The newly formed Alliance Navy was in the midst of its first series of war games when they received a message from a group of inbound ships. Once they learned who those vessels belonged to, an urgent communique was sent down to the ad hoc committee coordinating efforts on the planet's surface. Minutes later, they heard a reply:

Inform the incoming craft we will grant them safe passage. Also inform them that if they power their weapons, we’ll destroy them.

Unsurprisingly, the ships obeyed their instructions to the letter.

All it took was the mere appearance of Gunny Satou for the squad to voice a collective sigh. “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Rúna groaned, shouldering her rifle, “we got another ‘Special Assignment’.”

“What, you’re a psychic now?” the older woman fired back. “Maybe I should update your file.” The corporal started to reply, only to be cut off. “Belay that. Got a group inbound looking to parlay, so the colonel wants you on the landing field ASAP. Same drill as before.”

“I knew it,” Rúna grumbled, signaling to the others as Kai joined her. “Any idea who they are?”

“Old friends of yours,” the Gunny said sourly. “Delegation is being led by an Administrator Pujai from Elimination Associates.”

“What?” Kai said in shock. “Last time that asshole was here, he shot at us!”

“Technically he bombed us, but I take your meaning,” she chuckled. “Besides, so did the rest of our new ‘allies’, so you can’t really hold that against him.”

“Gunny, you don’t trust this guy, do you?” Rúna said in disbelief.

“Not even a little,” she confirmed. “Doesn’t matter. They’re here, they want to talk, so we play nice. You know the drill.”

“Aye aye, Gunny,” Kai said unhappily.

“That’s the spirit,” she answered with more than a trace of sarcasm. “Get ’em moving, shuttle’s already inbound.” She turned around and headed back the way she’d come without waiting for a reply.

Rúna rolled her eyes, waiting until the platoon sergeant was out of earshot. “I got a bad feeling about this,” she cursed.

“You and me both,” Kai confirmed, as the rest of the squad arrived, carrying their gear. “Another security detail, guys,” he told them. “EA’s come back for a visit.”

“Fuck!” Becca swore. “I swear, you two going to Earth is seriously putting a crimp in my life expectancy.”

“You still have one of those?” Doc Svoboda snorted. “Thought you’d have learned better by now.”

“At ease that shit right the hell now,” Kai growled. “You’re supposed to be professionals, so fucking act like it.”

“Aye aye, sergeant,” Becca fumed, checking her weapon, her eyes smoldering with barely controlled violence. “But if that lizard rat fuck so much as twitches, I’m blowing his fuckin’ melon right off his mother-fucking shoulders.”

“Just make sure he draws first,” Rúna snapped, as she looked at the others. “Any more complaints?”

The rest of the squad just shook their heads. “Then move out,” Kai ordered.

It was only a ten-minute jog to the landing field, arriving to find Colonel Holme and the brass already waiting. They quickly took their places and waited, going to parade rest when they spotted the shuttle on final approach. The alien craft landed silently, coming to a stop as its hatch slid open. Moments later, a familiar figure appeared, followed by two others, as the trio made their way to the waiting cluster of officers.

“Administrator Pujai, we meet again,” Colonel Holme said in neutral tones, his face a mask. “I have to admit we’re surprised you returned, considering the going-away present you left us on your previous visit.”

The reptilian had the grace to bow his head, acknowledging the colonel’s point. “I sincerely regret that,” he explained, “but I was under contract. I had no choice. I did, however, have options regarding the… ‘Going Away Present’. The sonic devices were disruptive, I know, but they were also non-lethal. The Troika was not pleased I was so lenient.”

“And now?” the Paygan spoke up. “What message are you delivering this time?”

“None,” he answered. “Our contract with the Troika was simply to pass on their wishes and chastise you should you reject them. Once those conditions were met, our contract was complete.”

“Then why are you here?” Decurion Yaannissi insisted.

The Administrator spread out his hands. “To join you,” he answered.

“That’s… quite the claim,” Colonel Holme said, confounded. “Why? Where’s the profit in it?”

The reptilian shrugged. “There comes a time in every being’s life when they realize there are things more important than profit,” he told him. “For millennia, the Troika have dictated to us, demanding much and giving nothing in return. They have reigned supreme for so long our very civilization bears their mark. Our art, our culture, our science, our engineering, all of it is filtered through their lens. It has become so pervasive that we no longer even see it as alien. It simply is.” He shook his head sadly. “Everywhere one looks, we see a galaxy of their making.”

“I don’t disagree,” Holme said after a moment, “by why now? Why here? Surely you recognize the dangers of throwing in with us. The Troika are bound to show up here eventually, and when they do, the one thing they won’t be showing us is mercy.” He gestured to the others beside him. “The only reason they’ve signed on is because we forced their hand, at least at first,” he said with a polite nod. “Granted, they’ve come to discover motivations of their own, but I suspect part of them wishes they were a billion light-years from here.”

No one raised an objection, which only strengthened his argument. “Most likely,” the Administrator agreed, “and yet here you stand, your newfound allies putting their lives and reputations on the line; fighting for Terrans, for a ragged band of wolflings the Troika hired them to kill. They outnumbered you significantly, their resources and ships dwarfed yours… and yet here you stand.” He shook his head in disbelief. “By every standard of measurement I am aware of, we should not even be having this conversation. You should be dead, the Sonoitii pacified, their eggs harvested, and the purses of the Troika enriched. That is the way of things… that has always been the way of things.” He paused, regarding them. “And yet again, here you stand,” he said for the third time. “Can you explain it? For I cannot.”

The colonel turned to the allied commanders; a questioning eyebrow raised. “I am afraid I also cannot answer the question,” the Paygan said with a chuckle, “for I find myself just as mystified by this turn of events as the Administrator.” He turned to the newcomer. “I am a warrior, born from a race of warriors. I absorbed tactics and strategy with the mash fed me as a child. I held a blade before I ever held a stylus,” he stressed, his hand unconsciously going to the sword at his side as he glanced back at the colonel. “By all that I know, we had you. You were beaten, conquered, a mere handbreadth from utter annihilation. And yet somehow, by some method I have still not divined, you clawed your way back from the abyss, turning our greatest triumph into our bitterest defeat.” He sighed heavily. “I will not lie, colonel... part of me wishes to hate you for that.”

“Don’t I blame you a bit,” he admitted, “so why don’t you? Hate us, I mean.”

“You were fighting for your survival,” Decurion Yaannissi answered, picking up where the Ixian had left off, “just as any of us would. One may as well hate a star for fusing deuterium and tritium into helium.” He paused, regarding him. “There is something about you difficult to define, yet I finally recognized it once I set my mind to the anomaly that is your species.”

“Oh? And what is that?” Holme asked, now genuinely curious.

“You learn much from an opponent when you meet them in battle,” the Legionnaire explained. “What they value… what they willingly sacrifice… and just how far they are prepared to go, in face of total defeat.” He grew pensive as he weighed his words. “There are ways you could have ended this conflict, had you chosen them. You could have unleashed a plague against us or poisoned this world’s air. Taking outcomes to their extreme, and if you had the wherewithal and the means to do so, even detonated the very sun this world orbits.” An odd smile slowly appeared on his face. “And yet, you did not. You fought… cleanly, in absence of anything better, though doing so nearly cost you everything.”

“Don’t make us out to be saints,” the colonel said grimly. “There are plenty of my kind who would have done just that… have done so, in fact. We’re some of the dirtiest fighters imaginable when our back is to the bulkhead. Besides, every one of those suggestions seems more than a little counterproductive, given the circumstances.”

“That may be,” the Administrator answered, “and certainly no one who has studied your kind would see you as paragons of virtue,” he said with a smug expression plastered across his face. “Yet that you have won the allegiance of not one, but all three of your opponents says much about you. Very few could make that claim… very few indeed.” His smile grew wider. “Like the others, I have long dreamed of the Troika’s fall, and I bring with me four ships and over fifteen hundred trained mercenaries ready to join your cause.” He stepped forward, plucking a tablet from his jacket and presenting it to the stunned Terran commander. “Will you accept us within your ranks?”

Holme took the tablet from his hands, staring at the screen. It was a contract, similar to the ones he himself had signed and witnessed so many times before, offering the services of over fifteen hundred EA mercenaries and four ships, details to be found in the addenda. Interestingly, the entries for “Cost/Rate” and “Term of Service” had been left blank. He glanced back up at the Administrator with a questioning eye.

“We offer our services without seeking recompense, and for the duration of the conflict,” he explained.

“That is quite the generous offer,” the colonel said at last, “and most unexpected. Perhaps you could give us a few moments to discuss it?”

“Of course,” the Administrator nodded, “I shall await your decision.” He stepped away, allowing them privacy.

Wordlessly, he handed the tablet to the Paygan. “What do you think?” he asked.

The Ixian searched through the document, before passing it on to the Legionnaire. “To be honest? I do not know what to think,” he mused. “The Associates are the last organization I would have expected this from.” The Paygan paused, sparing the Zaitai Bratok a glance. “Well, second to last,” he quipped, earning him a snarl as the individual in question snatched the device from the Decurion and began scanning it for himself.

“I would suggest defining the terms left blank, to avoid any future misunderstandings,” the Legion commander suggested, “but as to the rest?” He scratched his chin thoughtfully and then shrugged. “I suppose it comes down to a single question; can we trust them?”

“My gut says ‘No’,” Holme admitted, “but I don’t think we’re in a position to turn away volunteers.”

“Even if they are secretly preparing a knife for our backs?” the Paygan asked.

“Do you have any evidence that is what they are doing?” the Decurion insisted. “If not, then I find myself in agreement with our host. We require every fighter, every weapon we can scavenge.”

“No...no evidence,” the Ixian admitted. “But just as our Terran counterpart has mentioned, I too feel uneasy regarding this sudden gift.”

Colonel Holme nodded, before turning to the Zaitai. “You’ve been strangely silent,” he said pointedly, “what do you think?”

“I say that if the current is pulling you under, you are a fool to refuse a lanyard thrown to you,” he growled. “And if you do not trust their motives, then keep your weapons close by.”

“I can’t argue with any of that,” the colonel said at last, “but I agree there’s a danger. So I suggest we put it to a vote and see where we stand.” He glanced over at Rúna and the others standing watch; at their torn and stained uniforms, their haggard expressions, the thousand-meter stares of warriors pushed to their breaking point. They’d given all he’d asked of them, and more.

“I vote ‘Aye’,” he said quietly.

Decurion Yaannissi nodded in reluctant agreement. “I also vote ‘Aye’.”

“Aye,” Bratok Dolth said immediately.

All eyes turned to the Ixian. “I pray my concerns are unfounded,” the Paygan said with a heavy sigh, “but given the scarcity of our numbers…” His voice trailed off as he wrestled with his decision, before finally shaking his head with regret. “I too, vote ‘Aye’,” he said at last.

The four commanders looked at one another, the decision now made. “Well, that’s it then,” Holme shrugged. “I guess we’d better start figuring out how to integrate them into the Alliance.”

“Indeed,” the Ixian said wearily. “I wish only that I could shake the feeling I am drinking from a poisoned glass.”

“We Terrans have a saying,” the colonel said resignedly; “Beggars can’t afford to be choosers.”

“No, they cannot,” the Bratok agreed. “Enough procrastinating. Are we to let our new ally dangle in the wind?”

“You are quite correct,” the Decurion agreed. “Best we welcome him to the fold sooner rather than later.” The four turned and made their way over to the waiting Administrator, smiling as they approached.

“Have you decided?” he asked.

“We have,” Colonel Holme nodded. “Welcome to the Alliance.”

“Splendid!” he beamed. “I was certain you would see our value, despite our past differences. And now that you have accepted our offer, I can reveal one last piece of information.”

“And might I ask why you were holding back this scrap of data?” the Paygan asked suspiciously.

The Administrator spread his hands wide. “Come now, gentlemen, you are all shrewd and experienced individuals,” he said with a chuckle. “The battle that is coming will not be kind to those that remain uncommitted,” he said, waving over his associates. “Were you to refuse my offer, my only other viable option would be the Troika itself. While not my first choice, I would be insane to hand over relevant intelligence that could be used against me.”

As his aides arrived at his side, the one to his left opened up a case and removed a tablet. “The latest strategic and tactical we have on the Troika,” he informed them, taking the electronic device and handing it to the colonel. “It suggests they are building a strike force and will likely arrive in the next ten to fifteen local cycles.”

“We’ll go over the data immediately,” he nodded. “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome,” he smiled, as the second aide opened up his case, producing a curved bottle and half a dozen metallic cups. “A toast,” he proposed, cracking open the flask, “to our new partnership,” grinning as he poured.

Rúna and Kai watched as the officers threw back their glasses. “So, what do you think?” the sergeant asked.

She turned her head and spat. “That we just got fucked... again.”