Chapter VII
A/N: How many hits? It's…OVER 9,000! Over 12,000, to be exact.
Once again, thanks. This is rapidly becoming the most successful story I have written, and I thank you all for it.
Also, I believe a great many questions will be answered in this chapter about the Covenant Separatists and the nature of their alliance with humanity.
Responses to reviews: many thanks to everling, who posted a deeply humbling review about the many flaws in my current Early Warning System. While I had intended for most EWS satellites to be operated by dumb AI, as you suggested, I thought that a manned satellite would better express the shock of those inside when the unknown contact appeared. However, I really appreciated how well-thought out and detailed your review was, as well as how much sense it made, and will try to make such systems more realistic in the future. Kudos to you, friend.
Also, I made a mistake in the previous chapter that said that the ODPs fire a 20,000 ton shell. As Pinto pointed out, that was supposed to be 3,000. I'm deeply sorry, and I have no idea how that happened.
To DamionKenley117: Yeah, I suppose I did kind of take liberties there, eh?
And for others out there, if you have criticism, don't be afraid to voice it. I'm a big boy; I can take a little heat.
New Arcadia, Psi Olympus System
Falchion Base, near Emerald Haven, Illerean subcontinent
March 23rd, 2593, 1621 hours
During the darkest days of the Human-Covenant War, there were many among the human emergency-military government that had given up hope of ever surviving, let alone winning. It was a reasonable assumption to make, what with the way colonies were dropping off the grid like flies and the seeming inability of human forces to stop the Covenant forces. However, there was one part of the human defense that never gave up, that never tired in its ceaseless defense of humanity. And for all its twisted machinations, power-plays, shadow operations, and morally shady experiments, the Office of Naval Intelligence was likely the only reason humanity had survived for as long as it did.
After the Human-Covenant War, faced with the prospect of suddenly making peace with aliens instead of finding ways to kill them, ONI was momentarily at a loss of what to do. As the UNSC returned to its pre-wartime role of an actual acting military and the UEG recovered governmental control, the carté blanché that the Office had been given during the war to do whatever it wished to further humanity's survival had been withdrawn. Much of the power that ONI had accrued during the war had been stripped nearly overnight in the face of public outcry as thousands of previously-classified documents depicting the necessary, if brutal, actions the Office had taken were released. The outrage was partly justified-many of the programs that ONI had sponsored had been, to use generous terms, on shaky moral ground-but to many in the upper echelons of the Office, such a sudden and brutal betrayal by the people they had worked so arduously to protect was unforgiveable. As ONI's power was scaled back to its pre-war levels, many top officials had resigned in disgust, reluctant to part with the power they had so long enjoyed and claiming that ONI was being castrated by anti-war fanatics.
The result was that the UNSC was left with a primary intelligence agency that was arguably one of the most well-deployed, well-entrenched, and effective that any the galaxy had ever seen, with almost no solid leadership left.
The following years had not been kind to ONI, as the Office desperately tried to reestablish an effective head while bickering and backstabbing began among the lower ranks. Finally, in 2580, President of the UEG Timothy Hall appointed Vice Admiral Candace Kyashi to head the Office with one order; clean the shit up.
It was generally agreed-upon by almost everyone that Kyashi was a cold-hearted bitch. However, it was also generally agreed-upon by almost everyone that, despite her heart (or seeming lack-thereof), she was blasted effective at what she did.
In a space of a year and a half, Kyashi had cleaned house at ONI with the effectiveness of carpet-bombing, clearing out all the rats and squabbling power-grabbers with an age-old brutal philosophy; you did what you were told, or you were fired. The Vice Admiral completely reshaped and reordered the entire structure of the Office, cutting out all the bureaucratic committees and fat that plagued the agency and making it slimmer, leaner, and more efficient. While many figurative heads had rolled during what many dissenters saw as the scalping of the Office, it couldn't be denied that Kyashi's reforms worked. In 2585, headlines began to appear across the galaxy praising the admiral's harsh reshaping of the Office, proclaiming that "ONI is back and better than ever."
For Colonel Carter Rutherford, acting chief of all ONI assets in FLEETCOM Sector Six, which included the system of Psi Olympus, truer words had never been spoken. And while Kyashi no longer headed ONI, replaced in 2590 by a Brit by the name of Lancaster, the system she had set in place remained in use.
Which meant that, the instant EWS 419's proximity alarm had gone off, a report had been automatically sent to ONI headquarters at CASTLE Base, on Reach, in the Epsilon Eridani System, FLEETCOM Sector One. From there, data analysts determined in the space of a few seconds what it had taken Ensign Anderson several minutes to confirm; the UNSC was expecting company. From there, ONI assets in Sector Six had been contacted, and Colonel Rutherford had been informed that he was going to be the official ONI liaison to the negotiation process for as long as it may last while further UNSC and Covenant Separatist forces were inbound.
Which meant he needed to be getting starside, and fast. Carter pushed back from his desk. He checked the office to make sure everything was neat and orderly just the way he kept it. He paused before he left, checking himself in the mirror.
Carter was not an old man, especially not considering that by the 26th century, human medical technology had expanded the average lifespan to approximately 150 years, thus shifting the definitions of young and old. However, at forty-three, he was not by anyone's definition young.
Despite that, however, Carter felt that he had taken reasonably good care of himself. While being a colonel in ONI could often become a desk job, Carter liked to get out into the field himself as much as possible. He performed his customary good luck charm by scratching his beard three times, then straightened his cap, smoothed out a few wrinkles in his black ONI uniform, and stepped out the door of his office.
"Going, sir?" asked his receptionist, a young petty officer.
"Yeah, I figure it's about time for me to be getting up there," Carter responded, shrugging on his jacket. As he did so, he glanced up at the video screen mounted on the wall. It was tuned to the local news channel, but Carter suspected the same thing would be playing across the colonies.
"Again," the anchor (who was an unnatural shade of pale) was saying, "just this morning Fleet Admiral Chester Bergstrom confirmed that the UNSC has indeed made contact with what they called 'an unidentified, nonhostile, ship of alien origin'. And while no official videos or photos have been released, an amateur photographer took these two pictures last night of an unidentified ship in orbit above the planet." Two images flashed on the screen; they were blurry and out-of-focus, as could be expected from the average civilian-level telescopic cameras, but they distinctly showed the form of an arrowhead-like vessel. While several UNSC ships, notably the newer Nova-class carriers, utilized an arrowhead design, none of them exhibited the strange crook at the stern that this vessel exhibited.
"And while no official news has been released yet of a meeting," the anchor continued, "UEG President Arthur Graham made a statement to the press earlier this morning saying that, 'the extra-terrestrials do not appear to be hostile, and we are in the process of cooperating with them'. That being said, however, he also said that, in order to be prepared for any contingency, the UNSCDF was being mobilized in preparation of a 'possible unfortunate outbreak of hostilities'."
"Hard to believe, isn't it, sir?" the petty officer said.
Carter grunted. "You can say that again." He stepped out the door.
Falchion Base was the center of all ONI operations in FLEETCOM Sector Six, located just outside New Arcadia's capital city of Emerald Haven. Built into the side of a mountain, it was arguably the most secure structure on the planet, capable of withstanding a direct hit from a forty-megaton nuke. Inside, the immaculately-clean hallways were always bustling with ONI security personnel, agents, and workers, along with robotic maintenance droids.
All of them, however, split to the sides to make way for Carter, recognizing the eagle on his cap and shoulders that marked him as a Colonel. Carter made his way up through the progressive levels of the base, towards the hangar. The hangar itself was at the top level of the base, nearly halfway up Mount Gardheim. Two massive blast doors sealed the hangar off from the sky, which could be opened or closed as necessary.
Carter took the lift up to the hangar, showed his Office ID to the security guard in the booth outside the hangar, and was allowed entrance. Inside the hangar was a plethora of different aerial vehicles, but Carter headed for his private shuttle on the far right side.
It was going to be a long day.
000
Reverence-class cruiser CSS Inexorable
En route Psi Olympus System
092 units, 40th Year of Alliance (Sangheili battle calendar)
Shipmaster Ri'shek Markum clicked his mandibles impatiently as the Reverence-class cruiser CSS Inexorable traveled through the Slipstream. Ri'shek was relatively young for a Sangheili-barely past his sixtieth unit-but his family's high standing among the Separatist Navy and his own tactical prowess had granted him command of the formidable ship he now commanded. His task force also consisted of the two frigates Indomitable Faith and Perseverance of Spirit. They had been on patrol at a Covenant Separatist colony in a nearby system when the word came out that there was a possible first contact scenario taking place at the human system of Psi Olympus, and as the closest Separatist forces, had gotten the nod to go assist their human allies.
Human allies. Ri'shek snorted in amusement, his mandibles stretching in an approximation of a grin. Nearly forty years after the war ended, it was still a strange phrase on his tongue. He had been born early enough to remember the Human-Covenant War. He remembered the propaganda of the lying Prophets, of the foul Covenant, how they had fought and slaughtered the humans for years without question. Even then, as a young and idealistic Minor Domo, he had wondered why the humans were considered heretics. While he would consider no species to be the equal of the Sangheili, he had respected the humans. They were quick-thinking, tenacious, and willing to die for their comrades, worthy adversaries and certainly possessing of more honor than the loathsome Jiralhanae. They were intelligent enough for real battlefield ingenuity and made effective use of their weapons, primitive thought they might be. They would have made a worthy addition to the Covenant.
But then came the Schism, and all of Ri'shek's fears and doubts were confirmed. With that dastardly betrayal, the lot of the Sangheili had been cast in with that of the humans, former bitter enemies forced to work together for their own mutual survival. Ri'shek had rose to prominence then during the Containment of 2564-dealing with an unexpected Flood outbreak on a human colony world that was subsequently glassed to prevent further spread of the disease-as well as the Pacification War, in which the remnants of the Covenant Loyalists were pushed into a far corner of the galaxy. He received a promotion to Shipmaster, the greatest honor of his life, and was now trusted with making contact with an alien species.
"Navigation," Ri'shek asked. "How long until we are expected to exit the Slipstream?"
The navigation chief, a veteran Sangheili by the name of Xy'can Entar, swiveled around in his hoverchair. His left hand was missing two fingers-a gift from a Jiralhanae during the Schism-but he was still an excellent pilot. "Approximately-"
"-forty-three standard minutes," replied a new voice as a flash of light suddenly materialized over a bridge holotank. "Or units. Whatever you bloody split-lips call it."
Ri'shek's temper flared, but he kept it under control as he annunciated his next words carefully. "My name, computer," he said, "is not split-lip. It is Shipmaster Markum, and you will address me with the respect due my rank." He focused his glare, one known to make Jiralhanae back down, on the source of his ire, a hologram over the bridge's holotank that took the form of what the humans called a "dragon".
Whatever. To Ri'shek, it looked like one of the sand lizards on Sangheilos.
"And by that line of argument," the dragon-computer retorted, its calm voice annoying Ri'shek to no end, "I feel inclined to correct you that my name is not computer. It is Elindar. Or, if you wish, you may call me UNSC/Separatist Smart AI attaché-018. Your choice."
Ri'shek groaned, regretting starting the argument. "Very well," he said, "just leave me in peace. If you're so desperate for entertainment, go recheck the jump integers in the reactor database."
"A mere pittance of my processing power," Elindar sighed, "but I shall do as you command." The hologram vanished, leaving the bridge beautifully silent once again.
Ri'shek shook his head in disgust, leaning back in his command chair. For all the good things the humans had come up with, their artificially intelligent computer systems annoyed Ri'shek to no end. After the Human-Covenant War had reached its conclusion, the Sangheili had born the brunt of the burden in defeating the Loyalist remnants and assisting humanity's reconstruction. In return, despite the protests of many members of their military, the humans had cautiously given select Separatist ships some of their AI units. The humans' Artificial Intelligence units had been the only area where they had an advantage over the Covenant, as advanced AIs had been deemed by the Prophets as heretical, while the humans' AIs were capable of hacking into almost any Covenant database. As such, while Ri'shek couldn't deny the thing's (he refused to think of any machine as having a definite gender) usefulness, that didn't mean he had to like it. He was used to commanding his ship through real, live beings, not through some too-smart-for-it's-own-good computer. Ri'shek shook his head in wonder. The humans must like uppity subordinates to have created such strange computers.
However, he had to admit, they were effective at what they did. But even that didn't mean he had to like them.
Ri'shek felt his thoughts drifting to the supposed aliens they were going to be contacting. The thought, while he would never admit it, unsettled him somewhat. The last time he had encountered aliens, it had been the humans. However, there was no telling that this time he would be on the winning side.
Ri'shek shook his head, banishing such thoughts. Dereliction of confidence leads to dereliction of duty, he recited to himself, the Thirty-First rule of Warfare taught him in battleschool. He would not allow himself to be intimidated by creatures he had not yet met.
True to Elindar's prediction, it was a few more minutes until the Inexorable and its task force were ready to transition. The cruiser's Slipspace drive disengaged, and the three ships transitioned into real space.
The alien ship was in plain sight, over a kilometer long. It's arrowhead shape and obvious weapons made it a formidable sight, but Ri'shek appraised it with a critical eye, noting the scars and burns across its hull, including one grievous rift that ran nearly half the length of its port flank. This craft had seen some serious action.
Ri'shek also reacted in surprise as he saw the fleet that the humans had already amassed in-system. He knew there had been one light battlegroup guarding the system when the aliens arrived, but since then, twelve more ships had arrived. The Inexorable's tac computer pinned the largest as the UNSC Antietam, first of the human Navy's new Pulsar-class battleships. Nearly as long as the Inexorable at two and a half kilometers, Ri'shek knew the vessels were in short supply, almost always used as the flagships of high-ranking human officers.
That was confirmed as the Antietam hailed them, a hologram of a white-uniformed human with two stars on his cap appearing on the bridge. Ri'shek rose. "Flee-admiral," he said, still not used to the strange names humans used for their Fleetmasters. What was an 'admiral' anyways?
Admiral Jarod Hawkins nodded and spoke. "We don't have much time, son," he said, which confused Ri'shek. He was about to remind the human that they were not father or son when he remembered that older humans had a strange habit of referring to younger beings as "son". An odd custom, he thought as he shook his head, but one he would have to respect nonetheless.
Hawkins continued, "we've contacted them and arranged a meeting. You're the highest ranking Separatist within a light-year, so you're the de facto representative."
"Understood," Ri'shek said, with a bit of pride. He frowned as something occurred to him. "Wait, you said you contacted them already?"
Hawkins nodded slowly. "Yes, that's right."
"You translated their dialect already?" Ri'shek asked, surprised.
Hawkins swallowed and looked around as if wary of unveiling a secret before lowering his voice. "Listen," he said, "I know you're not going to believe this," he said, "but, they're human."
Ri'shek blinked. "Come again?"
Hawkins repeated. "They're bloody human. Just like me. Same language too. Thing is, we have no record of them whatsoever, no reports of a lost colony or any technology like they appear to have. They're claiming they're from some 'Grand Republic' or whatever."
Ri'shek clicked his mandibles thoughtfully. "You are correct. That is hard to believe."
Hawkins smiled. "You have no idea. Anyways, we're trying not to start another war here, so don't scare them too much, alright?"
Ri'shek frowned. "I understand the physical appearance of my species can be unsettling to humans-"
"-because you look like a bloomin' monster from a child's closet," Hawkins muttered.
"-but I feel that these humans will not be so easily intimidated," Ri'shek finished.
000
GNR Resolute
Psi Olympus system, New Arcadia
Admiral Wulf Yularen stood stiffly in the lower hangar bay of the Resolute, hands clasped behind his back as he awaited the arrival of the representatives of the "United Nations Space Command" and their allies.
And they definitely had allies; right before Yularen had headed down to the hangar bay, another one of those odd portals had opened and three ships had entered the system. However, their architecture was so different from those of this so-called "UNSC" that he knew they couldn't possibly be from the same race. Whereas the humans ships had been blocky, grey, and completely utilitarian in appearance, with sharp angles and lines, these ships were entirely different. Their hulls were a silver in color, smooth as water and flowing in graceful curves and bulbous heads. One of them was nearly three kilometers long, dwarfing the Resolute.
Not that it really mattered; the battered Venator was in no condition to take on even a pleasure corvette, let alone an alien warship, no matter how small or large it may be.
Yularen glanced to his side, confirming that Anakin, Ahsoka and Padmé were indeed standing by him. It was possible that he may need Padmé's diplomatic expertise in this venture, and Anakin and his Padawan, backed by the squad of clone troopers he had brought with him, should provide ample security.
His earpiece buzzed. "Their crafts are approaching, sir," Fermion said in his ear.
Yularen nodded. "Good," he said. He turned his attention to the magnetic field that kept the atmosphere pressurized; or more specifically, the rapidly growing shapes beyond it.
There were two different craft, both light-years different in their design, and it didn't take much to figure out which set of ships each had came from. However, neither of them appeared very diplomatic in their nature; one of them was grey and angular in nature, sporting a large cannon underneath the nose and what appeared to be missile mounts on the wings. The other was oblong in shape, with a deep purple hull and a similar turret-like construction under the nose.
Yularen swallowed. These people were either very suspicious of strangers or intending to start a war. His conversation with "Captain Farley" as she called herself had seemed amiable enough, but he started to get a little nervous as the two ships passed through the selectively permeable membrane of the hangar and settled to the floor.
The angular craft turned around, lowering itself to the ground as little jets on its wings and towards the rear rotated and fired, bringing it to the correct elevation. Thrust-vector technology? Yularen thought. How primitive. Most of the known galaxy had switched over to repulsorlifts years ago. Of course, living in the Wild Space did help excuse someone from the latest galactic trends.
The other vessel, however, seemed to have no such problems. It pivoted and lowered without such much as a whine of repulsorlifts, instead the quiet thrum of what sounded like anti-gravity devices. It remained, hovering, a good ten meters off the deck, and a beam of light appeared to extend from a hole in the bottom of the hull.
The angular craft was the first to disembark its passengers. There was a hiss of pressurized air, and the ramp on the back extended. Six human figures wearing black, angular body armor with opaque visors stepped briskly down, holding black rifles of an unfamiliar design across their chests. Yularen could feel the clone troopers behind him tense, and he gave them a "stand down" signal with a flick of his wrist. Based on what he had seen of these people so far, they were extremely paranoid. Bringing weapons to a peace meeting, however much of a social faux pas it may be, was likely a way of life to them.
What's more, however, was that the new humans did not appear to carry any blaster gas cartridges on them. Instead they wore large black magazines in their vests, reminiscent of slugthrower weapons.
Slugthrowers in space? Yularen thought, hiding a smile. Perhaps these people were more primitive than he thought.
Three more figures appeared at the top of the ramp, falling into position in the middle of the black-armored soldiers. One of them was a woman with long brown hair, and Yularen recognized her as the one he had spoken with upon his first entering this system. She wore a white dress uniform with two bars on her shoulders with stars and stripes on them, one angling towards the other, as well as several colored ribbons and medals over her left breast. Not too different from his own uniform, Yularen thought uncomfortably.
Next to her was an older man, with bits of white hair showing from under his dress cap. Two stars were emblazoned upon his shoulders and cap, and his uniform was embroidered with gold braid and a multitude of medals and ribbons.
Behind them, almost as an afterthought, was the third man. He would have been easy to overlook, considering the first two arrivals, but something about him told Yularen that this would not be a person to underestimate. He was dressed, in contradiction to the other two officers, in a black dress uniform. A gold eagle adorned each shoulder as well as the cap, and emblazoned over his heart was a symbol Yularen did not recognize. It appeared to be a triangle or delta shape, with a large eye in the middle. Over the top was written "Office of Naval Intelligence", and underneath, "Semper Vigalenes."
So he was obviously a member of some sort of intelligence agency. However, Yularen had no idea what the words meant, and made a mental note to ask.
Those three stepped forward their honor guard following closely behind. The older man, who appeared to hold the highest rank, stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Admiral Yularen, I presume?" he asked. His voice had a strange accent, like Corellian except thicker.
Yularen stared at the hand for a moment, at a loss of what to do. Finally, he said, "I-I am ignorant of this greeting custom."
"Oh," the man said awkwardly, as if confused. "You're, um, you're supposed to shake it."
"Shake it?" Yularen asked, confused.
The man smiled. "Yup," he said, "just take it and shake it."
Feeling slightly silly, Yularen reached out and took the other man's hand in his own. The man had a firm grip, but not overly so as they shook. "Pleasure to meet you," the man said. "I am Rear Admiral Jerod Hawkins of the United Nations Space Command."
"A pleasure," Yularen said. Hawkins moved down the line to shake Anakin's hand, as well as Ahsoka's and Padmé's as the woman who called herself Farley stepped up next.
A strange custom, Yularen couldn't help but think in amusement as she shook his hand and continued down the line. Only the man in the black suit abstained from the ritual, choosing instead to stand back with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression.
After they were done with the strange "shaking hands" thing, Yularen politely cleared his throat and gestured towards the other shuttle. "Are your friends be going to make an appearance anytime soon?"
Hawkins sighed. "Oh, bloody split-lips. They're probably reciting some honor oath or something." He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted in the general direction of the craft, "Oi! Shipmaster! In case you hadn't noticed, there's some bloody important business goin' down here. Do show up for our jolly new friends, what ho?"
For a moment, nothing happened. And then, three hulking figures dropped down from the beam, landing on the hangar floor.
Yularen automatically recoiled in fear, as did the others in his party, and wondered if these creatures were indeed the best ones to be poking fun at.
They were massive; easily over three meters tall, covered in sets of interlocking intricately-carved body armor. However, their most disconcerting feature was their mouths; instead of a standard set of jaws, they had a queer quadruple-set of mandibles, lined on the inside with rows of razor teeth. Above that, on their reptilian heads, pairs of dark, intelligent eyes flashed about, taking everything in with unflinching gazes. Two of them were dressed in deep red suits of armor with gold fringes, and carried in their four-fingered hands large staffs with bladed ends that hummed with energy. The other one was wearing a suit of brilliant burnished gold, and bore no visible weapons other than what appeared to be a small, cylindrical object clipped to his thigh.
Not that it looked as if they needed any weapons; Yularen figured that the mere sight of them alone was often enough to send wise opponents fleeing in terror. They also seemed more than capable of crushing any poor brave fool who dared resist.
All in all, a strange race to be seen allied with humans, but Yularen was guessing that he'd rather be on their good side to start out with.
The golden-armored…creature…marched forward, its apparent honor guards staying two paces behind.
It looked like it could take care of itself, at any rate.
Yularen swallowed and instinctively stepped backwards as the alien approached. Anakin tensed to the right of him, and Yularen raised a hand. Anakin reluctantly let his hand fall from the pommel of his lightsaber, and the clones kept their weapons shouldered, even though Yularen could sense that they were uneasy.
Finally, the creature spoke. To Yularen's shock, it spoke nearly perfect basic. The voice sounded disturbingly human, coming from within those vicious mandibles, although it boomed and resonated within the hangar. "Greetings, human," it (he?) said, clenching a hand over its chest. "I am Shipmaster Ri'shek Markum of the Separatist Alliance, son of 'Rkan Markum, Field Marshal of the Covenant. It is a great relief to see that there are others of your race in the galaxy."
Yularen stammered. "Th-thank you," he finally forced out. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
There was a moment of awkward silence as the parties exchanged wary glances, and Yularen finally realized it was up to him to take the first step. He turned towards the door. "If you'll just follow me," he said.
000
ISC Stiletto
Psi Olympus System
Hundreds of thousands of kilometers distant, something shifted in the blackness of space. It was only for a moment; a few stars obscured for a brief moment before returning to their original brilliance as if nothing had ever diminished it. Shadow moved on shadow, darkness against darkness, and then all returned to its normal state, nothing amiss.
Nothing amiss, that was, except for the small matter of the Imperial stealth corvette that hung motionless in the empty vacuum. Nearly impossible to detect on any sensors and painted as black as the interstellar void, the ISC Stiletto was nothing more than the proverbial fly on the metaphorical wall, observing with great intent and interest the events unfolding nearly a million kilometers away.
In the heart of the corvette, buried deep within so as to better mask any signals that may be emitted, Captain Rayalen Tyal of Imperial Naval Intelligence stared at the vidscreen on the wall that showed the view from the Stiletto's bow camera. A former commander of an Arquitens-class light cruiser, Rayalen found that he rather missed the romantic view of the stars that craft's panoramic bridge windows had provided. The "bridge" of the Stiletto was little more than a glorified tech room, stuffed to the brim with gadgets and computer terminals and with all the maneuvering room of a walk-in closet. Nonetheless, he supposed, the romanticism of a view of the stars would soon disappear should the corvette fall under attack, a very real possibility if its position were given away. They had arrived in this system only a few hours ago near a large nebula that had hopefully masked any clues they might have left to their arrival, and had been slowly drifting closer to the center of the system ever since. Rayalen had the location of the nebula logged in the starchart; it could prove useful for partially disguising the entrance of the Imperial fleet when it arrived.
Rayalen glanced to the side, where two wire-frame holograms of the two distinct types of alien ships floated. The contrast between them was incredible; shocking, even, the flowing, smooth lines of the silver cruisers breaking with jarring force from the blocky, angular hulls of the other ships. The blocky ships all had the same insignia on their side next to the ship names, that of a large bird with its talons firmly implanted on a planet and the letters "U", "N", "S", and "C" on a scroll below.
Well, whatever these aliens were, they spoke Basic. That would make the negotiating process easier once the Imperial fleet showed up to reclaim their quarry.
Rayalen turned to the helm. "Maintain holding pattern," he ordered. "I'm going to inform Admiral Ozzel of our discovery."
He didn't even bother waiting for the "yes, sir", merely striding off the bridge towards the captains' quarters.
000
GNR Resolute
Psi Olympus System
Admiral Jerod Hawkins leaned back in the chair, his arms crossed across his chest and staring with one eyebrow raised at the old man across the table. "Mister Yularen," he said slowly, "that's one hell of a yarn. An entire galaxy, undiscovered by us? Mysterious warriors with special powers? Betrayal by some Dark Lord?" he shook his head. "Forgive me if I seem forward, but the whole thing sounds like something out of a holobook."
"It's true," Yularen insisted. "You can check the ship logs if you desire confirmation."
Hawkins shook his head. "No, I trust you," he said. "No one could make up a lie that complicated in the amount of time you just did. It's just that this whole thing is a bit unexpected."
Beside him, Ri'shek rumbled, the massive Sangheili shifting. Since no chairs in the conference room were large enough to accommodate him, he had chosen to stand, something that made him appear even more intimidating that he already was. Yularen had to fight the urge to gulp as the alien spoke.
"This tale seems a bit too tall for my liking," Ri'shek said, distrust evident in his voice. "If your 'Jedi' have such strange powers, perhaps you would be willing to demonstrate them?" He stepped back, folding his arms across his chest in a disturbingly human-like motion.
Anakin glanced over at Yularen. "May I?" he asked, eagerness permeating his tone.
Yularen sighed. "Yes, yes, go ahead. Just don't do anything stupid."
For a moment, nothing happened. The other humans and the single alien stood back, all watching Anakin with skeptical curiosity.
With the exception of the man in the black suit. Yularen frowned, noticing that that man-who had yet to speak-had widened his eyes at the mention of "telekinetic powers." It was only a micro-expression, a brief flash of surprise that was quickly stifled as his face returned to its normal unreadable state, but it was enough for Yularen to notice.
His feelings for the man were only reinforced. He knows something, Yularen thought. He knows something about this.
Yes, this would definitely be a man to watch.
For a moment, nothing happened. Ri'shek began to speak again, but was abruptly silenced as a pile of papers on the table suddenly began to float upwards. Ri'shek blinked, rubbing his eyes and looking again to make sure the illusion was gone.
It wasn't. Instead, the pile of papers had risen higher into the air, somehow remaining together while at the same time floating, as if they had an antigravity device on them. As he watched, they began to move around the room, doing complex loops and swirls. Ri'shek glanced back at Anakin; the so-called "Jedi" did not appear to be making any physical effort, only a slight occasional twitch of his finger. The alien girl with them-Ri'shek thought he had heard them call her "Ahsoka"-was watching with a huge smile.
"Impossible," Ri'shek whispered in an awestruck voice, but then his natural skepticism reasserted itself. "How do we know you don't have an anti-gravity device rigged there?" he asked.
Yularen blinked in surprise. For these people never to have encountered the Force…well, he didn't know what cave they'd crawled out of.
Of course, the alien's question still left them in a dilemma. Since there was no way to prove anything in the room wasn't rigged, they were stuck.
Anakin, however, was the one that found the workaround. "I could try lifting one of you," he said. "That would prove my genuineness."
Hawkins and Ri'shek looked at each other in shock. "You can do that?"
Anakin gave one of those patented roguish smiles of his. "Easily. Anyone care to volunteer?"
There was an awkward silence, no one apparently eager to let themselves become the test subject of some wizard. Finally, the young woman-Yularen remembered her introducing herself as Captain Hannah Farley-stepped forward. "I'll volunteer," she said calmly.
Hawkins grasped her by the arm. "Captain," he said, his voice low. "Hold on a moment. We have no bloody idea what these people are planning with this demonstration, what they're capable of-"
Hannah, however, shrugged off her superior's arm, and his concerns. "I've faced Brutes before, admiral," she said gently. "A little telekinesis shouldn't be too disconcerting."
Hawkins grumbled something under his breath, but leaned back in his chair, apparently defeated. "Fine," he said, shooting a warning glance at Anakin. "But no shenanigans, alright?"
"No harm will come to her," Anakin promised, before turning his gaze on Hannah. The captain squirmed uncomfortably under his stare, feeling a bit like a caged animal being prepped for an experiment, but Anakin's eyes held no malice as he spoke. "You might feel a little tingling," he said, almost like a doctor as he held up a hand.
Hannah closed her eyes.
Then her feet left the floor.
Hannah's eyelids snapped back open, giving a little squeal of alarm as she felt herself literally floating up into the air. Hawkins and Ri'shek were staring at her with something akin to fascination mixed with revulsion, while the ONI colonel appeared to swallow briefly before hurriedly consulting something on his data bracer.
"By my father's blood," Ri'shek swore softly. "What devilry is this?"
Hannah was slowly lowered back to the floor, and she quickly sat back down into her chair.
"No devilry," Anakin said assuredly with a small bow. "Just a gift."
Hawkins stared blankly ahead. This was ridiculous, he told himself. Stuff like that didn't happen. It just didn't. That was crap from bad sci-fi holo-movies and old fantasy books. Not the stuff of real life.
Nonetheless, it was right in front of him, whether he liked it or not.
Yularen smiled, sensing that he now had the upper hand. "Now that we have established the legitimacy of our case," he said, leaning forward and folding his hands. "Shall we move on to more pertinent issues?"
"Such as?" said a new voice, and Yularen started in surprise, his head whipping up to identify the speaker.
It was the man in the black suit. This was the first time he had spoken throughout the entire meeting.
"Colonel Carter Rutherford, Office of Naval Intelligence Sector Six," he said, sliding into the chair. "I have a few questions for you." He turned to his comrades and the rest of those in the room. "If I could have a moment alone with the admiral?" he asked.
Anakin looked at Yularen hesitatingly, wondering if this colonel had something up his sleeve. Yularen glanced at the man who called himself Rutherford, saw no deceit in his eyes.
"Fine," he said. "A few minutes. We shall continue this meeting after a short break."
Quietly, the other occupants of the room filed out, leaving only the admiral and the colonel. Yularen fidgeted nervously under the man's stare, feeling somehow pinned and trapped.
Little did he know ONI officers had that effect on almost everyone.
"Are there any microphones in this room?" he asked.
Yularen started. "What?"
Carter sighed. "You know. Microphones? Recording devices of any sort?"
Yularen shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "This was built as a confidential meeting room. It is completely secure from any intrusion-"
"Splendid," Carter said, cutting the admiral off with a wave of his hand. His own sweep of the room had already confirmed this, but he liked to start out an "interview" with easy questions to get his subject relaxed.
"Now," he said, leaning forwards. "You referred to this…power…as what?"
"The Force," Yularen answered unhesitatingly.
Carter leaned back, steepling his hands in front of him. "The Force. Right." He sighed and leaned forwards again. "Listen," he said. "I still have no idea who the hell you are or where you came from. But suffice to say, if any of this conversation ever leaves this room, I will have no choice but to kill you. Understand?"
Yularen gasped. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded.
"Not at all. Merely ensuring the continued confidentiality of information classified under Ultra-level security." Carter sighed. "By rights I shouldn't even be discussing this at all," he said, "but I've just gotten the go-ahead from my superiors. Nevertheless, know that if this leaks out, I will not only lose my career, but also my life."
Yularen pushed back from the table. "Now hold on just a minute young man," he said. "What exactly are you trying to pull here?"
"Sit down," Carter snapped, and Yularen felt surprised and humiliated to find himself obeying, returning to his seat.
Carter leaned across the table, and Yularen recoiled, feeling as if under the glare of a hunting kalidor hawk. "The only reason I am even thinking of what I am about to say in your general vicinity is that I've been ordered to by people higher up than I could ever dream of being. And these people happen to think that you might have the information we've been trying to get to for decades."
Yularen frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking abou-"
"And if you keep your end of the bargain," Carter said, "no one will."
"What barga-?" Yularen began, feeling thoroughly confused.
"We-the Office-can get you amnesty," Carter said. "Even if the UEG thinks it's a bad idea, we can keep you alive and protect you from your enemies. We have connections you could never dream of, sources and agents everywhere. That being said, if you cooperate, than you will not need to fear being attacked by the Empire ever again."
"What's the catch?" Yularen said suspiciously. This all sounded too good to be true.
Carter said nothing. Instead, he walked around the table until he was behind the admiral, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. "The catch," he said, "is that you are to never, ever, under any circumstances, even mention the name of Project: BLACKWING."
