What have I done?

Kether stands there looking at me like he expects an answer, green eyes flashing in his pale freckled face. The dragon...my dragon? our dragon, now, ours as in our little group, ours as in all of humanity...she's folded her wings and she stands there waiting with that strange maybe-bottomless patience of hers.

"I've finally found what I've been looking for, Kether. What my parents were looking for, all those years. What dad was looking for."

He winces and I know it's unfair, that I've twisted a knife of special unkindness, but it's the only one I can find right now and it's a delicate moment, I don't feel I should go into it unarmed. Kether and I aren't blood, but he and my father were good as brothers. Better than most, really. I step forward and hold out my hand. "Listen," I say, "I know the risks, who better? Mom and Dad taught me everything they could, and you know damn well just how much that was. Yeah, sure, there's serious danger. But there's also serious hope, Kether, the first we've had in a long, long time. Since before I was born, probably, right?"

Kether takes in a deep breath, and lets it out in slow irregular huffs. He doesn't look at the dragon, though of course she's right there in the peripheral of his sight, like he's sure seeing her directly would be too much for his decision-making faculties. And maybe it would. He looks at my hand, instead, then walks forward and takes it in his own, huge almost-white palm and fingers just about engulfing my smaller near-black ones. And he pulls me in for a quick hug, slapping me roughly on the back the way he always does, and as usual the smell and feel of him is comforting and a little sad, old memories of being held when I was smaller and Dad's death was still fresh.

I slap his broad back in return and step back, then step back again so I can look him in the eye without having to crane my neck too much. I'm not an especially short woman, about average, but he's a giant of a man, and even though some of his bulk no longer comes from just muscle most of the muscle is still there. Dad says—used to say—that he'd seen Kether do some exceptional things, the kind of exceptional he never wanted to see again, back when they were more hotheaded and foolish and willing to take the fight directly to the fey.

"I haven't named her yet." I don't know why these are the first words to come to my mind and escape my lips, but they are and I glance over at her, but she's still waiting, patient as living polished stone.

"She?" Kether says, but he's interrupted by a little girl, creeping out along the walls to stand just next to the dragon, small brown hand outstretched, caution warring curiosity in her dirty, delicate features.

"Can I touch her?" the girl asks. I don't know her name, I'm away from home too frequently and for too long to keep track of all the children who live here, I couldn't really even tell you how many of them there are, I think there are something like three hundred of us in total?

"Sure," I say, the decision made in an instant and I'm not entirely sure just how momentous it might be, it feels like it is even though it's just one child touching an ancient machine with no reason at all to harm her and why should that matter so much?

But it does, and I know it. We all know it, looking on.

Child is curious? Physical contact is no problem will do no harm to DRAGON unit, DRAGON unit does not harm human children by intention, this is absolute baseline instruction.

Dragon does not harm human children. That gives me a small shudder. Maybe the part about intention should too, but I know enough about war to know that it doesn't bound its horrors, the best of intentions can lead to the greatest of horrors and there's nothing to do but go on, and maybe learn if you're really lucky. So, okay, but...human children? We're going to have to have a talk, she and I, after she's named, after she's introduced.

The little girl is still looking back and forth between me and the dragon, maybe because Kether has stepped forward as though ready to intervene. I give her a little nod.

A small hand rests gently on the scintillating skin of a graceful neck. "She's so pretty," the girl whispers, then jumps back. "She talked to me! In my head!"

"Yes," I say, and my voice seems like it's coming from somewhere far away, from someone else maybe. "That's how she talks, usually."

Apologies, comes the strange metallic voice for the second time. DRAGON unit did not mean to startle. Child is welcome.

Kether is staring, now, eyes wide, one of the few times I've ever seen him at a loss what to say or do. "It speaks telepathically? Like an Elf Mage-Commander to her troops?"

"She," I correct him, without even thinking about it. "Yes. I was a little surprised to hear her say something out loud just now."

Audible sound not difficult. Vibrations in air at correct frequencies. Linguistic corrections more difficult. Have observed Operator Kella word-patterns, reconstructing local dialect with temporal drift.

Kether laughs, soft and low. "So you're 'Operator Kella' now? Does she see you as her owner, then?"

The dragon ruffles her unfeathered wings, showing tiny scales that rise and smooth out on their surface instead. Ownership is difficult concept, originally military weapon, military defunct Butlerian Empire fallen, Operator Kella recognized for initiative in seeking out DRAGON unit. Knowledge of old Empire plus DRAGON unit very high for new Dark Age. DRAGON unit is satisfied with arrangement does not wish to revise.

I'm touched, honestly, absurdly so, and I think this is the first time I've heard her actually express any sort of emotion or desire of her own, at least directly like that. "Satisfied with arrangement." I suppose there are more eloquent ways to express that kind of sentiment—but I'll take it just the same.

"Thanks," I say, loudly enough for everyone listening to hear, and I'm suddenly aware of the wider scope to this little drama, all the other faces gathered round, watching, remembering.

This is a legend, I think, someday parents will tell this story to their children, even if we fail people will remember this. I'm not sure if that makes me feel motivated or terrified. Probably plenty of both.

Operator Kella will do well, she sends back, and I suppose I should have realized she would catch all of that, I'm not exactly in a guarded moment. I send another thanks to her, silently this time, because I've also got to say something now, it's expected, it's right for the moment, and I'm not ready but

readiness is nice but now has the necessity

and I breathe in deep and let my gaze scan the little crowd, gathering larger every moment.

"I'm no good at speeches, I'm just a scavver really," I say. "Speeches were Dad's thing. Some of you knew him, a few others knew the kind of thing he and Mom were always looking for. Well, now I've found it. Found her. She still needs a name, but like I told Kether just a few moments ago, she's the best hope we've had in a long, long time. We need to meet and talk about going forward. This place is fine for now but soon enough she'll outgrow it, and we won't evade fey notice for too long."

I close my eyes, knowing I shouldn't, I should project confidence in front of this crowd, this should be a legendary speech for a legendary beginning, but humanity gets what it gets, it gets me, I'll just do my best and that's all they can ask, all I can ask of myself.

That is all but best can improve, all can be added to, Operator Kella will have help grow with DRAGON unit not larger but other ways.

Gods damn it all I'm sending again, but that's alright, I send warmth back to her because that's what the words give me and I don't have time to process them right now even though they're what I needed and I reach out, set my hand gently on the base of her neck, feeling what the little girl felt, surprisingly warm, dry and smooth-scaled.

Everyone is still looking at me, not seeming to mind the pause. The moment overspills with possibility and I reach for one. It's the only one, it's an awful one, maybe no one left alive now knows how awful, we know the grind of oppression but this is a different kind of milling-stone I'm about to set in motion.

"We can no longer just do what we can from the shadows, we will still need secrecy and guile on our side but now, we are going to become something else, now we are going to have to do something else."

I let my words sink in for a pause, purposeful this time, then stand up straight, fingers tightening on the base of her long neck, feeling that slight give, almost-living.

"Now, we go to war."

Kether's eyes widen; I don't have authority to declare anything like this, I don't really have any authority at all. But I've said it, and people are listening, and I suppose that's the only authority that really matters sometimes, and Kether's about to speak but it's cut off utterly.

The dragon roars.

My first thought, living here so long, is that it will attract the fey oh gods what are we going to do. But it won't. No one knows what a dragon roar sounds like. Echoing down the streets, it could be one of their own half-tamed beasts making the noise. Certainly nothing human. Nothing to be concerned about.

Well, they'll know the sound soon enough. It's an extraordinary one, somehow metallic, only that's not quite right. Crystalline. Ringing through the air with little hints of inner fire.

And the people roar back. That surprises me more. They roar their approval. They're ready, maybe always have been, I don't blame them, but I don't think they know, I don't think any of us do, just what's coming, what it will mean.

War.