The scene was both familiar and unfamiliar to Tempo, in equal measure.

Familiar, for the four groups of people stood at the center of an open room, gold-and-white walls curving gracefully overhead as diffuse light filled the space. None of the elaborate meeting tables of the Neridi, or a Barsam negotiation's rigidly-ordered speaking, but a sort of rolling negotiation that was not entirely dissimilar from how different factions of loroi would negotiate with each other.

And yet unfamiliar because it was all done aloud.

"—have given us no actual reason to trust them, let alone move to their aid." the speaker for the Eleventh Legion continued. Colonel Jardin had given Tempo a quick description of the various representatives… which turned out to have been rather superfluous when it came to the leader of the Eleventh Legion's small group. Lesein — 'Retainer,' an odd title for a nominally-diplomatic speaker — Bronzeknife had made her character quite obvious.

She made Tempo miss arguing with Stillstorm… somehow.

Colonel Jardin had spoken quietly to the UNSC representative earlier, but had then walked back to stand with the Union's group by the time the actual talks began. An unexpected show of support… and one whose necessity became obvious as soon as Bronzeknife had begun speaking.

The human in question cleared his throat. "As I have already explained to Legate Airburn, it is thanks to the Union that we even can navigate Slipspace, after what the Soia did to it." His support was certainly welcome, but Tempo wondered what he would someday ask for in return...

Bronzeknife made a dismissive motion with one hand. "Which they very clearly provided in the hopes of looting whatever remains may have been left by us, rather than any kindness in their hearts."

She was… mostly wrong. Duskcrown, Stillstorm and Tempo had supported Jardin's team and their exploratory mission with that goal in mind, certainly, but that had been before they'd learned that some of the ancient loroi and human fleet had survived.

The Eleventh Legion spokeswoman continued "It is also more than clear as to their actual ancestry. The descendants of those too servile or craven to turn their backs on the abusive Soia cannot — must not — be trusted." She glared across at Tempo, one corner of her lip lifting into a barely-concealed sneer.

Now it was the UNSC's formal representative who spoke. She certainly looked as old as the thousands of years that had passed: deep, drooping lines etched across a face wreathed by only a faint dusting of pale-white hair. Yet her voice was strong; her eyes, piercing. "We have trusted those who had directly served the Soia before, and each of us here owes our very survival to that choice. Or do you need me to elaborate on your decades of unflinching service to the Empire, Lesein?"

The ancient loroi twitched one eye, her head snapping around to face the human speaker even as she flung one arm out to point at Tempo. "We are nothing like them."

"Correct. They had only ever had the faintest of memories of the Soia, and knew nothing of the Empire's actual nature."

"And yet they bear the marks of the Council's own favor." Bronzeknife said. "They speak with their minds, just like those chosen by the Soia. I have heard that they even count a Guard among their number, one granted the powers of a minor Soia herself!"

Tempo kept the frown off her face, but her thoughts soured nonetheless. She had hoped that sending Fireblade back to the ship to notify Beryl to return would keep the Teidar's powers out of the discussion. She well remembered how shocked Jardin and his warriors had been by the fact that some Union loroi possessed telekinesis, and had anticipated how that would look to the Legion Loroi.

It was probably for the best that she had not at all mentioned her own powers. She hadn't yet come up with a surreptitious way to steer the elder Jardin into telling her if the Soia could manipulate minds as mizol were taught to do, but she feared that she could guess the answer anyways.

Now the Colonel spoke again, further repeating several of his points from the earlier argument with Tribune Hammerstave. "The Teidar, as her caste is called, has fought against an actual Guard. Defeated her soundly, and saw her executed when she might have been spared."

Bronzeknife snorted. "The Soia were never bothered when they had to sacrifice a loroi life or two — or a thousand — in pursuit of their own goals and trickery. You would have us believe that these daughters of the Soia would be any different?"

"They have been nothing but open and honest in their dealings with me and my people." Jardin shot back. "They resupplied my prowler, they have fought alongside us in three battles already, and they have been entirely friendly while in cramped quarters together with us aboard a small prowler."

"Your opinion is hardly surprising, Colonel. We have heard your testimony of events aboard this 'Ring' of the Soia's creation." the Lesein's nose narrowed as her gaze slid sideways to look over Tempo. "Your own… tendencies when it comes to loroi whom you rescue are well-known."

Jardin bristled, but it was Legate Airburn who spoke next, voice full of iron. "You will keep your comments civil aboard our vessel, Advisor. Clan Starwind will hold Clan Dustfall responsible for any personal insults here that demand repayment, no matter at whom they are directed."

The two ancient loroi glared at each other, and finally there was enough of a break in the talks for Tempo to get her own time to speak. "The Loroi Union has been shocked to learn of the nature of the Soia Empire, and we are as appalled as any of you to discover how they betrayed you… and our ancestors."

Bronzeknife's eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth to retort.

But Tempo kept speaking, preventing her from easily interrupting — rather easier to do aloud than having to overpower someone else's sanzai. "Yes, our ancestors. They made their choice, and while I cannot understand what thoughts could have driven them to that end I do not doubt that further Soia manipulation was involved. Our ancestors chose poorly, yes, but perhaps not solely out of their own flawed reasoning."

That should steer the hostility away from the Union, hopefully. Guessing at the motivations of her own very distant ancestors was a completely baseless assumption on Tempo's part, yes, but one that was plausible… and more importantly, would play to the biases of these Legion loroi.

A dry laugh rattled out from the UNSC negotiator. "I daresay that this loroi is cut from the same cloth as any of yours, Lesein."

"Sark, I need not—"

"'Vice Admiral Sark,' Lesein." The human emphasized, voice light. "The rules of this chamber accord each speaker their full title, regardless of seniority… or personal opinions."

Bronze knife's mouth pinched, but she ground out "Vice Admiral, then. I need not remind you that your people have even more to lose by some..." her eyes slid aside, glancing at Tempo briefly before returning to the aged human "subterfuge than do ours. Yet you support this foolishness?"

"We have yet to fully hear what her Union actually suggests, Lesein. I can hardly argue against 'nothing,' yes?" Pale-colored eyes turned to lock onto Tempo — was that faded coloration normal for humans, or a result of their alien aging process? "I suggest that we let her speak her part."

All eyes in the room turned to the mizol. She bore the weight of their gaze easily enough; even Bronzeknife's bluster thus far was no worse than Stillstorm in a towering rage. "The Union did not expect to find living survivors from your Legions or further survivors from the UNSC, yes, but we are gladdened beyond description to have done so."

Beyond verbal description, that is. It would have been simple enough to convey her feeling via sanzai, but Bronzeknife held herself utterly closed to mental communications and the human Admiral seemed to have her lotai-machine fully engaged.

She continued "It is my intent as the leader of this Union expedition to make two offers to you, in a spirit of friendly cooperation and hope for future exchange. One: once my technical expert returns from the human prowler," Beryl was no gallen, but she was the closest thing that Tempo's small team had right now "she will gladly speak with any navigators that you choose, and explain what we have found about directing ships through 'changed' slipspace."

She snapped her gaze from one person to another, ensuring that each understood the full import of that offer. "Your people will no longer be stuck here as you have been for some time."

Legate Airburn nodded cordially, asking "And the other point?"

"While the Union's expedition was brought here thanks to the aid of Colonel Jardin and his vessel and we cannot make an offer with a craft which we do not control, we would like to invite a contact team from any and all factions — Legions and UNSC — to visit the Union and open formal diplomatic talks there, traveling aboard whichever ship you feel best." Her eyes lingered on Bronzeknife. "We will provide navigational routes to one of our core worlds where further negotiations may take place." The trust inherent in that statement would be even more obvious if it was not specifically pointed out.

Although given the colossal scale of the UNSC starships, and especially the genuine Dreadstars of the two Legions, it would probably be a wise idea for them to stop at an outer Union system first, and allow for a warning message to the Diadem Council to precede them deeper towards the Sister Worlds. But that could be arranged later.

From her side, Colonel Jardin added "I volunteer the Did Ever Plummet Sound for any such trip. She is well able to evade any threat — however unlikely such an incident may be — and I can have her navigational data ready to be scrubbed at a moment's notice."

Tempo nodded at that. She had never doubted that the humans were taking such precautions when transporting her team of loroi — she would have done the exact same, in their position — and it should now help to assuage any fears on the part of the 11th Legion representative.

The ancient loroi in question worked her jaw silently for a few solon, before saying "There is then the matter of selecting just who would be sent on such a journey. Sufficient guards and escorts would have to be provided, of course."

"Which will definitely make everybody friendly, that many people crammed onto a prowler." muttered Colonel Jardin, quietly enough that hopefully only Tempo could hear.

Nonetheless, Bronzeknife bristled and her sharp gaze slid aside to Jardin, but she did not respond.

Tempo blinked slowly, stealthily letting out an exasperated breath. This really was all too similar to many loroi negotiations that she had experienced — or perhaps 'survived' was the better term — before.

Hopefully Beryl and Fireblade would return soon.

Fireblade stood silently, arms at rest behind her back, wrists touching. Looking out at the front of the transport vehicle as it sped through the dreadstar's halls, nothing of her body moved, but her eyes drank in every turn, every detail of the route that they took to the hangar. She was no listel, yes, but Fireblade had led soroin footsoldiers and her fellow teidar — and before that, fellow Seren resistance fighters — in battles through all sorts of terrain and ship interiors.

She would remember this route and these corridors… just in case.

At the same time, her ears strained to listen behind her, waiting for any movement from the ODST that accompanied her on the trip. She knew full well why Tempo had sent her away at the start of the negotiations, but it had been surprising when the Colonel had done the same with one of his warriors.

Fireblade was… mostly certain that the human warrior hadn't been sent to keep an eye on her. At least, not solely for that purpose.

She glanced over her shoulder, noting that the ODST was still leaning back against the handrail of the vehicle, head lowered and gaze focused on the datapad in his hand. If he had been tasked with keeping her under surveillance, he didn't seem to be working too hard at it. But then again, warrior or no, he was a male; it was understandable if he got distracted from his duties at times.

Suddenly, the transport burst out of a doorway into what Fireblade recognized as the corridor immediately outside of the dock where the Did Ever Plummet Sound had landed. The high, arched ceiling overhead made the vehicle's speed feel almost slow, and yet the corridor flashed by in a bare few solon before the transport unceremoniously halted immediately by the doorway to the hangar.

"[Looks like that's our stop.]" The ODST said, straightening up just as the boarding gate slid open. He looked over at Fireblade and gestured to the opening. "[Ladies first, Red.]" The alien paused, and said in broken Trade "Be pleased to go first, warrior."

A strange custom. But it should be fine — like Fireblade, the ODST did not carry a weapon.

And unlike Fireblade, the humans lacked telekinesis entirely. There was little threat here.

She stepped down off of the platform, still impressed with how it seemed to not shift at all as two armored warriors removed their weight from it. Passing through the energy-field that acted as a near-miraculous airlock to the outer hangar was also just as impressive as the first time.

The prowler sat ahead as before, but now with some unseen overhead spotlight trained on it, illuminating the deck for several mannal around the craft. This also highlighted the several small vehicles now clustered around it, carrying machines whose cables now trailed underneath the prowler and disappeared into the sharp airless shadows there.

Maintenance systems, most likely; they looked similar enough to those that she'd seen aboard hangars from Tempest to Storm Surge. Perhaps the people speaking at the negotiations were not the only ancients who had been awoken in response to the Plummet's arrival.

A loroi-oid shape stirred in the darkness among the shadows, shuffling out from underneath the prowler and revealing itself to be one of Jardin's human warriors. Fireblade peered at the identifying marks on her armor — it was the alien gallen, their technician. Behind her, vague movement could be seen; likely another of the humans working on restocking their vessel.

Her ODST escort jogged past her, waving towards the other human "[Hey Anders, is that who I think it us under there?]"

"[Uh-huh. They woke him up right after we got here.]"

"[Hah! Guess you owe someone over there a favor, now.]"

"[Worth it. What're you two here for; couldn't send a message?]"

"[Long story. We're here to grab the elf geek and take her back for the talks; is she up in the ship?]"

"[Yeah, her, the kid and the elf pilot.]"

"[Hah, all three of them? Didn't know the kid had that much game!]"

"[Down, boy. The geek's keeping watch in the crew quarters; it's the other two who've locked themselves away in the cockpit. Make sure you knock before entering.]"

By now, Fireblade had reached the bottom of the boarding ramp. She glanced aside at the ODST who had traveled over with her — would he be entering the ship or waiting outside?

The warrior in question followed her up the ramp, while calling back to his fellow alien. "[The Old Man didn't say anything about you being needed at the talks, so I guess you two get to pick your own corner of the ship afterwards. Unless you want to fool around in the shadows down there…?]"

"[Mmm, tempting...]" the two humans shared a laugh, as Fireblade entered the ship.

The first thing she noticed was that one of the many cables from the machines outside snaked its way up the ramp as well, leading to a metal frame that had been erected just inside of the top of that entrance. The frame stretched out to each side of the floor, up the walls, and met overhead.

Fireblade's guess turned out to be correct: as soon as she stepped past the thin, dark-metal construct her suit beeped an alert that breathable atmosphere was back.

She paused, turning to peer again at the device. A portable energy-field airlock? And trusted by these humans to be reliable enough that the doors leading further into the ship had been left wide-open, a great risk to anyone inside if the field suddenly failed or leaked?

Remarkable.

Ahead down the narrow corridor, Beryl's head suddenly poked out of the doorway from the sleeping compartment. {Fireblade! Isn't it amazing!?} For all the near-manic excitement clear in the listel's sub-channels, she still wore her helmet. Yet there could be no doubt as to what she was referring to.

That quelled the worry sinking its teeth into Fireblade's gut — Beryl, at least, was taking no risks with the unknown-but-ancient machine. {Indeed so. Are you ready to join the talks deeper aboard the dreadstar? They should be beginning soon.}

{Certainly!} Beryl sent, although her sub-channels expressed her confusion. {But you didn't need to come all the way out here just to tell me; why not send a message?}

{Tempo was concerned that my presence and my powers may have negative… 'associations' to these Legion loroi that would impact the negotiations.}

Beryl's brow creased, and she frowned. {That's not right of them. You're...} her sanzai paused momentarily. {not a Soia. Or a Guard, or whatever they think.}

Fireblade smiled at her friend. Beryl's earnestness was as endearing as always. {Thank you.} She nodded towards the front of the ship, and the cockpit. {Do you think that the pilots will wish to join us?}

Beryl's smile widened, and a faint blue hue lit up her cheeks as she sent {I think they might be a bit busy 'joining' each other right now...}

{Even still?} Fireblade's eyebrows rose. {It has been nearly a cycle since you left! Did they only recently enter the cockpit together?}

{No, they went there immediately.} Beryl tilted her head, glancing aside at the forward bulkhead. {Although they are being quieter now than earlier; perhaps they are finished.} She broadened the scope of her sanzai, and sent {Talon? Are you still distracted?}

Fireblade could detect the alien pilot's mind, so he had his lotai-implant disabled, but she had chosen not to inspect too closely the human's thoughts. A brief look gave her the fleeting impression of one's nose pressed to the thick mop of blue hair atop a certain arrir's head, a cooler-but-pleasant weight wrapped in her arms, and a warmer grip—

Fireblade yanked her sanzai senses back.

After a few solon, a languid blur of sanzai filtered through from the pilot, channels all entwined together. {Warm...}

Nothing further was sent.

Despite herself, Fireblade had to struggle to keep the grin off her face. {It seems that she is still busy.}

{Talon,} Beryl sent {the talks are soon to begin; do you wish to follow us there?}

This time, the pilot's sanzai was a pure burst of emotions — and sensations — that sent both Fireblade and Beryl shivering in unconscious response. Normally such… 'broadcasting' was not a problem aboard a warship; those few warriors who chose to seek such distractions in each others arms were disciplined enough to keep their thoughts politely to themselves. Those who weren't that disciplined… were quickly corrected by a senior officer. In four cases over the last deployment, that duty had fallen on one Teidar Pallan Leinnol.

But evidently Talon had no such discipline… or she was too distracted to control her sanzai.

Beryl asked again {Perhaps Jardin might want to—}

By now, Fireblade was able to let the next wave of the tenoin arrir's instinctual sanzai broadcast wash over her without reacting.

And while Beryl's smile only deepened — and her blush brightened — Fireblade had had enough. This might not be a Union warship, but the tenoin was a Union warrior: a certain level of discipline was expected.

Channeling her best 'displeased senior officer' tone into her sanzai, Fireblade barked {Warrior! Quarters inspection! You have thirty-two solon to be ready for evaluation!}

Beryl's eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

A heartbeat later, and the first loud thud echoed through the ship, coming from the cockpit.

Fireblade quirked one eyebrow at Beryl. {Listel Tozet, shall we make ready to inspect the junior officer's readiness?}

{Certainly, Teidar Pallan!} the listel chirped back, eyes dancing.

The two of them left the crew quarters, coming to stand outside of the cockpit door even as further thuds and bumps echoed through from that compartment. Fireblade counted down the solon, even as she blinked in confusion at the article of alien clothing which had been draped over the control panel for that hatch.

A human foot-covering?

Her countdown reached bishires even while the noises of hurried activity were still ongoing, interspersed with quick mutterings in Trade too quiet to understand through the metal.

Fireblade forced her face into a grim, stony neutrality and opened the door.

And blinked at the darkness for a beat, before Beryl turned on the lights.

Tenoin Arrir Talon stood, eyes locked on empty space a hand's-span above Fireblade's head, her hands straight at her side in perfect attention-rest. Next to her, Alexander Jardin also stood straight, his right hand after a brief pause racing up to his head in what Fireblade recognized to be the aliens' method of showing deference to a senior officer. Wise of him.

Of course, the effect would have been better if either of the two wore clothes.

The tenoin's undersuit was bunched up around one ankle, while her armor layer was piled in a distant corner of the cockpit. More articles of human clothing than Fireblade had ever wanted to see lay thrown across the back of the two forward seats, and a pile of blankets lay rumpled on the floor behind them.

Fireblade closed her eyes, counting to four. At least she was more fortunate than Beryl; the image would not be forever burned into her memory.

Although by the barely-perceptible thoughts leaking from the listel's side-channels, perhaps the white-haired loroi didn't mind so much…

{Teidar Pallan!} Talon sent the formal recognition phrase clearly, her earlier distractedness utterly gone. Fireblade was proud of having that effect on people, especially junior officers. {Tenoin Arrir Nesin, ready for inspection!}

Fireblade flicked her eyes up and down. Ready for a gallen's physical check-up, perhaps… {So I see. Arrir, Tozet Beryl asked you a question earlier and no response was provided. Correct this error.}

{I—} the brief confusion in the junior loroi's mind was palpable. Fireblade could feel her sorting through her recent memories… and thankfully not sharing them too clearly. {The Listel Tozet asked if I wished to accompany the two of you back to the diplomatic talks.}

{Yes.} Fireblade sent. Her eyes slid sideways to look at Alexander Jardin, gaze carefully staying above the neck. She returned to the tenoin. {Unless, perhaps, you are still… busy with your activities here?} Carefully kept her humor out of her sanza. {Aerobic exercises, perhaps?}

The two pilots were off-duty and had every right to remain there, but someone as obviously-flustered as this tenoin would be unlikely to insist on that right now.

{Negative, Teidar Pallan! We just finished.} the loroi sent. In a quick burst too rapid to be conscious thought, her sanzai added {Three times.}

Fireblade fought to keep her face stony, staring down at the other loroi as the tenoin's cheeks rapidly flushed a bright blue. {I see.} And Fireblade really didn't want to see. Although she couldn't quite resist adding {Your stamina is to be congratulated.}

The tenoin's eyes widened, and her mouth twitched. But she kept her disciplined, neutral expression and did not respond.

Good. She could learn.

{Now,} Fireblade continued {Ask your… fellow warrior if he will also be following us. And get the two of you cleaned up. I believe that Alexander Jardin knows where a bathing facility can be found aboard his ship.}

An image — thankfully brief — flashed through the tenoin's side-channels. Quickly suppressed.

Fireblade finished with {I doubt you will have time for that. The talks begin in five-hundred solon. We depart in two-hundred.}

She turned to the human, holding his gaze with her eyes. He met her levelly, and after a beat or two he nodded. Fireblade returned the gesture, and turned to leave.

And paused just beyond the doorway, noting the lack of footsteps behind her. {Beryl.}

{Yes…?} the Listel sent distractedly, before jolting into action and wordlessly following her out of the cockpit. Fireblade didn't need to look back to see the blush she knew was still shining out from the tozet's face.

Facing away from the other loroi and carefully controlling her sanzai, Fireblade allowed the harshly-suppressed smile to break out onto her face.

Girls fresh from their diral, on their first deployments to the Fleet, might imagine that all warriors yearned for battle. Longed to match strength and wits against the enemy, and to triumph as the loroi were destined to.

But veterans knew that what warriors truly sought was camaraderie with their arms-sisters, the friendships between those giving their all for Azerein and Union. And while the young tenoin back there was still young, still new… Fireblade was finally satisfied that she had enough spine in her to one day fit in among all of Stillstorm's veterans and misfits in the Fifty-First.

Mind still filled with happy thoughts, Fireblade stepped out from the corridor, into the chamber at the top of the ramp.

And froze.

"[—you sure about that? The two systems weren't exactly made for each other.]" The human technician was asking, looking down at the figure following her.

The small figure, who was just now removing their helmet once past the airlock-field.

His helmet.

The loroi — male loroi! — looked back up at the human and said in the aliens' own language as he waved some mechanical contraption in one hand "[I've got the parts to rig a transformer between the two. They're close, anyways, so it shouldn't be hard to—]" he glanced forwards, eyes stopping on Fireblade.

And now he froze.

For a solon, the two loroi stared at each other. Then—

"[Augh! Guard!]" the male spoke aloud, and darted behind the ODST. His empty hand held tight around her hip, as he peered out at Fireblade.

"[Relax, she's with us!]" said the human warrior, glancing apologetically at Fireblade before turning her head downwards to the loroi. "[Sorry, should have mentioned her earlier.]"

The loroi who was… 'hiding' from Fireblade? Hiding from his fellow loroi, and behind an alien?

"[A Guard? Are you… sure?]" The male asked, tentatively.

"[Yeah, she rode over with us in the Plummet. Doesn't talk, but she's been no trouble. And they call her a 'Teidar,' not a 'Guard.']"

Beryl stepped past Fireblade. Slowly, she asked "[Who is — no, are — you?]" The listel mirrored her thoughts to Fireblade, allowing the teidar to understand the general meaning of the conversation. An impressive display of concentration from Beryl.

The smaller loroi stepped gingerly out from behind his ODST protector. Instead of speaking in the alien tongue, he said in accented Trade "I'm Maintainer Moiatirai, 'Age-wise.' Wise for short. They woke me up when you docked, to look over the Plummet. Who're you, and the 'not-a-Guard'?"

At this point, Fireblade was getting very tired of being confused for one of the Soia's pet telekinetics. Actually, come to think of it, {Ask him how he knew I was a telekinetic.} she sent to Beryl.

"I am Listel Tozet Beryl, and this is Teidar Pallan Fireblade, warriors of the Loroi Union. Fireblade is no threat to anyone not an enemy of the Union and the loroi people. She would also like to know… why did you think she was a Guard?"

"'Cause she's got an amp built into the brow-lining of her helmet. I can see it peeking down over her brow."

Fireblade subconsciously raised one hand to trace along that part of her helmet. It was such a small detail, one hard to see, and this male had spotted it in a heartbeat?

The smaller loroi in question looked back and forth between Fireblade and Beryl. Apparently deep in thought, he sucked in his cheeks, causing a small dimple to fold into existence near each corner of his mouth. Rather charming, and—

Fireblade blinked, and shook her head to clear her mind. Apparently some echo of the earlier thoughts transmitted from that tenoin had lingered in her mind. She forced them aside.

In the meantime, 'Wise' seemed to have come to a decision. He took a step forwards, and held out his right hand.

Ah, she'd seen this before. Beryl grasped his hand in hers, holding it for a solon before letting go. Fireblade copied the gesture, careful to keep her mind shielded even with the physical contact. No need to further upset the agitated male, after all.

"Right." Wise said. He leaned to one side, peering around Fireblade. "Now, were you all leaving? And those two, back there?"

The ODST next to him finally spoke "[Don't worry, they only trashed the cockpit. I locked my bunk earlier just to make sure.]"

Another human warrior — the one who'd arrived with Fireblade — stopped halfway-up the ramp behind them and called out "[You two'd better not use the mess table; we eat off that!]"

A brief pause while Beryl translated the alien speech, and then a fierce flash of embarrassment mixed with humor burst forth from her sanzai.

Fireblade sent a wordless question, and Beryl answered {I will explain later.}

Face still flushed, Beryl stepped past Wise, saying aloud "We are departing for the negotiations. Tenoin Arrir Talon and Ensign Alexander Jardin will follow us soon; we will wait for them… outside."

A solon later, Fireblade followed her, head turning to track the peculiar male as she passed. In hindsight, she should not have been so surprised to see a male aboard a warship: the Soia-era loroi were known to live solely in space and aboard the dreadstars; where else would the males be?

Still, it was a shocking sight to see a male — a loroi male; the human ones didn't count — standing so nonchalantly among warriors as if he belonged there.

Truly, these Legion loroi were a strange lot.

Many cycles later, and a much-more-tired Fireblade climbed back up the ramp of the prowler, exhausted mind forcing her body to put one foot in front of the other. But she'd lived through the Teidar Academy back on Deinar and the worst that Ragan Thistlewood could put the initiates through; this tiredness was nothing by comparison.

That said, Tempo had been the one actually doing the speaking and negotiating during the long, drawn-out talks; how the mizol was still on her feet was a mystery.

{One who falls asleep on watch during her mizol diral has much worse to face than an angry instructor.} Tempo sent; evidently some of Fireblade's thoughts had leaked out from her tired mind. {They have to face Perreinid wildlife.}

Fireblade shivered. She'd heard the stories — and she was pretty sure that Tempo had only exaggerated some of them. {That oversized human-made bunk seems quite appealing right now.} she stopped at the top of the ramp, and with a force of will wrestled her complaining spine into a rigid, upright stance as she turned to survey the rest of the party boarding the prowler.

Just because she was tired didn't mean that she was allowed to look tired, after all. A teidar's duty never rested, and all that.

Admittedly, it helped that now there were other, more interesting sights in the vast docking bay for her to lay her eyes onto. Whereas before the Plummet had been the only scene of any kind of life, now two other UNSC craft had landed, much further out from the tall entrance field into the dreadstar's interior.

'Heavy frigates,' the humans had called them.

'Light battleships' was more accurate, going by the sheer size of the warships.

Admittedly, the two of them were still utterly dwarfed by the Infinity-class transports that loomed over them. But the nearer craft, for all its vague resemblance to a logical, loroi-pattern warship shape — mostly in the sense of having two major engine pylons flanking a twin-boom fuselage, although the proportions were all wrong — was still far larger than the Plummet. The tall, white letters painted on its hull, spelling out 'UNSC Cascadia,' only accentuated its size.

If that was a 'frigate,' then Fireblade was a Diaderet!

Distant voices echoed through the hangar, from the tiny alien figures carrying cargo aboard the vast ship. "[Sergeant Major, I can understand why the diplomatic team has the Jolly Green Giant back there along for security, but how did you come to be attached to this dog-and-pony show?]"

Fireblade focused through the echoes, narrowing in on two human figures standing at the base of the ramp leading up to the Cascadia. She just caught a glimpse of a third alien disappearing into the ship from the top of the ramp, tall and green-armored.

One of the two remaining hefted a large, gray box up from the floor plating and balanced it across one shoulder. Even at this distance, it was easy to hear his voice as he belted out "[Because I know what the ladies like, sailor.]" His free hand patted the crate. "[This here is sixty-six pounds of weapons samples, explosives, and other party favors. I'm the Corps' own heavily-armed salesman, showing these wayward, lost little elves why their grandmamas jumped ship to fight on our side.]"

The other human laughed, and waved him up the ramp. "[Right, right. Get aboard, then, Marine. We're running light on this trip, so there'll be plenty of room to spread out in your quarters.]"