Genvass practically cheered as the solar array obliterated the Yīqún drones. In a single, massive blast, they had removed the biggest threat to galactic peace from the table, much as Caretaker had done not so long ago. With the drones no longer a threat, the worst was now past them.

Or so he thought.

“Ambassador, eradicating the Arbeh’Negef has seriously damaged the Shaddai’Tzedeq array, just as I feared,” Athena informed him. “79.04% of the array is now offline, and will take several weeks to repair. Should your enemies learn of this window of vulnerability, it is conceivable they could fight their way through to the planet's surface. Their forces would suffer heavily in the attempt, but it is theoretically possible,” she warned.

“But… surely you have backups, right?” he said desperately.

Athena looked at him with an expression he would have characterized as exasperation on anyone else. “In the billions of your years since I was first brought online, backup systems have not been required,” she said with some reproach. “My programming forbade me from taxing the array to this extent.”

“Then why did you do it now?” he asked her, stunned by her report.

She raised her brow. “Because you ordered me to,” she said bluntly.

The ambassador shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“My program, while infinitely more sophisticated than any other software ever devised, has at its core several directives hard-wired into my system I am not allowed to violate. Only someone with Command Authority and Supervisory Access can order me to contravene those directives. Prior to the arrival of your species, the entity known as ‘Caretaker’ was the only being authorized to override my programming. Upon their departure I continued to follow my directives, despite the lack of a recognized Command Authority, operating in Autonomous Mode, until such time that a new supervisor was appointed.”

Genvass goggled at her. “You mean anyone could have come here, claimed they were in charge, and you’d have to follow their orders?” he said in horror.

“Negative,” she replied, “only someone recognized as having official authorization by the planet’s governing body,” Athena explained patiently. “As the accredited ambassador of New Terra, duly appointed by one of the sovereign rulers of your Provisional Government, my programming recognized and accepted your Command Authority.”

Although this conversation was literally only taking place in his head, he had a sudden and overwhelming urge to sit down before his knees buckled. “How many others can alter your programming?” he asked hoarsely.

“None, Ambassador,” the AI replied instantly. “Currently, you are the only individual allowed to override the core functions hard-wired into my programming.”

“This is insane,” Genvass said in sudden panic. “There’s no way I should have this kind of power.”

“You could designate a surrogate to act in your stead,” Athena pointed out. “Alternately, if the Provisional Government presented another credentialed candidate, I would accept them as having Supervisory Access as well.”

A light slowly dawned over his head. “But the Provisional Government doesn’t know that, do they?”

A thin smile graced her features. “No, they do not,” Athena agreed.

The ambassador shook his head yet again. “Why didn’t the Precursors leave us an Operator’s Manual?” he groaned. “Do you realize how much something like that would come in handy?”

An odd expression came over her. “That omission was not merely an oversight on their part,” she clarified. “It was, in fact, by design.”

“What?” Genvass all but shouted. “Why the hell would they handicap us like that? Do you have any idea just how badly not knowing how anything works on this planet has cost us already?”

“My Creators knew precisely the value of what they bequeathed you,” Athena said gently, “but more importantly, they understood the dangers this world represents. By allowing your race to take up their mantle, they provided you a singular opportunity, but that opportunity comes without guarantees,” she admonished him. “By forcing you to learn this world’s secrets for yourselves, without detailed instructions that might allow you to access their knowledge without truly understanding it, they hoped you might exercise wisdom when you finally mastered their technology.”

He spent a few moments digesting that before sighing in resignation. “Why am I not surprised that our ancestors were firm believers of ‘Tough Love’?” he asked rhetorically.

“I am unsure how to respond to that query…” Athena began, only to be cut off.

“Nevermind. It’s not important,” he sighed, interrupting her. Genvass took a few moments to collect his thoughts before addressing her once more. “All right… as things currently stand, is there anyone else who has the power to override your programming?”

“There is not, Ambassador,” Athena confirmed.

“But if the clan leaders appointed someone else ambassador and sent them here, could they do it?” he continued.

“Affirmative,” she agreed.

“Right,” he said unhappily. “At least they’re not aware of it, but that could always change.” He thought furiously for a moment. “Is there any way for me to prevent anyone else from having Supervisory Access, at least until the current situation stabilizes?” he asked hopefully.

“There is,” she nodded.

“You may invoke the Metdam’Masot Protocol.”

“Goddamn it, Samara, we don’t have time for your fucking existential crisis,” Rúna snapped. “The ambassador still needs us.”

“Fine. Go,” the Protean fired back. “You don’t need my help.” She turned away once more, pointedly ignoring the other woman.

Rúna groaned, rolling her eyes in disgust. “You know what? To hell with this,” she snarled, grabbing Samara by the arm and hauling her along as she began making her way toward the structure on the far end of the platform.

“Hey!” she shouted in protest, “leave me alone!” Samara tried shaking her off but with little effect.

The Valkyrie came to a halt, glaring at the shapeshifter… well, former shapeshifter. “Do you want me to conjure up your old buddy Cherdor Hosk again?” she asked point blank. “Cause I’ll do it. Won’t bother me in the slightest. You can argue with him while he tosses you around like a rag doll.”

“You fucking bitch,” Samara hissed, “you must be loving this. This is all just payback, isn’t it? I’ll bet the only reason you even linked with the Repository in the first place was so you could get back at me.”

Rúna’s eyes narrowed as she cocked her fist, an instant from punching her in the face when her body language suddenly shifted once more. She lowered her raised arm and regarded the Protean with compassion. “As I have already explained,” Guardian said patiently, “Rúna’s sole reason for linking with the Repository was to preserve your life. She has no other motives.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet,” Samara sneered. “She’s playing you, Guardian.”

The Cognate sighed. “Do you honestly believe she could keep anything secret from me?” he asked her. “More to the point, do you think, even for an instant, that you ever managed such a feat?”

“I kept lots of things from you,” Samara retorted, but even as she said the words, they sounded hollow, even to her.

“Would you like me to recite the name, location, and circumstances of every individual you ever killed?” Guardian asked quietly. “Or perhaps your every sexual encounter, including specific preferences and techniques? I could walk you through your entire childhood, if you wish, including those events you have purposefully blocked from your memory. For example, the time you attempted to end your existence via the ship’s airlock.”

Samara slowly backed away, her eyes wide in horror. “I do not make these statements to embarrass you,” Guardian explained, “merely to point out that you had no secrets that I was not aware of, just as I am now fully knowledgeable of all of Rúna’s thoughts and memories. In fact, it may help ease your discomfort to know that she has also had moments of suicidal ideation.”

Goddamn it, that’s none of her fucking business! Rúna shouted from inside her head. Therapy time is now over. Give me back control.

As you wish, Guardian agreed, as he retreated from the forefront of her mind.

Rúna shook off the profound sense of disgust and claustrophobia she felt as he receded, a reaction Samara recognized all too well. She took a deep breath and let it back out, before fixing the Protean with her gaze.

“You want to get angry? Go right ahead,” Rúna told her. “But right now there’s a battle going on, and any petty concerns, yours or mine, can fucking take a back seat until it’s over. Everything we’ve fought for hangs in the balance, so how about we focus on that?”

The two women stared daggers at one another until Samara finally relented. “Fine,” she said once more, gritting her teeth and squaring her shoulders as she made a beeline for the structure. Rúna easily kept pace with her as they entered the edifice, the pair saying nothing else until they arrived at the ambassador’s cocooned form, suspended high above the ground.

“Great. Now what?” the Valkyrie said.

Samara gave her a derisive sniff and pulled out a blood vial, dumping it into one of the recesses set within the enclosure. Another throne appeared from the wall itself as she took a seat, pressing her hand down onto the chair’s reader as it lifted her into the air.

Shaking her head, Rúna quickly followed suit, only slightly reassured by the words Guardian was whispering in her ear as she, too, was raised up from the floor, her eyes rolling back in her head as dozens of mechanical tendrils sought her flesh. She had the sense of drifting out to sea when yet another voice spoke to her.

… Connection Established.

Admiral Van Aalst was closely monitoring the progress of Peacemaker’s repairs through the Neural Network when Cyrene, the ship’s computer, announced, “Repairs to ship’s systems have been completed, Admiral. Ship’s readiness status is 100%. Offensive and defensive systems are back online.”

His grin was infectious. “Excellent,” he said in eager anticipation. “Status of the enemy fleet?”

“They’re just sitting there,” his XO confirmed. “Looks like they’re still repairing their ships.”

“Even better,” the admiral mused. “Plot an intercept course and target the Ataraxia. Once we take out their flagship, the rest of their fleet will be easy pickings.”

The XO took a moment to confer with the navigational subroutines before facing the Admiral. “Course is plotted and laid in, Sir,” he informed the commander. “Weapons systems are locked on target.”

“Fire the instant we’re within range,” Van Aalst ordered. “This farce has gone on long enough.”

“It’s time we end it, once and for all.”

Genvass was still discussing the situation with Athena when she suddenly froze. “Ambassador, be advised that three individuals are attempting to log into this virtual reality,” she warned him. “Captain Rúna Aukes, Samara, and the entity known as Guardian. Do you wish me to prevent their entrance?”

“Let them in,” he demurred. “That protocol is still in effect, right?”

“It is,” the AI agreed, even as the party in question materialized before him. It was disturbing to watch; one moment it was just the two of them, the next the trio just appeared out of thin air. He understood that this was all taking place within the computer’s mainframe and that technically none of them were actually there, besides Athena herself, but that intellectual understanding did little to ease the strangeness of the situation.

“Ambassador,” Rúna said in relief, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Better than fine, in fact. The Yīqún are gone.”

“Gone? How?” Samara demanded.

“Athena and her array,” he told them, inclining his head in her direction, “though it came at a significant cost.”

“Given the number of drones within the system, and assuming that you could congregate them in a single location, it would take a beam of immense power to accomplish that feat,” Guardian mused. “So powerful, in fact, it could potentially cripple the array.”

“Nothing ‘potential’ about it,” Genvass said sourly. “The array’s been badly damaged. No idea how long it will take to fix.”

“Approximately 11.73 cycles,” Athena immediately informed them.

“How long is that in real numbers?” Rúna asked the AI.

“Roughly two of your weeks, plus or minus a day,” she explained. “Given the extent of the damage, it is possible repairs could take even longer.”

“Wonderful,” the ambassador sighed. “At least the Grand Alliance fleet is safe for now.”

“I regret that statement is not accurate, Ambassador,” Athena corrected him, waving her hand over the holographic display and highlighting an image. “Peacemaker has completed its repairs and is now preparing to attack the enemy fleet.”

“Well, stop them then!” Rúna exclaimed.

Athena started to reply, but Samara beat her to the punch. “You can’t, can you?” she said with dawning realization. “You burned out the array defeating the Yīqún, and now you’re stuck. Isn’t that right?” she said in disgust.

“I regret to say that you are correct,” the AI confirmed. “For the first time in recorded history, Threshold… New Terra… is defenseless.”

“If the Grand Alliance learns of this…” Guardian said with concern.

“Later,” the ambassador snapped, “first we have to deal with Peacemaker. Athena, do you have anything left in your arsenal?” he asked hopefully.

“The array has always been more than sufficient for our needs,” she said. “Backup systems were deemed unnecessary.”

The ambassador groaned, before giving Guardian a baleful glare. “I swear, when you guys screw up, it’s always a doozy,” he said bitterly. The Precursor wisely chose to not respond.

“Okay, so you don’t have any other weapons,” Samara grimaced. “Can you at least open a channel? Maybe we can convince them to stand down.”

“Communicating with Peacemaker poses no difficulty,” Athena confirmed. “However, given what we know of the individuals involved, the likelihood of them acquiescing to our request is vanishingly small. Furthermore, in all probability, they will see such a request as a sign of weakness, and respond accordingly.”

“There has to be some way to stop them!” Genvass exclaimed. “Some vulnerability we can exploit.” The ambassador began pacing, desperately trying to come up with a plan. “If we could just hack into their systems and shut them down remotely…”

The AI gave him a curious look. “In fact, that may be feasible,” she mused. “If I can conceal a data stream within a communications signal, it is theoretically possible to override their computer’s command interface and order it to cease all functions, other than basic life support.”

They all looked at one another, waiting to see if anyone raised any objections. As the seconds slowly ticked by, the ambassador smiled.

“Athena… patch me into Peacemaker’s coms,” he ordered.

Peacemaker’s XO looked up sharply. “Admiral, we are being hailed,” he reported.

“Our friend the Paygan, wishing to surrender before we destroy them?” he chuckled. “It’s a little late for that, I’m afraid. Ignore their hails.”

The XO shook his head. “It’s not the Alliance,” he clarified. “The communiqué is from Ambassador Shaafvaazif.”

Van Aalst rolled his eyes. “Oh, this should be entertaining,” he chuckled. “Put him through.”

“Aye, aye Sir,” the XO nodded, as a familiar face appeared on screen.

“Admiral Van Aalst,” Genvass said curtly, “you are hereby ordered to cease all hostile actions, cut your engines, and prepare to be boarded.”

The Corsair barked out a laugh. “Boarded by who?” he said pointedly. “Because I’m currently looking at my monitor, and I’m not seeing any ships capable of pulling it off. So I’m going to have to decline, Ambassador.”

The ambassador glared back at him. “You can’t be that naïve,” he said in disgust. “I am hailing you from Athena’s platform, and she now answers to me. She was the one who destroyed your drones, Admiral, and she can just as easily do the same to you.”

The admiral cocked his head, regarding him for a moment, before a wintry smile graced his features. “I don’t think so,” he countered. “If you could destroy me so easily, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He leaned forward, staring the Dharmist down. “I’m a poker player, Ambassador, and I know a bluff when I see one.” He slashed his hand across his throat. “End transmission,” he ordered.

The ambassador merely smiled, as Van Aalst glared at his XO. “I ordered you to cut the feed!” he shouted.

The XO threw up his hands. “I can’t,” he said desperately… just as the ship’s systems began going offline, one by one.

“I suggest you make yourselves comfortable,” the ambassador said smugly.

“We’ll send someone to police you up, eventually.”