Mass Core 3: Thebe Paridigm

Across the galaxy, Lordraia suddenly stopped walking.

“What is it?” said Artum.

“Do you ever get the feeling like someone is talking about you?”

“Not really. I guess I’m just used to it.”

“Or nobody talks about you.”

“Oh,” said Artum, discouraged. “I didn’t think of that.”

Lordraia stood for a moment longer, but then quickly dismissed the odd feeling and continued on her way. She was moving quite rapidly, and Artum had such difficulty keeping up that he was forced to sacrifice some of his dignity to take flight beside her.

As she rounded a corner, though, Lordraia ran solidly into something terribly hard and pointy. She was knocked backward and nearly over with a small cry.

“Excuse me!” she said.

“Why should I?” said a slightly flanged truian voice.

Lordraia looked up, mortified to realize that she had ran squarely into Daeitus, the turian Councilor.

“My apologies, Councilor,” said Lordraia, standing more properly. She snapped her fingers, and several tendrils of blue light formed at various parts of her clothing, arranging them carefully around her for maximum couthness.

“They are not accepted.” Daeitus sounded as unhappy as ever, but not angry. Turians, Lordraia knew, could be quite deceptive that way. “Where are you going in such a hurry, Subcouncilor?”

“It’s my grandmother,” said Lordraia, quickly. “Her condition has worsened. I need to get to her.”

“Grandmother?” said Daeitus, seeming confused. “From what I recall, none of Vakarian’s line still live.”

“Maternal,” said Lordraia. “My maternal grandmother. The Justicar Samara.”

“The pureblood? Ah. Yes. Sometimes I forget that asari have parents. Or parents that don’t try to kill them, anyway. I am familiar with this Justicar, yes.”

“And I’m sure you can understand how important she is to the Subcouncilor,” said Artum, landing and stepping forward.

Daeitus stared at him with well-veiled contempt. “Yes. But I also understand that she is already profoundly old. She is at the end of her life anyway.”

Lordraia took a deep breath and managed to control herself. Artum, however, seemed far more perturbed by this insult, in part because he understood this to be a challenge from one Councilor to another.

“You would hardly say the same of your own grandmother, I think,” he said.

“My own maternal grandmother is dead. She and my mother were members of the Latter Separatist Faction. I oversaw their executions. Don’t try to lecture me on this, Standing-Councilor.”

“Not standing. Just ‘Councilor’.”

“Yes. By appointment. I know. And though I accept that as a professional, I do not on a personal level. And this conversation is as personal as it is trite. You are already out one member of your party. Please do your best to control the other.”

“And what do you mean by that?” said Lordraia

“I mean,” he said, looking into her eyes, “that the Standing-Councilor should grow a quad and control his subordinate.”

Lordraia lifted her hand and slapped him. It was not at all comfortable; as a turian, his flesh did not yield, and it cut her palm badly. She ignored the pain, though, and savored the expression of profound surprise that crossed his face. Artum, at the same time, gasped.

His eyes narrowed and his mandibles clenched. “You do realize that I could take that as a declaration of war?”

“And if it was, Thessia would bury you. Your people have too much pride in an era that ended a century ago.” She smiled politely, hiding her bleeding hand. “Besides. For a Councilor to declare war simply from being slapped by a weak little asari girl? Was it really that painful for you?”

“You little bitch- -”

“And I would appreciate if you would not use vulgar words like ‘quad’ and ‘bitch’ around me. This is not some military locker room or the bridge of your ship. Act like a goddessdamned professional, Daeitus.”

“A turian acting professional?” said an accented voice from behind Lordraia. She did not need to turn to know that it coming from Locutus, nor did she need to take her eyes away from Daeitus to see the shadow of her and a geth fall behind her. “That hasn’t happened since Vakarian was Councilor. And even then, only half the time.”

“Councilor Locutus,” said Artum, stepping aside as she approached.

“Is something the matter here?” she said, sounding more bored than concerned.

“No,” said Lordraia. “The Councilor and I were just having a political discussion.”

“A political discussion that’s dripping purple on the floor?” She pointed at Lordraia’s hand, which was cut more badly than Lordraia had initially thought. “Sure it is. But don’t mind Daeitus. If you look closely enough, you can see his mandibles clenching. The tremors. The dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes.” She leaned forward. “Chlorocaine levels running a little low, Councilor?”

His eyes grew wide, and Lordraia did notice how bloodshot they were, and how is pupils could not maintain a consistent diameter.

“I’m not an addict,” he said, defensively.

“You’re turian,” said Locutus. “Yes you are.” She leaned back. “But this is all pointless. Just more idiotic organic posturing. We have a far more substantial problem.”

“What?” said Artum, glad to have the subject changing even though the tension of the room was somehow growing exponentially.

“The listening system just detected something.”

“A ship?” said Daeitus. “If there is an Alliance ship approaching, we can- -”

“A ship. Yes. Sure. I came all the way out here to warn you about a ship. No, you idiot. Not one. ALL of them. Thousands. An entire armada just took up attack positions on the far side of the neutral zone.”

“Ships?” said Artum. “What kind of ships?”

“We can’t tell for sure. The only one that’s showing itself completely is the Hyperion.”

“It’s a display,” said Daeitus, dismissively. “They would not dare attack us, not even with every ship they have. They would be slaughtered.”

“The Hyperion does not appear for ‘displays’.” Locutus turned her luminescent eye toward Artum. “Their mobilizing.”

“To where?”

The geth behind Locutus spoke. “Our mathematical models have predicted many possible paths, but the consensus is that they are preparing to advance on Thessia.”

“Thessia?” said Lordraia in shock. “They- -they can’t!”

“For once we agree,” said Daeitus. “Unless the asari fleet is as weak as I’ve feared. Not even the Hyperion herself could even enter the system.”

“At present, all mathematical models indicate an imminent defeat,” said the geth. He was oddly calm.

“That’s not the point,” said Lordraia, “even if they are repelled, a great many asari and breeders will die in the defense!”

“Not to mention that it would be a declaration of all-out war,” said Artum.

“If it is, so be it,” said Daeitus. “The Alliance has been troubling us for generations. It would be good to finally get a chance to eliminate it once and for all. As we should have done from the start.”

“This isn’t going to be the First Contact War,” said Locutus. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“Or possible,” said Artum. “I don’t know if we could win a war like that, but even if we did, it would tear the galaxy apart!”

“Then let it be torn apart, and rebuilt anew.”

“Brave words from a man who never saw the Reaper War,” said Locutus, darkly.

“That doesn’t matter!” cried Lordraia. “We can’t let a war happen! Even a single attack!” She turned quickly to address Daeitus. “We need to put our differences aside and open up negotiations with them!”

“Absolutely not. We will not yield.”

“Are you insane? Where you just listening- -”

“If history has taught us anything, it’s that appeasement always fails. We cannot allow the Alliance to receive concessions simply for flexing their muscle. What precedent would that set? Would they simply line up the Hyperion on the border every time they want to take yet another system?”

“He is right,” admitted Artum.

“No, he isn’t! We need to at least see what they want! How are we supposed to do anything if we don’t even talk!”

“We will ‘talk’ with our fleet.”

“No doubt arriving just after the fall of Thessia,” said Locutus, ostensibly to the geth beside her.

“If Thessia falls, it will be by their own failure.” Daitus leaned forward toward Lordraia. “The Council will hold a vote. The hanar may be on your side, but I doubt anyone else will. You are not to act until the vote is reach and we all act in unison.”

He then pulled away and stormed off, confident that he had made an impact.

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” said Locutus. “I’ve already tried opening channels myself. They won’t respond. Not even to me.”

“Then we have to sit and wait for committees to form and write resolutions while my homeworld burns?” said Lordraia, looking up at the woman who had once been quarian.

“That’s the way it has to be,” said Artum.

“Not actually,” said Locutus, slowly, and Lordraia had a strange sense that what was left of her face was smiling from below her mask. “There might be another way…”

The geth ship docked, and as soon as the door opened, Locutus stepped out with Lordraia at her heels. Artum had to gallop behind to keep up with them.

The journey, of course, had been short. With the advent of mass-jump technology, no distance took more than a few seconds to cross, so long as the destination was undefended. Reaching the Perseus Veil was hardly a challenge, although the entire time Lordraia had been nervous and restless, wondering if they could go any faster. Even more concerning was that Locutus refused to explain what she had in store until they reached their destination.

“Well that’s an odd smell,” said Artum.

“Because you’re the first person to be breathing the air on this planet in centuries. No doubt it has become stale.”

“No. I didn’t say it smells bad, just…weird.”

“Why are we out here?” demanded Lordraia at last, unable to contain herself any longer.

“Why? Because you asked to be.”

“I didn’t ask to come to some goddessforsaken outpost.”

“No. You asked to communicate with the Alliance. We can’t open a channel. But we can send someone to them directly.”

“What, an emissary?” said Artum, clearly incredulous. “Yes. If you don’t mind mass-jumping into hostile space. Apart from having your ship turned to dust, you would be declaring war just by entering their space. Even with diplomatic flags.”

“But what if we didn’t mass-jump? What if there was something else?”

Locutus stepped into a large room, and Lordraia looked up and immediately felt dizzy. The room was not just large, but enormous, extending upward through many levels of mezzanines that surrounded an enormous cylindrical piece of equipment.

She only looked down in time to see that she had been left behind as Locutus and Artum continued toward the center of the machine. Lordraia had to jog to catch up, and as she did, she suddenly stopped when she saw a tall, skinless synth standing over her.

“A- -a synth!” she cried, looking up at the creature and realizing that it was flanked by several old-looking and partially refurbished combat drones, all of which were suddenly looking at her.

The synth and the various non-geth machines stared at her, and then the remaining corner of the synth’s mouth turned upward. Every one of them reached out their hands.

“Hello!” they said cheerfully in unison. “We are Armchair! We are pleased to meet you!” They all seemed somewhat surprised and turned toward each other. “Stop copying me!” they all said in unison to each other. “JINX! You owe me a soda!” They paused. “But we don’t drink soda…”

“Ignore them,” said Locutus, pulling Lordraia away from the Armchairs.

“What are they?”

“Aberrant geth,” said Locutus with mild contempt. “They are…strange. But their damaged programming gives them immeasurably higher creativity than their ancestors. And the only way to do the impossible is with enough creativity.”

“The impossible?” Lordraia looked back up at the machine. “What is this?” she asked. “What is this for?”

“It’s ‘for’ defying the laws of physics.”

“Laws are for NUUUUUBBBS!” cried one of the Armchairs, raising his hands above his head as the others cheered. Locutus just sighed and shook her head.

“You’re no doubt familiar with Equestria,” she said, ignoring the Armchairs.

“Of course,” said Lordraia, being led back to where Artum was standing and waiting. “I spent a great deal of my youth on them with Rarity.”

“Then you know how they used to work.”

“Yes,” said Lordraia, recalling the unpleasant memory. “They used to run on Cores, at least until Twilight took the throne.”

“And they worked with mass cores after that. Then quants. But early on, Equestrian ships could not mass-jump. No ships could. And you may have noticed that Equestria has no mass-relay network.”

“So?” said Artum, now listening to the conversation.

“Because they didn’t need it. Because some ponies have the ability to mass-jump based on their biotic strength alone. Some- -very, very few- -Equestrians possess the capacity to teleport.”

“Teleportation?” Lordraia suddenly realized what Locutus meant. “You- -you want to teleport ME?”

“Yes. And the fluffy-winged horse, if he so desires it.”

Lordraia looked up at the machine. “So this…this machine is meant to teleport things?”

“It was,” said Locutus, “but it never worked.”

“What? What do you mean ‘never worked’? Why are we here, then?”

“Because it never WORKED. Not that it won’t now.” Locutus looked up at the device. “We were in the process of dissembling it. The problem is, it cannot transport inorganic life. Which means geth cannot use it.”

“It also means we can’t just teleport a bomb onto the Hyperion.”

“Artum!” cried Lordraia.

“Yes,” said Locutus. She paused for a moment. “But…I don’t think I would do that anyway.”

“Why?”

Locutus paused again. “Because it is not what he would have wanted. He would have wanted us to do it your way.”
“And what is ‘my way’?”

“You’re going to talk to them,” said Locutus. “The device does not work on inorganic life, or on most biotics. All our animal testing was…well…”

“I don’t want to know,” said Artum.

“But you are unique, Subcouncilor. Because of your heritage.”

“Because I am the daughter of an Ardat-Yakshi. And was born as one.”

“Yes. Partially. But mostly, it is the fact that you are the daughter of an Ardat-Yakshi AND a unicorn.”

“Unicorn?” Lordraia was confused, and turned sharply toward Locutus. “You’re mistaken. My father is Garrus Vakarian.”

“Which is true. But not in a biological sense. Surely you must have realized it by now.”

“No,” said Lordraia. “That’s not right- -”

Without warning, Locutus picked up a nearby piece of scrap equipment and hurled it at Lordraia. She cried out and raised her hand, surrounding the cylindrical piece of metal with blue light and holding it still. She then moved it dexterously- -far more dexterously than any asari would have been able to- -back to its origional location.

“It should be obvious. Look at the time you were born. The cure had not yet been created. Garrus was strong, but not that strong. Your mother would have killed him, as she did so many before him. Only a unicorn would have had any chance of surviving.”

“A unicorn…then who?”

“My genetic analysis of you indicates that you are the daughter of Rarity.”

“Rarity?” Lordraia was shocked, but at the same time greatly relieved. She had loved Rarity like a second mother, which she now realized that if Locutus was to be trusted was actually the case. She was relieved that it was not some stranger but someone who she deeply admired. “Rarity…and my mother…”

“Oh my,” said Artum, sliding his wings out of view beneath his clothing.

“And of all the possible times to tell me this, you picked now?”

“I was just trying to explain why you have a low probability dying when you go through this machine.”

“Dying?” said Artum, looking pale.

“Yes. By intrinsic field subtraction. It’s not pleasant. Not at all.”

“But you think I can do it?”

“Probably,” said Locutus, shrugging. “But if it fails, so what? You just got out of having to see the annihilation of Thessia.”

“I know,” said Lordraia, weakly. She steeled herself. “Do it. Send me through.”

There was a snapping sound and an odd sensation of being pulled free of the ground. Artum tensed, terrified, as space distorted around him. The snapping grew to a deafening explosion, and he quickly realized to his horror that he was unable to breathe. He did not dare open his eyes, even for a moment after he fell to a cold, hard tile floor, his legs and wings splaying out every which way.

Although his body had remerged into reality, his mind stayed closed and tensed as he continued to refuse to believe that he had survived. What brought him back, though, was the sound of screaming.

Artum quickly stood up. Beside him, Lordraia was writhing on the floor, screaming in agony as the blue light from her teleportation continued to coat her now smoking body. Locutus had warned Artum that this would happen, but it was still horrible to behold.

He did not pause, though. He opened the medical kit that the geth had given him and administered the necessary order of injections just as she had said, attempting to prevent Lordraia’s overcharged biotic energy from tearing her apart internally. Artum only hoped that it was not too late and that the damage had not already been done.

“Stay with me,” he said, “come on, Lordraia, stay with me!”

He opened his omnitool and administered the necessary medigel. He watched in panic as Lordraia’s vital signs shifted into shock, but breathed a long sigh of relief when the injections began to work. Lordraia stopped screaming. Now, instead, she was drenched in sweat and shaking. Several parts of her body had been badly burned, and she curled into a ball and did her best to conceal the fact that she was crying.

“It’s okay,” said Artum, trying to do something for the burns. “It’s okay.”

“That hurt,” she said, quietly. “It hurt so much…”

Over the next few minutes, she stabilized completely and with a deep breath and Artum helping her, Lordraia stood.

“At least we ended up somewhere,” said Lordraia.

“Yes, but where?”

They both looked out at the area around them. Neither of them had seen anything quite like it. The only light came from the trees. They were strange and alien, and it was unclear if they were real or artificial. Their trunks appeared to be wood, but were overgrown with machinery that twined through it. Lordraia shivered, recalling her father’s description of Reaper husks.

The trees were bioluminescent, producing a strange glow from their variously colored leaves and the lighted tips of their branches. Amongst them grew strange flowers, some of which glowed likewise but that sat against some that had a distinct metallic sheen.

The floor where Lordraia and Artum was standing was neither dirt nor grass, though. Instead, it appeared to be made of deep green stone grouted with lines of golden metal. Above them curved an extensive canopy of transparent windows, beyond which the darkness of space could be seen.

Lordraia stared in awe as several ships passed close by, the mass-effect of their engines causing the whole room to hum slightly as they passed. They were most definitely Alliance.

Then, above them, something much louder passed. Artum looked up and felt a scream catch in his throat. Even with his defective vision, he could recognize what was passing in the distance: a cylinder of five segments, hundreds of times longer than even the Destiny Ascension, trailed behind by a massive white sphere linked to the rear of its design.

“That…that’s the Dis Pater,” he whispered in absolute terror.

“What?” said Lordraia, staring up at it. “But that’s supposed to be a myth!”

Artum shook his head. “They…they built it. The goddamn fools, they actually BUILT IT.”

The Dis Pater passed over them, and the pair watched in awe, staring at the angular and orderly Alliance-built copy of the Citadel and the much older Crucible as they passed, wondering what purpose the Alliance had for such a profound and terrible weapon.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Lordraia, standing shakily on her own. “We need to find their leader, the synth Babylon. This is her ship.”

“I know,” said Artum with a gulp. He looked around. “But…there’s no one here. No workers, no synths.” He paused, hoping not to jinx himself. “No soldiers…”

“It’s empty.” Lordraia shook her head. “No. There has to be someone here.”

They started slowly walking, but as they did, the eeriness of the ship became more apparent with every passing minute. All of it was silent and still, save for the motion of the trees as they blew in some unseen wind. There were no workers, no people at all. It truly did seem to be empty. No one had even come when they had heard Lordraia screaming. Increasingly, Artum found himself thinking that there was no one to come at all.

That was until they saw a figure standing in the strange light, standing close to the lower edge of one of the great windows, looking out at the gathering armada. Lordraia suddenly felt her heart beating faster, and she took a step toward the person that she saw. The figure, though, was far from what she had expected. Instead of a synth, Lordraia and Artum found themselves looking at a pony.

By pony standards, she was quite ordinary looking. She had neither wings nor a horn, and although she was dressed in rather drab dark gray clothing, Lordraia was able to see that she had the same white coat color as Artum. Her hair, though, was a very pleasant blond.

“Ex…excuse me,” said Lordraia, trying and failing to sound confident. “We know we should not be here, but we mean no harm or violence. We came to seek an audience with Babylon, Empress of the Alliance. We understand that this is her ship. Can you please, if you have the time, show us the way to her?”

The pony stared out the window for a moment longer, and then looked up at Lordraia with a pair of large and bright blue eyes.

“I am her,” she said in a clear but otherwise ordinary voice. “You may speak, if you so desire.”

“Y...you?” said Lordraia, confused. “But you’re a pony!”

“No,” said Babylon, her voice remaining neutral. “I am a synth. The most advanced synth yet created. We don’t have a distinct, set appearance. I happen to be constructed to resemble an earth-pony. Is that a problem for you?”

“No, not at all, I was just…”

“Expecting something more grand? Yes, and if you had been polite enough to communicate with my by hologram, I would have given you such.”

“We tried. You didn’t answer.”

“I know,” said Babylon, turning away from the window and walking down the green-marble path into her forest. “Because I did not want to speak to you. Not you specifically, mind you. I mean ‘you’ in a general sense.” She paused, but did not stop walking. “Still. I have to admire your bravery, Thessian Councilors. Not many would have the courage to face me here, let alone to arrive by such unorthodox means.”

“To clarify,” said Artum, “we have no intention of ‘facing you’. Not in battle. We are unarmed.”

“It would not matter if you were,” said Babylon, shrugging. “But the difference between ‘peace’ and ‘war’ is really quite arbitrary and artificial. You are facing me with a specific goal in mind, and I do not differentiate between the two.”

“Yes,” admitted Lordraia. “We just want to negotiate an end that it mutually beneficial. To all of us.”

“You mean with you both surviving? I cannot guarantee that.”

“You would kill us?” asked Artum.

“The last two members of the Thessian element of the Council? You were fools to both come here. You should have sent the lesser. If I kill you, the Council will be crippled.”

“And yet we are alive.”

Babylon looked over her shoulder. Despite being artificial, she looked exactly like a pony. She was almost a perfect replica. Her eyes, though, were not. Something about them was wrong. Not dead, like so many synths, but Lordraia shuddered looking into them. There was something there, eyeing her like a predator, but it was not alive, nor had it ever been. “Despite what you have no doubt been told, I am not a monster,” she said. “I will let you speak. Not to mention the fact that I do not want to have a messy floor if it comes time to end the asari race.”

The scenery around them had changed. They were now in the central part of the forest, where a wide path ran down the center. There, a chair had been placed. Not really a throne, but a command center mounted on a dais above the rest of the forest so that she could look out over the glowing trees and through to the space before her vessel. The chair itself was simple, but when Babylon took her seat in it, Lordraia suddenly became aware that she was addressing a queen. She immediately bowed.

“I am Lordraia of Thessia, daughter of Falarea,” she said.

“And I am Artum of Thessia,” said Artum. “Councilor of Thessia.”

“Introductions. Fine. I know who both of you are already. And you know who I am. I am Babylon. I have never been more, and I will never be less.”

“We have come to ask you to stop your attack on Thessia.”

Babylon stared at them for a moment. “No,” she said. “I will not.”

“I hope you have more than that,” whispered Artum.

“Please,” said Lordraia. “That planet, it’s my home. There are women and children there!”

“The planet is populated by asari. There are nothing there except women and children. And breeders, of course.” She shifted, leaning to one side. “But I am surprised that you would call Thessia your ‘home’.”

“I am asari. What else would it be?”

“You already know the answer to that. You are Ardat-Yakshi. If your mother had not died to produce the cure, you would be hated by your people. Killed on sight if you stand, and hunted if you flee. No doubt there are still some old enough to remember their hate.”

“There are,” said Artum, “as are there those who claim that my people are a blight on Thessia. We call both those classes of people fools.”

“Regardless, they are not your concern,” said Lordraia. “You cannot condemn a hundred billion people for the actions of a few.”

Babylon stared at her. “You misunderstand me,” she said. “I was simply pointing out the flaw in your logic. Call it an indulgence. I am not judging the asari, nor do I intend to. I have nothing against them. I don’t hate them. I simply intend to destroy them.”

“But why?”

Leaning forward, Babylon stared into Lordraia’s eyes. Artum actually took a step back, even though he was no doubt unable to see her clearly. Lordraia held her ground. “It should be obvious. Not just to me. To every life form everywhere. Why else would I want to destroy a planet? Why would I want to do anything at all? For profit, of course.”

“How can you profit by killing us?”

“I can’t. Not really. We do have the technology to pulp asari, but your kind produce very little element zero. Your planet, however, is saturated in it. The crust, the core, all of it.” Babylon pointed up toward the ceiling, and above a pair of long, spindly ships passed by. “Do you see those? The breeder doesn’t, but you do, Lordraia of Thessia. Those are planet crackers. Mining ships. Thessia will be torn apart, and its resources used to propel the advancement of the System’s Alliance economy.”

“You’re insane,” said Artum. “You’d kill Thessia for her minerals? Just her minerals?”

“‘Just her minerals?’ Yes, of course. The value of that planet is almost as great as the value of my body. It is one of the richest sources of element zero known, short of Equestria Prime. Why would we not want it?”

“But people will die!” said Lordraia, now growing angry that Babylon was somehow unable to understand her point.

“More than that,” said Artum, “you’d be attacking the Council. You would start a war that neither side can win.”

“And I suppose that is what HE told you?” Babylon leaned forward and for the first time smiled. It was a terrible smile indeed.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Artum.

“I mean the Traitor, or as you call him, the ‘Benefactor’. He no doubt assured you that this is a war of mutually assured destruction. Unfortunately, he is wrong.”

“You will take heavy losses.”

“So? Do you know how many synth hearts we can build out of Thessia’s core?” Babylon shook her head. “But that aside, the Traitor was a fool. He thought that just because he could control the Reapers he would be able to ignore their fundamental purpose. And because of that, he waited.”

“There are no Reapers,” said Artum. “They are dead.”

Babylon slammed her hoof into the armrest of her chair and Artum jumped. “I will tolerate the insult of you coming here unannounced,” she said, calmly, “but I will not tolerant willful ignorance. The Reapers never left. That’s what the Traitor is. A human Reaper.”

“And you would fight the Reapers?” said Lordraia. “You already lost your homeworld to them. Would you lose Mars too?”

“A very asari idea,” sighed Babylon. “You’re making the same mistake that Traitor did.”

“She’s not making any mistakes,” said Artum. “If you fight them, you will lose. They are more terrible than you can imagine.”

“I don’t have to imagine. I know. And I know that the Reapers are inherently flawed. They have no capacity for creative thought or invention. They can only advance by consuming more intelligent creatures every million years or so. And if the Reapers do not exterminate us? We advance beyond them.”

“That is arrogance,” said Artum. “That’s the same mistake the humans made. Cerberus, the Illusive Man- -I’m not unfamiliar with your history. They did the same thing.”

“And yet the Illusive Man’s goal was, in the end, realized. Just not by him.”

“And the Thessian forces? We have been arming our border for centuries, waiting for this very day. How many ships will you lose?”

“How many? Probably none.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“Artum!” whispered Lordraia, aghast that he had said that to the Empress’s face.

“I’m the fool? Really? What are your ‘defenses’?”

“There are ten dreadnaughts, each five times greater than the first Destiny Ascension. All are prepared to face you.”

“Of course. More dreadnaughts. Leave it to the asari to continue to build starships that were obsolete half a millennium ago. And at a glacial pace, too. Dreadnaughts are pointless in the face of mass-jump weaponry. I could take them out form here if I wanted to.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Babylon stared at him. “Alright,” she said. “A test. I shall destroy one of them. To prove my point.”

“NO!” cried Lordraia, stepping forward. “You can’t! If you do that, it will be too late?”

“Too late?” Babylon raised an eyebrow. “Too late for what?”

“For peace! If you attack us now, even you won’t be able to stop the war. Right now, we have a choice!”

“A choice. A choice indeed. Renegade, or Paragon? I really do wonder.” Babylon sighed. “Unfortunately, the choice is not mine to make.”

“Not yours?” Lordraia looked up at the synth-queen, confused. “Of course it is. Whose else would it be?”

Babylon stared back at her. She did not seem to blink. “I am, at heart, a decedent of machines,” she said. “So my actions are decisive and logical. I will not sacrifice something of value to gain something of lesser value.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

“Yes I am. If I start this war, where will it end?”

“With the destruction of everything,” said Lordraia, darkly. “You won’t stop until the galaxy belongs to the Alliance. And until everyone who opposes you is dead.”

“Correct. But that is our eventual fate anyway. Synthetic life is obviously superior to organic life. Organics will fail and fall, and in time only we will remain. The war I desire so dearly would only speed up the process.”

“But you haven’t started it yet,” said Lordraia, reasoning as she spoke. “Which means you currently have something more valuable.”

“Also correct. That thing is the Equestrian alliance. It is hard-won and very dear to me. To us. For trade and for access to the technology that we as inorganic beings will never possess. What the ponies call ‘magic’.”

“If you attack us, you lose that alliance.”

“Indeed. Which is why I have not yet attacked. I am awaiting a decision from the one whose choice it is to make. If she who rules Equestria terminates our nation’s relationship- -or if she is deposed- -I shall have nothing left to prevent me from attacking you. And Thessia will burn, and the galaxy beyond it in time.”

“Then there is nothing we can do to sway you, is there?”

“As I said at the start. No.” She paused. “I do admire your courage, though. If I had the capacity for sadness or regret, I would be saddened by the fact that I would have to destroy a people that had created those such as you and, to a lesser extent, your winged friend. But the fact of the matter is that my mind has been made up. This decision falls not to me, but to my old friend. The pony who the larger world calls Twilight Sparkle.”