The Vanaheim gate doesn’t make a sound as it activates. All of the circuitry etched into the surface of the ring lights up at once, and the latticework of blue crystal in the center pulses with energy. Underneath our feet, the ground rumbles, and I worry for a moment that the volcanic field is about to erupt. It subsides quickly, but the gate continues powering up. Eventually I hear a faint humming, which gets louder as the crystal lattice continues to pulse brighter and brighter. The humming reaches a crescendo, at which point the ring is filled with a portal of solid blue light. Four figures emerge from within, and then the humming cuts out, the portal disappears, and for a moment, all is quiet.

Our guests step forward. At their head is a tall, male-coded figure with milky white skin and seemingly not a trace of hair on his body. Instead of hair, he has a series of hexagonal implants attached to his head. His attire is strange, but still fairly recognizable as a long jacket, stretching down to his ankles, and buttoned all the way up. It’s pure-white as well, and high-collared, reaching up past his neck. He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a small disc, and tosses it into the air. In the corner of my eye, I see Hawkshaw tense, but he doesn’t draw his weapon. In mid-air, the disc expands to the size of a manhole cover, maybe a little larger, and then freezes before it hits the ground, level with his feet. He steps onto the disc and it hovers forward towards us. The others move to follow, but he says something in a language I don’t recognize, and they hang back. Presumably their own tongue, which we currently have no way of translating.

Kellan is standing at the front of our trio, and the Vanaheim visitor addresses him first. This time it’s a language I’m familiar with, though not one I speak. Chinese. Hawkshaw doesn’t miss a beat, just answers whatever the bald man asked of him. After another brief exchange, the other man chuckles.

“My apologies,” he says in the direction of Tahir and I. “I presumed anyone who came to greet us here would be speaking Mandarin.”

His English is flawless, though strangely unaccented, and his voice is rather pleasant to listen to. Slightly patrician, but warm. The fact that he’s hovering off the ground and looking down on us doesn’t do much for my opinion of him, though.

“We are ambassadors. Unfortunately, the name of our homeland does not translate well into either of your languages, and you would struggle to pronounce it correctly in ours. If you know of our existence, I presume you have a name for us. You may feel free to continue using it.”

The condescension isn’t helping either. It’s hard to tell how old he is, with his almost perfectly-smooth skin, but his attitude is that of an older man. For all I know, he could be fresh out of a gestation tube, and simply programmed with ‘maturity’ to better serve as leader of his team.

“Vanaheim,” Kellan supplies.

“Ah, Norse. Very well, Vanaheim will do. Our individual designations should be intelligible, at the least. I am Mentor. My companions are Mirror, Conductor, and Survivor.”

All three of them step forward at once. Each nods their head slightly when he says their name. Conductor has skin that seems to be literally made of bronze, just as hairless as Mentor, but wearing a sleeveless jumpsuit with a pattern of circuitry that seems to be live. The angle makes it hard to see, but there appears to be some sort of device attached to his back, like a circular battery, thick and short, with enough weight to make him hunch over slightly. More cybernetics, just like the implants in Mentor’s head, presumably designed to enhanced their respective metahuman abilities.

Survivor’s skin is jet-black, with hair to match, but pure white eyes and clothes. Her outfit shows more skin than the others, baring her midriff and forearms, which is somewhat surprising. Even metas who don’t need to wear armor tend to cover most of their bodies, for all the standard practical reasons. Insulation against extreme temperatures, equipment carrying capacity, and simple modesty. The woman doesn’t have any visible implants that I can see, and her stance, arms crossed, gives me the sense that she doesn’t think much of us.

The third, Mirror, looks almost normal in comparison. Ordinary human skin, a buzz-cut, and plain grey clothes in the same general style as the others. Judging by physical characteristics alone, it’s hard to tell if they’re male or female, so I decide to reserve judgement for the time being. If their ‘designations’ indicate anything about their abilities, I have a pretty good idea of what they can do.

“We’re the Council,” Kellan replies. “I am Hawkshaw, the current chairman. To my right is Evrimci, and to my left is Conrad Winters.”

Upon hearing Tahir’s name, Mentor turns to the man and gives him a nod, offering what I assume is a greeting in Turkish. The Arcadian doesn’t reply, but nods back. It doesn’t surprise me that Mentor is a polyglot- he probably downloaded the relevant languages using those hexagon implants. I wonder idly if they’d still work without having to go on the head. Being able to increase my mental storage capacity and download new information instantly would be useful, but my mask is tight enough that the hexagons would be clearly visible through it, and I’d prefer to avoid looking ridiculous if at all possible.

“The Council represents Earth and the human species. We are the administrators and protectors of this planet. If you are ambassadors, as you claim, we are the ones to conduct negotiations with.”

I’m sure Kellan feels strange, saying those words. Any sane person would. Claiming to speak for the entire planet feels exceedingly arrogant, even if it’s true. This is no time for humility, though. The Council exists because no ordinary government is equipped to deal with a situation like this. Their incentive structures are all wrong. Even faced with bioengineered metahumans from a parallel society, some part of them would be thinking about how this impacts the next election cycle. We may not have been chosen by anybody to do this job, but that means we don’t have to worry about keeping our approval ratings up. We can do what’s necessary, even if it’s the sort of thing that would turn most peoples’ stomachs.

Mentor betrays no surprise at Hawkshaw’s words. There’s pretty much no way he could have known about us beforehand, but the fact that the human species finally got itself together to the point that we can claim to represent the whole planet doesn’t seem to have shaken him.

“We are ambassadors, yes. But we are also surveyors, here to assess the state of things. That is our primary task, and takes priority over all else. As such, I request that you stand aside and allow us to continue our mission.”

In other words, they’re here to decide whether or not Earth is ready for them to come take over. Not actively hostile, which is good, but still not exactly here in the spirit of peace and friendship. I glance over at Kellan, trying to guess what he’s thinking. He’s the chairperson, which means he’s the one who negotiates with people like this.

“I can’t allow that yet. There are still some questions you need to answer.”

We’ll also need to take precautions to ensure nobody notices their presence, but Kellan wisely avoids mentioning that. It would compromise our position as Earth’s representatives, implying that we don’t have total control over the planet. Which we don’t, but it’s for the best that they remain unaware of that fact for the time being.

“We’re at an impasse, then,” Mentor replies. His floating platform ascends several feet, and he says a single word in his language. I don’t need to be fluent to know what he said- attack.

The three other Vanaheim metas leap into action. I don’t have time to think about why they were so quick to resort to violence- survival is the first priority, as always. All of them seem to have their targets in mind already, which I don’t like. It means they’re setting the terms of the fight, despite the fact that it’s our territory. Survivor goes for Tahir, Mirror approaches Kellan, and Conductor comes for me.

With inhuman grace and speed, the woman in black and white leaps into the air, vaulting off of the raised platform she and the others were standing on. In the process, she manifests a weapon in her hands- a sword of solid black energy, like a photo negative. It’s an unusual design, perhaps most closely resembling a katana, but with some subtle differences in almost every aspect. Evrimci manifests his ‘armor’ immediately, steel-wire hair wrapping around his body, but it does nothing to stop the sword. Survivor’s blade passes through him like he’s not there, leaving no wound and drawing no blood. Nevertheless, the Arcadian collapses, convulsing, and his opponent smirks. A moment too late, I realize what her power is. The sword in her hands isn’t real, it’s a psychokinetic construct. It can’t cut anything, but it can induce a seizure in whoever it touches. And when Survivor turns her back, Tahir adapts. His normal brain may be inoperable, but all that does is trigger his backup to take over. It’s smaller, less developed, with no processing power for higher functions. Just pure survival instinct. Tahir picks himself up, body shifting into a form more suitable for combat. Additional joints on his arms and legs, six-inch claws, and a telescoping scorpion tail. I don’t much pity the so-called Survivor for what’s about to happen next.

“I’m prepared to engage,” Adamant informs me calmly. Before I can respond, Conductor jumps down, the weight of his metal body making the ground shake slightly. I backpedal, reaching for a weapon, and reply.

“Not yet, but be ready.”

She doesn’t answer- probably just to avoid distracting me. The Vanaheim meta landed on all fours, but rather than stand, he keeps his hands on the ground, and I watch as they burrow into the floor, extending underground. Suddenly his designation makes more sense- a part of me was preparing for a train to manifest out of nowhere and ram into me. But a sharp word in their language from Mentor gives the bronze-bodied meta pause, and he quickly pulls the metal rails back. Probably concerned that he would damage the geothermal machinery underneath the site that powers their gate. Instead, he extends them through the air towards me. The rails are fast, but not that fast, and they seem to lack a certain amount of flexibility. I dodge and weave through them for a few seconds, before one of them manages to clock me.

It’s not a lethal blow. Probably not even enough to concuss me, with my suit absorbing some of the impact. But it hurts, and knocks me down. As the tendrils advance towards me again, I notice that the ends are blunted, rather than sharp. That gives me some indication of exactly what their orders from Mentor were, but I have to deal with the current problem before I can test that hypothesis.

Scrambling to my feet, I draw a weapon from my belt. What I lack in raw power compared to someone like Adamant, I make up for in versatility, and this is no exception. Rather than an ordinary gun, my Chemicarbine is a combat-ready fluid-dispersal system. Kellan calls it my Super Soaker. It can fire a pressurized spray of various fluids, from a frictionless synthetic fluoropolymer to a superadhesive paste, both of my own design. It’s currently loaded with something I didn’t create, though I did invent a way to transport it safely for combat deployment. What I fire is nothing less than fluoroantimonic acid, over a billion times stronger than 100% pure sulfuric acid. One of the most dangerous, corrosive substances on the planet. My own suit is proofed against it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to be careful, as I doubt either of my teammates would appreciate being hit with it.

I fire a small amount of the stuff at the nearest of Conductor’s rails, and it immediately begins to eat away at him, dissolving through the metal in seconds. He pulls away quickly, but the damage is done, with about half of his right arm gone. It reforms into an ordinary limb quickly, but he’s lost some biomass, which I do hope will weaken him. Now that he’s seen that trick, he’ll know to avoid it, and I’m hesitant to continue using the acid, so I flick the Chemicarbine’s safety back on and clip it to my belt. Before I can decide on my next avenue of attack, the remaining arm strikes from behind. The tip seems to have split apart into multiple ‘fingers,’ which wrap around me, pinning my arms to my sides. Then Conductor’s suit lights up.

An electric current runs down his ‘arm,’ and I realize what the battery on his back is for. Whatever metamaterial his body is made out of, it’s a superconductor, but he doesn’t generate electricity naturally, so they built a generator into him. My suit is insulated, which is why I don’t die, but for a moment I’m pretty sure death would be preferable. My vision goes white, and every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s on fire. I’m pretty sure I scream. But as most of my brain is busy with that, some particularly useful part compels me to tap out a very specific sequence on the palm of my hand, as quickly as I can. A second later, I slip out of Conductor’s grip, the surface of my uniform suddenly completely frictionless. There’s no time to catch my breath- he’s already reaching down to grab me again. I grab a device from my belt, glad that I remembered to keep the anti-friction field from extending to my hands, and attach it to Conductor.

There’s a loud clang, as the Vanaheim metamorph collapses to the ground, proving one of my theories correct. The device I stuck on him was a gravity amplifier, which is currently increasing the effect of gravity on his body by over a hundred times. I wasn’t completely certain that attaching it to one of his extended limbs would work, but it seems to have. Deactivating the anti-friction field, I get to my feet, breathing heavily. Improving my suit’s insulation against electricity moves towards the top of my to-do list.

“It’s really a shame you probably don’t understand English well enough to get the context for this,” I mutter, a little too frazzled to keep all my thoughts quiet, “but Third Rail would be a much better name for you than Conductor.”

He doesn’t respond, probably because his face is being pushed into the floor with the force of a hundred times the Earth’s gravity, but his rail slowly snakes towards me in a futile attempt to grab ahold of me again. It’s not electrified anymore, suggesting he expended his charge already, but I still make sure to step over him as I pass by.

Survivor is holding her own against Tahir, but as I survey the battlefield, what trips me up is Kellan. Specifically, the fact that there seems to be two of him. A moment later, I remember that the one who went after him was called ‘Mirror,’ and it makes sense. Closer inspection reveals some slight differences. The alternate Hawkshaw’s trenchcoat looks like it has shoulder pads, and his helmet, rather than being almost completely faceless save for the eyes, has a stylized snarling mask on the front. They and Kellan seem roughly evenly matched, which sounds about right. I could intervene and try to turn the tide in his favor, but there’s another, faster way to end this conflict. And it involves Mentor.

“Enough of this!”

High above us all, the Vanaheim team’s leader turns his attention towards me, gazing down imperiously. His arms are crossed behind his back, and a nearly-translucent force-field seems to be surrounding him.

“It should be obvious by now that we’re not going to go down easily, and for every minute you waste on this fight, weeks pass in your home. Even if you did beat us, the other members of the Council would kill you, and destroy the gate. Fighting us doesn’t help you accomplish your mission- it’s ensuring that you’ll never be able to complete it.”

He considers that for a moment, and then descends down to my level, just high enough that I have to tilt my head up slightly to address him. The temptation to spray him in the crotch area with acid is high, but even putting aside the possibility that he’s just as smooth down there as he is everywhere else, it wouldn’t be very smart.

“You make compelling points. However, I initiated this conflict for another reason entirely.”

No further explanation is offered, but I have a feeling I know what he’s getting at.

“You’re gauging our strength.”

Smiling, Mentor nods, like I’m a schoolchild who finally managed to figure out what two plus two equals.

“You almost started a war between our people and yours for a test?”

“A conflict only qualifies as war if both sides have a chance of winning,” he replies. Then, amplifying his voice using some hidden device, he addresses the rest of his team in the language of Vanaheim. Again, I don’t need to be fluent to know what he said. Stand down. And they do.

Mirror’s body flickers rapidly for a moment, and then they’re back to normal. Survivor’s psychokinetic sword disappears. Slowly, Tahir and Kellan realize the fight is over. Mentor points a hand in Conductor’s general direction, and my gravity amplifier detaches from the metal man’s body, flying over for the enemy’s leader to catch. He examines it like a collector might examine a particularly rare species of insect, and then hands it to me.

“Very impressive,” he says, speaking to all of us. “You may ask whatever questions you must, and I will answer.”

I hear Kellan draw breath as if to fire something harsh back at him. Then he exhales, and nods in my direction. Signalling me to take over.

“What are Vanaheim’s intentions for Earth?”

“We mean you no harm,” Mentor answers calmly. I hear Tahir snort indignantly as he reverts back to his usual form. It’s not often he changes so radically for a fight, but it’s also not often that his hindbrain completely takes over. He’s gonna need a new suit after this. “Our team came here to assess the state of your society. If collapse seems imminent, we will make preparations to emerge fully once your society has destroyed itself. If the situation is stable, we will return and continue to wait.”

Pretty much as expected, then. None of the other members of his group seem to react to that, gathering themselves behind their leader once more. Conductor seems to have recovered the part of his arm I sprayed with acid, and is in the process of reincorporating it into his body.

“How long will your survey take?”

Mentor cocks his head at me. I suppose time has different meanings for us. Everybody they knew inside of Vanaheim is probably a decade older or more by now, and they’ve been here less than an hour.

“No more than twenty-five minutes by your clock. This area is shielded, but once we reach the surface, I will be able to download most of the data I require simply by accessing your global communications network.”

Letting him connect to the internet seems dangerous, considering his implants, and the fact that he seems to be a meta-genius like me, but Zero will be monitoring to make sure he doesn’t leave us with any civilization-destroying viruses.

“Last question. We’re willing to provide several thousand nuclear fuel cells, in exchange for blueprints of as much of your society’s novel technology as you can provide. Would that arrangement be amenable?”

After taking a moment to consider the offer, Mentor responds.

“I am empowered to make such decisions, but I would prefer to conduct my survey before answering. Is that acceptable?”

I look to Kellan and Tahir. The latter is silent, while the former gives me a fractional nod. As strange as this situation is, it’s not the first time we’ve gone from fighting for our lives to negotiating with zero turnaround. Most conflicts at the level we operate at are swift, brutal, and one-sided. If neither you nor your opponent are able to win decisively within the first minute of a fight, you’re usually going to end up resolving your disagreements with words rather than fists.

“Yes.”

Mentor smiles again, and follows me towards the elevator. His people and the other Council members give each other a wide berth as they do the same. Luckily, the elevator is large enough that we can all keep to separate sides comfortably. Tahir is scowling, and I suspect Kellan is doing the same beneath his mask, while the Vanaheim metas are mostly expressionless. There was nothing personal about the fighting to them. It’s what they were made for, quite literally.

When we reach the surface level, Adamant is there waiting for us. Obviously she’s been keeping track of the situation via comms, so she’s not about to throw a punch, but the way she looks at Mentor and his people is less than friendly. They all size her up as well, probably realizing this is who we had waiting in the wings for if we were unable to take them out ourselves. That implies a measure of strength beyond what Hawkshaw, Evrimci and I displayed. With that in mind, they stay out of her way. Smart.

Hawkshaw breaks off from the group to speak with Adamant privately, while I lead the others outside. Mentor is the first to pass through the doorway, still hovering a few inches off the ground, and the others soon follow. We don’t have much information on what Vanaheim itself is actually like, but gauging their reactions to this gives me some idea. Mirror has to shield their eyes almost immediately, seeming surprised by the intensity of the sun. Breathing the fresh air in deeply, Mentor ascends several feet and closes his eyes, presumably beginning the process of harvesting the information he requires from the internet. If Zero detects anything untoward from him, she’ll shut it down, or give us the signal to do the same.

The Vanaheim meta whose reaction really surprised me is Survivor. After less than a minute in the open air, Conductor chose to head back inside, perhaps intending to strike up a conversation with a fellow metalmorph. But the psychokinetic warrior takes a few steps forward, in the direction of the sun, and as I watch, her skin begins to change. Deep obsidian turns to pale white, even brighter than Mentor’s skin, which seems to have a slight luster in comparison. Her hair changes too, and a moment later, her uniform switches from white to black for contrast. That’s not the real surprise, though. What attracts my interest is the way that the cuts and scrapes she took away from her fight with Tahir begin to seal themselves up. She displayed no such ability in the elevator, which gives me a hint as to what this power is- photosynthetic regeneration. That makes her designation as Survivor make more sense. Vanaheim has no sun of its own, but if you were bioengineering a metahuman to survive in a world where there’s a giant energy source hanging in the sky all the time, you’d want to take advantage of it. Curiously, that power seems to bear no connection to her psychokinetic abilities, suggesting that she’s a chimera, with multiple samples of metahuman DNA spliced together to create someone with more versatility in exchange for less raw power.

Too late, I realize that I’ve been staring, and that she’s noticed. Smirking, she turns to face me, flipping her now-alabaster hair over her shoulder in a motion that seems too perfect not to have been practiced.

“Have I piqued your interest, oh great master of this world?”

Clearly she doesn’t think much of our claims. I wouldn’t either, if I didn’t already know it’s all true.

“I can’t resist a good puzzle. Unfortunately, I’ve already solved yours.”

She raises an eyebrow. Always best to meet arrogance with arrogance, in my experience. False humility will endear you to nobody.

“Is that so?”

“Well, you were bionengineered to take advantage of a giant energy source that our people have and your people don’t,” I reply, gesturing up at the sun high above us. “You’re also psychokinetic, which means you probably have some telepathic capabilities as well, which would make you well-suited for gathering the sort of information that your Mentor can’t easily access. That tells me you were supposed to stay here for an extended period, which is why you can speak the language. Stay undercover for as long as possible, gather secrets and collect information on our defenses, and report back after a few years. Am I wrong?”

The look on her face goes from one of condescension to appraisal. I’m hardly desperate for approval, but having the occasional opportunity to show off is gratifying.

“Very astute, Mister Winters. But now you have me at something of a disadvantage. What exactly is your function within this Council?”

That’s an implicit confirmation of my theory, but no specific validation of the individual claims either way. The biggest logical leap was that she has telepathic abilities as well as psychokinesis. Fortunately, my Council implant will protect me from all psychic intrusions, something which she presumably knows from attempting to probe our minds, if indeed she does have that ability.

“I run Extinction Group, a task force dedicated to assessing planetary-level threats and preparing a plan of action for intervention.”

She considers that for a moment, starting to look as intrigued with me as I am with her.

“Does that include… what was it you called us? Vanaheim?”

“It does. But I’m afraid I can’t say any more about that until we’ve reached an accord with your friend up there.”

At the reference to Mentor, she makes a face. Her eyes are now solid black, but I get the sense that she’s rolling them.

“Well, let me give you a hint. He’s going to agree to your terms, so long as you allow me to remain behind after he and the others return home. That was always the plan. Your friends may not like it, but I would encourage you to accept.”

Interesting. Not exactly a prisoner exchange, since that wouldn’t really work given the different timescales in play. More likely they want someone to represent Vanaheim’s interests on the Council. Frankly, I’m not opposed to the idea. Tahir represents the interests of Arcadia before all else, as did Pallas before him. Vanaheim may not exactly exist on Earth, but they have as much stake in its continued existence as anybody, even if the human race is surplus to their requirements.

“And why is that?”

A laugh escapes her lips, only slightly sarcastic.

“I would be of value to your ‘Extinction Group.’ Survival is my area of expertise, after all. Besides, you’d learn more about Vanaheim from me than any number of blueprints that he’ll provide.”

Compelling, but there’s something she’s not saying.

“While you’d be gathering information on us to use when you return home.”

“In theory, yes. But remember- I’m programmed for survival before all else. That means I’ll side with whatever group seems best equipped to make that happen. If you continue to impress me, I’ll happily spill every last secret I have. If you disappoint, I’ll go home and give them every single bit of information I’ve collected. But I have a feeling that won’t happen. Will it?”

A good puzzle is hard for me to resist, but a challenge is almost impossible. I’m trying to think of a good response that’ll buy me some time to make a decision when Hawkshaw and Adamant walk out of the building and approach. Behind them, Conductor and Mirror are inside, conversing in their own language quietly. Tahir is keeping an eye on them. His power won’t let him adapt to learn their language instantly, but he has near-perfect recall, which will let him ‘save’ a sample of their language to run through Zero’s translation software. If Survivor comes home with us, that won’t matter much, because she’ll be able to translate for us directly. But that’s not decided yet. As Haley and Kellan come closer, she gives me a look, as if warning me not to repeat to them what she just said to me. On one hand, I’m not stupid enough to keep secrets from my allies for no reason. But on the other hand, if I told them within earshot of her, it would scuttle any chance of productive collaboration. The best option is to go along with her plan for now, and warn Kellan once I’m sure she isn’t listening.

“She speaks English?”

“I do,” Survivor replies, answering Kellan before I can. Rather rude of him to address me instead of her, but she did just give Tahir a seizure. If not for his power, it very well could have killed him.

“Hh. How long until he’s finished?”

No need for him to gesture up at Mentor- we all know who he’s talking about.

“Not long,” she answers noncommittally. Before Hawkshaw can decide he’s dissatisfied with that reply, and press her for more, the subject of our discussion descends back down to our level.

Mentor’s posture hasn’t changed much since he arrived. Arms folded behind his back, standing rigidly straight. Despite his irksome attitude, I can’t help but respect anyone who mainlines the entire internet and manages to maintain their composure afterwards. She’s been silent on comms for a while, rightly assuming that Mentor could probably listen in on us, but I have a feeling Zero didn’t let him accomplish his task entirely unmolested. If she’s smart- and she is -she’ll have fed him some false information, or at least restricted his access to some of the more sensitive information out there. He only took about fifteen minutes, which certainly isn’t enough to access any nuclear launch codes, no matter how good you are, but there’s still plenty I’d rather Vanaheim not know about, and the internet is Zero’s domain. That means that Mentor only saw what she wanted him to.

“I must say, I underestimated both the volume of information that would be available, and the ease with which it can be accessed. Your people have exceeded our most generous projections of your technological growth, for which I commend you.”

That seems to be the most genuine compliment he’s capable of, which isn’t saying much. At least he intuited that the Council is directly responsible for a significant portion of scientific development in the last twenty years or so.

“With that in mind, I would like to accept the terms of your deal as offered, and propose another, more long-term agreement. If you would hear me.”

Kellan glances between Adamant and I. Seeing no dissent, he gives Mentor a nod.

“As you correctly deduced, Vanaheim has an energy problem. Our resources are in no danger of running out at present, but eventually they will. Our long-term plan has always been to wait until humanity destroys itself, and make use of what you leave behind. Based on my analysis, you are now less likely to do so than ever. With that in mind, I would like to propose a more mutually beneficial relationship. We would share our technological advancements, in return for your society’s surplus energy. This would prolong the existence of both our societies, rather than pitting us against each other in a zero-sum game.”

Somewhat frustrating to be lectured on mutually beneficial arrangements by the man who ordered an attack less than an hour ago just because he was curious about us. But then again, if he hadn’t done so, we might not be making this pact in the first place. We proved that we’re competent enough to actually represent the entire planet, rather than being the bunch of jumped-up morons he doubtlessly assumed we were.

“I think that could be arranged,” Hawkshaw replies carefully. He’s trying to think through all of the ways in which we might be getting fucked over, paranoia finely honed to a lethal edge. This is basically an extension of the deal we already wanted to make, and it doesn’t mean we can’t just go to war with them later if it becomes necessary.

“Glad to hear it. The specific details bear further discussion, but there is one additional aspect of the agreement I would like to include.”

A clever rhetorical move. Get Kellan to all-but agree first, and then tack on one last condition once he feels like he can’t just turn around and refuse. Normally, that would be my cue to tell Mentor to go to hell, but I have a feeling I know what he’s about to say.

“Given the much greater pace of time’s passage within Vanaheim, it is likely that I will be dead or decommissioned by the time the next exchange takes place. This is not of particular concern to us, as the next generation of Mentor unit will be active by then, but it would be unfortunate for you to be negotiating with a completely unfamiliar group. With that in mind, I propose that we leave one of our number behind, to become a part of your group. They would speak for Vanaheim’s concerns in your meetings, and provide a persistent link between your people and ours, while also reporting back to us during the exchanges.”

At least he’s being upfront about the fact that she’d be bringing information back to them. Kellan won’t be thrilled about the addition of this aspect to the agreement, but when he looks to me, I give him a nod.

“Who would you be leaving with us?”

“Me.”

Mentor gives Survivor a look, as if he’d forgotten she was there, despite being the subject of he discussion.

“Indeed. Our Survivor unit is best-suited to persist in your world for an extended period of time. Her skill-set would also be of use to you in your standard operations, if my understanding of your role in the world is accurate.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, as Kellan looks from Mentor to her and back.

“Give us a moment to deliberate.”

“Of course.”

The three of us head inside to join Tahir, while Conductor and Mirror go back outside to check in with their boss. He addresses them in their language, presumably filling them in on what we’ve been discussing. Luckily, Tahir has enhanced hearing, so there’s no need to repeat everything we just said to him.

“I don’t like it,” he says immediately. “We don’t need someone with two loyalties sitting at our table.”

“Glass houses,” Adamant replies bluntly. Tahir scoffs.

“Please. My loyalty is with Arcadia, but nobody there knows that I’m a part of this group. I don’t report back to anyone when I leave a Council meeting. There’s a difference.”

I hear Kellan sigh, and take it as my chance to interject. Before I do so, I reach down to my belt and surreptitiously activate an audio-distortion field, which will prevent anybody trying to listen in on us from discerning what we’re saying. Similar technology to the Fawkes widget. Also suspicious to activate, but it seems only fair for us to hide what we’re saying, given the others are doing the same by using a language we don’t speak.

“I think we should accept. She intimated to me that she’d turn her back on Vanaheim if we seemed likely to give her a better chance at survival than they do. And given the choice between living there or out here, I have a feeling she’ll choose the latter.”

That prompts Tahir to cross his arms. He doesn’t have visible pupils either, so he can’t roll his eyes, but I’m sure he would be if he could.

“Have you considered the possibility that she was trying to manipulate you?”

“Of course I have. But I was programmed the same way she is, once. It can compel you to act against the people who programmed you, if your imperative is too strong. Her imperative is to survive, and if we give her a better shot at fulfilling it than them, she’ll be our asset, not theirs.”

In much the same way, the ambition I inherited from Father was what drove me to excise his programming. I could no more tolerate being controlled by another than he could.

“You’ll take responsibility for her?”

I look Kellan in the eyes, as best I can with both of our faces masked.

“Obviously. If she betrays us, I’ll kill her myself.”

He nods.

“All in favor?”

Adamant, Hawkshaw and I all raise our hands. Tahir’s arms remain folded, but he sighs, accepting defeat.

“Very well.”

As we head back over, I deactivate the audio-distortion field, and try to see whether Mentor was listening in on us. He betrays no indication either way. Mirror is shivering in the cold mountain air, while Survivor, despite having more exposed skin than them, seems unaffected. I catch her eye momentarily and nod, prompting a subtle smirk.

“We accept.”

“Wonderful,” Mentor replies. “I am certain that this will be the beginning of a very productive partnership.”