Disclaimer Update: Andrea Sachs/Devil Wears Prada? Not mine. Not even close. Word Count: 3,565

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Rachel said, peeking out at the crowded room. "We can just release a statement. You don't need to face them."

"We just destroyed two blocks of their city," Quinn said. "I think we owe them a personal explanation."

"Why can't Brittany or I do it?" Rachel asked. "I'm the Clan Ambassador, and Brit is always seen near me. No one will think anything of it if we face them. And shouldn't you go clean up first? You look a little toxic."

"No," Quinn said, frowning and looking down at herself. "My responsibility. My plan."

"She'll be more impressive, more believable, looking like that," Lady Black said, shaking her head. "And she's already gone through decon, so she's perfectly safe, if a bit smelly."

"Hey!" Quinn protested, trying to remove a mark from her shoulder.

"I noticed you aren't asking me to do this," Santana said, over their com. "Should I be hurt?"

"San, we want to make a good impression here," Brittany said. "Someone would ask a question to make you angry and you'd get nasty. Quinn is the best choice for this."

"Okay, so she's got that nordic blonde thing going for her. She smiles and they fall all over themselves to believe her. But I get the next one," Santana said, huffing.

"If it involves the fleet, yes," Brittany said. "Until then, babe, we keep you in reserve, like our secret weapon."

Listening to Brittany over the comm, Rachel giggled. "She's got Santana right where she wants her," she said in a low voice to Quinn.

"Brittany has all of you right were she wants you," Lady Black said, shaking her head in amusement.

"Do you see any of us objecting?" Rachel said. "Even Sophia follows her lead. She's the power in the room."

"And don't you forget it," Brittany said over their private comm. "I see all and hear all."

Rachel laughed.

"Ready?" Lady Black asked Quinn, not having heard Brittany's comment. "I'll go first, introduce you and wave you out. You can handle this. Piece of cake."

Quinn nodded, motioning for her to go.

The press started shouting as soon as they spotted Lady Black nearing the podium, flanked by two of Quinn's troopers, who stepped several paces to either side of the podium when she stopped.

"What happened!"

"Is the fighting over? Who won?"

"Are the hostages okay?"

"Who were the hostages? Where are they now?"

"Who was it?"

"Why did you have this fight in the middle of the city?"

"Where are the other buildings?"

"Where's the Mayor?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, If you could hold your questions for a minute? Thanks." She waited for them to quiet down. "Thank you. At 2PM yesterday, we were informed by the Mayor's Office of a hostage situation at the old Hook and Ladder 8 firehouse in Tribeca that involved our Clan. With permission from the city, and your state and federal agencies, we came up with a plan to contain the situation and resolved the issue. None of the hostages were injured in the rescue."

"That's the old GhostBuster's headquarters," a loud voice shouted. "Did you call them for advice?"

"The current owners of the building provided useful information," Lady Black said. "My understanding is that the Ghostbusters have not owned the building for a number of years."

"Does the government of Mexico have anything to say about their involvement?"

"As you should be aware by now," Lady Black said, "the government of Mexico has no involvement with the independent Dragon Clan enclave on the Yucatan peninsula. The United Nations and most planetary governments have recognized the Clan's claims to this territory."

"The who?" a reporter asked. "Are they the aliens that annexed the Mayan homelands during the Mayan non-apocalypse of 2012?"

"A representative of the Dragon Clan ruling Council is here and will speak with you shortly," Lady Black said. Turning, she nodded towards Quinn who approached the podium. "May I present the Lady of the Hands."

In a corner of her helmet display, Quinn could see the stage from the back of the press room. She had to smirk at the impression she was having on the normally jaded reporters and news crews. "Do we have any bios of these people?" she asked Brittany. "Any reporters I should focus on?"

"Working on it," Brittany said. "You just smile and do your thing. Oh, Good. That one who asked about the 2012 non-apocalypse? She's up for a Pulitzer this year. Watch out for her questions. The rest of them are just regular stringers and second tier nobodies. They'll just recut whatever you say for the big cheeses to react to later."

"Got it," Quinn said. "Focus on the bohemian looking one, ignore the rest."

"That's not what she said," Rachel said. "And she probably has a girlfriend already, so no flirting."

"Her Pulitzer nom is for something she wrote about recovering from losing her wife," Brittany said, softly. "Be nice to her."

"And no flirting," Rachel repeated. "Or making her cry."

"I don't flirt," Quinn said. "And I won't make her cry. I can be nice."

"It's good you believe that," Santana said, in a low voice.

"Here we go," Quinn said, before popping open her helmet and shaking her hair to remove the sweaty helmet hair look, though she didn't really need it after decon.

"You had questions for me concerning the recent hostage situation?" Quinn said, exaggerating the slight Clan accent they all had when they spoke through the translator. She pointed at the reporter Brittany had singled out. "You may ask."

"Yes! Andy Sachs, New York Mirror," the woman said. "Why did the Mayor's office call you? The City has a trained police force to deal with hostage situations."

"The terrorists indicated they wouldn't deal with anyone else," Quinn said. "They specifically asked for us to come here."

"Called you?" Andy corrected. "Why? Why not the city government?"

"We have encountered these terrorists several times in the past and apparently impressed them," Quinn said. "If you recall the hijacked cruiser last spring?"

"That was you?" Sachs said. "None of the rescued passengers could remember what happened."

"This group of terrorists prefers to render their hostages unconscious," Quinn said. "They prefer to not have witnesses."

"Are they in custody?" another reporter asked. "And where?"

"The hostages have been taken to one of your hospitals after the antidote was administered. Your Mayor's office has details of their condition. The surviving terrorists are currently being interrogated by our security forces," Quinn said.

"Why haven't you turned them over to the police?" Sachs asked.

"That is currently being discussed," Quinn said. "There appears to be some disagreement as to their future."

"Their crimes occurred in this country," another reporter said. "What gives you the right to detain them?"

"You wish us to let them go?" Quinn asked. "They are terrorists. They threatened to release a poisonous gas on your city that would have killed thousands."

"How do we know that's what they were planning, we only have your word for that," the reporter said.

"They are currently unavailable for interviews," Quinn said. "If you wish to speak with them you need to contact your Homeland authorities."

"They claimed that when they took the hostages," Sachs said, turning to the other reporter. "Why did they ask for you to surrender all of your technology to them?" she asked Quinn.

"I am not sure you are aware of our history with this planet, so pardon the history lesson," Quinn said. "The people you call Mayans are descendants of an ancient band of our people who came to this planet to set up a base. They were responsible for policing this part of the galaxy for the Pan Galactic Confederation. We came here to find out what happened to them when they disappeared while setting up their base. We're finishing what they started. Once it is ready we will be using this system as our headquarters in this quadrant.

"Yeah, we've heard that story," the reporter said. "But you haven't provided any proof. For all we know you are just alien invaders with a semi believable story."

"We do not require your belief or permission to do our job," Quinn said, pausing a moment to let that sink in before continuing. "The terrorists appear to have found several caches of old Dragon Clan equipment from the original base and would prefer to be the only possessors of this tech, keeping your planet a primitive backwater under their control. This would also make you unfit for joining the Confederation at some point in the future."

"And you have other plans?" Sachs asked. "For this planet? What about the Prime Directive?"

"That is from one of your entertainment shows, yes?" Quinn asked. "Some of my troopers are big fans, though they haven't convinced our leadership council that attending one of these Trek Cons would be good public relations. There was some concern that real aliens would disrupt such meetings."

"Yes," Sachs said, speaking above the laughter of the other reporters. "If they go, I'd like to go with them," she said excitedly. "If they all look like you there will be some interesting reactions."

"Look like me?" Quinn frowned. "I am not sure what you mean. Although the Confederation does not have this 'Prime Directive' that you speak of, we will not be releasing all of our technology immediately. It could destroy your societies or cause wars. That the Confederation does frown on. We will be working over the next few years to gradually integrate it into your society. We are already discussing this with your governments. You should begin seeing the results of those discussions this next year."

"Oh!" Sachs said. "And these terrorists who have found some of your technology are dangerous?"

"Yes," Quinn said. "They don't appear to understand how much of it works. It is almost all more dangerous to them than us. This gas they planned to release would have hurt everyone except us. Due to our slightly different biology, we are immune to it."

"So, basically, the Mayor let you handle this because you are the local space cops and you are immune to the poison the terrorists were using."

"Yes," Quinn said. "You could call us 'cops' except our 'beat' covers a large galactic area, not just this planet. But we don't work just in space."

"What does your title mean?" one of the TV reporters asked. "Lady of the Hands? Whose Hands?"

"I am a member of the Dragon Clan ruling Council," Quinn said. "I am their Hands. All ground action is the purview of my troopers. The closest equivalent in your country are your Marines."

"So, space Marines? Do you recruit from locals?" an older grey haired reporter asked.

"At this point we are not recruiting, no," Quinn said. "At some point in the future we may."

"What do you look for?" he asked. At her confused look, he asked "What are your qualifications for recruits?"

"Due to certain aspects of our current technology, there is a very limited pool of your people who would succeed as Clan troopers. But I am not prepared to disclose that at this time."

"But you have real space ships," another reporter said. "We saw them this morning over the city. They weren't special effects or hallucinations. You must need crews for those? We have astronauts who have been waiting for years to get into space. Surely they are qualified?"

"I am not authorized to speak for our Fleet and their plans for expansion," Quinn said. "My role is more limited than that."

"But I can," a familiar loud voice said. A hologram of Santana appeared next to Quinn.

Quinn groaned. Brittany had obviously lost that argument. Saying a quick prayer to the Clan's guardian spirits, she said, "May I present the Commander of our Fleet, the Lady Air. She apparently has decided to join us from her flagship."

"Love you too, Lady H," Santana said. "Hey media people," she said, looking around. "They were right, you're kinda cute, Sachs. If I weren't already involved…"

"Your culture allows same-sex relationships," Sachs asked, "Lady Air?"

"Are there other kinds?" Santana said, smirking. "Oh, sorry, a disclaimer. Our Ambassador wants me to say that we, as a people, have no preferences and that our ruling Council, including myself, and the Ice Babe here, are not examples of our entire society, but this isn't the place for an in depth cultural interchange. You'll have to attend one of her lectures or read one of her books for that."

"So you aren't gay?" the TV reporter asked.

"That's your word for happy, right?" Santana said. "I like my job ordering the minions around. My girl make me happy, and I get to fly spaceships with big guns. And space battles. Of course I'm happy."

"Is Lady Hands your girlfriend?" a different reporter asked.

"I do have a thing for tall blondes, but no," Santana said, smirking. "My girl is busy elsewhere dealing with more of those terrorists. And she prefers to not be photographed, so she wouldn't be here anyway. And Hands here is spoken for, though she doesn't know it yet."

"You speak our language in an interesting way," Sachs said.

"You like it? The best translators the Fleet can build," Santana said. "Otherwise I'd sound formal like Handy here."

"That isn't your real voice?" Sachs asked. "I have a friend who sounds like that."

"I'm an alien," Santana said, winking. "What do you think?"

"Are you done?" Quinn said to her.

"Never answered the question," Santana said. "But we can skip that."

"Lady Air? Could you answer the question?" the old reporter said. "What does your typical recruit look like?"

"We have all sorts in the Fleet, but we have the same minimum requirements as Hands."

"Which are?"

"You really want to know?" Santana looked at Quinn, who shook her head. "All of our tech requires some Clan blood to operate fully, so if you aren't one of the couple million members of the Mayan diaspora, as one of your Mayan experts puts it, you aren't piloting one of my ships or wearing one of H's fancy hard suits. And right now, we aren't equipped to handle the testosterone gang."

"No men?" Sachs blurted out.

"Nope," Santana said. "Our little rescue fleet contains no men."

"Isn't that sexist?" Another reporter asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Santana said. "In the Clan, jobs go to those who do them best. Women are best at war and all the things needed to wage war like faster reflexes. Men of the Clan are best at other things. We didn't bring any of them with us on this little trip because we don't need those other things they are good at. And since you have a planet full of billions of them, we won't have to go get any."

"No men?" the TV reporter repeated as if she hadn't heard the question. "You are all women?"

"Last time I checked," Santana said. "Though apparently there are men among the Mayans. Yeah, I was surprised at that also. Apparently, in some societies, men are required if you want children."

"I think you've said enough, Lady Air," Lady Black said, approaching the podium. "She has a great sense of humor, right Lady Hands?" she said, after Santana's hologram was gone.

"Yes, a wonderful joker," Quinn said, shaking her head. "Any more questions?"

"No men," Sachs said again. "Why not?"

"As Lady Air said, we were in a hurry to get here," Quinn said. "Our travel window was very limited. We came with the bare minimum of forces needed to secure the sector. If we had been the invasion force several of you have accused us of, we would have brought a colonizing team with us, and those are ninety percent male."

"So, not all of your people are gay or in relationships with members of the same sex?"

"Of course not," Quinn said. "I believe the proportion of Clan with the sexual identity you are referring to who came on this mission is higher than is the norm for your planet, but we do have a full spectrum of Clan on what your people call the Kinsey scale."

"Yes, they can now sleep at night," Santana's voice whispered across their private comm channel. "No scary alien lesbians attempting to take over their planet."

"Thank you for coming. Any more questions can be sent to our embassy," Lady Black said.

"Where, exactly, is that?" Sachs asked. "You aren't in the phone book."

"The Dragon Clan currently does not have a physical presence in this city," Lady Black said. "That shall be remedied shortly. Until then, all correspondence should be addressed to the Clan Ambassador in Cancun."

"What was that?" Quinn asked once they were in their shuttle, away from prying eyes. "Santana?"

"You looked like you could use some comic relief," Santana said. "No need to get titchy."

"I thought we weren't going to tell them the whole 'no men' thing yet? Or tell them about the genetic issue with our tech?" Quinn said.

"No worries, Quinn," Brittany said. "We needed to say something once we said our terrorists were using some of our tech so we had to handle them. It would have leaked from somewhere if we hadn't been up front about it."

"And the 'everyone's a lesbian' revelation?"

"But we're not," Rachel said. "You know that. And neither of you actually said that. Eventually we're going to have to let the girls loose. No relationships with natives is a policy we can't keep up much longer. Someone's going to be curious and want to experiment. They're all adults."

"That isn't the issue," Quinn said. "A lot of countries won't deal with us now that they know we don't have any men in charge. Santana just made things harder."

"They wouldn't have worked with us before," Brittany said. "The Black Hats aren't the only ones with misogynist leaders. Or leaders who won't listen to a bunch of little women. That's why we're working with some governments and not others. And if they don't fall in line eventually, they won't have access to our full tech."

"I agree," Rachel said. "I've been to dozens of meetings and the people I need to reach the most, the ones who stand to gain the most because their country is still banging rocks together? They won't even look at me. They expect the Ambassador to be a man, not some short, Jewish looking woman."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Quinn asked her.

"And what could you do?" Rachel said. "Unless you want to conquer the whole planet, we work with what we have. Speaking of which, where are we building our embassy?"

"The old Ghostbusters office looks good to me," Brittany said. "We might want to move it back from the road but there's plenty of room to do that now."

"And I'm sure this was totally an accident?" Rachel said. "That the whole block was cleared?"

"A Shadow never gives away her secrets," Brittany said with a giggle.

"How long will it take?" Quinn asked.

"Using our nano-tech? The same nano-tech we used to rebuild our Yucatan city bases and anything you destroy? A day or two. Or maybe a week. Depends on how we plan to do it."

"What about that tunnel?" Rachel asked. "Do we need to fill it in?"

"It definitely should be filled in," Brittany said. "It's a security hazard."

"And all those buildings we moved? What happens to them?" Quinn asked.

"As soon as all personal possessions are removed, we recycle them. We already have a plan approved by the local planning board."

"That was quick," Rachel said. "What'd that cost us?"

"A little bit of urban renewal," Brittany said. "We agreed to turn a block of abandoned warehouses near the firehouse into an office and apartment complex to replace what we destroyed."

"A little early to be that ambitious," Quinn said.

"Sometimes you have to make important people happy to move things forward," Brittany said. "And this gives us a solid base to work from. It's way better than the hotel we were originally going to use for our embassy."

"And it's the old Ghostbusters building," Santana said. "Don't tell me you don't want to keep it. I remember a certain cheerleader who had a poster on their wall of a certain geek when they were twelve."

"Really?" Rachel said. "So it wasn't just anime? You were a Ghostbusters fangirl? Have you ever met any of them?"

"Possibly," Quinn said, blushing.

"Will they recognize you?" Rachel asked. "I've always wanted to meet them."

"Quick, Brit, don't go near them, it's contagious," Santana said.

"There was an incident in my grandmother's apartment building when I was ten," Quinn said. "I was visiting her at the time."

"So, they won't recognize you," Rachel said, nodding. "Good."

"What are you up to?" Quinn asked.

"Oh, nothing," she said, smiling before turning around.

"Brit?" Quinn asked quietly. "What's she up to?"

"Can't say," Brittany said, leaning into Santana.

"Santana?" Quinn asked.

"Don't know, don't care, wouldn't tell you if I did," Santana said, smirking.

Groaning, Quinn closed her eyes and waited for the trip to end.