Until very recently, the Free Poslush Army had been assigned to little more than clerical and logistics roles; they simply hadn’t the numbers to do anything else. With only one Poslushi for every few hundred human soldiers on the Polegate Front, they would be either concentrated into tiny and ineffective units or dispersed among CAST regulars, many of whom had lost friends to the Poslushi and wouldn’t hesitate to harm them if they found themselves in a unit with one.

However, with the Second Battle of Novoarkhangelsk over, Spatha watched through the Bunker Hill’s bridge displays as men in bulky spacesuits clambered through the airlocks of Poslushi craft one by one. At the same time, a search-and-rescue cruiser bearing the French flag picked through what remained of many of the ships that had been too close to their capital craft when CAST unleashed nuclear hell on the fleet. It didn’t look good; many of their craft were shredded within seconds, so quickly that no one could hope to reach their lifeboats or the airtight sanctums in their centers. Most of the advance fleet was either vaporized or beyond repair, and Spatha could see amongst the torn slag the bodies of her countrymen drifting silently through the void.

“How many do you think will join us?” Spatha asked. Captain McCullough stared at her, a dismissive look on his face. “Can’t imagine many, Captain-General; I bet the lot of them will be perfectly happy living off our money in some cushy POW camp in the core worlds.”

“Well, that can’t be right,” Spatha said defensively, “imagine that you were quite literally born and bred to fight. They won’t be happy as prisoners of war; the issue is that they don’t want to fight against their own homeland. I’m sure that if we show them all the things that are wrong with the Combine and how we want to make the country better, a lot of them will come around.”

“And a lot of you people won’t, and they’ll probably end up opposing us when the war’s over and it comes time to send them home,” McCullough muttered, “we oughtta make them regret ever opposing us.”

“Venerable Ancestor, McCullough,” Spatha groaned, putting her head in her hand, “we’re already doing that. We’re only going to turn people away from us if we’re harder on them.”

“And I assume you know so much more, Oxilini. Y’know, they just found a burn pit filled with what’s left of an entire town on Kormoran, but you’re probably okay with that.”

Spatha spun on her heels, her elytra raising in indignation. “First of all, how dare you? What, just because I’m a Poslushi, I’m automatically on-board for the crimes of my kin? And don’t call me Oxi–”

The displays showing the view from the bow of the carrier all flashed white for a second. Spatha looked over to see that the cameras had all gone dark. When they recalibrated to the light, Spatha saw a sight she had only ever seen in illustrations in school texts.

On a little, flat screen, one couldn’t really get a good idea of the sheer scale of the craft before them, but Spatha had read that they spanned up to thirty kilometers long. The ship was shaped like an enormous dart, with three triangular faces of polished black metal, ten kilometers to a side, and a massive cluster of engines on the stern, propelling it on a blazing blue torch that extended for even longer than the titanic hull. Dozens of large cannons mounted on the edges of the geometric design swiveled away from the Bunker Hill all at once.

“Holy Jesus…” McCullough said, his mouth agape, “that’s not Poslushi, is it?”

“No, no, it’s not,” Spatha said, just as surprised, “but the Nomad Fleets haven’t gone this far from the galactic core in decades.”

“The Nomad Fleets?” McCullough cocked his head to the side.

“They’re Dreamwalkers, like the ones in the Combine,” Spatha explained, “but these ones left their planet as soon as they could and never established an earthbound civilization again. It’s a cultural thing, if I remember right.”

“And they aren’t yours?”

Spatha gesticulated at the mammoth craft wildly. “That ship’s bigger than anything we’ve ever built, and it’s one of the smaller ones we’ve seen. How the hell do you think we’d get control of it?”

Suddenly, one of the terminals in the bridge bleeped. “Incoming hail!” the comms officer loudly reported.

“I don’t think their language is in our database.” McCullough looked over at Spatha.

“I’m a bit rusty, but I’ll try. Comms, accept.” Spatha ordered. A few moments later, a blank display off to one side flickered, then changed to a view of a brightly-lit, circular chamber whose walls were inscribed with strange, stylized depictions of the ship’s long voyage, laid out into two rings at the top of the ceiling. This was a newer craft, considering how they would carve lines of their art into the walls once per generation as a sort of calendar. Standing immediately before the camera was a single specimen of Dreamwalker, his head turned slightly away so he could see the two. He was clad in the flowing silk robes that were traditional to the species, and strapped to his back was a short spear, denoting his status as a person of high regard. Spatha had never seen a Dreamwalker nomad before, but it was just as she had heard, and just as interesting as the stories said.

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The Dreamwalker opened his mouth and made a noise that was halfway between a gurgle and a human clicking their tongue. “Do I speak with the people of the rim?”

Spatha had some difficulty replicating the noises, what with her having a differently-shaped larynx, but she still tried. “If you refer to the Earth-folk, then yes.”

Apparently satisfied, the Dreamwalker clasped his clawed hands together. “Then may the wisdom of the blood be upon you, friend. I am Tala Mnalo Foroman, First Listener of the cruiser Tradewind.”

“I am Spatha of the Oxilini Brood, Captain-General of the Free Poslush Army.” Spatha bowed.

“What are y’all talking about?” McCullough whispered, leaning towards Spatha.

“Just pleasantries, Cap. Introductions.” Spatha replied offhand. “For what purpose have you come, Tala?”

“We were told to come by our compatriots; we had just received word that the people of the sword had come to blows with your people, and we wished to investigate. However, along the way, a contingent of the people of the sword began to harass us, and it seemed that we would be forced to turn back, but they were diverted.” Tala said, then looked around at something Spatha couldn’t see. “Seeing the destruction you have wrought upon them, we know now why that is.”

“We’ve defeated them, yes.” Spatha admitted.

“And the mother-craft will be pleased to see that you have. From what we hear, your kind are more receptive to those of differing blood.”

“Have we no quarrel, then?” Spatha asked.

“If your space remains open for us to roam, then our trust is with you. Should you attempt to dislodge us from our course, then we will ignore, or, if need be, clear away any obstacles to our sacred voyage.” Tala said, looking down.

“If your intentions are pure, then I’m sure the nations of Earth will receive you in full.” Spatha said. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was lying, but it was better than being pessimistic.

“That is good news; our kind have faced many who wished to end our journey prematurely. It has been many long generations since we have had a port of call; it will surely be exhilarating to taste your food and know your people. Perhaps one day we may take those who wish to learn our ways along with us.”

“Perhaps,” Spatha conceded, “but you know that there’s a war on. We can’t spare the expense of accommodating you while we fight the Poslush-folk.”

Tala seemed mildly disappointed. “I understand. If you do not wish for us to touch your worlds, then our journey shall only see your skies. However, when your conflict finds its end, I would dearly hope that your ports may open their gates to us.”

“As do I, Tala. Is that all that you wish to discuss?”

Tala gave Spatha a particular look, his eyes widening. Spatha vaguely recalled something about it being a confirmatory gesture. “I feel that anything further should be discussed with your leaders directly.”

“I see. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Tala bowed back. “May our journeys cross paths many times.”

Then, his image blinked out, leaving Spatha and McCullough all but alone.

“What were you talking about?” McCullough asked. Quickly, Spatha filled him in.

His eyes widened. “You let them trespass on our territory?”

“They’re not going to hurt anybody. Everything I’ve heard about them says that they act in peace.” Spatha said dismissively.

“Then why do you people keep hunting them down?”

“Because the Combine doesn’t like people in its territory who haven’t been explicitly sanctioned to be there, of course. And stop saying you people; it’s starting to have an implication.”

“And maybe, just maybe, the States doesn’t like that either. Who knows what kind of weirdo, hippie bullshit they’re gonna get up to in our territory? I swear, they’re gonna get people to start moving out into the forest again.”

“They've already promised that they won’t touch our planets, McCullough,” Spatha said, annoyed.

“You’re gonna take them by their word, Oxilini? I’d think that as a member of a species that’s kinda known for being all imperialist, you’d know a thing or two about not taking things at face value.”

“McCullough,” Spatha enunciated, “the Combine conquers worlds. The vast majority of Poslushi are just Poslushi, and you continue to act like we’re some monolith you can give universal traits to.”

Spatha took a deep breath, then said the next few words carefully, trying not to yell, “And for the last time, McCullough, stop calling me Oxilini!”

McCullough grunted. It was his turn to be dismissive now. “What’s your problem, lady? It’s your name, isn’t it?”

That was it; Spatha had enough. “Listen here, unlerm; where I come from, you do not address someone by their broodname. It’s very disrespectful to them and to their family. If your boss was a Poslushi and you called her by her broodname, you’d disappear like a midnight sun.”

“Oh, trust me, if I worked for one of you Broodmatron weirdos, I wouldn’t need to be fired to leave.” McCullough spat.

“Okay,” Spatha said, putting a hand up, “I’m not dealing with you right now. If something comes up, I’ll be in my office, but don’t come knocking unless it’s important.”

“Fine by me,” McCullough replied. With a huff, Spatha turned on her heel and marched right out of the bridge. As she walked back to her office, Darren’s concerns were starting to seem a lot more credible. However, she still didn’t know anything for sure, and coming out of the blue with wild accusations wouldn’t just tarnish her reputation, but that of the whole FPA. Still, she’d keep an eye out; McCullough, in all probability, was just an asshole, but she’d look through his files.

Just in case.