In the center of the darkened meeting room, hovering in the center of the torus shaped table, serenely turns Florisa, a world of the Elyssian Commonwealth. Shes a satellite of a gas giant in the habitable zone of a venerable yellow star—Mu Arae on the Apathean star charts. The system itself is on the fringe of Elyssian space. Just moments ago, they viewed Florisas archived image and saw a world of rolling gold and copper lands, stark white poles, and shallow green seas. Florisa was half a century into her terraforming, and the population numbered a few thousand souls. Three small settlements, primarily scientific and exploratory in nature, once lay upon Florisas surface, for the moon had—in addition to the right conditions to morph into supporting Terran life—a rich mineral and gas profile. She was the first Elyssian venture into the stellar system.

The current image of Florisa no longer resembles her archive. Her surface is pocked and blackened with great rents torn into it, like some titanic monster shredded the earth with its claws. The green seas are gone and the coppery mountains crumbled. Dust clouds the sky, and what infrastructure the world once had is scattered ruin.

Fortunately, all 4,308 colonists now rest safely on Elyssian naval ships and are en route back to the inner worlds. The evacuation came soon enough for them. But the rest of it—the burgeoning ecosystem of new life—appears extinguished. Blaines stomach feels as if its filled with gravel, and beneath the able his fingers dig uselessly into the side of his leg.

The image theyre viewing is coming in real time (or near enough that the time delay is less than an hour), which would be, on another day, the main topic of conversation: how the Elyssians have built communications relays that can transmit live—or this close to it—across light years.

Two Charn cruisers maintain an orbit around Florisa. Its the first look Blaines had of their ships thats not an historical record. The ships are blocky and rough hewn, but the long prongs of their mass drivers glow with cruel power. The room is silent as several dark shapes launch from the belly of one cruiser. They swiftly make a descent to Florisas surface and are lost in the dust.

"Is this the closest look we can get?" the Ambassador asks. The hologram casts her face in severe clouds of brightness and shadow, but the strength of the determination setting her features is not a trick of the light.

"Yes," replies Chase, and though his voice is steady, he has to pause to swallow before he continues. "The dust in the atmosphere—whats left of it—is too hot from the orbital bombardment, its obscuring a clearer image, even in infrared wavelengths. Post-processing may reveal some clues as to what the Charn are doing on the surface."

"What could possibly justify such an atrocity?" Trent asks, abrupt and unexpected in direct address of the room. Hes overstepping his role, but the Ambassador doesnt reprimand him.

Isabelle turns to Trent; her eyes are glassy and her mouth unsmiling. "We dont know," Isabelle says. "This has been their pattern of..." she trails off, casts a look to June. "...extermination from the start of this incursion into our systems," Isabelle says. "Its as if all life on these planets is an offense to them."

"Answering that question—if its even answerable—may be the key to stopping this," June says. "We had little success determining their motives in our war with the Charn, but their actions were the same then as they are now."

"How can we answer that question when they dont respond to overtures of communication, no matter what methods we try?" Chase asks.

"What Id like to know," Major Clarington interjects, "is how its even possible for us to be viewing these images while two Charn cruisers still occupy the system."

The room falls silent for a heartbeat.

"We had a scout in the system who launched an array of reconnaissance drones as the Charn arrived," Isabelle says

"And you expect us to believe that the Charn have utterly failed to detect their presence? And that your scout evaded the rest of the fleet to which these cruisers belong?"

"Excuse me?" Isabelle says, taken aback.

"Major Clarington," the Ambassador warns. "Mind your tone, please."

"It all seems very convenient to me," the Major continues, unfazed. "Can you prove, Councilor, that these images are not manufactured propaganda?"

"What?" Isabelle rises to her feet, as do Captain Dupont and the rest of her staff. Isabelle lays her hands upon the table, fury writ clearly on her face.

"Oh gods," Blaine mutters. He quickly stands with the Ambassador, who turns on Hunter. Beside him, Trent squeaks. Nick blinks, stunned.

"Major Clarington," June says. "You will be silent." To Isabelle she says. "Please forgive this outburst, Councilor Wright. My officer appears to be deranged."

Isabelle inclines her head minutely. "While I trust that you do not share your officers delusions, Ambassador, this meeting is adjourned."

.

What a mess. June moves quickly down the hall, her hand gripping Hunters arm tightly, dragging him along with her like an errant overgrown child. Blaine follows along, sharing worried looks with Nick and Trent.

"Ambassador, with respect," Major Clarington says, "I believe youre being deceived. Im obliged to—"

"Shut up," June snaps. "Be silent, Major. That is an order. I will not tolerate your defiance. You will not speak again unless its to answer a question I, and only I, ask you. Do you understand?" Her tone is forceful enough, Blaine nearly stops in his tracks. He takes a deep breath to fortify himself. Her anger is not directed at him, though it seems to bleed into his skin regardless.

"Yes, maam," Hunter says, more meekly now, but not contrite.

"Nick, Trent," June says over her shoulder. "Youre both dismissed for the rest of the day. Please keep yourselves out of trouble. Blaine, youre with me."

"Yes, maam," Blaine replies. Trent pats his arm—a silent wish of good luck—and he and Nick turn toward their quarters while Blaine accompanies the Ambassador to the Majors austere rooms.

Once theyre inside, "Kneel," the Ambassador orders the Major. He obeys immediately, dropping to his knees upon the smooth black floor in front of her and bowing his head. Impassively, June looks down at him and then about the empty room, and she shakes her head. "And to think Blaine was the one I worried about not getting enough sleep," she says, and its not wholly void of warmth.

Blaine stands silently and still, his gaze lowered and his hands firmly clasped at the small of his back. His heart pounds in his chest; blood rushes in his ears. Witnessing the Majors humiliation brings him no satisfaction, but he watches, curiously, with a sidelong glance.

June touches the Majors temple. Memory alloys shift beneath the Majors skin and rise to the surface until black matte metal overlays the flesh along one entire side of the Majors face, from his temple to his jaw. A touch sensitive interface arranges itself in soft pastel colors. From this angle, Blaine cannot discern the details as June taps across the flat keys.

"How long has it been since you actually slept like a human being, Major?"

"One hundred twenty-three hours, eighteen minutes, maam," he answers.

"Why are you operating in a hypervigilant mode, Major?" she asks.

Hunters jaw works and his mouth opens, but he doesnt answer. He looks up and frowns in confusion.

"I see," she says. "That wont do. I wont have someone in the Defense Office abusing one of their own to sabotage these negotiations."

Blaine looks up, but doesnt ask the question waiting on his tongue. He doesnt need to. June glances at him and says, "A soldier makes for a poor spy. You cant do surgery with a sledge hammer. The Major probably doesnt even know who meddled with him—or even that he was meddled with." She taps three times, firmly, and the Major shudders. "Hunter, Im restoring your submemory processors to their defaults. Then I want you to sleep until tomorrow morning, all right? Youll feel more like yourself then."

"Yes, maam," Hunter says, and he slumps, sightless and staring, as his rig shuts down. Its unnerving to see Hunter so vulnerable during the restoration; hes like a broken doll. The Ambassador holds his shoulders to keep him from toppling to the floor.

"Blaine," she says, "please find Mr. Evans and ask for a cot and blankets to be brought to Major Claringtons quarters."

When Blaine returns with Sam, carrying between them a sleek dense cube Sam says transforms into a bed, the Ambassador has seated herself on the floor next to the Major with his head pillowed in her lap. Its an unexpectedly tender tableau. The Majors fast asleep, and she pets his hair as a mother might. But when she looks up at their entrance, her lips are pursed in displeasure.

Sam wrenches his unblinking gaze away from the Major and addresses June, "I apologize, Ambassador Dolloway, Major Clarington had requested we remove the bed."

"Its fine," she says. "Hes zealous enough in his duty, I imagine he prefers to sleep on the floor, but that doesnt mean he should."

"Will he need medical attention, I can arrange—"

"No. Thank you, Mr. Evans."

Blaine watches the cube unpack itself, shifting seamlessly into a narrow bed with a thick foam mattress.

"Gently now," June says as Blaine and Sam collect the Major and carry him to the bed. Once hes settled, the Ambassador thanks Sam and he leaves. Blaine gives her his hand to help her stand. She brushes the wrinkles from her skirt and takes Blaines offered arm as they leave the room. "Ask me your questions," she says crisply. The corridor is empty of servants.

"Why would someone in the Defense Office want to sabotage us?"

"Youre a smart boy, Blaine, what do you think?"

"Well," Blaine begins. "If the goal is for Apathea to remain uninvolved, it isnt necessary to antagonize Elyssia, so there may be another reason."

"Yes," June says.

"But hasnt the Defense Office been supportive of military involvement? I thought they were just waiting for the appropriate political cover?"

"Politically and institutionally, yes, but that doesnt mean everyone within its structure agrees."

"There arent many isolationists in the Defense Office," Blaine says. "And those there are, theyre not so disadvantaged politically to resort to this kind of subterfuge."

"You might be surprised," June says, "But I agree with your assessment. I doubt this was the doing of the isolationists."

"So what does anyone supporting military intervention gain if we make an enemy of Isabelle Wright?"

"She would lose credibility and power within Elyssia, as would her political allies. It would result in some significant political upheaval for Elyssia in a time when they can least afford it. In short, it would weaken them, distract them. But I assure you, we wont have made an enemy of Councilor Wright. My personal relationship with her is robust and enduring, but its a good question," June says, "Tell me what hasnt changed in the two-hundred years since our war with the Charn?"

"Our borders," Blaine says, and he feels sick as he says it. "The pro-expansion faction is small though. Theyve struggled to find traction for their views among the public."

"Theyre weak, yes, but perhaps not unwilling to seize an opportunity to revive their vision of Apathean imperialism, even through such devious means. Why should we fight the Charn for Elyssias sake when we could, instead, fight them for our own?"

"You mean, they want to fight the Charn and have Elyssia as the spoils?"

She nods.

"No," Blaine says. "Were not letting that happen."

June smiles a rare smile. "No, were certainly not." she says. "Its an absurdity to consider. But dont worry. Theirs was a clumsy and desperate gambit that has failed miserably. Major Clarington will be more pleasant company once hes rested."

Blaine nods. "And what do you need from me this afternoon?"

"Ill smooth over things with Isabelle personally—one on one. Well have dinner. And you?" She looks at Blaine thoughtfully. "Carry on with your current work. See if Mr. Gilbert is available and willing to talk with you this afternoon, and whatever plans you have with Master Hummel, please keep them. These personal relationships must be cultivated and maintained, Blaine, if were to succeed. You understand this intuitively."

"I thought you didnt approve?"

"I dont," she says. "Because youve become more emotionally entangled than is prudent or necessary, and I dont want to see you suffer for it. But we make the sacrifices we must, and I have to respect that youre willing to court your own broken heart and personal scandal for the sake of deeper cultural understanding and insight."

Blaine blinks at her. "Of course," he says, and looks down, though his reasons have long since been neither that simple nor clear. At least, he can appreciate the point of convergence: the value of the interpersonal and the small does have bearing on the larger political scale. It is, as Kurt suggested, a continuum. Still, though the Ambassadors assessment may assuage some of his conscience, he rankles at the thought of his relationship with Kurt being part of his job.

"Tomorrow is my half-day," Blaine says. "Will you need me in the morning?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Brief Trent tonight at dinner. Hes been far too skittish on this mission, lets let him extend himself. The boy needs some confidence."

"I understand," Blaine says.

.

Soon after, Blaine meets with Elliott in his personal office. Its one of four similar offices clustered, clover-like, around a small paved atrium. They sit in comfortable armchairs, facing one another over a low table. A slim cylindrical glass of sparkling mint-scented water sweats in Blaines hand. He looks out at lush beds of ferns and inhales deeply the humidity softened air. After the drama with Major Clarington, the setting is so unexpectedly peaceful, hes able to let slip some of the afternoons tension and focus on the task at hand—made more interesting (and equally more complex and concerning) now for the possibility of a third factions involvement.

"So," Elliott is saying. Hes sunk back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the knee of the other. "The most substantial difference I see between how you might handle diplomatic communications and how I would a manage a domestic public debate is the target of persuasion."

Blaine tips his head back while he considers Elliotts advice. The murmur of flowing water fills in the silence between them. "Right," Blaine says. "At its heart, this issue is not a negotiation with our political adversaries to find common ground or compromise."

"No," Elliott says. "From what youve told me, theyre not going to shift their stance just because you bring them new science—theyre a fixed point. If you try to compromise with them, you only dilute the strength of your case. Your task is to persuade the people who are watching, not the ones youre debating. Let the pressure of public opinion force them to move. Make them follow while you lead."

"Yes," Blaine says. "We dont need them to concede a point to successfully make it."

"Nope," Elliott says, and he smiles easily. Hes mentioned neither the Majors disruption this afternoon, nor has he mentioned Kurt. Its been nice, having a straightforward and collaborative, professional conversation. "And dont yield the high ground," Elliott says. "Its rarely enough to be factually correct, you must be ethically consistent too. If you have to descend into less noble tactics, make them drag you there. You get to retain your moral authority—and it might garner you some sympathy support too. But be careful not to come off like a victim, for then you risk seeming too passive. Aim for martyr if you must. People find that heroic."

"The Ambassador is genetically incapable of self-pity, Im sure of it," Blaine says, and Elliott raises his eyebrows and laughs. "The emotional and moral framing has been my focus so far," Blaine says. "The facts dont require embellishment."

"Be clear, be consistent, be right," Elliott says, "And you know you are."

"Simple," Blaine says and grins.

"Oh, completely," Elliott agrees with a wink.

.

Dinner brings the return of some tension. He cannot relax here as he could with Elliott, for though dinner is technically leisure time for him and his colleagues, he must maintain a strict professional decorum. Theyre both worried about the Major, and Blaines aware that, though he received no specific instruction, that discretion is required. "It was a malfunction in his rig, it seems," he says. "Hed been missing sleep."

"That explains a lot," Nick says, and Trent nods, relieved.

Blaine stays for one hand of cards, briefs Trent on the Ambassadors morning requirements and routine, forwards to him the aggregation service Blaine uses to assemble the latest news from home, and gives him a few tips gleaned from personal experience. Once Trent is content enough—and theres truly little more reassurance or encouragement Blaine may offer to help soothe his nerves, Blaine lets himself feel his own nerves—not anxiety, but excitement for the evening ahead. He returns to his quarters to change out of his uniform. The Ambassador is still out.

He walks to the lift, looking forward to Kurts company and feeling wonderfully unfettered as he leaves the rest of his day behind.

.

"Would you like to start with a massage?" Kurt asks Blaine. Kurts just listed off several potential activities at the spa, and Blaines been unable to choose. Together they make their way down the corridor. Its taking on its night time vibe. The lights are dimmer and people are dressed for leisure. Kurt himself has changed out of his earlier structured layers and now wears sueded blue leggings and a clingy sweater of a diaphanous tessellating knit thats the same shade of pink as his lips. It looks like someone made it from something even finer than spider silk. The luster of the lattice overlaid on Kurts skin beckons to Blaines hands. "Its a wonderful way to begin a properly indulgent evening after a trying day," Kurt adds with a spark of promise in his eyes. He quirks a flirtatious smile and sways into Blaines space. "And you look like you need a good long indulging."

That makes Blaine laugh. But, while the day has certainly been stressful and Blaine has appetites he wishes to indulge with Kurt tonight, he shakes his head and wrinkles his nose. "I expect I do, but a massage? I dont think so, no thank you." Having a stranger touching and manipulating his naked body for reasons beyond medical care? Kurts assured him the masseurs are professional and the process is therapeutic for both body and mind, but that level of intimacy Blaine only wishes to share with Kurt. "Id be too uncomfortable to relax."

"All right," Kurt says easily. "Were not short on options." The rippled green glass doors of the spa sweep open and Kurt gestures for Blaine to precede him into the anteroom. Blaine steps into the golden light and warmth of polished timber walls and floor, and judging by the sound of his tread upon the floor, this timber is no illusion. Music pulses deep and slow, and air is fragrant with unfamiliar spice, sensual and soothing. "How about a private steam room?" Kurt asks.

"Private sounds perfect," Blaine says.

.

"I heard about the disruption this afternoon," Kurt says. He turns the lock on the door to the changing room theyve chosen, and then he leans back against the door. The pattern of his sweater pulls taut across his pale skin, obscuring little.

"Yeah," Blaine says dumbly. This afternoon may as well be last year for all Blaine cares right now. He reaches for Kurt, one hand upon the swell of his pecs. His body is firm and warm under the delicate silkiness of the sweater—its better than his imaginings, just as Blaine knew it would be. He rubs over Kurts nipple with his thumb and thrills at how Kurts eyelashes flutter. "Is that really what you want to talk about?" Blaine asks him.

"Im asking you about your day," Kurt says as he arches into Blaine touch. "Remember what I said about enjoying the anticipation?"

"And are you?" Blaine asks, leaning in close, but not quite closing the distance between their lips. "Enjoying it?"

"Oh, yes," Kurt whispers, low and hot. "By the time Ive got you exactly where I want you tonight, youll be enjoying it too."

Just the words make Blaine shiver and close his eyes. "Will I be?" he asks wonderingly, and he gives in to the gravity of their proximity. Kurt hums his affirmation into the kiss Blaine gives him: a sweet press of their lips, a breath upon an ember, a promise.

.

"This is a place primarily for relaxation and conversation," Kurt says, as they settle, nude and freshly showered, on two slatted wood loungers, set side-by-side. The walls surround them with a glittering mosaic of blue and green water tones while the steam billows about them, soothing, penetrating, and warm. "So if you have any cares from the afternoon that youd like to exorcise as part of that process..."

Blaine shakes his head and inhales. The steam is soft coming in, fragrant, and seems to expand as it fills his head and lungs. It makes his brain tingle pleasantly. "Id rather not revisit it tonight," he says. "Though meeting with Elliott was good. Hes experienced at what he does and very easy to talk with. I can understand why you and he are close."

Kurt smiles lazily. "That makes me happy to hear," he says.

"How was your afternoon?" Blaine asks. It may be that inquiries about each others day is part of the ritual.

"Dull actually," Kurt says. "Going over inventory lost during the power outage and sending requisition requests ahead to Paradigm Station. Thrilling stuff."

"Tina said we might be making an unscheduled stop."

"Mmm. Tomorrow evening. I hope your Ambassador wont mind the changes to her regular breakfast offerings—or to the schedule. I wont be able to replace the fresh milk and cream thatve spoiled."

"Strict as she seems," Blaine says, "shes far too pragmatic to be fussy."

"Admirable," Kurt muses, and he closes his eyes, sighs, and stretches before relaxing limply upon his couch. Blaine tries to let himself appreciate the spectacle of Kurts body in languid motion, displayed so unselfconsciously, without the urgency of lust coloring his own intention, but the recent experience of Kurt, so appreciative and pliant beneath his hands and mouth, are too near and too delectable to resist entirely. Blaine is himself erect—has been since he touched Kurt in the changing room, and Kurt is only partially in the same state. It doesnt seem entirely fair.

He reaches out and touches Kurts skin, gleaming damply in the steam and glowing with a healthy warm flush. Along the sculpted curves of Kurts deltoids and biceps Blaine skims his fingertips, until Kurts skin pimples in response and the pulse of blood stirs and swells his penis. "Feels nice," Kurt murmurs.

"I can tell." Blaine reaches farther, to Kurts ribs and his pecs, across a nipple and down his breastbone. Kurts thighs part and his cock thickens and stretches up toward his navel. Its fascinating how a relatively remote, nearly innocent touch affects a body. Would anyones hand summon Kurts arousal so easily? Blaines relaxed enough he doesnt stop himself from asking Kurt, "What was it like for you, your debut?"

"Hmm?" Kurt says and rouses.

"Last night—or technically this morning—" Blaine smiles at the memory. "You said being with me made you feel like this was all new again, too, and you liked having a second chance. Ive just been wondering."

Kurts smile fades into inscrutability.

"Im sorry if Ive overstepped," Blaine says, and his hand goes still upon Kurts skin.

Kurt shakes his head. "No, dont be. You havent. I told you that you could ask me anything."

"This is personal though, and I dont expect an answer if youre uncomfortable."

"Its not that," Kurt says. "Not precisely." His gaze is unfocused and his mouth turned down.

It, unexpectedly, reminds Blaine of Nicks face when he confessed his past affair with the Elyssian girl. "Did someone hurt you?" Blaine ventures gently.

A wry smile and a shake of his head. "It wouldnt be fair to Mr. Martinez—David—to say that," Kurt says, and he looks down at Blaines fingers upon his arm, covers them with his hand and then looks up at Blaine. "I was foolish. Stubborn and too idealistic, which, in combination, do not always benefit me as much as Id like. "

"Well," Blaine says, keeping his voice light. "Id hazard a judgment that overly facile cynicism could be far more treacherous..."

Kurt laughs easily, and Blaines relieved. "I aim for more self-awareness and adaptable realism now," Kurt says. "A compromise."

"Are you successful?"

Kurt look at him, long and steady, and a contemplative smile bends his lips. "I dont know."

It catches in Blaines chest, Kurts regard, and Blaines heart fills with that same unnameable emotion from before, tender and sweet—and stubbornly confounding. "As a fellow idealist, I can appreciate the challenge, at least in the abstract," Blaine says eventually.

They fall into silence for a time, and then Kurt rolls to his side, facing Blaine. "He was," Kurt begins, "the most beautiful man Id ever seen—at that time in my life."

"David?"

"Yes. He was from the Capitol, and hed moved to Pax Columba to teach ancient Earth languages at the Lyceum. He seemed so sophisticated and exotic to me."

"You were in his class?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No. I was in the city to attend seminars on central sphere politics—it was that time my father was considering becoming a candidate for the senate, and I wanted to be able to assist him, since Id been the one encouraging him."

"You said you ran his first campaign."

"Yes," Kurt says.

"You were young then?"

"I was, though I didnt feel it. I suppose looking back, it was the kind of certainty and clarity we have most when were young. I miss it sometimes," Kurt says.

"Before experience muddies our vision?"

"Muddies?" Kurt says and wrinkles his nose. "What were you saying about facile cynicism? Its not a negative thing, its not a dirtying."

Blaine looks at their joined hands. Whats hes shared with Kurt doesnt feel like a corruption of his morals. Rather he feels purified—clarified. But its not the clarity of sheltered youthful innocence. Its something better. "No," he says, "Being able to experience something as complex and then to both understand and accept it as that, rather than reduce it into artificial simplicity—thats wisdom."

"Superficial treatments, when mistaken for pith or elegance, may be the worst kind of cynicism," Kurt says.

"Are we still talking about your debut?"

"Unless were talking about yours," Kurt says, and he cocks his head. "Do you feel dirtied, Blaine?"

"I dont," Blaine says. "But I doubt youll be surprised—being with you is resulting in some degree of existential chaos for me."

"Existential chaos?" Kurt grins. "Oh my. Sounds terribly profound."

Blaine laughs. "It is though! This isnt a simple thing were sharing, not for me."

Kurts amusement turns to tenderness. "I understand that, believe me."

"And it wasnt simple for you either?"

Kurt shrugs. "It seemed simple at the time. I was in love, and everything with David was so beautiful and perfect—at least that was the story I told myself."

"So what happened?"

"Nothing, would be the short answer," Kurt says. "David was very kind, very open, and very honest with me. He had other lovers, and made no pretense of interest in any sort of exclusive long-term romantic relationship. I believed that a casual arrangement was something I could do, but after he took me to bed the first time, I was... hopelessly smitten, and I believed the truth and power of my feelings would result in a change of heart for him. That he would fall in love with me, too, if I just wanted it enough and loved him truly and well." Kurt says. "Of course, it doesnt work that way."

"He broke your heart?" Blaine says, thinking again of Nicks confession.

"Oh, no," Kurt says. "I broke it myself as surely as if Id thrown a crystal glass against a stone wall." But he smiles wistfully.

"Do you regret it now?"

"Not any more," Kurt says. "I learned some things I needed to learn, things that I wouldnt have learned without the experience I had with him."

"What sort of things?"

"That my heart runs ahead of my head, that lust and love are not one and the same, that loving someone doesnt grant us magical powers, and that knowing how to let go gracefully when the time comes is—" Kurt breaks off as his smile wobbles. "Its one of the kindest and most important skills to learn in this life."

Silently Blaine nods, but he holds more tightly to Kurts hand.