“You’re not serious.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Sophie stated simply, coming to a stop before the massive wooden doors at the end of the hallway. “Go back to Hennessey and Ramirez. I can handle this myself.”

The fire in Zero’s eyes didn’t fade, not even a little, but Sophie could tell the Director was reeling it in. The grimace on her face was pushed back, leaving an expression that matched the prosthetic making up most of her left cheek, and her nostrils flared slightly. “Is that an order?” she asked quietly.

Sophie raised her eyebrows.

Zero blinked, and took a step back. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Keep your people in check. We are all friends here.”

If Zero wanted to say something else, she elected not to, because she simply turned and trotted back down the red-carpeted hallway. Frustration wafted off of her like steam escaping from a kettle.

Sophie sighed, and faced the doors once more. The panels were intricately hand-carved, displaying scenes from a history that she remembered well - a hand holding a tuning fork up high; the snaking tendrils of a plague that she was all too familiar with; the visage of a planet covered in fissure lines, meeting its premature demise, almost staring back at her. The Empire had survived much, and they would survive what was to come. Another 600 years was nothing with the life she’d led.

She took a deep breath, and pushed the door open to allow herself in.

The room on the other side was, as always, absolutely breathtaking. Columns hewn from the finest marble, windows with stained panes that allowed the natural light of Earth’s sun to filter through, the majestic slab of dark, jagged rock with a smoothed top serving as the table...could a dining room ask for more?

She took her seat to one side, gazing across over the centrepiece - an overflowing cornucopia - at the man opposite. “I hope you’re hungry.”

He smiled and shifted in his own seat, the light from outside dancing across his unnaturally pale, almost transparent skin. “Of course, your Excellency. What’re we having?”

“Please, no titles. And we’re having something quite exquisite today. Tell me, have you had a chance to visit the colony on Mars?”

His thin fingers drummed on the stone, superficial veins pulsing slightly. “Can’t say I have.”

“They engineer the most scrumptious lobsters.”

Another door opened, and a waiter in a black vest emerged, two plates balanced on one arm and a bottle of wine in the crook of the other. He stepped briskly and swiftly, the clap clap clap of his shoes filling the silence. He first placed down the bottle, then a plate in front of each of them, before returning to uncork the wine.

As dark red filled her glass, Sophie’s eyes turned to the lobster splayed out on the dish before her, its pincers facing away and most of its exoskeleton spread open to reveal slices of off-white, still-writhing flesh covered in a red-and-green marinade. A pair of metal chopsticks lowered themselves to the table beside her, and she eagerly took them, placing their tips just over the edge of the lobster shell.

“Exquisite sounds like the right word.” The man clicked his chopsticks together, picking up a thin piece that was a shade not unlike that of his hand.

Clap clap clap. The door closed without a sound.

“Do you think the Firestarter tried this stuff when he was on Mars?” she asked, picking up her own piece, watching it twitch uselessly in her grip.

Just past the raw lobster, something flashed in the Diplomat’s eyes. “We...operate independently. Thought you would’ve figured that out by now.”

She nodded, and lowered the lobster onto her tongue, softly biting down on it. Buttery as tomalley, with a bit of tartness from the marinade, and just as cold as the dead. Even having them for probably the hundredth time, Sophie knew she wouldn’t bore of the experience any time soon. Grotesque, but delicious.

She gulped it down. “You said you wanted to negotiate?”

The Diplomat tilted his head. “I think it’d be in the best interests of both the Empire and Division Six.”

“There is no Division Six.”

“But that’s what you call us, right?” He slid another lobster slice into his mouth, slipping it down his throat like one would an oyster.

“A proper name is preferable.” Sophie pursed her lips.

The Diplomat shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you call us. We’re here and we’re not going anywhere.”

“In that case, why not contact the Chancellor? You must realise my position is constitutional and nothing more.”

“Oh, but it isn’t is it?” A smile crept onto his lips. “I’ve seen your internal auditors, Empress. Not very constitutional, I don’t think.”

Sophie exhaled sharply. “What do you want?”

“Like I said, to negotiate.” He grabbed another piece from his plate. “The Chancellor is a stubborn man. Continues to resist even after he’s already lost, whether he knows it or not. But it’s fruitless. It’s just errant impulses in dead meat.”

“What...do you want?” she repeated, eyes locked on his.

The Diplomat chuckled, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You’ve seen the Veil, yes?”

“The supersoldier project?”

“Much more than that. Organic bodies but with cybernetic augmentations, made completely from scratch. Piloted by recyclable consciousnesses, if you let us. You know what that means?”

Sophie shrugged. “Go on.”

“Paraphysics potential. With human minds and a technically human physiology, the pilots will be able to cast. Quite well too, if the bodies are tweaked for it.”

“And yet you seem to be waiting on something. Your people don’t usually wait.”

The Diplomat wrinkled his nose. “Most people are incompatible. They reject the new reality just as your Chancellery rejects our help. Our minds are very fascinating in that way.”

Sophie put down her chopsticks. Her lobster had stopped struggling. “So now you want our soldiers.”

“Not all your soldiers, obviously. Those who are crippled or traumatised, but still want to serve. The ones with nothing to lose. We’ll be making their dreams come true.” He smiled, chewing. “Yours too, in a way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about me?”

“I know you never wanted this damned life,” he scoffed. “I know you had no choice, that the alternative was just everything collapsing back into anarchy. Too many codependent, interlinked systems and no unifying force is one hell of a mess.”

She said nothing.

“But with us…” The smile was now a grin. “...you have security. You have an insurance policy, I’d say. As long as you’ve lived, it only takes one successful attempt on your life before the Empire goes right back into limbo again. The Chancellor may be stubborn, but he’s not you. The idea of him doesn’t enforce the masses as well.”

“I do plan to have heirs,” Sophie said quietly.

“We don’t doubt that. Even after you’re gone we’ll be there for them. It may be hard to believe, but we seriously care about the Empire staying intact.”

“And if I say no?” she asked, her damp palm gliding across the stone of the table.

“Then eventually you will say yes. You’ve seen what we can do. It’s inevitable that your containment procedures will fail, or you’ll run into another empire that tries to enslave you, or the squids finally manage to wipe all of you out with their little virus. When those things do happen, would you rather be negotiating or prepared?”

“Theoretically,” she said slowly, “you could also cause or accelerate those events. So really, I have no choice but to say yes.”

“Everyone has a choice,” the Diplomat said, slurping up the last of his lobster. “Sometimes there just aren’t any good ones.”

Sophie frowned. “Would you say you are...enjoying this?”

He picked up his wine, and took a sip. “This isn’t about me. It’s about how much you’re willing to give up for the future of the human race.”

Just errant impulses. “...any other terms you want to espouse?”

“Just one more. The research from your ministries and their divisions. An occasional compendium would be welcome, and the results would trickle down as they come.”

She gripped the wooden arms of the chair. “Oh my. You make a compelling case.”

The Diplomat smiled, knowing full well she never had a chance. None of them had. But then again, how did one say no in such circumstances?

Grotesque, but useful.

“Arrangements will be made,” Sophie said, reeling her own frown back.

“I’m sure they will be.” The Diplomat picked at the marinade remaining in his dish whilst gazing at hers. “Lost your appetite, Empress?”

“Actually, you caught me just after a meal.” She straightened her back. No time for weakness now. “How do you feel about dessert?”

“I’d stay, but I doubt I’m allowed to answer any question you would be asking.” He stood up, his chair scraping backwards with an unceremonious grating.

“How do I contact this, Division Six?”

“You don’t. We’ll contact you.” He flashed another grin, and then he was walking off to the side of the room, towards the staff door he had undoubtedly used to enter initially. She watched as he opened it, stepped through, and let it slam shut behind himself. The noise it made against the frame echoed against the vaulted ceiling above, lingering in the air just as the bad taste in her mouth.

Footsteps, again, but this time, they came from behind the pillar to her back. The overhead lights began to flicker, and even the sunlight coming through the stained glass seemed a little dimmer than it had been. “You caught all of that?” she asked, putting her chopsticks down obliquely across her plate.

“Clear as day,” the soft-spoken man said, silently moving down to stand by her side. Wisps of something that ate the light right out of the very room itself trailed off of his two-piece suit, visible to nobody but her. “Next step, ma’am?”

She traced one of the wisps with her gaze, watching it hungrily flicker upwards towards one of the ceiling lights before vanishing. “Are the staff okay?”

“A couple of injuries, no deaths. All the security who tried to stop him.”

She nodded, and looked up at the man’s pale, sunken features - all the effects of the bestowal of a power she had taken by force. “He didn’t see you at least.”

“I would have felt it. So no, he did not.”

“A pity. I was expecting some godlike showcase of power. Not simple threats over food.”

“I assume you have a plan, ma’am?”

“I’ll need someone who can dissect with no qualms. Maybe from the Wormwood team. Tell Minister Dewar he’s clear to fire.”

“To…fire?”

“We’re going to need a body to dissect, figure out what he is and what his people are. He probably has a ship. Shoot it down and let it crash.”

The man gave a slight bow, and as he stepped back, the dark wisps swallowed him up, leaving nothing behind. The room was good and bright again. Sophie turned her gaze back to her plate, and the beginnings of a smile crept into the corners of her lips as she watched the pieces of raw lobster still twitching. Any other flesh might have fallen dead and still by this point, but the lobster was specifically modified to keep living. To keep fighting. Sickening for some, but she liked that about it. The Diplomat was right about one thing: she hated this life, this role, and everything it meant to keep humanity together. It haunted her for the longest time and divided her from what she had always envisioned for herself and her children. And yet, for all that he thought he knew, he was wrong about how she felt.

People like him made it easy enough.