The Legacy of the Prophets Chapter 1: A New Home, a Mass Effect + Cthulhu Mythos Crossover fanfic

Greetings readers, old and new alike! Before we begin, I would like to offer an explanation of, firstly, my absence for the past several months, and, secondly, why I am writing and posting a new story rather than updating one of my old ones.

Eight months ago, or something along those lines, I decided to take a break from fanfiction to work on the novel I'd been putting off for years. The inspiration caught fire, and for weeks, it was practically all I thought about. Then school started. But I didn't want to stop writing, so I tried to balance the two. I failed, ultimately, but that's not the point. A few months ago, I started writing fanfics again. My long-time readers, of whom few remain, will remember that this did not last very long. It seems that during my absence, my readers had finally given up on me, presumably because they were tired of my irregular posting times and unscheduled absences, and stopped bothering to read my story when they got the update. I don't blame any of them for this, and understand entirely- I've done the same thing many times. Nonetheless, the lack of response to my stories struck me rather hard, especially the absence of some of my oldest readers, many of whom I had developed friendships with. That, combined with the worsening of the chronic depression which increasingly rules my life, and various personal crises which I will not go into, led to my abandoning writing of any kind for quite some time. Recently, I decided to get back in the game with this story. Which brings us to the matter of why I'm doing this, rather than picking up my old fics.

The reasons for this are twofold. Firstly, my other stories are all on hold for a little while. Black and White was started on a whim, with even less planning than I usually put into a story, and I'm not sure how to continue. The Chosen Undead needs fairly major rewrites to fix the fact that, for some reason, I skipped the first month of Hogwarts. I'm kind of at a loss with Vermin Lord, and I don't know where to take it. The Gamechangers, by far my most popular story, has grown tedious to write, and I'm stuck with a dilemma regarding how the Empire could wage the war against the Batarians without Human slaves being executed. If you want that story to be continued, I could use some ideas on that. Those Damn Primitives is, in all likelihood, dead, but I refuse to admit that. Protomage is dead, and will not be resurrected. Every time I think about that fic, I cringe. Lastly, The Power He Knows Not is no longer in keeping with my current style of writing, which has grown considerably darker in recent times. Looking back now, TPHKN seems positively whimsical compared to the works that I've written recently. I hope to continue it at some point, but I don't know when that'll happen.

The second reason I'm starting a new story is much simpler, and exactly the same as every other time I've done it- I'm totally in love with this new concept, and can't wait to write it.

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Humanity's Hope, The Escape Fleet

18 March 1987 Post Escape

President Flurenze Midjel tried her best not to fidget as the Escape Fleet prepared to leave the Void. After nearly two millennia, Humanity had reached its new home, and she was the first Fleet President in centuries to have to make any kind of decision beyond maintaining the status quo, so it was understandable that she was worried. What if this new galaxy was under the domination of a Great Old One? What if it had hostile aliens? What if it simply didn't have any suitable planets for colonization? The Escape Fleet's supplies were in running out, and their Void Drives were in poor condition, and the Professors lacked the supplies to repair them. If this galaxy turned out to be hostile, then Humanity would almost certainly be unable to flee. True, most of the ships in the Fleet were armed to the teeth, having originally been warships, but the Human race knew from experience how little that could mean against a sufficiently superior foe. It was this knowledge which led to her (and her advisors') decision to proceed with almost paranoid caution. They would exit the Void in dark space, at least a light year from the target system, and proceed at subliminal speeds. The fleet would then study the system. If it was uninhabited, and suitable for colonization, they would settle. If it was unsuitable for colonization, they would mine the supplies needed to repair and sustain the Escape Fleet, and travel to another system. If there was a primitive alien species present, they would treat the system as unsuitable for colonization, and limit their mining to uninhabited planets. If there was an advanced civilization, they would keep to the outer limits of the system, restrict their mining to areas not frequently visited, and study the aliens in secret for up to a year before making a decision. If there was an Ancient One, they would flee and hope they hadn't been noticed, and, if possible, enact the Sol Initiative.

"Attention to all passengers," came the automated voice of the ship's computer, giving a message which hadn't been heard in over eleven hundred years, "prepare for Void-to-Space Transition in approximately five minutes."

Midjel's stomach twisted in anticipation, but she kept calm. It wouldn't do for her Cabinet to see that their President was scared shitless, after all. She just prayed she wouldn't throw up during the transition.

It was funny, the presence of prayer among Humanity. Practically everybody prayed from time to time, but nobody ever really expected their prayers to be answered. True, a few remnants of the ancient religions remained, but they were small, and usually considered to be as much of a joke as the Derlethians. When Azhorra-Tha had risen from the temple on Mars, and wreaked havoc on the Terrans' civilization, neither God nor Allah nor Nodens nor Vishnu had come to save them. In the end, Humanity had been forced to realize that the Prophets (the True Prophets, not like that charlatan Derleth) had been right- in the face of the creatures that lurked in the Void, Humanity was less significant than an anthill. They might be ignored, and they might be squashed, but they wouldn't be protected, and they sure as hell wouldn't be able to protect themselves. All they could do was escape, and avoid the terrors as best they could.

The Prophets were an interesting subject as well. If you asked a dozen different people who the True Prophets were, you'd get a dozen different answers. All Humanity knew for sure was that Lovecraft and his followers had been, in some aspects, correct. Azhorra-Tha was a perfect example. He clearly existed. His Cult and their destruction of Earth had made that clear. But beyond that, the information written by Ossoway had largely been wrong. Yes, Azhorra-Tha had been residing on Mars, but in a temple, not a prison. And he had been awakened by Human Cultists, not by an alien race. In fact, so far, even Lovecraft himself had been wrong about aliens. The Mi-go had been blessedly absent from Pluto, as early, careful probes had revealed. According to the records, only one alien species had been encountered, back in the fifth century, before Humanity had even left the reaches of the Milky Way in its flight, and they had been fairly peaceable, by all accounts. She had spoken to a few of the Tagers and Others who had been around then, in hopes of gaining some information on what first contact with a species had been like, and while even the Tagers had been surprisingly cooperative, they hadn't really had any insights that the records had lacked.

At this point, she lost her train of thought as the computer spoke once more.

"Void-to-Space transition in one minute."

A wave of nausea (just a taste of what was to come, she'd been told) came over her a few moments later as the bubble of Real Space which kept the ship protected from the mysterious forces of the Void began to shift. It was a tricky maneuver, the Professors assured her, to time the disappearance of the field exactly with the reappearance of the ship. Apparently, if the field were present in Real Space, it would be bad. The Professors refused to give more details than "certain catastrophe," with their usual explanations of how their craft was too dangerous to allow any fragment of knowledge to leave their ranks, because fragments could be pieced together to form an image of the whole, and... well, to be honest, she usually stopped listening by that point.

"Void-to-Space transition in thirty seconds."

"Attention all passengers: prepare for Void-to-Space transition in approximately five minutes."

"Are weabsolutely certain that this 'upgrade' of yours isn't going to get us all killed, Dean Zwanzon? Because if you're wrong, the entire fleet could be destroyed."

"Nonsense! Only most of the fleet would be destroyed. There would be survivors. The real danger comes afterwards. Even if the drive doesn't explode, the backlash of the flow between Space and Void would create a state of constant flux between the two, basically acting as a giant portal to the Void."

"You mean to tell me that if this thing doesn't work, we'll have a fucking door to Azathoth's home right in front of us?"

"Only if it doesn't work!" replied Nanji Zwanzon, the current Dean of the University of Lovecraftian Science. "Just think! My last work could be the one that revolutionizes Voidtravel! We could go at speeds nobody's ever imagined!"

"Or we could all be destroyed by the Outer Gods, Nanji. It's not worth the risk. We have to disable it," replied Paedru Hurtun, the head of the Advisory Committee, and Swanson's immediate subordinate.

"Oh... Didn't I mention that? I don't really know how to turn it off."

Paedru stared at his boss in horror. "Ma'am, are you in..." he cut himself off. Of course the Dean was insane. Almost all Senior Professors were. In fact, he was far from fully functional himself, given his occasional murderous outbreaks. The only reason neither he nor Zwanzon had been "fired" by the shrinks was because they were truly exceptional scientists. But this...

"Dean Nanji Zwanzon, I am hereby forced to officially state that, as indicated by your behavior in installing this device without proper testing, safeguards, authorization, or even understanding of exactly what in Lovecraft's name you made, you are unfit for continued duty. I must ask you to cooperate peacefully until the Psychiatrists arrive." Hurtun said formally. Then, more intimately, "Nanji, you don't know how sorry I am about this," he said as he activated the button on his wrist. "I'm pretty sure the shrinks will just declare you Mentally Unsound, rather than Dangerously Unsound, but..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Paedru. It's a brain-in-a-jar for me. I've just casually endangered the entire fleet without even checking to see if the damned thing works. You really think the shrinks are gonna let me keep my body after that?" the Dean asked cheerfully as she put her hands into the cuffs that her subordinate had withdrawn. "Nah, I'm just lucky I'm too smart to kill outright. They'll keep me in the closet so you can ask me questions until my mind snaps entirely. Do me a favor, though, will you? Visit me every now and then? I'm sure it'll get lonely, sitting on a shelf with only the other brains for company. If the Psychiatrists won't let you in, tell them it's for a counseling session. You'll be able to keep me sane-ish longer than anybody else, just by talking to me, and the shrinks will know it. And since I'm the only one who even kind of knows what that thing is, you'll need me. Badly, I suspect," she finished sadly as she looked at the tangle of wires and components that comprised her "upgrade" to the ship's Void Drive. "And make sure you clean and power those runes regularly, or the whole thing might go up in flames. I'm not sure, but better safe than sorry. If I knew what the hell they did, I could work out a more permanent fix, but..." the woman shrugged, all of her normal manic cheerfulness gone now.

The two stood in silence for a moment, until the door slid open, and a man in slacks and a blue shirt, wearing the red tie of a Psychiatrist Lieutenant, entered the room. Two more men, in the white ties of Psychiatrist Corporals2, followed, rifles in hand. Seeing Nanji in cuffs, the Lieutenant nodded, and moved to apprehend her.

"Goodbye, Paedru. Remember to visit!" the madwoman called as she was led away by the staid Psychiatrist.

Dean Paedru Hurtun nodded solemnly as his friend and mentor was hauled off for "retirement".

"Void-to-Space transition in thirty seconds."

"Attention all passengers: prepare for Void-to-Space transition in approximately five minutes."

Andray Luna looked up at the announcement, and gave a silent prayer to Lovecraft that their destination was suitable. Not many people knew it- only the Cabinet, the President, and high ranking members of the Logistics Office- but they were cutting it much, much closer than the creators of the Escape Fleet had realized. According to President Bailey's plan, they should have had supplies for another hundred years when they arrived in their new galaxy. Instead, they could last maybe twenty. The mages were nearly out of things they could transmute into essential supplies, and the Professors were low on repair equipment, especially the things which couldn't be made out of transmuted materials. To make matters worse, the Professors couldn't guarantee that the Void Drives would be able to make another jump. If, for whatever reason, they were unable to gain supplies from their target, the Fleet would have to travel at subluminal speeds, and pray that there was a habitable planet within range. If not... He shook his head, and tried not to think about the possibility. With any luck at all, the new planet would be suitable.

"Void-to-Space transition in thirty seconds."

"Attention all passengers: prepare for Void-to-Space transition in approximately five minutes."

"Why do I need to be buckled down, Daddy?"

"Well, Rubi, none of us have ever gone through a transition before. The Fleet's been in the Void for a very, very long time, and only the Others really know what transition is like. Now, you have your bag?"

"Yes, Daddy. Can I talk to an Other someday? I wanna know what Earth was like."

Hurase Curtez hesitated, then answered his daughter. "I don't think you'd like that, sweetie. The Others are... well, they're not like us. And they don't really like normal Humans all that much."

That was an understatement. Hurase had only had an interaction with an Other once, and the "woman" hadn't even tried to hide her contempt for "lesser" Humans. At least it hadn't been a Tager. Nobody knew how Tagers were made, but they were, by all accounts, the most terrifying of the Others. Some Others could be almost Human, he'd been told. Tagers, though, were different. They were predators at heart, and few of them had had anything to kill in centuries. Most of them had snapped, and been put down by the Psychiatrists. The remainder were restless, and everybody knew that a conversation with a Tager was something to be avoided at all costs, lest you accidentally provoke the Other into violence.

"Why not, Daddy? I thought they were Humans, too." Rubi said as she clutched her bag.

"They are, sweetie. But they're not normal humans. They've... done things to themselves, and some of them think that they're better than us because of that."

"Are they Cultists?"

"What? Oh, goodness no. In fact, most Others hate Cultists even more than normal Humans do. In fact, they were some of the ones who fought the Cultists in the War." It was true, too. By all accounts, Others regarded Cultists with a loathing most humans couldn't understand, and Humans held a universal hatred of any Cult. "Now, in a few minutes, you're going to feel very bad," said Hurase as he sat down. He didn't need to be strapped in, he'd been told, but standing would be unwise. "That's normal. If you get sick, try to get it in the bag, but we can clean up if you miss. After that, it's off to class for you."

"Okay," the little girl said cheerfully through the bag she'd put over her head.

Hurase chuckled as his daughter played with the bag, then sighed. She'd had a doll, once, but it had been taken by the mages to transmute into more supplies. He hoped he could get her another one, once the Fleet finally landed.

Just a few years, he told himself. If Humanity can wait two thousand, I can wait thirty.

"Void-to-Space Transition in thirty seconds."

As usual, President Midjel's prayers went unanswered. Like nearly everybody else in the room, she vomited spectacularly, and was grateful for the bags they had been provided.

When she was done, she looked up into the smirking face of Owen Carr, the leader of the Eldritch Society, and scowled. Damned Others. At least Carr acted like a Human most of the time, she reminded herself. And looked like one. Some of the Others were barely recognizable as having been human once.

"Well, President Mitchell," Carr said, "It would seem we have arrived. There is little to do now but wait for a debriefing from Captain Olsen and Dean Swanson."

Midjel's scowl deepened as Carr's Terran accent butchered her name and those of her subordinates. If, for some bizarre, otherworldly reason, you couldn't tell that somebody was an Other just by their appearance or attitude, their accent was always a dead giveaway. The Human language had changed, over the centuries, and in different ways aboard the different ships. But the Others always had a Terran accent of some sort. It could be a "Texan Drawl," or they could speak "The Queen's English," or any one of a dozen other accents. Some of them would even lapse into their native language from time to time. The official reason was that the Others wanted their cultures to stay alive, if only through them. Privately, Midjel suspected it was just to remind the mortals they interacted with that the Others had been present before even the War, and that they would remain present after the death of the last mortal Human.

Her thoughts wandered idly as they waited, and she scanned the Cabinet members.

Jack Harper, the head of the Psychiatric Institute. Despite the rumors regarding his glowing blue eyes, Harper wasn't actually an Other. Others weren't allowed in the Institute, though they were employed from time to time if the dreaded Psychiatrists were unable to eliminate a target on their own. Those occasions were rare, though, and limited almost exclusively to the instances when the Sorcerer or Professor in question was able to overcome or evade the agents sent to subdue him. For the most part, the Psychiatrists were able to take care of virtually any threat on their own, employing neither mages nor Others. The Psychiatrists knew virtually everything that happened on the Fleet, and had agents everywhere. They were, in many ways, even more feared than the Eldritch Society. At least with the Society, they were open about what they did. Not so with the Psychiatric Institute. You never knew who might be an agent, and what they might be reporting. It was unsavory, but it was necessary in a world where Humanity was on the brink of extinction, and a few muttered words could summon otherworldly horrors. Once Humanity had reached a more stable population, and the threat of extinction was gone, the Psychiatrists would not need to be so omnipresent. They would still be necessary, to monitor Sorcerers and Professors, but they would be less ominous.

Jake Jonzon was the head of the Logistics Office, and positively benevolent compared to the silent threat of Psychiatry. Despite that, his was, by far, the more stressful job. It fell to him to make sure that nobody starved, that the ships kept running, and that the Escape Fleet would be more than a pile of scrap metal when it arrived at its destination. His earliest predecessors had done badly, and the results of their mistakes were now his burden (as well as all of Humanity's).

Admiral Wilbert Turner was the commander of the Escape Fleet in all potential military actions, and had been since before the days of President Bailey. The Other was deeply and completely dedicated to the Fleet's mission, and willing to do whatever it took to ensure the survival of the Human race. Unfortunately, his mind, like those of most Others, was not wholly Human anymore, and it was often difficult for others to understand his thought processes. He was, however, a brilliant tactician and strategist, having been one of the few military commanders to plan any kind of successful operation during the War.

Lastly, and most importantly, it could be argued, the Senator for each of the twenty-one repurposed warships in the Escape Fleet were present, even if the Captains were absent. Senators were indirectly elected by the population of the ship every three years. The Captains were appointed directly, in a shared decision by Admiral Turner and the current President. They replaced three captains a year, on a rotating cycle.

These men and women- the Cabinet, the Captains, and the Senators- made up the governing body of the Escape Fleet, which followed the pattern of the ancient (and revered, on most ships) United States Government, with the Captains and the Senators making up Congress.

At last, the door opened and two men walked in. The first was simply a young lieutenant, wearing the insignia of a crew member of the Humanity's Hope. The second was Paedru Hurtun, head of the Advisory Committee at the University.

"Report, Lieutenant," Midjel said coolly.

The man snapped a salute. "The Captain wished me to inform you that the Fleet has successfully entered Real Space with no reported damage, and that we are under way to the target star system."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. If that is all, you are dismissed."

The young officer nodded, then turned and left the room.

"Now, Professor Hurtun. I assume that you are here because something has gone wrong with the ship or your department."

"Yes, Madam President. Nanji Zwanzon has been retired. I am now the Dean of the University of Lovecraftian Science. As such, I felt it was my duty to bring this news to you. If we can speak in private, that would be appreciated."

There was a wave of muttering through the room. The Dean's retirement was news to all of them. For it to happen so suddenly, she must have done something particularly dangerous. And for the timing to coincide perfectly with the ships leaving the Void...

"Very well," said Midjel as she stood up. "Dr. Harper, I expect that you will likely have some contributions to this conversation. If you will come with us, we will adjourn to my office."

Harper nodded, standing and falling in behind her. Hurtun visibly shied away from the Psychiatrist, and didn't seem to happy about the man's inclusion in the conversation, but didn't object as they made their way to the adjoining room. Harper waited for Midjel to be seated, then sat down calmly, while Hurtun remained standing.

"Well then, Dean Hurtun. What did your colleague do to warrant so sudden a retirement?"

Paedru Hurtun composed himself, then hesitantly answered. "She... she installed some sort of device on the Hope's Void Drive. I can't figure out what it does, and she didn't know how to disable it. She said it would revolutionize Void travel, and allow us to travel at speeds at least a magnitude of order faster than what we can currently achieve. If it works. If not..." Hurtun really, really didn't want to mention this, but he knew that he had to. "...it might summon an Outer God. As far as I can tell, nothing went wrong this time, but we have no way of knowing if that was just a fluke or not."

Midjel's face paled, and even Doctor Harper's eyes widened slightly as he heard of what the former Dean had done.

"And when did this happen?" the President asked carefully.

"I found her installing it just before the Fleet entered Real Space. After I had her explain what she'd done, I called for the Psychiatrists. When it didn't blow up after the transition, I checked for any sign that it had done anything out of the ordinary, and then started trying to figure out what the thing was. It's... Frankly, ma'am, it's both incredible and insane. I don't dare do much to it, even remove it or disable it, because I have no idea what other changes she made to the Drive, but the runes on the thing... from what little I could figure out before I came here, it really could be revolutionary. Or it could be a disaster."

At this point, Harper spoke up. "As of this moment, the Therapists are examining Miss Zwanzon. It is far too early to tell, but simply from this report, I suspect that she will be declared Dangerously Unsound. Even if that is the case, I will ensure that she will be kept in the employ of the Fleet in an advisory role for at least as long as it takes for you to figure out what she has done to the ship. With her guidance, you should be able to detach the device with ease."

Hurtun's revulsion was clear, but he simply shook his head. "I don't think it'll be that easy. When we were talking, Nanji made it quite clear that she wasn't sure what the device was or how it worked."

"How exactly is that possible?" Flurenze broke in. "She made it. Surely she understands it."

Paedru shook his head again, finally sitting down. "It's not uncommon, in our field. We call it a Mindwrap. Researchers frequently find that they've written or designed something that they're sure is absolutely brilliant, if only they could understand it. You know what this stuff does to our minds after we've worked with it long enough. Well, that can happen in the short term, too. If one of us has been working nonstop for long enough, our mindset starts to shift. We find ourselves able to think in new ways, understand new ideas. Two plus two becomes three, and a square has five sides and three angles. While we're working on it, our mind's able to understand it. Afterwards, we lose that new perspective. Think of it this way. When you read a book, if you read it long enough, you forget that you're reading, and you feel like you're really there. Right? Well this is like that, only to an extreme degree. Professor Zwanzon was especially prone to periods like that. Normally, we have all kinds of safeguards in place to make sure that whatever the person is doing doesn't get turned on, or whatever. Especially with the Senior Professors, and absolutely anybody who has Tenure. I don't know how she got around all the security measures, but she was brilliant even when she was lucid. During a Mindwrap, she'd have been able to figure out tricks and turns that we never would have thought to block."

Throughout this speech, Dr. Harper's eyes never once left Paedru's, and the newly instated Dean was well beyond beginning to get nervous.

"So, what you're telling me, is that there's very little chance of our ever understanding what she's done?" Midjel asked.

"Oh, no. Not at all. We'll figure it out eventually. Well, probably. It's just that something like this won't be figured out overnight. It can take decades to understand what somebody did during a Mindwrap. You have to be careful, and get a firm grasp of every single underlying principle of the thing. Otherwise, you'll wind up able to understand it, but nobody else will be able to understand you. That's a big part of what makes the field so difficult. As it gets more and more developed, it takes a mind that's more and more warped to understand it. That's also the reason why so many of us try to become Others. It allows us to continue working in the field longer without going insane quite so fast."

Harper still hadn't blinked, and Hurtun was sweating now.

"So, it'll be decades before you've figured out what this thing is?"

"Probably, ma'am. I'll make it a top priority, and put some of our best Professors on it, but we won't be sure for a long time to come. It'll probably be a while before we can even take the thing off of the Void Drive. If we can take it off at all. They might be too heavily integrated to safely remove it. In which case... Well, it would be a really bad plan to turn it on until we understand it fully."

"In other words, the Hope may not be able to enter the Void again for decades," President Flurenze said dully.

"Well, not necessarily. It might be possible to just take out the Void Drive and put in another one. It would be tricky, and would depend heavily on what kind of work it's undergone over the centuries, but there's a slim chance it could happen. But in all probability, yes, the Hope will be grounded for a very long time."

"Very well. You are dismissed."

Hurtun nodded, turned, and left the room hastily, obviously eager to get away from the Psychiatrist's luminous gaze.

"Is he reliable?" Midjel asked the Psychiatrist after Hurtun had gone. "Do you think he's telling the truth, or is he lying to us for some reason? Or just wrong?"

"Professor Paedru Glen Hurtun. Made an Assistant Professor at the age of twenty-three, a full professor within a year. Committed his first murder at the age of thirty, during an argument with another Professor. Prone to violent outbreaks, and, though he doesn't consciously realize it, cannibalistic tendencies. He is fully lucid roughly ninety five percent of the time, and a raving lunatic the rest, but has no memory of the events during his outbursts" the Head Psychiatrist recited. "By all accounts, one of the most brilliant Professors in the University, even though he must be subdued frequently. He has, as far as my agents can determine, no ambitions beyond further research and experimentation. He may be exaggerating the severity of the matter so that he can justify greater study into a possibly revolutionary device, but, as far as I could determine, nothing he said was an outright fabrication. He believes that the device could be a major breakthrough, and he equally believes that a malfunction could summon an Outer God. My professional recommendation is that you take his advice in most matters regarding the University. As for Dean Zwanzon's ability to circumvent our security measures, the Nurses are already looking into it. Unfortunately, as Dean Hurtun said, a Professor in a Mindwrap would be able to come up with answers we would never even think to ask the questions to. The security cameras and bugs might have something, but I cannot say with any degree of certainty that we will ever find how she managed to build her device and install it without my people so much as realizing she was in a Mindwrap. However, I doubt that we will have such a problem as this again. That she maintained the presence of mind to try and circumvent the security measures, rather than absently building the thing and plugging it in, is highly unusual, and probably due to the fact that she was in a 'wrap almost as often as she was out of one, by this point. She'd have gotten almost used to it."

Midjel sighed. "Well, I suppose that's the best we can do. I'd like to establish better security measures, but if we don't even know what to protect against, I can't really figure out how, short of putting a twenty-four hour guard over all essential equipment. And we have far too much 'essential' equipment for that to be a viable option."

"Indeed," said Harper, standing to leave. "If you have need of me, I am always at your disposal, Madam President, but I have other business which I must attend to."

Flurenze waved her hand. "No, that's fine. Go do whatever it is you need to. I've got things to take care of, too, I suppose. And if I don't, I will soon enough.