“Eugh! How in the Six do you tolerate this infernal beverage?” Raknashono cried in disgust, setting down the steaming coffee mug.

“Well, you’re normally supposed to put sugar or something in there if it’s too bitter.” Svetlana suggested, holding up a packet of sweetener.

Raknashono waved it aside impassively. “You do realize that plants that create such chemicals do so for defense, correct? And yet you consume them on purpose specifically for this effect?”

“Yeah, basically. We do the same with capsaicin, and don’t even get me started on THC and cocaine.”

Raknashono looked down at the table, considering the idea. “No damn wonder you’re a Fugue.”

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

“‘Fugue’ is the term the galactic community uses to refer to… unstable cultures. You, specifically, are a strange type of Fugue. Collections of disunited polities are obviously quite rare. It means you see regional and ethnic identities as above that of the species.”

Svetlana frowned. “And that makes us crazy?”

“Not as mad as some we’ve seen. Before the Rebellion, we fought many, many enemies on the behalf of the Poslushi. Most were just as mundane as you or me, but there were some our people were reluctant to discuss upon their return. The Psychocracy. The Steel Angels of Malady. Even…” Raknashono paled at the thought. “...no, I shouldn’t scare you with that.”

“With what?”

Raknashono stared Svetlana down with a cold look in her eyes, then shook her head slowly. “The void does not allow happiness for those who learn its secrets. Just enjoy your ignorance while you still have the ability, and remember: if you think your voyages in the stars are the best you’ve ever accomplished,”

Raknashono spat out the next sentence with bitterness. “you made a tremendous fucking mistake leaving your cradle. Everyone did.”

“Well, aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine.” Svetlana sighed.

“Our idealism died when nineteen twentieths of our people did. It’s the one good thing the Poslushi ever gave us.”

Svetlana had enough of this cynicism. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Yes, you will.” Raknashono glared at Svetlana as she left her tent. Johann was waiting for her when she emerged.

“Is Rakna giving you grief again?” he asked as they began to walk together.

“I can’t stand her complaining. It’s practically infectious.”

“Well, see from her perspective. You’re the leader of, for all you know, the last survivors of your kind, and you’ve banked the future of your species on the hospitality of another country based entirely upon ‘enemy-of-my-enemy’ philosophy. I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks she’s trading death for slavery.”

“But wouldn’t you want to impress your hosts then? I would, if just to try to get on even terms. Rakna just seems… done with everything. Sure, she was friendly enough when we met her, but she was probably just desperate.”

Johann shrugged. “I don’t really know; I’m no psychologist.”

Just then, a pallet of supplies swinging from a crane nearly decapitated Svetlana as they were placed on a rack for loading into a shuttle. The operator leaned out of the cab and shouted something in German, speaking so quickly that Svetlana couldn’t decipher the certainly obscenity-laden message. Svetlana and Johann picked up the pace through the loading zone.

“What’s all that for?” Johann asked, holding his cap to his head. The rush of air from a heavy object passing so close by had nearly knocked it off.

“We’re leaving. The Americans need all the help they can get for the Omen campaign.”

“What about everyone here?” Johann gestured to the rows upon rows of tents lining Fort Grozny.

“FEMA’s sending as many convoys as they can muster. Hopefully they’ll handle this better than Hurricane Iris. And Oliver. And Harvey. And Katrina.” Svetlana and Johann shared a laugh over the matter.

Then, Johann blushed a little. “Well, uh, anyways… I was waiting outside so I could get around to asking you a question.”

“Oh, what is it?” Svetlana asked.

“Well, the, ahm, ‘date’ was great, but, you know, it might’ve been something borne out of passion of the moment. What I wanted to know was whether or not you really wanted to do this.”

Svetlana thought for a second. “Listen, Johann. You’re nice, you’re smart, you’re cute, what’s not to like? I’m lucky to have found you when you were still single. So, yeah, Johann, I’ll go steady, as long as you’re the one to explain yourself to my uncle.”

Johann smiled. “You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

Svetlana gently squeezed Johann’s hand for a moment. “Oh, I think I do.”

—

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Captain Hutchins reclined in her armchair, glad to be in her brand-new office in New York City. The walls were studded with mementos of her time before the Epiphany, which she valued no less now that she was fighting for the other side. After all, the Epiphany hadn’t completely remade her, just made her aware of her place.

Someone knocked at the door and Hutchins quickly returned to a professional stance. “Do come in.” she said. The door opened to reveal a smallish man in a business suit. The unfocused, harried look in his eyes set him apart from the calm disposition of the enlightened.

“This one wished to speak with you.” the guard beside him said.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Haskell. And your name is?”

“Marcel DuBois, ma’am.” the man bowed, showing off a pin on his lapel. It was the insignia of the United Nations.

“I assume we have already briefed you regarding our mission here.”

“Of course, ma’am. You’re an outreach organization for the Poslushi.”

“Exactly. I do apologize for having to have you escorted here; you can never be too safe with how… xenophobic people can be.” Hutchins knew she was lying, but it was for the best. Unenlightened blended in better with their compatriots.

“So, what do you wish for me to do?”

Hutchins placed a small notepad on the table for DuBois to pick up. “In the interest of furthering peaceful communications, I want you to notify us of a few certain locations. Namely, consulates, diplomatic missions, and the like. Of course, they may turn us away if we say we’re negotiating on the behalf of an enemy nation, so if you know any ways for us to more subtly get the message across, please say so. When you’re done, we’ll look into your further integration into the effort for peace.”

“Yes, ma’am.” DuBois bowed again, then left quickly. He was a naive one, too obsessed with brokering ends to a conflict that would best be left to progress to a natural conclusion. When his purpose was served, he would be given his enlightenment and left as a white-collar Acolyte Caste, pushing papers for the rest of his existence. Hutchins didn’t exactly envy him.

Nary a second later, Hutchins’ cell phone rang. “Who is this?” she asked.

“We’ve got another who wants to see you; Recruitment says she’s got promise. She seems distraught; maybe we shouldn’t let her.”

“I’ve still got my sidearm and Haskell will handle anything I can’t. Send her in.”

Hutchins heard the girl before she saw her. She stormed down the hall leading to her office and threw open the door without knocking. She was young, but her hair was already turning gray and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She unceremoniously slammed herself down on the chair in front of Hutchins’ desk and looked at her.

Hutchins raised her eyebrows in surprise. Her right hand drifted unconsciously to the holster at her hip.

“Alright, before you even ask, I’m not here because I think that peace is a good idea, or that we can be bestest of friends. I know what the hell you Pozzies are here to do.”

Hutchins blinked twice in surprise. Did this lady just invent a slur?

“I’m here because despite how fucked your government is, ours is a lot worse. So I’m going to help you.”

The woman was pale to an unhealthy degree. “Do you, erm, do you need water?”

“Unless it comes with a letter of apology from Senator Greene, no. He was mad that I was killing it at MIT and his rat’s ass of a son couldn’t pass the exam even when he cheated, so he pulled some strings and ruined my life just to open up a space.”

“Well, if you want, I can sponsor you for one of our universities when the war’s over. That can be part of your compensation.”

“I don’t even care about college anymore. I just want this whole corrupt country to burn.”

The woman had a crazed look in her eye. Hutchins leaned over slightly, giving a subtle glance of why-did-we-take-her to Haskell.

Haskell cleared his throat. “Is it really true that you have an IQ of 145?”

“155. Though having a mind like Stephen Hawking didn’t exactly help me, now did it?”

“What were you majoring in?” Hutchins asked.

“Biogenetics. I was halfway through my PhD thesis when they kicked me out.”

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty. I was nineteen when this happened.”

“That is very impressive.” Haskell mused.

Hutchins nodded in agreement. “Well, here’s something for you. You’ll assist us as a researcher, and at the end of this war, you’ll be enlightened and sent to one of our universities as an Acolyte.”

“And will I get to show Greene what his internal organs look like?”

“If you find him before the Tribunals do, yes.”

The woman smiled a grim, deadly smile. “Deal. Oh, and my name’s Alicia. Alicia Zimmermann.”

“Pleased to meet you, Acolyte Zimmermann. You’ll do well here.”

Zimmermann nodded, her lips pursed in contemplation. As she left, Hutchins let out a deep breath. If interacting with this crowd on a daily basis was so tiring, Hutchins pitied Andy Lovelace and his band of psychos. There was no telling what he had to handle without warning. Still, Lovelace seemed almost serene in his power, comfortable but never complacent. When he made that comment regarding what he did to more foolhardy newcomers to the scene, he wasn’t joking.

Hutchins wasn’t worried, though. He was a dangerous man, a hound without a leash.

And the Poslushi knew what to do with rabid dogs.

—

Rapier was promised a reward by Wakizashi at the banquet. What he got was further humiliation.

For the first time in his life, he felt uncomfortable in his dress clothes as he stood beside the great Broodmatron, once again within the Pollanide Tribunal Chambers. Some twenty Broodmatrons crowded around him, somehow too close and too distant at the same time. He could hear some of them whispering about him, his heroism during the Ovinis rebellion followed by his dramatic fall from grace on Kormoran. Chief amongst them was a familiar face Rapier had been silently hoping never to see again.

“You, of course, remember the little spat with my new subject.” Wakizashi joked with Khopesh. Not that it was very long ago, Rapier thought, but remained silent. When in the presence of a Judge, males were not to speak unless spoken to, and Khopesh was not one to accept slights to her honor.

“Everyone makes mistakes, remember that. From what I hear, Rapier’s actually quite outdone himself lately. State your captures, Rapier.” Khopesh responded coolly.

“Our barges brought back roughly 550,000 humans over the course of the invasion of New Vancouver, ma’am.” Rapier also wanted to add that that number was close to two-thirds of the planet’s population and they would’ve certainly caught more if not for their interdiction by Russia, but he deemed it too extraneous to risk boring a Broodmatron with.

“And that means you’re how close to getting off of probation?”

“Approximately seventeen percent of the way there, ma’am.”

“Incorrect. I asked for blood, not captives. You’re closer to one percent.”

“Thank you for correcting me, ma’am.” Rapier bowed. Inside, he was fuming. Enough new subjects to settle a dozen worlds had to mean more than a bunch of senseless deaths, right? Still, he couldn’t afford to say anything aloud, not if he valued his life and free will.

“Anyways, you were going to tell us of your grand exploits during the Recivilization.” Khopesh said, putting her head in one hand almost coyly. This was his recompense, to serve as the centerpiece and entertainment for what was essentially a belated afterparty. Why, if he could just get his hands on Wakizashi–

No. No, no, no. That was too dangerous even to think. If he got too carried away, he would quite literally reek of bad intentions. Thus, he calmed himself, pushing down the rising tide of anger within him, and started to tell his story. He spoke of how he sprang to the forefront of his unit when its previous commander was assassinated at the start of the rebellion, and how he befriended the famous warrior Glaive of the Ulegate Brood as they fought together. He described how he rose the ranks from a lowly espatier to a commander of a spacecraft of his own, but then tragedy struck as Glaive challenged the rebel leader of the Ovinis to a duel and was dishonorably cut down, dictating a poignant last address to his Broodmatron prior to expiring in Rapier’s arms. In reality, he died screaming after failing to realize that there were two Ovinis snipers, not one, and was disemboweled by a shot he wasn’t expecting. But hey, some of his agonized wails and sobs were, in fact, addressed to his mother, so it wasn’t a total lie, right?

Rapier concluded his story with a finish, hoping that it would be enough, and apparently he had been dutiful enough to whatever god was out there, as his prayer was answered. “Ah, would you take a glance at the time! We really shouldn’t hold the Captain-General from his campaigning any longer.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Rapier muttered.

“What?”

“What?”

“Anyways, the installation of my throne in the bridge should be finished now, so I’ll be seeing you all! Thanks eternally, Judge Khopesh!”

Wakizashi’s what?

“Best of fortunes upon you, Wakizashi.” Khopesh saluted. “And to you, Rapier, serve your Viceroy well and without question or complaint. That is your duty.”

Rapier saluted, just barely holding back the urge to make an obscene gesture with the active hand. Divine knew she deserved it.

“Ah, where to now, Captain-General?” Wakizashi said, lounging upon the massive seat she had installed directly behind Rapier’s seat without asking.

“Just give me a moment to work out the travel calculations. Adding several tons of mass to ou–the ship has some effects, of course.” Rapier almost said our ship, and there was no way he would imply that she owned any of it.

“How much can it change things? The Tethylen weighs tens of thousands of tons already.”

“Even a miniscule amount of additional weight can add up to a massive change over tens or hundreds of light-years. If we go with the old numbers, we could overshoot our target by entire AUs due to the inertia. And considering hyperlanes consist of lines with stars at both ends…”

“Okay, then. Finish your calculations, and then tell me where we’re going.”

Rapier quickly worked through the numbers on his terminal. The good thing about the Longbow-Javelin Equation was that it expressed mass and inertia as a single easy variable. He found the solution and transmitted it across the ship, specifically to the engineering department to adjust the hyperdrive with.

“Well, we’ve already spoken of my gallantry during the Recivilization, and anyone born in the last century knows of the heroism of the initial invasion…” Rapier’s antennae perked up with something resembling excitement as he whispered the coursing order into the communicator.

“Let’s go in a third time.”