It was true, they’d had the argument about the Holy Hive Mind’s intentions before. They’d probably have it again. Both of them had been forced into its ranks through economic circumstances, and the Holy Hive Mind paid well—at least it said that it did before one realized that one needed to leave it to recover all that pay, and that the papers one signed, all that rigmarole and small clauses full of hooks amid the piles of language, meant that they would make it as hard to leave as possible. Something like that left one cynical about such dealings.

The Holy Hive Mind way was to conquer, but also to pretend that they weren’t doing so, that they were moving in to help a government “clean itself up” or “get things in good working order.” And they would devote themselves to that very task and, at first, the government—ruler or council or whatever form it might take—would find that very helpful. Then slowly they’d realize that all that help ended up creating dependencies and unexpected debt for the social services and such that they were enjoying, courtesy of the Holy Hive Mind. Niko had seen it happen multiple times over the course of her career. Other times they used violence—but always sanctioned violence. Honorable warfare. Never mind that it usually involved their very large space forces overrunning some much smaller fleet.

And now, here she was, at the peak of her career and finally almost to the point where she could enact a long-held plan that had nothing to do with the Hive Mind’s wants, when they seemed to be doing it again, and this time using her to mask their doings. Her own scheme seemed very small, in the scope of things, when compared to the hundreds of thousands that would be killed if the Holy Hive Mind were given free license to wage war on the others.

She jogged down the staircase, moving quickly, trying to stir her blood enough to bounce some new ideas into her head. But her boot heels clattered out, What do we think this all is for? There will be war, there will be war, the rhythm of a marching song she’d learned in boot camp.

Down on the street, she went northward along the rift, a slight upward tilt in the ground stretching her stride. She walked quickly, arms at her sides, eyes lost in thought, but avoiding obstacles and stones that might have tripped her.

To her left, the void gaped, its blue glow seen at intervals between the buildings, so uniform in their placing and abandonment. They cleared for a space, creating a small plaza whose balconied edge overhung the void. Dark glass staircases toed the edge on either side, lifting upward to join their fellows.