Chapter 10
Womack laughed incredulously.
"Right…"
Lysea hid her reaction well. She merely blinked at the revelation.
"We…knew it would be hard to initially comprehend. It was difficult for us to believe as well." Ajall said.
Womack wasn't sure it had sunken in yet.
"So, you're saying…that…" he faltered.
"Yes."
"That's impossible! Is-isn't it?" Womack looked to the Spectre in shock.
"As far as I know, it's not possible, no." Lysea affirmed.
Ajall motioned to the shadows behind Womack. The captain turned around, straining to look behind him as an auburn haired figure was escorted into the room by whom Womack could only assume to be naval armsmen. Womack looked at her suspiciously as she adjusted a purple bandana on her forehead. She strode gracefully up to Ajall's end of the table. Despite her good looks, it seemed as if the men at the table were ... afraid of her. Womack saw them cringe ever so slightly as she came close to them. Womack was still pondering why as Ajall made the introduction.
"This is Chief Navigator Ligaea DeFrant, of House Dualow by birth."
She nodded and started to explain.
"From what our contemporary sources tell us, in the third or fourth millennia Humanity discovered a secondary realm that existed in tandem with the material universe. It was called many things over many thousands of years, but in the thirtieth millennium we generally refer to it as the Warp."
"So…this Warp is an alternate reality?" Cellick asked.
"In the loosest sense of the word, yes. It is a physical manifestation of the collective emotions of all the races in the galaxy."
Womack started laughing slowly. It built up to a hysterical, full blown cackle.
"So you're saying that my emotions fuel an alternate reality that…um…does what, exactly?"
DeFrant seemed unaffected by the skepticism.
"It allows us to travel at faster than light speeds. Most of the time. We were en route to a star system not far from here when we were besieged, in a manner of speaking. The fleet was forced to drop out of the Warp after sustaining some … damage."
"How did you end up so, erm, far back in time?" Lysea asked innocently.
"As far as I can tell, we crossed some sort of barrier in the warp and, um, ended up here," Ligaea finished lamely.
"That's it?" The Spectre asked snidely.
"It's difficult to explain, the Warp. I could show you, but you would most likely be killed because it would involve forcing my way into your mind and psychically imprinting an entire life's worth of memories in your brain."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, because you are an alien and because you are a psychic blunt and I have doubts as to whether your mind could handle it."
"Try me."
"Maybe I will," DeFrant snapped.
"Navigator." Ajall's voice cut through the spat. Ligaea took a deep breath and continued.
"Time has no real meaning in the Warp. It is not a dimensional measurement that has standing. Distance and mental will are the only attributes that matter when navigating the Warp. Usually, you arrive at your destination as if in normal FTL travel, but in other instances, the Warp will simply shift you into a different time. You might arrive after or even before you left."
"Weird," grunted Womack.
"The Mechanicum can provide more details on what we call the Crusade Anomaly – the Warp rift that bore us out of the Immaterium and into reality." There was an awkward silence as Ajall ended the explanation abruptly.
"So…what now?" asked Womack.
"We can't exactly go back – it's not possible as far as we know. The trauma would kill many of the Navigators present on the 25th. Even if we could somehow break through the barrier, we wouldn't have nearly enough Navigators left to get any significant portion of the fleet back to where we departed from. In light of this plight, the leaders of the 25th Expeditionary Fleet have agreed that, for the meanwhile, we can lend assistance in the defense against and the hunt for these so-called Collectors. We will station a regiment of Army Troops under the current directive of General Bolting on New Istanbul. In addition, an envoy will be assembled from representative groups of the elements of the 25th and will accompany you to whatever seat of government you have," the Lord Admiral said.
The Alliance delegation nodded, as did the Spectre.
"We'll be landing our own units down there as well. I think I speak for the Alliance and the Council when I say that we are thankful that you were on hand to deal with the situation. We also appreciate the offer for the additional troops groundside, but I don't think they'll be required," stated Lysea.
Womack started indignantly, turning towards Lysea. She had no authority in Alliance matters! Even the Lord Admiral looked surprised at the Spectre's statement, and turned to Pax. The Sergeant unfolded his arms and grasped the end of the table, hunching over it like a hawk. Womack was about to start hissing vehemently at Lysea when the Sergeant interrupted him.
"It wasn't an offer," growled Pax.
"I don't think you're in the position to make demands of an unknown entity." If he wasn't so pissed off at her, Womack would've chuckled at Lysea's snappy comeback.
Pax laughed. Womack flinched in his seat – it was like listening to a Krogan bellow, but in interspersed intervals, like a dog's bark. It was one of the weirdest sounds he'd ever heard. The cloaked giant made a motion with his hand and the lights around the outer perimeter of the room lit up.
"My brethren," Pax announced.
Womack swiveled in his chair quickly. There were twenty giants standing around the table, closer than Womack could ever have thought. The captain was shocked to realize that they were, he estimated, only ten feet away from the table. Each one was clad in dark blue armor. The smallest was easily eight feet tall, and if Womack had to guess, five feet wide in the hulking suits they wore. The helmets had streamlined wings fashioned on the sides that glinted silver in the increased light. They looked like an honor guard – or an execution squad.
"Theatrical much?" asked Lysea. Womack was astounded at her guts.
"No. I am a realist."
"Ah."
"The troops are a token of goodwill, so to say. Fifteen hundred of some of the Imperium's frontline units. This is merely a formality. We do not wish to aggravate the situation further, simply to lend assistance where it is needed. War is not always the answer." Pax released the table and straightened himself. Lysea seemed to be caught off-guard from the last sentence. Womack knew he was – from the size of the armored beings around the table, and the huge weapons they were holding, he'd have assumed that they were made for only one purpose: war.
"I suppose in that case, given your intentions, a small detachment may be allowed to station themselves on the surface, along with an equivalent or greater amount of Council and Alliance troops." Lysea narrowed her eyes at Pax, trying to gauge his response before he started it.
"Very well. General Bolting, assemble a team of members from every one of the fifty regiments that are under your command. These specialists will liaise with these other soldiers. If there is a need for more we can address that at a later time. Is this sufficient, Spectre K'sine?"
The asari nodded. General Bolting licked his grizzled lips and sat back in his chair. He looked lazily towards Pax. The Sergeant said something in a language Womack couldn't understand – it almost sounded like a derivative of Latin. He reached down discreetly and tapped at his omni-tool to record the entire sentence quickly; he'd have the Waterloo's VI attempt to translate it later. Any advantage over these beings was one Womack would be very happy to have, even if it was just linguistics. Bolting replied in kind, and nodded slowly. The Captain looked up just as Lysea started speaking again.
"I'm glad we found some common ground, Sergeant Pax. I eagerly await bringing the Twenty-Fifth's envoys to the Citadel Council."
Pax didn't move, his expression unreadable under the hood. Ajall looked almost windswept as he addressed Womack's delegation.
"Well, erm, if everything is finished, then we can have you escorted back to your ships. We will notify you when the delegation and troops are ready – in the meanwhile, you can begin landing your personnel immediately."
Womack dipped his head.
"Thank you."
He didn't receive a reply, and got up. The Captain beckoned to the rest of his crew and Lysea. They walked purposefully towards the doors they had come through. The room, now illuminated, was a thing of beauty: there were streamlined grooves in the walls and ceiling where the lights were embedded, and in the light the dark marble flooring shined extravagantly. It was the finest negotiation room Womack had ever been in – he couldn't even begin to imagine how much it would cost for an Alliance dreadnought to have the same facilities.
The giant doors rumbled open again, and the delegation stepped onto the anti-gravity lift. One of the armored giants was already on it.
"Follow me." The voice filtered through the front of the helmet. Womack felt insignificant compared to this being – he was just glad that its weapon was in a holster and not in its hands. As it descended downwards, Womack breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, he had been certain that Lysea was going to get them killed with her talking. Luckily, that hadn't happened.
Yet.
()()()
Negotiations room, Demon of Ullanor
"War is always the answer." Sergeant Aklys snorted amusedly into his throat-mounted vox.
Pax turned towards the sergeant of Fourth Squad.
"Yes. War from the shadows is always the answer," replied Pax.