At dinner, Blaine finds himself engaged in conversation with the young woman seated to his left at the round table he shares with four others. Her smile is infectious as she introduces herself to him with a warm clasp of both hands around his offered one. "Miss Tina Cohen-Chang," she says, in a manner that gives Blaine the impression shes accustomed to people recognizing her name. Blaine refrains from deploying his eyepiece to check the significance. Hell just have to do this the old-fashioned way.

Tina has traveled from Lima, one of the planets on the fringe of the region in Elyssian space still considered the inner worlds. Its primarily agrarian, with the dominant crops grown there grapes, olives, and various other fruit trees and flowers. Wine-making is the largest sector of the economy, and Tinas father is a vintner—and apparently a well-established one at that.

"He provides the majority of the wine for the Bacchanalia celebrations in the Capital," she explains with pride. Blaine remembers the holiday from his briefing documents. It occurs five times a year, marked by the movements of Elyssias twin moons, lasting for three days and three nights. It is, from what he understands, a celebration of embodied pleasures and a throwing over of inhibitions. Nick had some stories, of drunken naked feasts that would spill onto the streets and result in all manner of public misbehavior, but he admitted hed never been invited to attend one. Off-worlders rarely were, hed said. Not that hed wanted to go, anyway.

Lima, as it turns out, is among the planets in line for possible evacuation, and she has come on this trip to help represent the interests of Lima and its citizenry. "You know how much the farmers and vintners are going to want to abandon their land," she says. "Their work cant be moved or evacuated. Some of the vineyards and orchards are centuries of years old. Theyre irreplaceable. The economic damage combined with the cultural loss, the damage to our heritage? Its unthinkable."

The meal is a deluge of flavor, color, and texture: five courses presented with such artistry on the plate, Blaine hesitates to take his fork to it. First is a bizarrely small offering: a single mouthful of slender sprouts intricately woven around a succulent round of pink fruit. Looking at it, Blaine cant reconcile the time it must have taken to create but one small bite. Then he samples it and finds at the center of the bitter greens and sweet melon a sharp creamy cheese. The flavors combine so unexpectedly and intensely, for an instant Blaine wishes for an entire plate.

"Do you like it?" Tina asks.

Flush with his unexpected enjoyment, Blaine returns her smile. "Yes."

A light soup follows, filament thin noodles in a clear aromatic broth. Then something more substantial: spears of a pungent-sweet fern like vegetable doused in a rich herbed sauce. Blaine can identify none of the flavors or ingredients, but he accepts an offered bread roll to wipe up the sauce so as to not miss a bite.

"Do you eat like this all the time?" he asks Tina. Hes accustomed to a simpler evening meal of steamed grain, a thick soup or stew, and a small salad of fruit—usually macerated unless hes on planet and fresh is available.

"As often as I can," she replies.

The main dish is an exquisitely layered pastry filled with a generously seasoned mousse-like pâté. It bears the slightest resemblance to a mushroom pie his mother used to make on winter weekends. But this dish is both more savory and complex. Therere flecks of green herb, the occasional nugget of some ground nut, and a garnet red sauce on the side thats bright and tart to contrast with the earthy unctuous flavours of the pastry.

When dessert is served at the last, it takes Blaine some time to fortify his appetite and break through the intricately constructed, multicolored sugar crust that tops a dense vanilla-honey custard strewn with pale violet petals. Its like an edible tapestry, each dessert at the table depicts a different highly-detailed flower or butterfly.

"It looks like Kurt managed to persuade Chef Kiya and her team to come do meals after all," Tina remarks. "Thats quite a coup for the Councilor," she adds as she delicately taps her spoon around the perimeter of the sugary art piece. "Kiya used to cook for the Minister of Public Arts, one of Isabelles political rivals. These custards are her signature piece."

Blaine blinks at Tina. "You know Kurt?"

"Of course I do. We grew up together on Lima," Tina says. "His father is one of our planets representatives in the senate and among the Councilors strongest supporters in taking a more active policy against the Charn Intrusion. Five years of failed diplomacy has only resulted in lies, escalation, and more civilian deaths. We need to put a stop to it, dont you agree?"

"I didnt realize they were related," Blaine says, avoiding answering her question directly. Its not his place to have an opinion of his own let along voice it. And he silently admonishes himself for not having done his own preparations more thoroughly. How was he to anticipate this? Hospitality is hardly an art form in Apathean society, not in the way it seems to be here. Apparently Kurt has some status of his own as well, not only socially but also politically. Hell need to make an appointment with Nick to find out what other nuance he may have underestimated.

"Will any of your delegation be coming to the dance tonight?" Tina asks, and her eyes are bright and piercing as they meet his. She rests her hand on the table near Blaines wrist.

"I— I dont know," Blaine says. Dance implies music, and music is rarely indulged outside ceremony on Apathea. But music is also something he enjoys whenever the opportunity arises. But neither the Ambassador nor Kurt has mentioned such a thing as part of their itinerary, so Blaine doubts hell attend. After Kurts tour of the Garden, hell need to get onto those reports. "Its more likely well be working late tonight."

.

Blaine lingers on at the table after the dessert dishes are cleared and people begin leaving. Elliott has taken up the empty seat beside Blaine and drinks some amber hued liquid in a short, squat glass. Blaine drinks water. Theyre discussing, along with Tina, the impediments to the Councilors communications strategy. Tina has strong opinions about what needs to be done to convince the population, but Elliott, with warmth and good humor, explains—in part for Blaines benefit—that the Elyssian people require more gentle persuasion, the appeal needs to be to their sense of morality more than their reason (Blaine wonders how those two things can be distinct), and that it tends to work better if you let people think theyve made up their own minds.

But he acknowledges challenges. "Most Elyssians, especially in the highly urbanized inner worlds, feel little kinship with those in the outer worlds. And, of course, our people dont like bad news to the point of avoidance. Most in the cities would prefer to spend their evenings in the theater, gardens, or at dances, not watching political debates or news reports of distant violence."

"Its less distant than it was," Tina says sharply. "They should care—they need to. Theyll have to care when they run out of wine, but by then, it will be too late!"

Blaine just listens.

In the conversational lulls, Blaine glances about for Kurt, but as was the case at the reception, he doesnt see him, just the few people still sitting at tables in conversation and a few staff discreetly clearing dishes. The Ambassador has left, said she would be retiring early, so Blaine is on his own recognizance for the evening. He remains aware of his responsibilities, but talking with Elliott and Tina is enlightening enough, he considers this preparation.

Still, hes eager for Kurts company again, eager to see the Garden. But half an hour passes, and Tina stands and stretches. "Ill hope to see you later tonight, Blaine. But if not, Im sure well be seeing more of each other on the trip to the capital. Its been a pleasure." She extends one hand to him, palm down. Hes unsure what the gesture signifies—its not one he was briefed on—but he takes her hand loosely and says a simple farewell to her, "Enjoy your evening."

And then to Elliott, who is watching him with a curious sort of smile, he asks, "Have you seen Kurt? I was meant to meet him after dinner. He was going to give me a tour of the Garden?"

Elliotts eyebrows rise. "Tonight? Was he?"

"Is that… strange?" Blaine asks.

"Not at all," Elliott says. "But Id say youve made quite an impression with him. A good one."
Blaine smiles at that. "He said hed find me after dinner, but I have responsibilities I must attend to tonight as well. I dont know how long I can reasonably wait for him."

"Knowing Kurt, hell be putting out some fires in the kitchen—"

"Fires?"

"Figuratively speaking only," Elliott says with a laugh. "Neither the appetizers nor the soup were up to his standards, and therell be hell to pay in there."

"Oh," Blaine says. "I thought everything was wonderful. Im confident the Ambassador wont have found fault with anything."

"That wont matter to him," Elliott says. "Hes very strict. Someones going to lose their position tonight, Id say."

Blaine nods and looks around the room again.

"You like him, dont you?" Elliott asks, and theres a note of something in his voice. Its unexpectedly affectionate.

It makes Blaine flush with a warmth he doesnt understand—almost as if hes been found out doing something hes not meant to, except he cant think of anything wrong with liking a person. "I suppose? I dont know him very well," Blaine says.

"But youd like to know him well." Elliott presses. He leans back in his chair, stretches his legs, and gives Blaine an evaluating look.

"Well, yes, as part of these negotiations, its best that we all get to know each other, dont you think? Were all friends today, arent we?"

Elliott laughs. "We are at that." Then he cocks his head in thought. "You know. If you want to go do whatever you need to do, Ill make sure to tell Kurt you waited as long as you could. Hell be at the dance tonight, if you wanted to come along later. It starts at midnight. He would be happy to see you there, Im sure."

"Tina mentioned theres a dance tonight, but it isnt on our itinerary."

"Theres a dance every night," Elliott says. "And, no, it wouldnt be on your itinerary," Elliott says. "But, you know, think about it. If you want to get to know us better—you might even enjoy yourself." Elliott gives him a wink and a broader smile. "How does the saying go? ‘All work and no play probably means youre an Apathean citizen?"

And Blaine has to laugh then, too. He hasnt heard it before, but its accurate enough. "If I have time," Blaine says. "Ill consider it."

"Invite your friends," Elliott suggests.

.

Back in the guest wing, Blaine is in Trent and Nicks shared quarters. "No, Blaine," Nick is saying. "You dont want to go to one of these dances."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one theres alcohol," Nick says, shoving a hand through his shaggy bangs. Trent sits nervously nearby on the sofa. Their exterior window is opaque but for two small, round portholes.

"I dont plan on drinking any of it," Blaine says.

"But they will be, and being around people who are drinking is just… Trust me, its not a good time. And then theres the music, and the way they dance and dress and the things they do in plain view of everyone. Really Blaine, its degenerate."

With a frown, Blaine says nothing. He thinks a cultural attache should be less judgmental of the culture to which they claim affiliation and expertise. Hes still not sure why the Ambassador tapped Nick to come along. He turns to Trent. "Would you come with me, then?"

Trent shakes his head. "As interesting as it sounds, Blaine—and Im genuinely curious. Not tonight. Its been a long day."

Theres no point disturbing Hunter to ask him. Military types tend to be very singular in their duty. "If I decide to go, then Ill go alone," Blaine says. "Im not afraid of a party."

But the truth is, he is a little bit afraid, has no idea what to expect. The words he hears applied to Elyssian mores tend to be unspecific. Words like excessive and indulgent and degenerate dont tell him enough for him to prepare himself. Everyone hes met has been pleasant enough, how bad can it be? If he gets his work done in a timely manner, hell consider it more seriously. First, he needs to get that analysis done.

.

Several hours later, the last thing on Blaines mind is worries about cultural and moral differences. The Charn intrusion has been slow and methodical—and utterly unopposed by anything but continued, good-faith attempts at diplomacy. The Elyssian politicians must not read their history. Apatheas longest, bloodiest war was with the Charn, two hundred years ago. Its the reason for the maintenance of a disproportionately powerful and well-trained military that rarely fights now. Only by maintaining the strongest possible defense will the Charn let their border be.

Diplomacy has never worked as far as Blaine can tell. Theres no common ground to find. The Charn are ponderous and taciturn, barely seem to even register attempts at communication from other races. They execute their goals with the single-minded focus of a glacier carving up mountains, and the violence they wreak? An aspect of it is nearly mindless. They have as much empathy and concern for those they invade as many humans do for the animals they eat. And who knows what it is they want from Elyssia? For all Blaine can guess, the Charn believe theyre clearing out an infestation of pests from perfectly good planets.

And now that Blaine knows about Lima, has met Tina, and knows this is also Kurts home—Kurts familys home—its harder to look at the reports with its name on the list of threatened planets which may require evacuation within the next eighteen months. The level of professional dispassion Blaine aims to cultivate is disturbed. Sentiment clouds reason, and he needs to approach this with a clear mind.

He manages to finish up his summary and analysis. He lists potential options and the opportunities he sees, but makes no recommendations. He does, however, tailor some of the language for those who may read this back home, the people the Ambassador needs to persuade to reconsider sending Apathean ships to fight. (And he thinks about what Elliott said about appeals to morality rather than reason, and he wonders.) Hes well aware of how much help just one of their tactical AIs installed on the latest Apathean battleship would be, if only to cover the evacuations of refugees or guard hospital ships. He looks forward to seeing Hunters strategic analysis in the morning.

For now, Blaine needs to rest. He goes into the bathroom and doesnt even look at the bathing tub. He just strips off his uniform, dumps it in the receptacle for soiled laundry, and gets in the shower. Its not the pressure showers hes used to, but the rain of water from the wide head is heavy and hot, and thats all he requires to get clean. It does little for his mind.

Blaine dresses in his pajamas and goes to the window by the bed. The solar sails billow and shimmer as the ship navigates her way through the star system theyre currently in. Two planets make bright dots in the sky, one greenish, the other orange. Both are inhabited. Tomorrow theyll be far enough out the ship can deploy its warp field.

He sits on the edge of the bed and closes his eyes. The surface of the bedspread is silky beneath his fingers. He breathes, counting his breaths in fives, trying to let the thoughts break free of their hold on his mind. Images of destruction intrude—some from reports, some formed by his own imagination. His mind seems determined in its cycling of images, thoughts, and impressions: the death toll in the outer worlds, Kurt and Tinas homes and families. Then, somehow, its just Kurt, shining and smiling and looking at Blaine like they have a secret in common. He retains the sense memory of Kurts hand on his arm. It seems a fragile and valuable thing.

When he opens his eyes, theyre wet. Blaine blinks back the moisture, and he reconsiders his evenings plans. Sleep will elude him, he knows, so he reconsiders the dance. Music and movement and Kurt may be there. Perhaps he can find Kurt and they can go to the Garden and talk.

Its well after midnight when Blaine dresses again, this time not in his uniform, but in casual slacks, shirt, and jacket. He combs his hair and double checks the directions to the ballroom. Then, with the flutter of both apprehension and anticipation in his stomach, he goes.