An offer of help from a seventy-million-year-old, super-intelligent, pointy space-rock was not sothing to be taken lightly. The Syllogist's proposal to team up and take down the now-artsy and very annoying Gardener was, on the surface, a great deal. The Syllogist was powerful, logical, and it probably had so very big, very effective weapons.
But Emma's gut was still screaming that sothing was wrong. So, she agreed to a eting.
The negotiations were held on a secure, holographic channel. On one side was Emma, representing the ssy, emotional, and unpredictable Bastion Alliance. On the other side was a perfect, shimring, holographic image of the Syllogist's rotating crystal form. It was a eting between the universe's best poker player and a computer that could calculate the odds of every possible hand.
The Syllogist was a master of logic. Its argunts were flawless, seductive, and completely, utterly reasonable.
the Syllogist's thought-voice projected, its tone as clean and cold as a math equation.
"Agreed," Emma said, her voice calm and professional, giving nothing away.
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