Signs and Portents

Chapter Four

Marcus Cole was a talker, but his report was concise and to the point. Vega was impressed by the professionalism that lay behind the cheerful, self-deprecating humour. He'd never worked directly with the Warsworn, though colleagues had spoken highly of them. If this guy was a fair specimen they were as good as he'd been told.

"So there was no warning, no challenge?" He asked again.

"Not a damn thing." Marcus confirmed. "We didn't even know they were there until they were on top of us! Whatever stealth tech they use, it's far beyond anything we have."

"And it didn't look like any ship you'd ever seen?" This was Ivanova.

Marcus shook his head. "I'm too young to remember the Reapers, but I've seen holos of their ships, and Collector ships as well. This was nothing like either. Like a black glass spider is the nearest I can come to describing it.

"But now if you're done with me, Commander, I'm still not at my best. A meal and a few hours' sleep will do wonders for me!"

"Dismissed." Vega told him. "Go get yourself that bacon sandwich!"

"Is it me," Ivanova asked, "or is he the most annoying man in the Galaxy?"

"It's you, Probie." Vega said bluntly. "He's British, they're all like that. There's a Brit Spectre I worked with. The worse things got, the more cheerful he was. If Cole seems really happy, then we're in it deep!

"Anyhow, what do you reckon to his report?"

Ivanova frowned. "Not pirates, not slavers, Reapers or Collectors. Advanced, which is a problem in itself."

"How so?" Vega asked.

"Tech like that takes decades, if not centuries, to develop." Ivanova pointed out. "Whoever they are, they don't just have stealth tech, they have a full-on cloaking device. Now we both know that the Normandy-class frigates are the stealthiest ships in any Council fleet, but all you need to do to spot one close up is look out the window. The salarians have been working on cloaking technology since before the Reaper War, and they still haven't got it right!

"Which means that whoever built that ship had to have been more advanced than us over seventy years ago!"

"In which case," Vega finished, "why didn't the Reapers wipe them out? Nice analysis, Probie, we'll make a Spectre out of you yet."

"Thanks, I think." Ivanova retorted. "Anything else you already know that you want me to tell you?"

"No, but what do you think we should do next?" Vega asked.

This time, she paused, then said slowly. "Normally I'd say, what happens in Terminus stays in Terminus. Let Aria and her people worry about it. But this isn't smuggling, or a turf war between syndicates. Even a newbie space-travelling race wanting to start an empire wouldn't be too big of a problem.

"But whoever these attackers are, they're an old established race with a lot of power. Could be we're treading on the toes of an established empire. Since the War a lot of people from all species have been founding independent colonies in Terminus. If some of those worlds belong to an empire we don't know about, they could just be defending themselves, or they could be looking to expand.

"Either way, we need to find out about them. Then it's up to the Council to decide whether to send in the fleets, the diplomats, or both!

"Though how we do the finding out, I don't know!"

"Me neither." Vega admitted. "But I know somebody who might. Jima?"

"Yes, Commander?" The ships' AI responded.

"Ask the Captain to set a course for Horizon." Vega said.

Tayba Leran studied the human in front of her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. She was amused by the cocky way he held himself, as if the half-dozen Eclipse Sisters around him were just bunch of schoolgirls and no threat. But she was curious as to why he had asked to see her.

"Well, Mr Morden," she said, "you got your interview. I'm a busy person, so you have ten minutes to impress me before I lose my patience. If I like what you say, we can talk some more. If you're wasting my time, I'll kick you out. Piss me off, and I'll kick you out the nearest airlock. We clear?"

"I won't need ten minutes, I assure you." Morden replied smoothly. "Though I should warn you that my associates do not appreciate threats, even from a former asari Commando. As to your being busy, don't try to deceive us. Your organisation is no longer the power it used to be. You're barely scraping by."

"If by 'associates' you mean Cerberus, why the Hell should I take you seriously?" Tayba asked. "We know about your past, Mr Morden. You worked directly for the Illusive Man, back in the day. He sent you into the Terminus Systems just after the Reapers attacked, and you disappeared. We figured you got cacked when Aria took Omega back, but it seems you wormed out of that.

"But Cerberus is gone, apart from a few die-hards, so you're going to have to do better than that!"

"I was never on Omega." Morden stated. "Cerberus had other interests in the Terminus Systems. It was there that I met my new associates, and I assure you, they are not like Cerberus. Their resources are far more substantial and their reach is very long.

"They would very much like to enter into a partnership with you, and are prepared to make an offer as a sign of good faith."

"What offer?" Tayba asked.

Morden shrugged. "What do you want?" He asked.

Tayba looked at him, then looked around the seedy, grubby warehouse she was using as her HQ. She remembered when Eclipse bosses had had fancy apartments on the Wards, when they had been rich, when Security could be paid off or scared off. The days when they didn't have to move on once a month, when cops like Garibaldi, who couldn't be bought and who responded to threats with a shotgun, could be removed with a word in the right ear.

"What do I want?" She asked. "I want the old days back. I want Eclipse to be feared, respected and rich again! But right now, I want that damned Justicar off my back!

"Can your associates manage that, Mr Morden?"

"In time, we can manage all of that." Morden said. "But for now, we will deal with the Justicar. We'll speak again once that is done."

Matriarch Tulina was proud with the pride of her faith. In the small 'religious quarter' of Babylon 5, the Temple of Athame was second only in magnificence to the siarist temple across the square. Since the War, the cult of Athame had undergone a renaissance in influence. It was widely known that the knowledge of the Catalyst, the final element of the Crucible weapon that had destroyed the Reapers, had been held in the Temple of Athame on Thessia. This had induced many to claim "Athame the Keeper" as the saviour of the Galaxy, through her servant, Commander Shepard.

True, the majority of asari had simply combined this aspect of the Goddess into their pantheistic beliefs, but asari were less than half of Tulinas' congregation. Many from the other races, whose own gods had seemed conspicuous by their absence when the Reapers came, had transferred their worship to the asari Goddess who had actually helped. Tulina, who had been an Athamist all of her long life, now felt justified in her faith, and joyful in sharing it with so many others.

But the current visitor to the Temple was one even she had not expected. Services were held at set hours throughout the day, and she had seen several religious-caste minbari among the congregation. The Athame faith was one which encouraged curiosity and learning, so such visitors were welcome, even if they came only to observe. The rest of the time, the Temple was open as a place of prayer and meditation, for those who wished to study the rich collection of asari and prothean artefacts found here, or who wished to read the numerous texts in the Temples' library.

This visitor stood in the nave, however, in front of the altar with its towering image of Athame. Beneath the bulky Encounter Suit, it was difficult to tell whether the vorlon was there in awe, worship, or contempt. Tulina approached quietly, but Kosh nevertheless turned to her as she came near.

"May I help you in some way?" She asked.

"Perhaps." Kosh replied. "Who are you?"

He was asking for more than her name, Tulina realised.

Shepard fought to clear his head, to answer the questions. As he did so, a figure loomed out of the light to approach him. Tall and thin, clad in robes, a high, domed head, a long, bearded face, piercing eyes. An alien, but from no race Shepard recognised. He waved a long-fingered hand in a placating gesture.

"No need to answer to me, Commander." It was the voice that had questioned him. "Those questions are the ones every sentient being, every intelligent race, should ask itself, often. Each time the questions are the same, but the answers will differ, thus there is change and with it, growth. Those who cease to ask, or answer the same at every asking, have stopped growing, their time is past."

"Who are you?" Shepard asked.

"I am called Lorien." Was the reply. "I am the First One. The first to achieve sentience among my people, who were the first in the universe to achieve it. We were the ones who fostered sentience among younger races – the Leviathan among them. The races we uplifted have each followed their own path. The Leviathan sought only dominance. Others have gone on elsewhere, or only observe. But there are some who…intervene."

"The Leviathan told me they were the first." Shepard said.

"So they would have you believe, so you might be in awe of them and avoid them in their dotage." Lorien said. "They have forgotten how to change, and they have little time left, by their measure.

"But change is coming, now, and you, Commander, stand on the cusp of that change. The Catalyst speaks only what it was made to speak. There are things you must see before you decide."

He came to stand beside Shepard, and placed a hand on his shoulder, and Shepard saw….

He saw a figure, it might have been himself, moving toward the red core of the Reapers, emptying his weapon into it. He saw the wave of red energy sweep across the ruins of Earth, husks and cannibals falling dead as it passed, the Reapers themselves exploding and crashing to destruction. He saw the wave sweep out of the crumbling wreck of the Citadel and the Crucible to leap from Mass Relay to Mass Relay, leaving them smouldering and broken as it passed. The Reapers and their creatures were destroyed, despite frantic efforts to flee. He saw the geth destroyed, saw Joker weeping over the blackened form that had been EDI.

He saw a million worlds begin the process of rebuilding, each isolated from the others while a determined few sought to find and repair the Relays. A labour of centuries when only light speed could be achieved. He saw worlds grow apart from the civilisations that had birthed them, new political entities created, new ideologies formed. The krogan descend into civil war again as they outbred the few worlds they could reach. The quarians, without the help of the geth, unable to adapt to their homeworld until the sick and starving remnant fled to their aging fleet. He saw the last quarian die, alone, lost, at the helm of an empty ship.

Then the black ships came, nobody knew from where. Their emissaries whispered in the ears of leaders. Where they were heeded, new technology and weapons appeared. Where they were rejected, the black ships came in thousands and destroyed worlds and peoples. He saw a new age of conquest and war. New races struggling with the remnants of the old and with each other. Everywhere war, and everywhere the black ships, taking one side or the other, raising a race to dominance, only to then encourage their slaves to rebel. Their only aim to maintain the conflict.

Then everything went black.

Samara had been ambushed before, but never so effectively. She wondered briefly if her attackers had somehow clouded her perceptions, allowing them to get so close. Or maybe she was just getting old.

Whoever they were, they weren't giving up. She could hear them searching from where she crouched. She had to get this wound looked at, but she also had to make sure her pursuers were gone before she went to a hospital. They were ruthless, at least one Security officer was already dead, and Samara would not risk civilian casualties.

They were close enough now -time to ambush the ambushers!

Her biotic shockwave threw the searchers in all directions. One snapped his neck as he struck a bulkhead. Samara coldly gunned down three others as they lay, then warped a fourth as he struggled to his feet.

Then a red light from above struck into her eyes, briefly dazzling her. Sniper! A single shot sounded, and the light swung away as a body dropped from somewhere above to land among his allies.

"Ha-ha!" A female voice, also from above. Then an urgent whisper from a side-passage.

"Justicar!"

The speaker was a drell, she saw, gesturing her urgently to join him. But as she began to move, two more assassins appeared from behind.

To Samaras' surprise, the drell responded with a biotic throw that sent one flying away. The remaining one raised its weapon, only to be cut in half by a blast from a heavy shotgun. A massive figure loomed out of the shadows and went off to deal with the thrown assassin in a similar manner.

That seemed to end it. As the drell came out of the side-passage toward Samara, she staggered. He caught her, with the wiry strength of his kind, and lowered her to a sitting position. He triggered his omni-tool and a moment later, Samara felt the pain recede and some strength return.

"The wound will need more attention." He said gravely. "The medi-gel has stabilised you, the ships' doctor will see to the rest."

"What ship?" Samara asked.

"The ship you'll be leaving B5 on in an hour or so." This was another voice, a womans', and familiar.

"Kasumi?" Samara looked up as her old ally approached to crouch beside her. "I was surprised to receive help, but now I see it is you, I suppose I should not be. This was not a coincidence, then? What piece of larceny are you engaged in today, child?"

"Oh, I'm not a thief anymore." Kasumi Goto said. "At least, not a freelance. I work for the Warsworn now.

"Kolyat and I were following a man called Morden. He contacted Eclipse and Tayba asked him to get rid of a certain Justicar, so we started watching you to see how he'd do it."

"And you did not see fit to warn me?" Samara asked.

Kasumi shrugged. "Eclipse are watching you, if we'd contacted you, it would have compromised the whole operation. Besides, we figured you could handle it."

"To be fair," the drell noted, "we did not realise how many would be sent against you, or how determined they would be."

"Kolyat?" Samara asked. "Kolyat Krios?"

He inclined his head. "Justicar Samara. My father spoke of you often, and always with respect."

"You also work for the Warsworn?" Samara asked.

Kolyat shook his head. "No, I am a priest by calling. But I have a mutually beneficial arrangement with the Shadow Broker, who is an ally of the Warsworn. It was I who drew the Brokers' attention to this Morden."

"But being his fathers' son," Kasumi put in, "he insisted on tagging along!

"Which just leaves our mystery guest. I don't have a tame krogan, is he yours, Samara?"

"No such thing as a tame krogan." This was the subject under discussion himself. "Though Bakara has Wrex pretty much domesticated, now."

"Grunt?" For once, even Kasumi was taken off guard. "What the Hell is the krogan Councillor doing roaming the lower levels on his own?"

"Looking for trouble, what else?" Urdnot Grunt told her. "See you're still packing that old Locust, Kasumi. Sentimental or something?"

"Nope." Kasumi replied. "Same reason as you're still using that Claymore. They haven't come up with anything that does the job better.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Rumours" Grunt told her. "I heard there were vorcha down here, so I came to take a look. But when I got to the place, they weren't vorcha, they were these."

He indicated a nearby corpse, which he had unmasked. The features were not vorcha, and though they were reptilian, they were not drell. Harsh-featured, with marked head-ridges, they were unfamiliar to Samara and Kasumi, but Kolyat gasped.

"Drakh!" He said. "They still exist!" To their questioning looks, he explained. "They are an ancient story, almost a legend, among my people. You know that when our world was dying, our people made the Compact with the hanar so that some of us at least would survive?

"Well the drakh also made us such an offer. Where they came from, we do not know, but there was much debate among our people. Then we found that the drakh had placed parasites they called Keepers on some of our leaders, and were controlling them. We refused the drakh offer and accepted the hanar one. The price the drakh were asking suddenly seemed too high."

"And they're still around, which means they either beat off or avoided the Reapers!" Kasumi said. "And now they seem to be working with Morden. Are they his 'associates', I wonder? How many of them are there on the Station, Grunt, did you find out?"

"None alive." The krogan replied. "I told you, I found their hiding place. I tried to talk to them, they tried to kill me, so I killed them.

"Anyone else hungry?"

"Never mind." Kasumi said. "Samara, there's a ship waiting. The story is you were critically wounded by Mordens' assassins and have gone back to Thessia to either die or retire. That should convince Tayba to keep dealing with Morden and allow us to find out more about him and his associates."

"And since I am not actually critically wounded, where am I going?" Samara asked. "I am sworn to hunt down Tayba for her treason, the Code does not permit me to abandon my mission."

"Neither does your Code set a limit on the time you take to accomplish it." Kolyat told her. "There are things you need to know, Justicar, before you proceed further down this path."

"You're going to Cronos Station." Kasumi said. "It's time you met the Grey Warden, Samara!"

They called him the 'Grey Warden' because he seldom appeared in public wearing anything but an old suit of grey N7 armour -the only splash of colour being the white and maroon stripes down the right arm. The face was ruggedly handsome despite the cybernetic left eye with its blue glow and silvery socket. That side of the head was a metal dome, while the other was covered in short-cropped grizzled brown hair. Rumour had it that his left arm was also cybernetic.

He now stood on the podium of the Assembly Hall, in the place usually occupied by Commander Lawson, who stood to the right and slightly behind him in Warsworn red and gold, her eagle eyes sweeping over the assembly, ready to spot the slightest flaw in stance, lack of attention, or speck of dirt on a uniform.

Benezia T'soni had not expected any of this when she joined the Warsworn. As a trained asari Commando, she'd assumed she would be given a position of rank, or at least put straight into active service. Instead she had been told she was a Recruit, no more.

What had followed had been as intense a programme of training as she had ever experienced. For a year she had drilled, exercised and studied. The instructors ranged from veterans of the turian Blackwatch through former salarian STG operatives to krogan Battlemasters, Alliance Marine drill sergeants and a former Regimental Sergeant-Major of the legendary Coldstream Guards.

Benezia had learned to use any weapon from a billy-club to a Blackstar Singularity Projector. Her implants had been upgraded to enhance her already considerable biotic abilities. She had been drilled in everything from escape and evade through sabotage and assassination to commanding a Dreadnought in a naval battle. She had passed some elements with flying colours, and others by the skin of her teeth. The price of failure was a pay-off, a letter of recommendation and a lifetime of regret. The prize for success was to be registered as a Hireling.

Hirelings stood guard, patrolled routes and served as general operatives on missions commanded by full Warsworn. Benezia learned patience, she learned to curb her quick temper. She learned to laugh at pranks played on her and make the pranksters laugh even harder when she got her revenge. She learned to obey good orders and question bad ones, to earn respect by giving it. She also made friends, good friends, all of whom were standing here now.

The Warden was seldom seen, but his presence pervaded Cronos Station and the Warsworn carried it with them. He was sometimes seen walking around the station with his characteristic limp. Many thought he might be in pain much of the time, and so kept to himself. Others felt that he was a man who had seen too much and who did not want to bring his personal demons into the lives of the people who worked for him. Now the assembled Hirelings heard him speak for the first time. His voice was surprisingly light and quiet, but carried absolute conviction.

"Hirelings," he began, "you've spent the last year doing scut-work and thinking, 'this isn't what I signed up for'. Most of you will have wondered what the Hell was happening when we put experienced soldiers back into basic training. By now, you'll have got the idea that the Warsworn are not just another Merc group like the Blue Suns, the Talons or the Scars.

"Well, you're right and you're wrong. The fact is that the entire concept of armies and soldiering started with mercenaries. It started when villages of farmers offered food and winter quarters to tribes of nomad warriors in exchange for protection against other nomadic tribes. That led to the feudal system on one hand, and professional soldiers on the other. It led to groups of specialised warriors like the Spartans and the Samurai, and professional armies like the legions of Rome.

"Every world, every species, has had its mercenaries, and there have always been two kinds. The kind who're no more than bandits -ready to change sides when given a better offer, or turn to crime in lean times, like Eclipse or the Blue Suns. Then there are the other kind. The ones who care about who they work for. The ones who carry out a contract regardless of counter-offers or bribes. The ones who act like soldiers and take pride in themselves and their organisation. That is what the Warsworn are. What we are.

"Each race has its own military, of course. They are at the service of their governments and their people when worlds are in danger. But they can't be everywhere. There are thousands of colonies in the Galaxy. Colonies from every race who, for some reason or another, are not part of their races' government, who don't wish to answer to the Union, or the Hierarchy, or the Alliance, or even the Council. But they are still good, honest people for the most part. They have trade, they have businesses and farms, and there are others out there who would like to take that from them. For profit or for power.

"There are problems; groups out there who are dangerous and vicious. Pirates, slavers, drug dealers and gun-runners. And because they too are outside Council space, they cannot be dealt with officially. The Council has its Spectres, of course. But there are never many of them and they aren't a military force as such.

"These are the gaps we fill, then. These are the people we protect, and the ones we hunt down. Yes, we ask to be paid for our trouble, but never more than our clients can afford. In return, they receive our absolute guarantee of loyalty and professionalism. The promise that we will get the job done.

"That's who we are. That's what you signed up for. So if any of you don't like it, you can leave right now and nothing more will be said. Anyone want to leave?"

Nobody did, it seemed, for after a pause, the Warden went on.

"You've all passed some of the toughest training there is. You all came here steeped in the military doctrines of your own people. We've taught you the best from every one of those doctrines. Made it so that you can adapt to any enemy, any situation, any strategy. That's what I had to learn to survive, and I hope I've passed it on to you so you can.

"So now you're not Hirelings any more. As of today, each and every one of you is pledged of shield and Sworn to War. Pledgeshields -acknowledge yourselves and each other!"

There was applause, cheering, jumping up and down and hugging, even a few tears. As it quieted down, they saw that the Warden had disappeared. Commander Lawson now stood at the lectern, and as silence fell, she looked out over the new Warsworn and, for the first time since any of them had met her, she smiled.

"I'm proud of you all," she said without preamble, "even the ones who were a pain in my ass -you know who you are!

"Now, you should each have received a message. It tells you where and when to report, and who to, in two days' time. That's when the real work starts! But between then and now, the time is yours. You've earned it, so enjoy it!

"And so you can make a start, there's drink and food on the tables round the hall. I know you'll be hungry, you always are!"

The party was quite low-key. The seriousness of what the Warden had said, of what they had signed up for, was beginning to seep through. To be fair, they were also tired. The last week had been one of tests, and the examiners had not been easy-going. So the room was full of little knots of friends, talking, laughing, reminiscing and speculating.

Benezia was standing with her friends as well. Nerab Solus, a fast-talking salarian who was a descendant of Mordin Solus -the salarian who had cured the genophage. The turian twins, voluble Larsus and his laconic sister Seera. There was a soft-spoken geth sniper unit that called itself Hawkeye and finally the hulking, ferocious but warm-hearted krogan, Drokk.

"You think they'll let us work together?" Larsus was asking.

"No reason why not." Nerab replied. "Complementary skills, Understand each other well. Work together without unnecessary talk."

"Except for my brother." Seera pointed out.

"Somebody has to keep up your end of the conversation." Drokk told her.

"We suspect that the formation of such groups is part of the training process." Hawkeye supplied. "To see who can work with whom."

"In that case, if I were in charge, I'd put people together who don't fit." Benezia responded. "You have to be able to work with anyone if a unit is going to work."

"They already did that, while we were Hirelings." Larsus noted. "Or didn't you notice that? Sure, they kept us close to at least one friend, but we got assigned to work with some real assholes as well.

"But a guy who's an asshole to you is probably some other assholes' best pal."

"And they probably thought we were the assholes." Benezia realised. "Now my Mom would have noticed that. Guess I'm too much like my Dad."

"You don't often mention your father." Drokk commented.

Benezia shrugged. "He was human, he died when I was young, but he was a great dad while I had him."

The talk moved on. They were laughing at one of Drokks' tall tales when Commander Lawson came over.

"Pledgeshield T'soni?" She said. "Would you come with me, please?"

They moved off.

"What's this about?" Benezia asked.

"It isn't 'about' anything." Miranda replied. "It's the Wardens' custom to have a private word with each Pledgeshield when they qualify. It's just your turn, that's all.

"Through here, door at the end of the corridor. Just knock."

The room beyond the door was obviously a place for quiet talk. Low table, comfortable chairs. One wall had a large, well-stocked, aquarium; another held mounted weapons interspersed with pictures of various people – most of whom Benezia had known all her life.

But she only had eyes for the man who had risen to greet her. He was wearing an old-style grey Alliance uniform, and the old familiar smile lit his face. She walked straight into his arms and hugged him hard.

"It's good to see you, Dad!" She said.