The officers’ lounge hung quiet and empty, tables bare, automated bartender silent in one darkened corner. The doctor finished her drink among laughs and the straggling ends of traded tales, then quietly said her goodbyes and slipped off for the night. Dimitrov grinned at Tessa, and she grinned back, but it didn’t stay. In the silence, Ben downed the rest of his glass, stood, stretched.

“Well, I’m going to head back.” He grinned, gently squeezed Tessa’s shoulder. “You coming?”

“Yeah, in a little bit.” She smiled softly, made a weak gesture. “I’ll catch up.”

Dimitrov hesitated, concern touching his features. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just,” She smiled softly back. “I’m just going to take a few minutes here. It’s quiet.” She reached out, squeezed his hand gently. “It’s not you. I just need to be alone with my thoughts, that’s all.”

“I understand.” He smiled back gently, kissed her cheek. “I have a handful of maintenance reports I should look over anyway. Take as much time as you need.”

“Thanks, Ben.” She laughed quietly, ironically. “You really are perfect.”

“No more perfect than you.” He smiled again. “See you in a little bit.”

And then he was gone, and Tessa was left in the semi darkness, the hanging silence, hands wrapped around her glass. Thought came blank as she sighed, closed her eyes, but the silence in her mind was almost as welcome as the silence that hung on around her in the lounge. For a long moment she just sat there, soaked herself in it, relaxed into the cool nothingness and let her mind hang blank in the pause.

“Major Eisenherz.” A voice dropped into the silence, rich and dark, feminine, yet deep and regal, a voice Tessa recognized even before she opened her eyes– Admiral Blavatsky.

“Admiral,” Tessa blinked, gestured. “I was just finishing my drink. Please, have a seat.” Blavatsky grinned back, sat, steepled her fingers in front of her.

“What are you having? Anything good?”

“Nah, just a little pick me up, weak booze, weak coffee, a little sweetener.” She glanced at the glass, the tiny edge of creamy tan still lingering there. “They call it a ‘Kona Canoe’.”

“I see.” The admiral nodded silently, smiled again. “So tell me, Major, what do you think of our new rig?”

“Hard to say.” Tessa set the glass down, met the admiral’s eyes easily, tentatively. “It’s gorgeous, amazing, incredible– the technology looks and seems sound, but,” She shook her head. “Until I’ve got it out in the black and flying, I won’t sign off on the order for it.”

“Understandable.” Came Blavatsky’s simple response. “You are a person of many admirable qualities, Major. You’re methodical and realistic about things, reasonably cautious with the lives of others.”

Tessa nodded silently, almost imperceptibly as her eyes dropped away, roved vaguely toward her glass. The silence stretched, became almost awkward, and then Tessa looked up again, found the resolve to speak, to break through the sudden frost, nearly lost it on the points of Blavatsky’s piercing stare.

“Hey, Admiral, about Oridus.” She hesitated, and the pause thickened, hung on darkly. “If you knew about everything that was going to happen to me at Erebus, why didn’t you take steps to prevent it. . . or even try and, I dunno, angle for a better outcome.”

“You mean, why did I allow all those researchers to die when I could have sent you with orders that would have kept everything from playing out the way it did? Why did you have to go toe to toe with Gilgamesh and be the only one who escaped?”

Tessa looked up slowly, running a hand over her hair, pushing through sharp, butchered edges. Eyes met the admiral’s, stuck, lingered.

“Yeah.” She managed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“We all have challenges in our lives which define us as we endure them.” Came the admiral’s level response. “I have seen the way the future unfolds, and every path requires some degree of pain and sacrifice for all of us. In the case of the events at Erebus, there was no choice but to let it unfold exactly as it did.”

“Standard line.” Tessa looked away, closed her eyes, rubbed at them with anxious fingers. “How does it unfold? The future, I mean.”

“There are rules which prevent me from telling you.” The admiral grinned conspiratorially. “You’re also a visionary precog, you should know all about the restrictions that are placed on us.”

“Doesn’t mean I agree with them.” The major managed a grin of her own, took another sip of her drink. “Well, completely at least.”

“Then be glad that you’re only seventh tier. Fourth and above are bound by oath.”

Tessa looked away, shook her head. “It just seems. . .”

“Like what, Major?” Blavatsky pushed softly into the hanging pause. “Like the ultimate weapon, if only it were to be in the hands of someone like you?” She grinned again as the major looked up, met her eyes again. “Knowing the future means that one has the ability to change that future’s past, but it doesn’t mean that you can see everything at once. “Being a high tier Visionary Precog means being a guide. We look at all of the options, consider their impact on possible futures, and act to minimize losses of manpower and material, especially among civilians. We have to choose our battles, allow time to flow as it wills, and bend it slowly toward the best outcome.”

Tessa’s gaze sharpened. “Then why are we losing the war?”

Blavatsky sighed, and suddenly her features become strained, tired.

“We are not supermen, Major Eisenherz.” She said simply, “There are too few high tier VPs to keep track of all the details that sprawl on endlessly around us. Every day there are dozens of skirmishes, dozens of advances on Commonwealth-held worlds and tens of thousands of individual pilots whose destinies go unseen by us.” She glanced at Tessa’s drink, managed the edge of a laugh. “It certainly does not help that the Cygnans outnumber us something like ten-thousand to one and seem to lack the reverence for life that keeps us from matching them in the swarming, suicidal tactics that they employ without reserve.”

“So what happens in the end?” Tessa asked bluntly, finishing off her drink. “I’m sure you’ve looked. Is this perpetual backing off thing that we’re doing going to go on forever? Are we going to kick the blueskins back so hard at some point that they don’t recover, or are they going to drive us back to Earth and wipe us out?”

The edge of a smile crept across the admiral’s face. “If I told you either way, you wouldn’t fight as hard.” She blinked, made a loose gesture. “Just know that the cost of defeat is steep. No less than the complete annihilation of the human race. Let that be the thought that guides you every time you pull the trigger to silence another Coralate soul.”

Tessa swallowed, nodded soberly. The admiral smiled again, breathed a sigh as she stood.

“Sleep well, Major.” She managed, offering more of a smile and then letting it fall back to another tired curve. “I know these answers are hard and that they leave rather painful questions unanswered, but this is the way it must be.” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “Put it out of your mind for now. Enjoy the time that you have between skirmishes and spend more of it with the man who loves you. There will be plenty of time to be alone later.”

Tessa looked up at her carefully, studying her features, finding nothing in the soft smile there, no hint of grand future or unraveling pain haunting her lips. The admiral’s smile widened again, and then she turned, started for the door.