Vita Per Nex, pgs. 5-7

“--- and so, if ten years ago we had had the support we have now, we would be much further along. There was so much opposition to the guests in the first place, and then when they provided their formulas, well . . .”

Leland was nodding. “I remember, Director. Anything remotely resembling the Benders or their abilities has always been met with a lot of resistance, and that's not going to change any time soon. We're lucky it only took ten years for the public to accept the formulas.” He leaned over a bush, then jerked back quickly as a rose snapped at him. “Ah . . . is that . . .”

His ears pulsed, not unlike hearing sounds underwater, and Leland didn't shudder as the rose thing wilted before his eyes. His jaw tightened a little as he turned to Mischa and the guest she stood next to. She was looking up at him with an impassive expression, then turned back to Leland.

“I'm ready when you are.”

“My apologies,” the guest rumbled. “Here there is a hybrid of roses and Venus fly traps. The storms did . . . exacerbate . . . the fly trap behaviour.”

“Did a rose just try to bite your face off?” Mischa asked. She looked up at the guest. “May I have one of them?”

Leland narrowed his eyes at her. “None needed,” he told the creature. If the guest was perturbed at the name of the plant, he didn't show it. Instead four sets of eyes blinked at the human, and what passed for a yawn made his jowls shudder. “I believe this is all I need to see.” Mischa was poking at more near – sentient rose hybrids, seeing how close she could get her finger. One white glove had the ashes of the dead one on it.

“I want to learn how to do that,” she murmured.

“Batch two will be done within the month,” Director Chopra assured them. “Are you hungry at all?”

“Did Micah cook it?”

Chopra frowned as she shook her head. “I don't believe so.”

“Then we'll eat,” Mischa decided for the both them. She tilted her head up at the guest and nodded respectfully. “Would you do me a favour and run these simulations, please?” She handed him a small packet, sealed tight against the elements.

The guest took them and pocketed them with a nod. “As it does please you, General.”

“Thank you. We'll take our leave of you, then.”

She and Leland led the Board back into the Centre, where Micah had dramatic music all ready for their disrobing. Mischa nodded her head to the beat for a moment before she turned to Leland.

“Does this mean we have our own theme music?”

“I don't want to share my theme music with you,” he said shortly. “If I get theme music, I want it to be my own theme music.” They followed Chopra down a hallway toward the staff lounge. “I mean, it will end up your theme music anyway, but I want it to at least start out as mine.”

“Don't be such a whiner. Obviously we each get our own theme music, and when we're together, it will be a blend of the two. Alert people that they're in for double the discomfort they'd normally be in.”

“You're assuming that it would play only when someone's in trouble. What about when we save someone? Is there some flowery feel – good bit in there for that instance?” They weren't paying attention to what Director Chopra was putting on their plates, munching as they talked.

“There's got to be,” Mischa replied. “And of course there's got to be the uplifting, go – out – there – and – die – valiantly bit. We're good at that bit.” She frowned at the small grape she had bit in half and swallowed as she thought. “Let's call it something else, shall we?”

Leland nodded before turning to Chopra. “So who's party did we crash?” There were decorations around the lounge, and the Director had just given them some cake.

She nodded to a small group in the corner. “It's Dr. Mancini's birthday today.” A short man with white eyebrows and a shock of black hair turned red and gave a little wave.

“Happy birthday, Dr Mancini,” Mischa called with a smile. “Give him a present, Leland.”

Her partner rolled his eyes. “I didn't bring a present. I didn't know it was the doctor's birthday.”

“Well, we certainly can't have that,” Mischa sighed. Then she looked at the empty space between the staff and herself. “We won't bite, you know. You can enjoy your party. Leland, they think we'll bite them.”

“They think you'll bite them. I have nothing to do with you deciding you were hungry.”

“But you were hungry, too.” Her phone was out and Mischa poked a button. “I was simply avoiding the whining you'd give me on the way back to --- Mother! Yes, every thing's just fine, except Leland and I accidentally crashed a birthday party and we've no present. Yes, the Centre.”

“Do you own a home?” Leland asked as he walked up to Dr. Mancini. The man stared at him. “I was just wondering.”

“Ah . . . no, no, we rent, Admiral, sir.” He was almost shaking, and Leland offered his hand. As soon as the doctor took it he calmed down. “We had made a down payment on a house, but they've pulled all homes off the market. Preparing for the exodus, you know. Of course you know.”

“Well, I didn't ask him --- all right. Yes, Mother. No, the first level. I understand. Thank you, Mother.”

There was a soft chime and the mail slot lit up before Mischa ended her call. It hummed a tune to itself as it printed a sheet of paper --- exceedingly rare these days. She snatched it up with a satisfied smile and took it to Dr. Mancini.

“From the Families,” she said as she offered it to him with both hands. “We hope you enjoy it.”

The doctor took it with a bow and stared at it before looking back up. “General . . . Admiral . . . what ---”

Mischa was grinning as Leland craned his neck to see what had been printed out in the elegant script of the Mother Elder. “Oh, wow. You've got connections, Mischa.”

“I know. Is this acceptable, Doctor?”

Mancini's eyes went wide and he stumbled over his words in an attempt to get them out and express his gratitude. “Oh, no --- I mean, yes --- well . . . this wasn't necessary at all! We were refunded our down payment, you see, but . . . oh, no, this is more than sufficient, thank you so much.” He clutched the land deed to his chest and tears sparkled in his eyes.

Mischa beamed at him. “It's no problem at all. We're not sure when you'll be leaving --- it probably won't be for a while --- but you'll have a home and a bit of land waiting for you when you do.” If he survived. Enhanced charisma saw to it that no one considered that possibility; after all, if one of the two most decorated heroes of the war was completely earnest in her belief that one would survive it, one didn't disbelieve her.

She offered Mancini her hand and he grasped it as if it were made of porcelain, still mumbling his thanks. Mischa laughed as she returned his grip firmly, then handed him off to Leland. She considered a bit of pastry on her plate, then picked it up gingerly and bit through the flaky crust. Her eyes crossed as she swallowed the slightly sweet, creamy filling and she went still.

“What. Is. This?” she demanded flatly.

Everyone turned to her as her voice carried throughout the lounge. Even Leland looked at her with a frown.

She narrowed her eyes at the crowd. “Well? What is this?”

A small, dark woman stepped forward as Mischa brandished what was left of the pastry around. Her lower lip was trembling; an irked Family Member was something no one wanted to ever be faced with. “Ah . . . it's, it's baklava, ma'am.”

“Baklava? This is baklava?” Mischa glared down at her hand, then at the woman. “Baklava?”

“Yes, ma'am. It's a family recipe. Uhm . . . my mother makes it; it's sort of a family secret. I'm so sorry, General, ma'am, I didn't know you wouldn't like it ---”

Mischa's eyebrows very nearly met her hairline. “Like it? Like it? I love it.” She shoved the rest in her mouth and snatched Leland's portion, holding it close to her chest and glaring at him as he reached for it. He sighed and dropped his hand. She whirled back to the woman and swallowed.

“What's your name? How do you make this?”

“I, I don't know, ma'am.” The poor woman was looking all around her for help as Mischa stepped right up to her. “I'm, uhm, Hyun – Jin Vu, Ma'am. Mother won't give me the recipe. I'm so sorry, I can ask ---”

“No, don't ask,” Mischa cut her off. She shook her head sharply. “You mustn't give out secret recipes. It's bad luck.” Her intensity was making Leland's face turn red as he tried not to laugh. His partner was licking the remaining cream off of her fingers, then delicately nibbled at his portion. Her eyes closed halfway and she heaved a contented sigh as she smiled. “Doctor Hyun – Jin Vu . . . My compliments to your mother, Doctor. I've never tasted anything so divine. I would gladly defend a planet for this.”

“Great, the most perfect dessert in the galaxy, and I don't get any,” Leland muttered. “Nice. Figures.”

He skulked off to the food table as Mischa continued to eat slowly, and nicked another bit of the baklava for himself.

“Oh. Oh, my.” He bowed to Dr. Vu as he came back. “My partner has a point. Albeit a dramatised one. My own compliments to your mother. And you, for bringing this.”

Dr. Vu looked like she was about to cry with joy. Mischa gave her a reassuring smile. “Thank you, Doctor.” She glanced at the clock and finished off the rest of the baklava. “And now we really must be leaving.”

“You didn't write up the deployments, did you?”

“I know where everyone's going,” she defended herself.

Leland laughed. “Thank you,” he said in general. “We'll take our leave of you.”

“It was a pleasure,” Mischa added. They shook hands with Chopra, Mancini, and Vu before stepping out of the room. “I have got to get that recipe,” she immediately declared in a hushed voice, glancing furtively around.

Leland rolled his eyes. “Have you considered the remote possibility that her mother might just give you the recipe, if you asked politely?”

Mischa shook her head. “It's a secret recipe. She can't give it out.”

“I think she'd make an exception.” They nodded to Micah, who blinked cheerily at them, and stepped into the containment chamber to start dressing.

“That would be cheating.” His hand on her hip turned her to face him, and Leland slowly drew the fastener up to her chin, watching his hand's progress. Mischa was still as he worked, looking up at him with a smirk.

“What? I have to get my kicks any way I can, Miss I – Don't – Do – Traditional.”

She laughed and grabbed his suit by the waist, jerking the fastener up roughly, but not angrily. “Keep dreaming, Leland.”

“I'm serious,” he half – complained, half – joked. His left hand rested on her shoulder and toyed through her hair. “I'm at my wits' end with you.”

She tilted her head toward the contact and closed her eyes softly. “I am under no obligation to use the traditional method. Besides, it only creates more work in the long run.”

“It's more fun,” Leland said softly.

“For you,” Mischa murmured. She pulled away and settled her helmet into place, locking it. Leland sighed and fastened his own. “Besides, you're enough of a slut that I shouldn't matter.”

“I am not a slut!” he called as she stepped once more into the stormy weather. “And you're the only one that matters,” he said to himself.

----

The cream baklava mentioned actually does exist; the owner of the Greek restaurant in Monterey that I worked at made it, and I wish I had the recipe. The quote about defending a planet is what a customer told me when I forced him to try it, except he said "country." I don't think Peter makes it anymore; sorry you all missed out.