Chapter Summary: In which our ladies go into the art business and buy a newspaper.
Chapter Word Count: 4,039

Disclaimer Update: Cassidy and Caroline Priestly? Not mine. Andrea Sachs? Not mine either. They belong to whomever really owns The Devil Wears Prada

"What's going on?" Santana said, entering the conference room. One of the screens was showing a large crowd surrounding their new facility in New York, the old firehouse and the park that had replaced the buildings they'd torn down rescuing the hostages. Some were waving signs and shouting.

"Someone leaked our plans," Quinn said, glaring at Rachel.

"Which plans, we have dozens," Santana asked. "And none should be causing riots right now."

"I had to give them something," Rachel said. "There are all those people who want to join our Clan or move to the enclave because they think our tech will solve all of their problems. It just wouldn't work."

"Well, duh!" Santana said. "Billions of people, small plot of occupied land. So, what did you do?"

"I talked with Glee-Artie and Brittany. And he devoted a whole episode of his new show to the Mayan diaspora, guest hosted by Sophia. He also might have mentioned that we are investigating their return to the Clan. And now we have this." She waved at the screen.

"Huh," Santana said. "So, you now have a bunch of people claiming to be Mayan descendants who want to 'go home' ?"

"Yes," Rachel said.

"Did G-Artie mention in his little show that we can tell who is or isn't Clan?" Santana said.

"He might have mentioned a genetic factor," Rachel said.

"And you still got this?" Santana shook her head. "What happened when Artie scanned them to see if any of them qualify?"

"Zip, nada, none," Quinn said. "Apparently, anyone with real Clan blood is staying away from this. And it's like this at our embassies in London and Paris."

"Brit must have a plan for dealing with this, right?" Santana asked.

"You don't know?" Quinn said.

"I'm busy with the Fleet, getting it ready to expand beyond this system, just like you're getting your teams ready to support us, and Rachel is doing her thing to get the world leaders ready. When would I have time to keep track of everything Brit is doing? I'm lucky if I see her some days. She makes us look like slackers."

"It's be nice if our comm channels allowed video," Rachel said. "Then she could show us."

"They do," Santana said. "Just not from things in our heads. It wouldn't fit."

"Yeah, let's not go there," Quinn said, shaking her head. "Just talking and carrying on a dozen conversations at once is confusing. Add direct video comms and it'll be impossible. It's bad enough with the suit video."

"Guys, you needed me?" Brittany's voice on their Council comm channel said.

"Riots, babe? All those crazies who want the Clan to solve all their problems?" Santana said. "What are we going to do with them?"

"All part of the plan," Brittany said. "We had to start this now, moving it up, instead of waiting a couple years. They need to get used to the idea that we aren't here to start the singularity or some kind of alien paradise."

"Didn't Shorty already do that when she got dragged in front of those Congressional committees and the UN?"

"Singularity?" Rachel asked.

"These are the same people who sat on top of pyramids all over the world back in 2012 hoping for aliens to take them away to some utopia," Brittany said. "They don't exactly have a firm grip on reality."

"And, what, this is how you weed them out?" Quinn asked.

"Or get them therapy," Santana said, smirking.

"Singularity?" Rachel repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

"Sorry, Rach, that's just one of those technobabble terms futurists like to use, and these people have latched onto," Brittany said. "They think that technology will advance to the point where everyone who's worthy will ascend to some higher plane of existence and become something like gods."

"In other words, a tech nerd Rapture," Quinn said. "Why do they think we're here to bring them that?"

"Crazy," Santana said. "Why else? They're like those idiots in that movie with Will Smith. Let's go stand on the tallest buildings, right underneath the evil alien spaceships. And zap! Like bugs."

"So, the plan?" Quinn asked.

"We tell them to 'take a number' and wait in line to see one of our 'Clan ancestry specialists'," Brittany said.

"Is that why you borrowed a bunch of my Quinns from Fleet?" Santana asked.

"Yup," Brittany said. "They've got Quinn's face and attitude to spare. Very impressive, if you've never met the original. And confusing because they don't look Mayan."

"Most of them are cooks," Santana said, frowning. "Who's manning the galleys now?"

"I didn't take all of them," Brittany said. "It was volunteer only, rotating. And half of them are quite happy where they are."

"The Quinns? Wouldn't a bunch of Rachel's have been better?" Quinn asked. "All that enthusiasm?"

"No," Santana said, "just no. All the Rachels are keeping the fleet working. They can't be spared."

"How come we still refer to them as 'Quinns' and 'Rachels' ?" Rachel asked. "They aren't us."

"It's just a label," Quinn said. "A thousand years from now, all the Clan will remember about us is our legacy of Quinns and Rachels."

"Not true!" Rachel said, slapping the table. "The three of you will be remembered for more than that, if I have my way."

"And what about you, Sophia and Mother?" Brittany said.

"Sophia? The Weaver is only ever remembered if they screwed up some ceremony or prophecy. The Mother? If they screw up, the whole Clan is doomed and nothing matters. And me? I'm just the Memory. As long as everything I remember is accurate, that's all that matters."

"Not true," Brittany said. "Your view of us is what makes a difference."

"If you say so," Rachel said. "I have to go do something about this," she said, waving at the screen. "Anyone want to go with me?"

"What do you plan to do?" Brittany asked. "Should we warn anyone?"

"Just the embassy staff, and the Quinns," Rachel said. "I think I'll start in New York. Where are you right now?"

"Paris," Brittany said.

"We don't need to own the Eiffel tower, babe, so no buying large rusty metal towers," Santana said.

"I saw this painting I liked in a little museum they call the Louvre," Brittany said. "But they wouldn't take gold as a down payment."

"You didn't!" Rachel said, laughing.

"No, but it was close," Brittany said. "I did a scan of the museum so we can have a virtual one in Cancun for the tourists."

"Do they know you did that?" Quinn said.

"Of course not," Brittany said.

"Of course not," Quinn muttered, shaking her head.

"I think it's a great idea," Rachel said. "We should probably do that for every museum."

"On the planet?" Santana asked. "Thinking big there Shorty?"

"How much time would it take? Is it even possible?" Rachel said. "Artie? You've been able to scan for Clan descendants in a few days. And we scanned the temples in the enclave we renovated. How much longer would something like this take?"

"As your philosophers often say, with an infinite amount of time, anything is possible," Artie said. "This is not something that could be done that quickly. Biologic scans can be done quickly given the science equipment available. The temples were simple structures. Recording complex physical structures for later virtualization is an order of magnitude more resource intensive."

"Sounds like a no to me," Quinn said.

"Not quite, Lady Q," Artie said. "Lady Shadow, how long did it take to scan this Louvre?"

"We set up the equipment a week ago and scanned only at night," Brittany said. "So, approximately twenty hours to get the whole thing."

"Oh," Rachel said, pouting. "So it would take a while."

"It's an excellent idea," Sophia said, joining them on the Council comm channel. "As part of your plan, you should be preserving the culture of this planet if you are not successful, or just in case the Enemy reaches the surface."

"Really?" Rachel said. "But who does it? And do we tell anyone?"

"If we tell, it's going to cost us," Santana said. "Unless you want to own a lot of artwork, I think we should just start. It'll be like that George Clooney movie about the art guys in World War II."

"We'll need to institute a training program at the Academy," Rachel said. "And someone needs to be put in charge of it. But who?"

"If they are going to be doing this secretly, we'll need some of that patented Shadow sneakiness," Santana said. "This is going to be a large operation - preserving the art of an entire planet. The Pan-Galactic Council must have some experience with this?"

"Not of an active civilization," Artie said. "This would be the first. We can provide equipment designs and advice but it would be up to you to provide the trained personnel."

"And we're all busy with our own efforts," Rachel said. "How are we going to do this? We don't have a lot of time. Clock's ticking. Where do we get someone to run this kind of operation?"

"A celebrity who could get us into all those places? We rescued a bunch of them from that firehouse last year. Or someone else?"

"Let's use Artie's film crew to document this. The same ones we used for that documentary. They know us and our methods and they did a great job. And Tina and Mike Chang would be useful."

"Chang does have those Tong connections," Santana said. "We should really make use of them more."

"You want to invite gangsters into our little enterprise?" Quinn said. "Is that smart?"

"You can't keep them out completely, babe," Santana said.

"So, no drugs, and human trafficking, or any of the really nasty things humans do to each other?" Quinn said. "They won't like those restrictions."

"If they want to play they have to play by our rules," Brittany said. "There are plenty of other legal vices to keep them busy. And if they don't they're all yours."

"Okay," Quinn said, shaking her head. "Coach isn't going to be happy." "Oh… I have a wicked idea," Rachel said, after they'd digested the Tong idea. "Remember that reporter? The one with all of those questions after the firehouse attack? Sachs. Let's use her."

"Uh, Rachel? She comes with attachments of sorts," Brittany said. "High profile ones."

"How high profile?"

"Famous deceased wife," Brittany said. "I'm sure you all would recognize her, Miranda Priestly?"

"Really?" Rachel said.

"I recognize the name from somewhere," Quinn said. "Ran a magazine?"

"She was a power in the fashion industry for over a decade before her death," Brittany said. "You might have read her little magazine, 'Runway' ? They did an article on Coach and cheerleader fashion the year we disappeared."

"In that issue about the fetishization of teen fashions?"

"That would be it," Rachel said. "I remember that. I was disappointed that none of my favorite cheerleaders were in it for some reason."

"Rachel!" Quinn said, blushing.

"Coach refused," Santana said. "She was tough on us because cheerleading at that level is a sport, not some hyper sexualized peep show."

"Sounds like her," Rachel said. "So, what happened to this Miranda Priestly?"

"Huh," Brittany said, pausing to look it up. "Not much about it in the press. Plane disappeared coming back from a publishing conference in Tokyo. They never found any traces of it. Some terrorist group claimed to have information but wanted several million to pass it along."

"Maybe she'll work for us if we can find it?" Rachel said. "Good will and all that."

"I don't know," Brittany said. "Finding it is one thing. Using that to get her to work with us? That's a trick the Black Hats would use. But go ahead and ask her."

"So, Operation Art Preservation is a go?" Santana said.

"Yes," Rachel said. "Who's going to contact her?"

"I'll take care of Glee-Artie," Brittany said. "We need to have a chat anyway about some other things."

"She'll recognize me from that press conference," Quinn said. "I'll take that."

"And me?" Rachel asked. "What should I be doing about this?"

"Make sure whomever gets this, that reporter or someone else, has support from your people. They will be doing something similar to the Council Memory, your role. They could benefit from your knowledge." Quinn shrugged. "Whatever works for your team."

"So, I need to allocate some of my people for this?" Rachel said. "They'll need a small team of people."

"I wonder how much a New York newspaper would cost?" Brittany said.

"Wouldn't there be rules against that?" Rachel said.

"The company that bought Artie's production company could become a media empire," Brittany suggested. "And we make sure that the reporters and editorial content is independent. It's not like they're the New York Times. It's a small daily progressive paper."

"If they can stay independent, I'm okay with it," Rachel said.

"No opinion," Santana said. "As long as they tell the truth about us and not that scaremongering crap the Wall Street Journal has been spewing."

"I do not understand the reluctance," Sophia said. "If it's good for the Clan, and good for them I see no reason to object."

"You wanted to see me, Chief?" Andy said, standing in the door of her editor's office.

"Sachs, you have guests in the South conference room," he said. "Whatever they want, we have the exclusive," he added, pointing.

"They?" Andy said.

"Go," he said. "Whatever they want they get."

Puzzled, Andy nodded and left his office, heading towards the large conference room. She couldn't think what he meant. She'd been at the Mirror for almost a decade, excluding the months she'd spent in shock after Miranda's disappearance. She had had a successful career since, even receiving a Pulitzer nomination for her memoirs of the year following Miranda's disappearance as she and the girls adjusted to their loss. But she was no longer the aggressive star reporter she'd been. Losing Miranda had taken something out of her.

Approaching the conference room, she came up to a small crowd of her fellow reporters.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Aliens," Joel, the sports reporter whose desk was next to hers, said. "The hot ones."

"There's only one kind of alien," Andy said, frowning at him. "What are they doing here?"

"The tall hot blonde ones," he said. "Not the short hot ones. They're in the conference room."

Andy shook her head and slipped through the crowd of gawking reporters. Stopping in front of the conference room door she spoke to the two alien women standing guard. "Andy Sachs, someone asked to see me?"

"Miss Sachs," the one on the right said, her voice echoing slightly. "You are expected." The other opened the door and ushered her in, closing it behind them.

Entering the conference room, Andy looked around. Besides the guard who'd entered with her, there were two other people in the room, both also blondes. The one sitting down she recognized from the alien terrorist press conference a year ago. The press conference she'd gone to because no one else wanted to and she was curious.

Standing behind her, and pacing back and forth was another blonde dressed differently from the others. Where the other three aliens were dressed in military looking uniforms, the fourth was wearing something nondescript, almost as if in an attempt to remain unnoticed. If so, she was failing spectacularly, being another of what Joel had called a hot alien blonde.

"You wanted to see me?" Andy said to the alien sitting down. "I'm sorry, I don't know how you should be addressed."

"Lady Hand," the other woman said. "I'm the Shadow. The others you don't need to know right now."

"They work for me," Lady Hand said, frowning at the other silent alien. "And forget that I can hear them even if no one else can."

"Sorry boss," the other said, in a strangely accented voice. Andy wondered if that was their infamous translator or was really her voice.

"What can I do for you?" Andy asked. "I'm just a reporter."

"A well liked, well educated one," the Shadow said. "We would like to make use of your talents for a special project."

"You don't have your own reporters?" Andy said. "I already have a job."

"You will still have a job," Lady Hand said. "Whether you work for us on this project or not."

"We are looking for someone to manage a complicated project for us," the Shadow said. "Part of this project would require working with a film crew to document it."

"What exactly is this project?" Andy asked. "I'm a writer, a reporter, not a manager. And I have family responsibilities."

"Your daughters are just completing high school, correct?"

"Yes…" Andy said, only slightly surprised they'd been researching her.

"This project may take several years to complete," Lady Hand said. "They would be offered a position with the crew. I believe you would call it an internship."

"Isn't that a little shady?" Andy asked.

"No," Lady Hand said. "The need for this project in our long range plans was unexpected. We do not have enough trained personnel immediately available to fully staff it with our own people. The film crew is one we've worked with before. But we need others."

"Can you tell me what this project is?" Andy asked.

"Not until you agree to work on it," Lady Hand said.

"I can't just leave my job here at the Mirror for several years," Andy said, shaking her head.

"We have come to an agreement with your editor, and the management of the paper," the Shadow said. "You will be given an inside look into our Clan and its operations while you work on this project, and report back to the Mirror."

"Think of it as going from your regular reporting to writing a weekly or monthly column," Lady Hand said. "Which you could turn into a book at a later point."

"And the real job you want me for? Will that be material for another book?" Andy asked, curious.

"Possibly," the Shadow said.

"I'll need to think about this," Andy said. "If it requires traveling I won't be able to do it until after the girls graduate."

"Of course," Lady Hand said. "We will give you seventy two hours to think about this offer."

"What can I tell my editor when he asks?" Andy said.

"The traveling with aliens lifestyle column idea? He has already approved that. The other? That is between you and us and not to be discussed with others."

"Okay," Andy said, reluctantly. "How do I let you know my decision?"

Lady Hand slid a small card across the table. "Call this number."

Nodding, Andy left the room and headed to her editor's office. Knocking on his door, she waited for a moment before stomping in and sitting down in front of his desk.

"You really want me to do this?" she asked. "The paper can afford for me to be doing this instead of being out on the street covering the city?"

"You were a heck of a reporter when you started here," he said, frowning. "But we both know your focus has changed. You are a much better writer and journalist than a simple beat reporter. That Pulitzer nomination is proof of that. This will give you more room to grow. I expect you to pull another Pulitzer out of this assignment and make us proud."

"What about the paper? Do you really need another columnist?"

"The Editorial Board signed off on it," he said. "And our new majority owners requested you specifically."

"New owners? When did that happen?" Andy asked, surprised. "Why hasn't that been announced?"

"It's a private investment firm based in Cancun," he said dryly. "I'm sure you've heard of the place."

"Really? Really? We've been bought?" Andy said, aghast. "And the government didn't object to a foreign investor, from another planet?"

"The Chinese own a number of newspapers in this country, and so does Rupert Murdoch," he said. "As long as we continue to report the truth, they will remain hands off."

"But..."

"No buts," he said. "I had an interesting conversation with the President yesterday."

"The President? About aliens buying a New York newspaper? Why would he care?"

"He seemed impressed with them, especially the five young women who are running their organization."

"Mind controlled?" Andy said, sensing an angle.

"No," he said.

"How can you tell?" she asked.

"We have a mutual friend who is now working for them and she's one of the few truly incorruptible persons out there. She vouched for them. And he thinks a critical eye on their activities from a connected source will only help everyone."

"That's… amazing," Andy said. "Who else knows?"

"Only you, I, and the President know that the new Mirror owners have ties to the aliens."

"So, I can't actually turn this down and still work here then," Andy said. "It's actually coming from the owners."

"You can turn it down," he said, shaking his head. "No questions asked. That was one of the conditions. If you decide that this conflicts with your ideas on journalistic integrity we'll find someone else."

"I really don't know," Andy said. "This will require some traveling and I have the girls to think about."

"It's up to you," he said. "Go home and think about it."

"Yes, boss," Andy said. Getting up, she left his office, deep in thought.

Andy slowly worked her way through the ingredients to one of Miranda's favorite dishes, a light vegetable stew. It wasn't complex but the action soothed her chaotic thoughts.

"You're home early," Caroline said, entering the kitchen, followed by her twin.

"Needed some time to think about things," Andy said, continuing to chop vegetables.

"What kinds of things," Cassidy asked, going to the refrigerator and getting out a pitcher of orange juice, and pouring it into the glasses Caroline had gotten out.

"A job offer," Andy said.

"You love it at the Mirror," Caroline said.

"Yes, and it would still be for the Mirror, in part, but it would include traveling." Putting down her knife, she accepted a glass of juice.

"That sounds great, what would you be doing?" Cassidy asked.

"Reporting on the aliens, and writing columns," Andy said.

"So, you might get to go into space? They have real spaceships," Cassidy said excitedly.

"Totally ruined Star Trek for me," Caroline grumbled.

"I told them I couldn't take it until you are both out of high school," Andy said.

"You met them? What are they like? Nobody at Dalton has seen them except on TV," Cassidy said.

"Tall," Andy said. "None of them was shorter than me. It's like being around alien Swedish super models. You've actually seen one of them on TV."

"Who?" Caroline said.

"The one they call the Lady of the Hands," Andy said. "She gave that press conference after they rescued those celebrities from the terrorists in the old GhostBusters building."

"If you see them again, can we go?" Caroline asked. "If it's at the Ghostbusters building?"

"Yeah," Cassidy said. "That whole area has been renovated. There are some very fancy shops there now. Some original clothes and fabrics. Mom would have loved it."

"I haven't decided to take the job yet," Andy said. "They want to know in three days."

"Why not?" Caroline asked.

"It would affect both of you," Andy said. "They offered internships for both of you with a film crew that would be working on the same project. Including you felt like bribery."

"Isn't that up to us?" Cassidy said. "I'd want to know details on this internship first. What is it exactly and which school sponsors it and do the credits transfer to another college?"

"They didn't say," Andy said. "We'll have to ask them when we meet them."

"So you're going to do it?" Caroline asked.

"Possibly. Cass? Could you set the table," Andy asked.

"Yes, Mom," she said excitedly, giving Andy a hug. Andy watched, amused, as Cassidy danced around the table, putting down plates, glasses, and silverware as she passed.