The Lives of the Many

〈In the following text, 〈〉① indicates content redacted to those without security clearance. The number indicates the degree of security clearance required to access enclosed content.〉①

For all the deep sincerity of Governance ideology, there remain a number of topics, primarily the theoretical, where exact policy is uncertain, or even controversial, and it is not clear what exactly would be decided were the time to come.

Virtualization is one such topic. Here, the dedication of Governance to maintaining much of the Human condition has always been undermined by the same AIs Governance depends on. If it is acceptable for AIs to live in full virtuality, and acceptable for humans to enter virtuality, even for purposes as quotidian as entertainment, then why can’t humans stay in virtuality, perhaps even permanently?

Such a question brings two aspects of Governance ideology into direct conflict. On the one hand, there is a moral imperative to avoid sapient death at all costs, which would undoubtedly be served by the provision of mind uploads, or at least backups. On the other hand, there is the ideological mandate to maintain the continuity of Human experience, tradition, and culture. After all, if that is lost, is it even meaningful to say that Human civilization has survived?

Until recently, this unpleasant dilemma had been avoided thanks to the all‐too‐mundane fact that mind‐uploading was simply beyond Humanity’s technical ability, and on track to remain so for centuries. That no massive investment was made to change this, perhaps on the scale of Project Eden, was due to the simple lack of need. Before the war, sapient death was extremely rare, and usually confined to individuals who had knowingly consented to the risk. As such, the need did not seem pressing.

Of course, the advent of the Contact War has brought the topic into all too sharp relief. Not only has the ethical disaster of death spilled out everywhere, but tremendous investment in biotechnical initiatives, coupled with reverse‐engineered alien biotechnology, has reduced the projected timeline for virtualization down to perhaps a century or less. 〈Moreover, the existence of humans who do have effective backup abilities, magical girls, has made several of the relevant philosophical questions moot, even if the matter remains classified to most. To have backups be the confine of a privileged few, whatever the circumstances, is an affront to egalitarianism.†〉②

At the moment, the tremendous death toll of the war crowds out most other concerns. Were the requisite technology developed, it would be deployed to save lives via the creation of backups, similar to those AIs already have.¹ Still, whether or not humans might live in virtuality remains up for debate.

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〈† See Preserving Social Equality #3: Magic for a discussion of this and similar problems.〉②
¹ See On the Prohibition of Duplicates for a discussion of Governance ideology regarding backup “copies” of sentient beings.

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— The Representative’s Magazine, “The Boundaries of Governance Ideology,” article excerpt, 2457.

಄·If life eternal ≈ sky, as decreed by the philosophers of old ~ Then soar on to the stars, the planets, the moons and comets ~ And forget the departed land|಄·If life eternal ≈ ocean, as decreed by the philosophers of old ~ Then linger in the shoals, the icebergs, the storms and currents ~ And remember the forbidden land

— Thinker Rumination

There had seemed to be endless material to gather inside /Somatic‐diversity’s mountain lab, but Ryouko eventually prevailed upon herself to have a look around outside. Her time here was not unlimited, and knowledge of alien society was at least as useful as of alien science. Moreover, it might help alleviate the restlessness to walk around a bit, rather than peer over the shoulders of alien technicians.

The aliens placed few restrictions on her movements, asking only that she stay within an easy flight of the lab, in case further scans were needed. Indeed, Mountain‐wandering even seemed pleased by the idea of her heading out alone, providing advice and opinions, though she noticed the hero did not offer to guide or accompany her. Another test?

Instead, when she made her way out of a service tunnel, she was accompanied only by a small antigrav drone, shaped rather like a floating eyeball, that followed along silently behind her and could be contacted for questions. The distant sensing appendage of Survival‐Optimizer, as the alien himself described it.

They were still high on the mountain, six thousand meters above sea level and two hundred fifty‐five Kelvin, well below freezing. The air was thin and dry, with an oxygen pressure only forty percent Earth sea level. It was a rather more hospitable climate than she had entered by, but the difficult terrain ahead was enough to tempt her to use magic, if that wouldn’t have drawn unpleasant attention.

Instead, she had asked for and received an ample set of equipment: alpine clothing and mountaineering gear, procured within minutes in exactly her size—one benefit of all the measuring they did on her, she supposed. Feathered‐Defender had been curious about it at first, but couldn’t understand why she would willingly enter such an inhospitable environment.

The view as she emerged was incomparable to anything she had seen outside of simulation, as inexperienced as she was with mountain vistas: a horizon of snow‐capped rock, with verdant valley below, brilliant in the clear morning sky. Mountain‐wandering had suggested she and Clarisse descend toward more populated locales—after a brief huddle with Survival‐Optimizer and other senior staff about whether the proper information security protocols were in place.

Thankfully, there was little in the way of true peril. /Somatic‐diversity enjoyed testing their physical limits, and the suggested route down was hardly easy going—but it had stable rock, consolidated snow, and hidden radio beacons regularly pointing the way. She made excellent time, thanks to Clarisse guiding her through the necessary ropework.

There were no other climbers; a decree‐request from the Tentacle’s logistics managers had caused most civilians to route away from the mountain. According to Survival‐Optimizer’s drone, the only ones being kept around were those with the pref‐specs least likely to leak to the media, and most likely to make the desired impression on Ryouko. That included even the fliers.

The hours slipped by, climbing transitioned to trekking, and soon enough the air thickened and the temperature rose as she approached the level of the highest‐flying Thinkers, some of which turned to pass by, extending telepathic greetings as they peered down at the unfamiliar alien. It wasn’t long before the boldest of them came in for a landing, just as she was resting on a rock eating through a noon‐time meal: a nutrient bar that the scientists had promised was optimized for her physiology.

She had been given polite advance warning, but still couldn’t help but stare at the new arrival, DZaArxb⊃Raptor‐weaving, who stood taller than her on bird‐like claws, with a second set of the usual Cephalopod tentacle arms folded underneath massive wings, covered in reptilian scales. The overall profile reminded her of the Optatum eagles Azrael had once shown her.

μ·I am privileged to make your acquaintance|μ+·It is a stroke of luck that I, of the Thinker multitudes, may be among the first to behold a new kind of sapient—even if you are dangerous, the risk is worthwhile|ν·I hear you have an empathy‐organ, may we exchange?

She accepted the request, and spent a moment digesting what she received.

μ?·Are you exploring this world and our Tentacle||ν·You are reluctant to adopt a winged‐body but a jump in a personal antigravity suit would be faster and more interesting if your species does not have the option—I can personally endorse the novelty of the experience

It actually did sound interesting, from at least a technical perspective, and the option had even come up in her planning. However, she had preferred to take the more rigorous route, both because she suspected /Somatic‐diversity wanted to see her take the long way and because she really did want to test her abilities a little.

μ·I am—2ed725g⊃Mountain‐wandering suggested I make my way down to visit the body‐transfer‐celebration of one of his grandchildren||ν·I was given the option, but preferred to experience the mountain

It was probably not a good idea to remind the alien that she was a reality‐warping warform who could just teleport the whole distance.

μ+·I should have expected that one as illustrious as Mountain‐wandering would greet you|μ+·An unusual endeavor for one of another species|ν·Though I apologize for needing to fly down separately—it would not suit this form to walk|μ?·With your permission, may I join you at the crèche

The alien stepped towards her, reaching into a small container strapped to her waist with one of her tentacle arms.

She was offering to share a savory snack she had brought, composed of the meat of a shrimp‐like creature, pasted and mixed with a starch before being sliced and deep fried.

These are basically shrimp chips, Clarisse commented, at the same time Ryouko realized the same.

She gladly accepted. It made for a welcome contrast to the nutrient bar, even if the bar had been surprisingly tasty.

I have to say, everyone I’ve met here has been pretty friendly, Ryouko thought to Clarisse. This Tentacle doesn’t seem bad at all. I wish I could show all this to Azrael.

Just hold on to this feeling when we visit the less friendly places, Clarisse thought. /Somatic‐diversity also picked its friendliest members to show you, so this isn’t even a representative sample of the Tentacle. Future visits won’t be so amicable.

Thanks for the reminder.

She set out again, knowing that it would reflect badly on her to be late. Even with the climbing complete, even with implants sustaining an otherwise unreasonable pace, without the use of magic it would still be most of a local day to trek down to her destination, down just below the tree line—and the local day was a quarter longer than Earth’s.

It was a bit amusing to reflect how quickly she could have gotten down with just one teleport, but if speed were the only goal, she could have jumped. Still she missed it; she hadn’t used her power even once since just after meeting the Thinkers, and it had started to nag at her.

As she crossed below four thousand meters, she encountered her first group of local hikers, a half‐dozen Thinkers of various shapes on a wilderness excursion, evenly divided between towering and burly and small and lithe‐looking.

Though they had been approved by security, they had been only vaguely informed of the possibility of Ryouko’s presence. The group decided to follow her on the spot, especially once a direct request from Mountain‐wandering stopped them from collecting recordings or other media of Ryouko.

Ryouko then spent a good deal of time explaining that, among other things, she was wearing an overtuned version of her species’ ancestral form, which had evolved for dry grasslands. It was all very novel to the Thinkers here.

She was starting to be concerned about the size of entourage she would get, but the next four groups they met simply exchanged greetings and a few questions before moving on, a mystery that was only solved when one of those traveling with her commented that her pref‐spec clearly suggested she wouldn’t like too large an escort, and that everyone who passed by had been requested to be on their politest behavior.

As the local sun dipped below the soaring peaks, the environment began to change, bare rock giving way to worn‐looking shrubs and stubby fronds. They looked strange, in the almost uncanny valley way plants on Earth‐like planets often did, but she didn’t know exactly why—it was the kind of thing Asami would probably have known.

An unhappy thought, but for once easily driven away by the distractions in front of her, as they turned a corner on the trail and she could see the tree line unfolding below her, the bark an earthy shade of yellow. The barely‐defined path stretched out before her, turning more definite as it transitioned from grooves in the rocks to a clearing in the trees, from which a number of cylinder‐shaped buildings protruded, grey and yellow, rock and wood.

Even more compellingly, she could tell that some of the Thinkers there were… smaller, in the large‐headed disproportionate way that her eyes immediately insisted were children.

And so they were, as a quick query to the Survival‐Optimizer drone verified. She realized quickly that it was even more obvious than she had first thought—unlike the diversity of body types among the adult Thinkers, the children were fairly uniform, ungainly‐looking and wrapped in thick coats, much as she was. Three of them even began a game of some sort, standing in a triangle and batting a small round ball around with flexible forelimbs.

∈·No matter what form we take eventually, all Thinkers grow from eggs of the Baseline form|∈·Unsuited these children are to this environment, but it is not to be abandoned until the beginning of cognitive maturity

Ryouko signaled that she understood, sending a request to the others for a bit more information about Thinker young. /Ahimsa‐extending had been strangely reticent about the topic, which invited her curiosity.

One of the Thinkers reacted, but then cast his eyes at Survival‐Optimizer’s drone, in as visible a show of asking permission as she had ever seen. But only a moment later, she experienced the familiar surging sensation of new information pouring into her mind, far faster than she could immediately react to.

Clarisse noticed the biggest novelty before she did.

The Baseline form is a mass egg layer! The old practice was to release paralarvae into their home ocean and collect the survivors later when they emerged on land. Apparently, this is before any of them become even mostly sapient. A few Tentacles still practice this.

Ryouko came to a sudden stop in the middle of the path, drawing surprise from her companions.

But, most have opted to engineer themselves to control their reproduction, as humans have, and carefully monitor a few young in a controlled part of the ocean, Clarisse added. And I do mean singular ocean—generation of new individuals is allowed only on the homeworld, to allow the Tentacles to monitor each others’ populations. The Tentacles that release many young and allow the ocean to take most—those are a small minority, and /Ahimsa‐extending and its allies consider the waste of life to be repugnant.

Well I’m glad to hear it, Ryouko thought, still taken aback. They just allowed their children to fend for themselves in the ocean?

Too many eggs to do otherwise even if they wanted to. It was part of their biology. It’s an interesting and unusual system; once the young emerge, their parents can still pick them out by pheromone. It is surprising for a high‐intelligence species to lean towards r‐selection, but not unprecedented, even on Earth.

Ryouko shook her head and resumed her walk. She was glad /Ahimsa‐extending was different, but why hadn’t they told her earlier?

Survival‐Optimizer’s drone conceded:

μ·We were concerned about how it would offend you in an initial impression, since we knew you would be repelled by the idea—you never asked again after the initial requests|ν·It is expected‒82% that you would trust us less now, but we felt the risk was warranted

It was a weak excuse, one that made Ryouko wonder what else they were hiding. They had never pretended to be fully open with her, but… it made her trust them a little less, just as he had said.

The rest of the hike passed in silence, until she spotted her flying visitor, Raptor‐weaving, seated on a rock by the entrance to the crèche.

She asked his opinion on the variance in reproductive practices.

μ∪·There are many practices that Tentacles do not agree on|μ∪·There are many different opinions on non‐sapient lifeforms, and one's own young|ν·I do not approve of the old practice, few in /Somatic‐diversity do, but for the sake of Consensus we must tolerate—to do otherwise would be what you accuse /Thinker‐preserving of

After it had become clear Ryouko’s presence was no longer a secret to /Thinker‐preserving, /Ahimsa‐extending’s coalition had lifted their media restrictions on her existence and what she was saying, though not on her location. The publicity was important, just as it would have been among humans.

Still, it was the first opinion any of the locals had shared with her about it, and he didn’t seem to be probing her about it either.

One of the hikers thought:

||ν·We too have heard of this, but it is difficult to believe—a breach in Consensus is exactly the risk reality‐warping is supposed to pose|ν+👁?·How could the rot already be in /Thinker‐preserving before direct interaction began—is it not inconsistent

It was a very good question, one that she had come to a tacit understanding with /Ahimsa‐extending on.

||ν·I can only say what I have observed to be true|ν+·But if the truth seems inconsistent, then one has to reexamine one’s assumptions

Raptor‐weaving held up a tentacle, in a gesture any human might have recognized.

|ν∪!·Let us stop this talk|ν∪·This is against decree‐request|ν+·There are young here that seek attention

Ryouko had been so absorbed into the conversation that she had failed to notice a pair of young Thinkers peeking around the corner of a building, bundled in bright red and blue clothing, and with large eyes that were frankly endearing—though perhaps it was because she had gotten a little too used to seeing cephalopods.

Raptor‐weaving made an undulating gesture with one tentacle, and the Thinker children stepped around the corner, making their way over cautiously, never breaking eye contact with her.

The smaller one in blue folded its tentacles and thought:

ৡ·Hello, strange aliens|∈·No one told us you would be visiting us here|∈·We are surprised our caregivers would allow a potential danger so close

The child’s head—the part Ryouko could see—began as a shade of pale copper‐green, with a fringe of iridescence where the skin caught the light. But as he thought, parts of it began shifting, growing darker, then brighter, before patterns of striped green and yellow began crisscrossing right‐to left, growing ever more rapidly and shifting constantly in hue and pattern.

Faster than any terrestrial octopus, Clarisse commented. This is how they originally communicated, apparently. It’s a shame they don’t seem to do it much anymore.

Ryouko was so distracted by the color show that she failed to react to the statement, until one of the hikers stepped forward and bent over the child.

|∈·That is not an appropriate comment, Fossil‐hunter—consider the signal it sends to openly distrust Humanity‐preserving and Ryouko‐supporting|∈·You should reflect upon what mistaken assumptions led to your surprise

|∪·A reality‐warper is dangerous|∪?·Humanity‐preserving knows she is dangerous, so what is the problem the red‐coated child thought, a red triangular pattern circling her eyes.

The texture of their thoughts was strange, coarser than she was used to from the other Thinkers. Was it due to their age?

ৡ·Hello|∈·It’s not a problem, I’m not offended|∈·It is a reasonable concern, after all Ryouko thought, before anyone could try to apologize to her.

She couldn’t help but notice that despite their comments about the danger she posed, they had still approached her.

Raptor‐weaving attempted to explain:

|μ·Humanity‐preserving has every incentive not to pose a danger here—this excursion can be considered a demonstration of cooperation, for both us and her|ν·Relationships of trust require both sides to believe the other trusting; statements of distrust, therefore, undermine such a relationship, even if reasonable otherwise

The previous hiker added:

|μ·Remember the lessons of Mountain‐wandering and the ice‐bears|

The blue child thought:

ν·The lab‐dwellers claim your body is stronger than Mountain‐wandering's body|μ·My sensors say an ice‐bear is far more dangerous|ν·I don't think I can trust someone so weird

The child’s thoughts were unsteady, a bit jumbled, and Ryouko realized he, too, was struggling with the multiple threads of communication. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

The red child thought:

|μ·It would be a good idea to empathize‐open with this alien|μ+·You always fail to ask

Ryouko found herself smiling a bit at the banter, and approved the pref‐spec exchange request. The children’s pref‐specs were substantially simpler than any she had experienced so far.

μ·Such a strong preference for applying violence|μ·Your preferences are alarming and confusing—I would rather meet an ice‐bear| the blue child thought, now actually backing away.

Ryouko felt embarrassed despite herself. /Ahimsa‐extending had alluded to her bloodlust once or twice, but she had avoided the topic. And in human society, she wasn’t so exposed.

She… didn’t want to talk about it. If /Ahimsa‐extending assumed it was because she was honed for war, it served both their purposes. But apparently she was more objectionable to average Thinker sensibilities than she had realized.

The red child stopped the blue from moving further.

ν!·I just remembered—you still have emotions ≈ animal or companion‐penguin|ν+👁?·Have we driven you or Ryouko‐supporting to anger|

I rather like these children, Clarisse thought. Refreshingly blunt.

ν+·Ryouko‐supporting and I do have the ability to control ourselves, despite what emotions we may feel; we are fully sapient|ν·No| Ryouko thought, ignoring Clarisse.

The blue child responded:

ν·I don't like that idea, it sounds painful|ν?·Well, if you aren't angry, and you are really stronger than Mountain‐wandering, can you show me|

Ryouko looked at Survival‐Optimizer’s drone, seeking advice. Could she perhaps throw or lift something? She was not sure if using any real strength would constitute reality‐warping. The lines between negligible, undetectable magic usage and intrinsic bodily properties were blurred in this case.

To her surprise, Survival‐Optimizer didn’t object, not entirely.

|ν·/Somatic‐diversity has indicated a desire to observe minor reality‐warping in controlled conditions—but not here, and not near young|ν+·Perhaps they may attend later—the decision would be theirs, and their caregivers

That settled the issue for now, and they moved onward, now with the two children in tow, in a cluster that drew obvious attention, including from a few passing media drones—though these diverted their attention quickly. It wasn’t quite how Ryouko had envisaged her arrival.

The red child thought at one point:

∈·It must make life really difficult for the rest of your species, not knowing what they want|∈·It must make society a mess, not knowing what anyone else wants|+·I learned that empathize‐open‐compliance makes our form of governance stable and optimal

Survival‐Optimizer’s drone replied in Ryouko’s stead:

μ·Our understanding‒43% is that their government operates by assuming a sort of statistical average pref‐spec, built from an ensemble of modeled pref‐specs for various groupings of their species|μ+·They also impose by soft coercion a bounded preference volume, to keep things manageable|ν·Correct—our modeling of their society does not suggest‒93% it could remain stable nearly as long as ours has, even without reality‐warping

Ryouko chose not to get involved, though she was a bit chagrined at the alien description of Governance. She had in fact told them more than was strictly necessary for basic understanding, as she had gotten the impression that the Thinkers did not really get Governance.

But perhaps they understood better than she had thought. She had never said anything about ideology or Core Rights or the monoculture, and somehow the Thinkers had deduced “impose by soft coercion a bounded preference volume”. Or perhaps they simply couldn’t imagine any other way. For example, it didn’t seem to occur to them that there was hard coercion too.

At length—given the frequent interruptions of locals passing by—she arrived at the site of the body‐transfer‐celebration, which was a structure built as a cone with a circular opening in the middle to let in the sky. At the doorway Mountain‐wandering himself emerged, drawing a clear buzz of surprised telepathic activity from the crowd.

μ·I see you have made it here with plenty of time to spare, Humanity‐preserving and Ryouko‐supporting|ν·A body‐transfer‐celebration is usually attended by the child's relatives and companions, but in this case she has given her approval for your presence|ξ·I understand that you all have many questions for Humanity‐preserving and Ryouko‐supporting, but I must ask that you allow them to proceed

The crowd filtered away quickly, more smoothly than any human crowd would have, though the growing handful of children present insisted on having Ryouko promise to get them into the power demonstration—and when Ryouko tried to get out of it by asking Mountain‐wandering to approve, hoping he wouldn’t, he did.

With that settled, Survival‐Optimizer’s drone departed, and the door to the ritual site swung open, hitting her with a blast of warm, humid air that she quickly assessed as thirty‐nine Celsius, one hundred percent humidity, a configuration she immediately recognized. It was the preferred interior baseline for /Ahimsa‐extending, based on conditions on the homeworld, Great Sea.

After so long in the cold, it was almost welcome, and she immediately shed her heavy clothing, hanging it on the multi‐armed rack next to the door.

The interior of the structure was almost without walls, and the floor was covered by a soft, sandy soil, with the occasional scrubby plant, except for a large central pool, upon which the hole in the ceiling shone a beam of light. The edges near the yellow‐grey wood framing were in turn gloomy, and the dimming day cast everything in a subtle orange tint.

The only proper room was in the far back, where a small round door led to the dome‐like downloading chamber, where Mountain‐wandering’s granddaughter was being downloaded into a new body even as they waited.

Within the building the ceremony’s attendees lounged, seated on fallen logs and small embankments, or in the pool itself, most already turning to regard their alien visitor. They came in all sizes and shapes, including small children, winged forms like Raptor‐weaving, burly forms like Mountain‐wandering, and more besides, including bulgy‐eyed variants that peeked out from the water and several reedy or scrawny forms that a local computing cluster advised her were specialized for running and even deep space—from, admittedly, inside a space suit.

Though it varied by Tentacle, Thinkers were much less tied to the concept of “life‐partnership”, the closest approximation they had to marriage. Many Tentacles didn’t even entertain the concept, and there were a bevy of shorter‐term, more contractual arrangements, including a plain reproductive contract that carried no other commitments at all. By and large, however, most did care about genetic relationship, particularly that between parent and child, and to a lesser degree between siblings—that alone explained much of the turnout for this event. That few of the Thinkers present looked related was natural for /Somatic‐diversity, of course.

So Ryouko wasn’t too surprised when Mountain‐wandering introduced her to his current “regular companion”—a male—to be distinguished from the grandmother of today’s principal, who he pointed out on the far end of the building. Neither was she too surprised to learn that said “grandmother” now sported a body that wasn’t even sexually dimorphic.

Ryouko did her best not to embarrass herself in front of the meat‐laden buffet table, especially in front of the Thinker children quietly observing her—it had been a long climb down, after all. /Somatic‐diversity had no notable negative opinion of gorging oneself on food, but she found it hard to break her own social inhibitions.

Soon enough, the time came, the background telepathic chatter dying down in anticipation as they turned towards the dome in the back.

The door slid open, flooding part of the room with the warm glow of the setting sun. Did it have symbolic meaning? Was it aesthetic? Humans had always considered that kind of thing to derive from emotion, but the Thinkers—they cared anyway. At the end of the day, the kinds of preferences that drove symbolism and aesthetics and ceremony weren’t that different from those that drove reproduction, expansion, and materialism.

Except that there was serious selection pressure for the latter, enough potentially to squeeze out the former, given enough time. The Thinkers considered this so serious a threat that half of Consensus policy was devoted to preventing it, all the way to banning the hatching of young outside Great Sea.

Those were the thoughts that filled her mind as the sun filled her eyes, in the minutes it took for the new alien to make her appearance.

When she finally did, Ryouko found herself almost underwhelmed. She had been expecting wings, perhaps, or a yeti‐esque form taking after Mountain‐wandering. Instead, the Thinker looked ordinary, not terribly different from some of the other young Thinkers lounging about, though with noticeably larger proportions, less tentacle‐like limbs, and a lanky build.

There was… something uncanny about her, though. She resembled some of the scientists Ryouko had seen in the mountain facility, but rather better‐formed, not looking like she might blow away in a stiff breeze.

A telepathic update then rippled through the network, answering some of those questions—but introducing other more serious ones, enough to make Ryouko almost physically start.

The lanky form was an unusual one for a Tentacle heavily populated with fliers, swimmers, and other exotic specimens, of the kind that Ryouko had been expecting. It was optimized for long‐distance movement over land, taking a few inspirations from recently acquired design elements, from… humans. Specifically Ryouko.

There was also a more nebulous mention of moderate modifications to one of the “cognitive expansion domains”, with speculative architectural changes also based on humans, which was plenty to give Ryouko a slight, queasy feeling.

Yet at the same time, there was a restraint to it. None of the information had come from the scans that had been done on Ryouko, as she had initially feared. Instead, it had been pieced together from designs that /Somatic‐diversity already had on hand, and fragments of information that had been provided by /Thinker‐preserving. After all, beyond a certain point, the implementation details didn’t necessarily matter.

Mountain‐wandering’s thoughts carried over, addressed to the room as well as Ryouko.

μ·I must apologize for my granddaughter's intemperance, as well as not informing you of this—I could not reveal what she intended to do without breaking much precedent|ν·You should understand that it is not possible for us to prevent such imitation|μ·I invited you here so that, at least, you could see it for yourself, and speak to her yourself|ν·You should understand that I could have easily concealed this for diplomatic reasons

Indeed, the girl, who had just finished greeting her parents, had turned towards Ryouko. Their eyes met, and Ryouko felt the telepathic knock.

μ·As Mountain‐wandering told me, you are not likely to be too offended, which informed my decision|ν·Like the example of my grandfather and the ice‐bears, we often seek to empathize with other species by taking on aspects of their form|ξ·Despite his protestations, I thought this would be a suitable form to live out my next few years, and I will hardly be the only one, now that you are here—and we will be all the more your allies for it

The alien had walked up to Ryouko, and was now looking down at her, arm‐like limbs folded. If Ryouko didn’t know better, she would say she looked very satisfied with herself.

For her part, Ryouko found herself unable to stop looking. The alien really did look a bit more human, in an unsettling kind of way.

She’s not much older than you are, Clarisse thought. Well, depending on how you count that sort of thing. By my calculations she’s twenty in Earth years, though five of that was spent as a half‐sapient ocean predator, so.

|ν·With respect, I’m not sure how much can be understood about us humans just from this|ν∪·Ultimately, we are not that different|ν∪·Our Baseline forms are both land animals, we use similar limbs, we walk in similar ways, we even have the same number of eyes—it is something our scientists have speculated on

|ν·You are not sure how much can be understood because you have not tried another body—we have|ν+·There are indeed limits to the benefits of my current imitation, but they stem largely from the limited nature of it, particularly in the neurological aspects|ξ·/Thinker‐preserving has, unusually, shared little of your species' biological details, and your scans are forbidden, unless you grant your consent

Ryouko blinked, then tried to formulate the question that in human parlance would be: “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?” Then she realized that the concept probably translated directly.

μ●·Indeed||μ·I apologize for causing you any undesirable emotions; I believed that might be avoided if I asked the question indirectly|ξ·Again, I argue: a greater appreciation for your species' unique perspectives will garner more support for your cause; granting access to your scans will benefit you

She paused, but just as Ryouko was going to respond she continued:

μ·I will be open|o·My request ≈ the spiked‐crab—the more we understand you, the more you are vulnerable too|o+·Ryouko‐supporting is harder for us to understand, having no body of her own, let alone a pref‐spec; her situation is both objectionable and to our disadvantage|o+·You should empathize‐open me and know that despite this, I mean you no harm

Here, Mountain‐wandering interjected, and Ryouko realized that she had missed the nuance that he had been included as a listener in his granddaughter’s messages.

|o→·We have already discussed these possibilities, and our acquisition of this information was in exchange for other considerations I will not share|o→·I interject that we are unlikely to approve distributing anything of potential strategic importance, which covers most details of Humanity‐preserving's combat‐body|

Ryouko appreciated Mountain‐wandering’s overriding the conversation, though she doubted his granddaughter did. Still, she read her pref‐spec as requested.

That turned out to have been a good idea. Frankly, Ryouko had been starting to dislike the girl, but it turned out she really did mean well. More than that, the alien wanted to do something about humanity’s plight, and this was the most she knew how to do. PuMgI7A⊃Perspective‐pursuer was… relatable, really.

Privately, Mountain‐wandering added:

||o·Indeed, we have found even your body's homeostasis inexplicable given the data we have gathered from you so far—it is troubling to our researchers, but at the current moment we theorize‒62% it to be a form of discreet reality‐distortion|o+·Hence why we approved your demonstration later; curiosity has begun to outweigh caution

One of the terms of their agreement was that /Somatic‐diversity had to provide her with any information they found, including the purely technical, though of course she had no way except pref‐spec‐analysis to prove they weren’t lying to her.

|ν∈?·How precisely could neurological data even be used|ν∈?·Surely, the structure of your mind is not subject to change between bodies|

She did not ask how the aliens could possibly meld two foreign biologies together. That answer she already had, and it had even been used by Homura in her own creation, and in Clarisse’s—it was not a literal translation of gene to gene, or even of networks of proteins and structures. Instead, it was a more subtle transfer of abstract paradigms and designs between different contexts, an art form Governance had yet to really master.

|ν·New neural tissue of a different architecture will tend towards different patterns of thought, deepen or dry varied realms of subjective experience, privilege the conscious over the unconscious or vice‐versa, and more|ν·During the body‐transfer process it is common to expand the mind with additional implant connections or neural tissue, particularly the parts of the mind placed into new appendages—and even in Baseline Thinkers, peripheral neurology differs substantially from the central|

Ryouko took in Mountain‐wandering’s words, wrapping her head around the concept of artificially expanding a fully‐formed biological mind with additional tissue. Would it be like a second adolescence? In human society, perhaps only an AI whose computing clusters had been expanded would know.

Then Ryouko thought, to the room:

|o·If it is only data of no strategic importance, then I have no objection|o+·I can only hope that you are right, and that those who wish to share some of me will come to understand our species better|

She wouldn’t deny the whole affair made her feel a bit strange, even intruded on, but the stakes were too high to reject potential allies. And in the end, even if /Somatic‐diversity broke all their agreements and the biological data provided some ineluctable advantage to the Thinkers, it would still hardly make a difference in the ultimate balance of power.

The granddaughter made a multi‐arm gesture Ryouko did not recognize.

|o∪ৡ·Thank you|o∪ৡ·Thank you|

It was by now the dead of night, and while they were all capable of staying awake, most of the Thinkers that had attended the evening’s celebration had elected to repose or at least relax in a communal rest area provided nearby. Ryouko had joined them, but had demurred on actually sleeping among so many aliens. It still unnerved her a bit, and frankly she had been having trouble sleeping recently, with Asami missing.

So instead, she read.

Interacting with Thinker machines was often fundamentally different from what she was used to. Many things were the same, of course—turning lights on, opening doorways, and other very basic commands were still “form a basic intent, and then receive the acknowledgment”, but where human machines rapidly switched over to the use of transmitted language as the concepts got more complicated, Thinker machines, with their use of telepathy, were able to maintain communication on a more conceptual level for far longer. A surprising example was simple climate control: as she had gotten more used to the controls, she had come to realize it was more than simply “hotter” or “colder”. She could send a vague impression of how she was uncomfortable and the system would try to adapt. Though the first few tries had not been quite ideal.

Thus, while reading into Thinker archives often led to quick bursts of intuition, it was often hard to translate into a form that could be quickly relayed once they returned to Human space. Fortunately, that was the kind of task Clarisse could quietly, thanklessly, work at during her downtime.

You do actually thank me, you know, Clarisse thought.

Well, probably not enough? Ryouko thought.

Then I might actually be looking forward to having a pref‐spec, Clarisse thought.

No further elaboration came, until at length Mountain‐wandering’s granddaughter stirred, green‐skinned eyes peeling open slowly. They looked at each other for a moment.

∪?·What keeps you awake|∪?·What thinking fills your body

Ryouko considered dissembling, but decided against it. She knew Perspective‐pursuer really did want to learn what was on her mind.

·The commonly‐accepted Human notion of long‐term stability turns out to be a controversial one within Consensus|∈·Some Tentacles completely reject the idea that a ‘final’ pref‐spec is desirable, with the eldest members even designing elaborate schemes to avoid the possibility|∈·Some Tentacles, while embracing the notion of finding the best pref‐spec for oneself, differ considerably on what that means: whether to minimize it to almost nothing, to massively expand it, to align it with an external or even objective ideal; how much to focus on changing one’s pref‐spec to match the world versus changing the world—or virtual world—to match one’s pref‐spec; if an infinite cycle of pref‐specs is superior, if adopting or rejecting the pref‐specs of others is nobler, and on and on|+·One thing is for certain: my species’ authorities were overconfident, enshrining long‐term stability as the ideal goal—I see no reason why Thinker philosophy would be inapplicable, and some of those espousing opposing philosophies are millennia older than we

|⌃·To me personally, this long‐term‐stability you reference is undesirable, as it would be to most of /Somatic‐diversity, assuming I interpret it correctly|⌄·Your allies in /Ahimsa‐extending would mostly agree with your people's philosophers, of course|·It is rather uncivilized to impose a preference for it upon a whole species

Mountain‐wandering replied before Ryouko could, without even opening his eyes or moving.

|⌄+·We view the development of empathize‐open‐compliance as a civilizational achievement, one that has secured our Consensus in this universe|⌃+·But it nearly destroyed us first—we need not be so quick to condemn the survival practices of other sapients|·Not for a species structured as Humanity‐preserving has told us—they are more akin to a single, precarious Tentacle, forced to choose policies that prioritize stability above all else

Ryouko wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Moreover, what would she be doing, debating the structure of society across species with Mountain‐wandering? A worthwhile question, maybe, but one she felt ill‐equipped to speak on.

Still, she had to try.

|⌃·Our best historical models suggest that we were lucky to survive our own founding cataclysm|⌄?·But was there a better way, given our starting conditions|+·It is an impossible question

|||●· ≈ seeking the bottom of the ocean

Kuroi Abe had to admit, he had been surprised to be assigned to an active combat sector again after the Battle of Orpheus.

After all, they had dragged their feet quite a bit on putting him back on duty at all, leaving him cooling his heels well after he and his fellow doctors had deemed him fit for duty, which had been just a few days after his legs had visibly grown back after his injury on Apollo. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought they were trying to keep one of Ryouko’s relatives out of combat.

That kind of special treatment for relatives of magical girls was common and even tacitly acknowledged, but caused enough grumbling for Governance to at least try to be subtle about it. Perhaps that was why instead of garrison duty he had been assigned to combat duty on Persepolis, a contested frontier world in the Huanghe Sector.

Well, that, and the fact that Ryouko wasn’t the emotionally sensitive type, he had thought with wry amusement. And as for Nana… she had long preferred to live her own life.

Across his months on Persepolis, the two sides had waged an attritional battle on ground and space, but without massive fleets or sector‐wide stakes. They weren’t even bleeding each other dry. Not with the manufacturing technology they had or the vast planetary reserves they could tap. In a way, they were just holding each other in place.

The days had passed quickly, without change, while for the rest of his family, events proceeded at a pace that felt dizzying to him. His younger daughter had gotten divorced, then moved to a new planet, then adopted a child. His granddaughter had been whisked away to perform secret research, surfaced briefly with his older daughter to liberate a rogue colony, disappeared to perform secret research again, and then abruptly died a hero’s death.

For a dark few days, he had wondered how much longer it would be until he rejoined his wife and granddaughter, and how much he really cared to wait.

But Ryouko was… perhaps not dead, after all, and that made things different.

He could at least still enjoy a sandwich, and right now he was still on bereavement leave; his return to active assignment was still a few days away.

Medes, the second largest city on Persepolis, was home to a few hundred thousand hard‐scrabble colonists who had volunteered or been compelled by circumstances to linger on a planet under active invasion, helping to keep the local war economy moving along. Deep under the umbrella of their integrated air defenses, it was even relatively safe.

He made his way down a sidewalk on the outskirts of the city, absorbing glances and the occasional salute from the residents going about their business, most in a hurry—at this time of day, mid‐afternoon, there were few colonists with the leisure time to wander the streets. If you were out walking, you had business.

There were no children anywhere.

A bit further down Davani Street was a freshly fenced‐off section of rubble, the skeleton of a building still alive with drones moving debris and structural elements glowing infrared with the heat of self‐repair. It was a reminder that air attacks still sometimes got through.

The last time he had been here, when he had just returned, the building had been a recreation area, designated for indoor sporting events. The squid were no longer in the business of targeting irrelevant civilian structures, at least not while there was still a battle to win—but sometimes, things happened that neither side intended. Which said nothing about the relevant civilian structures.

He shuffled past it, past the trio of human workers supervising the cleanup, a holographic projection of a woman discussing the latest news from the front, which had at least been better of late. Past that, a flock of local waterfowl—loud, plumed, and exotic‐purple—squinted at him briefly, before returning to pecking at the grass.

He could never quite get used to how much nature there was in the city, relative to Mitakihara.

Finally, he reached his real destination, a small shop perched on the edge of the park, with signs advertising long sandwiches with kalbas and assorted vegetables. He had been here plenty of times before, but he always enjoyed it. That was reason enough to come back; he was also worried whether it was making money. He wasn’t sure how he could tell.

The door made the sound of a bell ringing as he stepped in, shooing away the trio of birds waiting expectantly at the doorway, and he was mildly surprised to see two women standing inside the store, one of them squinting at the glass case. Neither had the look of locals or soldiers, unusual on a planet that didn’t exactly have many visitors.

It wasn’t safe to guess just from appearance, so a quick nomenclator check verified his initial assessment. It was vague on their exact origins, but did identify them as working for one of the Governance‐subsidized private trading firms that serviced beleaguered colony worlds.

“Good morning,” he said in Japanese, taking advantage of their shared national origin.

“Good morning,” the woman at the case replied, looking up at him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed to him that her gaze held a bit too long for just a nomenclator scan.

Then she went back to the food, an assortment of deli meats, sausages, and cheeses.

“Come here often?” she asked.

“As often as I can,” Abe said. “We can get what we want from the synthesizers at base, but I don’t think it tops what they serve here.”

“It usually doesn’t top the local stuff,” the woman said. “As long as you like what they’re serving.”

She stood up, glanced at her companion, then thrust out a hand for him to shake, interrupting the slight bow Abe had been about to perform.

“Sato Reika,” she said, smiling slightly. “Ah, sorry, it’s been a while. You mostly don’t see that outside Earth, even on Suijin.”

“Right, of course,” Abe said, shaking her hand after a moment.

He glanced at the woman’s wife, who kept her mouth shut, but gave him a friendly look. She seemed to be distracted, perhaps listening to something via her implants.

It was more polite not to poke at it.

“I can’t shake the sense your name is familiar somehow,” Reika said. “You’re not secretly a celebrity, are you?”

A series of thoughts quickly flashed through his mind: since all that had happened with Ryouko and the Cult, he had stayed scrupulously anonymous, refusing media interviews and departing Earth for Persepolis shortly after Ryouko’s funeral. Few of those he served with here even knew about his connection to Ryouko—it didn’t come up on the nomenclator.

“No, just a soldier,” he said, without even a noticeable hesitation. Benefit of age. “Kuroi is a common surname.”

“Mmm. It really is different out here, isn’t it? Even in the small colonies away from the front, everything is quiet and people don’t feel any pressure. Not like here.”

Before Abe could respond, the proprietor of the deli, Nahid, appeared behind the counter, carrying small sacks of meat in her arms.

“Ah, I see you’ve met our resident sandwich aficionado,” she said, addressing Reika. “I can’t see the appeal of joining up myself, but I’m glad he’s here. If nothing else, so there’s someone my age I can talk to. All I got around me otherwise are kids.”

Nahid loved calling everyone under the age of two hundred “kid”. One day a magical girl would “kid” her back; he suspected Nahid was looking forward to the resulting argument.

“Well, I’m privileged to be talking to you old‐timers then,” Reika said. “I was just telling Kuroi about how different the wartime pressure is here.”

Abe’s time in the military meant that he barely blinked at the sudden switch to Standard’s insouciance.

He mulled over what to say, and how diplomatic to be about it, but Nahid surprised him by speaking first, and a torrent of words at that.

“Listen, I don’t know how exactly to put this but, Governance’s job is difficult, and we understand we’re all in this together. But those of us here are way more in it. I’ve been here a long while, but I have friends that migrated inward; according to them, on some planets it’s like there’s no war at all! You can hardly say that here. Thanks to people like Abe, and the militia, we’re not under direct fire here, but the planet is suffering. We used to get a lot of tourism from Earth, wanting to see the expatriate Persian culture, and a horde of exchange students. The schools aren’t even open anymore.”

Abe was glad she hadn’t brought up the tensions between the militia and the better‐equipped core worlder units. Sure, they got the harder missions, but did that make much of a difference in a place like this?

But, as a shopkeeper, Nahid served both sides, and from her chats Abe had detected no resentment from her towards them, at least.

“I’ve heard some people say you had the option to leave and didn’t take it,” Reika said. “‘Staying on a frontline planet like this is obviously a noble decision, but it’s still a decision.’”

That drew an eye‐roll.

“Bullshit, if you’ll pardon my language. It is a choice whose other side is abandoning your home and all you have known to start completely over. Even for us old ones who have done it once or twice already, it is no small decision. Many of us gave up what we knew to come here in the first place, half a century ago. We jumped at the chance to build and shape our own world. So saying we ‘have a choice’ can only come from a place of ignorance, perhaps willful.”

Abe looked off to the side. He had his own opinions, but there was a limit to how much he was willing to say in front of civilians, especially those not from the frontier.

“A lot of this also has to do with Governance policy,” Abe said, finally. “Let’s be honest. I know a lot of colonists wish Governance would mobilize a bit more aggressively, as a matter of respect rather than just material interest. Sure, there are practical reasons why not doing so insulates the main economy and Core Worlds from the impact of the war, but a lot of it is ideological. And because of that, it’s easy to feel like no one in the rear understands the costs for those here. I understand why the Fleet doesn’t arrive to clear the sky, but even those here who do want more acknowledgment.”

Abe watched Reika mull their words over, then lean onto the counter, breaking up the increasingly tight circle the three of them were forming.

“Thanks for your input,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m the curious type, and can’t resist prying. So what are your thoughts on the big recent TCF news? It’s a real big deal back in the Core, but I don’t know how much it matters out here.”

Her wife absentmindedly shook her head at her, amused.

“It matters,” Abe said, after a moment to process the change of subject. “Though maybe not for the same reasons. I don’t think any of us have ever considered Governance really invincible, no matter what they say. It’s just a silly idea when the squid missiles are raining down on your head. But for those in the field, it’s more about the idea that there’s a fifth column working against us, working with the squid even. I’m not sure how to express how insulting that is.”

Reika stopped there, tapping a finger on the table. The silence stretched on, as she turned to her wife, then looked off into the middle distance, hand to her ear, gesturing that she was communicating remotely with something. Was it about work?

“Sorry about that,” she apologized finally. “Well, what about this fascinating business with the Shizuki Ryouko girl? She’s a hero to me no matter what, but can she really still be alive? What do you two think?”

She spoke with the careful tenor of someone who had already concluded one way or the other, but didn’t want to show it—Abe was in turn almost too startled by the mention of Ryouko to notice, trying to hide his emotion.

“I doubt it. It sounds like gossip and fantasy to me, no offense,” Nahid said. “And I’m not the only one that thinks that way. But I guess it’s harmless stories to pass around. We all have our heroes; around here Admiral Mousavi is way more popular.”

“But doesn’t it matter if Shizuki has found Cephalopods that aren’t as hostile?” Reika insisted. “Senior military leadership is taking it seriously.”

“The magical girls are taking it seriously, you mean,” Nahid said. “You know how worked up they get, about their old leader and the Cult and everything.”

“I’ve seen enough Cult stuff to think maybe there is something to it. Maybe,” Abe said. “Not sure there’s more to say than ‘we’ll see’, though.”

He had felt the need to say something, if only to avoid looking suspicious. Perhaps it had been a mistake—it would have been safer to say something about Akemi at New Athens rather than look like a Cult apologist himself.

Just as he began to brace for questioning, Reika’s wife suddenly straightened, meeting eyes with her.

“I’m sorry,” Reika said, “it looks like I need to get back on the job. Thanks for chatting!”

“No problem,” he and Nahid said together, accidentally, as Reika and her wife turned abruptly and strode out the door.

“Wonder what that was about,” Abe said. “Late for a meeting?”

“I don’t know,” Nahid said. “Anyway, do you still want your sandwich?”

He did indeed want his sandwich, and a short while later he made his way back out to the street, continuing past the shop in the direction of the city center. It was too early to head back to the barracks, so perhaps he would take a ride towards one of the amenity lounges. His calendar indicated that there was a group viewing of Sun Over Glorieta, billed as a post‐Unification Wars classic about star‐crossed lovers during the Desert Campaign in North America.

He had seen it of course. It was tremendously sappy, young couple kind of watching, which meant it gave him great nostalgia.

He had just made up his mind to call his ride when something made his hair stand on end, enough to stop him in his tracks when he realized it was quite literal.

He dove to the side and to the ground, planting himself into the permacrete. Only then did he try to figure it out what it was.

A new weapon? Charged particles? What could—

And then it was gone, leaving him the target of several curious onlookers. The civilians hadn’t even felt it.

As he pushed himself up to his feet, wondering if he had suffered some kind of sensory malfunction, a series of tactical alarms seized his attention, literally taking control of his neural attention routines and dumping him into combat mode, so drastically that only a healthy provision of drugs and neural manipulation kept him from collapsing on the spot.

He was used to it, of course; it was hardly the first time.

Two blocks over, down a series of fortified passages, in an underground bunker, was a logistics center that processed weapons, supplies, and grief cubes. It had come under attack.

Here, in the middle of the city? a distant part of his mind asked, the processing thread quickly shunted aside and backgrounded, there to churn below his consciousness in synergy with the network. Perhaps the analysis would prove useful—only then would he become aware of it.

Squid infantry units had materialized out of nowhere in the tunnels a few minutes ago, disabling blast doors and cutting down all personnel. Some technological miracle had enabled them to bypass all safeguards and sensors—the breach had only just been discovered.

All of that burned through his mind as he sprinted down the street, past unaware civilians moving so slowly they looked frozen. He wasn’t heading straight for the logistics center; instead, he was heading for the nearest civil defense depot, nestled in a former commercial center. Without his exoskeleton he could contribute nothing.

He threw himself into an armature on arrival, shoving his feet into proffered leg servos, and letting the machinery and drones around him work to move armor slabs into place, even as his arm, neck, and back ports integrated into the electronics. It was an older model, reserved here far from the front lines, but now really wasn’t the time to quibble with the local equipment.

As he waited, a handful of other off‐duty soldiers rushed in, inserting themselves into the slots next to his. All told, there were four of them who could deploy in the next ten minutes, who would then be trailed by the local civil defense and personnel who had to travel from the next sector over. So, they would start with four.

They began moving even before all of their suits were fully assembled, moving over the terrain in great bursts of speed. There had been the possibility of waiting for more numbers, but the situation below was growing dire, the automated defenses falling apart against a threat that was really beyond their level. If they moved quickly, they might be able to stall the enemy a bit, perhaps as much as twenty minutes, long enough for more serious reinforcements to arrive. The local demon‐hunting magical girls numbered only three and were… barred from combat for psychiatric and other reasons. More suitable magical girls were, unfortunately, all at the front, and even with teleporters it would be a while before any would arrive.

And a delaying action was all it would be, frankly. One‐on‐one, they were no match for a squid commando, and the reports suggested there were eleven.

“We’ll be lucky even to survive,” one of the others commented. There was no venom or fear in his voice. In their current state, it was just a comment—but still one that showed where his thoughts were headed.

They split into groups of two, one for each of the downward passages, and he and his partner Trang made their way to the nearby subway entrance, jumping down the stairs in one go.

There, they paused for a moment, taking up a position next to the blast door that led further down. According to the records, it had been opened twenty minutes ago to allow a few personnel to begin their shifts.

“Most likely how they got in,” Trang commented. “Might be worth reviewing security procedures.”

From here they could pick up a few faint transmissions, dead or disabled civilians whose implants were still intact enough to provide some sensory intel. From them, they could tell that the immediate entryway seemed clear. Seemed.

A quick communications burst between him and Trang, and then with the other two, set the plan in place, and he took point, turning the corner, sensors bristling, suit‐mounted rifle ready to fire.

Nothing he could see, and Trang followed him after he had stepped forward a bit. Two was hardly an ideal number for this, and there had been some consideration placed toward going in one entrance as a group of four, but Command had decided for them. A squid infiltration like this was a high‐asset operation, one that didn’t seem to make any sense. That alone made it worth quashing, gathering whatever intel they could from the squid involved. They couldn’t risk the squid simply getting out the other door.

He advanced forward, his TacComp simulating the tactical options. If it was at all possible, they would endeavor to make the squid come to them, into prepared positions infested with their drones. But if they simply sat back, the enemy would finish whatever business they had below, which might be unacceptable. They would have to poke the squid, doing whatever damage they could without exposing their limited numbers.

At a thought, half a dozen drones no larger than a grape apiece dropped out of a back compartment, scurrying along the floor to search for good spots to hide while drawing supplemental power from the grid. When the time came, each would empty everything it had into the nearest enemy drone or shield as a millisecond laser burst, potentially disabling a small drone outright—or, with coordination, a group might help take down a squid personal shield for a few moments.

He was aiming more for the anti‐drone role, though, given that he was limited to his personal inventory. He would sprinkle them liberally all along his way in, then Trang would start dropping her heavier‐hitting anti‐personnel devices when they got close. When the firing started, they could withdraw into them, hopefully earning a good deal of time.

As they moved downward, he paid careful attention to the telemetry coming from below. The base defenses were doing their job, sealing corridors and transmitting as much information on the enemy’s location as they could. Unfortunately, Command still had no idea what the squid were doing here. Destroying one logistics center couldn’t possibly be worth the trouble or risk, and would have been better handled by planting a large explosive device and leaving. Instead, the squid seemed to be looking for something.

The lack of certainty made it difficult to predict their behavior, a tactical liability.

They emerged into the bunker’s primary layer, and Abe grimly cast his sensors over a small corridor of broken bodies, still glowing faintly in infrared. He kept his weapon up and pointed, grenade launcher primed and aimed. Squid special forces they might have been, but this whole base was still human ground, the walls, circuitry, and even bodies of their allies all casting interference at the squid sensors. The squid hadn’t had time to really take over. With that edge, they might even hope to achieve surprise.

He let out a breath, letting his suit silence the noise. He couldn’t get too confident. There just might be a squid or two still stealthed, waiting for a response just like theirs.

No need to do anything rash. We’re taking care of this.

Only his combat mode kept him from jerking with surprise, his TacComp working through the basic reasoning faster than his own brain could. He had been around enough magical girls to know what telepathy felt like, but there wasn’t supposed to be anyone around—no IFF, nothing on the local net, and even Command seemed confused. Was there some kind of squid interference?

Plus, the voice felt familiar.

Roger that. Verify identity? Unable to connect, he thought.

Abe cast that thought nowhere in particular, assuming the other party would read it.

Will not verify. Hold your position. Will connect for sensor telemetry.

Will not verify. He knew what that implied. Some kind of MagOps? That was theoretically possible, but nowadays the kinds of roles where a secret identity would matter were few and far between. Maybe on a rogue colony, or something to do with the TCF conspiracy, but here?

He and Trang had the same thought: ultimately, it didn’t matter. They were friendly. No squid could forge magical girl telepathy. Even Command agreed.

They withdrew behind the last doorway and waited a few seconds, and just as his more distant subroutines began to entertain more paranoid possibilities, the connection finally registered. The handshake was valid, but the connection was restricted, giving him only limited tactical information.

That was enough, as a moment later three unidentified magical girls appeared on his facility map and began engaging the squid, whose location they had somehow deduced. His auditory relays picked up the sudden fusillade of explosions, gunfire, and what sounded like thunder, while his TacComp began receiving data from suborned squid drones near the battle.

Why were they here? How had they gotten here first? There would be time to sort that out afterward. For now, Abe and Trang still had a role to play.

Trang began to distribute her remaining drones and mines around the area, specialized anti‐personnel, preparing for the possibility that some of the squid might try to escape out to the surface through their corridor.

As he kept watch, a couple of shaped charges nestled themselves into one the ubiquitous drone shafts, waiting for a chance to emerge. A few others moved to the ceiling, waiting for the signal to drop a wall of sensor interference.

Then, they waited.

Things were quiet at first, then some of the perimeter drones began encountering squid counterparts, exchanging bursts of millisecond laser fire and electronic warfare. The air started filling with electricity again—he realized now, it might be from one of the magical girls. The fighting was definitely moving in their direction.

Even in post‐battle analysis, he would never be quite sure why he looked where he did.

Perhaps some distant thread of thought in his TacComp had noticed an anomaly in enemy drone behavior, or perhaps there had been a slight change in the pitch of the gunfire. Whatever the case was, he happened to glance in direction of one of the large drone shafts, and noticed a slight electromagnetic shimmer, an irregularity highlighted by the unusually charged air.

He jumped backward even as a spray of armor‐piercing rounds hit his position, several of them hitting home among his leg servos and one reaching tissue in his leg, stopping dead as it cracked his reinforced bone. He felt none of it, Trang’s gunfire ringing in his ears as the drones converged, an ominous squid figure sparking into view under the physical attack. An explosion on the squid’s back got through the shield but was too spent to penetrate the armor.

The squid lunged at him, closing the distance. It was the correct move, keeping him from withdrawing into potentially more prepared defenses and instead pitting squid armor against human armor—as long as the squid could finish the job before Trang could intervene.

He dropped his gun and tried to level his close‐quarters laser cutters, but the squid was too fast. He was able to keep the squid’s own weapons off of him as they grappled each other, but that was it.

But even as he pushed his reactors into redline, he was unable to resist the crushing force. He felt his right arm begin to fail, and then his shoulder joint released itself to save the arm—but that allowed a laser and composite blade to slice off his other one. Warnings and pain flared through his consciousness, and for a moment his vision was filled with Trang desperately emptying her weapon, enemy drones nearly overwhelming her.

Rather than kill him, the commando suddenly lifted him off the ground, and began sprinting down the corridor with him in tow. Was it using his broken body as cover?

Then, in a flash of color, it was over—not for him, but for the squid, who no longer had a head, and whose chest cavity had been torn open, giving him the briefest glimpse of someone’s unarmored fist. He didn’t have to be told that this was no ordinary human feat.

Regaining his footing he jumped backward, the explosion that followed rattling his skull. Within seconds, he knew, the squid’s implants and technology would begin digesting itself under a swarm of nanites.

He rapidly scanned his surroundings, but it seemed the corridor had been cleared, even the drones disabled. The girls that had saved them were already gone, leaving Trang sputtering, but he had finally realized something.

The voice in his head had been “Reika”.