To travel in space, equilibrium is essential. The strength and shape of the ships hull must contain precisely the right pressure, the right gravity. It must insulate and protect its living passengers against the hostile vacuum without. The thought occupies Blaines mind presently, for hes about to leave the haven of this ship, upon which hes been traveling, perfectly safe and warm, for the past several weeks. Hell soon embark upon an inter-ship shuttle, a smaller more fragile courier, to make their scheduled rendezvous with the foreign craft. Thats two airlocks to transit.

He notes his elevated heart rate and deepens his breathing to compensate, to quiet the thrill tickling his belly. Hes not afraid, but excited.

"Now remember," Ambassador Dolloway is saying as Blaine helps her adjust the wide ceremonial sash of her office. "The Elyssians, for all their decadence and passion value honesty in their affairs above many other virtues."

Blaine smooths the heavy black satin over her bony shoulders. The tiny silver beads stitched into the glossy material roll and catch beneath his fingers. Hes careful not to dislodge a single one of them. "Yes, maam," he says over her shoulder. His placid reflection in her mirror betrays none of his anticipation. Outside the round viewport of her quarters, the stars gleam motionless against the black of space, serene in their stasis.

"So you need to be as literal-minded as possible."

"I understand," Blaine says. Its part of their usual rhythm before these kind of events. Blaine is both well-studied and well-prepared, but Ambassador June Dolloway tells him how to do his job anyway. In the three years hes spent in her service, hes never yet disappointed her. Her reminders to him, he knows, are not a matter of her doubting his capability, but more a matter of her own preparation.

"And be sure to let me know if you think the translator is taking liberties. Youre my back up."

"Of course," Blaine says. He catches her gaze in the mirror. "You can rely on me."

"And you know I do," she says with a brief, rare smile. "Now, indulge the vanity of your elder and tell me, how do I look?"

"Powerful," Blaine says, and its true. Despite her advanced age, the ambassador is clear-eyed and stern, standing straight and strong-shouldered in her austere dark tunic and long skirt. Her sash glitters, and each bead represents a world in the Apathean Commonwealth. She is here to negotiate with Elyssia on behalf of them all.

"And let me have a look at you, Mr. Anderson," she says, turning away from her mirror to face him.

Blaine squares his shoulders and joins his hands at the small of his back so she may evaluate him. He wears the stiff, high-collared blue tunic of the Diplomatic Corps. His wide trousers are gray and his boots polished black. The red silk braid at his shoulders denotes his rank: First Personal Assistant to an ambassador. The cluster of three gold stars set into a silver circle pinned upon his breast, denotes the rank of the ambassador he serves: the highest.

His youth is uncommon for such a position, but Ambassador Dolloway took a liking to him when he was still a student. Shes been of immense benefit to his career, and hes worked hard to be worthy of her high standards and reputation.

The Ambassador tugs one of his sleeves and peers at his face critically. He shaved twice this morning in preparation for the opening of talks with the Elyssia. Not a single hair lies out of place on his head. The Elyssia place a great deal of value on the aesthetic details of presentation, and this is his first time encountering their culture directly. The eagerness in his belly is easily quelled though. Despite the stories hes heard of the cultures excesses—and the research hes done hints that at least some of it is true—he trusts himself to conduct himself with all the professionalism and the dignity of June Dolloways office.

"Very nice," she says at last. "You are a credit to me always, Blaine."

The Ambassadors praise never fails to warm him, though he knows he would do his duty regardless.

.

The shuttle ride to the Elyssian ship of state is quiet with concentration and anticipation. On the approach to the larger craft, the cabin lights are dimmed, and Blaine sinks back into the shadowed cushion of his seat behind the Ambassador. Outside the window beside him, he gets his first glimpse of The Galactic Diamond hanging in space like a giant golden butterfly with her solar sails unfurled. Shes delicate looking for a warship.

The Ambassador is staffed by more people than Blaine this day. Protocol allows five in their delegation. Its a number auspicious to Elyssian sensibilities. Major Hunter Clarington sits opposite the aisle from him, intimidating in both stature and his formal military uniform. The only weapon he wears openly is a phase dagger, its hilt tied with an intricate peace knot. Next to Blaine, by the window, sits Trent Nixon, round-faced and studious. A small line of concern mars the skin between his eyebrows. Hes the translator, assigned late to the mission. Blaines never worked with him before, but hes heard good things, and theyre the same age.

Theres also Nick Duval, a reluctant cultural attaché, who spent an exchange year interning at a consulate on one of the Elyssian outer colonies. Hes responsible for some of the more incredible stories Blaines heard.

That was before the war began, and Apathea called all of her diplomats home. And its this war that Elyssia has been drawn into—since the ever acquisitive Charn invaded several of their outer colonies—that brings June Dolloway and her staff to this negotiation. After nearly five years of minimal contact, the pacific minded Elyssia seek military aid from Apathea.

.

At the airlock, Blaine deploys his data rigs discreet eyepiece, activates his AR overlay, and offers Ambassador Dolloway his arm. Hunter precedes them as a matter of formality. Blaines first impression is light and space. The airlock, practical though it is, is as grand as any temple Blaine has visited. Its pearlescent walls curve up to a tapered teardrop above them and billow out alongside them. The floors appear to be actual timber, polished to a satin shine beneath Blaines boots. Light seems to come from every surface; he cant isolate a single source. As Blaine looks at the walls more closely, he makes out a mosaic of small shimmering tiles, subtle tone on tone, making intricate fractal patterns that swoop and coil like ferns. It makes him curious to touch, to find if theres texture too.

So he turns his attention to those who are welcoming them. The iris hatch before them unfurls with a soft gasp of sweetly scented air. Councilor Isabelle Wright steps through first. Blaine recognizes her easily from the reports hes been studying. Shes the one advocating for forceful resistance of the Charn intrusion into Elyssian space. Her political position is weak, due to the small size of the Elyssian military. Their navy is little more than a ceremonial and sentimental tie to the past. Many in her government would prefer to negotiate a surrender. This meeting is of essential importance in shoring up her power.

And yet, Isabelle Wright is not entirely what Blaine expects, given the transcripts of her speeches and the strength of her stance. Shes slender to the point of fragility, wrapped in a pale green gown of some diaphanous material Blaine cannot name. The drape of the fabric is sheer upon her body in a way that makes Blaine avert his eyes for a moment. A persons nipples are never on display in Apathean culture, not even a hint of them. He aims to keep his attention upon her face, which is gentle. Her eyes are lined in dark powder, and a circlet rests upon her loose golden hair.

Beside her is a tall woman with close cropped black hair and bright red lips. Blaines recognizes her as Captain Daphne Dupont of the Elyssian Naval Command—this is her ship. She wears the deep gold of what passes for an Elyssian military uniform, though to Blaines eye it still looks peculiar. Her pants are tight around her long legs, and her jacket is cut sharply in at the waist. The heels on her knee high boots are in no way practical. Theres a short royal blue cape draped over her shoulder and a saber at her side—an old fashioned metal blade. A peace knot like Hunters binds the hilt to the scabbard.

The next person to step into the airlock is a willowy young man with a pale face sculpted into such lovely angles, that it rivals the beauty of every statue of Apollo Blaine has ever seen.

Hes not familiar to Blaine—wasnt in Blaines portfolio of those in Councilor Wrights negotiating team. The man is dressed in luminous white trousers tucked into tall heeled boots similar to the ones the captain wears. As they draw close, Blaine can see the shine of the mans trousers comes from a delicate pattern embroidered upon the white in silver thread. His shirt is collared, but open at the throat, open down to his breastbone. The expanse of bared skin, the hint of the shape of his flesh, makes Blaine swallow hard. The material is similar to Councilor Wrights dress, but in a soft steel blue.

Over the shirt, he wears a tightly laced waistcoat of gray velvet. He doesnt wear a jacket, and at his throat is knotted a red scarf, a flash of color that matches the Captains lips. An ornate silver brooch is pinned to his lapel. Blaine doesnt recognize it as an insignia of rank. He gives a subvocal prompt to his data rig to identify the man, and it tells him this man is Kurt Hummel, Master of Hospitality for Isabelle Wright. Blaine struggles to turn his attention away.

Hes only partially successful. He easily recognizes the other two attending the Councilor. His AR provides him names and titles anyway: Chase Madison, chief of staff, and Elliott Gilbert, public relations. But then, like gravity, hes drawn back to Kurt Hummel. This time, Kurt Hummel is looking directly back at him, and Blaine flinches from the boldness of his eye contact. Blaine turns his attention back to the Ambassador and takes one step back as she slips her arm from his and steps forward alone to meet Councilor Wright.

"We have come into the world to work together," Ambassador Dolloway says in flawless Elyssian, offering both of her hands, palms up. It is the customary greeting of the Apathea, the proper way to open all negotiations, spoken in the language of your negotiating partner. Blaine and Trent tutored her pronunciation for days.

"Welcome to our ship. Let us set to increase all good things," replies Councilor Wright. She places her hands in Ambassador Dolloways. "Please call me Isabelle," she says. "For surely we are friends today."

And though Blaine still senses the weight of Kurt Hummels scrutiny in his peripheral vision, Blaine does not fidget. He stands behind the Ambassador, his posture correct, formal, and attentive. He does his best to listen while keeping his gaze lowered politely. But when he steals an inevitable glance back at Kurt Hummel, Master of Hospitality, he finds the man smiling at him, head cocked to the side, looking at him so brazenly Blaines lips part in surprise and his whole body flushes with the heat of embarrassment. Hes hooked, helplessly, by the widening curve of Kurt Hummels smile. Blaine is unable to tear his gaze away for several long heartbeats. He even forgets to listen to Trent translating.

Kurt Hummels bright blue eyes gleam with intrigued amusement, and he inclines his head toward Blaine in acknowledgment of some unspoken thing between them, but Blaine cannot fathom what this unsettling man thinks hes just learned.