Garrus adjusted the mirror. For a moment, he paused, staring at his reflection. He did not remember when he had gotten so old. It seemed like just yesterday he had been a young C-Sec agent patrolling the streets and corridors of the Citadel. In truth, that had been almost a quarter of a century ago. Even the substantial scars on the right side of his face were starting to fade.

Had he been asked where he thought he would be at this point in his life back when he was young, he would hardly even have been able to answer. At some points he could even remember thinking that it did not matter, that with the looming threat of the Reapers, he would never even get this old. Now he looked down at what he had become and adjusted his Councilor’s robes, wondering if he had made the right choices.

After considering his reflection for the better part of a minute, Garrus picked up a small and excessively florid container of white paint.

“Damn it,” he said, opening it. “I hate the face paint.”

“Well, you have to wear it. This is important.” From behind him, Falere appeared beside Garrus’s reflection. Her face paint had already been applied with complete disregard for the narrow lines of Reaper implants that ran across parts of her face- -and because of that, seemed to inadvertently accentuate them.

“I don’t think it’s really necessary,” said Garrus, turning around and facing the asari Councilor. “I mean, would I really want to cover up this amazing face?”

Falere lifted one of her hands to her mouth to disguise the fact that she was giggling like a much younger girl. “Here,” she said, pulling off one of her gloves. Garrus looked down at her hand as she picked up the canister of paint, and saw that her fingers were coated with the framework of even more implants. They ran throughout her body, hidden beneith her bulky robes. She dipped her fingers into the material and reached up to put it onto Garrus’s face.

“Honestly,” she said. “Your lack of decorum is astounding. I have no idea how you won two terms.”

“I didn’t even run the second time.”

“Stop bragging. With my reelection fund, I could have retired quite lavishly.”

“I’m not bragging. I was hoping to retire. Not all of us can look as good as you do in our old age.”

“Oh, please. I’m barely three hundred. I’m by no means ‘old’.”

“Well, if you end up looking as good as your mother does…”

“You will have passed ten generations by the time I am even close to Samara’s age.”

“Ten? You don’t know the Vakarians. We’ll manage at least fifteen.”

Garrus reached up and gently closed his fingers around Falere’s wrist. Falere looked at him with understanding- -and sadness.

“Garrus,” she said, pulling her hand away. “Don’t. You know we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, it would possibly be the greatest scandal in Council history. Second, you would die.”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

“Doubtful. What with the scars and all.”

“We can at least try.”

Falere shook her head and stepped back. “No. You just want what you can’t have. Believe me, I am no stranger to frustration.” She smiled mischievously. “Of course, as a substitute, perhaps you could attempt to seduce Council Kalejen?”

Garrus blinked, and then uncontrollably imagined the salarian Councilor naked. He nearly smudged his facepaint as he reached for his mouth as he attempted desperately to prevent himself from vomiting.

“Don’t even joke about that!” he cried as Falere giggled.

There was a sudden tone as the door to the room slid open. A narrow-bodied female turian stepped in, her eyes focused on a datapad.

“Valena!” cried Garrus. “Don’t you ever knock!”

“Why would I need to knock?” asked Garrus’s secretary, barely looking up at him over whatever it was she was reading. “What could you two possibly be doing in here that would warrant knocking?”

“Well, you know- -”

“Yes, I do know. And I would strongly advise against that. Because I’m really not in the mood to be cleaning up bodies right now.”

“Is the disposal of corpses part of your normal duties?” asked Falere, hastily reaching for her headdress.

“You have no idea, Councilor.”

“She’s joking,” explained Garrus.

“I should hope so.”

“Councilors,” said Valena, looking up from her notes. “Might I remind you that the ambassador from Equestria is due to arrive in less than thirty minutes? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how critical this meeting is. We don’t want a repeat of what happened five years ago.”

“Right,” said Garrus, shifting his attitude to one of greater gravitas. “I know, Valena. I know.”

The events of what had come to be called the Agrostation Six Incursion were still hazy, even after five years. What was known- -at least generally- -was that a fleet of alien spacecraft from the Equestrian Empire had positioned themselves within sighting distance of the Citadel in orbit around an abandoned agricultural research planet in the Serpent Nebula. The Council Fleet had been taken by surprise, but engaged them. After a tense standoff, the Equestrian fleet eventually retreated, teleporting back to their home galaxy. War had been averted- -but only barely.

More recently, though, new information had come to light. Scans of the Equestrian craft had been analyzed in secret, and the salarian scientists had all come to the same conclusion. Although Equestrian technology was impenetrably different from anything known in Council space, the researchers had been able to determine that the Equestrian flagship had been in possession of a devastating weapon of untold destructive capacity. There was some debate among the scientists, but many agreed: if that weapon had been turned onto the Citadel, it would have been destroyed in a single blow.

This new information, of course, was kept secret from the general population. Keeping the existence of the Equestrian Empire a secret, though, was impossible. They were an entirely new kind of threat. The Reapers had been mysterious and lethal, but the ponies were something different. They were an empire of galactic proportion with technology anticipated to be far beyond any that had been previously encountered- -but unlike the Reapers, they could be reasoned with.

It had been difficult at first, but though years of quiet negotiations, Garrus and Falere had been able to open diplomatic channels that in time widened and grown until the Equestrian Empire had finally decided to open talks concerning the possibility of codifying the Empire’s relationship with the Council. As such, they were sending an ambassador.

Now Garrus found himself strangely nervous as he descended the Citadel in yet another elevator. He had been through much worse than this, and he knew that. He had faced mercenaries, criminals, faceless Cerberus soldiers, and even Reapers- -but those were easy. He just had to shoot straight and follow Commander Shepard’s lead. This was different, and somehow more terrifying.

“Don’t be nervous,” said Falere, looking out from beneath her hood.

“Nervous? I’m not nervous. Not at all. Why would anyone be nervous that even a tiny perceived insult could lead to a breakdown in negotiations and hostility toward a technologically overpowered, warlike civilization? Nervous! HA!”

Falere put a gloved hand on Garrus’s shoulder. “Just don’t think about it. You’re Garrus Vakarian. Besides, when you fail, I’ll be right here to help you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You're welcome.” Falere released Garrus and looked out one of the windows of the elevator as they crossed upward toward one of the higher docking bays. “So,” she said. “The ambassador. What do we know about him?”

“Her. Equestria has a matriarchal society. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“They have comparatively few males, so their hierarchy runs like the salarians in reverse. I mean, from what I gather.”

“Ah. So you are just inferring, then. They didn’t tell you anything.”

“Of course not. I have no idea what to expect.” Garrus sighed. “I was not made for this. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“So, no different from usual, then.”

The elevator came to a stop, and the door opened. Falere stepped out, and Garrus followed. The corridor they entered was far cleaner than much of the Citadel, and a pair of fully armored turian guards were standing on either side of the elevator. They fell into step behind Garrus and Falere. Their purpose was largely ceremonial, but Garrus could not help but find himself hoping that they did not become a necessity.

As they rounded a corner to approach the landing bay, Garrus felt his mandibles tighten. There was a commotion occurring outside. The problems had already begun.

A small group had gathered outside, and even from a distance, Garrus could tell that one of them was wearing Councilor’s robes. The salarian Councilor appeared to be berating what Garrus first took to be a hanar cosplaying as Blasto- -until he realized that the armor and weapons that the hanar was wearing were a little too realistic to be a costume.

“What is this?” asked Garrus, feeling the strain in his voice for having to deal with something like this so early in the process.

“Councilor Vakarian,” said Kalejen, her salarian voice accelerated by her frustration to a cadence that made her words almost completely indecipherable. “This day just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

“Respected Councilor Vakarian,” said the hanar, tilting in the air toward Garrus. His tentacles were fully armored, but Garrus noticed that he was missing at least one of them. “This one greets you with deepest respect. Respect is also given to the asari Councilor Falere.”

“Don’t try to pretend that you’re some polite citizen, mercenary,” snapped Kalejen. Her salarian guards gripped their weapons more tightly, and Garrus saw the hands of his own guards moving toward their pistols. “This THING is attempting to enter the secured area, and it won’t LEAVE.”

“This one politely recommends that the salarian Councilor take her perturbation and shove it smartly into her cloaca. She should not have great difficulty with such a task as the orifice in question has been stretched by excessive use.”

It took every ounce of Garrus’s willpower not to burst out laughing. Falere pretended to cough. Kalejen just looked flabbergasted and sputtered for several seconds.

“How- -how DARE YOU! I am a COUNCILOR! I will have you- -”

“This one assumed that free speech was a fundamental right asserted by the Council. Or is the ‘honorable’ Councilor Kalejen attempting to pass yet another censorship bill?”

“Stop,” said Garrus. He turned toward the hanar. “What’s your name?”

“This one is called Si’y.”

“That isn’t even a proper Hanar name!” shrieked Kalejen, still reeling from the cloaca joke.

“Second question,” said Garrus. He pointed at the largest of the numerous weapons attatched to the hanar’s armor. “Is that an M-920 Cain?”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“And why do you have that?”

“In case this one needs it.”

Kalejen looked to Garrus, expecting him to chastise the bizarrely outfitted hanar for having a weapon that could fire a ballistic projectile with the force of a small nuclear warhead. Instead, Garrus just shrugged. “Fair enough. A particle beam would be better indoors, though.”

“Agreed, save for the poor efficiency of ammunition processing.”

“Councilor- -”

Garrus ignored Kalejen. “So, why are you here, Si’y?”

“I have been hired to serve as personal guard to the Equestrian ambassador.”

The three Councilors blinked. “Um…what?”

The hanar repeated himself patiently- -or perhaps just sounding patient because of the limitations of his optical-to-speech conversion system. “This one’s organization was contacted by the ambassador in advance, and this one was selected to serve as a bodyguard. This one has receipts.” He lifted a tentacle and opened an omnitool. Garrus’s own omnitool vibrated to indicate that it had received a message.

“That’s absurd!” cried Kalejen. “You can’t expect us to believe that an ambassador actually contacted some filthy mercenary, or that she was foolish enough to select a HANAR for the purpose!” She looked up at Garrus. “This is clearly part of some coordinated attack! He plans to attack the ambassador!”

“By walking in the front door?” asked Falere. “And no simply by killing the three Councilors right now?”

Garrus opened his omnitool and briefly reviewed the information the hanar had given him. It was not terribly clear or obvious, which meant that it came down to a judgement call. He paused for a moment, and then looked up at the guards beside the door. “Let him in.”

“Councilor! You- -you can’t be serious!”

“I’m not going to risk not delivering the ambassador one of her employees.”

“And if he attempts to kill her?”

“Then I will end him,” said Falere, simply.

“You? Just because you have asari biotic powers- -”

“Kalejen,” said Garrus. “Do you even know what an Ardat Yakshi is?”

“Of course I am aware of the Councilor’s unfortunate medical situation.”

“Then you know that she could compress this hanar and every weapon on his body into a singularity with a single thought. I’ve seen her do it.” That last part was a lie; Falere was a remarkably calm person. The effect on Kalejen, however, was exactly what he expected.

“I can’t allow you to do this!”

“Should we put it to a vote?” Garrus raised his hand. Falere smiled at him, and then raised hers. “Ooh. Outvoted. Sorry. Shortest Council session ever.”

Kalejen continued to sputter and fume as Garrus pushed past her. The guards opened the door, and he personally let the hanar float in. Falere followed, keeping her eyes mostly on the hanar.

The building itself was far at the end of the Citadel, close to its primary opening and directly opposing the Presidum Ring. As such, it had an excellent view both of the other nearby Citadel buildings- -mostly docks and transport stations, but with a few offices and several high-rent residential structures in the distance- -but also of the space beyond the end of the Citadel. Being built inside a nebula, the white mists and forming stars of the space beyond were unique and beautiful. Garrus had specifically chosen this area for the view- -on both sides. That, and because instead of flying through the Citadel to reach one of the inner docks, the ambassador could be taken on a tour immediatly as they returned to the higher regions where she would be staying.

It was only a few minutes before Garrus’s omnitool alerted him to an incoming communication. He opened it, and saw that the ambassador had just transmitted word that she was preparing to arrive. Outside, Garrus directed his attention to an area of space that had been cordoned off from freighters and smaller personal craft. This had been set up in advance due to the fact that Equestrian craft did not use mass relays. They used a different and unfamiliar method of producing long-distance travel.

Then, outside, there was a sudden burst of yellow-white light. Space distorted slightly, and a craft suddenly appeared.

“So they actually do that,” said Kalejen, immediately forgetting the incident before. “They really do teleport.”

Garrus ignored her, and looked to the guards. They nodded, and he signaled through his omnitool that they were prepared for arrival. The message was no doubt relayed to the pony spacecraft, because it immediately began moving toward their position.

As it grew closer, its shape became more obvious. Its appearance was actually somewhat striking. It was almost entirely flat, with a thin and rounded fuselage connected to a pair of swept-back wings. It looked almost like an atmospheric aircraft rather than a space vessel. Most unusual about it, though, was its complete lack of surface features. The entire ship was constructed seamlessly from rounded, white material with two chrome streaks on the top and bottom.

The craft gracefully navigated around the freighters, twisting through space as it drew closer and closer to its destination. Then, once it was in position, it turned itself sideways into a vertical position, which for all Garrus knew was the way it was intended to travel. It slowly moved itself into position next to the docking tower and slowed. As it did, Garrus noticed that Falere reached up for her forehead, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. Their ship…it just feels…I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Don’t freeze up now, asari,” hissed Kalejen, as if the pony ambassador could hear her complaining.

Garrus watched as a docking tube extended, connecting to a port near the rear of the Equestrian ship. For a moment he wondered if the universal seal would even work on such an alien ship, but it seemed to connect, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Should we quarantine them or something?” asked Kalejen, leaning toward Garrus. “What if they have diseases?”

“We used to let humans on the Citadel,” said Falere. “I don’t think they could possibly carry more infection than them.”

As she said it, Garrus heard the outer door to the security airlock close. There was a hiss as the air shifted, and then a second click as the inner door opened.

“Here we go,” he said to himself, adjusting his annoyingly high-threadcount robes compulsively.

The door opened with a hiss, and three ponies stepped down the ramp into the room. The one in the center, Garrus reasoned, was the ambassador: an all-white unicorn pony with long, styled blue hair and an almost excessively ornate dress glittering with expensive fabric and gemstones. At her left was a lankier white unicorn mare wearing a similarly beautiful but otherwise completely different dress. On her right was a tall winged pony- -something Garrus had not actually seen before- -who was also completely white but with glaring red eyes. She was dressed in something that appeared to have been made to match the dresses of the other two, but that was far more practical to wear.

The winged mare stepped forward and appeared to inspect the delegation. “Announcing Ambassador Rarity, and her sister Sweetie Belle,” she said.

Rarity smiled, apparently enjoying the attention, and stepped off the ramp. She herself looked around the room, and Garrus saw that her expression changed just slightly as she inspected the room full of aliens.

“Ambassador,” said Kalejen, stepping ahead of the others. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Council Space, and to our Citadel.”

Rarity looked up at the salarian- -even with Kalejen being comparatively short, ponies were still barely half a meter tall at the shoulder- -and she seemed somewhat surprised at the quick-speaking creature approaching her.

“Oh my,” she said in a slightly accented voice. “You wouldn’t happen to be Councilor Garrus, would you?”

“No,” said Garrus, stepping forward. “That would be me.”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “Oh…oh my.”

“You’re so shiny,” said the lankier teenage unicorn at Rarity’s side.

“Sweetie Belle!” hissed Rarity. She addressed the Councilors. “If you could, please forgive my younger sister. I brought her along to attempt to expose her to greater galactic culture, but she seems not to grasp the full intricacy of diplomatic discourse.”

“I was just pointing out a fact,” said Sweetie Belle, sounding annoyed.

“She was,” said Garrus. “I am shiny. I guess. It’s not something people normally point out, but I guess I’ll take it as a compliment.” Garrus gestured toward Kalejen. “This is Councilor Kalejen, of the salarians. I am Garrus Vakarian, turian.” He pointed behind him to where Falere was waiting patiently. She smiled kindly. “And this is Councilor Falare, asari.”

“It is an honor to finally meet an emissary of the elusive Equestrian Empire,” said Falare. “And if I may say so, the gemstones in your headdress are quite stunning.”

Rarity’s eyes seemed to sparkly. “Why, thank you! I actually have a similar set that I brought as gifts. I can work some of them into a similar piece, if you like…although perhaps something in ruby?”

“Ambassador,” said Garrus. “We certainly didn’t want to imply that you needed to bring gifts.”

“Oh, please call me Rarity, Councilor. And don’t be ridiculous! First impressions are of the absolute utmost importance, and I certainly want this historical event to get off to a good start!”

“Yeah,” said Sweetie Belle. “ And if the negotiations break down and we’re forced to carpet-bomb your homeworlds, at least you’ll have presents!”

Rarity looked at her sister aghast, and the white Pegasus cleared her throat.

“Madame Ambassador,” she said. “Forgive my intrusion, but we still need to give attention to your security detail.”

“Oh yes!” Rarity looked out at the crowd. “I called in advance. It is my personal belief that it is absolutely essential to shop local, and to have somepony- -excuse me, I mean ‘somebody’- -who understands the local culture.”

“So she hired a mercenary,” said Sweetie Belle.

The hanar Si’y pushed past a slightly ashamed looking Kalejen. Rarity looked at him, momentarily not sure what she was actually looking at.

“Honorable Ambassador Rarity of Equestria,” he said, bowing awkwardly. “This one is the mercenary that has been requested. The face-name of this one is Si’y.” He reached out with one armored tentacle and gently lifted Rarity’s front hoof. He knelt down- -or as close as a hovering creature could come to kneeling- -and gestured as though he were kissing it, a horribly corny gesture that looked like something out of an old human film. “And might this one add that it was not expecting a creature of such beauty and poise to be its employer, if only on a temporary basis. It will take great pleasure in serving such a pony in anything that she requires.”

Rarity blushed, and Sweetie Belle suppressed some mild laughter. “You certainly understand proper politeness,” she said. “I can only assume that you are at least equally effective in combat?”

“The kill count of this one is most impressive indeed.”

“Good.” Rarity pointed at the winged pony. “You will report to O17F. She will coordinate you with my other guards.”

“You have more?” asked Kalejen.

“Oh, of course. But I didn’t want to come out of the ship with them, that would be simply discourteous.” She looked up at the salarian and turian guards and caught herself. “Of course, it’s okay that you’re doing it.”

“We simply wanted to make sure that you were kept safe,” said Falere, deflecting the criticism. “Your wellbeing is important to us. And, of course, I am sorry to admit that we are not terribly familiar with pony biology, so if any of our conditions are not to your liking…”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage,” said Rarity, trotting more comfortably out amongst the Councilors. “The height of everything might take some getting used to, though. I had no idea that aliens would be so…tall.”

Garrus gestured toward the door. “You know, we had a tour planned, if you’re interested.”

“Unless the Ambassador is tired from her journey and would like to retire early,” snapped Kalejen. She had never been a fan of the idea of a tour, or of the ambassador seeing or being seen by the citizens of the Citadel. She claimed it introduced too many undefined variables.

“A tour?” said Sweetie Belle. She suddenly seemed interested in what was going on around her. “With free samples, maybe? Of, like, food?”

“We have a reception planned,” said Kalejen. “You can eat there.”

“And if you don’t like that,” said Garrus, “I can have my secretary take you out later. She knows where all the best restaurants are. And believe me, Valena definitely needs to get out more.”

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t want you to carpet bomb Palaven, would I?”

Sweetie Belle winced, realizing that she had badly misspoke in mentioning that. Her response was good, though, because it meant she knew. Garrus could not help but relate to that; he had felt exactly the same way early on in his political career.

Still, the threat was still nagging. Garrus could not stop thinking about the semi-mythical planet-destroying cannon that the Equestrians were supposed to have, waiting and prepared to be teleported into position at any moment. The ponies had a unique tactical advantage, and this was not a fight that he could win by brute force and raw firepower. It had to be won with words and negotiations, and Garrus felt himself wishing Shepard were beside him. That had always been his real strength, but at the same time had always been something Garrus had lacked.

“Well?” said Rarity. “Shall we go, then?”

“Yes,” said Garrus. He was once again glad of the fact that turians could not sweat, because at least he could pretend not to be terrified. “Of course.”

As Rarity began her tour of the various features of the Citadel carefully selected to show off the most ideal and prosaic view of life in Council Space, the Serpent Nebula mass relay suddenly activated. In its corresponding observations stations, the workers took note of the activation. Unscheduled use of the mass relay was not abnormal; vessels came and went almost constantly, whether they were private craft, transports, traders or military vehicles. One of the workers, however, noticed an inconsistency: whatever craft was coming through bore no standard IFF.

Before she could alert her superiors, she looked out the observation window at the relay and saw the flash of light as a ship emerged from it- -and immediately she knew that something was wrong.

The ship- -if it could even be called that, as it more closely resembled a spiny collection of crystal- -was badly damaged, trailing flecks of crystal and a coronal trail of discharging energy as it flew inconsistently and shakily at immensely high speed.

Almost as soon as it exited, the craft slammed into the side of a superfreighter. The asari worker winced, expecting to now have to deal with administering an emergency rescue and recovery. As she watched, though, the crystalline ship simply cut through the freighter as though it were barely even there, creating a long gouge down its side.

She immediately opened a communications channel on all frequencies.

“Unidentified ship, you are travelling too fast for your present trajectory! Identify yourself immed- -”

The ship responded, but what came back was not words so much as a distorted assortment of overamplified tones and screeching that nearly deafened the asari. She immediately changed the channel. “Commander, we have a problem.”

The mass of crystal plunged through space, trailing debris and smoke behind it as it exceeded the top speed of most smaller vessels. On the surface of the Citadel, the defensive turrets activated and their operators suddenly went into high alert.

“Attention unidentified craft,” said the main Citadel landing coordinator, transmitting again on all frequencies and finding himself hardly able to believe the information he was receiving from the relay observation tower. “Turn back and prepare to accept escort. Any further approach will result in your immediate destruction REPEAT your IMMEDIATE DESTRUCTION.”

The ship ignored him, not even slowing. He had no choice but to authorize the use of lethal force.

The turrets fired, sending their computer-targeted projectiles through the crowd of gathering ships waiting to land and into the hull of the crystal object. The object responded by generating a solid blue field of energy around itself. The first barrage was absorbed harmlessly, but halfway through the second the shield cracked and shattered. The ship attempted evasive maneuvers, but several of the mass projectiles struck its remaining stabilization pylons and it veered off course, falling into a spiral as it continued to approach the Citadel.

Onboard, an alert went out for an imminent impact. Garrus had already received word of the situation and of a possible incursion through his omnitool and was about to rush the ambassador to safety when the klaxon sounded. The region they had been passing through was a historical residential district, and although the individual blast shields on the residences slammed closed, the large bay windows along the hallway were old and had not yet been retrofitted to the new standards. Garrus was able to watch as a glittering blue-pink object dropped from above, slamming into several buildings with incredible force and bouncing as it was deflected downward.

When it finally reached the floor of the Citadel, it hit the ground with enough force to knock the nearby pedestrians off balance from the vibration. The object bounced several times, rolling as its spines dug into and penetrated the material below. Garrus held onto the window, watching in horror as atmosphere began to vent through the holes it produced. Crashes were not unheard of, but the speed that this object had hit was far greater than anything Garrus had ever witnessed.

Then, finally, it came to rest. The alarm continued to sound, and lights were flashing. The others around Garrus seemed stunned, but even after almost twenty five years Garrus felt his instincts kick in.

“You,” he said, pointing at one of the turian guards. “Secure the ambassador! Get her and the others out of here!”

The guard looked stunned for a moment, as did the others. They had frozen. Of all the well-trained turian and salarian guards present, the only one who actually reacted was the mercenary hanar.

“Madame Ambassador,” he said. “And her sister Sweetie Belle, you need to come with this one. It is no longer safe here.”

Rarity did not seem to listen. Instead, she walked toward the window. When she saw the damage, her eyes widened.

“No,” she whispered, stepping back and shaking her head. “No no no….not here, not now!”

“Ambassador, this one recommends that you do not view the carnage- -”

“You!” said Rarity, shouting up at Garrus with a level of authority that actually left him slightly taken aback. “Don’t let anypony approach that vessel! Don’t let them even get NEAR it!”

“Ambassador,” said Kalejen, overcoming her shock at having actually witnessed real carnage for once in her life. “We have procedures in place for this- -”

“You do not understand! That is a Crystal Empire long-range fighter, and as long as it’s in one piece, it’s still active and more dangerous than anything you primitives have ever even THOUGHT OF!”

“Ambassador,” snapped Garrus, “what about its crew? You can’t expect us to just leave them!” He made the point largely out of annoyance at being called a ‘primitive’. After an impact like that, nothing could have survived.

“Crystal vessels are unmared- -they don’t have pilots!” Rarity looked Garrus in the eye. “Garrus, please, I know this isn’t something you would understand, but you have to trust me on this. The Crystals- -”

“Garrus,” said Falare, putting her hand to her earpiece. “A commando unit in the area has already responded. You are not going to believe this- -but they’ve recovered something that they believe to be a survivor.”