"By my last count, I have about sixty big ticket items on my to-do list," Hug'sh says. "The Alliance's ultimatum is about to run out and I don't expect the Narsai'i answer to make my life easier. We need to stand up a planetary government and a military force in a hurry. I'm not even sure if we've managed to contact every village by now." He takes a sip of drink. "Mothers and fathers, I need to find recruiters to hire all the staff we'll need just to handle what's already on our plate. Don't talk to me about having time to fatten up." He laughs. "But hey, my big mouth got me into this, so my dumb luck's gonna get me through somehow. What about you? Any risk of boredom in your house?"

"Extremely high, but that's a good thing," Garrett replies.
Ngawai nods. "We plan on just spending time together and with Naloni. Garrett helps with the GRHDI, I work on 81X, very simple and relaxed." She gives Garrett a peck on the cheek. "It'll be boring for a change. Just be a normal family."

"Sounds like a plan," Hug'sh replies with a smile, then raises his drink again. "Now, come on and live a little. Who knows when we'll be here next time?"

Zaef smiles into his drink as Garrett and Ngawai talk about spending time doing nothing, but Hale elbows him in the side and he says nothing. Even Swims-the-Black turns a bemused shade of mint green at that, but he raises his bottle. "To living a little!"

Angel has a nearly identical smirk as Zaef's as Garrett and Ngawai talk about doing nothing -- having just asked him to put them in touch with an interstellar industrial conglomerate with a market capitalization that was several multiples the entire Gross...Planetary?...Product of Earth.

"After what you've done to my park? Bold of you to think there will be a next time." He winks at Hug'sh and grins. "Congrats."

Hug’sh’s ‘office’ is the smallest room in the hab serving as Village 815’s school/orphanage/expectant-family-home. Even during the rainy season and when Hug’sh is not fattening up, his sheer presence is enough to heat the room up considerably. And being that it’s not the rainy season and Hug’sh is fattening up, the atmosphere within can best be described as oppressive. It’s just about big enough for him and his desk, said desk holding a) the cogitator and vox he needs to work and b) a bowl of chicken wings, now somewhat less than fresh out of the smoker. Hug’sh feels he’ll be needing those for this call, though he at least resolves to mute his end whenever he chews.

”Half an hour to go on the ultimatum,” he says, glancing at the second clock from the top in the projection’s lower right corner. (Torega, of all people, showed him how to put multiple clocks on the user interface. Mothers and fathers, she’s growing up so fast.) He huffs. ”I hope they’re not just running out the clock on us.”
“Perhaps they are coordinating their responses so there is no confusion,” the Sheen Ambassador replies.
Brinai scoffs. “It would be a first.”
Bello takes a deep breath from a misting bowl of some kind of drug before giving a little cough. “More likely no one of them wants to go first.”
”Well, one of them will have to,” Hug’sh says. He almost starts saying “To be fair”, but catches himself. ”They are dealing with a complicated situation. But I had hoped it would drive them to be more interested in staying on our good side.” He mutes himself to munch down on a wing. They’re bone-in, of course. The crunch is nice, considering the amounts of food he’s shoveling down these days. He gives it a perfunctory chew or two before swallowing. ”Or they’re still trying to figure out how it’s all our conspiracy to subvert them.”
“Vidas Lam, I hope not,” Brinai grumbles.

There’s a brief blip as one gateway closes and another opens, but the connection only skips for a moment. Fortuitously, that’s when the Narsai’i cogitator-to-Internet service hops onto the connection.
”Here we go,” Hiigra says.
A moment later, four different feeds appear on everyone’s holodisplays - one is US President Obama, one is EC President Juncker, one is Russian President Morozov, and one is UN General Secretary Guterres.
“Good morning, afternoon, evening,” Brinai says in her heavily accented English, before letting translators do their work.
“Good evening, Miss Onolois,” Obama replies with a nod.
“Yes, good morning,” Juncker adds.
“Good evening,” Guterres echoes.
”I trust you all have an answer for us?” Hiigra grunts. He’s able to keep his fur to a mostly neutral brown.
“Yes, we do, Chief,” Obama replies.
“We have agreed to take in turn to give our responses,” Morozov says. “There has been some disagreements.”
“Nothing material to your requests, of course,” Juncker adds.
“There has been substantial disagreement from many of our member nations, but a vote was taken and a majority reached,” Guterres replies. “By a vote of 152 to 41, the General Assembly has adopted a resolution agreeing to the terms laid out in the ultimatum for a clarification and international coordination of domestic and military cooperation with the Sheen, Bashakra’i, and Wherren states.”

Hug’sh’s poker face slips slightly with a spike of orange, but he does not speak up. He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“As to your first point, the regretful actions of some overzealous members of the United States military and intelligence apparatus will be addressed,” Obama says. “It was never the intent of my government, or any other Earth government, to jeopardize the good will and trust that we have built up in this fight together. Secondly, we will continue to include all three of your peoples and governments in planning for what we do as an alliance. Your experience is invaluable, and as one of my predecessors in office put it, a house divided against itself cannot stand. And on your third request, we agree that there should be a unified voice. It is the position of the United States government that the United States Gateway Research and Homeworld Defense Initiative is ideally suited for this purpose.”
“Good!” Brinai says. “Then there is no disagreement.”
“That is not entirely the case,” Juncker says.
“The disagreement, gentlemen and Miss Onolois, is who should be controlling this organization,” Guterres says. “A vote to accept the Gateway Research and Homeworld Defense Initiative as a UN controlled agency passed the General Assembly 163 to 30, but was vetoed by the United States in the Security Council.”
“It is our position that as the only country with legal access to the Gateways, the host nation of all friendly gateways and supporting infrastructure and bases, as well as the host of the Bashakra’i settlement on Earth, the GRHDI should continue to operate under the auspices of the United States,” Obama says.

And here it comes, Hug’sh thinks, then clears his throat. ”If I may, Mr. President,” he says, ”the contributions of the United States to this Alliance are indeed substantial. However, I am concerned that continuing to operate in this manner is not representative of Narsai at large. It was our hope that, in light of…recent events, you would come around to our position, namely that the Imperium is a threat to Narsai as a whole and should not - indeed, cannot - be faced by one nation on its own. Nor should the benefits and opportunities afforded by the gateways and this Alliance be the privilege of one nation.” He forces some green into his fur. ”I appreciate your position, Mr. President, but I believe it will be difficult for us to accept it while it remains in dispute amongst the Narsai’i themselves.”
“There is not a dispute as such,” Juncker says. “We have reached a decision point in our negotiations between the different nations involved.”
“Vidas Lam,” Bello sighs.
“The GRHDI will continue to operate with the United States,” Juncker continues. “And we will continue to discuss refinements to this plan as time goes on.”
“This is not consensus as the Sheen understand it,” the Ambassador says. “What you are describing is a state of continuous disequilibrium, where you intend to have both a continuity of action while also having an intense disagreement about how to act.”
“It doesn’t make a First-damned bit of sense,” Brinai adds. “Either the GRHDI is with the States or it is with this United Nations group. Which is it?”

“It is our strong insistence that it remain under United States control,” Obama replies.
”But it is the will of the United Nations group that it does not,” Hiigra says.
“No,” Obama says.
“Not entirely,” Juncker says.
“It was vetoed by the Security Council, but passed by the General Assembly,” Guterres says.
“By a strong majority of the body,” the Ambassador says. “But it was then allowed to be vetoed by only one member? This is not consensus.”
“It is the way that the United Nations has worked for decades,” Obama replies.

”With respect, Mr. President,” Hug’sh says, ”we understand and appreciate that we are asking for unanimity on a difficult issue. However, that deciding vote is yours to cast. Perhaps it would help us all understand your position better if you could explain to us why it is so important to you that the GRHDI remain under your control. Once we know the reasons, we may have the opportunity to come to an…equitable agreement on the issue.”

“Because it is with United States servicemembers, military equipment, and bases that this war is being fought,” Obama replies. “It is intolerable that US military assets be turned over to international control, not just from a sovereignty perspective, but a national security and domestic policy perspective. You know that I am sympathetic to your grievances and I have worked hard to be a good partner, but my goodwill stops with turning over our most advanced and significant military forces, materiel, and bases.”

Fuck, Brinai messages the group. Didn’t expect the Narsai’i to have a good point.
They’ll surprise you sometimes, Hug’sh messages back.

”Your point is taken, Mr. President,” Hug’sh says. ”We understand that goodwill only goes so far. The equitable agreement I spoke of should not require you to surrender assets to the cause without compensation.” He coughs. ”I do not wish to trivialize the contributions of your nation with a number, but surely there are things your nation desires that are within the power of the other Narsai’i nations - and this Alliance - to provide.”
“General, I am going to stop you right there,” Obama says. “The sovereign territory and property of the United States is not for sale. Our national sovereignty is not something that can be exchanged for trinkets, no matter how advanced. I am going to pretend that this was merely poorly-considered enthusiasm to reach a solution, and we will proceed.”
”It is my understanding that the United States has long maintained military bases on the soil of other sovereign nations through bilateral agreements,” Hug’sh replies. ”My thoughts were along those lines. However, if that is not acceptable to you, I will speak no more of it.”
“Bases that were constructed on unused land, by our military, for our military,” Obama replies. “Not complete bases, personnel, and military equipment.”
”I see,” Hug’sh says. ”Does anyone else have a suggestion, then?”
“Why don’t we take this into quarters and discuss,” Brinai says.
“Yes, I agree,” the Ambassador says.
”I think we could use a moment to confer,” Hiigra says.
“I trust you have things to discuss amongst yourselves as well,” Brinai says, and with a blip the Narsai’i feeds go blank.

“I trust diplomacy was not standard training when you were human,” Brinai says.
”Underestimated the pride,” Hug’sh says. ”He’s right, they’ve got all the dirtside infrastructure. But as long as they’re drawing a line on anyone else getting a say in how they operate there, they won’t get the others to agree, either. So, does anyone have a better idea?”
“Well, I have had another person listening in through my end, and she had a suggestion that I wanted to put to the group, which is why I suggested this,” Brinai says, and a moment later Samantha Barnes appears in place of Brinai on the connection.
“You should let the United States keep their bases and forces,” Barnes says. “Greetings, everyone, apologies for the subterfuge, but I am not a party to this discussion, and I think it best if we keep it that way.”
”Miss Barnes,” Hiigra barks in yellow surprise. ”What do you mean?”
“I anticipated this,” Barnes says. “The United States would never turn over all their forces to international control, and would never give up control of the GRHDI, which is why I made sure that the UN proposal included both. Now, giving up GRHDI control is a compromise.”
“I see,” the Ambassador says. “You ensured that the United States would be in a position to reject an unreasonable demand, in order to make securing your actual demands easier.”
“Exactly, Ambassador,” Barnes says. “Our plans don’t require control over United States military assets or even Mesas Negras or Diego Garcia. Just control over gateway traffic and military planning. If the US wants us to ask nicely for military forces, that’s not a problem - we can make it clear that if they are not willing to play ball, then the aid, and therefore the benefits, can be gotten elsewhere. And with the 81X program heating up, and the 815 basically above any chain of command, they have less power than they think. Control of the gateways under GRHDI is justified for security and experience reasons, and if they want to retain a gateway keg, they’re welcome to one.” She pauses. “Any disagreement?”
”...do you think they’ll all go for it?” Hug’sh asks. ”That still leaves the gateways on US soil. And anything passing through them by necessity has to go through the US.”
“Unless they want to have all of their gateways cut off, they will play ball,” Barnes says. “I have no problem giving gate kegs to Europe or India or Africa or anyone else who wants to get on board. Angel Kesh has no problems uprooting his operation. The teeth behind this is if they play games we make it clear that the United States stays in the 21st century while we take the rest of the world to the 31st.”
”Well then,” Hug’sh says. ”That sounds like a logical proposal from a dispassionate perspective, doesn’t it, Ambassador?” He nods to the Sheen. ”And Chief,” he looks to Hiigra, ”it may baffle us to settle the squabble like this, but I believe we could go along with the suggestion. For the good of the Alliance.” He shrugs. ”I mean, just make it look like this wasn’t the plan all along.”
”Oh, I have been working with the Narsai’i long enough to understand Miss Barnes’ reasoning,” Hiigra replies. ”I just wish she had brought it to us sooner.”
“Compartmentalization,” Barnes replies. “But I understand, Chief. Once this next step takes place, then I will be able to coordinate with you all more openly.”
”Fair enough,” Hiigra grunts. ”Let’s give the Narsai’i the good news, then.”

Barnes is replaced by Brinai once again, and a moment later the Narsai’i reappear. “Narsai’i representatives, I believe we have a proposal for you,” Brinai says. “You may keep your bases and military forces, Mr. Obama. Let GRHDI itself go, and allow the rest of the Narsai’i input over gateway affairs and grand strategy. You are still the largest military force, and so will have the greatest sway over Narsai’i military strategy of the groups on Narsai, yes?”
“Yes, that would be the case,” Juncker says. “The European Union would be amenable to this arrangement.”
“As would the Russian Federation,” Morozov says.
“Mr. President?” the Sheen Ambassador asks.
Obama thinks for a moment. “We will need to consider this proposal.”
”In that case, I propose we grant an extension for this purpose,” Hug’sh says. ”Is this agreeable to all?”
“Three days,” Brinai says. “No more.”
“The Sheen have a consensus, three days,” the Ambassador says.
”Three days is acceptable,” Hiigra says.
None of the Narsai’i look comfortable with such a short timeframe, but it doesn’t look like they’re getting much of a choice. “Then we shall reconvene in three days,” Obama says. “Good day, everyone.” One by one, the Narsai’i blink off in rapid succession.

“Well, I think that went rather well,” Brinai says. “They look sufficiently shaken to give us what we want.”
“It is unfortunate that we must resort to such measures to gain a cooperative stable partnership with the Narsai’i,” the Ambassador says.
“They didn’t leave us much of a choice,” Bello points out.
“Indeed,” the Ambassador says.
”And once Miss Barnes is effectively Steward, then we can start making real progress,” Hiigra says.
”Let’s count our pelts after we’ve skinned them,” Hug’sh says. ”Shall we adjourn for today, then?”
“At least until the Narsai’i figure out what’s going on,” Brinai says.
“Agreed,” the Ambassador says.
”Until then,” Hiigra says, and logs off first, followed by Brinai, Bello, and the Ambassador.

Hug’sh stares at the Call Ended projection for a few moments, tapping his claws softly on the desk. Then he grabs the haptics and puts in a new call, direct to Samantha Barnes.

”Hug’sh,” Barnes barks as she picks up the connection. ”You want to talk?”
”Well, I don’t know if it’s going to be much of a conversation,” Hug’sh muses. ”Two things I want to tell you: One, I wish there was another way we could go. Two…I trust you, Samantha.” He snorts. ”Well, three, I guess. I need to find a replacement for me. I don’t think I’m cut out for these sorts of conversations. There, that’s it. Sorry to bother you, I just…well, you were honest with me when I started down this path, so I figured I should let you know where I’m at.”
There’s a visible shift as Barnes moves from “GRHDI director” to “friend”. “Hug’sh, none of us are cut out for these conversations. You are having to learn faster than anyone else. Hiigra, he was a chief for his whole life before now. He’s used to thinking about what others want and why they want it. Brinai was a spy for years even before she was the leader of the Bashakra’i, and the Ambassador is literally instanced for this role. You have been doing this for…”
”That doesn’t matter,” Hug’sh sighs. ”Or, rather, it matters in the same way that Narsai’s really come quite a long way in very little time. They’re trying, but right now, it’s not enough. And my position isn’t fit for someone learning as they’re going, either. The Alliance…the Wherren need someone in charge who can get things done, and we need them yesterday.” He huffs. ”I’m not going to give up right now, Samantha. That’d be even more reckless. I’m saying that we need a government, and that’s moved up more than a few places on my to-do list. Thank you for the encouragement. Just…you’ll be seeing some new faces on those diplomatic channels, and I hope sooner rather than later.” He smiles. ”And you may be getting some more calls from me about that, unless you’ve got a nation building expert you can fob me off to.”
”I will be happy to make suggestions,” Barnes replies. ”But it should really be what you, and Hiigra, and any other Wherren you care to bring in on how things are structured.”
”That’s the idea,” Hug’sh says. ”...thanks, Samantha.”
”And I wish it didn’t have to be this way either,” Barnes says. ”It feels like I’m saying that a lot these days about we Narsai’i. But…we can’t wait for adults to be running the show. And I don’t want to run the world. But we can’t let off-world matters be run by people who are acting out of fear of their own imperialist past. We need someone who treats the situation as it is. We need a Steward.”
”Not ‘a’ Steward,” Hug’sh says. ”You.”
”I am only the one who is sitting in the seat right now,” Barnes says. ”It’s not mine to hold forever. Ideally we can trust the Narsai’i to elect their own, like how Bashakra and other worlds do it, but…for now we might just have to have it be more of a job the alliance hires for than anything else. More than anything, I hope to make it clear that there is nothing permanent about this, no control only I can wield. If the Narsai’i pulled their heads out of their asses, I wouldn’t need to do this.”
”...I hope we can keep hating the Necessary,” Hug’sh says. ”And a couple of years sounds about right for the Narsai’i to agree on how to hold an election for the position.”
”We can only hope,” Barnes says. ”Have a good day, Hug’sh. Say hello to Rhea and Torega for me.”
”Of course,” Hug’sh replies. ”Goodbye, Samantha.”

Another few seconds go by staring at the Call Ended message, then Hug’sh lifts his bulk off his aching chair. The chicken wings have gone cold by now; he grabs the bowl and makes for the door. Maybe he can shred them into a salad. Or just make a new batch.

Hug'sh trusts Barnes. Even though she doesn't want him to.

It’s not too far a drive from ATL down to Columbus, but it’s just long enough to get uncomfortable even in a Chevy Suburban. Hug’sh’s certainly gone through various seating choices, second and third row with things pushed first one way and then folded another, but in the end he just has to endure it. For what seems like the hundredth time, he tries to wedge his bulk between seat, door (with tinted window) and seatbelt extension in a way that doesn’t aggravate his hump.

”Coming up on it now, Sir,” the young GRHDI minder at the wheel announces. Well, “young”; Hug’sh feels like he’s losing his sense of how humans age, and that agent could be anywhere from 25 to 35 without him being any wiser. Agent Quinn, Hug’sh reminds himself.

Come on without, come on within rushes through Hug’sh’s head, and regardless of Agent Quinn’s precise amount of youth, it makes Hug’sh feel old.

The Suburban pulls into a small commercial area just off the highway, a confluence of three amenities crucial to why Hug’sh has come here. One, the Greyhound bus stop, where Brian Verrill was scheduled to arrive yesterday. Two, the hotel where Brian Verrill was to spend the night and will possibly spend a few more nights until he travels on to…whatever he’s doing these days. Three, the self-storage facility where Hugh Verrill, once upon a time, stored a time capsule of his life ca. his promotion to 1st Lieutenant, a time capsule that is now scheduled to be decommissioned in a way that should benefit Brian Verrill.

Brian Verrill. Hugh’s, and with that, Hug’sh’s little brother. Don’t go double-checking your notes, you won’t find him. We don’t talk about Brian a lot.

Still, he’s there, sat on a bench by the entrance to the storage facility. He sits on it, leaned forward, dust on his jacket. Hug’sh recognizes it as one of his hand-me-downs, and frankly he expected Brian to have thrown it away by now, but clearly that hasn’t happened. Hug’sh signals for Quinn to pull to a stop next to the bench. Brian looks up at the SUV stopping, then, and for a moment Hug’sh looks through the tinted window at his brother, not sure what to do next. Still, he takes heart and pops the door open. Waiting won’t make this easier.

Brian stares at him for a few seconds, giving Hug’sh enough time to stand up properly. Then Brian turns his head. “...jesus christ,” Brian mutters, then snorts. “Don’t have soap in space, I guess.”
“Hello, Brian,” Hug’sh rumbles. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Brian says. He gets to his feet, gathering up a sports bag from under the bench. There’s a scar on the side of his face that Hug’sh doesn’t remember. “Let’s just get this over with,” Brian says. He doesn’t look up at Hug’sh again.
”I’ve arranged for the cameras to be off,” Agent Quinn says from within the car. The Whirr-Sign has Brian craning his head, but when he sees the very human-looking guy up front clearly doing some sort of alien dog bark, he just rolls his eyes and starts walking. ”Sir?” Agent Quinn asks
”You can wait by the office,” Hug’sh says. ”I’ll find you when we’re done.”

---

It doesn’t take long to find the right storage unit, and Hug’sh seems pleased with himself that the key he’s held on to all those years still fits the padlock. As he undoes the lock and rolls up the shutter, Brian stands to the side, not seeming to care whether he’s in the shade or the sun or anywhere in particular, really. Hug’sh clicks on the light inside the storage unit and picks his way inside. He never got around to building out a sweet secret agent gear cache, so there’s just a couple of things inside: heavy duty workshop shelves straight from the hardware store that don’t have to hold up anything heavier than some random camping gear, most still of it still in original packaging with faded price tags; a couple of shop cabinets with plastic-bagged clothing inside; and, finally, a dusty car cover concealing a BMW 3 series sedan - pick your favorite early 2000s model year.

“So,” Hug’sh rumbles and turns to Brian. “What do you think?”
“It’s a car,” Brian says.
“Your car,” Hug’sh insists.
“And what the hell am I supposed to do with this?” he asks, ignoring what Hug’sh is saying. “It’s been sitting here for years, yeah? Lucky if it still cranks. Insurance will be murder. And I don’t need a damn BMW. Just getting this fixed -” He stops himself. “Yeah. Great. I’m the asshole here, yeah? Gift horse. From beyond the grave, Hugh is fucking right, of course.”
“No,” Hug’sh tries. “No. You are right. I did not think.”
“I mean, I can try to flip it,” Brian says.
“Don’t have to thank me,” Hug’sh says.
Brian chortles. “You know, if I try not to hear the barking, if I don’t look at you…you almost sound like him,” he says.
“Brian -” Hug’sh tries.
“It’s bad enough that you’re here, you don’t have to insult me,” Brian says, shutting him down and letting the mask slip for just a moment. “Did he tell you all this shit before some…someone finally shot him? You know I hated him, right? That overbearing asshole always calling in favors and sending money, like he’d save me and fix everything, this time for sure.” Brian shakes his head. “Well, at least he died doing what he loved. He even learned to bark just to hear your sob stories, huh? That’s some fucking dedication.”

Hug’sh fights down the urge to say something as Brian makes for the car, grabbing the keys Hug’sh holds out for him. Brian opens the door, climbs in and tries the ignition. It doesn’t just fail to start, it doesn’t even crank. Dashboard’s dead, too. Brian chuckles to himself.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says.
“The battery,” Hug’sh suggests. “Will need oil too.”
“Great, you learned a couple car words,” Brian says. He taps his hands on the steering wheel. “Well. Either you pay for a tow, or you pay for parts. This thing’s going nowhere.”

Hug’sh reaches into his satchel and retrieves an open envelope, which he holds out for Brian to take. Brian looks up at him again, then takes the envelope and thumbs through the crisp hundred-dollar bills inside.

“Wow,” Brian says. “Do you even know how much money this is?”
“...yes,” Hug’sh says. “Unit is paid through month. After that…auction.” He struggles a bit wrapping his throat around that last word, but Brian nods his understanding.
“Well,” Brian says, “not like I got much else to do.” He taps his hands on the steering wheel again. There’s a restlessness in his fingers. What if it’s not a wreck…what if he can fix this, drive this, even if it’s just to sell it on…

Meanwhile, Hug’sh finds what he’s come for - a plastic tub of random personal knick-knacks, polaroids and signed t-shirts. It’s a tight squeeze between the car and the shelves - extremely tight, in fact - but Hug’sh perseveres through the squishing. He doesn’t notice the smear of musk he leaves down the passenger side of the car. After working himself back to freedom, he bends over to address Brian one more time.

“I will go now,” Hug’sh says.
“Right,” Brian says.
“...do you want to eat with me?” Hug’sh asks, hefting the tub onto his broad shoulder.
“No,” Brian says. He looks up at Hug’sh; his eyes narrow at the alien clearly stealing some of his brother’s shit, but he bites his tongue. For the moment, they’re both just scavengers, after all. “You wouldn’t like what I have to say to you,” Brian finally says.
“...right,” Hug’sh says.

As Brian shuffles through the bills again, he finds a business card stuck in the back. A phone number for a GRHDI office. The small print says ‘legal counsel’. Brian crumples it up and tosses it, then pockets the money.

“I will go now,” Hug’sh repeats and turns to maneuver his bulk outside.
“Cool,” Brian says.
“...good luck,” Hug’sh mutters, then walks away.

“Well,” Garrett says, flipping off the living room holodisplay with a flick of his wrist as the Narsai’i and then alliance leaders disconnect from the meeting. Barnes wasn’t the only one Brinai was forwarding her feed to. “That went pretty well, I think.”
”The Narsai’i leadership displayed about the level of cooperation and cohesion you predicted,” Swims-the-Black grunts with a flash of orange from the couch.
”You work in that world for a decade or two, you get a good idea of how they’ll react,” Garrett replies, settling back down next to Ngawai and Naloni. ”US has to be the biggest one in the room, and even when they are, they have to let you know it.”
”Still, Samantha’s plan seems to have gotten traction,” Swims says. ”The second round in a few days should give us what we’re looking for.”
“Finally, something does,” Ngawai says.
”Well, I will leave you two alone,” Swims says as he stands up. ”Perhaps I will try to connect with G’het. She has been studying hard for her reactor certification and probably needs a break.”
”Sounds like a plan, big guy,” Garrett says, giving Swims a hug. ”See you tomorrow. I'll probably work from home and help out with Naloni. Time to be a dad for real.”
Swims smiles. ”Well, I wish you luck, then.” He nods to Ngawai. ”See you soon, Ngawai, and you as well, little one.” Swims wiggles a finger at Naloni and both her and her mom smile.

Naloni refocuses on the teething toys in her sling as Garrett sits back down and wraps an arm around Ngawai’s shoulders. “Finally,” he says. “Just three days of you, me, and her.”
“And Barnes, and the Narsai’i, and the rest of the alliance banging down our door,” Ngawai says.
“Nope,” Garrett says. “We are going to be normal-ass parents for three days. I believe in us.”
Ngawai turns to look at Garrett. “Lahna, I love you, but no one believes that. Not even me.”
“Well, just you watch,” Garrett says, giving Naloni a finger to grasp. “At least you believe in me.”
No, me neither, Ngawai mouths at Naloni from behind Garrett's shoulder.

----

The first part of this new phase of Garrett Davis and Ngawai Holoni’s life as a family is setting up the living room of their village hab into an office/living room/play room. Blankets and toys in plastic bins until proper shelves can be bought next to rolled up workout mats and dumbbells, holodisplays and chairs around the table with the rocker in between. If privacy is required, it’s as close as picking up a holodisplay and moving into the bedroom. Very quickly both are answering vox messages whenever they come in, and doting over Naloni whenever they don’t. For the time being, the balancing act of young parents and the inner circle of a galactic rebellion seems manageable.

It only takes a few hours for that balance to get a slight wobble when the door panel chimes. Garrett quickly swipes the door sconce feed into view, and sees Sexton Hale standing outside, awkwardly looking over his shoulder at the Bashakra’i walking past on the street.
“One second, Sexton,” Garrett says through the door panel and walks over. With a tap the door slides aside, drawing Hale’s attention away from his concerns about the Bashakra’i walking past behind him and towards Garrett Davis standing in front of him. “Good afternoon, Sexton,” Garrett says, returning the slight bow. “What brings you to Sahruyi Ward?”
“Just…do you have a moment to talk?” Sexton says, running his hand over his bald head. “I’m having a hard time…adjusting.”
“Sure thing,” Garrett says. He stands aside to let Sexton past. “After what we’ve just been through, and after Whiirr, I suppose I owe you an ear when you need it.”
“Suppose?” Ngawai scoffs from the table.
“Definitely,” Garrett concedes. He pours a glass of water while Sexton sits down on the in-unit sofa molded into the wall. “So, what’s on your mind?” he asks, putting the glass down in front of Sexton.

“So,” Sexton starts, then stops.
“You mentioned you have been having a hard time adjusting?” Garrett asks. “How so? I heard that your box of personal belongings from Airshaz made it to you in one piece, are there any issues with your hab?”
“No, no, the quarters are fine, I keep on finding new things I need to go out and buy one of, but nothing too terrible,” Sexton replies. “It’s…it’s more to do with the neighbors.”
“Are they giving you any trouble?” Garrett asks.
“No, they’re fine, but…I feel like I’m being watched,” Sexton says. “I check to see if I’m being followed, I look for listening devices, and there’s nothing there, but…”
“But you think that there should be,” Garrett says. “And there isn’t.”
“And I’m not sure if I’m just not careful enough, or if I’m going crazy,” Sexton says.
“Well, I can ask Paul to have his people check in on you, but, first, I don’t think that would make you feel much better, but also…I think you know that there’s nothing going on,” Garret says. “You know that this is all in your head.”
Sexton sighs. “Yeah, I do. That doesn’t make it not there, though.”
“You feel like you should be shouted at for what you’ve done, that you aren’t trustworthy and should be watched, and the fact that you’re not is unsettling for you,” Garrett says.
Sexton nods.

“Sexton, I’m not gonna tell you what you should feel, but…no one here is blaming you,” Garrett says. “I saw you looking over your shoulder outside, pretty much no one in Sahruyi Ward even knows who you are - and the Bashakra’i that do know you know what you sacrificed to get here. We are all refugees and expatriates here, Sexton. No one judges Onas or Arketta for their past. The only one judging you here is you - and that’s something no one can lift from your shoulders but you.”
Sexton sighs. “So. What can I do?”
“Talk about it,” Garrett says. He flicks up his wrist holo and quickly flips two contacts to Sexton’s vox. “That’s the personal codes for Arketta and Onas. Tell them I said that you could use some advice on coping with transitioning away from the Imperial Turai. I’m sure both of them would be more than willing to listen and commiserate with you.”
Sexton nods, and stands up. “Thanks, Davis - Garrett,” he says, correcting himself. “I think I’ll do that.”
“And spend some time here, it’s a lovely day. Just go take a walk, be a person, not just a Turai,” Garrett says.
Sexton smirks. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that too. Thanks. Good to see you as well, Ngawai.”
Ngawai nods from her workspace and both of them watch Sexton head out the door.

“One interruption,” Garrett says. “Not too bad.”
Ngawai just shakes her head.

----

It’s an hour and change before Garrett’s and Ngawai’s voxes both chime at the same time from the same address - Samantha Barnes.

“Good morning, or rather afternoon at this point, Samantha,” Ngawai says. “How goes the wait for the Narsai’i to pull their heads out of their asses?”
“Slowly, as expected,” Barnes replies. “But my sources - and the listening devices you planted - indicate that the Narsai’i are leaning towards accepting the alliance’s compromise. This leads me to why I’m calling. GRHDI needs to be ready to move and take control of as much territory as we can before the Narsai’i try to rein us back in. That means establishing official negotiating power with the alliance, trade contracts with Kesh Holdings and Faxom-Io, and getting our security forces contracted and online.”
“Well, I’ve done what I can to obfuscate and erase any ties from the 815 and any 81X members currently active,” Garrett says. “Paper files still exist for the Narsai’i, but as far as digital records, they all fell into a black hole, so our top forces are in the clear.”
“I have been doing what I can to monitor who’s checking into our new 81X members, but the disconnect between the Narsai’i militaries at large, the liaison units with the alliance, and then the Bashakra’i themselves have done a good job of making sure that everyone assumes our people are somewhere else,” Ngawai adds.

“Which, not to undervalue your efforts, is the easy part,” Barnes says.
“Agreed,” Garrett says. “Alliance negotiating power, you’ll need to talk with Brinai, the Ambassador, and Hiigra on that, but a simple treaty holding that the GRHDI will be the primary point of contact for negotiations between their people and the Narsai’i should be enough to jam your foot in the door. Ditto with Faxom-Io. The tricky part is going to be ExTerran. As far as I’m aware, it’s a LLC with designs on some unused forest outside of Fayetteville and that’s about it. You’ll need to talk with Angel about how to turn it into the Narsai’i Turai.”
“Private contracted security, Garrett,” Barnes winces. “I have the verbage worked out - ExTerran will be contracted to provide security services for GRHDI facilities and personnel, given the rise in tensions between Earth and the rest of the galaxy. They will also provide training and familiarization for both Narsai’i and alliance personnel, acting as a training and advisor clearinghouse of sorts.”
“Which is a great way to put that they’ll be the ones flying the Interceptors and wearing carapace armor defending GRHDI facilities and handling Narsai’i security,” Garrett says.
“Yes, quite,” Barnes says. “Well, taskings for the next week. Garrett, work with the Sheen, Bashakra’i, and Wherren to get the agreements spun up. Ngawai -”
“I’m actually going to up my reports to every six hours, Samantha,” Ngawai says. “I have the text-to-speech analysis running now, and a pretty good keyword library. Anything urgent I’ll send right away, but even with that, things are getting pretty heated on Narsai.”
“Sounds good,” Barnes says with a nod. “Garrett, when’s your next visit to Atea?”
“A couple days from now,” Garrett says.
“Hmm.” Barnes thinks for a moment, but it’s the kind of pause that you know is there to make the other side of the conversation think she’s thinking when she’s already got her mind made up. “We might need you to be there before the Narsai’i decision comes down, just to hammer out details with Brinai and the Ambassador. You might need to go to Whiirr for a day before the deadline as well to talk with Hiigra. I can handle the Narsai’i and Angel, you handle the alliance.”
“...right,” Garrett says.
“Is that a problem?” Barnes asks.
Garrett feels Ngawai grab his hand under the table and squeeze it. “No, it’s not a problem,” Garrett says.
“Good, then I’ll leave you both to it,” Barnes says. “Talk to you soon.” The connection ends.

“Well, you tried,” Ngawai says, giving Garrett a peck on the cheek.
“Hey, well, we have today, right?” Garrett says.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day to be with her?” Ngawai says. “I have a feeling that even that is not going to last.”

---

And last it did not. Not more than an hour later, the Davis/Holoni hab door chimes once more, this time the panel revealing Brinai Onolois and her security detail standing outside.
“Vidas Lam,” Garrett grumbles under his breath, carrying Naloni in her sling with him to the door.

As soon as the door opens, Brinai steps in, two of the trin staying outside. “These Narsai’i are going to be the death of me, Garrett,” she grouses as she walks past Garrett.
“Well hello to you as well,” Garrett says.
Brinai sighs, then turns around and bows to Garrett, hands pressed together in apology. “Yes, Garrett, hello. And good afternoon to you as well, Ngawai. You have made this hab your home quite quickly.”
“It’s easy when these two troublemakers are here with me,” Ngawai says, walking over to put her arm about Garrett’s shoulder. “Garrett was just talking about how much he was looking forward to finally spending time at home with Naloni and me.”
“Was he now?” Brinai asks.
“...yes,” Garrett says. “A promise I intend to at least attempt to keep for one day.”

“Well, I make no promises,” Brinai says as she settles down onto the sofa, her shawl draping to either side. “I have come to seek your advice on how to deal with…with all of this waiting.”
“I can recommend some holos or some literature,” Garrett says half-sarcastically as he pulls his chair from the table/desk and across from Brinai.
“Distractions,” Brinai scoffs. “I’ve had enough distractions in my life, Garrett. This is the time we have been waiting for, we are finally powerful enough to strike at the heart of the Imperium, and now we are forced to wait for our allies - one ally in particular - to decide if they want to fight this war or wait with their heads up their asses for the Imperium to vaporize them. It’s this waiting to decide if the Narsai’i want to win or want to die that I cannot stand.”
Garrett nods. “It’s frustrating, but I believe that Samantha’s plan is a good one, and Ngawai’s listening devices have indicated that they’re going to agree to it.”
“Which is good, but then we have the problem of actually having to work with the Narsai’i,” Brinai says, rolling her eyes. “I mean no offense, Garrett, but your people are the least-subtle, loudest, and most oafish strategists I have ever seen. If they are not shooting into crowds of innocent civilians in the name of setting those same people free, then they are bumbling into every trap the Imperium lays before them. I have had to curtail a quarter of my operations on the core worlds because they have given Thrax all the excuse he needs to make free travel between major worlds almost impossible to do in the open.”
“I seem to recall a certain burst of violence that nearly jeopardized our attempts to have Boranai decide to leave the Imperium when you massacred the August Keeper and his family,” Garrett says. “I think there are more similarities between your tactics and the Narsai’i than you want to believe.”
“A blow designed to strike fear into the corrupt nobles that run the Imperium and seeking justice for the lives ended by the August Keeper’s cruelty is different than the pointless violence the Narsai’i specialize in,” Brinai glares back.
“Different motives, but similar results,” Garrett points out.
“Hrrmph.” Brinai runs her hands over her shawl. “The motives do matter - but your point is made. At least Grinacanne, Ibash, and Aikoro went well. The locals know well who is responsible for the blows struck on their behalf, and word is spreading. Recruitment is back up - which brings its own headaches along with it. I have had to ask Paul and Bello to divert most of the intelligence assets that are still able to operate with background checks on new recruits - not to mention the matter of where to train them.”
“Barnes and I are working on something here on Narsai for that very purpose,” Garrett says. “The GRHDI will be establishing a ‘joint training and familiarization operation’ on Narsai that should do well for training both Narsai’i and Bashakra’i Turai.”
“Already calling them Turai,” Brinai chuckles.
“No need to pretend here,” Garrett says.

He scoots the chair closer, cradling Naloni as he does so. “And speaking of not pretending, Brinai, if you just came here to vent, that is one thing, but if you want me working from Atea while this deal is in progress…Sahruyi Ward is only ten minutes away from Atea operations. You can just ask.”
“Hmph. You said you wanted to be with your daughter, and I respect that,” Brinai says.
Garrett sighs. “I think the universe is trying to tell me that you cannot always get everything you want.”
“But if you try hard enough, you will find a way to get what you need,” Brinai says as she stands up.
Garrett does a double take. “Did you…are you listening to Narsai’i music?”
“No?” Brinai says. “Why do you ask?”
Garrett lays Naloni back down in her rocking creche. “No reason. I will have something for you to listen to while we wait for the gateway, then.” He takes a knee next to Ngawai. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“I know you will,” Ngawai says, giving him a kiss.
“Love you, lahna,” Garrett says.
“Love you too. Now go before Brinai starts unloading on me too,” Ngawai says with a smirk.
“Lucky you,” Garrett says, and stands up. “Let me get my hood, Brinai, and we’ll get out of here.”

It is not too far from G’het’s quarters on Atea to the nearest park, and so upon Swims-the-Black’s arrival - after calling ahead to see exactly how much energy and sanity G’het had left for the day after her posting at the ward engineering office or studying for her reactor exams - both Swims-the-Black and G’het take their customary walk down to the small block-sized open air space. The space is not soiled deeply enough for trees, but some small shrubs and grass are enough to make the artificial lighting and heavily climate controlled air feel almost natural. ”So my superior did not fully appreciate my modifications to the power distribution algorithms right away,” G’het continues as she and Swims-the-Black walk down the path side-by-side, holding hands. ”But after load fluctuations decreased on the day and the broadcast network power factor deceased by 8%, so I was allowed to continue using my updated algorithms.”
”I have to imagine that these would not be something you could just drop into another ward’s engineering systems,” Swims-the-Black comments as they approach a spot up against the park’s outer wall that seems like a good place to sit together.
”No, the amount of recalibration required would basically be redoing the work all over again,” G’het replies with a sigh. ”But it is a good example of how reordering the broadcast zone load orders can provide better efficiency. I’ll have to revert it back to the more generalized algorithm when I leave for the Atea reactor posting.”

G’het leans up against the wall and sighs a gentle green and yellow wave over her fur. ”Thank you for getting me out of my quarters, Swims-the-Black. I did not realize how much I needed a break until I saw my colors in the mirror.”
”It was my pleasure,” Swims-the-Black purrs in return as his colors mirror hers, taking a seat next to her. ”I had time today, and wanted to see you.”
”How about you?” G’het asks. ”I am just a engineer, surely what you are doing must be more exciting than retuning broadcast power subsystems.”
”Ah, well, this morning I was talking over plans with Garrett and Ngawai for all of this Narsai’i business,” Swims-the-Black says. ”And yesterday, I watched Naloni for a few hours.”
G’het’s fur sparkled with orange and blue. ”Oh,” she says. ”Well, that sounds nice.”
”I also met with Hug’sh and Hiigra earlier this week,” Swims-the-Black adds quickly, trying to suppress the yellow and violet in his fur. ”We talked about their plans for Wherren governance. It was very exciting, I got in touch with some of my old smuggling contacts to look for candidates to help start up various governmental roles.”
G’het blinks, but then just leans up against Swims-the-Black. ”It sounds very important.”

Swims-the-Black sighs. ”It is,” he rumbles. ”But it is also just talking, like you said.”
”I did not say anything,” G’het purrs. ”I did think it.”
”I have a full life,” Swims-the-Black says. ”I am helping build the first proper Wherren government, I am on the 815, I have a family with Garrett, Ngawai, and Naloni, and I have you.”
”But you miss being out there,” G’het says, continuing to purr. ”I see the look in your eyes and your colors when you talk about the Akamu, when you talk about even sailing the little ships on Narsai.”
”It is a different kind of adventure,” Swims-the-Black says. ”Waking up each morning with the knowledge that we will be going where I say, and taking whatever comes before us as we may. I do not miss the fraught times of smuggling to survive, but…I have been thinking back to when I had a ship at my command, and living by the wit and skill of myself and my crew.”
”Well, what is stopping you?” G’het asks.
”Aside from not having a ship?” Swims-the-Black snorts.
”Yes, aside from not having a ship,” G’het replies.
Swims-the-Black rumbles. ”It…it just has not seemed right,” he replies. ”I am needed here, or on Narsai, or on Whiirr, and these are important responsibilities that I care very much about. I would miss Naloni terribly. Hug’sh and Hiigra need my help, the 815 and Barnes need my help.” He bumps his muzzle against G’het’s. ”I would miss you very much.”
”Yes, but none of that is stopping you,” G’het points out. ”It is why you cannot just leave, but you have not even entertained looking.”
”It…it is just not time,” Swims-the-Black grunts with a huff of yellow and violet.
”You say that you are not ready, but you are also wishing for it,” G’het says. ”That seems like an unstable equilibrium. If it were a system under my control, I would seek to find out what it is that is preventing balance and harmony.”
”Point well taken,” Swims-the-Black says with another sigh. ”Point well taken, indeed. I…I know who I need to talk with first, I suppose. I have been putting it off, but…I should see him in person.”
”Who is it?” G’het asks.
”My last crewmate,” Swims-the-Black says. ”The last one left from the Akamu.”

It is the day after the first conference with the Narsai'i leadership, and Luis and Arketta's lives are still half deployed and half at home. Gear needs to be cleaned, dried and stowed, and their life needs to be transitioned back from Out There to On Atea. This means that Arketta is already on her vox talking to the Kansatai office that manages transitioning dual-role Turai back from deployment into whatever Kansatai role is available, while Luis busies himself with starting gear cleanup. Interceptor patrols are more ad-hoc and rotational, and so slotting back in was as simple as putting his name on the board.

Still, his hearing chimes with an incoming connection, and the alert at the edge of his vision says it's from Yisai. "Good morning, Interceptor," Yisai says with a bow. Her simulated background is of the hangar this morning. "We look forward to you rejoining us for patrols. There is a matter that has come up in the ready room, and if you have a moment, as your commanding officer and head of the Bashakra'i Interceptor corps, I would like to request some information on an area that you have expertise in. There is concern among the Interceptors for those that are being reassigned to Narsai for the purpose of defending Narsai'i orbit - what the situation on the ground and in orbit is like, what to expect from Steward Barnes, and...what to expect from the Narsai'i. Simulations aside, we have not dealt with Narsai'i combat craft before, and there are concerns about Rules of Engagement in the event the Narsai'i turn hostile."

---

"Well, no time like the present," Gorlan had said.

Angel looked around the mess of storage boxes and half-organized clothes in the Mesas Negras hab. This three day lull for the Narsai to decide on which implement to best pull their heads out of their asses provides a perfect opportunity for Angel to finally start to move out of the Mesas Negras housing he had been crashing in since...Vidas fucking Lam, since Napai. There was that, then Whiirr, then Hedion, then all the bullshit in Washington and then training and Afghanistan... Somewhere in there Angel had changed his name, joined a new family, become a trillionaire, added a couple more planets saved to his resume, and none of that left much time for collecting his shit from the various crash pads he'd been using as home base over the last year - Diego Garcia, Atea, Mesas Negras, and that's not even mentioning the startlingly empty (but not entirely so) closet and drawers in his part of the manor in Akis. Just his bedroom there is big enough to swallow all three of his other quarters with room to spare. Angel's past had been sparse at best, even for his E-4 salary, and he hadn't minded that - there was a comfortable lack of effort required to live a life that small. But now, compared to his life on Akis, he could feel how tiny this Mesas Negras hab is. He both hated and accepted that in equal measure.

"Well, no time like the present," Erika says as she steps into the hab from the dirt skimmer lot outside. "Your belongings from Diego Garcia are already waiting in temporary storage on Atea, and Mesas Negras is..." She looks around at the still half-done packing job Angel had insisted on doing himself. "In progress. Once we're done here, there's just the matter of the Fayetteville apartment and storage, and we can get all that shipped across to the Kesh manor." She looks over to Angel, standing in the middle of the piles of Army gear and cheap PX clothes that belonged to Angel Riviera. "What do you want to do with Fayetteville?"

Angel stands up, surveying his progress. And assessing just how much work had gone into packing this hab unit. If he was a betting man, all but one of these boxes, once the tape on them was sealed, were destined to spend the next five to ten years in whatever passed for the metaphorical far corner of the garage of Kesh Manor.

"A valid question." He shakes his head. "You know what...fuck it. If there was something there I wanted, I would have gotten it by now. Go ahead and get rid of it all - I'd say just let the storage unit go to auction, but I'm sure the moment I said that some GRHDI counter intelligence type had an aneurysm and doesn't know why. But short of that?" He shrugs. "It can go."

"I will let Barnes know to scrub it of PII and have the rest sold off," Erika says. She sighs. "It's strange, looking at this as the last few days we'll spend living on Earth." She takes a seat next to another opened box - this one half packed with civilian clothes. "What's it like, living in Akis?"

"There's nothing in orbit you need to worry about from the Narsai'i," Luis says. "Tin can space stations you would barely call a lifepod and chemical-powered rockets. And not even many of those--handfuls. In orbit, until and unless they start having Mantas or start being able to build up their technological base or anything with Barnes' support, anything that can maneuver enough with you to be a threat is probably an enemy to be shot on sight for the next several years."

"On the ground, that's a different story. Inside of the bashakra'i village, you might as well be here but if you're ever outside of it...you'll all stand out. Outside that security perimeter, there's Narsai'i who can hurt you and might very well try. That could be a lone nutcase with a gun, an argument in a bar, or some official organization upset about Barnes' plays and finding one of your pilots a convenient outlet. I would want to have a long talk with Barnes and whoever you're putting on the ground about personal protection and rules of engagement off base. Barnes...I trust her, there's a reason people want her playing Steward, but she's got a lot to balance if one of your pilots turned up in a drunk tank outside the village with somebody saying they started a fight."

Angel nods to Erika. "Thanks." It's a simple statement, but it's all he can really offer the person who is, to be frank, largely responsible for his life on Earth not spiraling completely out of control. Running one of the largest companies in the system has, as it turns out, something of a learning curve.

"Have you ever been to Dubai?" He waits for Erika to nod before continuing. "It feels a lot like that. Some of it's wealth, and some of it's tech, but it's the nearest thing I can come up with. The Imperium's got a slightly more hedonistic streak, so that overt, in your face, smooth polished luxury vibe is everywhere - at least everywhere that you're going to be at at first." Angel reaches to the side of one of the sealed boxes, where a six pack of brown bottles were carefully stored in reach, but out of the way, a shimmer of condensation still on the glass. He takes the open one, before offering Erika one as well.

"But it feels like the bad parts too. That this is all a very cool veneer atop something a lot messier, and that if you're rich enough, the rules that apply to everyone probably don't apply to you."

He sighs for a moment. "I'm only going to say this once, because I'm pretty sure you'll kill me if I keep on it, but you can not come if you want. It's a big thing you're being asked to do, and a dangerous one. You can tag out here and I won't think any less of you. Pick a city, I'll buy you a penthouse apartment and the floor below it to turn into an office for a short commute, and we'll make it work."

"But if you do come...we'll put you up in my guest room first. The estate is...Akis easy-mode. The staff are all vetted and know your secret, and they're all there voluntarily - " He paused for a moment. "Again, Dubai. It's a good place to start getting used to the little things about Imperial culture, get your feet under you, things like that. It will likely have the small consequence of starting a rumor that you and I are sleeping together, but to be honest, to the Imperials, that's both not particularly noteworthy, and was probably going to happen anyway. Then we'll get you established at Nga'a so you have some room of your own. I'd put you there first but again, learning curve." He smirked. "And also, tucking you away there off the bat would definitely create the rumor that we're sleeping together."

Erika shakes her head, takes the bottle and cracks it open on the counter. "They really do like things salacious in the Imperium, don't they. In for a penny, in for a pound, sir. Besides, you wouldn't be able to manage things for a week without me there holding your hand."

Yisai nods. "That should not be a problem. We Interceptors keep to ourselves, and there will be plenty to do between maintenance, intelligence, sorties, and personal duties."

"That's not untrue." Angel admitted, in regards to his nascent empire collapsing like a house of cards absent Erika. "And it's less...inherently salacious and more...I mean, Imperial nobles are essentially living in a post-scarcity society. There's almost no consequences to ordinary day-in, day-out things. Which means things that are still limited - like who is boning whom - and the gossip therein, remain interesting."

He shrugs. "But in truth, said rumor would carry a lot less baggage in the Imperium than it would on Earth."