1 Standing Withering, 1886 CE

Palace of Governance, Acerbia

Dorsin turned in his chair, scanning the dozens of graphene screens surrounding him. The Gens Takahashi data-translators had departed before his family's return to Acerbia, and Nethress purple-bloods had been hard at work feeding in the data that Senrii had found beyond the dome of the sky.

Dorsin had spent a week studying the data, collating and considering Nethress's options. Lenaa and the rest of his family had protested at Dorsin's insistence on keeping them here, but the gift he had given them all had mollified them. Curing Stigmata for the redbloods, STIGMOS for the bluebloods. The genophage would haunt them no longer.

Tonight, Princeps Dorsin would dismiss Gens Nethress, giving his family leave to return to their fiefs. That would be necessary for the next step.

Forces needed to be gathered, after all.

Dorsin put the finishing touches on the paper on the desk. Good, solid paper. It was real, constant, unchanging, not like graphene screens or the shifting genes of a Magus in a Chimerization struggle. It was proof of his intentions, even if he had no need of it to remind him what he had decided.

Eleven months until the true enemy arrived. Humankind could delay no longer.

Dorsin rose, running his fingers across the wood of his desktop. Then he left the room.

It was a short walk to the conference chamber. He had planned to be precisely on time, as always. He had not counted on hearing the familiar voices of Captain Cornartis and Rab Zakiel as they came around a corner.

They saw him, and their conversation stopped. Ever the military man, Cornartis stood up straighter, but Zakiel's aging face split into a crevice-lined grin. "Ah, my good Princeps." He came forward to grasp Dorsin's hand. "What a delight it is to see you."

"Likewise, Rab Zakiel." Dorsin said, allowing the man's familiarity to pass without comment. "Has Captain Cornartis been treating you well?"

Zakiel squeezed Dorsin's hand. "As well as can be expected from a man of his caliber, which is to say very well."

"I take it the building I've provided for the synakirk will suffice?" The man had had ten days to look over the four-story structure Dorsin had signed over to him and his acolytes. Surely Zakiel would have lodged a complaint by now if it was unacceptable.

"We're hard at work restoring it," Zakiel confirmed.

"You have my apologies regarding its condition," Dorsin said. "Some sieges take longer than a year to recover from."

Zakiel waved a dismissive hand. "We're Amricians, Princeps. We're no strangers to hard work."

"Some day you'll have to explain to me the difference between Amricianism and Adonism," Dorsin said.

Zakiel laughed. "I'm sure I'd bore you to tears with such talk. Princeps Dorsin, I've spoken with my countrymen and my fellow believers. They understand our agreement, and will abide by it."

Then they would keep any proselytizing in Acerbia to a quarter-mile radius around the new synakirk and to their homes, and they'd refrain from encouraging dissidence against Gens Nethress. Dorsin nodded. "I'd expect no less."

Cornartis's mouth turned up in a slight smile. Never let it be said that Princeps Dorsin didn't keep his promises.

"Then I'm glad we've made a good impression." Zakiel glanced down at the notes in Dorsin's hand. "You're a busy man, Princeps, and I see I'm detaining you. Plus, I have a flight to Highkirk to catch. Thank you for lending me the use of a skywhale. Goodbye, and thank you for all you've done."

"Of course, Rab Zakiel. Safe travels." Dorsin watched as the man ambled off. "And you, Captain?"

Cornartis shrugged. "I'll be sticking around for a bit, I think, Princeps. Something tells me you'll be needing me."

"Yes, I'm sure I will." All too sure. "In fact, I'd appreciate your presence at the moment, though I fear it will be less pleasant than your current company."

Cornartis nodded, then called down the hall, "Rab Zakiel, permission to take my leave?"

The man waved a hand without turning around. "I'm not yet so old I can't find my way to the airfield. Two hours until liftoff. You'll say farewell?"

"I'd be honored to see you off, Rab Zakiel." Cornartis saluted Dorsin. "Until then, I'm at your disposal, Princeps."

The benefit of being late was that the conference room was already full. All of the Duxes and many of the Comes of Dorsin's family were there, dozens and dozens of them sitting around the massive table. His sister Lenaa was looking far better rested than she'd seemed when they'd arrived ten days ago. Her low-lidded eyes studied everyone in the room, and not a hair was out of place in her shining brown-black bun.

Ymir, the fond old fool--he was the brother of Gerart, Dorsin's adoptive father--was snoozing, his head on the table. Ductrix Ramona, too young for her position, had her arms wrapped around herself, as if she were cold. Dux Volund seemed twitchy, as if he was ready for a fight.

On and on the roll went. Dozens of family members, Ductrices and Comes.

Family, like Ductrix Senrii, who sat back, wide-open arms draped over the chairs next to her. Oralie sat in the chair to her right, and at the sight of her Dorsin felt imprisoning bars clang shut around his heart.

They hadn't shared a bed since--

Since.

To Senrii's left sat Eztli, and Dorsin frowned at the sight of the Nxtlu Maga. Except, Eztli had claimed that she was neither Nxtlu nor Maga any longer. Senrii insisted that she had been instrumental in their quest, and Oralie insisted that she had done everything in her power to stop Nxtlu from touching off the war they'd been bent on starting.

Still, old habits died hard, and Dorsin found her presence irritating, even disturbing. He decided to ignore her. That was the best he could do for one of her family.

Piotr stood guard at the door, his new telescoping halberd in his hand. He watched evenly. Such a loyal soldier and true friend.

The sound of footsteps on marble and obsidian echoed down the hall, and Tvorh slid almost past the room. Aoife's hand was in his, and she bumped into him as he stopped.

"Sorry," Tvorh said, pulling free from Aoife, whose face was flushed. Dorsin could have chalked that up to the fact that they'd been running, but her smile bespoke excitement. It probably had to do with Tvorh.

Unfortunate.

As the last stragglers took their seats, Dorsin went to the head of the table. "Thank you all for coming at this late hour."

"As if we had a choice, brother," Lenaa said. "When our princeps summons us, we come." Nobody laughed at the fact that she called him 'brother.' They had hashed that out on Dorsin's first day back. He was their princeps, even if he shared no blood with them.

"Nonetheless," Dorsin said, "decisions are not best made in exhaustion. Clarity of thought demands time, but as you all know, time is the one luxury we do not have. Tool, screens."

Meghan's disembodied voice rang out. "Yes, Princeps." Graphene screens unrolled down the upper halves of all six walls of the honeycomb room. The lumins dimmed, and the graphene screens glowed, data scrolling past.

There were maps of Tellus. There were digitized photos of the destruction in La Table d'Or where the section of the Patrick Henry that was attached to the alien ship had crashed, wiping out both Master-Minds at once. There were even records that Eztli claimed to have liberated within the past year from a lifeboat section buried in the Acerbian labyrinth, though it was annotated almost entirely in Pre-Exarchian. It would take Nethress's linguists some time to reconstruct the data in a comprehensible language.

She said she had the key to the language, but could not share it without finding something called a "massless battery." More Nxtlu lies, or simply an unfortunate barrier to their understanding?

"I take it you all read the pre-briefing," Dorsin said. Cornartis raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"As I said, when the Princeps speaks..." Lenaa said.

"Then you know what we face." All of the screens switched at once to an image of the remnant of the Patrick Henry falling through the sky toward La Table d'Or. Though flames enveloped the structure as it cut through the atmosphere, it was still possible to make out the long, tubular creature impaling ten layers of ship components. Even now Dorsin had to suppress a shudder at the sight of it. Somehow, despite the fact that it was organic, it was even stranger than the metallic curves of the ancient human vessel.

"Eleven months to prepare for invasion," Lenaa said. "Yes, we understand."

Dorsin leaned forward and put his knuckles on the desk. "The records that we liberated from the Patrick Henry indicate that these creatures have been journeying across space toward Tellus since the end of the Last Era. There is no indication in the astronomical photos that they have changed course or heading." He looked to Eztli. "Is this not correct?"

She studied him back, as if unsure if he was trying to trap her. "That is correct, Princeps Dorsin."

"They received a message as the Last Era fell," Dorsin concluded.

"From the genophage, probably through Synapsis." Lenaa raised a hand dramatically. "Tellus is ripe and the corruption is taking hold, or something of the sort."

It was as good an assumption as any that Dorsin could imagine. "Yes, something of the sort. Something brought them this way. Their unwillingness to deviate despite the fact that the corruption was interrupted, at least according to this Pellnias, implies that they still intend to do whatever they set out to do."

All eyes turned to Tvorh. He had shared the genetic memories he'd torn away from the tubular snake-heavenwhales while in Relay-Space. They all understood that this was not the first time the aliens had set out to consume a new planet.

"Aliens," Dorsin murmured. It was a foolish lapse; all eyes turned back to him. Best to own it. He stood up straight again. "We had best call them what they are. The aliens."

"The genophages," Eztli said. "Devourers of genes, in a more literal fashion than the disease."

Dorsin nodded. If these things had created the Symbiont, the genophage disease, and the Chimeras in order to assimilate humanity into their gene pool, it was an accurate term.

"Sulfurians," Tvorh said. Also accurate.

"The Silver Sands and Suns," Oralie said, her eyes distant in the dim light.

"All of these, and perhaps more," Dorsin allowed. "We don't truly know what we're facing. Instead, let's talk about what we do know.

"We know that they are either unwilling or unable to turn away from their mission. Perhaps they consume worlds in order to replenish their energy and their propulsion mass. Acceleration to sufficient speeds for interstellar travel requires a great deal of both. Hence, they can't stop, or they die. Either they take Tellus, or they starve."

"Speculation," Lenaa said.

Cornartis smiled. "We have to take some things on faith."

"Yes, speculation," Dorsin agreed. "Better that we consider the possibilities now than be caught flat-footed, however."

"Maybe they didn't get the message that the genophage only half-worked," offered Volund.

"Yeah," said Ramona. "If these Master-Minds are responsible for Synapsis, and if some of these Master-Minds were injured at the end of the Last Era like Pellnias said, maybe they couldn't get enough power to send a message back."

A few other possibilities were mentioned, and they appeared on the screens as Meghan took note of them. Finally Dorsin held up a hand. "This is useful, but we haven't yet gotten to the critical business, so let's return to the main question: what can we say for sure? We also know that when this vanguard arrives, it will almost certainly contain at least one of these 'Master-Minds.' The aliens seem to be dependent on these creatures to direct their troops."

Senrii shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She'd been quite insistent that the beasts she'd encountered on the Patrick Henry, terrible though they were, weren't the real enemy. They were organized yet animalistic, like intelligent Chimeras. They couldn't have made an interstellar journey on their own. The Master-Minds were the real foes.

Dorsin hoped.

"Third, we don't truly know what sort of dangers we will face when the aliens arrive," Dorsin said. "The simple fact that they can travel through space indicates that they are far technologically superior to us. Their military superiority will only increase when the bulk of their fleet arrives some months after the vanguard."

"You make it sound as if we're doomed, brother," Lenaa said.

"No," Dorsin said. He took a deep breath. Now they came to the crux of the matter. "Not if humanity unites."

The room was silent as Dorsin's words fell like raindrops in their midst. With those words, he had crossed the point of no return, bled dry his skywhales, punctured his lungboats, made retreat impossible.

So Dorsin marched into the battle. "We can no longer play these games with the other Gentes. We can no longer squabble over scraps of land or genes while the future of humanity hangs in the balance. Gens Nethress is uniquely poised. Though our numbers have been recently culled, we now have a secret weapon." His eyes turned to Oralie, who stared back in shock. He hadn't told her his plans.

But she would agree to them. She was his wife, after all.

"We control Synapsis," Dorsin said. "And we control the only producer of the Symbiont left in the world." He thought of the strange paralysis that had fallen upon all the Magi in the world when Thiyyatt had linked to the Silver Suns Tool, and through it to the Master-Mind in the alien tower-ship. "We can even control Magi."

Oralie's lips trembled, with fear or with rage. Dorsin could no longer tell.

"Power comes from perception and from resources. Of the two, the former is more malleable. The Sodality has perception, but we have the resources. All of the Gentes on Tellus, if they would have access to the SOPHIOS, must request it from us. From us. And that same producer of the Symbiont is able to look into the minds of all the Bound and even control them, if they don't do as we say."

"Dorsin," Oralie warned. "Don't do this."

"Make no mistake," Dorsin said. "I mean to unite Tellus by the time our hostile guests arrive. I will unite mankind with the sweet fruit if possible, but I will not hesitate to squeeze the venom gland into the wounds of any who hesitate. Humanity's survival is worth the cost."

The cost in lives, the cost to the General Principles, the cost even to Dorsin's soul.

"For the survival of all of us," Dorsin said, "I will see Gens Nethress seated in Imperium."