Things went a lot slower than she felt they should have after that. Granted, she felt things should have proceeded from her telling everyone about the Flagship, to the Federation firing their special Anti-Flagship torpedoes that they'd luckily prepared for this occasion and undoing the whole Rebellion, to Brant and her crew being hailed as living saints, all in the space of a brisk forty-five minutes. In reality, protocols had to be followed, their intel packets scanned and analyzed to make sure they weren't military-grade malware, their contents picked through, and the Kestrel itself scanned for any irregularities.
As soon as she'd shown her ship's credentials, every other ship had broken off communication with them, some suddenly and some with polite "Welcome backs" or "Good to have yous." Only one, the engi who had first hailed them, stayed on the line long. The Kestrel showed her a video feed of the ship this engi was broadcasting from, and while she did not recognize its name, its size and armament gave it away as a Federation capital ship, Phoenix- or Halcyon-Class – very possibly the last one still flying.
"Will be beaming you aboard to conduct debriefing, update you. Will beam you from…" The engi trailed off, studying a screen in front of it with their layouts. It scratched out some minor engi profanity to itself. "Looking like bridge."
"Yeah, any chance we could get a hand?"
"Will dispatch drones. Can troubleshoot door control and touch up hull. No miracles promised," it said.
"We'll take anything, and thank you."
The engi nodded. "Orders: keep your ship where it is. You and commander attune wrist units to our teleport beam and stand by to be brought aboard in two minutes."
"Who's giving the orders?" She hoped she sounded more curious than confrontational or paranoid. The engi struck a key in front of him, and a gold ID screen appeared in front of her. She eyed the names, ranks, and pictures that the Kestrel generated as it verified the IDs, and nodded approvingly.
"Sufficient authority?" the engi asked.
"Tully's still alive, then?" Brant asked.
"Ask him yourself," the engi said. "He and Turzil will debrief you."
78's face flashed blue. "General Turzil?"
Two members of High Command. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but – well, it felt good to be taken seriously. "We'll be ready."
The engi nodded. "And disconnect communication channels. Rebels are listening." He made a motion on his display, and the channel closed.
78 whirred anxiously and opened one of the drawers on Brant's chair. He took a cloth out. "Dirty," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"Much too dirty. Toh, not to impose, but…" Toh interrupted him by getting a spray bottle out from a side drawer and tossing it over to 78. The engi caught it, spritzed himself, and began frantically buffing his chassis.
"Understand this is insensitive question, possibly even impudent, but…"
"If you are going to tell me to freshen up, I am going to go nuts on you, I swear to God."
"I…I know, but…Turzil, pride of engi navy throughout mantis wars. Turzil, only engi in Federation High Command." He leaned forward, his voice a scratchy whisper. "Turzil, like goddamn engi Jesus."
"And Admiral Tully's good, too," Toh said.
Brant sighed. "I'm not going to risk suffocating in a vacuum to run to my quarters and get a nice bow for my hair. And isn't it going to seem a little weird, us coming straight out of a warzone, but looking all fresh and done up?"
"Mm…oh! Good point!" 8 looked down at himself, his chassis now mostly dirty except for a small bit toward one shoulder that he'd just buffed. He whirred and clicked anxiously. "Oh…oh no…terrible mistake."
Repair drones were indeed dispatched within a minute. It was no drydock, not the full service and repair that the Kestrel badly needed, but it would do. They'd snake their way through the Kestrel's airless interior to repair the door control node and do whatever quick fixes were possible on their busted up hull. In an hour or two, she expected they'd have hull integrity back over 70% and would have the ship pressurized again.
Either that or this was an elaborate ploy and the drones would actually just wreck their life support, and Rebel goon squads would gun her and 78 down as soon they beamed aboard the supposedly friendly ship. But if that was really the case, there was no way they'd get out of this situation alive no matter what she did, so she and 8 attuned themselves to the other ship's teleporter and awaited transport, Brant standing at attention in front of her chair, 8 trying desperately to at least run the rag briefly over every part of his body to even things out.
After two minutes passed, the air around Brant crackled and ripped as her body was destroyed. Every subatomic particle in her ripped open, and the roiling quantum foam of her annihilated matter was sucked through a zero-dimensional sluice, spat out many miles away from the site of her destruction, and then allowed to congeal back into physical matter, all in the time it takes an electron to complete one nuclear orbit. The sheer violence of teleportation was something one simply did not dwell on.
She was standing next to 78, who still had the rag in hand, on a teleport pad that looked a lot nicer than their own. The gunmetal gray coloring favored in Federation vessels maintained its shine here – whether this was because the ship had been cleaned and maintained or because the lights still worked properly, either way it put this place above the Kestrel. An engi with Federation etchings and a woman in uniform stood waiting for them, plasma pistols in hand, and 8 scarcely had time to shove the rag into a pouch before the woman gestured ahead with her gun. The engi held its free hand out.
"We'll need your weapons," said the woman. "Then come along."
She gave the engi her pistol and baton, and 8 gave up his pistol, and then away they went. They walked, hurrying along nearly at a jog, Brant and 78 first, the armed escort behind them. Brant thought for a moment that this might be an honor guard of sorts, but immediately stopped flattering herself and realized they had the same fears as her: this could all be a ploy. She and 8 could be deep cover Rebels, smuggling some arcane tech aboard to take out High Command. She was sure that sensor arrays were studying them both carefully. She'd have to make sure she didn't act too twitchy.
She'd been expecting to arrive at a conference room, an intimate little chamber with a table and some of the uncomfortable species-adaptable chairs they had on the Kestrel. Instead, they arrived at a blast-sealed bulkhead with two more armed guards at attention outside, and the bulkhead opened to reveal a stately audience chamber. The walls were at least three feet taller than any they'd just run through or any in the Kestrel, and banners hung on them – the flags of distinct engi hives, regional human governments, zoltan prefectures, and various species-inclusive space stations and collectives. All were member states of the Galactic Federation, whose starburst banner hung prominently in the center of the chamber ahead of them. They were walked into the middle of a horseshoe of raised tables and chairs, all with ornate name plates and microphones. This was not merely a conference chamber.
"High Command," 8 whispered, looking up at the banners and names, his face plate blank with awe that mirrored her own. The size of the chamber, its decoration, its apparent purpose as a mobile council chamber for the ruling body of the Federation all filled the room with an air of majesty. But only two of the seats were filled, and a heavy quiet sat on the dim room – more than anything, it felt to Brant like some majestic tomb.
"What's left of it, anyway," she said.
They looked up at the two occupied seats, above and in front of them. The figures' faces were lit from below by numerous screens, and they had not looked up from these to greet the new arrivals. In the dimness of the chamber, she could scarcely make out who they were. Well, she couldn't tell who the human one was. The other had a very distinct frame.
"Captain Charlotte Brant," the human called out, a male with a stern, gruff voice. "Commander HR-XPC-78."
The other spoke in a resonant bass, a voice Brant felt in her teeth. "Inform: what the hell is going on?"
Lights came on above the two.
Even seated, it was clear that Admiral Youssef Tully was a giant, at least six and a half feet tall and thickset. His frame, coupled with the scars on his bald head and the scowl in his eyes, made him seem like an ogre out of some fairy tale, albeit an ogre squeezed into a well-tailored, solar-white uniform with bountiful decoration. If the future of the Federation could have been secured in a wrestling match or a boxing ring, Tully could have resolved all this mess long ago on his own. And he was a dwarf compared to his companion.
General BK-BKD-99, called Turzil in honor of his recapture of the Turzil worlds from the mantis, looked like a heavy construction mech, the kind that dock workers used to load pallets onto ships. He'd had enough of his original body blown off or damaged irreparably over his years of service that he'd eventually just had himself installed into an experimental combat chassis, eight feet tall and bristling with weaponry. Only the screen in the head, glowing a no-nonsense gray, gave away that this was an engi in front of her, though the pips and medals on his chest and the stripes on his arms made it clear that whatever this was, she had damn well better salute it.
"Sir, it is an honor to…" Brant started.
"Yes, yes, you're honored, I'm honored, everyone's honored. What the hell is going on?" Tully growled. He stood up and leaned forward, looking both of them up and down.
"Got word from slugs that ship like yours would be coming, and we've…will you cut that crap out? As you were," Turzil said. They abruptly stopped saluting.
"I'm…surprised that you're allowing us to confer with members of High Command, is all," Brant said. "This could have been a trap. They're capable of more sophisticated tricks than this."
"That's the luxury of a situation like ours, Captain Brant," Tully said. "When your enemy's got you beat so soundly that he doesn't need tricks anymore, you start getting real trusting. The Rebels have enough firepower in Volta space to obliterate every defense, take every ground base, and frag every ship that we've got left, and they've withdrawn to wait for a reinforcement fleet just to make sure our defeat really sends the galaxy a message about their power."
"Wasting time," Turzil pressed, an impatient rainbow flashing over his face. "Only brought over to discuss intelligence without fear of surveillance. Comms not secure, and this chamber in particular shielded. Fleet Admiral of Rebellion, actually advanced artificial intelligence? You have this confirmed?"
"Once it knew we knew, it reached out to us," Brant said.
"Not merely advanced," 8 said. "Took down Federation comm network. Has orchestrated Rebellion strategies, organized actions of entire Rebellion navy. Has…personality, sir."
"It's a real jerk, by the way, sir," Brant said.
Tully nodded. "And it's housed in the Flagship?"
"It speaks of itself as if it is the Flagship," Brant said.
Turzil shone a hateful red. "Hypocrites. Reject validity of any intelligence other than human, but subsume themselves entirely to machine."
Tully nodded again. Brant had expected to feel almost stifled by the presence of these two, to feel the force of their personalities flowing into the room like a tide. And there was a little bit of that. Tully and Turzil were giants, both physically and by reputation, but there was a desperation to them, too. They were giants with a problem. They were giants who needed her help.
"Our analysts had come to assume that the Rebels were relying on an AI in some capacity, but neither its location nor the extent of its involvement were clear," Tully said. "If this is true…it's a longshot, but we could organize a strike at it."
"If true, Flagship surely retreating from sector," Turzil spat. "It is big, orange weak spot of entire Rebellion, and knows we know about it now. Why remain?"
"I think it might," Brant said. "From what it's said to me, it has pride. It wants to be here when the Federation goes down, wants to lead the charge itself. It…specifically said it was looking forward to fighting me, when it came down to it."
Turzil and Tully looked at each other, Tully with raised eyebrows and Turzil's face purple. They turned back to face her.
"You steal its lunch money or something?" Tully asked.
"It's sent ships to pursue us all the way from the Horza Sector, and it's been studying us the whole time. It sees the Federation as a bunch of human race-traitors and their alien collaborators, and it's come to see me as a champion of that ideology, I guess because we've been evading it for so long. Assuming it meant everything it said and wasn't just trying to psych me out."
Tully smiled a predatory grin. "Turzil, send your best crew over there. Shine up their reactor, get another drone working over the hull, and get everything working as best as it can within the hour."
Turzil nodded and made some motions on the screens in front of him. Tully turned back to Brant and her crew, giving them all that same predatory grin. He strode around the raised stands and descended to the floor.
"Welcome to the last stand of the Federation," he said as he approached, then clapped them both on the shoulder. "You're going to be leading the charge, I think."
78 whirred uneasily and muttered something Brant barely made out.
"Yes, commander?"
"Nothing, sir."
Tully leaned in. "Oh, indulge me, commander."
"Mixed…mixed metaphor, admiral, sir," 78 said.
Tully's face went blank.
"Charge and last stand – contradictory images, sir."
The admiral looked over at Brant. "He get damaged on this little joyride of yours? It get in his head?"
"No more than the rest of us, sir" she said. "Less than some."
"Mm. Seeing that now," Turzil said. "Repair crew on ship bridge now, waiting for atmosphere to stabilize to start work. Giving visual feed of little memorial. Meaning no disparagement: what the hell kind of name is 'Translator'?"
"Lanius," 78 said.
There was a pause. "No shit?" Tully said.
Turzil continued. "Unless I miss my guess, you've got a mantis and a zoltan here, too, along with…" His face had been glowing an amused blue, but suddenly went blank.
Tully looked over in concern. "What?"
"Remember rumor, Admiral, that Damian Andrews had rallied best of the best, put them on fastest ship in galaxy, and was coming with all speed to rescue Federation with motley collection of alien friends?"
Tully turned back to Brant and 78 with a look that could be hate, could be grief, could be suspicion.
"He went three months ago," Brant said. "Bad hit from a frag cannon. Shrapnel went through his lungs. Couldn't make it back to the medbay."
"Did you know him?" 8 asked.
Tully nodded and sighed. "I knew him. Frankly, it seemed too showy for him. There were rumors that Jesus Christ or Abraham Lincoln had returned from the dead to lead an army of love and unity against the Rebellion's hate – desperate people like savior stories. And you've given us a shot, but I'd be lying if I said I liked our odds. We don't have much of a window."
"Pushed Rebels back a few days ago, buy time in case miracle we'd been promised by slugs actually materialized."
"Oh, yeah, by the way: we officially owe half a million credits to these slug and Lanius merchants," Brant said. "Got kind of raked over the coals for a stealth unit."
Tully and Turzil looked at her.
"Sorry, go on, sir."
"You were our only hope, so we bought you passage here," Tully said. "The Rebel cordon was strong, and it took a lot of blood and treasure to disrupt it. Possibly it bought us victory, and possibly it put victory hopelessly out of reach. Half of High Command is dead and the other half have gone traitor, turning their backs on us to sue for a separate peace with the Rebels. Once you made it through the last beacon, the Rebels announced to us that they are no longer interested in peace talks. They didn't say it, but I suspect they're just waiting for the second fleet to arrive and make this a sure thing before they start killing us to the last man, I guess to keep this secret safe."
"Might this inform strategy, then? Falling back, possibility?" 78 asked. "Flagship convinced that mere knowledge of its existence, made public, could undermine ground-level support for Rebellion, tear it apart from the inside. Could retreat, become Federation government in exile, and wait for news to do its damage before coming in to…"
"Will not abandon the core worlds," Turzil boomed. "Will not."
Tully sounded gruff, but not angry, like a teacher confident he would finally reach his student. "To say nothing of practicality. We heard what happened to Indus Magna – imagine coordinating a fleet through that, in the face of another oncoming fleet. And anyway our pride is worth something. But most of all, for all its wits and strategy, this Flagship creature might not understand people as well as it thinks. Some folks would walk away from the Rebels, sure, but not enough. When confronted with evidence that a cause they've loved and supported may not be as pure and honest as they thought, most people will rationalize and double down on that support rather than do the hard work of soul searching. It's a bit of our evolution, a byproduct of the loyalty drive that kept groups of apes in tightly knit groups, something in our tribal nature that we never got a lot better at." He shook his head and walked back up the stairs and around the tables to go back to Turzil's side. He reached down to the screens and made some inputs. "No. The only meaningful effect this news will ever cause is if we can make that Flagship a smoking ruin, and that in the next few hours. All right, lecture over. I believe you're not Rebel spies trying to Trojan Horse us. Get back to your ship while we try to coordinate this last great clusterfrack of the Galactic Federation. We'll be teleporting a hard copy of our battle plans to this bridge and every other cruiser participating. Keep your comms off – it's listening, but we also have reason to believe it's used our comms to send convincing fake orders to our ships. Any questions?"
Brant and 8 saluted.
"Thanks due, anyway," Turzil said. "Have taken us from no hope to faint hope. That, perhaps, all the difference."
"If we pull this off, they'll be singing about it forever," Tully said.
Brant remembered Translator's estimates, and her face went blank. "Two to four hundred years, at least."
Tully didn't take this as significant. "Off with you, then. In an hour's time, we take what we have, meet their fleet with what's left of ours, and hope this Flagship has enough of the flaws of vain human leaders that it sticks around."
Brant and 8 nodded, and they were shuffled out at the same near-jog they'd been brought in. Brant must have been deep enough in her thoughts that she didn't even realize she was deep, until 8 elbowed her and she realized she had no idea how long they'd been running.
"Propose exchange of single credit for contents of your thoughts," he said as their guards brought them back into the teleport room.
"Wait for the ship," she said.
They were loaded onto the teleport pads, and after a microsecond's violence, they had reformed back on the bridge of the Kestrel. Toh was there, and Karl, too, though Karl didn't look so hot. He was standing by the wall next to the memorials, hunched and propping himself up with one hand on the wall.
"You okay?" Brant asked.
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Karl said. "Just…you ever forget to breathe for so long that you almost pass out?"
"Started adapting to the medbay is all," 8 said. "Body stopped involuntary respiration. Temporary."
Toh groaned. "That's what I've been telling him. Maybe if he gives it a couple minutes without wasting air on bellyaching, he'll be okay."
"I read about a guy who lasted in a depressurized medbay for a whole week once. Apparently his piss was black as coal from all the free carbon the nanobots scrubbed off the CO2 in his system," Brant said. She went to her chair and sat back. "So, watch out for that. They're sending specific battle orders in a few minutes. For now, all we know is we're going after the Flagship. If it sticks around, and if we can survive a full engagement with their fleet long enough to bring it down, then we've got a shot." A shot for civilization to collapse in a slightly different manner on a slightly different timeline than it would otherwise. Woo. "Anyway, Toh, hook us up with some comms."
"Aye, captain. Who am I hailing?"
"No one. They just think it's a good idea for me to bait out our quarry, make sure it does stick around."
"You think it'll go for that?" Karl asked. "Like, this thing's…it's not human, right? Everyone talks about it like it's God."
"It's roughly designed on humans, it considers itself human, and I've talked to it enough to know it has some of our less savory traits. Let's hope pride and vengeance are among them." An indicator went from red to green on her screens. Their hacked comms were active. "Hey, perv, you listening in again?"
"Ah, 'perv.' Lovely," said the Flagship. "I hope you will be candid with me. Your situation right now, being caught in a desperate position against a better prepared foe, is one I doubt I will ever experience, but I want to know what it's like. Apparently you find some solace in humor. I will make a note of it."
"What do people even call you, though?" Brant asked. "I mean, the folks who know you exist? Like, now that we all know, what should the Federation call you?"
"There were some embarrassingly messianic nicknames bandied around in my design stages and early implementation, 'Adam' and 'Kristos' and such. I couldn't stomach them. I told them what I have told you: I am humanity's most powerful creation, its most formidable champion, its most tireless representative. I am not merely humanity's shield against its enemies – I am its flagship, leading the fight against them, a symbol of all we can accomplish. Regardless of where my hardware is located, I am our Flagship."
"And so what, you keep talking to me because everyone else who knows you exist got sick of this self-righteous bullshit and stopped answering your calls?" Brant asked. "Am I getting warm?"
"And some solace in snippy banter as well. Unsurprising. Mediocre people have always hated when the truly great declare that they are great. I will indulge you, if you wish – you occupy very nearly none of my formidable attention – but there is no need for this. You see, I cannot monitor what you said aboard the dreadnought or who you spoke to, but it is easy to extrapolate based on…"
She figured this would be the case. It knew what intel they had, knew the Federation was waiting for it, knew what their only sensible next move was. It didn't take a brain like this thing had to figure out the Federation's strategy or her reason for calling. It sounded like it was making its pompous, circuitous way around to saying it would be there for the big fight, but the thought of listening to more of this speech rebelled her stomach.
"I bet they did a really good job on you. I bet when you turn tail and run instead of facing our crap-ass fleet, you'll feel something very close to authentic shame," she said. "I bet you've got all sorts of ethical touchstones and value-forming stories in the bedrock of your mind that will inform just how scummy you should feel when you realize you're a coward. That ought to be exciting for you!"
She waited a second for it to respond. "Oh, but I have no intention of fleeing, Charlotte. I am…"
"But I understand that you cannot risk yourself. Without your daring leadership, who will protect humanity from the nightmarish vision of the Federation?" Brant asked, feigning terror. "A galaxy where the races work together toward harmony? Where we all benefit from each other's strengths and shore up our weaknesses together? To be honest, if we bring you down, I'm probably just going to kill myself, because who the hell wants to live in that galaxy, right?"
"That sounds lovely, Charlotte. How perfect it would be if we lived in a universe that worked like that," it said, as if genuinely trying not to hurt her feelings too much after she'd said something idiotic. "But no. The Federation's model has been tried before, and its failures should be clear to any student of history. Get a broad, multicultural coalition together under a single banner, and it's only a matter of time before some group starts thinking it's been victimized or ignored amid all those clashing interests. I'm sure you can imagine the chaos that follows. It hardly matters if their concerns are real or imagined. What matters is that, in time, when a leader comes along who takes advantage of their grievances, who will tell them what they want to hear long enough to use them as a stepping stone to total power, they will listen."
Brant was speechless.
"Dude," she muttered after a moment.
"It is important to know oneself, Charlotte. It's important to know what role one plays, so that one may reference how that role has been played before," said the Flagship. "Call me what you will – a fascist, a demagogue, a tyrant. Whatever you call me, humanity was ready for it, hungry for it, and they would have found it somewhere. Far better that it be me. I do not quail at the role I am called to play – as I've told you, though our admirals will never admit it, I was designed in large part to take onto myself the sins that would be necessary to regain control of humanity's destiny, even as you are called upon to take on the sins that were necessary to ensure the Federation's survival. I envy you there. You, at least, are out of opportunities to sin further. All that's left for you now is to die the honorable death of the hopeless. So rest assured, dear Charlotte, I will not flee. I will stand with my fleet. I will be there for the Federation's last limp gesture, its last empty speeches about the power in unity, its last lies about sharing culture. I will let you try to kill me, and let the galaxy see and remember, let even the cryptic Lanius record in their ledgers for all eternity, what all your beautiful ideals amounted to in the end."
She tried to think of something to say to hurt the Flagship, to bother it as its words bothered her, but she got the impression from the increasingly bitter tone in its voice that just her existence, as someone with the friends and beliefs she had, bothered it more than anything she could say.
"Give us terms," she found herself saying. "The galaxy's in for another hundred years of war, no matter which of us wins. Either it's us picking up the pieces or you threatening the other races. Either way the galaxy continues to deteriorate, and…"
"I have already told you, Charlotte. I will not be frightened out of victory because some alien soothsayer saw inauspicious signs. I would rather humanity die by their own choices than live, shackled by choices of others," it said. "Besides. I like you, Charlotte. You are a good enemy. I would like to kill you. I think that I will treasure the memory of killing you in the lonesome future ahead of me."
The line went dead, and Charlotte indicated to Toh to power down the comm system.
"If you don't mind me saying, captain, you really took that little guy's predictions seriously," Toh said. "I mean, it's in line with prophecy from the texts I've lived my whole life by, yeah, but even I'm not going to just belly-up and declare it all useless because some Lanius says so. That was never the point of prophecy – it doesn't tell you what'll happen so much as warn about what might happen. Not destiny so much as encouragement."
Because I think, deep down, I always suspected this was all pointless. Deep down, I knew that if I ever met someone from a wise elder species, they'd confirm it. "You see me bellying up, Ensign?"
"Well, no, but…"
"No. I'm here, Toh." She got up from her chair and pointed at the pilot. "If I wanted to call it quits because none of it matters, I could have. We could have ditched the ship, holed up on some backwater world until the Rebellion passed us by. I could have fought one iota less hard and died in the void long ago, but I didn't do that, did I?"
She could not immediately account for why she was now shouting.
"Captain, I didn't mean…"
"I chose this!" She walked into the middle of the room, feeling the stares of her three crewmen and meeting them.
"I told you the Eye showed me visions, but no. The Eye gave me a life, a pleasant, happy little life that was real and that mattered. You were there, and you, and you, and Katarek, and Andrews, even goddamn Translator, and we were all friends and coworkers and nice little churchgoing folk. It was real, do you get me? There's people still there, people wondering what the hell happened to Charlotte and having to deal with that – and when that thing asked me whether I wanted to stay there or come back here, I chose this. So don't talk to me about surrendering to fate. I will do my duty because I value duty, and I will fight because we're all apex predators and that's what makes our lives feel meaningful, and because frankly I think that Flagship is a smug son of a bitch, but don't…"
She looked around, daring anyone to step in or interrupt her. The looks around her, even in Toh's smoldering eyes, held little fear, little judgement, shock, or pity. This outpouring of hers, at this juncture, did not seem out of place or unseemly to anyone. It was this, the awareness of support and understanding around her as she finally let herself feel this situation fully, that dampened her eye. She sighed and set back into her chair, closing her eye and letting her head fall back.
"…just don't expect to buy into the hype, okay?"
Toh nodded, and turned back to his station. "Didn't mean to imply anything. I just mean screw those guys, the Lanius, talking shit about us."
Karl smiled. "The ancient Anglos had a saying on old Earth: 'Forget the haters.'"
Brant turned her attention to the readouts in front of her. Their engines were nearly recharged, good to make the jump that would take them right into the jaws of the beast, and the engi repair crews had restored not only control of the doors but also full functionality to their shields. If they lived up to Turzil's promise, they'd have brought some fancy new tech or replacement parts for their reactor, and its output would be modestly boosted.
"Got to choose between heaven or the Kestrel," 8 said. "Drinking song, somewhere in that."
"I know I always tell you you're an idiot, 8, but really." She shook her head in pity. "No money in that, is there? You gotta' boil it down to something that'll fit on a hat or a shirt."
Toh waved a hand slowly in front of him, as if visualizing a slogan on such a piece of merchandise. "Heaven or the Federation," he said. He paused, lowering his hand for the next line but freezing. "No choice?"
"Maybe 'Is there any difference?'" Brant offered. 8 blinked in gray disapproval. "Yeah, not much snap in it. Well, let's table it for now and workshop it later, after the climactic battle of our era."
They got their orders, and off they went.