It was a quirk of fate that the phoenix held representation in the mythologies of every known sentient race. Universally, it was some sort of avian, or at least flying, creature. Typically portrayed with outstretched, occasionally stylized, wings, as well as a long, trailing tail, the Phoenix was invariably associated with light and immortality.

There were local variations, of course. The Asari version was light blue and wreathed in a small, shimmering corona, with a tail of many parts, coiling in and around itself in a long train while it flew on thin, gossamer wings. Conversely, the Quarian version was a blindingly bright red, its center burning white-hot as it flew on outstretched wings that spanned the horizon, and its tail of fire trailed across the night sky.

The magical powers associated with the phoenix had strange similarities as well. Inevitably, there was some sort of way that the phoenix would die, then rise again. Inevitably, it was associated with wisdom and knowledge. It was always benevolent, and bestowed blessings upon those that helped it.

Inevitably, the Phoenix brought hope.

This made it the first thing many turned to when the time came to name a new organization that united all magical girls across the galaxy. The Phoenix Foundation was founded as a benevolent body, one that would seek to maintain the secrecy, peace, and order necessary for magical girls to gain the experience they needed to thrive. It was a massive undertaking.

TranStar Lines was a shell corporation run by the Phoenix Foundation. Nominally, it was a shipping and passenger transport business, funneling goods and persons from system to system. Those who were loyal to TSL could, eventually, apply for membership to the Starburst Society. Many benefits accrued from such membership, including access to lounge facilities and complimentary gifts of varying utility.

Adrea Sabudri turned her Starburst Society Membership Card over and over between her talons as she sat at her desk and ignored the growing list of reports flowing into her tablet from the planet below. Her ship was in orbit, her job one that required her to actively stay out of combat. As military billets went, hers was a cushy one, and important to boot. No army could fight if it wasn't supplied, and despite the mudslinging the combat battalions liked to toss their way, nobody was under any illusions about just how critical the 10th Logistics Legion was to continued military operations in any and all scenarios.

The card dropped to the desktop with a quiet clatter, the dense polymer square bouncing twice before settling with a rattle. Adrea flicked it away to the corner of her desk in disgust, before reaching into a drawer and pulling out a bottle of Ephivras. A glass followed it, and was quickly filled with the aromatic liquid.

What, exactly, was the point of being a magical girl when all you could do was sit and watch as others died around you? Three hundred years, now, she had lived, and gone through many a lifetime by way of magic and showmanship. Three hundred years of living, and dying, and becoming youthful again in order to blend in, and watching as the people she knew grew old and sickly, or fell in the line of battle from some border conflict, or vanished in the never-ending quest for grief cubes.

She had grown to like Eunoe. So young, so innocent—she had quietly guided the girl through difficult parts of her life, and had come to think of herself as a bit of a mentor, even if she had constantly feigned being no more than a friend.

That was over now, and Eunoe was dead. Another one turned to dust, and only the alcohol kept her drink from tasting like ashes in her mouth.

Adrea drained half the glass in one gulp. It was times like these where she seriously began to consider dropping the entire thing and coming clean with the galaxy about magical girls. Maybe then, without being constrained by the need for secrecy, they could actually do something. Maybe then, people wouldn't die. Wouldn't die needlessly at the whims of whoever happened to be in power at the time.

A stupid, stupid plan on multiple levels, to be sure, but it was still tempting.

There had been breaches of secrecy in the past, of course. The most egregious had come in times of great duress. The Rachni attacks on Thessea, the Krogans hurling asteroids at Turian worlds, the Krogan Genophage, and, most recently, the Quarians being evicted from their home planet—there was no overstating the threats to the current order they had presented. Yet in the end, the desperate actions of those with nothing to lose had been successfully buried under a tide of obfuscation, lost surveillance, and, occasionally, the silencing of witnesses. But always, there was a temptation for some to let those actions come to light. To sit back and let it happen, with some damage control, and end this Masquerade.

But no, the Secret must be kept. Apart from the Incubators demanding it to be so, by this point in galactic history, too much depended on that secrecy. Much of the Phoenix Foundation's logistical infrastructure was founded off it, as well as internal policies and regulations. Not to mention the agents that saturated high-level political and economic positions across the galaxy. Breaking it risked upsetting the balance of the entire galaxy, a balance that had to be kept oh-so-carefully in place to avoid the near certainty of galactic open war.

Nobody wanted that. Phoenix Foundation political economics estimated that the integrity of the Secret was worth as much to galactic stability and prosperity as half of the Turian peacekeeping fleet.

Species Orion, though, threatened to destroy everything the Phoenix Foundation had tried to maintain.

Battlefield information was, of course, spotty at best, but Adrea didn't need to read the reports in detail to recognize the flash of magic when she saw it. Whether it was from lone groups striking out to defend their homes, or if the Secret had already been broken for Species Orion and their magical girls had been conscripted into the military, was impossible to discern.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. The intelligence was being filtered up to High Command as Adrea sat there, drinking. For now, it was easily obfuscated as just alien technology, possibly a super weapon of some kind. But unless the situation was resolved quickly, there was no way that suspicions would not arise.

No it was times like these that made Adrea seriously consider tossing caution to the winds. It was easily possible that any exposure of the Secret would send the entire offensive, already faltering, into a screeching halt. Just revealing it would throw High Command into chaos, and who knew what would happen if some magical girls took some kind of actual action? It would buy them time. Time to negotiate with Species Orion and try to prevent the catastrophic destruction of the order and peace the Council, and by extension the Phoenix Foundation, had created all these centuries.

It was also guaranteed to not go well, but if all else failed, what other choices did they have?

It was a disastrous conundrum, to be sure, and Adrea expected her superiors in the Foundation were debating the question hotly right now. Ambassadors were already speeding in on the fastest ships that could carry them, but….

Adrea sighed and downed the remainder of her glass, then poured another. Damn that Legate Septimus and damn the other hotheads who refused to use any solution other than violence. This bloodying of Turian pride—indeed the possible failure of the expedition altogether—was inevitable. The fact that nobody seemed to have realized this only meant that the Turian Mages did not have as much control over their government as the Asari Mages did. It was now coming back to bite them.

A moment later, she sucked in a long breath, and reached into her drawer, withdrawing a small set of small, pitch-black cubes. She placed her hand next to them and sighed as a weight lifted from the back of her mind.

It was all well and good for her to sit here, drinking, but the reality of the situation was that she had work to do. She knew full well what her strengths were, and she wasn't about to muck up the situation for the Foundation's negotiators. There was only one recourse.

Back to work, she thought.

It seemed to Emma that what Ryouko really needed was a drink and a good bawling session.

That wasn't facetious. It worried her that Ryouko had become withdrawn and quiet over the last day. A session with an MHD counselor should have happened already, but, well, that would have limited utility. Counselors could tell you many things, but that didn't make you believe them. It really took someone that you trusted confirming all of that for anything to sink in.

And, well, drinking and bawling had always worked for Emma, at least.

Emma sighed, standing in front of the synthesizer. Dinner had ended, as well as the day. The Turians were evidently pulling back to lick their wounds. Annalise had said that there probably wouldn't be more than a few skirmishes between patrols and the drone net. An unspoken decision had gone down the line, sending the magical girls back to the command center. There wasn't any need for them to be on watch.

The synthesizer beeped, then clunked. Emma sighed again as she reached in and pulled out a bottle of umeshu, two small glasses shrink-wrapped onto the side. The magical girls had all gathered in the IIC node after the first fight with the Turian patrol, so it seemed likely that everyone would be there again.

Emma walked back towards the IIC Node, passing a few drone sentries on the way.

Military and civilian life had strange similarities. Risk of violent death and dismemberment aside, a shocking amount of time in the military boiled down to waiting. You spent that time studiously avoiding any work of any sort, and chatted about the latest workplace gossip.

Okay, so it was chatting about workplace gossip while bullets impacted the dirt berm behind you and, afterwards, you all went and stuffed your faces under the watchful eye of a variety of drone sentries.

The freakiest thing, though, was how everyone in a unit knew where everyone else was. It was some sort of implant suite that fed the location of everyone in your unit into the back of your head. It was a bit like the soul-gem sense you developed after a few years as a magical girl, but Emma couldn't help but feel slightly creeped out.

Still, it was useful, and since literally the entire group worked in close intimacy with programming languages, it hadn't taken long for a bodged-together version to be installed on all their implant sets.

Emma found Ryouko and Asami's location trackers practically on top of each other in a small, former office. The tile floor leading up to the wood-paneled door was oddly pristine, save for a pair of footprints leading to the room. Emma glanced out a window at the brightly lit courtyard, torn by explosives and pockmarked with bullet holes.

She shook her head. This was some crazy shit they were in.

Emma paused in front of the door, considering her next move. Part of her fervently hoped the pair weren't… busy.

Another part of her kind of hoped they were, because, seriously, the blackmail.

Chuckling to herself, Emma paused, then knocked on the door twice. When the trackers didn't move, Emma opened the door.

Thankfully, she found Ryouko and Asami seated quietly on two office chairs, the latter brushing the former's hair with… well, her own hair. It was undoubtedly an intimate gesture, and the two girls jolted away from each other at Emma's approach, but they weren't, among other things, unclothed.

"Did you not hear the knocking then?" asked Emma, raising an eyebrow.

"We were busy, obviously," Ryouko said with a displeased expression. "What do you want?"

Emma briefly regretted interrupting them. Besides drinking, a tumble in the sheets could also serve as good therapy. But, well, there wasn't much of a way to know without straight up interrupting, and she brought a peace offering in the form of alcohol.

"Sorry, but I bring a peace offering," said Emma, raising the bottle and glasses. "In the form of alcohol. Umeshu, in this case."

The two girls took the glasses from her freely, Ryouko rolling her eyes as she did so, allowing Emma to get to work on opening the bottle.

Good, it seemed the girl was recovering a little. The attitude was coming back.

"You know," she said. "You two are young, so your detox controls are still in place. I've got some code that can turn those off, if you want to try it out. Could be fun."

"I'm fine, thanks," Ryouko said. "I'd rather keep control of my faculties near you."

"Should you really be encouraging underage intoxication?" Asami echoed.

"Well, I figure it's not that bad," said Emma, waving the bottle around descriptively. "Considering you two are also engaged in other types of, shall we say, underage fun, it seems reasonable that—"

Emma ducked a shoe from an absolutely scarlet Ryouko, Asami groaning and hiding her face in her girlfriend's hair.

"Dammit Emma!"

"Hehehe, I'm just sayin'~" Emma trilled, before perching on the edge of the desk.

There was a moment of quiet as Emma gestured with the bottle and, a trifle grudgingly, Ryouko and Asami offered their glasses. The umeshu was poured silently.

"So, how are you guys doing, really?" asked Emma. She flipped her controls off and took a sip of the sweet, fruity liquor.

Hmm… she should really get a custom recipe for this. The synthesizer made it too sweet for her liking.

"I'm not sure what you mean?" Ryouko said, turning the statement into a question. "Our relationship is fine if that's what you're wondering. We don't need any more 'advice' books."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I can see that, yes. What I mean is…"

She sighed. Time to kill the mood.

"…What I mean is, I… well, it's been… difficult. I've been worried about you guys."

The mood indeed dampened, as both Asami and Ryouko seemed to deflate slightly. It was clear that in each other they had found solace, and distraction—a way to forget about the past few days, just for a while.

"Well, I think I'm mostly alright now," Ryouko said. "I was… really out of it for a while. But, I had a nice chat with the therapist, and they even got one of my, uh, favorite celebrities to give a pep talk. It really shouldn't have worked, but it did."

"Who was it?" asked Emma. She took another sip of wine, then realized she was out and poured more.

"Clarisse van Rossum. Have you heard of her?"

"You spoke to Clarisse van Rossum?!" said Emma, eyebrows shooting up. "How the hell did you manage that?!"

Ryouko's eyes widened, taken aback by Emma's reaction.

"I didn't 'manage' anything! The therapist was the one who arranged the talk."

"Yeah but I don't get to talk to her!" Emma said, waving the bottle before hurriedly catching the slosh with her cup. "Like, holy shit, I'm not even a fangirl but it's Clarisse van Rossum!"

"Well, you get yourself traumatized enough for them to get a fancy counselor from Earth and then we'll see," Ryouko said, with more than a little snap.

Emma winced and recoiled. "I— sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's okay," Ryouko said. "I'm sorry."

Asami gave Ryouko an odd look, and Emma could see in her eyes that she was worried. Something was different about Ryouko, just a little.

"Well, I guess you'll get your chance to see Clarisse soon enough," Asami said, turning back towards Emma. "She claims she's on her way here, though I don't know how she expects not to get shot down by aliens."

Emma visibly flinched as she found herself conflicted. Clarisse van Rossum showing up was cause for some fairly loud celebration. The number of reasons was fairly high, but the upshot of it was that things were looking up if Clarisse was arriving.

On the other hand, Ryouko was… well that retort had been out of character, even for Ryouko. The two of them snarked at each other all the time, but…

"I guess, yeah," said Emma. She drank more wine, then realized she'd reached the end of her cup again. "Here uh, Asami, you hold the bottle. I'm drinking too fast."

The silence stretched on for a long moment, the three girls staring into their respective cups. What else was there to say? They all knew what was going on, but none of them knew the trick to feeling better about it.

"Well, you know," Asami said. "I think the Turians might not be so bad. They've just been ordered to invade this colony for some stupid political reason. The actual soldiers are just normal people. Like us. Though they're terrified of AIs for some reason."

"Hnm," Emma grunted, swallowing. She knew very well that the Turians were just normal people. She'd been stabbing them in the chest all morning. "The random terror thing is stupid."

"Apparently they have a lot of bad history with AIs. There was a race called the Quarians that had to flee their own homeworld due to crafting dangerous, rogue AIs. Apparently, they never figured out Volokhov's formulas."

"Well, you know the story behind Volokhov's formulas," said Emma, shrugging. "Maybe they don't have magical girls of their own? How do you know all this anyway?"

"Oh, I've been, uh, talking to our prisoner. Participating in our interrogations. She's been a lot more willing to talk, after I got to know her. Still won't tell us anything actually useful for combat, though."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "You know, somehow, I don't feel like Nadya would have approved of that."

"Oh, she did," Asami said. "She said I've been very helpful."

"…after you snuck in and beat up the prisoner, and then you two bonded or something like that," Ryouko commented.

"Don't tell her that!" Asami said. "I swear, you're jealous of Eunoe or something."

"I am not jealous of a Turian."

"This was before the soldiers showed up?" asked Emma, raising her eyebrow and waving for more wine. "Tell me more, it sounds interesting."

Asami shrugged.

"It's not that interesting. I was just… curious how they could do that to poor Abigail, and I was a little angry, and then the Turian apologized. It's not like she did the deleting—it's just they're terrified of AIs. They seem to think AIs will kill everyone."

"Yeah, about that," Ryouko interjected. "You know, it's occurred to me: Governance is mostly AIs. How are they going to respond to that?"

Asami opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, then gaped slightly.

"I did not think of that," she said.

Emma grimaced, then waggled her fingers at the wine bottle to tip alcohol into her cup.

Silence descended as they considered the situation.

"I guess we'll just have to win," Emma said eventually. "I mean, can you see any other way out of this? We have to stand our ground and push them back, otherwise they'll just steamroll over us and try to destroy everything."

"I'm not sure that's going to solve anything, in the big picture," Ryouko says. "Obviously, for our sakes, we'd prefer to win, but if they're that scared of AIs, I could see them turning this war into something much bigger, once they understand what Governance is."

"So we'll have to kill them harder? I dunno," said Emma morosely. "I don't want to fight this war. It's stupid. But I don't want Humanity to get stomped because some jackass is afraid of us. We've a right to live our own lives."

"That's not really a solution. That's basically just saying 'Humanity, fuck yeah!'" Ryouko said, shaking her head. "I mean, I get where you're coming from, but we have to try to think about what might happen in the future."

"It's pointless to just guess like this," Asami said. "If we really want to know how things will turn out, Eunoe is probably the best person to ask."

"The Turian?" Emma asked. "That's—"

She paused.

"…that's not a bad idea actually," said Emma thoughtfully. "Ryouko, could you maybe teleport us into where she's being held?"

"You want to talk to the Turian?" Ryouko said. "Are you trying to sneak around the guards and Nadya? How are you going to stop them from hearing us?"

Emma shook her head.

"We could just text her?"

"She has no implants," Asami said. "Look, just ask to be on the next questioning session if you want to talk to her. I can probably talk Nadya into it."

Emma reached again for her wine cup, but found that Ryouko had taken it away.

"Awww, come on," she said, reaching forward. "I'm not that—"

She found herself grasping the edge of the table, and realized her balance was more shot than she thought it was.

Emma gulped, turning her intoxication controls back on. Ordinarily, she would have considered sleeping it off, but that probably wasn't a good idea in a situation where she might be in combat at any time. She felt Ryouko and Asami's eyes on her, and realized that they weren't likely to think of her as "senpai" anytime soon.

"Yeah, I, uh, guess I'll just join the next questioning session, then."

Despite her most fervent wishes for juvenile delinquency, Emma had good senpais while she was in school. She'd only been able to sneak a drink once, using a bit of software she'd downloaded from a forum. It'd been a very good drink, or at least she remembered it fondly. Or she thought she remembered. She'd also downloaded a hack to turn off her intoxication filters, so things were a little hazy. In the end, Emma had been caught quite quickly and handily.

However, Emma had never actually deleted the software, since peer-to-peer sharing was the business of the peers in question. While corporate life was not really all that comparable to being in a war, certain parallels existed. Standing, now, in front of the door to the Turian prisoner, this was clearly a situation where more alcohol was needed.

"Okay, so before we go in, there are some things you need to know," said Asami. "The standard protocol has been sent to you already, so…"

Emma bit back a sigh as she scrolled through the list of biological protocols used to prevent bias in an experiment. This list, in particular, made her pine for the bottle of umeshu, disposed of via rubbish bin.

"Look, Asami, uh," said Emma, "yes it's important to prevent this stuff, but are you sure it's applicable?"

"Well…" Asami looked away, rubbing her arm. "I guess it's not totally useful, but the general idea is valid."

"Yeah, that's true," said Emma. She looked down at her shoes. She was untransformed, as was Asami.

It'd have been nice to be in costume. It felt… safer.

"Anyway, let's go in," said Asami with a nod. "Since I know her better, I'll take the lead?"

"Yeah, good idea."

The closet that Eunoe had been stored inside of was somewhat unusually spacious. It was large enough to hold three cleaning drones, stacked atop each other in their recharge/resupply cradle. This, and a few bottles of cleaning supplies, had been stripped out of the room when Eunoe was pulled in, but the grommets for the cradle hadn't been ripped out of the wall completely.

Asami poked her head through the door.

"Ah, hey, Eunoe?" said Asami. "Can we come in?"

Eunoe waved at her from the back, where she had sat down against the wall. "Well I'm the prisoner here. Can't really stop you."

"Oh, well, it, um, seemed polite," said Asami. She opened the door more fully. "Ah, this is my friend, Emma."

"Hello," said Emma, nodding at the Turian. It was… odd, seeing one like this. The alien was almost lounging, though its armor didn't really make it possible to really relax. The armor was the standard dark metal, matte to keep from being too reflective and glowing where indicator lights for systems were placed in the exterior. A layer of foliage-coloration had been applied over the top, allowing the Turian to blend in more inside a forest.

"Emma, this is Eunoe," said Asami, gesturing. "She uh… well, I don't actually know any personal information, Eunoe. Are you allowed to tell us anything?"

"Well, there's my serial number," said Eunoe. "But technically, no. It's something about psychological leverage."

"Why are you talking then?" asked Emma.

Eunoe went very quiet for a moment. "I… I decided that it wasn't worth it."

Emma let the topic drop. She didn't want to talk about it much herself.

"So, uh, in that case, can you tell us more about yourself?" asked Asami. She sat down in front of Eunoe, cross-legged, and fixed her with an attentive look. "Where are you from? What's your family like?"

Eunoe turned her head slightly, closing her eyes for a moment to think. She clasped her hands behind her back, a gesture that Asami was beginning to realize Turians must do frequently.

"I'm from Palaven. That's, uh, the Turian capital world. My parents are scientists. The quiet sort. They weren't exactly happy when I joined the infantry, but, you know, I wanted to make a difference. I don't have any siblings."

"Ooh, what sort of science do they do?" asked Asami.

"They're physicists," Eunoe said. "Mostly work with mass effect stuff. Nothing I know much about."

"Ah, fair enough," said Asami. "Hm, well, what about Palaven? What's it like there? I assume the world is divided into administrative sections? How does that work?"

"I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind," Eunoe said.

Asami sighed, but tried again. "Not even about, like, the food?"

Eunoe shrugged.

"I honestly wouldn't know where to start, or how to explain it to you. Do you think you could summarize the food of your home planet in a few sentences? Lots of variety. That being said, the thing I think I miss the most are my home district's sausages. We're famous for them, and none of the colony worlds really match up."

She looked down for a second.

"You know, I was wondering, is your species a dextro or levo-amino acid species? I was thinking dextro, since I've been eating the food you've been giving me no problem, but I wasn't sure."

Emma blinked, then looked at Asami. "What's—?"

"Well, this planet happens to be a dextro biosphere," Asami said before Emma could finish, "and the analysis of the foods your squad was carrying suggested dextro was fine, so we just gave you that. For what it's worth, we can eat both. We're natively levo, but when you're colonizing planets and running an interstellar economy, it's easiest if you just make sure everyone can eat both."

Emma shifted nervously.

Is this really the thing to be discussing with her? she thought.

Eunoe's mouth hung open for a moment, giving Asami and Emma an excellent view of the alien's odd mandibles.

"Your species can do that?" Eunoe said finally, with obvious astonishment. "You're not bullshitting me?"

"Yes," Asami said, with a trace of deliberate pride. "It's technology we might have considered sharing if, you know, you had come in peace."

Emma turned towards Asami, shooting a thought:

You know, the implants might take some time to transfer to Turian physiology, if Governance would really be willing to share it, if these Turians are okay with implants—

I'm just impressing her, Asami thought back. Get with the program.

Eunoe looked down at the floor, seeming to think for a moment.

"You probably have no idea how much that would revolutionize the galactic economy," she said. "Just the increased food tourism alone would make a Volus have an orgasm. If you'll excuse my language, I guess."

The group shared a moment of levity. Emma had no idea what a "volus" was, but the idea of tourism giving anything an orgasm was hilarious.

A pause, then Emma cleared her throat.

"To change the topic, you mentioned earlier that this Galactic Council has banned AIs," said Emma. " We haven't really mentioned it to you before, because we hadn't gotten permission to tell you. What do you think would be your Council's reaction if they were to learn that our government is more than fifty percent composed of AIs? That they run all our factories and production facilities?"

Eunoe shifted a little, seeming to grimace a little. She glanced between the two of them again, seeming to be trying to read their faces.

"I honestly don't know," she said. "It depends on the politics. I could easily see them declaring war immediately, but at the same time, you humans seem to be doing alright, unlike what happened to the Quarians. You've told me about your Volokhov rules—if you can get the Salarians to look at those first, maybe… I don't know. I shouldn't tell you this, but I would keep that a secret for as long as possible. Try to get the Salarians to go gaga for your technology first if you can."

Eunoe looked down for a moment, then grimaced more obviously.

"You know, by telling me that you've made me poison, you know? I wouldn't be surprised if your leaders had me killed before my colleagues out there can storm this compound. Speaking frankly."

"As if," Emma snapped, obviously annoyed. "I won't let them."

Eunoe snorted.

"I didn't have to tell you any of this," she said. "Just so you know. Whatever it is you girls do with your costumes and such, it won't hold up to the Hierarchy war machine for more than a few days, tops."

"Is that so? Well you haven't seen anything until you've seen our fleet—"

"That's enough," Asami exhorted, grabbing Emma by the arm. "We're talking to Eunoe to try to find options for peace, not to swing our ovaries around comparing fleets!"

"Fine, fine," Emma said, subsiding.

Eunoe glanced away from the two of them, at the corner of the room.

"Having had the time to interact with humans," she said. "I can say that I would like peace too, but the more I learn about your AIs, the more worried I am about the Council. The Council is normally all about peace and diplomacy, but they go a little crazy when robots and AIs get involved. If it were up to us Turians, it would be war, guaranteed, I'm sorry to say. It'd be up to the Asari."

Eunoe put one hand to her head, seeming to nurse a headache.

"I never asked to be involved in anything like this."

"I understand," Asami said.

Eunoe frowned for a moment.

"Swinging ovaries?" she asked. "That's an odd saying."

"Yeah," Asami agreed. "It's an old saying among our, uh, organization. I'm not really sure where it comes from myself. Doesn't make sense to me."

"No, it's not that. I have a friend, Adrea, who used to say something similar. Just kind of weird."

Asami and Emma glanced at each other.

"Anyway," Asami said. "Let's change topics. I had a few questions about these Asari you mentioned…"

"As you have all heard, we have been promised that the fleet will be here within 48 hours, and that if we only hold out for that long, we will survive. For those of you who have not been within the military, it may be natural to wonder why we called a meeting to arrange an attack on these Turians. Given the strategic situation, it may be natural to assume that a determined defense is called for."

Colonel Herbert von Richthofen paced across the virtual stage as he spoke, seemingly determined to pierce each of them with his gaze. Nadya stood to one side, peering over the crowd with an unreadable expression.

A holographic overview of the battlefield appeared behind them, displaying in 2D-map form the area around the surviving sector of the colony, as well as what they knew of alien orbital deployments, hovering far over the surface.

"The unfortunate truth is, the odds are against us, even with the aliens on the clock. After the failure of their last attack, the aliens have begun gathering an even more massive attack, aimed directly at the center of our main battle line."

He turned to the map and pointed at a ragged streak of dots, barely coherent. Many areas, far too obviously critical, had been handed over to the civilian militia as a matter of necessity. When compared with the solid, dense lines of the gathering Turians, it seemed more a wisp of cloud. A puff of smoke seeking to stand against hurricane winds.

"This is our main battle line."

The virtual room went very quiet.

"As you can see, the situation is not ideal," von Richthofen said with the understatement so typical of his English ancestry. "While the actions of our…"

"Magical girls," said Nadya.

"…magical girls were instrumental," continued von Richthofen, shifting uncomfortably at the unusual phrasing, "We are like the defenders on Placer Mountain, at Albuquerque, cut off and surrounded, but we must hold. When the foothills of that famous mountain were seized, they did not wait for the storm to break over them—instead, they attacked, seizing the hills back, startling the enemy just long enough to freeze their offensive and regroup. They bought more time interrupting the enemy's plan than if they had simply sat and waited."

He paused for effect.

"And so it must be here. Thanks to our newfound unique capabilities, in the form of teleporters—" Ryouko fidgeted as attention briefly focused on her "—we can strike wherever and whenever we please, and the enemy does not yet know it. This is an advantage that will only have value if we use it. If we wait until their iron fist is already punching through our lines, it will be too late."

He turned towards the map behind him, which switched focus from their own lines to the lines of the enemy, focusing on a small feature far in the rear.

"Our drone surveillance, as well as the services of Miss Echizen and Wu here, indicate quite clearly that this building now serves as the alien command center for their entire assault on this city. It is clearly staffed by the alien equivalent of generals and staff officers. Given the primitive nature of alien communications and command systems, it is likely that decapitating their command structure will destabilize their entire attack. If possible, the capturing of general officers will create opportunities for negotiation. At the very least, it will buy us time and make them hesitate to bombard us from orbit."

Von Richthofen glanced around the crowd, making eye contact with those he could. Ryouko saw his eyes meet hers for a moment, and squirmed again.

"I am hesitant to ask for more sacrifices from our… magical girls, you understand, but the opportunity must be taken. I have discussed our options with Miss Antipova here—a lightning strike, directly into an important staff meeting, teleport in, teleport out, and leaving an enormous bomb behind, will, I think get the job done."

"In addition, depending on the capabilities of Miss Shizuki here, we will attempt to destroy as much of the enemy logistics structure as we can. We have identified additional structures we believe to house generators that provide the battery power distributed to their forces, and used to power their eezo-powered weapons. Careful clairvoyant tracking by Miss Wu seems to indicate that this constant supply of power is crucial to the operation of their artillery and vehicles, though less so their small arms. Simultaneous to these additional operations, our offensive drones will strafe and bomb their battery dumps, attempting to destroy as much of their stored power as possible."

"Then, and only then, with their generators destroyed and Miss Shizuki taking a well-deserved rest, the magical girls will lead a surprise assault on their flanks. With their command in disarray, their ammo supplies depleted, and explosions all around them, it is hoped that their line will fold, and that they will be forced into retreat."

He took a moment to assess the looks on the faces of the crowd.

"It is a risky plan, yes, but our simulations indicate that it is the most likely way for us to survive the upcoming forty-eight hours. It will require the utmost cooperation for everyone involved—the main line will exert itself to hide the reallocation of forces to the flanks and the sentries and skirmishers must be on full alert for alien attacks. I do not have to tell you what's at stake, only that I expect the highest valor from each one of you."

He peered around the crowd one last time.

"And now, your unit commanders will brief you on your specific assignments. Dismissed."

"So how are you doing?"

Ryouko jerked in surprise at the question, not at the content, but at the voice speaking it.

She gaped upward at Rika the telepath, who stood over her looking down, looking no worse than she ever had.

"I-I guess I'm okay?"

The other girl knelt down next to Ryouko, on the edge of the curb that Ryouko sat on. A moment later, she shifted to sit next to Ryouko instead.

The other girl took a moment to look over the scenery in front of them, an expanse of forest

broken only slightly by the collection of buildings on its edge. It looked peaceful, but switching to her newly unlocked infrared vision allowed Ryouko to see the collection of alien soldiers and vehicles gathering underneath the trees, and Rika would have seen the same thing. The view from the top of the building was a mixed blessing, at best.

"I'm sorry about almost getting you killed," Ryouko said.

"You can apologize if you want," Rika said without looking at her, "but it doesn't really matter to me if you do. All that matters to me is that you stop killing yourself about it."

She turned, grabbing Ryouko by the face to force her to make eye contact.

"They told me how depressed you look. They sent me here to talk to you. I'm fine. They regenerated me. I didn't even feel anything. And even if I had died, do you think I'd blame you for what happened? We're all too young for this, Ryouko. We can only do the best we can."

The girl released Ryouko's face and looked down.

"If you're worried about me, I'm fine. If you're worried about letting everyone down, then prove yourself on this mission. Don't waste time feeling sad for yourself."

Ryouko nodded, slowly.

"I— I just can't forget, the way I couldn't—"

"It's our fault for pushing you too hard," Rika said. "This time, we've carefully measured out how much teleporting you have to do. If something becomes too much, we come back, and you rest. That's the entire plan. You don't have to do more than that. In battle, just hang tight and the rest of us will cover you."

Ryouko nodded again.

"That sounds reassuring, I guess."

Rika leaned over, hugging her in an unexpected gesture of intimacy. She felt warm and pleasant, and Ryouko felt a pang of guilt for thinking that.

"Let's head down and get ready," Rika said. "We'll feel better with some equipment on us. Bullets may not be as good as arrows, but they don't cost magic."

Rika jumped up, heading towards the stairwell down without looking back.

Ryouko followed a moment later.

"Don't grip so tight," said Annalise, "your implants can take care of most of the recoil,"

Emma grunted and tried to relax her hold on the gun. She and Annalise were at an improvised firing range set up behind the IIC Node. Some steel plates had been propped up twenty-five meters distant. A series of large, concrete slabs in the shade of the IIC Node buildings formed barriers for the shooters to stand behind. The girls who had been assigned to the strike mission were supposed to use it to familiarize themselves with the military hardware. Emma was the first one there.

"Now you're hunching your shoulders," said Annalise patiently.

Emma sighed, put the gun down, and rolled her shoulders. "Ugh. This is like learning how to dribble a football all over again."

"Well considering you've never shot a gun before, that sounds about right," said Annalise, shrugging. "C'mon now, you don't have much time."

"Yeah yeah," said Emma. She breathed in deeply, then back out. The gun lay on the table, an innocuous block of metal and polymer.

Being selected for the mission made for an interesting set of mixed feelings. It was pleasant, in the sense that it gave Emma a sort of warm feeling in her chest. She liked feeling like she was doing something important, and that she could be depended on by her teammates.

It also scared her. It meant that she was very good at killing.

Still, she was going to be going on a mission that would, hopefully, minimize bloodshed on all sides. This wasn't the time to get all philosophical about what she was doing. Emma grit her metaphorical teeth as she picked the gun up and stood in shooting position.

"Okay, your stance is… good," said Annalise with a small wince. "Remember, your implants will handle most of everything. Just stay focused and let the gun surprise you."

Emma rolled her eyes, just a little. The Mk. 27 Close Support Pistol, the one she and everyone else going on the strike mission had been given, was a monster of a weapon. The kickback was tremendous, and it was extraordinarily loud. Letting the gun "surprise" her was probably somewhat inadvisable, even if the advice allowed for better accuracy.

Annalise stepped back, giving Emma her room. "Whenever you're ready."

Don't pull, squeeze. Gently now, don't rush it. Breath in-two-three, out-two-th—

Emma jumped as the gun exploded in her hands. She dropped it immediately, the weapon clattering as it bounced off the ground.

Annalise leaned back out from cover. "Yeah, uh, try and keep a better grip on it next time?" she said. "I know I told you to let it surprise you, but…"

"It's loud, alright?" said Emma testily. She bent down and picked the gun back up. "I'll… get used to it. Or something."

"Well, at least you managed to get a good shot in before dropping the damn thing," said Annalise. "Check it out downrange."

Emma looked. There was a gaping hole in the center of the steel plate being used for target practice.

"…Damn."

"Give it a few more tries," said Annalise encouragingly. "Then you can find out why we call it 'the Crisper'."

"Right."

The second shot was still absolutely ridiculous. The "Crisper" was only effective at short range, but packed the punch of a sniper rifle designed to be effective over several kilometers. Each slug hit with the ballistic equivalent of a freight train, nevermind the spray of pellets that preceded it. Impossible to use in any other century, the Crisper hadn't even been considered feasible until military implants allowed soldiers to adequately control the recoil. For a magical girl, it was theoretically even easier.

That was, if Emma could get the hang of shooting the damn thing.

"Got the hang of it?" asked Annalise after the fifth echoing report.

"I guess?" said Emma, setting down the gun and shaking out her hands. "Jeez, that wears out your hands."

"I thought you said that magical girls were better than that?" said Annalise with amusement. She laughed when Emma rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I'm just messing with ya'. It's your first time shooting. You really should be starting on something smaller, but, well, we don't have enough time. I'll make it up to you."

"How's that then?" asked Emma as Annalise rummaged in her uniform.

"Ah, I got some other ammo from the depot," said Annalise. "It's always a pain to find and carry individual rounds, but the Crisper's the one gun we're all okay with in that regard. Hand me the gun?"

Emma handed the weapon over to Annalise, holding it by the barrel as was proper.

"Thanks," said Annalise. She removed the gun's empty magazine and tucked it into her uniform, then handed the gun and a fresh magazine to Emma. "This mag is full of incendiary ammo, instead of the ball ammo we had earlier."

"Uh, are you sure you want me firing this?" asked Emma, holding the weapon gingerly.

"The fire doesn't start until it hits the other end," said Annalise. "Just make sure to keep the gun pointed downrange and we'll be fine."

"Um, fair enough I guess," said Emma. The magazine slotted into the back of the pistol—really it was more of a miniaturized cannon in Emma's opinion—with a heavy click.

"Now, downrange, just like before," said Annalise. "You've got the gist of it already."

"Right."

In-two-three, out-two-thr—

Emma kept ahold of the gun this time as the steel plate opposite her seemed to explode in a curtain of flame.

"Holy shit."

Ryouko winced and flushed at her own profanity as Annalise turned and grinned at her while Emma squeezed off another shot. The pool of fire grew.

"Impressive isn't it?" Annalise shouted over the roar of the gun and the fire. "You're Ryouko right? The teleporter?"

"Yes," said Ryouko, fiddling with the Crisper strapped to her thigh. "I— that's a lot of fire."

"Saved a lotta lives, that fire has," said Annalise with a firm nod. "Particularly on some of the more wild planets. I remember blasting a Giant Fire Worm with that once. Turns out that Fire Worms don't like fire."

Ryouko blinked and looked up the insect. The image of a great, scaly thing capable of swallowing her whole appeared briefly before Ryouko dismissed the image with a shudder. Xenobiology was Asami's thing, not hers, and honestly she was happy not knowing what some of the animals in the galaxy looked like.

"Why're they called Fire Worms then?" asked Ryouko. Emma fired a last shot. The pool of flame had since turned into a large column, dancing in the breeze. Its core was bright white, the steel dripping onto the ground in globs of slag. As the flames reached higher, they shifted into yellow, then orange, flickering back and forth to the sound of buffeting air and hissing, snapping sparks that leaped off of the used-to-be target plate in a bid to spread the flames further.

"Well you know the Bombardier Beetle, on Earth?" asked Annalise rhetorically. "These guys had a similar mechanism, only they fired it at you from a gland on top of their head."

"That sounds… unpleasant."

"It was," said Annalise with a shrug. "But well, it is what it is. That's what being a Frontier Guard is, you know?"

Ryouko shook her head. She pulled her new gun out of its holster and looked at it.

"No. I don't."

"How does it feel?" asked Emma.

"Mm, it's okay," said Ryouko, shifting the armor plates on her torso around and twisting back and forth. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Nadya gave me a quick crash course," said Emma, stepping back and letting the blue glow on her hands fade away. "But well, the military doesn't have any armor your size, and we need to make sure we don't lose you."

"That's… comforting," said Ryouko. She looked down at the smooth metal that covered her chest and, by her neck, her soul gem embedded in its housing.

It all seemed so fragile, suddenly. Nadya had taken the group through a series of simulated practice rounds, with Ryouko at the center of the little formation. Isabella was right next to her, forcefield forming a dome around them just as they teleported in, before Emma and Nadya and Rika had leaped forward to slash at virtual enemies.

A hand tilted Ryouko's chin up. She blinked at Emma.

"Hey now, don't be getting depressed on me," the older magical girl said. She whacked Ryouko on the arm and grinned. "You've got this, yeah? I believe in you."

Ryouko swallowed. "I…"

"Stop worrying about it," said Emma. "This is right up your alley, after all."

"Yeah…."

Right up her alley huh. That included, Ryouko supposed, ripping people in half.

"Ryouko?"

The two of them turned as Asami ran up, out of costume.

"I'll see you at the pad, okay?" said Emma to Ryouko.

"Huh— oh, yeah, alright," said Ryouko. She turned to Asami. "Hi."

"Is that all you have to say?" asked Asami, looking a little sad.

"Well… what else should I say?" asked Ryouko.

"A lot of things," said Asami. She stepped closer to Ryouko and took one of her girlfriend's hands in hers. It was the one with Ryouko's fingernail marking. Taking the finger in hand, Asami brushed her thumb over the top of the star.

"You know, when I first met you, I thought you must have been crazy, intervening like you did. You were my hero for a few minutes, and I thought, wow, if only I could be like her. And then you shut up Inga Sokoloff with a single comment, and I… "

Asami paused, and brushed her thumb over the star once more.

"I think that's when I fell in love with you, Ryouko. You seemed so brave, and strong, even though you were also so small. Like me. I wanted to have that confidence. And then afterwards, as you pulled me away, and it was like I had been swept off my feet in a fairy tale."

"You told me to tell you about myself," said Ryouko quietly. "You're hardly a princess, Asami."

"Heh. No, I suppose not."

They were quiet for a moment.

"Come back to me, okay?" said Asami, looking back up to Ryouko. "I— maybe I shouldn't say that I love you, maybe I'm just freaking out because everything is crazy and— I don't know. I just, we're not done here, okay? We still need to figure stuff out. I want to be with you, at least a little longer."

"Asami…"

"I-I'll see you soon, Ryouko," said Asami. She gulped, then let go of Ryouko's hand. "G-good lu—"

Ryouko stepped forward and pulled Asami towards her by the waist. It was a bit of a clumsy move, in all honesty, what with Asami being surprised and limbs flailing at the suddenness of it all. And it wasn't romantic at all, seeing as Ryouko'd never practiced this maneuver and completely missed on her first try.

But after Asami caught her bearings, but before she caught her breath, Ryouko pulled Asami close and kissed her on the mouth. It was a hard kiss, the sort that she didn't give, at all, and filled with a desperation and a pain that she couldn't put into words.

It took a very long time to complete, and left them breathless when they parted.

Ryouko's implants were starting to beep at her.

"I— I'm coming back, Asami," Ryouko eventually managed. "I mean it."

Asami swallowed, and stepped back.

"Go. I believe in you."

"While I'm down there, I might give the troops a little inspirational speech, maybe raise their morale a little," Legate Septimus mused, peering out of the window of his shuttle at the planet Arcanorum. It was, he thought, a pretty planet, a fine place for these alien colonists to settle down, once this little incident was over with.

He remembered, then, that those same colonists were resisting the intervention with unreasonable amounts of force. He did not want to be a conqueror, but if his troops filled the streets of the alien colony with blood, could he be called anything else?

Not a pleasing thought, but, in the end, he could only rely on knowing what his duty was and performing that duty.

"I'm not sure that is wise, Legate," his second-in-command Arturius said. "The troops don't need a speech from you to perform their duties. They're Turians. Every second you spend down on the surface—"

"Come now, Arturius," Septimus said. "I think you overestimate their chances. What if the word got out to the men that I was rushing back out from fear of these alien 'superweapons'? Better to show some solidarity, I would think."

Arturius shifted uneasily. "If you say so, sir."

Septimus leaned over to peer out the window of his shuttle again, behind the head of one of his bodyguard troopers. There was showing solidarity, and then there was foolhardiness. But his shuttle looked no different from any of the other transports traveling in and out of orbit, and there had been no announcement of his departure or arrival.

"Don't worry, Arturius," he said, "I haven't forgotten the reason I'm traveling to the surface. This has all been very unnerving, and some caution is merited. But I am here to remind everyone that, casualties or not, this campaign is still well in hand, and now that we have clearly measured the alien capabilities, there is no reason not to have confidence in the upcoming assault."

Arturius made a vague grunting noise. He didn't seem to enjoy the idea, but nevertheless followed orders.

Septimus continued to peer down on the blue-green and violet planet. The truth was, the casualties bothered him too. They were more characteristic of an actual war than a mere intervention. Inconsequential compared to the meat grinder of the Krogan Wars, but worrying nonetheless. Despite this, it was his responsibility not to be rattled by such things, and to keep his officers' eyes on the target. In some sense, he was traveling down to reassure his officers, rather than his men.

"I have an odd sense of foreboding," Arturius said. "I'm not sure why."

"I do too," Septimus said. "But let's not be superstitious."

"First target's a simple smash-and-go on a supply depot," said Nadya. "Ryouko, you've got the location dialed in?"

"Yes," said Ryouko. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves.

"Alright, everyone form up then," said Nadya. Emma reached a hand out and clasped Ryouko on the shoulder. The younger girl was skinnier than Emma had been at that age. Thin, and a bit reedy, the result of never trying to fit the "footballist" image.

"Barrier going up," said Isabella. The dome closed around them.

"Powering up," Emma said, a swirl of magic flickering in her palm.

"Ready to go," said Rika. She gripped her spear tightly, ready to leap forward at a moment's notice.

"We are go for the operation," said Nadya. "On your mark, Ryouko."

Emma braced herself. Magic swirled behind her as Ryouko prepared to teleport.

A green flash.

Emma shot forward, the barrier dropping just in time as she and Rika tore through personnel.

Crashing thunder sounded as Emma's vortex spheres pinged out, tearing open walls and weakening support beams, and the screams of the dying Turians mingled with the screams of twisting metal beams as Nadya reached out and pulled and—

—Emma threw herself upwards with a burst of wind to get clear, the Turian response impressively quick, but a spray of wind took care of things handily, and Emma rocketed downwards again.

"Regroup!" Nadya called, snatching a piece of steel into the air and rocketing it into a Turian. "Come on, go, go, go!"

Twin flashes of magic as Emma and Rika jumped, before skidding to a halt and grabbing Ryouko by a fistful of dress, and then another flash of—

—green and they were off again, this time in a command post, spear and halberd points punching through armor and flesh and then a platoon sergeant, scrambling for his sidearm, was pinned against the wall with the crack of carapace meeting prefabbed ceramic.

"Rika!"

The Turian's eyes went wide, scrabbling at Emma's arm, before magic flooded his mind and the eyes went glassy.

"Ryouko!" called Emma, tossing the Turian towards the teleporter group. Twin flashes, broken by a second. Emma and Rika retreated, before Nadya tore the command post's computers from their housings and crushed them into uselessness.

"Go!"

Ryouko teleported again, and now they were—

"—making a line straight for Central!" a panicked commander shouted over comms. "We can't predict where they're coming from!"

"It's a strike team," Septimus said calmly. "Get out of your post and—"

The call went dead abruptly.

"Get everyone out of the command posts and into cover," Septimus said quickly. He turned to the battle holo, activating the display and looking over what remained of the command chain. The bevy of red lights did not speak well to the situation. "I want everyone spread out. If they're here to assassinate, make them work for it."

"What about us, sir?" asked Arturius as comms officers began shouting into their radios and security personnel readied their weapons. The once-orderly command center exploded into activity as workstations were shut down and equipment was shifted. "Should we evacuate?"

"We will do no such thing," said Septimus. "Captain Roranis, get two heavy machine guns and set them up at the entrance to this room. We will—"

"—make for the next target, Ryouko," said Nadya. "Isabella's fine."

"Yeah, I'm okay," said Isabella, holding a hand to her gut. "I've been hurt worse by demons. It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"O-okay," said Ryouko, swallowing thickly and looking away. She focused. "Teleporting in three, two, one."

Flash.

A command post, again, and this time they had to duck behind cover as a fusillade of gunfire responded.

"They're learning!"

"Not fast enough!"

Nadya pushed. Desks and equipment flew. The room's occupants found themselves violently and percussively removed from action.

"Ryouko—" Nadya began, but the younger mage had already flashed over to the Turians, grabbed ahold of the most senior-looking one, and flashed away.

"How're we doing on cubes?" asked Emma. Magic flickered around her arms as she and Rika watched the doors.

"We have enough," said Nadya.

A flash of green.

"Do you need a break?"

"No, 'm fine," said Ryouko. Her gem was reasonably light. "Next?"

"Let's move ladies," said Nadya. The clank of armored feet approached. "Just the main command post now. Ready?"

Nods.

"Alright, here we go."

A flash—

—of green, and immediately the machine guns unloaded a hail of bullets.

"Keep them pinned!" Septimus called out. "Second squad, move to their left and—"

"Emma!"

"On it!"

Septimus's training and experience saved him from getting concussed. The explosion threw him and his soldiers through the air, but diving for cover had mitigated the blow. Instinctively, Septimus went ragdoll and let himself be tossed into the wall. His armor and his body's natural shock-absorbing ability kept him mostly alert.

The world spun, despite it all, and Septimus clawed his way to his feet. Arturius lay nearby, stirring, slowly. Those soldiers wearing helmets were already standing, weapons moving up and acquiring their targets.

"Return fire!" Septimus shouted, then pulled his sidearm, staggering, but the wound sealant worked quickly and—

—Emma cursed as the team dived for cover again, unusually accurate shots snapping past them.

"I thought that worked!"

"Doesn't matter, I've got this," said Nadya. She growled, then stood up with a flourish. The gun—

—jumped out of Septimus's hands, then spun around to smash him across the face.

That was going to scar, at a minimum.

And now the world really was spinning, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Idly, he noticed that he was still crawling for the door, and that the gunfire stopped, why had it— oh, that was one of his troops, missing her head. A wave of nausea swept him, and he vomited violently.

"That's the enemy general!" Nadya called. "We need to grab him while he's down!"

"I'll do it!" volunteered Emma. She waved Ryouko back into cover. "Give Ryouko a break."

Nadya glanced between the two, then nodded.

"Covering fire! Emma, go!"

Emma took a deep breath, then vaulted over the top, launching herself forward in a—

—flash of blue and Septimus was sure he was hallucinating but then a hand on his shoulder and—

Emma felt her instincts scream at her as she whirled away but—

A shotgun's roar.

"EMMA!"

She couldn't— what was— her arm, it hurt, her arm hurt, she needed to—

"Legate, on your feet!" Arturius shouted, booted foot kicking out and tossing the alien away as he grabbed Septimus by the arm and hauled him up. "We need to get out of here!"

"Arturius?"

"Move, Legate! Get—"

Arturius abruptly let go, sending Septimus crashing to the ground. The Legate tried to turn, tried to help—

A dull snap.

"We're clear!" said Nadya, ducking back. The Turian with the shotgun was now out of the picture. "Ryouko, get Emma!"

Ryouko swallowed, but nodded. She popped out of cover, spraying down the opposite end with bolts from her arbalest, before teleporting to Emma's side.

There was blood everywhere. It got on her knees as Ryouko dropped to the ground. No time, not to be repulsed or scared, she needed to get Emma out of the area.

"Wounds first," Nadya said calmly over telepathy. "Magical girls can take a lot of damage, but it's easier to repair if we have all the parts."

Ryouko looked down. The shotgun had torn Emma's arm off just above the elbow. Ryouko choked back a wave of nausea and grabbed onto the limb lying nearby. The older mage was glassy eyed and unconscious, implants already placing her in fugue.

She could hear soldiers coming. A hand on Emma's shoulder, and Ryouko blinked back to the others.

Septimus looked up from where he was on the ground and saw reinforcements sprinting down the corridor and a medic sliding to his knees, medpack already out and beginning to tend to the Legate. Light and sound filled the room as the reinforcements opened fire, making the medic flinch, but—

—a flash of green—

—the enemy was already gone.

"For the record, our team did consider going into one of the derelict 'human' settlements to retrieve some artifacts or armor samples, or perhaps a corpse, but found it far too risky given current battlefield conditions and demonstrated alien capacity."

Jaira T'Ari nodded absently at Thaleon's comment, continuing to flip through the report her former flame had provided her. She would have to give the tablet back after she was done looking through it, but Thaleon had done her a big favor letting her read an eyes-only STG report, one that would cost her dearly someday, she knew.

Her eyes flicked over the final pages of the report, from the STG team on the ground monitoring events, knowing and dreading the words she already knew would be there.

…some bearing archaic melee weapons…

…apparent combat strength vastly exceeding even Krogan levels…

…apparent telekinesis and teleportation…

…remote mental domination of Turian infantry and vehicle commanders…

She had to struggle to school her facial expressions properly. Thaleon was a master at reading expressions, and knew her better than anyone, but even he had never picked up on her big secret, the secret that she saw falling apart before her eyes, on an alien world, far beyond her control.

The truth was, the Phoenix Foundation had already warned her of what she would find here. The clean-up job it would take to keep word of any of this leaking out would be monumental, perhaps even impossible, but this was an all-hands-on-deck moment, she knew, and she would have to try. She was the Asari diplomat on site, and it was her responsibility to contain the situation and keep it from getting worse.

Above all, it was imperative that she establish her own, separate contact with these "humans", and convince their mages to go back into hiding, and to bring them under the umbrella of the Phoenix Foundation. She had the authority to offer almost any concession the Foundation thought it could wring out of the Turians and Council, the authority to do almost anything she wanted in defense of the Masquerade. Almost like a SPECTRE, in fact.

If only there were some way to make contact…

She looked up at Thaleon, who was watching her with a slightly curious expression. The STG operative had in fact provided her with new information, even if she had worried at first that she had traded favors for a report useless to her. In between the many Masquerade-destroying revelations contained on the page were hints of something else: unusual armored combat suits, impressive drone swarm technology, powerful weaponry, extraordinary combat cohesion—speaking as an Asari diplomat, a veritable laundry list of reasons to make the humans allies, rather than enemies. If the alien mages could be brought to cooperate with the Phoenix Foundation, they could all to work ensure that an alliance happened.

And why wouldn't they cooperate, if they knew the Foundation's goals?

But first, she had to make contact.

"You seem less surprised than I expected," Thaleon said, perceptive as always. "Perhaps you already had word of this? I must say, I would not believe this report if it did not come from trained STG operatives. Even though it does, I must wonder if the aliens have some kind of hallucinogenic weapon."

Yes, a hallucinogenic weapon was one of the explanations the Foundation expected to have to invoke for this particular incident. She had expected Thaleon to consider it as a possibility—it was one of the only ways to explain this that made sense in a sane world.

In a sane world.

She thought for a moment. On the surface of it, what she had to do was clear. This report, in all its particulars, could not be allowed to reach beyond a few key Foundation agents embedded in the Salarian government. Unfortunately, all STG agents operated to some degree on their own—Thaleon's presence on her ship testified as much. In the hands of Thaleon, the report could reach far too many places beyond his official superiors. That logic applied to the members of the STG team too, of course.

There was only one person well-placed to stop Thaleon and the STG team from spreading the information too widely. There was also one person in her contact who could potentially make contact with the humans quickly, without Turian intermediaries. The humans would be more inclined to trust a Salarian than any Turian Adrea could sneak across the lines.

Both of those people were Thaleon himself, of course, who was now too valuable to kill, for which she was glad.

Two enemies with one bullet, as the Turian saying went. All it took was for her to bring Thaleon in on the secret, and convince him of the necessity of cooperation. She wouldn't have hesitated, if it weren't so damn personal.

"I can see the wheels turning in your head," Thaleon said, tilting his head slightly. "It's the same look you used to have, when you were trying to think of a suitable excuse for the two of us to be alone in a room, except I don't think that's it this time."

Jaira sighed, reaching into her drawer for a tablet that contained the introductory material for new, non-mage Trustees.

"You have trusted me with a secret, Thaleon," she said. "Now I must trust you with a bigger one."

"The fleet will be there in about forty hours," Governance: Military Affairs said, standing to address the Directorate from his position between Science and Technology and Public Order. "From the observations of the orbital drones during their improvised attack on the alien fleet, the fleet that has been gathered should be more than a match for these aliens, provided they don't have too many surprises for us. I would have preferred to bring a bit more firepower, but this is the limit of what is possible given the time constraints and the resources that have been allocated to contingency preparations."

"And it was sufficient, apparently," Health and Happiness commented, glaring at the other Representative from across the council floor.

The Directorate were a motley lot, by appearance as well as personality. The contrast between the gruff Military Affairs, decked out in a combination of armor suit and dress uniform, and the classically beautiful Health and Happiness, who looked like every teenage boy's Freudian wet dream, was particularly extreme.

For today's full meeting, the Directorate had chosen to site themselves—virtually, of course—on board Governance's primary civilian and military shipyard, Carthago Station, an enormous floating sea of islands set high in Earth orbit. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room they sat in were transparent, showing the green, white, and blue orb of Earth floating in the distance far beneath them. The chairs they sat in were invisible, apparitions designed not to interfere with the view. The table itself was dominated by a slowly-rotating piece of brass sculpture set in the center and the majestic empty throne that sat at the end.

It was an actual room that could be found on Carthago, but was rarely used in practice, being somewhat over-ornate, and rather unsettling.

"That is a bit misleading to say," Science and Technology said, addressing Health and Happiness. "After all, there was no reasonable expectation that the colony would hold out as long as it did, and it only did so by a mechanism that we have to conclude is a bit… unorthodox."

"Do you believe the accounts originating from Nazra Invictus, then?" Public Order asked.

"I believe that the people there see what they claim to see," Science and Technology said. "Whether what these supposedly magical girls are doing is indeed magical, or merely sufficiently advanced technology, is beside the point. What matters is what they are doing, that they exist, and what implications it has."

"And what of this organization that they claim to represent?" Artificial Intelligence asked, glancing at Public Order. "How is it that we have never noticed such an organization? It must be local, or small."

Public Order, one of the humans on the Directorate, was a slenderly-built Japanese woman with her hair in a long ponytail. She smiled slightly, almost shyly, brushing her bangs to the side, as the table looked to her for an explanation. It was her role, after all, in the adhocracy known as Governance.

"The organization is not at all small," Public Order began. She stood, keeping her hands on the table. Even after all these years, she still found being short more comfortable than not.

"Indeed, it is rather pervasive," continued Yuma, MSY Director of Governmental Affairs, "and I, for one, have known about it for a long time."

"This is a disaster." Legate Septimus said, leaning over the strategic map display in his office on board the dreadnought Endurance.

"I'm not sure I would say that, Legate," his newly-promoted second-in-command, Vitellius, countered. "The battlefield is still very much in our control. We need only regroup and strike again."

Septimus grimaced, hiding the gesture underneath the mask he was wearing to hold together his shattered mandible. A talon tugged at the subvocal translator strapped around his neck, the highly sensitive microphone allowing him to move his jaws as little as possible while they healed. The medics didn't think he should be at work at all, and he had been forced to browbeat them with his rank to get them to allow him up from his bed.

It would be at least two weeks of a liquid diet for him, a prospect he dreaded only slightly less than having to spend those two weeks working with this Vitellius, an ambitious, uninspired careerist if he ever saw one.

Arturius had been a fine officer, one who served the Hierarchy and Legion above all else, and who would have been a little more perceptive than this… Vitellius.

Septimus wondered what it would take to be able to safely fire him. In all likelihood he wouldn't be able to, so perhaps he would be able to promote Vitellius into a different post somewhere far away, except that would entail convincing the Hierarchy to make Vitellius a Legate, a prospect Septimus found exquisitely distasteful.

Septimus sighed, careful to ensure that he directed the vocalism at the map, rather than at Vitellius.

"Nonetheless, it is a disaster, from all angles," Septimus insisted. "Our front lines have been rolled out of position and the command hierarchy has been broken. It has taken and will take considerable time to rebuild both properly. Much of our heavy artillery and vehicles have been destroyed—or looted—and despite all the efforts of the Logistics Legion, we will not be able to launch a proper attack for days, by which time the alien fleet will almost certainly have arrived."

Vitellius made a constipated-looking expression.

"We can certainly take them as they come, Legate," he said. "Do you doubt the troops?"

"Don't be a fool, Vitellius," Septimus said, allowing a bit of the mockery he felt to leak into his voice. "Proper leadership is not just about winning battles, no matter what they told you in training. It is about accomplishing the objectives that have been set out for you. Our objectives were to seize this planet as a starting point for negotiations with the alien leadership regarding respect for Council regulations. Our objective was not to start a major war, which major fleet combat would undoubtedly result in."

Septimus stared at Vitellius a moment longer, making sure he got the point, then looked back at the map, shifting units experimentally with his hands even though he knew there was no point. It was just habit.

"I'm afraid our time is running out, Vitellius," Septimus said, managing to avoid making the name sound like an insult. "Neither the Council nor the Hierarchy will stomach a major war, especially after a debacle like this, and I'm sure the diplomats and agents are already on their way to render us irrelevant. There will be no time for another attack."

He tapped a button on the display to emphasize his point, allowing it to display the estimated time for troop movements, new units to arrive, and the accelerating appearance rate of alien probes and scouts.

"And make no mistake, Vitellius," Septimus said, "this was a debacle. Think about how it will sound once the media gets ahold of it. 'Turians embarrassed with massive casualties.' 'Turians wander into trap, lose half of their commanding officers. Legate Septimus forced to flee back to command ship with tail between legs.' And so on and so forth. More importantly, these aliens have shown that they are powerful, and if there is one thing the Council respects, it is power."

"That is very cynical, Legate," Vitellius said.

Septimus exerted all of his willpower to avoid saying or doing anything in response, preferring to continue shuffling his units into new hypothetical positions, in the hopes that it would make him feel better.

"What do you think is the source of the aliens' powers, Legate?" Vitellius asked, looking thoughtful for a moment. "The men on the ground are starting to spread rumors that it's magic, and the Legion information officers don't really know what else to tell them."

A vision flashed in front of Septimus's eyes, of blue and purple and red, streaks of light and sparks that danced through the air and—

He saw Arturius suspended in the air for a moment, shotgun crumpling itself, as his second-in-command reached desperately for his throat before it collapsed, and he hung limp for a moment, neck broken.

"It's not magic," said Septimus, very carefully holding himself still. "We're not sure what it is yet. The command staff had been discussing the possibility of some sort of hallucinogenic gas, which is not entirely unprecedented."

Privately, though, he had his doubts. It wasn't hallucinogenic gas that had killed Arturius. But then what was it?

"Should I have gas masks distributed to the troops, then?" Vitellius asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

"That seems like a sensible precaution," Septimus said, because it was. Vitellius did, in fact, have a functioning brain for the basics.

"Very well."

A pause.

"Perhaps it is time for us to bombard the planet, Legate?" Vitellius said. "That would nullify whatever it is that the aliens are doing, and it would be fast. I know there will be regrettable civilian casualties, but—"

"Absolutely not," Septimus said, standing upright and grinding his teeth to avoid shouting at his second-in-command. His jaw creaked, in the most literal sense, but he didn't care. "I will not have that kind of blood on my hands, or the hands of the Hierarchy. Besides that, can you imagine the implications that would have politically with the Asari, and the other species? Do you have no head for politics? How exactly did you—"

A light flashed on the display on Septimus's console, and Septimus tapped it immediately, grateful for any distraction from the current, distressing conversation.

It was brevet Colonel Drusus, the new ranking officer on the planet surface.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Legate, sir, the uh, alien colonists have sent an officer through with a request for a ceasefire, in order to collect the wounded and dead, and also to discuss the possibility of prisoner exchanges. I was going to turn him back, but I think this kind of thing should be dealt with on your authority, sir."

"That is correct, Colonel," Septimus said, buying time for himself to think. "And you have acted correctly by reporting it. Decisions of that nature can only be made by me."

He let the silence stand for a moment, thinking about the matter. He had expected the aliens to offer a ceasefire—it was only natural, after what had just occurred. The aliens probably thought that their officer prisoners would cause the Turians to hesitate, due to the implicit hostage-taking involved. More importantly, it would buy them time for their fleet to arrive and change the nature of the game.

"You can't possibly be considering it," Vitellius said.

"Do not speak to me without addressing me properly, Tribune Vitellius," Septimus snapped. "I am the commanding officer because I understand the situation, and you do not."

Septimus paused, turning away to hide his abrupt regret at his words. But, they could not be taken back now.

"How much time did the aliens want?" Septimus asked, addressing Drusus over the communications relay.

Drusus had almost certainly heard the exchange between Septimus and Vitellius, but showed impressive composure by responding with a calm:

"Two days, based on this planet's days, though they were willing to negotiate—"

"Done. Tell them we agree to those conditions, and ensure they are carried out. I will send further instructions later."

In two days, the Council negotiators would certainly already be here, and the situation would be out of his hands.

"The aliens also wanted to speak to you, Legate, or to someone authorized to negotiate."

Septimus looked over at Vitellius.

"Legate, I am sorry—"

"Don't trouble yourself over that. I will be going down to the surface to see what… diplomacy can accomplish. You will be in command of the fleet until I return. Your job is to ensure nothing happens and that if the alien fleet gets here, that there is no battle. Do you understand me?"

"I-I do, sir."

"Then you are dismissed. Go arrange my transport."

Vitellius saluted crisply, but nervously, then dashed out of his office.

"You heard that, Colonel?" Septimus asked.

"Yes I did, Legate. If I may say so, Sir, are you sure it is wise for you to head down to the planet? They may try to capture you."

"They can try," Septimus said. "And if they somehow succeed, then I will want you in command of the ground forces. I won't have that idiot Vitellius trying to run a battle on the ground."

"Sir? But he outranks me?"

"He won't. Congratulations, brevet Tribune."

"Sir, I mean Legate, this is a tremendous honor—" Drusus began, the emotion in his voice evident.

"The honor is mine, Tribune," Septimus interrupting. "Please, go attend to your duties. I'll have the paperwork sent shortly. You and Vitellius will be equal rank, as co-commanders."

It didn't fit customary Legion structure, but Septimus didn't feel like caring. He would have sacked Vitellius or made Drusus outrank him, but that level of insult would have attracted the attention of Vitellius's political backers. Besides, he hardly knew Colonel Drusus, even if he seemed like a good soldier—it was just that anyone would be better than Vitellius. There would be time to properly evaluate Drusus's brevet promotion later.

Septimus sighed. His jaw ached. He needed some more painkillers.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"That was…"

"Mmhm."

"Was it as good for you?"

Jaira was amused, briefly, by the mental image of her sipping a drink while Thaleon waxed rapturous next to her.

"Well, you know how it works for Asari," said Jaira, reaching out and running a hand down one of Thaleon's horns. "The better it was for you, the better it was for me."

"Yeah," said Thaleon. He had an adorable grin across his face that stirred very, very old feelings in Jaira's chest. "Yeah. I just— wow."

"It's a big secret."

"Huge."

"And you always said that size wasn't that important~"

"Well," said Thaleon, examining his fingernails idly. "When you know how to use it as well as I do—"

Jaira rolled her eyes and dropped a pillow onto Thaleon's face.

"Ack! Help, help, domestic violence!" laughed Thaleon, struggling playfully as Jaira held him down with the pillow. She was careful to leave his mouth uncovered.

"Nothing will save you now!" Jaira growled. "Submit to my will, STG scum!"

"Never!" Thaleon cried. "By the power of gray—"

"Approaching mass relay," intoned the ship autopilot. "Please prepare for reentry to normal space."

"Ah, and so reality intrudes," sighed Jaira sadly. "Come on, we better get dressed."

Thaleon grunted as Jaira hopped off the bed. He rolled onto his side as Jaira walked quickly towards her discarded clothes, watching the apparently-magical diplomat get dressed.

"All this time huh," he said quietly.

"Hm?"

"All this time, and you never told me," said Thaleon. He sighed, looking down at the bed and tracing circles with a finger. "I don't blame you. Not really. But we…."

Jaira looked at him cautiously. "…we?"

"Nevermind," said Thaleon. He rolled back and over and got off the bed. "Ancient history. For me, anyway."

"Thaleon…"

"Don't, Jaira," said Thaleon. "Please, just… just don't. I buried that a long time ago. It's not a big deal, really. Just something for me to deal with."

Jaira sighed, standing quietly by the door as she watched Thaleon get dressed. They were both in the secret-keeping business, but only of other people's. Having the same techniques applied to you, personally, stung much more harshly than any professional situation. They both had things they could never reveal, not without going against every oath they'd taken for their respective organizations, but Thaleon was right. Jaira didn't need to—shouldn't, in fact—try and justify herself.

Among other things, it was why they'd ultimately broken up. Some spies they were.

"Approaching mass relay," the autopilot said again. "Normal space reentry imminent."

"What are your thoughts then?" asked Jaira. "It's a delicate situation."

Thaleon folded his arms thoughtfully. "Honestly, there's not much we can do. I can try my best to suppress the report, so long as you get me the contacts, but there's just too much evidence spread out across too many people. The hallucinogenic weapons cover story is still our best option."

"I suppose we could try to get the humans to support the story. If your STG team can plant evidence of chemical weapons, and we can get the humans to admit it as an explanation, that might be enough to mollify the Turian high command and the media. The soldiers won't buy it, but that should be good enough."

"That relies on the humans agreeing to everything you suggest. I think you're being way too optimistic," said Thaleon, shaking his head. "I've told the team on the ground to make contact with the humans and give them a communication transponder, but my experience with these kinds of negotiations is that it will be a long time before anyone sees reason. At the very least, there will be a lot of posturing that will have to be worked through before anything will happen."

"I know that, Thaleon. I'm a diplomat. I'm being optimistic because I have to be optimistic."

"Well, you asked my opinion, so there it is. Incidentally, how are you so certain the human government doesn't already know about their magicians?"

"We're not magicians, and anyway the Incubators would never allow it."

"These mysterious, all-powerful, invisible aliens?"

"Yes."

"You assume too much."

Clarisse van Rossum had lived a very, very long life. It bothered her, sometimes, that her strength and power fluctuated with the times. Yes, she could do many things in times of great trial, but there were so many small tragedies that could be averted too, if she only had the ability. But, no, it was only times where many millions of lives stood in the balance, that Clarisse could truly pull off feats that made her the stuff of magical girl legend.

Even so, Clarisse found herself lying on the floor of the starship she'd borrowed, staring at the ceiling and wondering where she'd gone wrong in her life.

The more accurate term would really be "commandeered". It had been immensely fortuitous that she'd been only a day out from Nazra Invictus, and even more fortuitous that the MSY had a ship docked in orbit. The ship's captain had been roused from her bed at a perfectly ungodly time of day, even for modern humans, and quite literally pressganged into flying Clarisse, and the somewhat ridiculous number of grief cubes she was bringing, towards Nazra Invictus.

Fortunately, the Captain had been a Trusted NC for a while now, and had taken the abruptness with good grace. With the coordinates punched in, there was nothing much to do except wait as the cargo freighter burned onwards at flank speed.

The waiting was going to drive Clarisse mad though. For the umpteenth time, she checked the chronometer and time to deceleration. They weren't even close to the designated time. Clarisse sighed and tried to think about other things, instead of this horrid waiting.

She'd never actually been that good at waiting, truth be told. Her wish had been born from this quality, what with wanting to know all of human history. She'd thought at the time that this meant she could just learn everything, all at once, but that hadn't actually worked out. Incubators could be right bastards sometimes.

Still, it had ultimately been a blessing. If it weren't for her ability to accrue powers at will, she'd never have the opportunity to do all the things she'd done. The sheer flexibility she had made many things possible.

Clarisse raised an eyebrow at herself. Considering the way her powers worked, it was likely that she had an absolutely stunning telepathic and clairvoyant range at the moment. Whether or not that was cosmic was an entirely different question, and certainly highly unlikely. But, with faster-than-light travel being the closest thing physics could really get to magic, maybe….

Clarisse sat up, crossing her legs and holding her hands loosely folded in her lap. It wasn't necessary for her magic, and was probably some sort of placebo effect, but imitating the gurus of old India had always been helpful for concentrating on strenuous mental tasks. Given the way things were, she just might be able to perceive something about the situation she was jumping into.

There were, essentially, two methods to clairvoyance. The method most girls went with Clarisse termed "hack and slash", due to the way images showed up as slices of reality. Single moments, captured to varying degrees of detail. A crude and haphazard way of discerning that which lay about you, in Clarisse's opinion, if occasionally useful.

No, much better, Clarisse believed, to conduct clairvoyance by way of meditation. She had been taught by a Bhikkuni, a Buddhist nun, in India when she'd visited after… oh what year had it been? 2015? 2020? She couldn't remember off the top of her head.

Well it was unimportant, ultimately. Clarisse settled into the deep trance that two years of doing nothing but meditation had taught her, and two centuries of practice had perfected.

The world shrank about Clarisse as she slipped away. She intentionally didn't do the typical things: focusing on her breathing, the beating of her heart. These were distractions. Connections to a world that, for her, didn't matter. A world that she stood apart from.

And yet, it was important to stay grounded. Humans were… human. Their souls were greater than their bodies, but so too were their bodies inseparable from their souls. To be too focused in the physicality, the way you moved and felt, was to divorce yourself from the greater whole. But losing physicality made you nothing more than a wisp, drifting in time and in space.

Light sparked on the horizon. First one, then another streak of dawn breaking onto an infinite starfield. Red and orange and gold, blossoming into purple fingers of flame that danced upwards.

A pulse, like a drop of water hitting the water above you as you lay on the bottom of a lake, the shimmering beams of light turning back and forth as the ripples progressed outwards, making the fires dance like a stand of bamboo, bending under a stiff breeze.

The light dropped away, accelerating downwards—or perhaps upwards?—in long streaks that spiraled down, down, down, until drops of ink appeared on the page, spreading outwards to mingle with the fire, but not choking it, until the blackness was everywhere and yet never wholly complete.

Clarisse's eyes glowed as she opened them, breathing slowly. Each breath wisped out streamers of purple, her magic humming as she gazed outward.

It was too far. The void stretched too far out, even with the dilation of causality that came with moving faster than light. Or not causality, precisely, but the order of things, and the way things were and would be and had been. She—

—paused, breath still slow and steady. A faint glimmer, out there, in the distance. Like a… a distant star, being born, its life cycle compressed from eons into a single fragment of time and made to shine.

Unexpected. But then again, expected. There was nothing that said other intelligent species couldn't have magical girls. And if they did, then of course they would have one around. And if that was the case, then…

Clarisse pursed her lips and blew, gently. A strand of purple wire flew out and away, straight and clean, until it reached the star far, far in the distance.

"Hello?"

"What do you mean?" asked Jaira, giving him a skeptical look. "There's being overly optimistic, but then there's being realistic, Thaleon."

"What's there to be realistic about?" asked Thaleon. "You have more experience with them than I do, I'll admit, but I find it difficult to believe that any government would play all the cards in their hand."

"The Incubators don't have a government in the same sense that we do," said Jaira. "I understand what you're saying but—"

She stopped short, blinking twice as her eyes grew wide.

"…you were saying?" asked Thaleon, his eye-ridges slowly making their way up his face.

"Shush," Jaira said, holding out a hand.

"Who is this?"

"Ah, you can hear me?"

"Yes. How did you contact me? There's no other Foundation members within range—"

"My name is Clarisse van Rossum. You are a magical girl?"

"Ye— you're a human?"

"Yes."

"Oh Goddess. Are you on planet?"

"No, this is long range telepathy."

"Wha— how?"

"I have… unique abilities, related to my wish's wording. What is important is that we have made contact."

"Jaira, talk to me," said Thaleon, his expression growing increasingly alarmed as his hands reached for a gun that wasn't strapped to his waist. Cursing quietly, Thaleon flicked on his omnitool, a variety of settings presenting themselves. "Come on, this isn't funny."

"Hold on," said Jaira quickly, shushing him again.

"Jaira this is not okay," Thaleon said flatly. His omnitool cycled, then blinked as it settled on the electroshock setting. Ten percent would be more than enough to snap Jaira out of it.

Well, hopefully. Magic was… not something Thaleon had any experience with.

"Just wait a bit," said Jaira. Her eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance. "I— it's something important."

"From the Foundation?"

"No."

"What then?"

"I'll explain in a bit."

Thaleon frowned. That was not a good sign. "Explain briefly then."

No response.

Thaleon readied his omnitool and flicked on active camouflage.

"Oh yes, yes, that's true," said Jaira. "What is your role? Are you qualified to speak for the humans?"

"Humanity, and no. I am here on behalf of my organization, the MSY, on a fact-finding mission, but I am also authorized to perform diplomacy based on my own judgment. That being, who are you precisely?"

"My name is Jaira T'Ari," said Jaira. "I am a senior diplomat with the Asari Diplomatic Corps and a senior member of the Phoenix Foundation. I am here to assist in negotiating a cessation of hostilities between the Turian Hierarchy and the Human Government."

"Ah, so there are different species," said Clarisse. "We have received information regarding this, but I appreciate the confirmation. You are authorized, then, to speak on behalf of the Phoenix Foundation?"

"I am," said Jaira. "Though, to be frank, it is difficult to speak at this precise moment."

"That is fair, but it is bold for a third-party species to involve itself in the matters of other species. I take it you Asari are militarily powerful, or at least have significant influence?"

"We Asari are the founding species of the Galactic Council. Our other two top-level species are the Salarians and the Turians, the later of which you have encountered. There are other species, but those three are the most important. The Turians are in an important sense the Military arm of the Council. I hasten to add that their intervention here was neither known or approved by the Council, or either of the other two species. The Council would like a permanent cessation of hostilities, so that we can have a peaceful discussion about what happened here. I would elaborate further, but this is really not the time or medium. We must also speak on magical girl matters separately."

"I understand," said Clarisse. "There is a lot of information to go through. Can we meet at all? Telepathy has poor bandwidth for this sort of thing."

"I cannot meet with you openly or leave this ship without formal diplomatic arrangements," Jaira said. "Furthermore, I would not be able to discuss Phoenix Foundation matters in any official meeting. Fortunately, I will be able to send another magical girl from my delegation as my authorized representative."

"Where will we meet?"

"We couldn't have a human ship dock without it being noticed by the Turians, and I'm not sure you would trust meeting here anyway. However, with the temporary ceasefire, I should be able to arrange to have you land as a diplomatic representative. From there, I will be able to arrange a secret meeting mediated by a team of Salarian operatives on-planet. It can be held on neutral ground."

"I see," Clarisse said. "That seems reasonable. What will be the agenda?"

"Principally Phoenix Foundation business. The overall diplomatic situation can be discussed, but no agreements can be made outside of a public meeting, for obvious reasons. To be frank, so as not to surprise you at the meeting, the Phoenix Foundation is very concerned by reports that magical powers are being openly used in combat with the Turians. While we are aware of the exigencies that brought this about, we would ask that this stop, lest it endanger us all. We are willing to guarantee the withdrawal of the Turians in exchange. That is an official offer from the Phoenix Foundation, though I cannot of course officially offer that as a representative of the Asari species as a whole."

There was a long pause.

"I see. That does seem like an important topic of discussion."

"In addition, now that we are speaking like this, would you have any objections to including a Turian magical girl at the meeting, as another representative of the Foundation? It would serve as reassurance as to the Turian side of things, but I do not want to antagonize you."

Thaleon slid behind Jaira, the Asari stock-still as she stared into the distance, and readied his omnitool. One quick shock to the buttocks should cause just enough pain to startle, without any risk of causing actual damage.

This was a combat mod, after all, and Thaleon had used it to kill before.

Electricity sparked—

"The Foundation represents multiple alien species?" Clarisse thought, surprised.

"Yes."

There was another pause.

"I will bring an escort of my own," Clarisse said. "Other magical girls. That should be fairly routine."

"Of course—"

—and jumped from omnitool to Asari buttock.

Jaira jumped with a yelp, whirling in place with a vicious right cross that, Thaleon reflected, he really should have remembered she had.

"What the hell, Thaleon?!" Jaira shouted, storming towards him as Thaleon retreated quickly.

"Well, you weren't talking to me—"

"That was the human magical girl representative!" Jaira hissed, biotics blooming across her clenched fists. "You just cut an extremely tentative super-long-range telepathic link!"

"Well excuse me for being worried!" snapped Thaleon. "You just told me about magic and I thought—"

Jaira restrained the urge to throw Thaleon through the wall. Of all the things he could do—!

"Okay, okay," she said, clenching her eyes shut and forcing her biotics to dissipate. "You know what, fine, that's… that's fine. You did the best thing you could think of with limited intel. That's… fine."

"What even happened that absorbed your attention like that?" asked Thaleon, shutting off his omnitool.

"Apart from that being first contact with a human magical girl?" asked Jaira. "Someone extremely senior to their organization?"

"…well when you put it that way…"

"Yes, well, fortunately we'd already hashed out all the details for a meeting," said Jaira testily, "so I need only send her an apology, telling her about my blockhead of an ex-boyfriend who is new to magic and too easily startled by things he doesn't understand."