“Connection completed,” the engineer said, looking up from his console.

“Everything is reading as green,” another said, studying her tablet. “Ambassador Jophiel should have full uplink to the drone unit.”

Tred’s eyes widened.

It was hard to believe that something he had made was working so well.

He worked with fusion reactors all day, it was true, but he only maintained their functioning in real-time, he didn’t make them from a box of parts. His work was easy, but building – that was hard.

He leaned closer to the drone, peering into its eye-like sensors.

“Ambassador, can you hear me?” he asked.

“Oh, hello Tred!” the drone said.

He cringed slightly; her voice was almost but not quite right, and he quickly made an adjustment.

“Ambassador, try talking again,” he said.

“Oh, hello Tred!” she repeated.

“Perfect!” he crowed. Her voice was just like the other times.

It wasn’t just his preferences, he thought. It was her voice, and so she should sound like herself.

“This is very strange!” she said, rolling forward smoothly. “I feel as if I am not in the fusion reactor at all, but actually in this room! But it doesn’t feel cold.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t put in any kind of sensors to impart what the ambient temperature is like, but this unit should give you a lot more data than most remote drones.”

“I’ve tried controlling other ones,” she admitted. “But they made me feel small. Like I could see very little.”

“Oh, yes, those Diplomatic Corps drones have other priorities than giving wide-band sensor suites,” Tred said. He’d looked into them, and while they were safe and functional, they were little more than tools. Not something to live vicariously through.

Jophiel rolled to some steps, her robotic eyes snapping downwards as the treads began to climb up them.

Tred followed anxiously, hoping she wouldn’t freak out and back up too quickly – and tip over. He’d built it as stable as he could, but it was always possible.

However, after pausing a moment and apparently gaining a grasp of the steps, Jophiel continued up and forward, bringing the drone up onto a higher landing.

“The last drone I controlled did not move on a surface,” she commented.

“Yes – I’m sorry,” Tred said. “The sensor suite was a little too heavy to fit into a drone that could fly around easily.” At least not without distractingly loud thrusters.”

Jophiel turned the drone to look at Tred. He had just gone up the steps himself, and he found it slightly odd to speak to her now, what with her sort of having a face in the sensors. She seemed to be having no trouble following him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Tred!” she said. “I just have to get used to it, but I’m happy to do that. In a way it’s like . . . walking in your shoes, yes?”

Tred smiled. “I hadn’t considered that, but I can see what you mean, Ambassador.”

“Just call me Jophiel. Even if this play is ‘formal’, I don’t want to be called by that silly title.”

The drone turned to look out towards the hall. “Shall we go?”

----------------------------------------

“We’re going to be late!”

A muffled shout of “I know, I know!” came from the other room, and Pirra whistled out a filthy Dessei curse as she realized she still had her work boots on.

The boot loosened on a command and she kicked it off, trying to find her appropriate elegant slippers.

As she pulled those on, Alexander came running out of the bedroom, still pulling on his jacket.

“Pirra,” he said, stopping. “You still have your emergency pack on.”

“I know,” she said defensively. “Oh, but you look nice! I really like that jacket, it brings out your eyes-“

“Don’t change the topic,” he said, smiling. “You know you can’t wear that. Last time you did that Sepht ambassador got insulted . . .”

“Well I wasn’t wearing it as an insult to their security, even though it was terrible,” she replied, annoyed. “But I do not like to be without something in case of trouble!”

Alexander crossed his arms. She had learned that meant he was being serious.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “But we’re on the outside of the ship. You know that means the likelihood of an undetected piece of debris venting the room is statistically much higher-“

“Has that ever happened on the Craton?” Alexander asked seriously. “Space trash causing a venting.”

She let her crest droop. “No,” she admitted.

“So we’re fine.”

“That just means that statistically the odds are getting higher that it will!” she whistled back shrilly.

“That’s not how reality works and you know it.”

Still feeling annoyed, she dropped her pack and went to the door. They could still make it before admission started . . . it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they were late, but it was not good manners. And she knew the other members of her team would notice and give her grief over it later . . .

She was never late for drills or actual emergencies. She was punctual to a fault.

But when off-duty, that was another story.

Alexander was very similar. Sometimes he joked that their forces combined made sure they would never arrive on time, and she had to admit there was a little truth to it.

As they rushed out the door and down the hall, she checked her system and saw that they’d started seating early. They would still get in, and they had assigned seats.

But damn it!

----------------------------------------

Years pass. Ussa’s hostility against Usser grows until her hate is a simmering fire burning within a tree that might burst out with roaring flames at any moment.

Tensions cause strife between their peoples. Smaller kingdoms are caught in the middle, laid to waste, in the indirect struggle between them. A direct war might destroy both kingdoms, so the tensions simply grow without end . . .

Ussa:

“Usser’s blood has grown thin.

His strength fails him, my little birds sing to me.”

Advisor 1:

“He has grown weary of the threat of war we bring to his borders!

His once-strong muscles have weakened, his vaunted warriors are tired

and his people love him but also have lost faith in him!”

Advisor 2:

“He has matched us sword for sword, but in so doing his smiths have worked themselves into stupor, while ours still hammer with all of their strength!”

Advisor 3:

“His advisors have grown unwise and he himself cannot see a path to victory!

The poison you planted in your people’s hearts against him has seeped into the very land until it spread like plague even into his own.”

Herald arrives, out of breath:

“Word has come! Usser is no more, his life is ended.

It was not his age that took him but his own advisors who thought to bring themselves greater fortune.”

Ussa:

“Woe to Usser!

Woe to Usser’s people.

Now is our time, and we will lay low all that Usser ever dared to build.

He created and hoped to rise higher than I, but I will tear down his buildings, and take from his people that which they have created.

Like wolves we will carve the carcass of his lands!”

----------------------------------------

As the curtains lowered for the intermission Brooks stretched, leaning back and putting his hands back to brace.

“Who picked these chairs?” he asked Urle. “I’m going to fire them.”

“An AI,” Urle replied dryly. “And you knew that. You even approved them.”

“I should have sat in them before I did that,” Brooks said with a laugh.

Most of the audience had stood, milling about, many moving out of the exits to grab a few minutes of air or attend to personal needs, before the show restarted.

“So,” Urle asked. “What did you think of the first half?”

“I will reserve my judgment until the end,” Brooks said, more seriously.

“I’m not sure how I feel now,” Urle said, shaking his head.

“So you’ve gone neutral?” Brooks ask.

“Something like that. It’s better than I was expecting, really – the performances are great, even if half of them are Qlerning acting as humans – they have our mannerisms down, and the masks really help,” Urle said. “But I have to see how it goes at the end before I can pass judgment.”

“Hold the thought, then,” Brooks said. “I’m stepping out.”

“You’ll have to talk to people if you do . . .” Urle noted.

“I can handle that,” Brooks said, flashing his sincerest-looking smile.

He moved towards the exit, a handful of beings noticing him and throwing a few words or a smile. He answered them all, weaving through slower clumps of families.

“. . . staying right here,” he heard Commander Pirra say to her husband. “That way we can’t be late for the second half.”

Nearly bumping into Tred, who was hovering around a rolling drone – wasn’t that the Star Angel Ambassador? – and went out into the reception area beyond.

He was prepared to duck into a private bathroom to grab a moment alone when he saw a head with dark green hair.

Fisc, had Kell actually come down to the showing? He pushed through a group of Qlerning critics from Gohhi, and approached the being.

He could tell before he even got close that it was indeed Kell. The crowd was giving the being a healthy distance – there was no mistaking that feeling that one got as they approached the Shoggoth.

“Ambassador,” he said formally.

“Captain,” Kell replied, turning to look at him. Then he turned away.

“I need to speak with you, Ambassador,” Brooks persisted.

“Do you,” Kell commented.

Brooks stepped around in front of him. The Ambassador seemed far more touchy than usual.

“I am surprised you came to the play,” Brooks admitted.

“This is what was so important?” Kell asked him, contempt in his voice.

Brooks felt anger rise, but pushed it down. “You are acting out of line, Ambassador. You owe me answers and have been avoiding me.”

“You feel this is the time and place for this?” Kell asked.

Brooks pressed forward. “Why did the people you met on the station with Urle call you a ‘Lesser Lord’? What does that mean? Who are the Esoteric Order, what do you know about them?”

Kell watched him, unblinking, but said nothing. Brooks opened his mouth to speak again, but Kell spoke first.

“I will prepare to elucidate some of these matters soon,” Kell said. “But for now I am not ready to speak on them.”

Brooks frowned, but honestly felt a shocked elation. Kell had never promised any answers before.

He leaned in closer. “Including what you did to the Hev boarders?”

Kell’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you upset at what I did? Knowing what you know?”

“No,” Brooks admitted. “But the fact that you . . .” he lowered his voice, “consumed a dozen beings of that size raises a whole lot of questions, Ambassador. Like how, for example.”

“I will elucidate these matters to some degree soon,” Kell repeated.

“To some degree? Should I expect the usual lack of information, then?” Brooks demanded, still keeping his voice down.

“I will be more forthcoming than you would like,” Kell said.

“When?”

“Soon,” Kell admitted.

“How soon is soon?”

“It will not be long,” Kell replied. “I will not delay it.”

“I suppose that will do,” Brooks said.

A beep appeared in his HUD, saying that intermission would soon be over.

“Will you stay for the second half?” he asked.

“If I was not going to I would be gone already,” Kell replied.

“Very well. Please enjoy the rest of your evening, Ambassador.”