Immediately, I throw myself to the side. I don't know what sort of weapons these guys have, so I definitely don't want to risk being hit. I hit the ground with a roll and move to bring my shotgun to bear. A sharp yell gives me pause, however.

Bullets hadn't started flying yet, so I poked my head above the table. The blue alien was talking in a harried tone to the others. More importantly, it was a glowing with a harsh blue silhouette - it definitely was a mage, then.

A misinterpretation, then? Lucky - I had been seconds away from turning this lot into a stain on the hull under the laserfire of my stored drone swarm. One of the mandibled aliens barks an order of some sort and the rest lower their weapons.

Seeing that the situation has been defused, I stand back up. I guess I should be more careful with my inspections in the future - still, I hadn't expected such a dramatic reaction. The blue alien shares a few more words with the others, then approaches me, one palm held up and faced toward me.

Its de-escalation of the situation has bought this particular alien an amount of goodwill from me, so I allow it to approach. It stops roughly a foot away from me - far closer than any other of the aliens had yet approached.

It says a few words to me, despite my not understanding it. It seems to be staring intently into my eyes. Was this some sort of greeting ritual? I don't interrupt - despite my being only peripherally interested in alien customs, I suppose it would be rude to do so.

While I would have once jumped at the opportunity to learn more, these past couple of weeks have sapped my curiosity for the subject dry. There's only so many alien attacks you can weather and so many foreign planets you can visit before it all becomes rather mundane.

The alien blinks. When its eyes reopen, instead of the previously human-like eyes, the white and iris of its eyes were now pitch black. I jerk back in surprise, but even as I do so, I experience a sensation not unlike an icepick being shoved into my mind.

Crap! A psychic attack! I quickly throw together some semblance of resistance - I'd been entirely unprepared last time, I would not be caught defenseless again. "Yeoman! Take over - play it by ear!" I cede control of my body to Yeoman. This would require my full attention. I'd leave it up to his best judgement how to handle the situation - I don't want to go leaving my body defenseless while I take care of this.

I turn my attention towards the magical realm. My soul surrounded me, a wan yellow colour. Already, I could see a tendril of the alien's blue signature extended into mine. I curse internally: I'm a complete ametuer when it comes to psychic defense. Miriel had discussed the theory with me, but I've never put it into practice - I had been caught napping last time.

Alright, first step was to purge the intruder, and then to shore up defenses. Magic tends to work off of intent more than action, so I went about intending to do that very thing. Sure enough, my own energy began excising the alien's.

There's a shrill shriek - the sort someone makes when their hair is being pulled hard. Was that the alien? I don't relent - there's no way in hell I'm being cast from my body again. The screams intensify, but the alien does not relent its incursion. Despite my best efforts, it continues driving itself deeper. It's not working fast enough! I redouble my efforts, and I'm rewarded with more screaming.

All of a sudden, something breaks. I got the impression of a sickening snap, not unlike a femur breaking. My defenses melt, and the alien is given passage into the depths of my soul.

No no no no! Not again! I will not be cast from yet another body! I attempt to reform my defenses - barriers, anything to stop the alien from reaching my core. Despite my frantic pleading, my signature falls limp like a beaten dog, and I'm left powerless to resist.

The foreign presence makes its way to my core. It takes a momentary pause when it finds the image of my brain before a tendril of energy is inserted directly inside. I curse - it wasn't looking to boot me out, it was looking to take control!

Despite my increasingly desperate calls for defense, I'm unable to expunge the presence. Well, if I'm going down, I want to bring it down with me. I direct my attention towards the soul of the alien. It was noticeably diminished after its attack. Without a moment of consideration, I attempt to launch an all-or-nothing assault on the alien's soul.

My soul lamely reaches out with a strand of its own. Whatever broke during the assault has made my soul sluggish. Was this a part of the aliens' wretched plan? I similarly reach into the alien's signature. As I make contact, my perception fisheyes - no! I'm too late, it's taking control!

My vision continues to distort, my awareness reaching a continually increasing field. In mere moments, I was unable to interpret the swirls of blue and yellow in front of me. A few beats pass, the spiral churning unhappily. Was this it? Am I done for - forever to be the mindslave of some alien?

With a click, the vision resolved into an intelligible scene. I flicked my vision around. I was at a beach - in front of me was a shoreline, and behind me was a dense thicket of trees. The plants were distinctly alien. Alright - this is probably a mind trick of some sort. I can't trust my senses.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The voice brings me from my analysis. With a start, I summon my shotgun, looking for the source. I realise the alien was laying on the beach in front of me in casual clothing of some description. Had it been there before? It was speaking English, too!

Wherever I was, it seems that I still had access to my storage dimension. My shotgun was a comforting weight in my hands. "You'd better explain this." My tone left no room for argument.

It tilted its head seemingly in contemplation. It still had its back turned to me, and was looking out at the setting sun. "The sunset. This is one of my favourite memories. I thought it might be a good scene for discussion." What was it talking about? Memories? Was this a mindscape of some sort? I don't like it - having an alien in my brain skeeves me out bigtime.

Still, a discussion? Perhaps I had been hasty in my assessment of the alien's intentions. Regardless, I'll have to take everything it says with a grain of salt - this could still be a trick. It continues. "If you've got a preferred setting, you can choose the scene. Simply concentrate on a memory, and I'll handle the rest."

I give the proposition a moment of consideration, lowering my shotgun for now. This would set the tone of any discussion we were to have - not choosing one would set me on the back foot. Still, if I were to choose a scene, I would presumably be giving away some measure of information to the alien.

If it doesn't already have everything, that is.

Coming to a decision, I bring my chosen memory to the forefront. It was of the killing fields outside my base after one of the particularly bad assaults. Around us, the scene rapidly transforms. The sand and surf were turned into gore and piles of Biter corpses. In the distance, the imposing walls of my compound stretched upwards and outwards, topped with a seemingly endless line of turrets. The ever-present staccato drumbeat of my artillery was complimented with the faint electric whine of my laser turrets and the distant hum of my industry. Was it macabre? Almost definitely, but it would convey a particular message.

All around us was a field of the dead aliens stretching to beyond the horizon. At places, the bodies piled to above the waist. The air was thick with ash as teams of drones went about incinerating the bodies in the distance. Beneath our feet was a thick off-green ooze composed of xeno viscera and blood.

It was not a pleasant scene, but it was one I had seen the like of many times. Expectedly, the alien leapt from her relaxed position with a curse. It moves to say something, but I beat it to the punch. "You'd best explain exactly where we are and how much you can know of my memories."

It swallows. Was that a sign of nervousness, or something else? "N- Nothing that you don't give me. I'm not even speaking your language right now - your brain is just interpreting it that way."

I don't believe it, but I doubt it has a way of proving it. "This was strictly a method of communication, then? No attempt to gain control of or oust me from my body?"

It's eyes widened. "No! Not at all! All I've done is attune our nervous systems! All I wanted was a way for us to talk!" It appeared to be extremely unsettled from my question. Or maybe it was the scenery? That had been my intention, of course - if it is put on the back foot, I will have the advantage in any negotiations.

If I had the ability, I would have had to suppress a snort. That was a barefaced lie if I've ever seen one. I turn my attention towards the magical realm - any two-bit mage could disprove her claims. Sure enough, our signatures were bridged with a pair of tendrils - each reaching deep into the other. This was far above any biological phenomena - besides, I lack the hardware to accomplish the feat she had described.

I don't like this at all - in fact, I hate it. Here this alien is, having forced its way into my mind despite my earnest and unreserved resistance to its efforts, and it has the audacity to claim that it 'just wants to talk'. If I had the ability, I would be ejecting it without consideration for a single word it has to say. But, the unfortunate reality of the situation is that I do not have such an ability - my resistance had been all but futile, I can't imagine it being any easier now that we're inside the mindscape.

I don't like it, but I need to play along. Make the best of a bad situation.

Turning my attention back to what I perceived as the physical, I focused my gaze on the alien. Now that it was out of the hazmat suit, I could see that it was pretty much just a blue woman with some sort of swept back tendril crest in place of hair and a groove of some sort running vertically down the side of its head in place of ears.

The resemblance was remarkable, really.

"What were you planning on talking about?" I wasn't satisfied that it wasn't malicious yet, but no need to let it know that.

Its face shifted into a human expression for surprise. I'm unsure whether that's a deception of some sort, or mere coincidence that our two species developed similar expressions. "Uh. How about introductions, first. My name is Olera Fesille. I'm a member of a race called the Asari."

It stopped, clearly wanting me to reciprocate. I give a moment of consideration - there's no harm in being cordial, I suppose. "My name is Robin. Human race." I neglect to add that the former could very much be called into question - hell, even my name could be argued to not belong to me. "Do you drag people into a mindscape often, then?"

Punctuated my question with a gesture at our surroundings. It fidgeted. Was it simply projecting human mannerisms for my sake? It was rather unnerving how closely it resembles a human - perhaps that was its intention? A negotiating tactic to put me on the off foot, perhaps?

"The Meld is a common practise of my people. A Meld of this depth, however, is reserved for particularly important things. Typically they are simply a short exchange of memories." It adjusted its posture, becoming somewhat less timid. "I have to ask, is your current appearance typical of your people? Usually we manifest inside the Meld as whatever we think of ourselves as."

Now that it mentioned the topic, it does look subtly different from what I remembered of the alien. "That's a touchy question. Why do you ask?" Subtly, I adjust my shotgun. I'm unsure whether it would do any damage inside a mindscape, but my intention with the motion was strictly limited to posturing.

"I- It's just that our scans couldn't get an idea of your biology through your hardsuit. I had wanted to learn more about your race from our meld." It noticed my posture shift - I didn't like the implications of that at all. "Of course, I'm willing to give more information about my own, too!"

At least they're still under the presumption that I'm organic. I want to avoid disabusing them of that notion for as long as possible. Still, that raises the question - just how serious was my body's shielding if it could block the scans of a race that was clearly rather advanced? My read on the alien - ignoring the fact that such a thing could not be trusted - was that it was being genuine. Did I want to provide some basic information?

Realistically, what did I even want to get out of this interaction? Getting out of this with my mind intact, for one. Other than that, enough time to recharge my magical batteries, then some privacy to warp back to my bunker without giving my dimensional tech away. I could explore the possibility of a tech exchange later - for now, I want to focus on returning back to Ylisse.

I suppose that I don't have much option but to play along. I push an image of a man and a woman to the forefront, as I had with the scenery. The projection materialises beside the two of us. The alien makes a show of inspecting them. It begins muttering to itself in low tones. Despite our proximity and my own extraordinary senses, I cannot make anything it says out. Was that an artifact of the mindscape?

Satisfied, the alien turns back to me. "Two genders? Or a dimorphic caste system? What type of animal did your species evolve from?"

"Two genders. Primates." I answered. Was it really going to grill me on the minutiae of humanity? Just how long can it keep this up? I suppose now would be the time to ask.

"How long can you maintain the Meld?" It seemed somewhat taken aback. Had it expected to use the opportunity to learn more about it's race? I can't say I'm particularly interested, to be honest. This ability, on the other hand: I want to learn all I can. If I learn enough, I should theoretically be able to develop a counter - I don't want to go leaving myself vulnerable like this again.

"Uhh. There's no real upper limit on duration other than our bodies' other biological needs. We'll probably go for a few hours. Would that be a problem?"

A few hours is a long time to just talk - how much was it wanting to learn? "Why so long? What are your intentions?"

"Well, exchanging basic information to start with. Then I want to move on to your culture, then we can talk about what your race can offer the galactic community and what we have to offer you. We'll handle exchanging language in a later Meld. It's all codified as basic first contact procedure, you see."

I resist sighing. This'd be tedious - but at least it'd let me play for time while my magical batteries recharged. There's one thing that's conspicuously missing, however. "No discussion about technology?"

It shook its head. "No, not now, in any case. That conversation is for later, once formal diplomatic ties have been established."

That's reasonable enough, I suppose. Besides, if this alien is simply an ambassador of some sort, then it would not necessarily know the particulars of its technology. "Alright then, what about your species?"

It smiled. I'm unable to place exactly why, but it was every so slightly unnerving. "I'm glad you asked."

We continued exchanging details about our respectives races and cultures for some time. I restricted myself to only providing the barest minimum of information - this could still be a ploy, after all. Olera was much more forthcoming, however. I learned the Asari were a non-gendered race - though they typically used feminine words to describe themselves when speaking in other languages.

She informed me that she was somewhere around three hundred years old herself - although her species could live past a millenia. Naturally, I withheld the natural lifespan of humanity along with my own age - that was a tactically useful piece of information that I would prefer to keep to myself.

Eventually, she tired of giving me insight into her own race and got the hint that I would not be giving any further insight into my own. I got the impression that the Asari as a race viewed themselves as peacemakers - Olera's description of her people's art featured the concept prominently. Despite this, she was not a competent negotiator by any stretch of the imagination.

Maybe it was just the scenery, though. As our conversation progressed, Olera became increasingly unsettled - an ash storm was building, perhaps that was the cause of it? Or maybe it was the steadily encroaching cremator drone swarm. I don't know - my read on her could very much be compromised.

"So, what's this 'galactic community' you've mentioned?" She seemed relieved that I was expressing interest in her culture. It was a stalling tactic, of course - by my measure I still had about an hour before I could warp back home.

She edged slightly further away from the pile of Biter corpses she was next to. "Well, Galactic politics is centred around the Council - a group led by members of the three preeminent races in the galaxy - Asari, Salarians and Turians. There are also a number of associate races that gain various benefits from membership. The council passess legislation and administrates in the interests of the member races. Normally, this is limited to matters of galactic peace, security and prosperity."

They've got a galactic governing body? I'm not exactly surprised after what I've seen so far, but the idea absolutely reeks of potential abuse to me. "What sort of powers does the council hold?" I need to know more - I'm essentially acting as an ambassador for Ylisse here, but I've got no issues with simply ghosting them if they give me too bad a vibe.

"Well, the council was the group that created blanket bans on areas of research that are too dangerous to allow - artificial intelligence, genetic modification, augmentation technology - that sort of thing. Additionally, the council enforces a number of treaties that deescalate possible military conflict - you'll understand if I don't go into detail yet, of course."

I let out a noise of contemplation, signalling my desire for time to think on the ramifications to Olera. She nods, and begins observing the surroundings in detail for the first time. I had deliberately held her attention to prevent such close examination, but this information merits a change of strategy.

From what she says, this council holds on to very tight regulation over the galaxy - to outright blanket ban several fields of research seems almost tyrannical to me. Besides - if they've banned mere research of A.I., how would they react to my companions? What about me? She also said the council enforces military treaties - that suggests that it either holds significant economic power, or is a military power in and of itself.

I need to know more first. "What sort of electorate is the council beholden to? Just the member races, or associates too?"

She turns her attention back towards me. She had been looking off towards the horizon, where a small incursion of a few hundred Biters was being repelled. "Electorate? The council is not a democratic institution. Councillors are charged directly by the governments of member races themselves. Of course, there's nothing explicitly preventing a member race from putting their seat up to an election." She smiled patronisingly - almost as if laughing to herself about how foolish it was of me to assume such a body would be beholden to the populace.

Right - I think I've heard enough on this topic. The Council sounds like a nigh-autocratic nightmare. If there's any expectation of becoming an associate in order to engage in trade, I doubt that will be an appealing option regardless of potential mitigating circumstances.

She shuffled her feet, blanching at the sound the ground made beneath her. "If you do not mind, I have a few questions of my own I would like to ask." Her smile had shifted into a worried frown.

"I cannot guarantee I can will answer, but go ahead." I've got a gut feeling that she'll be asking quite a few prying questions. In the interest of stalling for time, I'll probably have to give some partial answers - I want to be able to warp back home as soon as we're done here.

She nods, accepting my stipulation. "What's the story behind this scene?" She punctuates her question with a sweeping gesture. The ash storm is starting to pick up, so our view of the distance was degrading. Even still, the harsh red glow of our orbital laser cannons could be seen penetrating the ash clouds. "I've got a few theories, but I'd very much like to hear the truth of the matter."

"What in particular are you asking about?" There are worse topics she could be asking about, but I'm not going to give her the full story by any stretch of the imagination.

"Well, for a start, is this your home planet? What are these creatures? Why are they attacking that base?"

If I had the ability, I would have smiled - her questions were far too easy to answer. "This is not my home planet. These creatures are called 'Biters'. They are attacking that base for currently unknown reasons."

Her frown deepens. "Are they sentient - did they declare war on the owner of the base? Or are they simply animals?"

"I've got no idea whether they are sentient or not, and no interest in finding out. Though they act as if they have declared war the owner of the base, I would consider them more along the lines of a cancer that must be excised."

She is very clearly unsatisfied by my answer, but allows the subject to drop.


The rest of the conversation went along much the same lines: Olera would give me some information regarding her government, people or culture with the expectation that I would provide some in return. Instead, I would give her a vague non-answer or a half-truth.

She would then get frustrated, and I would quell her frustration by expressing a manufactured interest in a particular facet of her story which she would gladly answer in depth. She would then ask a pointed question about my own race, circumstance or government, to which I would give only the barest minimum of details.

In all, a very successful negotiation: I came away knowing much more about her and her government than she knew about me and mine. If I ever came back here with diplomacy in mind, I would have them at an advantage.

Around the time the ash storm really picked up, Olera requested we end the Meld. It didn't bother me much, but she seemed extremely disturbed by the weather. Regardless, I had accumulated enough energy to return to my bunker safely, so I allowed it.

Before she did so, however, I expressed the need for some privacy in a cleanroom. I implied it was for a biological function of some sort, however she accepted my request without questioning me further. I did not trust that there would not be surveillance of some sort, but I will have to work out a concealment solution regardless.

The mindscape around us faded, and with a metaphorical blink I was back in my body. Yeoman wordlessly handed the reigns back to me. Considering we were not surrounded by a drone swarm and the corpses of hundreds of aliens, I assume that the other aliens had not made hostile overtures while I had been preoccupied.

In front of me, Olera collapsed bonelessly. She was caught by one of the other aliens - Turians, Olera had called them. She told me earlier that they were descended from avians - now that I'm looking at them again, I can see the parallels.

Her head lolled as she was lowered into a chair. One of the other Turians turns to me and says something. If I had to guess, it was a question about the cause of her current condition. I cocked my head and shrugged, hoping the gesture would translate.

Could this be the result of my resistance to her Meld? It's possible, although I can't say it's undeserved - forcing her way into my mind even with diplomatic intentions is far too easy to construe as a hostile action.

Hell, the Meld's over and it's still giving me the heebie-jeebies. Mentally, I knocked developing a sort of resistance against psychic intrusions up a few places on my to-do list. The aforementioned list popped up within my vision, helpfully displaying the new order of priorities to me.

Internally, I curse. Despite my personal feelings in the matter, I needed Olera functional long enough to instruct her associates to direct me to a cleanroom. From where I stood I inspected her. Her eyes were flickering between flat black and their normal composition. A dried trail of blue blood ran down her face, clearly having leaked from the corners of her eyes and her nose.

I'm no expert, but she doesn't look good. One of the Turians barked out an order and the rest scrambled to obey. I'm not reading any hostility from them, so I doubt they suspect me of being responsible.

A team Turians that are very clearly medics rush in and load Oleria onto a stretcher. She seems to be mumbling something urgently, but doesn't seem to have much awareness of her surroundings. The Turian in charge says something in a quiet voice to her, and she's whisked away.

The remaining Turians exchange looks with each other, seemingly unsure. The leader begins talking through a communicator. His voice is harried, but not urgent - although, I could very well be interpreting his tone wrong.

A few moments pass and I debate making for the exit. It would effectively communicate my desire to leave, but whether it would achieve that goal is debatable. "Yeoman, fill me in on what happened while I was out."

He appears. "Nothing significant. I had been anticipating hostile action, but these life forms were content to allow the blue one to finish its business. What transpired on your end?" With his verbal explanation came a recording of the events. We hadn't the need to exchange memories before this, so I was surprised to find that I understood the memory as if I had experienced it myself - I had no need to watch it or anything of the sort, I simply immediately knew it's contents.

That was a rather useful ability. Setting aside the potential applications for now, I bundle up my own memories and send them off to Yeoman. I'm unsure of the particulars of how this sort of thing works, but Yeoman seemed to have received them without issue, so I guess I must be doing it right.

A few moments pass. "This Asari seems to have let much about her own organisation slip. There's a lot of conclusions that could be drawn - potential avenues for acquisition of her races' assets included."

I convey a nod. "I thought so, too. I've no intentions of returning here anytime soon, however, so we'll have to put a peg in any sort of plans to that end."

I'm drawn by my conversation by the lead Turian. He's motioning for me to follow. Seeing no real reason to decline, I start moving. He leads me through several hallways bare of adornment. Eventually, we arrive at a door set into the wall, he types a few things into a panel beside the door and it opens.

Inside is a lounge, though the ergonomic design of the furniture is clearly unsuitable for a human. He motions for me to enter and I do so. This could be a trap, but if they're still under the impression that I am biological, then almost anything they pull will be trivial at best for me to survive.

A single Turian follows me in. He directs my attention towards the panel, showing me how to open, lock and unlock the door - not likely a trap then. He then motions for me to take a seat, then leaves. If I'm reading them right, they want me to wait. Did they have another Asari? Or were they waiting for Olera to recover? Had they managed to communicate with Olera? It doesn't matter, I guess - this suits my needs just fine. "Yeoman. See any cameras?"

"Negative, Director Robin. It is possible that they have been disguised, however."

Right - better not risk it. How am I going to hide my exfiltration, though? A smoke grenade? I peruse my storage menu, not finding any. I did, however find a few large canisters of mustard gas. Would that work?

Yeoman supplies an answer. "Your 'mustard gas' is an opaque yellow colour. It would be suitable for your purposes."

I had formulated the gas - among several other Chemical weapons - a while ago with the intent of using it as a weapon against the Biters. The project hadn't panned out due to the Biters rapidly developing a resistance to the effects, but I had kept a few canisters in storage in case I ever needed to clear a room or something.

Coming to a decision, I summon a canister from storage. It was about the size of a typical barbeque propane tank, but held the gas at a much higher pressure. Without waiting for the Turians to come see what's happening, I shoot the tank with my shotgun.

With the vessel compromised, the gas exploded throughout the room. Seizing my chance, I returned the now shredded tank and my shotgun to my storage then summoned the gear I needed onto my person and began the appropriate incantation. While I just theoretically gave away the existence of my pocket dimension, that was a price I was willing to pay to preserve the secrecy of my dimensional travel capabilities.

The now-familiar twisting of reality and intense vertigo signalled my arrival back in my bunker.

I collapse into my chair with an exaggerated vocalized sigh. That trip had been immensely draining on a mental level - I wish I could just sleep for a few days. I internally curse at my situation: that was no longer an option for me - and potentially never would be again.

Rather than sleeping, I simply sat, staring into space. It wasn't a substitute, but having a few minutes to just do nothing was a relief.

Duty calls, however, so I was back working away at my to-do list before long.


The last trip had really impressed upon me the dangers of my blase approach of personal protection and preparation: I needed much more of it before I retrieve the rest of my tethers. Unfortunately, it seems that the search for home has been pushed further down the to-do list.

Solving the issue of personal protection was rather trivial - less than half a days worth of manufacturing and planning with Yeoman saw my concerns satisfied. I was now equipped with an extremely versatile set of modular power armour.

It was networked in tandem with my storage system, so I could swap out modules on the fly. I've got quite a few options - mounted laser turrets, energy shields, supercapacitors wired to blast nearby threats with a ludicrous amount of electricity, an enhanced servo system that would allow for vastly increased mobility. Hell, I even did a bit of tinkering with my personal dimensional jumper to make it a compatible module.

Currently, I've settled on the supercapacitors, servos and an energy shield. I figured it would give me the best utility when it comes to general use, but if the situation changes I can adjust my loadout as necessary. Everything's powered by a set of three super-compact fusion reactors - that seemed a little overboard to me, but Yeoman tells me that I'm barely scraping past the needed power as-is.

I gave control over the discharge defense system - the capacitors - to Yeoman. He'll be able to make the split-second reaction to any potential threats to our lives. Honestly, I might have gone a little overkill with the amount of capacitors - anybody who gets hit by them is going to be absolutely atomized… Actually, maybe not. I just can't know what sort of threats I'm going to be facing out in the multiverse. I've gotten lucky so far, but I don't want to continue wagering my life on it.

The shield was almost skin-tight - it held position mere milimetres away from the surface of my armour. Yeoman tells me that it won't do much against other energy weapons, but it would stop physical attacks dead in their tracks.

The additional servos were great - with the increased mobility it was almost like I was some sort of superhero speedster: nothing ridiculous, but I was now many times faster and stronger than even the peak of human performance - probably closer to Captain America than, say, The Flash.

In addition to the modularity, the armour is also extremely dense - and thus, protective - I'm not sure how my machines managed it, but they somehow managed to compress several tons of high-grade steel into armour that's barely a centimetre thick. Was this another application of the same technology used to create my pocket dimension?

I don't know, but it's definitely something to look into once I'm back home.

Armour wasn't the only thing I improved on. I also composed a list of every tool that I could conceivably need in a do-or-die situation out in the multiverse. I emptied out a some of the extraneous gear from my storage and replaced it with a variety of other things - sacrificing a bit of depth for a lot of breadth.

I mean, I still have thousands of drones, hundreds of turrets, and multiple tanks and artillery guns - I only needed to give up a couple of the larger objects to fit in the stuff I wanted. They were generally small items, but they all held great utility - smoke grenades, flashbangs, hand tools, bombs of various types, man-portable nuclear reactors - that sort of thing.

Once I had my gear prepared, I set out once more to retrieve the other two tethers I had deemed unnecessary. Between the two, I had to spend about half of a day recharging my magic, but they were otherwise without incident.

Admin pulled me up when I returned from retrieving the final tether. "Director Robin? We need to speak."

I collapse into my chair. Admin didn't seek me out unless he had bad news. Last we had spoken, he had updated me on his progress with the laser satellite array. It was nearing peak effectiveness for use as a compound-defense tool, but still had some way to go if we wanted to implement our endgame stratagem. The Biters and their nests were now being blasted by lasers rated for scouring entire buildings from the face of the earth as they attacked. It was working last I heard, but my understanding of the situation was relatively outdated.

I brace myself. "Hit me with it, Admin."

His avatar nods. "As you will. Current projections indicate that the current strategy will cease being viable within the next seven days."

That soon? Damn. Admin's projections have come a long way since when he started - if he says it won't be viable in seven days time, then it won't be viable in seven days time. "What are our options?"

"The kinetic bombardment stratagem in no longer viable as a definitive solution. I have been doing analysis of the enemy - destruction of the continent will not cease the creation of new nests. A total laser scouring of the surface may still be effective, but that is not within our capability to execute within the allotted time frame using our current strategy. Expansion of the compound to increase the magnitude of the defenses the enemy must breach is having diminishing returns - I do not believe it would be sufficient even with a concerted effort." Admin's avatar delivered the news with a steady tone and a slightly downturned expression.

I slump in my chair. "But, that's all of our current options. Have you formulated any new strategies?"

Admin's expression grows serious. "I currently see two potential viable avenues of development. I rate the possibility of you being happy with either very low." He pauses for effect before continuing. "The first: deployment of thermonuclear warheads on a wide scale. Projections indicate the massive collateral damage inflicted on the continent would at the very least hinder the development of new Biter nests. The second: development and deployment of a targeted nano-plague."

Before I think to comment, Admin was placating me. "I realise you have parameterised nano-technology as non-viable, but you must realise: the first option is a delaying tactic at best. I do not see another way to permanently rid ourselves of the Biters with any form of comparable certainty. All other avenues fall flat in comparison: I would give an ideal implementation of planet-wide orbital laser scouring a twenty-percent chance of total eradication at best. An ideal nano-plague rates four times as high."

I consider the problem for a few minutes. Admin was happy to let me sit and think. The situation had changed considerably in the few hours I had been gone. Eventually, I come to a decision.

"Utilise kinetic orbital bombardment and thermonuclear warheads appropriately to play for time. Focus our resources towards the construction of further orbital stations with the goal of developing an appropriate setup for execution of the laser scouring stratagem. Develop and deploy the nano-plague only if our situation becomes untenable: remember - we aren't necessarily looking to purge the Biters, simply to prevent the destruction of our facilities long enough for me to find a path home. Once I do, we can pack up shop and get out of here."

Administrator's avatar lightens up. "I understand, Director Robin. I will implement your outlined plan."

"Oh, and one more thing before you go - what did you find out about the Biters from your analysis?"

"A considerable amount. Preliminary scans revealed that they were radiating exotic particles indicative of a personal dimensional fold - a small area of space within which they hold matter for some purpose. I suspect vital organs, but it very well could be additional material to be used to regenerate damaged tissue - among several other possibilities. An analysis of the nests confirms your 'Spore theory' - each one is spawned near-instantaneously from a microscopic spore. Analysis of the spores revealed that they also hold a dimensional fold - likely containing the nests themselves. In terms of where they get all their energy, I am unsure. The pattern would indicate that it could possibly be stored within a fold, but I have no evidence for this."

"That's… Great news, actually - we know what we're fighting now! If we find a way to neutralize their dimensional fold, then we could be looking at a way to eliminate a major advantage of theirs!" Still… to think that an organism that had incorporated a pocket dimension into its own biology exists...

They could be a useful way to learn more about the topic. I mean, my own body has pocket dimensions of its own, but if there's entire hordes of hostile aliens with their own ones we've got no excuse not to learn all we can about it.

Admin nods. "I had thought along similar lines. A dimensional neutraliser is far outside of my own expertise, however - exploratory tests towards those ends have yielded no dividends yet."

"It may possibly be within my own capabilities soon. I will keep you posted - keep working on it on your end, though."

He nods his agreement, then cut the connection. With an internal curse, I add the project to my to-do list - right below finding a way home. I doubt I'll see much development on that end - I remember almost nothing about pocket dimensions, let alone countermeasures for them from Laurents notes.