have priorities," Nadya said, brushing aside the compliment.

"What now, though?" Asami asked. "We're still low, aren't we?"

"Clarisse is bringing everything she can in her ship," Nadya says. "That should be more than enough, for however long this is going to last. She'll be here in a couple of hours."

Tricia and her father started walking slowly towards the temporary civilian living area—frankly, just a bunch of soft objects serving as pillows laid out over a series of rooms inside the IIC complex. Cramped, uncomfortable, and a little smelly.

"Tricia, what is this I hear about some crazy magical girl stuff?" her father asked, a moment later. "I don't want to sound gullible, but the soldiers were talking about it on the way in and they seemed serious. Were they messing with me?"

Ryouko saw Tricia's face pale.

"Oh geez, excuse me a moment," Nadya said, lunging towards the two of them with long strides.

Asami's face paled a moment later.

"I haven't even thought about how to tell my parents," Asami said, voice shaken. "Now that we're all public. What am I going to do?"

Ryouko thought of all the movies and books her mother had forced her to consume, about making wishes on monkey's paws and making contracts with the devil—Faust had been a favorite. That was amusing, in retrospect, along with her mother confronting her a few days after her contract with fresh news from her MSY contacts.

"I don't know," Ryouko said. "My parents were TNC's all along—I never managed to tell you."

Asami groaned.

"Can you get your parents to talk to mine?" Asami asked. "I don't want to do it."

"I haven't told them about us," Ryouko said.

Asami gave her an odd look.

"I wasn't sure how to say it," Ryouko explained, then deadpanned: "'Hey Mom, I have a girlfriend. We do things together.'"

"I did!" Asami said, aghast.

"Well—" Ryouko began.

"Now you have something to confess too," Asami said, looking vindictive. "Talk to your parents."

Ryouko sighed, watching Tricia's father give his daughter a look that suggested she was more alien than the Turians were.

"I guess," she said.

"We're taking an awful risk agreeing to meet them like this," Nadya said, squinting up at the sunlight in an attempt to see the proposed meeting location.

"Probably," Clarisse said, pushing apart some shrubbery on her way forward. "But we can't miss this opportunity to meet our counterparts on the alien side. Given the importance they seem to place on the masquerade, there's no way they're operating in exact alignment with the invading government. And if they aren't, there's an opportunity to leverage that to our advantage."

"I'm sure they're thinking the same," Nadya said.

"Maybe," Clarisse said. "But the one I talked was pretty focused on the secrecy thing. It might even be a bigger deal to them than what happens to this planet."

"Well it's too damn late for that," Nadya said. "Have you told them that we're not exactly keeping the masquerade anymore?"

"No," Clarisse said. "I was going to save that for this meeting."

"What if they attack us?" Nadya asked.

"Then they're declaring war on the MSY, just like these Turians have declared war on Humanity," Clarisse said. "And we will see how that war goes for them."

Clarisse spoke with a note of inspiration, almost defiance, that was wholly at odds with the current situation, trudging up a mountainside in the hot, burning sun.

"Anyway," Clarisse finished, "between me at nearly at full power, the 'strongest telekinetic alive', and Isabella and Ryouko here, I think we'll make it out alive at the very least. I think—"

She was interrupted by a loud expression of rage, as Isabella the barrier generator grabbed one of the bushes, one of the thornier ones—though they all seemed to be thorny—and tore it out of the ground by the roots, flinging it into the air.

The four of them stopped, staring at Isabella for a moment.

"Sorry, this climb has me frustrated," she explained.

"Well, keep yourself under control," Nadya said blandly.

To tell the truth, the climb had Ryouko frustrated too. It would have been trivial to just teleport to the meeting site, but Clarisse had insisted on hoofing it, to conceal their magical specialties. Personally, Ryouko thought it would have been trivial for the aliens to guess that they were bringing a teleporter and barrier generator, given that they were also magical girls.

They climbed the mountainside in silence for a moment. The truth was, this kind of climb was functionally trivial even for an ordinary augmented human, much less a magical girl. It was just rather… unpleasant.

They stayed silent for a while, beating their way through the brush. In retrospect, it would have been a good idea for one of them to bring something to cut brush with, but not even Clarisse seemed to have thought of it. On the other hand, it was entirely possible that Clarisse and Nadya were so old they didn't care anymore. They certainly seemed remarkably unperturbed.

Finally, they reached the summit of the small foothill, and found themselves looking down at a small clearing nestled just below. In the middle stood a single Turian, as well as an odd alien that looked like a blue human with no hair.

That was just the obvious, of course. A quick sweep of the surrounding area with more magical senses showed a large group of yet a third type of alien, hidden throughout the shrubbery. They had been warned that the two alien magical girls would be accompanied by a conventional escort, and the aliens didn't have the kind of stealth necessary to defeat magical girl eyes, or they would have already used it by now in the battle.

"We know you're there," Clarisse said, turning her head pointedly to the left. "Come on out already."

One of the smaller aliens appeared with a shimmer from the shrubbery to Ryouko's left, drawing a surprised look from her and Isabella that they quickly concealed. She realized her mistake: she had been so focused on the obvious in front of her that she didn't notice the alien right next to them, who had indeed been using mild cloaking. They had seen some of the Turians use it before, but it had rarely fooled their clairvoyants; Ryouko would have seen him if she had simply looked, but she hadn't.

Well, she supposed that was why Nadya and Clarisse were veterans.

"Come this way," the alien said, doing an impressive job of hiding its surprise. It held in its hand one of the oddly-shaped alien hand weapons, though this model was clearly different than the standard Turian weapon.

I'd prefer if they didn't have those weapons out, Isabella thought. Even if they're not much of a threat face to face, they could still surprise us.

Agreed, Clarisse thought.

Kaarashi, I'd prefer if your companions here weren't so obviously on combat alert. They can stick around, but please, guns on the floor? You could defend yourselves without them, I'm sure.

Down in the camp below, the blue-haired alien turned to speak with the Turian, then said something to the other aliens. With evident hesitation, the other aliens complied, ducking into their tents and re-emerging without visible weapons. The diplomat Clarisse had contacted earlier, Jaira, had stayed in orbit, with the explanation that she was also the official representative of her species, not just her magical girl organization, and could not descend to the surface without being observed.

"What is your name, if you don't mind sharing?" Clarisse asked, addressing their "escort"—who had probably been intended to follow them secretly.

"Lieutenant Valon, Salarian Special Tasks Group, at your service," the alien said, without turning his head to look back at them. "To be clear, my species is called the Salarians, although you have probably already been told this. I am giving you my name and rank as a matter of courtesy, since this is a diplomatic affair. However, as I am a covert intelligence operative, and the Turians do not know I am here, I would prefer you not to spread that information around."

"I understand," Clarisse said.

They ducked through a grove of trees, reaching the edge of the camp, which had been expertly camouflaged with leaves and branches. It wouldn't have held up to detailed scrutiny, and presumably showed up like a nova on infrared, but, as Ryouko was starting to learn, sometimes it just wasn't necessary to do more than that. Analogous to Lieutenant Valon hiding in the trees earlier, the Salarians had simply placed themselves where no one would ever look, in a location that was irrelevant to any of the Turian-Human combat. The camp was too distant to observe that combat directly, but they could simply walk to a more suitable observation position, then withdraw if they felt at risk of detection.

So Clarisse had explained to her earlier. It was… exactly the kind of thing Ryouko had expected her to know, with all the experience that she had.

They stepped their way cautiously into the center of the camp, arranging themselves in a small circle.

For a long moment, the two sides regarded each other with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.

"So, I suppose we will allow you to start the discussion, since you seemed to have a more urgent agenda," Clarisse said.

"Alright," Kaarashi said. "Let us first conduct a round of introductions. You should already know that I am junior diplomat Kaarashi Dais, member of the Asari Diplomatic Corps. This is Adrea Sabudri, officially an officer of the Logistics Legion Ferrata, but who serves as our embedded agent in the Turian Fourth Fleet."

The Turian tilted her head slightly, which Ryouko had learned from Eunoe was a gesture of greeting.

"Nice to meet you," Clarisse said blandly, though she had clearly forgotten that introductions would be necessary with these aliens. "I presume you both know who I am. This is Nadya Antipova, the senior girl originally stationed on this planet. These are Isabella Bergman and Ryouko Shizuki, who were also stationed on this planet at the time of the Turian incursion."

"Which I, for one, have increasingly found to be a terrible idea," Adrea commented.

Clarisse nodded. "Quite," she said in a neutral voice.

"Let's move on to the primary topic of this meeting, then," Kaarashi said. "We have heard a number of reports, including confirmation from the Salarian operatives here"—she glanced around meaningfully at the Salarian STG forces—"that magic has been used freely in tactical combat, including in cooperation with the human military. We are of course aware of the extreme situation that prompted this, but you can surely understand the deep risk this puts our secret in. Moreover, we cannot set the precedent of magical girls operating together with the military, lest it destabilize the galactic balance of power."

The blue-skinned alien finally sucked in a breath, having finished what was clearly a prepared statement, then looked at the human girls expectantly. Ryouko and Isabella looked at the older girls nervously, wondering what the response could possibly be to that.

Clarisse closed her eyes for a long moment, making it very clear, to both sides, that she was formulating a difficult response.

"The truth is, our society is very wired," Clarisse said. "Lots of surveillance, lots of communication. There was no way magic could have been used in combat without at least the human government finding out immediately from videos and from the soldiers themselves. We were left with the choice between saving the colony and saving the secret and, with little other information to go on, we decided that, ultimately, if we were going to save the colony, secrecy would have to be sacrificed. We consulted the Incubators, and they agreed. It is a done decision at this point, with consequences we are still managing."

I'm not going to tell them you girls did it on your own, Clarisse thought, simultaneously. Better for them to think this was a reasoned decision, after talking to the Incubators. Makes us seem more competent.

In theory, alien features should have been hard to read, but Ryouko had rarely ever seen a more obvious expression of shock.

"What? No!" the Turian, Adrea, said, mandibles working in dismay. "This is some kind of joke, or— or a scheme."

"You cannot be serious," Kaarashi echoed. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Because an alien species decided to land on one of our planets and attack us with no warning," Nadya said archly. "What were we supposed to do? Surrender to aliens to we know nothing about? Can you honestly say either of your species wouldn't have done the same in our situation?"

"But—" Adrea began.

The Turian visibly bit her tongue, and Ryouko wondered if the other alien, the apparent diplomat, had told her telepathically to stop talking.

There was a long moment of silence, shared between the Phoenix Foundation delegation, the humans, and the bemused Salarians.

"We will need a moment to process the ramifications of this," Kaarashi said, finally gathering her wits. "If you'll excuse us, I need to go talk to my superiors."

Clarisse nodded, and the two alien magical girls departed with a sweep of the arm, ducking into a tent that presumably contained a communication device.

"What now?" Isabella asked.

"Now we see how they respond," Clarisse said.

Emma had been presented with two options after she'd been woken up. The first was to lay around in bed, waiting for her arm to grow back together. There was a tank that the Military's Medical Division would have set up, allowing her to recline and watch a vid while waiting for her arm to heal. Call Ayane too, like she should probably do as a good girlfriend.

Instead, Emma had gone for option two. The cap at the end of her stump made her look a little like a cyborg from an old-timey sci-fi vid. Inside was a mixture of growth medium and cybernetic repair drones, busily preparing her stump for re-interface with the remains of her arm. It was freakish, looking down and not seeing a hand, but lying in bed was the greater of two evils.

Emma swallowed and pointedly avoided looking down and to the left as she walked out of the makeshift medical center. A few prefabbed apartments had been pulled out of storage and assembled, allowing a semblance of privacy for the patients.

"Ahoy there, Bluebird, you alright then?" asked Annalise Shepard, slinging an arm around Emma's shoulders. Emma yelped as the rest of the platoon seemed to appear out of nowhere, piling in with a raucous burst of noise.

"I'm okay," said Emma, smiling nervously at the center of attention. "They gave me this cap for my stump, and said I could go."

"Ah yeah, it's a shit deal, lying around in Medical," said one of the soldiers. "You lookin' for something to do then?"

"Well, I was hoping to maybe help, but uh…" Emma waved her stump sheepishly. "Well, I only have the one arm."

"Nah, we can find something for you to do," said Annalise. "Plenty of shit to do, right guys?"

"Ooohhh yeah," said a soldier. "Soooo much shit to do. God damn, it's a pain, but it's a painful job."

"Okay," said Emma. "Then uh, let's get started?"

"Well, you have family back home, right?" asked Annalise. "Have you called them yet?"

Emma glanced away shiftily. "I um, was hoping to avoid that actually…"

The platoon paused.

"Emma," said Annalise, pinching her nose. "Emma, do you mean to tell me you're planning on not telling anyone about all this?"

"Uh…."

"Because you really should," Annalise continued, glaring at Emma. "And by really should, I mean that if you don't I will punch you hard enough that you'll have to go to Medical again. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes," Emma squeaked, quailing.

"Cool," said Annalise, whacking Emma on the back forcefully with a grin. "We'll be over at Staging Area 8, 'kay? Come on over when you're done talking."

"R-right," said Emma, nodding. The platoon moved away, conversation starting again as they walked past.

It was weird. Emma would normally have blown off anyone else's suggestion, but something about Annalise made Emma feel like she was eight years old again, watching the older football players with stars in her eyes.

Oh God, she wasn't going to do something stupid like develop a crush, was she? Emma was too old for that, and happily in a relationship already. There was nothing to worry about, right?

Shaking her head and hoping she wasn't blushing, Emma moved slowly towards an improbably standing tree.

Emma really, really didn't want to make that vid call. Truth be told, she'd been… keeping secrets from her family and from Ayane for a while now. Obviously, her family weren't trusted non-contractees, so Emma was being very hush-hush towards them, but she also hadn't told Ayane about any injuries she'd received while demon hunting.

Well, in her defense, it wasn't as if they were particularly bad injuries. Emma wasn't exactly a shoddy combatant. So it hadn't really seemed like a priority to mention the burns and broken bones and occasional serious damage to an extremity. Even during the fighting with the Turians, Emma had never received a significant injury to center of mass.

She was, Emma reflected proudly, too good for that sort of thing.

But Ayane didn't really see things that way. She was a flyer, and every little injury mattered. Anything that impacted her performance made it that much easier to get hit by a demon and die. She wasn't like Emma, able to just take a hit and keep moving. Emma made sure to watch out for Ayane, when they hunted together. But that didn't mean that Ayane needed to broadcast her worries onto everyone else.

It was… not one of Ayane's most endearing traits.

A shadow crossed Emma's path. She looked up, and realized she'd stepped into the shadow of the tree she'd been wandering towards. The "tree" was technically not a tree so much as an "arboreal alien lifeform". It certainly didn't look like any tree Emma had seen in either London or Mitakihara. The "leaves" appeared broad and flat, but were actually twined structures that looked more like great, tentacly, multicolored hands than anything else. A few insects could be seen coiled inside of some leaves, the brightly colored structure clasping them in something like a fist.

Emma stalled. She watched the tree, the limbs waving in the breeze. It was an odd lifeform, all things considered. On Earth, carnivorous plants only grew in regions where the nitrogen in the soil wasn't high enough to support ordinary plant life. She had no idea why a plant would take such an evolutionary route, here on Nazra Invictus.

"Fuck."

Sighing, Emma took a seat at the base of the tree. She'd been trying to remember to toss status updates at her social network profile before crashing, to keep everyone at home updated. She also knew she hadn't been as consistent as she should have been, and had been very vague the last two posts, before the last mission.

Ayane was going to be pissed.

Emma dialed Ayane's number, staring at the ground as the connection authenticated across the IIC Node. There was a conspicuous pause as the connection cleared the security nodes, and then Ayane picked up.

"Oh thank God you're alright," Ayane sighed, pressing her hands against her face tiredly. "Oh God Emma you idiot why have you not called more?"

"Sorry, it's… it's been difficult," said Emma, looking away. "I… the status updates got through?"

"Yes, thank goodness," said Ayane. On closer inspection, she looked exhausted. "It's been impossible to sleep. I've been sitting up with your family for days waiting for news, but Governance and the MSY are both on complete lockdown."

"Oh. You uh, met my parents then?"

Ayane looked awkward. "Well, yes. You uh, gave me your sister's number, back when we started dating? In case something happened to you?"

"Ah, yeah, I remember now," said Emma, taking a shaky breath. "Well, I mean, Anna was chill about it I guess?"

"Yes, it was a bit awkward with your family at first, but we got over it," said Ayane. "Your mom makes excellent tea, by the way."

"Ah, yeah, it's a family recipe," said Emma, grinning. "I'm glad you liked it."

Ayane chuckled tiredly, then sighed. "Anyway, yeah, it's been frightening. Your last update had us all in a panic."

"Sorry," said Emma, wincing. "I… yeah. Hush hush and all that. The Military still says I should try not to talk too much about it."

Ayane made a displeased face. "Did you get hurt? You can tell me that at least, can't you?"

"Well…"

Emma hedged, looking away from Ayane. She… the conversation would be painful, but… but it was probably worse not to tell her. Put another way, Emma couldn't imagine how she would feel if Ayane lost an arm and then covered it up. Shitty wouldn't even begin to cover it.

"I… yeah, I did," said Emma. "Not badly!" she added quickly, before Ayane could get wound up. "I mean, not badly for a magical girl. It's nothing that needs magical healing, and everyone's tired, so I went to Medical and got it checked out, it's fine."

"Fine."

"I mean, well, for a given… measure of fine?"

Emma quailed under Ayane's look of extreme displeasure.

"Where?"

"My… arm."

"How badly."

"I uh… it got cut off?"

"Emma!"

"I mean, look, we recovered it and they're reattaching it in like, a couple of hours," said Emma. She waved her hand at Ayane. "It's fine, you know medical technology can do that stuff easily."

"I— but— your arm!" Ayane shouted. "You're— you can't just lose an arm and be all like it doesn't matter! Argh, you stupid, impossible girl!"

Emma bit her lip and looked away as Ayane paced in a circle.

Truth be told, this wasn't going as badly as she thought it would. That was a good thing. Probably.

"You know, the first thing I thought when I heard that you guys were fighting?" said Ayane. "I thought: 'fuck, Emma, not this shit again'. Why do you keep jumping into things like this?"

"I… I couldn't just sit here," said Emma, looking up at Ayane. "I— these people, they were— I couldn't just watch them die."

"But then you could die," said Ayane. "I can't— I need you to—"

"I know," said Emma. "But could you honestly say you wouldn't do the same in my place?"

Ayane was silent, and took a shaky breath.

"I don't know," she replied. "I really don't. I— you're impossible. You're such an impossible, wonderful idiot Emma, but please, please don't get yourself killed doing stupid things."

"I've been doing my best to stay safe," said Emma. "I'm relatively unharmed. There's girls who took worse hits than me, and the Turians—"

—screamed, scrabbling at the front of Emma's costume as she ran a spear out its back, then grabbed the shaft to pull through the rest of the way—

"—were— they couldn't fight back."

Ayane paused, blinking. Emma looked down, staring at the ground.

"…Emma, you're… coming home, right?" Ayane said. "I… you're coming back to Mitakihara?"

"Y-yeah, of course!" said Emma, blinking hurriedly. "What do you mean?"

"I… I don't know, I just… I wanted to make sure," said Ayane.

They fell silent.

"I uh, I promised some of the guys I'd help them get some work done," said Emma. "So uh, I guess I'll cut this short. Tell Anna and my parents I'm sorry I couldn't call. It's still really busy over here."

"Alright," said Ayane, nodding. "I— good luck. Stay safe."

"I will."

"Whatever else happens, I know one thing," Apherus Ledra, the Salarian Chief Technology Officer of the Phoenix Foundation, said. "I know whose fault this is."

Titia Valerus, Chief Operations Officer and the Turian on the other side of the table, recipient of Apherus's obvious glare, rolled her eyes.

"Look, you can blame the Turian species if you want," Titia said, "but this isn't the fault of the Turian branch of the foundation. This attack was ordered by elements in the Hierarchy that are beyond our control, following the written procedures of our Peacekeeping Fleet. A failure of bureaucracy, nothing more."

"Speak for yourself," the Turian Chief Military Affairs Officer said. "They're the only ones who understand what has to be done to keep the peace. The actions of these aliens only emphasize this point."

"Your political leanings are well-known," Apherus said dryly. "Thank the Goddess it's just you."

She turned back towards Titia.

"Even without radicals sabotaging your operations, it is the Turian branch that consistently refuses to 'betray' their own government, and now we see the fruits of this insane policy. What do you suggest we do now? Maybe you have an idea over there, radical, hmm?"

Apherus's tone was cold, angry, and mocking, and Titia wasn't really sure she had any answer. There was no doubt the Turian Hierarchy had really shit the bed on this one, both in terms of Council politics and for the Foundation, and Apherus was correct that Turian Foundation had resisted for centuries the suggestion that they exert greater influence on Turian politics.

It was, however, anathema to dutiful Turians to suborn their own government, even if it was the for the greater good. Even the most Foundation-centric Turians had resisted these pushes from their Salarian and Asari partners.

There was a long moment of silence as Titia and the CMAO cast glances at each other, each trying to will the other to speak.

"The situation is indeed dire," their Volus Chief Financial Officer said, with the heavy breathing that characterized the Volus environmental suits. "But if we consider all the particulars, a political transition of this magnitude cannot help but create profit opportunities. That is not even speaking of the technology that can be bought from and sold to this new alien market. With these reports of exotic technology, and a species without mass effect technology, the opportunities for arbitrage are tremendous, and we would have the capability to move before anyone else."

"That's so typical of a Volus," Apherus said, turning her wrath towards the CFO. "Always thinking about the money. And what about the costs of losing secrecy?"

"We've run simulations for that for many years, as part of contingency planning," the Volus said, ignoring the speciesist insult. "It's not clear we'll lose anything, on average. Not that we'll necessarily gain, either, but for the entirety of our history, the need for secrecy has been a heavy operational cost. We'll shed that, at the very least. Much depends on what happens politically, obviously. I'm not saying we should look at this through a financial light; I'm just reassuring the board that, now that we seem pretty stuck with this outcome, we're at least prepared financially."

"I agree with our CFO here," the Asari CEO, Visanya T'naius, said. "Whatever our feelings about what happened, it is clear we must start implementing our contingency plans for this situation. We will still do whatever we can to block the spread of news, but barring Incubator intervention, it does not seem likely we will be able to prevent a masquerade break. We cannot be caught flat-footed. I don't have to tell the board that would have dire galactic consequences. There will be time for finger-pointing and a post-mortem afterward."

"I agree," the Krogan Chief Security Officer growled, looking around the table. "The situation is negative, but I think we all knew this day was going to come. There's no sense cowering under the table. However, I personally wonder what those little Incubator rats have to say about this."

"It is no longer possible for you to block this masquerade break. Knowledge of magical girls has already penetrated the highest levels of Human government, who are already arranging with their Foundation to release the truth," an Incubator said, perfectly on cue, appearing on top of Visanya's head.

The Foundation Board of Directors sat in stunned silence for a moment, not at the Incubator's sudden appearance, which was not unusual, but at the blunt content of its statement.

"It's an unusual situation. However, not one that was unplanned for us. It's unprecedented for us to allow the masquerade to be broken, but we felt that the circumstances this time warranted it. "

"What do you mean warranted it?" the Krogan demanded, "Or are you going to dodge this question too?"

"The technological mixture that will occur, coupled with breaking the masquerade, will allow for the occurrence of an unprecedented opportunity for both you and us," the Incubator said. "You would not be dissatisfied with our decision, if you knew the whole picture."

"And what does that mean?" the Krogan asked. "I suppose now you'll disappear without saying anything else."

"You would be correct," the Incubator said. It inclined its head in a show of faux-respect and slowly faded away.

"Well, I suppose that somewhat settles it," Visanya said, before the Incubator had even finished vanishing, apparently unbothered by the weight on her head. "We clearly don't have any better options then. Let's tell the diplomatic team with the humans as much."

"Do we still have to get the Hierarchy to withdraw their troops?" the CMAO asked.

"Do you think we're going to reward them for their stupidity?" Apherus asked. "The troops must get withdrawn no matter what. This whole misadventure was idiotic from the start. We'd look like hypocrites, invading an alien world for trying to activate a mass relay when they don't even have mass effect technology."

"These humans are an abomination," one of the VPs said, a Quarian who had thus far stayed silent. "Artificial intelligences, biological implantation—are they even organic anymore? How do we know they won't turn out like the Geth?"

"Because they do not act like the Geth," Apherus said, casting a scornful glare at the VP. "You've surely seen the reports as much as I have. You can call me when the Geth start making contracts and holding conversations like organics. The contracts alone are probably sufficient evidence that they are organic enough."

"Maybe it's just their soldiers," the Quarian said. "Not the magical girls. But does that make it any better? Soon enough these soldiers and AIs will turn on them, and then we will have another Geth on our hands."

"You can't just be skeptical of all technology just because of the Geth," Apherus said. "The Turians have failed to understand most of the implants they found on autopsy, but the potential applications are enormous."

"You can't be seriously suggesting that we allow this technology to be distributed in Council space," the Quarian said, leaning onto the table and glaring at Apherus.

"Technology is not evil," Apherus said.

The Krogan Security Officer grunted dismissively.

"There are plenty of us who would say the genophage was an evil technology," she growled. "But who knows? Perhaps the humans will be willing to save us from the meddling of Salarian scientists."

"No one would be that stupid," the CMAO said.

"That kind of thing is exactly why it is necessary to get this technology under Council control," Apherus argued.

"Enough of this," Visanya said, voice projecting over the table to silence the gathering argument before it could start. "We will not rehash these old arguments here, not when there are better things to talk about. There is a good point buried in this, though, which is that official Council policy is very negative on artificial intelligences. It does not seem like the humans will give theirs up easily."

"Council policy will just have to change," Apherus said.

"Council policy will stay the same," the Quarian insisted.

"We will not start a war over this policy," Visanya said. "Not unless the humans give us better reasons. The simple truth is, if it were not for how the Geth behaved on Rannoch, we would not have treated them the way we did. We should give these humans the same benefit of the doubt."

Visanya peered over the table, at the assorted representatives of the different races. She saw in her mind's eye the many, many fault lines of the Foundation. The genophage. The wars that many on the Board personally remembered. The speciesism. The Batarians—Oh Goddess, the Batarians.

"This One believes that we must make a decision before more discussion," one of the other VPs, a Hanar, said. "Those of us here must tell those on the scene that they must continue diplomatic talks. What shall be said?"

"They must be punished," the CMAO said. "They cannot join us on even terms after breaking the masquerade like this."

"And shall we punish the Turians for starting this mess?" Apherus asked. "Their actions were justifiable. All of us can see that, even if you would like to pretend not to. We cannot open a discussion with them with talk of punishment."

Visanya looked around the table, sensing the murmurs of agreement from the Board of Directors. As inflammatory as Apherus could be, she clearly spoke for the majority in this, and Visanya could not say she disagreed.

"The consensus is clear, I think," she said. "We will continue negotiations on the basis of welcoming the humans to the galactic community without special conditions, organizing the withdrawal of the Turians from this planet, the ending of human experiments on an unknown mass relay, and the restoration of peace. We can come up with further discussion points later, but is this agreed for now? Time is short."

She looked around the table again. Though some delegates looked like they wished to disagree and some looked downright furious, none seemed willing to voice it.

Same as it always is, she thought, with an internal sigh.

"So be it," she said.

At Adrea's age, she had thought she was inured to the pratfalls of life, to her younger colleagues and friends inevitably passing away, naturally or in combat. She had seen centuries of Turian history, more than any normal Turian could ever have claimed. Surely by now she was used to the cycle of life and death.

And yet when she saw Eunoe alive again, leaning against a wall in the human prison compound talking with one of the other prisoners, she felt a sense of relief she hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was one thing to read on a tablet that she was alive—though that had certainly been relieving enough—but it was another to see her standing there in the flesh, those unusually-pointed mandibles of hers moving as she spoke.

The door to the ad-hoc prison wall slid open at her approach. She looked up as she stepped through, at the autoturrets, flying drones, small walking drones, and…well, many other drones that monitored the compound, either patrolling the walls or scurrying around the Turian prisoners. The humans were fantastically reliant on their robotics technology, to a degree that the galaxy hadn't seen since before the Geth had rebelled against the Quarians.

That didn't mean they left the Turians entirely to their drones, however. She could see one or two human soldiers standing guard in the far corners of the compound, including one immediately next to the doorway, who nodded at her as she passed. The human soldiers, standing taller than Krogans in their dark, faceless armor, unnerved her, in many ways strongly resembling the drones that serviced them. She knew that this resemblance was far more than skin-deep—that, from the reports, human soldiers were heavily augmented even by the standards of their already heavily-implanted civilians. One Turian report estimated that they were as much as 25% non-organic by mass—and that didn't include the genetic manipulations, which even the Salarians barely had any handle on. It was nearly impossible to tell what was native to the species and what was new—most of what they could do at the moment amounted to simply comparing the genetics of civilians and soldiers, and seeing what differed.

Just the site of the prison compound would have been enough to send a Quarian into a gasping panic attack.

Most of these prisoners looked up at her approach, escorted by two of the human magical girls, then began to stare. They had probably assumed that she was a new prisoner who had just finished her interrogation, but captured before the cease-fire—but she had too much of an escort to be merely that. The prisoners well understood how much firepower the girls next to her represented.

Then Eunoe looked up and spotted her, seeming to freeze in place for a long moment.

"Go ahead," one of the human girls said, gesturing her towards her friend.

Adrea thought for a moment about what the other girl had told her—

We were keeping her separate from the others for a while, but with the cease-fire we were able to place her with the other prisoners.

—then shook her head at herself. Whatever mysteries there were could be resolved by talking to Eunoe directly.

Adrea walked towards Eunoe, who stayed still, continuing to lean against the wall. Turians, as a rule, preferred to affect stoicism in public, and it would have been unseemly for either of them to show obvious signs of excitement.

Instead Eunoe merely inclined her head in greeting at Adrea's approach. Adrea returned the gesture.

"I was glad to hear you were still alive," Adrea said, opening the conversation. "The reports said you were missing, presumed dead. I was afraid I was going to have to help your family plan a funeral."

"Well, I was unable to report back, for obvious reasons, but I am sorry that you had to worry," Eunoe said, "but I am glad to see you too. I was afraid I was going to be stuck with these boring idiots—"

She paused to allow the other prisoners within earshot to jeer at her joke insult, then continued:

"—but anyway I really am glad to see you. The, um, rest of my squad didn't make it, so I really do feel a bit isolated here."

Adrea put one hand on Eunoe's back, a gesture of friendly intimacy.

"Do we have somewhere more private to talk?" she asked, turning her head to address the humans. "Away from this audience, that is."

"Sure," her escort said. "There's a meeting room we have set up I can take you too. I have to warn you, you will be recorded in there."

"And I'm not recorded out here?" Adrea said dryly, gesturing with her chin up at the human machinery that dominated the area.

The human smiled, shrugging slightly. It was one of the surprisingly many gestures these aliens shared with them.

Adrea and Eunoe moved to follow the humans. With the decisions that had been made by the Phoenix Foundation and its human equivalent, it was clear she wasn't going to be keeping her secret any longer, and she preferred Eunoe to hear the truth straight from her.

Adrea rubbed at the ring she wore on one of her hands, the only gesture of nervousness she allowed herself to show.

"Have you ever been to Europe for vacation, Yu Ping?"

The young girl shook her head, walking quietly at the side of her mentor. Fang Yu Ping had turned fourteen two weeks ago and hailed from the Sichuan locale. Mentor and student wore complimentary dresses, both stately and refined, cut conservatively to create an air of timelessness.

It also helped, in Yu Ping's opinion, to distract from the fact that she was very flat chested. She also couldn't help shake the feeling that she still looked young next to her mentor, even if they were supposedly the same physical age.

"We should visit sometime," her mentor continued. "Freed from the rigors of the past, Europe has tried to make itself the most beautiful continent in the world. It's worth taking a look, at least."

Yu Ping shook her head. "It's alright, I guess, but I miss home. You can't even see any mountains from here.

Yu Ping's mentor smiled. "But Venice has its own charm, won't you agree?"

"I suppose," said Yu Ping, looking around as they stepped onto the Rialto Bridge. The stone steps looked old, tread on by thousands and thousands of feet over the last few years. Around them, a bustling crowd of Venetians, dressed in hosiery and doublets and whatnot, added minuscule amounts of wear to the stone beneath them. Shopkeepers called out in archaic Italian, advertising fish and clothing and sundry other goods, none of which Yu Ping had any interest in, even if it had been real. "It's… I guess it's sort of cute? Like watching ants run around."

"A bit, yes," said her mentor. Her skirt swished as she led the way up the steps of the bridge. "You're too young to be talking like that, though."

"I guess if you like that sort of thing," said Yu Ping. "I personally never enjoyed this kind of historical stuff. It all seems so irrelevant nowadays."

"It can be sometimes, yes," said her mentor, pausing to examine a glass bauble. "But you know, history, traditions, and the old world are still valuable to understand, even if they have often been the source of many of the world's problems. Indeed, precisely because of that."

"I don't see how understanding human traditions helps with understanding aliens, though."

"By all accounts, these aliens are more similar to humans than we ever dared expect," her mentor said, "and what little information their Council has been willing to give us suggests this even more strongly. We only have one example of a sentient, technological species, ourselves, and it is only logical to plumb our history for governmental systems that may guide us about their culture, their beliefs, and their ideology."

"Ideology?" Yu ping asked, tilting her head to imply the question.

"Ideology, yes. It may not be obvious to one as young as you, but ideology has changed this world more than any other historical force, the MSY included. Isn't Governance itself founded off of ideological notions? Indeed, most of its notions are hardly new. Liberté, égalité, fraternité, as the French would say."

They walked a little further as Yu Ping considered her mentor's words. It seemed a bit of a stretch to her. Yes, superficially, the words made a certain amount of sense, and studying history couldn't possibly be harmful, but at the same time, the example her mentor had used seemed, perhaps, problematic. After all—

"The French Revolution also killed hundreds of innocent people."

"And left the country in chaos, for a time," her mentor replied, pausing at the top of the bridge. The cupola at the Rialto Bridge's peak had four columns, holding up a domed ceiling. The left and right sides were both open, leading out to a small walkway in case you wanted to bypass all the shop traffic. The sun was setting in the simulation. The fading light glinted off of the purple crystal on her mentor's right hand.

"Yes," said Yu Ping. "I mean, it led to Napoleon, one of the worst despots in European history."

"Despot?" Homura asked rhetorically, tilting her head at Yu Ping. "That is technically true, but his legacy, and the legacy of the Revolution, was so much more than that. It is often the case that painful Revolutions like that lead to the greatest changes for good. The Unification Wars were far worse than the French Revolution."

Yu Ping shifted uncomfortably. "I… I guess. Should we really be discussing this on a Governance server?"

"Why not?" Homura asked, running a hand through her hair. She pulled through with a flick, the setting sun setting the strands ablaze with fire. A breeze appeared, blowing Homura's hair back and across. A handful settled across her face, and she combed these back with her right hand. The flash as the sun glinted off of Homura's soul gem made Yu Ping blink as the light got in her eyes. "I haven't said anything wrong."

"Well, you're older than me, so I guess you would know," said Yu Ping with a small huff.

Homura smiled. "Now you're just trying to make me feel old."

"W-well stop making me feel so young then!" Yu Ping protested, hopping up the steps and landing beside her mentor with a small floomph of billowing skirts. "Jeez. It's an honor, but sometimes I wish I got a younger mentor."

"Ah, well, it's too bad that you only get to travel the world in recompense," said Homura, patting her charge on the shoulder as they continued towards the Piazza San Marco.

"We've only ever been to, like, the Eastern Hemisphere," grumbled Yu Ping.

"And the North American West Coast."

"Well, sure, but still."

"If I recall correctly, you were very entranced by the redwood forests in California."

"W-well—"

"I even have a still of you hugging—"

"The point is," said Yu Ping quickly, "it'd be more accurate to say that we just travel a lot."

"It is true that we don't end up in Europe much, these days," said Homura. The two of them turned a corner, squeezing past a very fat butcher pushing a cart full of animal parts. Yu Ping shuddered, averting her eyes. "Though, London, Paris, Berlin, Prague…"

"All the important political places."

"Yes. Hmm… I wonder if I can shift my schedule a bit so we can visit some of the more cultural locations? Lyon, Venice…"

"If we have the time," said Yu Ping. She scowled at the sky. "Which we probably won't, on account of our friendly neighborhood vigilantes in space. Why did they think this was a good idea?"

"You've read the reports, Yu Ping," Homura gently chastised.

"I still don't agree with them."

"It's not your family out there being attacked by aliens," Homura said. She sighed, looking off into the distance. "Many would do whatever they could to protect their loved ones, everything else be damned. In time, you will understand that."

Yu Ping looked away from her mentor. Homura was like that sometimes, voice distant, almost as if she was talking about another world. Yu Ping wondered if she would be like that too, when she was old.

They walked in silence through the narrow streets, eventually passing under a tiny archway into the Piazza San Marco. On their left was the monumental Basilica Cattedrale Patriarcale di San Marco. Its five round, arched portals were braced on each side by great marble columns, each column itself seemingly composed of a multitude of pillars. Mosaics of precious jewels and gold leaf adorned the facade alongside sculptures of fine marble. Biblical tales and Catholic saints stood in state, depicted in a fashion no modern artist would ever think to depict them. What were these tales and people, except the mouldering artifices of long past history? Why venerate and uplift them in such extravagant fashion? It was all very pretty to look at, but ultimately meaningless in the long arc of human progress.

"Bloody hell."

"It is rather extravagant, isn't it?"

"Just… ew."

"Well, I don't think it warrants quite that reaction," said Homura, leading the way again.

"Of course it does. It looks like somebody decided that gold leaf was the only way to express how stupidly rich you were."

"That is largely because gold leaf was the only way to express how stupidly rich you were, back in the 1400s," said Homura with a small smile. "Our distant ancestors weren't entirely crazy. In fact, some historical studies suggest that there was a very active gold/grief cube trade for a long time throughout the world."

Yu Ping grumbled quietly as she followed her mentor into the Basilica. The interior was just as… she hesitated to call it "gaudy", but the sheer volume of gold was, in her mind, in incredibly poor taste.

"Ah, Homura, Yu Ping, you're just in time," said Yuma, stepping out from behind a pillar. She wore a business suit, severely cut, and struck an imposing figure for her small stature. A single lapel pin stood out, the shooting star of the MSY vibrant against black silk.

"Of course we are," said Homura, nodding. "Technology offers many conveniences, as I'm sure you know."

"Of course. Are you all prepared?"

Homura glanced at Yu Ping. The young mage nodded.

"We are."

"Then let's head inside to the sanctuary. Officially, I have no stake in this conversation. Unofficially…"

"This is no different than trying to stop the Shizuki and Kuroi from eating each other's heads," said Homura, gesturing for Yuma to lead them. "Although in this particular case, we find ourselves in the unusual position of being one of the two."

"Doesn't that mean that we aren't in an analogous situation?" said Yu Ping as they walked. "After all, it's not like the Shizuki or the Kuroi are ever capable of extending actual olive branches."

Homura laughed. "Perhaps, yes. But then, we can always hope."

The doors to the Sanctuary creaked as they opened. The interior no longer resembled a church, in the strictest sense. Instead, the pews had been turned and pushed to the sides, a long table taking up the center of the room. At one end was the altar, standing empty of all adornment. At the other was a single chair, fashioned out of wood, and made to be comfortable but plain. Similar chairs stood at six other places along the sides of the table. Each was occupied by one of the members of the Directorate, or at least those who could still hold their position. Yuma conspicuously sat amongst the pews, instead of at her place at the table.

"Welcome, Akemi Homura," said Artificial Intelligence, "and… guest."

"This is my aide, Fang Yu Ping," said Homura. "She will be here for this discussion. I trust there will be no problems with that?"

"Of course not," said Health and Happiness. "It is standard protocol after all. I trust that you have enjoyed yourself in the simulation? We chose to open it early precisely as something of a welcoming gesture."

"We did, thank you," said Homura, taking her seat gracefully. Yu Ping came to stand at her left hand. "My staff and I had a lovely walk through the Rialto Bridge. The Grand Canal is truly spectacular during sunset."

"But of course, you have seen it before," said Science and Technology. "A person of your age must have traveled the world as well."

Homura laughed quietly. "Yes, of course, but 21st Century Venice was very much a tourist city. A simulation of 15th Century Venice, in all of its finery and glory, is very much appreciated."

"Remarkable how a city's power will change with the years, isn't it?" asked Military Affairs. "The Venetian Arsenal used to be famous as one of the largest, most powerful industrial complexes in history."

"And responsible, of course, for Venice's power and influence," said Homura. "But then, times change, along with people and the power they wield."

"Indeed."

"In any case, we are here today to, essentially, meet and greet the Mahou Shoujo Youkai," said Artificial Intelligence. A Latin chant started up somewhere in the distance. "We are all familiar with the basics by now, but it would be useful to hear it again from you. What are you, as an organization?"

"We are a variety of different things," said Homura. "I understand that this is vague, but it is also the truth. The MSY—we go by the acronym in most contexts—started as a mutual aid group, to work for the betterment of the lives of magical girls in our city."

"And then you grew," said Colonial Affairs and Colonization.

"And then we grew," said Homura, nodding. "What started as a couple dozen magical girls, banding together to survive in a dangerous world, grew into an organization that spanned much of Japan. We established logistics and communications, then took over the Yakuza and used it for our own purposes. We expanded to China, Southeast Asia, and the North American West Coast, making sure that all the girls under our umbrella could live safely and relatively happily. We established, and continue to have, psychiatric and financial support for those who need it."

The Directorate paused, collectively.

"This raises more questions than it answers," said Artificial Intelligence. "That is not more enlightening than the original answers we received."

Homura inclined her head. "I am open to questions, of course."

"How extensive is your reach?" asked Military Affairs.

"Yuma is our most highly placed member," said Homura. "We have many throughout Governance and the rest of human space in most, if not all, sectors of society."

"All sectors, huh," said Manufacturing and Distribution. "And how literally should we take this claim?"

"As literally as you are willing to take it," said Homura.

"Hmm," Military Affairs vocalized, not a pleased noise.

"Then what of your funding?" asked Manufacturing and Distribution. "You mentioned the Yakuza. Did you turn to crime, before the Unification Wars?"

"Technically," said Homura. "The vast majority was white collar. Nothing the hyperclass didn't engage in later under a more legal guise."

"Fair enough."

"And of course, the Colonies are permeated with magical girls," said Colonial Affairs with a sigh. "Nazra Invictus is plenty of evidence for that."

"Yes, that would be accurate," said Homura.

"Then we stand with a potential insurrection at the gates," said Military Affairs. "Even if you do not mean us harm now, you cannot deny the potential the MSY has to create such a disruption."

"We have no intention of doing so," said Homura. "It is well within the interests of the MSY to maintain peace. If nothing else, it would be unnecessary and cruel to uproot the lives of so many girls across human space. It is a time of conflict, and of alien conflict. I would say this really isn't the time to fight amongst ourselves."

"As long as we show unity," Military Affairs said, tone neutral but meaning clear.

"Paranoia is a form of caution," said Health and Happiness. "but often creates as many problems as it solves. Remember the lessons of history."

"Governance is all about paranoia," noted Public Opinion. "But also all about rational decision-making. One problem at a time, though we may all plan for the future."

"Indeed," Military Affairs said, in a tone that suggested he would be doing plenty of planning.

The table was silent for a moment. Yuma coughed awkwardly.

"Not to mention that it is clear that the MSY has fingers in things ranging far beyond those of us who have gathered here today," said Colonial Affairs. "We ought to convene a second, larger meeting, with perhaps an actual agenda to start negotiations?"

"We would be amenable to that," said Homura, inclining her head.

"In that case, what are your basic demands?" asked Artificial Intelligence. "A starting point, something we can build off of."

"The MSY demands only that it, and its members, be recognized as autonomous," said Homura. "We have existed as such for many years without revealing ourselves, and without, I would note, stepping on Governance's toes. We have made no aggressive actions, nothing that disturbed the peace, and only so much infiltration as was necessary to hide our presence."

"I'm sure the new Public Order will have much to say about that," Military Affairs said. "Autonomous, yes. I suspect anything additional will be a matter of much debate."

The other Governance AIs shrugged. It seemed that autonomy had already been agreed upon, in some manner. What exactly that meant, however…

"Very well," said Artificial Intelligence. "We shall see what we can do, Akemi Homura."

It was, Septimus reflected, a singular experience to be sitting across the table from your would-be assassin. He recognized this Nadya Antipova. He'd only seen a glimpse of her face in the attack, but it was enough. As preliminary negotiations went, this one was certainly a career first. All things considered, he would have preferred not to have had to conduct these negotiations with a jaw mask.

Speaking of that…

"You fight well," Septimus complemented, talons folded in front of him as he stared Nadya down. "Excellent grasp of command and tactics. Do you have military training?"

"To an extent," said Nadya. "I've been involved in many… policing actions."

"Ah, 'police'," said Septimus, nodding. "I understand. From my experience, police actions are often far more difficult than actual war, even if the body counts are lower. At least in war, the lines are clear."

"Are they?" Nadya asked. "We were at war, and I tried to kill you, and here we are talking about it."

Septimus smiled.

"War? This is hardly a war."

"Really?"

"If you had asked me before I got here, I would have said this was a police action, not a war."

"How exactly do you make a mistake of that magnitude?" Nadya asked. "I would think standard procedure would involve at least talking to the colony you're attacking first."

"Why would that be?" asked Septimus rhetorically. "There is no precedent for anything of that nature. Even if there were such a precedent, what use would it have?"

"You killed—"

"And you fought," said Septimus, tapping a talon against the table. "Please, Ms. Antipova, do not misunderstand me. I have great respect for the human willingness to fight for their home. But realistically, a battle requires two sides, at least."

"You're claiming that it's our fault for resisting?" asked Nadya incredulously. "You showed up in our space without any notice, ripped apart an AI, and dropped a fully armed army onto our planet with the slightest provocation! We had tanks rolling towards a population center of only five hundred thousand people! How is this a reasonable course of action?"

"You would argue it would be better to send in a smaller force, yes?" asked Septimus. "A strike team, perhaps, with negotiators?"

"Of course!"

Septimus's gaze darkened. "There have been occasions in the past where that has ended poorly."

He looked the alien in the eye.

"The truth is that we Turians, as a species, have been depended on as the peacekeepers and policers of the galaxy for many years. Time and time again, we have used restraint, and found ourselves embroiled in large conflicts that we barely were able to contain."

Septimus paused, jaw tightening briefly. He thought of the jar of ashes his parents kept in the place of honor over the mantel. They belonged to his grandfather.

"It has only ever been through the swift and decisive action of our officer corps that we have maintained our military hegemony in a galaxy where truly heinous deeds have been seen and combated. Call it arrogant, if you wish, but it is what it is. I am proud to serve a force with such an esteemed history, and will take from my predecessors what lessons I think appropriate for the situation at hand."

Nadya folded her arms on the table. "You would rather destroy one colony for the sake of having an easier fight."

"I would rather destroy one colony in the hopes of preventing a wider conflict," said Septimus sharply. "Do not insult me, Ms. Antipova. You ought to know that a single decisive blow is often all that is necessary to prevent a war from escalating to the point of total destruction."

Nadya shifted uncomfortably, and leaned back as well.

"I have often been that decisive blow," she conceded. "But is that really applicable to this situation?"

"I would argue that it is," said Septimus, relaxing. He sighed, wondering how much he could tell the alien. "Although, speaking candidly, the more honest thing to say would be the Turian Hierarchy has political factions, and a cumbersome bureaucracy, and I seem to have been sent out by rules from a faction that wanted the galaxy to see more Turian… proactiveness. This operation is not to my taste."

"Nor would it be mine," Nadya agreed, eyes narrowing. "I greatly prefer a lowered body count in comparison to this 'decisive blow' you talk about. Even a limited war is a far inferior proposition to no war at all. Humanity has seen large conflicts that consumed our planet. There are those older than me who have participated in these wars, and they have never spoken well of the experience."

"As well they should not," Septimus said, nodding. "Let us speak of other matters, as I suspect we will only disagree further. Shall we conclude, if nothing else, that we have much to learn about each other's species?"

Nadya nodded. "That is fair, Legate. I'll take that."

Septimus nodded. "Now, you mentioned those older than you. If you do not mind me asking, what is the lifespan of your species? Across the galaxy there is a considerable range—the Asari live to be a millennia old, whereas the Salarians rarely live longer than fifty."

One of the first orders of diplomatic business had been to sort out the units of time used by the humans. Gratifyingly, their planetary year was close to the galactic standard year, so Septimus could speak freely without having to perform unit conversions in his head.

The human tilted her head.

"An interesting question," Nadya said. "The base human lifespan, just before the advent of longevity-enhancing treatments, was about a hundred. There are those of us with special powers that have been alive for over five centuries. The most important point, however, is that, with implants, there is no expected upper limit on human lifespan."

Septimus made a facial expression he hoped the human would understand.

"No upper limit? Does that mean—"

His omnitool started beeping urgently, interrupting his question. He grunted in annoyance, raising his forearm and pushing the "respond" button.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We're detecting severe anomalies across our sensor arrays, sir." It was the captain of Septimus' flagship, Marinus. The experienced fighter sounded coolly confident. "All fields."

Septimus nodded even as his blood chilled. "I see. Have you performed an eezo sweep?"

"I have sir, nothing except the planet beneath us. We'll want to try and see if the aliens will give us any mining rights."

Septimus chuckled. "A poor moment for trade negotiations, I think, Captain Marinus. You've informed Tribune Vitellius?"

"Yes sir."

"His response?"

"He told me to contact you," said Marinus. "Then began fiddling with his omnitool. I'm not sure what he's doing."

Septimus aggressively schooled his expression and glanced at Nadya. The assassin was very carefully not paying attention, working on something on her… well, he supposed it must be some sort of visual implant.

Obviously, she was recording every bit of the conversation she could hear.

"If you'll excuse me," Septimus said, stepping back from the table to a corner of the room.

Nadya raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"Conference call," said Septimus, switching to subvocal and hoping Nadya could not hear him. "Bring Vitellius into this."

"Yes sir."

A brief pause, then Vitellius' name flashed twice as he logged in. "Legate."

"Tribune Vitellius, you've heard the news?"

Vitellius took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Yes sir. I've been looking over the sensor data."

"Your conclusions?"

"I believe the enemy fleet is approaching," said Vitellius. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Agreed. Your plan?"

Vitellius paused. It felt like he was gathering himself. Septimus supposed that was natural, given the chewing out he had received earlier, and the clear expectation Septimus was placing for good answers.

"Sir, I propose that we withdraw the fleet."

Septimus felt his brow-plates nearly pop off his face in the most literal of fashions. Carefully, he made sure the glue from the medical personnel hadn't delaminated before responding.

"You propose withdrawing our fleet," said Captain Marinus calmly. "Sir, with all due respect, are you suicidal?"

"I am not," said Vitellius. "If the main objective of this encounter is to avoid open war, then we cannot be in a threatening position when the enemy fleet enters the system."

"If I were a fleet commander responding to an embattled Turian Colony, I would enter the system with my dreadnoughts already firing," interjected Marinus. "A fleet out of position in the way you suggest would be annih—"

"The point I am making is not military, but political," Vitellius said, voice shaking slightly. "If they do that, then clearly they were never interested in peace, and we would have the justification we needed for the Council to bring the full weight of the Turian Hierarchy upon them. If, on the other hand, they refrain, then we have quietly taken some of the moral high ground back, and have a starting point for negotiations."

"As well as have risked major casualties and forced us to retreat immediately," Marinus countered. "The ground troops would be entirely lost to Spirits-only-know what would come next."

"I know," Vitellius said, quietly, then again: "I know. But from what we've seen, these aliens do not have the martial traditions of discipline we have, and we do not really know how their government is constructed. If we get embroiled in a war that appears to be our fault, it will seed disunity in the Council. I am sure we would win militarily, but politically…"

Both Septimus and Marinus considered the matter. It was a reasonable point, if not one that either found particularly palatable.

"On the other hand," continued Vitellius, "if it's clear we were trying to make peace and the aliens betrayed that, then the Council would back us to the hilt. I would prefer having allies, even at the cost of casualties and, well, reputations."

Silence.

Vitellius was essentially proposing they take a political gamble, making sure they won the war, if there was to be one, even at the cost of one battle. For Vitellius and Septimus personally, it was also politically very risky. Within the Turian hierarchy, there were very few that would ever blame them for taking the safer, more provocative option. What Vitellius was proposing would leave them completely isolated if they were wrong, pariahs who would probably lose their commands.

But it was arguably better for the Hierarchy as a whole, and if Septimus had to resign in disgrace, Marinus would be a suitable replacement. And he couldn't help but notice that Vitellius had made an argument that put his political career in substantial risk too, even as he used a talent for politics Septimus hadn't known he had, not that he would ever have had the chance to find out.

"Marinus, any additional thoughts?"

"It sounds like madness," said Marinus. "It would leave the ground troops undefended. But, on reflection, it has a certain kind of genius too."

"Explain."

"Consider that it is the least expected move our fleet would make," said Marinus. "It's suicidally stupid after all. In fact, it's so suicidal, it might be a trap."

"I wouldn't attack in that situation," said Septimus, grasping the point. "Not when I had no idea what technology I was facing."

"Nor would I," said Marinus. "I would wait and do more surveillance. And that gives the diplomats more time to get into the system, and gives us an opening to propose a ceasefire."

"If it pans out that way."

"Yes."

Further silence.

"Tribune Vitellius, I must admit that you have surprised me," said Septimus with a sigh. "It is my opinion that you are not wrong. Begin your fleet operations immediately."

"Yes sir."

"Captain Marinus, I will not be returning to the ship," Septimus continued. "If I die, you are promoted to Brevet Tribune. Work with Vitellius and make sure this conflict works out for the galaxy."

"Sir, you can't be—"

"That is final, Captain," said Septimus. "Do you understand?"

"…Acknowledged, sir."

"Very good."

Septimus muted his omnitool and returned to the table, where Nadya was still seated politely. As he sat back down, he found himself abruptly struggling to think of topics worth speaking of.

"If I recall correctly, your species' implants are capable of resolving chirality incompatibility, yes?" said Septimus. "Something you mentioned on the way here."

"Yes, that's true," said Nadya. "The amino acids are broken down and recombined as necessary. Why do you ask?"

"As I am now here and not leaving," said Septimus, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "I wonder if it wouldn't be possible for you and me to share a drink. Poisons are ineffective against you anyway."

"Oh? " said Nadya. "I suppose. Though if you're asking for a delivery—"

"No, that won't be necessary," said Septimus. He flicked something on his omnitool, then reached up to his breastplate. One of the plates hissed, then popped into his hand. "You see, as a fleet officer, I have certain privileges. One of them is the ability to customize my armor."

"And so you have a flask of liquor on you at all times," said Nadya, nodding approvingly. "Very nice, Legate."

A drone flew in and deposited two glass tumblers. Septimus reached across and poured a measure of liquor into each. He slid one across to Nadya.

"A toast," he said, raising his glass. "To not being captured as a prisoner of war."

Nadya chuckled. "To not being a prisoner of war."

The Turian liquor was astringent and grassy, with the aroma of… pears? Decidedly odd. But sweet, and not unpleasant.

"Well," said Septimus, setting down his drink with a sigh. "Now we wait."

By Marinus's estimation, Vitellius was a bit young for his job. He and the other section commanders of the fleet were all present in hologram form at a conference call, listening intently as the Vitellius outlined his plan. The Tribune was, Marinus thought, at least suitably composed for the situation.

"We will withdraw in three waves," said Vitellius, wrapping up the explanation from his command ship, the Valeo. "Wave One will consist of half the main battle fleet, led by Commander Zenai. Sections Four through Six will establish a defensive cone. Wave Two will be the logistics fleet, led by Commander Verianna. We will be most vulnerable at this time, so it is imperative that you move quickly. Sections One through Three, led by myself, will bring up the rear to close the shell. Any questions?"

The assembly was silent. Vitellius glanced at each member once to confirm, then nodded.

"Very well, dismissed."

The other holograms winked out, leaving only Vitellius and Marinus in the call. Vitellius breathed a very deep sigh, leaning on the railing surrounding the projectors on the Valeo, his hands passing out of the hologram projector and leaving his hologram missing half its arms.

"Nervous, Tribune?" asked Marinus quietly.

Vitellius huffed a laugh. "Does it show, Captain?"

"Not particularly sir," said Marinus. "A good presentation, though I couldn't tell if the silence was from horror or from lack of questions."

"Well, we will find out, won't we?" said Vitellius. He paused, looking thoughtfully at the empty projector plates, then straightening. "We should get going."

"Yes sir."

The conference winked out. Marinus stepped out onto the commander's deck, the many stations sweeping out in an arc about the raised surface. Marinus's first mate nodded to him, saluting briefly before returning to his station. Everything was quiet as the ship's many processes ticked over smoothly, with no alerts.

The best sort of operation was the quiet sort.

"Attention," said Marinus as he took his place at the head of the command deck. The raised plinth he stood on gave him an excellent view of each console for each section of the bridge. By the time he'd finished the last syllable, the entire bridge had come to a complete halt to give him their fullest attention. Marinus smiled to himself. They were a good crew.

"Bridge crew of the Endurance, listen up," he said. "Give me a go/no-go for start. Weapons."

"Go."

"Propulsion."

"Go."

"Shields."

"Go."

"Navigation."

"Go."

"Medical."

"Go."

"Power."

"Go."

"Structures."

"Structures go."

"Comms."

"Comms are go."

"Telemetry."

"Go."

"Consumables."

"Go."

"Fleet Command."

"We are go, captain," said Marinus's first officer.

Marinus nodded and keyed fleet-wide communications. "Fleet, this is Captain Marinus of the flagship Endurance, we are go for the operation."

"Roger that," said Commander Zenai. "Section Four has completed checks and will begin burn to initial positions. Stand by for the burn."

A hologram of Tribune Vitellius appeared on the railing of Marinus's command station. "Captain Marinus."

"Tribune."

Commander Zenai interrupted: "Section Four to Fleet, we are go for the burn. Executing now."

Vitellius and Marinus turned to their respective master display screens. On the Endurance, it had flipped to showing a model of the system. Section Four was executing its required burn normally, the ships moving in perfect unison just as they were all trained. Section Five, then Six, followed rapidly behind, each falling into their place in the shell.

"Well executed, Wave One," said Vitellius. "Wave Two, status?"

Marinus tuned out Commander Verriana's response and turned to his crew. "Telemetry, status update."

"All arrays showing previous perturbations," replied the Telemetry Officer. "Average amplitudes are holding constant, but standard deviation has increased."

"Understood, thank you Telemetry." Marinus tuned back into the conversation between Verriana and Vitellius.

"…no anomalies to report, Tribune," Commander Verriana was concluding. "We are go for the burn."

"Very well, Commander, you may execute when ready,"

"Roger that, stand by for the burn."

The Logistics Fleet moved more slowly, the heavy tankers and supply vessels unwieldy compared to the combat vessels. Still, it was expected.

"Captain, Telemetry."

Marinus and his first officer glanced at each other.

"Go ahead Telemetry."

"Captain, I'm picking up something on long range gravimetrics. Strange displacements that don't make sense."

Marinus grit his teeth. "Anything more definitive, Telemetry?"

"No sir, the best I can get is a timelapse of the data," said Telemetry. "Going to the master screen… now."

A tensor field representation of the local space-time continuum appeared on the master screen.

"…That is some very strange data," remarked Marinus's first officer.

"The amplitude agitations are increasing," said Telemetry, marking out the sectors on the field. "You can see how—"

A klaxon sounded.

"Radiation warning," said Medical. "Captain, I have multiple wavelengths appearing in a plume—"

"Telemetry!" Marinus snapped. "Range and bearing to center of the radiation plume."

"523 by 023," Telemetry replied.

"Propulsion, all engines to maximum," Marinus ordered. "Navigation, plot an intercept—"

"Sensor contact! Vessels detected off the starboard bow," Telemetry reported. "Bearing 023, 025, 019—"

"Shields up, all stations to red alert," Marinus said, continuing his chain of commands as the ship rumbled. There was a deep, powerful vibration as the engines kicked into maximum power. "Fleet, Endurance, enemy ships inbound. Repeat, enemy ships—"

"Incoming!"

Marinus braced, grabbing the railing just before the ship pitched as if in high seas.

"What the hell was that, Telemetry?" asked Marinus.

"I— I don't know sir," Telemetry answered. "I— some sort of gravity weapon?!"

"Shields at 95% and recovering, sir," said Shields before Marinus could ask. "It's not a kinetic weapon."

"Structures?"

"No damage," said Structures. "It— why would they fire something that doesn't do any damage?"

"More incoming, Captain!"

The ship rattled. How much energy was in those rounds? To make a dreadnought pitch and roll like an atmo-fighter in a hurricane required unfathomable amounts of power.

"Weapons, prepare firing solutions," said Marinus grimly. "Master display to combat mode."

The tension on the bridge palpably increased as the master display switched views, displaying the Turian fleet as viewed from a convenient vantage point somewhere far from the action. Friendly ships of the Turian fleet, too small to be visible to the bridge crew on the holographic view, were instead overlaid with simple geometric shapes that indicated their fleet role. The shapes were also sized accordingly, though not to scale, so that the large hexagons of the Endurance and the Valeo were shown accompanied by a bevy of smaller diamonds, squares and, at the smallest level, triangular fighters. The planet they orbited loomed in the background, and on one side of the fleet could be seen a multitude of Logistics Fleet ships, circles, still in the process of peeling away even as their escorts clearly began to adopt battle formation.

The display was color-coded, too, and at the moment everything on the screen was a friendly green. Marinus had a feeling it wasn't going to stay that way.

He squinted at the screen. Was it his imagination, or—

"Sir, the Logistics Fleet is reporting substantial difficulty with maneuvering to leave the area," Comms said. "They are encountering significant gravity distortions pulling them back toward the main fleet, resembling some kind of powerful gravity well."

Marinus swore under his breath. So that was their game.

"Can they break out of it?" he asked.

"Yes, but only slowly. With engines at maximum, they can only manage a crawl, and the distortions make FTL unsafe. They report the distortions are at least slowly dispersing."

It won't be fast enough, Marinus thought.

Before he could say it, his prediction came true, the screen lighting up with a sudden horde of unidentified alien vessels highlighted in yellow, triangles and squares and diamonds and a near-wall of dots that represented alien drones—a recent addition, as Turian tactical computers had not previously considered objects that small to be significant. Marinus mentally tabulated the increasing alien fleet strength as it climbed, though of course comparing fleets with unknown technology based purely on size was a risky affair. It was still not a match for the Turian fleet—

No less than four dreadnought class vessels appeared on the screen, ominous hexagons instantly changing the complexion of the alien fleet.

"Orders from the Valeo," shouted Comms. "All ships to hold fire."

Marinus muttered a curse under his breath.

"Understood, charge cannons but do not discharge," he ordered. "I want firing solutions and escape vectors plotted and locked in. We don't know what they're capable of and I'm not sitting here like poultry waiting to be cooked."

"Understood sir!"

The enemy ships kept arriving, a cloud of target blips shifting and rolling into formation. The longer they waited, the more their enemy prepared for its assault. Marinus grit his mandibles as he searched the enemy formation for a weak spot. Maybe—

And then another ship appeared, a giant hexagon bigger than anything else on the screen, and Marinus had to step forward to get a closer look at just what was going on.

"At least 8 km in length," Telemetry started reading out. "With what looks like a spinal cannon. It's got the mass to match—"

"Show me," Marinus said, pointing at the screen. "Split-screen, give me whatever visual you can, along with infrared or whatever else you think appropriate."

Dutifully, a video appeared on-screen on the right side, enhanced with all the little adjustments it took to make a visual representation of a starship useful—computer generated lighting, zoom, structural overlay, and so forth. In many ways it looked like a standard dreadnought, with its high aspect ratio and enormous, spinally-mounted mass driver. Certainly nothing Turian-built, but the general design principles were clear.

Except the size measurements, of course.

The infrared overlay appeared a moment later, and Marinus furrowed his brow in puzzlement.

The average dreadnought practically glowed in infrared. It had to, because the equipment and crew necessary to service a vessel of that size—not to mention sustain the crew itself and keep the atmosphere livable—output tremendous amounts of heat. This vessel, though, was incredibly cold—outside of a few hotspots and the obviously massive engines, its surface wasn't terribly warmer than the depth of space itself.

"It could be that the aliens need to have a ship that size to fire dreadnought-class projectiles, sir," Power suggested. "After all, non-mass effect methods of accelerating a projectile must be woefully inefficient. The size of the alien vessels could simply reflect inefficient technologies."

"Yes, but imagine the sheer size of the economy it must take to make a vessel of that size, without using mass effect fields in the manufacturing process. Image the size of the shipyards that must be involved. I'm not sure even the Asari could do it if they tried."

"Well, we've never had to try, sir," Power said. "If—"

"Captain, Tribune Vitellius is calling for you," broke in Comms.

Marinus nodded, and waved for Comms to patch the general through.

"I don't have to ask if you're reading this," Vitellius said, voice emanating from the screen, though the video was suppressed in favor of showing the fleet and the alien ship. "The specialists here think the alien ship is this big to compensate for their lack of mass effect technology."

"We had thought the same, sir," Marinus said. "I don't derive much comfort from it, though."

"Indeed," Vitellius said. "The belief here is that the reason the alien ship is cold is that most of it is ablative armor of some sort. Why would the aliens think they need armor like that?"

Marinus suppressed the urge to swallow, as he realized the obvious.

"To defend against whatever it is they launched as a warning shot," he said. "Something like that could have only come from this monstrosity's main gun, and it was off the scale."

"We've tried hailing the alien fleet, but we have not received a response from them. I wanted to hear your opinion, as a veteran captain, of how we would fare if it came to shooting."

Marinus glanced at the fleet status screen, weighing what to say in his head.

"Contact between unknown technologies is difficult to predict, sir," he said, "but I can promise we will make a good show of it. Big and strong doesn't necessarily beat small and faster, if we turn out to be faster. I would worry about all those drones just as much, though."

"Spoken like a true Turian," Vitellius said. "However, we are not in combat yet, even if they won't respond."

"Yes," Marinus agreed. "They did not come in firing, except for that warning shot. I would expect—"

"Sir, sorry to interrupt," Comms said. "But the alien fleet has begun some kind of broadcast."

There was a brief pause, before Vitellius spoke: "Well, let us listen then."

"Turian fleet," the voice said, piped through their universal translator. "I know you can understand this, so let us mince no words. Your unprovoked aggression and callous disregard for the lives of our civilians has been noted. It will not be suffered to stand. You will surrender your forces on the ground and withdraw your fleets, and you will surrender to stand trial the murderers who committed the illegal execution of the AI on our science station, including all of the officers responsible. Any less will be considered a declaration of war. You have one of your standard days to comply."

There was silence on the bridge for a moment.

"That was it, sir," Telemetry said, verifying the end of the broadcast.

Marinus snorted as Vitellius said what they were all thinking:

"Mince no words indeed."

The stock markets were crashing.

That was the least of their problems, but Councillor Tevos usually found it oddly soothing to watch the fluctuations of the market, those oscillating numbers on the screen abstracting away the trials and tribulations of material reality into a world of pure numbers, a world forever confident in its own ability to solve all problems with the wisdom of the market.

Unfortunately, today that market was uniformly pointed downward, serving only as a reminder of the storm that seemed destined to break over the galaxy once more.

Tevos turned off her tablet in disgust, focusing her attention back to the meeting that was supposed to be her primary focus.

"The Council cannot be seen backing down from an alien ultimatum like this, no matter how powerful their fleet appears," Turian Councillor Sparatus was saying. "Giant dreadnought or no, we must hold our ground and press for negotiations. We cannot start negotiations with a pre-emptive concession."

"The Council also rules by respect, not fear," Tevos said. "We will lose nothing by conceding when obvious mistakes have been made. This is a golden opportunity to bring a powerful new species into the Council, and we should not lose it by being obstinate about our mistakes."

They had long passed the point of blaming the Turians for their mistakes. For better or worse, the Council was in this together, and other than file protests with Sparatus about Turian behavior, all they could do at the moment was try to be productive. There would be time later to address potential modifications to Turian command structure.

"Do we even want to bring a species like this into the Council?" Sparatus asked, shaking his head slightly. "The reports we've received indicate a species that is very much in violation of Council regulations regarding the use of robotics and artificial intelligence. Even if the incident with the Mass Relay was a mistake, there's no way we can overlook that in light of past Council decrees."

The Salarian Councillor, Valern, shook his head in turn.

"Robotics, cybernetics, and Artificial Intelligence are all valuable technologies, with the potential to revolutionize the galactic economy," Valern said. "The experience with the Geth has shown us the potential for disaster, but there are many technologies with the potential for disaster that have proven controllable—nuclear energy, for example. The Salarian Union has always viewed the Council Decrees on Artificial Intelligence as a temporary measure, a warning for those considering performing research, but the Union has never stopped trying to think of alternatives. If there is a species out there that has mastered the problem, then there is no reason we cannot welcome them with open arms, and exchange their technology for our own."

"Do you mean to say the Salarian Union has been continuing research into Artificial Intelligence, in contravention of Council law?" Sparatus asked.

"Excuse me? How dare you accuse us of that!" Valern retorted, in an obvious show of engineered outrage. "Don't put words in my mouth, Councilor, lest—"

"Gentlemen, please," Tevos said with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. "Let us not get distracted from the matter on hand. It is clear that events on hand demand rapid, decisive action, and that this action must come from us. The potential outbreak of hostilities between a Turian fleet and an alien fleet of this size would bring chaos to the galaxy. Only the Council has authority to act on galaxy-wide matters."

"Then let's put some firm proposals on the table," Sparatus said. "This is a matter of Council prestige and resolve in the face of unknown factions. The Galaxy is no longer used to having major non-Council powers, but we must prepare for the eventuality that these humans decline membership. In that case, our actions here will either create a perception of strength, or one of weakness. We should let it be known that we will stand our ground, pending negotiations. We should not offer concessions before negotiations have even happened."

"I disagree," Valern said. "Even in the unlikely scenario you depict, no one will think the Council weak for simply doing the utmost to bring a species into the Galactic power structure peacefully. Does anyone think the Council weak for offering the Turians a premier role in exchange for aid against the Krogans? In the grand scheme of things, the position and maneuvering of one Turian fleet will matter very little."

Sparatus shook his head.

"As I said, the Council is no longer used to facing major non-Council powers. We should not feel so secure in our throne on the Citadel that we act as if the concerns of power do not matter to us. That invites being taken advantage of. We should not be blinded by lust for a few technological marvels."

"It is not just a matter of technology," said Tevos. "The Council has always survived by doing its utmost to bring in new species as Council-aligned, rather than permit the formation of alternative power blocs. This is as much a matter of power as anything could be. There were indeed those who thought the Council weak for offering the Turians power in exchange for war aid, but in the end it has made us all—Turians included—more powerful than we would have been otherwise. Major non-Council aligned factions would be a threat to all that we stand for. Consider, what if the Geth were to make contact with the humans, as machines to, potentially, fellow machines? It is unlikely, I agree, but more unlikely things have happened in the past."

Sparatus appeared visibly discomfited.

"That is an unpleasant scenario, I concede," he said. "It is still, however, unlikely."

"Not unlikely enough," Valern said.

He turned towards Tevos.

"I propose that we have had enough discussion. The Council should require the withdrawal of the Turian forces."

"Absolutely not," Sparatus said. "Not yet."

"The Council has always operated on unanimity," Tevos said, looking around. "One we clearly do not have yet. Allow me to propose a compromise: I propose we announce a cooling-off period, with the potential for withdrawal of forces as a gesture of good faith, pending negotiations. The public announcement of a willingness to withdraw should do much to soothe any potential insult, as well as wash our hands of responsibility for any conflict. However, we will not actually have to withdraw immediately."

Sparatus snorted.

"That sounds like something I'd expect the Asari Republics to come up with. Underhanded. But, given that there will be no immediate withdrawal, it would be acceptable to the Hierarchy."

"It is merely prevarication by another name," Valern said. "It is likely that this would be acceptable to the Union; certainly, when I ask, the Union will probably take so long to render a decision that the actual decision will be moot."

Valern sighed.

"Personally, it is acceptable, though I can only hope the humans see reason as we do," he continued. "Were the human fleet staffed by Krogans, the war would start the moment this decision were announced."

"Were the humans Krogan, the war would have already started," Tevos said dryly.

"So be it," Valern said. "Let our negotiators and agents do their work, and hope this announcement doesn't trigger war."

"So be it," the others agreed.

"A cooling-off period? What a joke."

Field Marshal Yuriy Mykhailo Wolanski, Chief of the General Staff, bounced a ball against the wall next to his desk, tossing it and catching it with the smooth, didactic rhythm that always helped him think. Outwardly, he seemed calm, but his ship, the HSS Sir Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington—known to friends as the "the Duke"—knew better. Inwardly, Yuriy was seething, just as the Duke was.

"I agree," the ship said, his archaic field marshal dress contrasting with the utilitarian ethos of Yuriy's cabin. "More than likely, a cover story to buy time while they gather more forces. I wouldn't expect any less from cowards who would attack a defenseless colony and delete a helpless AI."

The Duke remembered Abigail well, from his last tour of the system. He was a married man in an exclusive relationship, so it wasn't his place to make overtures, but if he could, he would have.

Abigail was alive again, of course, restored from one of her backups, but no one would ever know if it was really her, or if the real her was dead. Philosophical points aside, what had happened to her was the height of barbarity, exactly the kind of thing the Human military took oaths to eradicate from existence. Neither he nor most of the AIs of Earth were inclined to suffer the rapaciousness of hostile aliens.

"They are probably scared," Yuriy said. "A fleet like that can't stand up to us. Have you seen the combat projections? Extremely favorable."

"Assuming they don't have any technological surprises in store for us," the Duke said. "Beyond reasonable extrapolations of what they used on the surface, of course."

"Of course," Yuriy said, "but every military has its secret weapons, and they are nothing to fear as long as everyone has the right mindset. Back during the Unification Wars, the enemy had a new trick up their sleeve practically every day, but it wasn't enough to save them."

"Indeed," the ship said, clasping his hands behind his back. The aristocratic demeanor he affected prevented him from showing relief that Yuriy hadn't decided to launch into one of his extremely long war stories. They were pretty good stories—the first time.

"Why, then, are we still idling here?" Yuriy asked, directing the question at the silent third occupant of the room.

Governance: Military Affairs sighed. Sending Yuriy to the sector was necessary due to his Unification Wars reputation, because it showed the public how seriously Governance was taking the matter. It had in fact been lucky that Yuriy's fleet happened to be one of the designated response fleets to the sector. That being said, Yuriy was not known for his… diplomatic personality.

"Because as much as we would all like to go in, guns blazing, and take skulls for the skull throne, Governance must make a show of diplomacy," said Military Affairs.

"Pah. Shows of force have always been more effective than diplomacy. When I was fighting in the Ukraine—"

"Yes, but the Russians at the time were clinically mad," said Military Affairs. He glanced at the Duke, he nodded slightly in thanks. "It is apparent to everyone that these aliens are at least reasonably sane."

Yuriy grunted.

"Furthermore, if possible, it would be profitable to force concessions out of the aliens," continued Military Affairs. "Taking what we want is possible, of course, but there are many advantages to lopsided trade agreements."

Yuriy grunted, this time in amusement.

"Heh. You are a clever AI."

"Governance does have its moments, yes," said Military Affairs dryly. "Still, that is not to say we are not prepared for war. You are here for a reason, after all."

"Yes," said Yuriy. He caught the ball and squeezed, the squishy-elastic material bulging in his hand. It was a hand more suited to prying open tank hatches than throwing balls.

"Yes I am."

It was, by now, a tradition for the apprentices of the Mitakihara Four to hunt down Kyouko from a bar somewhere and drag her back out.

"So what's our cover story this time?" Sasha Costa asked, twirling a lock of red hair idly as she hopped along the rooftops of Saint Petersburg. Her ethnic background was very mixed, to the point where her last name was Portuguese, her skin color and bone structure were some variety of Asian, and her hair had somehow ended up very, very red. Sasha had contracted when she was nine, and had been picked up by Mami when she turned eighteen. She was now twenty-two.

"I don't have one," groused Itsuki Wakahisa, the latest in a long string of college-age apprentices that Kyouko kept cycling through. It was well known by now that getting an apprenticeship with Kyouko also meant dealing with all of Kyouko's eccentricities and her tendency to avoid paperwork at all costs. "This time Kyouko-sempai is just going to have to take it in the face."

Yu Ping sighed quietly from near the back of the group and shook her head. It was truly amazing how Kyouko could act as if she was no older than Yu Ping herself. Sasha and Itsuki both kept telling her that she was too serious, that she was still fourteen and should try to live a little.

Bah. Homura expected more out of her than that.

"I don't think we'll need a cover story," Yu Ping said. "We're just dragging her out right? No need to explain much."

"Hopefully," said Itsuki glumly. "Then again, you know how girls can be about Kyouko."

Yu Ping frowned as Itsuki and Sasha gave each other looks that seemed full of experience and meaning, as if Yu Ping hadn't been made to help them over a dozen times now and knew precisely what it was that Kyouko got up to.

"Look, let's just get this over with," said Yu Ping. "Look, there's the bar."

The small group landed in the alleyway behind the bar and detransformed.

"Aye, you're here for Kyouko-sama then?" asked an eight-year-old girl smoking a cigar, perched on a stack of fig crates next to the door that led into the kitchens. "She's over in the back."

"How many girls is she with?" Itsuki asked, bracing herself against the scandal. "It's not too many is it?"

"Nah, she's drinking alone," said the girl, shrugging. "Honestly, it's not the best time for it. We're pretty packed, and everyone's worried."

"Oh," said Itsuki. She seemed torn between being pleased and being even more worried. "Well then."

"Let's head inside," said Sasha with a small sigh.

Nobody looked up as the three girls filtered in, making their way across the back of the room towards a shock of bright red hair.

"Kyouko-senpai," Itsuki whispered. "What're you doing here? You're late."

"Eh, am I?" asked Kyouko. She paused to consult her chronometer. "Oh I see. I guess I am." She paused to take a swig of her beer. "Eh, sorry Itsuki-chan. I forgot."

"You always forget," Itsuki said, rolling her eyes.

"Not always," said Kyouko petulantly.

"Most of the time."

"Fine. Let me finish my beer."

"Senpai…"

Yu Ping's gaze drifted across the bar as Itsuki began her most likely futile attempts to move the stubborn Founder. For a bar of this size, placed in this general neighborhood, and especially at this time of day, the crowd was both unusually large and unusually somber. Small communal holos floated over the tables in the booths, and at the bar, wide-paneled screens that normally streamed the hockey games from across the Russo-Nordic Region silently played through the Governance-approved updates from Nazra Invictus.

Sasha clapped a sisterly hand on Yu Ping's shoulder, startling her out of her musing. "Come on, Yu Ping, let's get some drinks," Sasha drolled. Yu Ping raised a quest