A/N: Another chapter, late due to a few IRL developments, but here nonetheless. I hope you guys enjoy it.
This was edited by Xabiar.
Faestok, seventh day of Op. Steel Rain.
The dark colored relay sat idle, awaiting mass transit queries and impassive to the passing years.
Clustered around each other, thousands of kilometers separated from the construct, thousands of ships of multiple configurations were arranged in battle formations according to their own doctrines.
Dreadnoughts, cruisers, frigates, corvettes, intelligence gathering vessels; all awaited the first notes of the masterpiece that they would soon be a part of.
Over three fourths of the Solus Space Forces and their vassals' respective inventories were represented in the system, waiting for the moment in which to engage in brutal space warfare against their Vaerdall-aligned cousins, once again re-enacting the acts of previous salarian feuds.
Not only their lives hanged in the balance, but also the current political order of the Salarian Union in general: would the Vaerdall consolidate their long-standing dominance for the foreseeable future and finally eliminate their most bitter rivals?
Or would they fall, and the Sesoln vengeance be finally complete?
Across the void, many salarians turned their minds to the Wheel of Life, contemplating over their actions in this cycle of incarnation, and mentally preparing themselves for the next, others offered prayers to lesser known gods of lesser known cults.
Many simply expected to rejoin the free-flowing universal energy according to their adopted Siari beliefs, awaiting the moment of letting go of their individual self to rejoin the background spiritual hum, contemplating over their impending annihilation.
Others turned their thoughts to the tangible physical space, focusing their minds and intellects on their systems and their training completely, putting their trust and hopes in metal and silicon, and finding comfort in their own way as they abandoned past and future, aligning themselves with the here and now.
A few, high in the chain of command, also came to trust their human allies to trust the combination of military intelligence and focused brute force, the ever-shifting correlation of forces and means, and ultimately, to trust the plan they devised in conjunction.
After the last of the Vaerdall scouting swarms had come and gone, and after their intelligence offices had near certainty that the Vaerdall-Hierarchy 'preemptive' strike was imminent, a matter of hours or minutes, they broke their formation at once.
The salarian ships moved out of their position near to the relay to a location much further away, opening tens of thousands of kilometers between them and the construct.
The humans jumped to FTL travel, hiding themselves many light-hours away from the point of battle, waiting to reinforce their allies as needed: out of detection of practical sub-light sensors but close enough to give few seconds of early-warning to the cutting-edge gravitic sensors on the salarian ships should they enter FTL.
Regardless of the outcome, they were sure the loss of life and material to the Salarian Union in general would be terrible, yet they still hoped for victory.
Interrupting the thoughts of tens of thousands of beings at the same time, the relay gyroscopic wheels slowly began their usual spin.
Orders were relayed as fast as their technicians could input them on their systems, in multiple directions through multiple methods of communication, ranging from simple radio to tight-beam laser datalinks.
Critical systems were put online, last minute prayers were finished, and preparations for immediate combat were taken all across the gathered armada.
Instantly, thousands of vessels sharing the same configurations of those opposing them breached space and time, travelling thousands of light years propelled by ancient constructs of past civilizations.
Their signatures were immediately picked up by their enemies, as the Solus armada came to life on the sensors of the Vaerdall ships as well.
Soon, they exchanged their first salvos of kinetic fire, escorts and capital ships maneuvering to bring their spinal cannons to bear according to the fire solutions their computers generated.
Both sides also released their numerous drones, carrying collectively tens of thousands of disruptor torpedoes, the unmanned craft rushing to deliver their payloads against a wall of laser point defenses.
In cold dead space, the near perpetual battle of salarian against salarian raged on again, a war in accordance to the interests of opposing Dalatrasses, themselves closer in kin to their sworn enemies than to the millions of subjects they ruled.
Mars, Armed Forces Unified Command.
"Admiral, allied Solus forces report that the Vaerdall fleets have crossed the relay and are now engaged with them completely," a voice spoke in the darkness, setting off a notification in the HUD overlay the contact lenses provided to Admiral Bouchard's eyesight. "Sesoln naval elements have also begun their own counter-offensives on their vassal worlds occupied by Hierarchy and Vaerdall affiliated forces, as expected the space resistance on worlds assaulted by the Hierarchy is minimal for the moment."
Bouchard's attention shifted immediately from the tridimensional display at the center of the command bunker to the officer who had spoken, his eyes following the indicative icons.
In the gloomy darkness, only the consoles illuminated the faces of the men seated in circular rows.
"Force composition?" The commander questioned immediately, observing as the technician returned his focus back to the screen to reply the requested information.
"As of the time of the message: two hundred dreadnoughts, accompanied by over three thousand and five hundred escorts, all of them salarian-built vessels," the young man answered. "They say that the situation is manageable for now, but should we deny aid, or the turians send reinforcements, they will eventually break; they have in-fact, already merged their formations."
"The situation is fluid," Bouchard said to no one in particular but himself, before focusing on the technician and ordering: "Give them twenty minutes until our fleet attacks, or until the turian reinforcements arrive regardless of time; they will arrive in force, they won't waste time with piecemeal reinforcements as the battle progresses, which would just give the Vaerdall time to suffer more casualties."
"It is imperative that the majority of enemy forces is destroyed or incapacitated; stress that to Admiral Speer," he continued speaking; now ordering the officer directly. "He has complete freedom to alter the plan as necessary, but we need them vanquished, scattered. We depend on his success."
"Aye, aye, sir!" The officer returned to his work transmitting his message, and Bouchard's attention returned to the holographic display.
This was the moment of his career, the final and ultimate test, and now everything lay outside his hands.
He had moved his fleets, as Ellison had moved his armies, and now they were in motion, carried forward by forces outside of rational control, carried by the simple human impetus to go forward; the spark of the pre-existing will to destroy.
The reptilian murder-impulse when sniffing blood, the prehistoric heritage carried over every single cell within their body, nothing more than strands of acids inside biological fluids, and still, a part of the very essence of themselves.
Every kinetic penetrator, every space-to-space torpedo, every pulse train fired from an assault rifle, all of these objects and energies transfigured themselves before his mind's eye, shifting from tridimensional phenomena to intangible extensions of their political will.
The will to assert themselves in a new galactic society, to overcome the immediate geopolitical adversity, to take a leading role in the decades to come in whichever fields they set themselves to; the will to defend and secure all that they had achieved since the early decades following the end of World War Three.
He found himself in the role of an instrument, not to Emperor Ferdinand or to the Empire, but to mankind, executing the subconscious desires and intents latent in every man, as the servicemen in the ships and fighting vehicles did.
From the lowly private running around with his M74, to Admiral Bouchard himself: they were cogs in a larger machine, whose value of its whole was greater than the sum of its individual parts.
Faestok.
One light-day away from the battle, the human task force laid waiting, limiting their communications as much as possible.
There was no sufficient light for the stark-white color of the capital ships to shine, and the ships were nothing more than dark silhouettes to the naked eye.
They formed a long battle line, extending over a few thousand kilometers, with their swarms of escorts along with the ships from the other fleets that accompanied them clustered around the massive ships.
Task Force Hydra was in near-full attendance with more than two thousand ships in total, the only missing formations being the strike fleets orbiting the Vaerdall-aligned worlds they invaded, and a single one still orbiting the Sesoln capital.
All they awaited was for a single communication, sent by the salarian ships through QEC and reaching Kel'Shan, being routed to the Strike Fleet orbiting the planet, then being beamed through hyperwaves to them.
Officers and ensigns focused completely on their tasks, already donning their zero-g suits, breathing through their helmets and speaking across their internal channels, the weapons turrets and mounts stood at the ready, extended out of their hulls to be exposed to the void.
It came without warning, addressed specifically for the AES Colossus, which then relayed the information throughout the fleet; two coordinates relating to the tridimensional axes of the galaxy, speed, composition, and relative distances to the mess of ships that were the two merged salarian formations.
Orders were frantically relayed again, with precision and anticipation, and the ships began to align themselves in the darkness, pointing towards a specific point in the starlit dome.
Suddenly, the mass of ships breached through standard time and space in light and radiations, escaping the confines of their dimension, accelerating to FTL in a world different than anything else, breaching the exotic waves of the Dirac Sea.
Admiral Aediana Galdonis studied the holograph her console provided with great care aboard the dreadnought HSV Isanis, focusing her sharp eyes most specifically on the gigantic and unorganized mass of salarian-built ships slugging it out ahead of her fleet.
She could feel the residual shudder as the spinal cannon on the dreadnought spat rounds carrying five hundred kilotons worth of kinetic energy every ten seconds, observing calmly as her two formations sniped at the mass of salarian ships before them.
And that was all they saw.
'Where are the humans? Intelligence was fresh...' She thought, as she noted the utter absence of Imperial ships in her immediate vicinity, their sensors extended their search to extreme distances, far enough to be affected by light-lag.
According to the previous drone swarm, the ships stood at trans-relay assault position, a fact they hoped to capitalize on by striking both in knife-fight ranges with the first wave of salarian vessels and subsequently with the last of their reserve ships on the other side of the relay pair, and then at long range by utilizing every ship they could pull off from Sesoln space back to the system.
In theory, it would succeed, pinning both the Solus and Imperial fleets in close combat, while a strong stand-off force rained ranged fire and inserted fresh ships as necessary, but so far nothing played out as predicted.
The Solus-affiliated vessels had unexpectedly shifted to an orbit tens of thousands of kilometers away from the relay, while the human taskforce was nowhere to be detected, no matter how long they sent pickets inside the systems traditional boundaries, scanning every shadow-zone caused by planetary geometry.
There were no thruster plumes neither ceramic-striping to be seen, neither radar nor ladar contacts but asteroids, and no communication to be listened to.
And even the sensors aboard the Vaerdall ships hadn't picked up a single mass signature traveling at FTL; as far as they knew, the fuel depot was also completely evacuated.
Still, the Hierarchy counted on her, of that she was certain; Desolas counted on her as well.
Every turian on the fleet understood the importance of this single engagement, an all-or-nothing preemptive battle with the large bulk of two of the most powerful salarian clans.
With or without the presence of human adversaries, their allies had chosen that moment to bring forth her forces.
She could sense that, obviously, there was a reason for such maneuvers, perhaps even a trap, but now the priority was the enemies that she could see, not imaginary phantoms hiding in space.
She had to break this blockade and re-established a secure supply line to the turian troops on Sesoln worlds, or they would fail, plain and simple; there was no choice but to keep hammering at the embroiled enemy.
She also understood that the Vaerdall might be tempted to call-in the rest of the Ten to arms should they lose, but she doubted that they would answer even if the call was made, and in any case turian troops would be left defenseless semi-permanently, much as they already were now.
But if she could make a guess, it seemed that in these last hours the humans had decided to stab the salarians in their backs as well; a possible explanation for their absence.
To her, a salarian stabbing betraying another is as common as breathing, it was axiomatic; their matriarchal system of gender rules, of position and hereditary possession, of vassalage and suzerainty, made it so that such events and situations would always repeat themselves.
The Hierarchy had done away with all of these institutions and ideas millennia ago.
Despite the physical dimorphism between a male and a female, a leftover from evolution and a past of uncivilized and primitive living, the Turian Hierarchy could boast to be truly gender equal in a galaxy that was full of inequality.
The living and unquestionable proof was her command of the task force at hand, and the attitudes of those under her command and above.
And beyond gender relations, petty concerns such as family estates or fortunes were individualistic relics that bore no use to the Hierarchy at the present, save for academic study of history or of alien societies in which such things still held value.
The Hierarchy, the collective, had precedence.
Something owned by the Hierarchy was owned by all, such as the fleets or state-owned factories and business, and something owned by the individual, such as a house or a car or financial assets, must be at the disposal of the collective at all times, as service to the Hierarchy did not end with placement at the Reserves.
Long gone and extinct were clans and dynasties, even tribes and distinct ethnic groups, their bloodlines either spent across the billions or finished, buried within Palaven's soil forever.
And if the Primarchs had their way, soon the fledgling colonial sentiments of particularism and resentment towards what some saw as the palaveni bogeyman would be gone as well.
In the depth of her heart she felt they had achieved the closest state to utopia outside of words in a philosophical treatise; as such, this war, no matter the accusations or arguments, was fully just.
The will of the Hierarchy, the security and honor of the turian people as a whole, superseded everything else.
If she could try their hand at politics, she understood that their human adversaries probably felt the same way in varying degrees about different things equally as valuable to them.
Desolas had spoken with her before the assembled fleet left Sesoln space, and the complimentary reinforcements jumped from Irbol towards Faestok, and she understood his viewpoint.
The Empire was in conflict with them not out of an unrestrained conquering desire and primitive world-outlook such as the krogan, or blind animalistic impulse as the rachni, but simply because their power was challenged, because such was the way with states of their magnitude.
Although, even understanding his words, that the humans were hardly different than them, she found it better to picture them as faceless, emotionless, soulless, if only to ease her mind to the tasks ahead.
Thus, every round fired off by her Thanix spinal cannon didn't mean hundreds of deaths, but a duty accomplished.
"Admiral!" one ensign exclaimed on their channel, breaking her contemplation at once. "We've detected multiple ships in ascending vertical trajectory relative to us! 10K and closing!"
"Radiation and light signatures match reported human FTL exit-points!" Another said, as the infrared sensors and ELINT suites on the dreadnought detected the rapidly collapsing singularities, cascading upon themselves in photon bursts and cosmic radiation.
"Contact list increasing drastically! The enemy is releasing sub-munitions!"
And it indeed was true, below the fleet arriving relative to Sesoln territory and the smaller one arriving through the relay, hundreds and hundreds of contacts came to life in the holographic image.
"Align every GARDIAN array and spinal cannon with them now, focus all fire on them! Weapons are free!" She exclaimed, with her order being relayed across the fleet.
'How did the salarians not detect them arriving inside the system? And from where?' Her mind raced with the possibilities and her heart accelerated as her ships began their maneuvers, bringing their spinal cannons to bear on different targets.
But the trap had already sprung, and the axe was falling.
Split in two halves similar to the turian fleet, in unequal numbers to match their adversaries, the human task force let out a continuous hail of kinetic fire from literal thousands of turrets, all the while releasing all their torpedo ordnance at extremely close range to the two turian formations, ignoring the salarian melee for the moment.
Fed with critical information long before they jumped, they arrived with their guns blazing.
"Vampires! Vampires! GARDIAN engaging!" Technicians cried out in every ship, relaying information on the tens of thousands of contacts that appeared with each second, with infrared defense lasers already swiveling in their mounts to illuminate their targets with destructive light.
Twenty long seconds elapsed, as the hypervelocity slugs and guided missiles raced across the void.
Infrared GARDIAN arrays fired against the impossibly bright spots of heat that were the torpedoes to their sensors, ships performed last-ditch maneuvers to evade numerous different slugs aimed at them.
An outside onlooker, an astronaut drifting in the void, would only see a gargantuan shower of meteors akin the ones that are seen from within an atmosphere; spots and trails of light dashing through the sky and ending in brief flashes, either on the planar level of their targets or before, as the lasers intercepted and destroyed them.
More than a hundred thousand anti-ship missiles were released against them along with a similarly great number of kinetic rounds, without warning or escalation; a bolt from the dark.
Aediana would have no time to order her crew to abandon ship, no time to mutter a prayer to any familiar spirit that might hear, as she watched the energy levels of her ship's kinetic barriers plummet with each impact, either from a slug or a torpedo.
A Sunburn pierced the hull, driving deep through metal and multiple other materials with the aid of the penetrating shell encasing the warhead proper, and releasing one kiloton worth of TNT about twenty meters away from their main reactor.
To Aediana, it all ended in a painless white flash, which immediately faded to black.
Admiral Speer watched as the turian ships were disappearing from his display by the hundreds at a time, with surviving torpedoes quickly maneuvering and establishing new trajectories to the mass of salarian vessels.
"Comrade Admiral," the technician's voice betrayed both amazement and gut-wrenching soberness as his mind registered the events displayed on his screen, and he subconsciously translated the information to an ever-growing number of lives lost. "The attack was devastating, their losses are…murderous…they did not have proper time to react…around two thousand ships destroyed or disabled."
"Continue to direct all unused ordnance to salarian ships marked as hostile, focus on cruisers, relay force is to hold position and blockade the relay approach relative to the merged fleets, all our escorts are to burn to intercept the enemy formation merged with allies," Speer ordered, keeping the steel in his own voice. "Relay the message to HQ: Hierarchy naval forces in the naval theater are combat ineffective, the plan was a success, beginning engagement of VSF forces in-system."
And so they did, faster than light radiation reaching across insurmountable distances, straight into Mars itself, with their torpedoes maneuvering and burning with all their power against new threats, and the numerous escorts accompanying the dreadnoughts realigning themselves and burning with intensity to join the fight between the two armadas.
"All battleships, tachyon lance fire at enemy dreadnoughts," Speer ordered. "All weapons are free, choose targets at will."
Within a few moments, several bright green beams shot through the cosmos, vanquishing their targets in plasma and white-hot debris, which at times were deflected by the electromagnetic shields of both friend and foe as the exploding clouds of residue continued through space in inertia.
Beyond the torpedoes and tachyon lances, the newly arrived fleet brought their full arsenal to bear, railguns firing their 20kg slugs at thousands of kilometers per second, gamma lasers painting the cosmos with narrow radiation beams.
Frigates, cruisers, battleships, all opened fire on their targets, sharing space with the Solus own kinetic penetrators and ultraviolet lasers.
With the enemy dreadnoughts going down in number, the Solus changed tactics, employing the same one utilized by the Vaerdall at the very same system; dreadnoughts abandoned their original targets, and all focused on a single unlucky foe, pouring mass accelerator fire on the shields of the lone ship.
Quickly, with the added volume of fire, the slowly losing Solus managed to regain their initiative, and press harder attacks, of ever increasing violence and ferocity, against enemies faced with some many incoming rounds that some choose to simply evade incoming fire, while others bore the full brunt of the onslaught.
Added to that, the ever closing remaining torpedoes, still numbering in the tens of thousands, homed ever closer to ships whose crews and systems were already put to their limit of endurance and stress.
Amid the rain of metal that populated the approached to the Faestok-Irbol relay, the same dashing comets struck at their targets, slamming in the dozens against the more powerful EM shielding of the salarians, or exploding by the hundreds as their UV GARDIANs engaged them with more power and from further away.
Still, ships were gutted, split in half, or outright destroyed completely as their shields overloaded and their hulls were pierced by either guided missiles or kinetic slugs.
Soon, the tables were turned completely, with Vaerdall ships zigzagging in multiple precision jumps and burns, evading threats full-time and returning fire only when they could afford to.
No matter how powerful the active shielding, electromagnetic or Eezo-based, a constant and overwhelming volume of fire would eventually bring it down.
Again and again, dreadnought after dreadnought fell to the massed fire of their Solus counterparts, adding to those who fell earlier in battle, and those eliminated by the human exotic weaponry.
Forty minutes had elapsed since the arrival of the human fleet, and the lances had once again cooled down.
Another volley was fired; another twenty four dreadnoughts vanished in cold vacuum adding to the bloodbath.
Consequently, with the loss of their turian reinforcements, and the overwhelming salvos themselves were receiving, the chain of command slowly cracked along with their deteriorating morale.
Allegiances shattered as well, as the ships that were not direct property of the Vaerdall, but rather belonging to the minor clans under their vassalage, began to break free of their formation, coupling their own sense of self-preservation with the last minute shift in geopolitical power.
In the accurate perceptions of the vassal commanders attached to the Vaerdall fleet, the clan's power would soon be destroyed in an irreversible manner; as such, their obedience ended as well.
Those that fled for the relay soon found themselves facing the other half of the human fleet in constant and deadly firing cadences, who like their counterparts had 'jumped' upon the turian reinforcements, denying them safe approach and consequently the ability to jump away from the system.
Others soon identified neighboring systems with suitable discharge points for their accumulated static charge and gas giants where they would be able to skim fuel off on their own.
They wasted no time in jumping to FTL as soon as the second tachyon lance volley hit and carved another hole in their rooster.
Scores of blue-shifted stars shot across the sky amid the bright flashes and blazing explosions of compressed air and burning hydrogen, soon to be followed by their Solus pursuers inside Sesoln space.
Their only fledging hope would be to continually avoid enemy contact, both the chasing ships and the awaiting Sesoln forces, and reach the second relay pair at the other edge of Sesoln territory; where hopefully there would still be friendly forces by the time they arrived.
To those that were forced to remain, namely the Vaerdall ships who would not yield, there would be no escape.
Sur'Kesh.
"…and remember this Saren, you have a brilliant career ahead of you, do not be mired by politics and concerns outside of service to the Hierarchy, avoid shadowy schemes by those unconcerned with the turian people." Desolas said directly to his haptic console, as the computer recorded his message. "Many will say a myriad of things about me, about my honor, about everything that I am and was, and they will probably hold the events of today against you in the future."
"I regret that you will have to go through that." He said after a pause, eyes falling down to his lap. "I am sorry the men and women under my command died, and one day you'll probably feel the same way as well as the duty of leadership is placed upon you; but you are your own man, and while I am your brother and will always be, only you are the master of your life."
His spartan-like private quarters and few personal effects were in pristine condition, spotless, as he had learned to maintain even before joining boot camp; their mother had made sure that the absence of their father would not impact their lives in one bit.
It was the same background of dozens of others messages Desolas had sent to his brother over the years.
"Today I have lost a great battle against a foe we only partly understood, and which we misjudged." He sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment, before continuing. "I am sure that this is a war that the turian people will certainly comprehend and overcome in the future."
"In this war, events transpired that culminated in the deaths of millions, whether you classify them as innocent or not will be up to your own understanding of the universe."
"Still, they have died, and undeniably, I have responsibility in their deaths." He declared. "This is a price I will never be able to repay."
"To you, to myself, to the Hierarchy, I have become a liability, a burden." He continued his message, with the sub-harmonics on his voice filled with restrained emotion.
"You may feel compelled to feel hatred, to direct your anger at anyone and everything. If there's one advice I can give you, is to let go of those feelings and move forward with your life." He said, and paused, searching for the words. "In conclusion, without overly broad statements and worn out commonplaces…I want to say that I love you, dear brother."
"Be at peace, the spirits are watching over you and me." He said, smiling at the display, at the phantom image of his brother's face in his mind's eye.
With a flick of his hand over the haptic keyboard, the recording stopped, and the priority message was sent.
He sighed, his posture becoming relaxed as he eased himself on the chair.
Not wasting time, tired of contemplating and thinking, he picked up the pistol from atop the desk in front of him.
Deep inside the command ship, with thick bulkheads between them and the room in question, no one heard the single gunshot.
Irissa's office, Citadel.
"MAJOR NAVAL BATTLE ON FAESTOK-IRBOL RELAY, CATASTROPHIC LOSSES REPORTED," read at the headline underneath the anchorwoman's face at the far flatscreen, with the asari speaking both to the camera and with a panel of guests and the other anchorwoman.
Still, the feed was mute, being ignored by the room's occupants.
Irissa sat behind her desk, with her haptic keyboard and display left forgotten much like the steaming cup of tea, as she listened intently to the human before her.
"In sum, it was a complete success, save some sort of supernatural intervention." Filip said, gesticulating as he sat under the flatscreen on the wall opposite to her. "We estimate that the near totality of the turian space assets assigned to the operation were either destroyed or incapacitated, in conjunction with the routing of all ships belonging to direct vassals of the Vaerdall."
"Vaerdall-proper forces are being destroyed as we speak; we're aiming for maximum destruction of everything we can." He continued. "The Solus naval losses were serious as well, this was a massive showdown, but they are of no importance right now."
"Still, the losses sustained by the turians are worrying; as we fear that they might retaliate and escalate the situation only to save face." He said, standing straighter on the sofa.
"That's a possibility," Irissa said, releasing a breath she did not know she was holding. "Another is that the Primarch of Palaven is replaced following this defeat, consequently replacing my turian counterpart as well, which is what RIS predicted would happen once you informed us of your plans."
"The turians know that the Republics won't stand for all-out war, especially against you, much less now, and I don't think that is the goal of their volus clients. They know that we will embargo them, even if we suffer economic losses as well, they know that the average asari won't agree with that," She elaborated, gracefully picking up a steaming teacup and sipping on it for a few seconds.
"Their own objectives were achieved, even if their allies were vanquished or their own forces as well, as we had previously discussed; the damage is already done," She said, placing the cup back on her desk. "In my view, the results of this situation will simply be extremely sour sentiments of the more militant swathes of the turian populace and government against your government and by consequence your species as well."
"We can't help being the way we are," Filip sighed, chest heaving up and down as he looked upon the station, past the wall-sized window. "Sometimes the impossibility of detaching the people from the state is a burden, but I suppose that's valid for the Hierarchy and a few others as well, and even with such a burden we wouldn't change."
"In any case I am glad and relieved to hear your assessment, as will my superiors." He said, before completing: "And as you know, the final part of this endeavor begins."
"It does," she replied. "When, specifically?"
"I don't know," he smiled sincerely. "Need-to-know basis, what I know is that it was tied to today's battle, and that I was tasked with informing what would happen to you."
"Regardless, it is out of my control," Irissa said with resignation, before asking him: "Do you plan on attending the peace talks later on today?"
"Yes, I wouldn't miss it for anything," Filip chuckled. "I will demand the surrender of the Vaerdall clan on behalf of the Sesoln, as a few days ago Nizen invested me with diplomatic power on her behalf, and a ceasefire on behalf of the Empire."
"Although, given the repercussion that today's battle will have, I am not entirely sure they will show up, they must receive instructions before," he mused out loud. "Still, it is a few hours from now, in any case, I imagine that will be enough time for them to rapidly re-organize themselves, even if I they are in no bargaining position at all."
"I have nev-" Irissa was interrupted by a priority notification both on her workstation and on her omnitool, and she quickly brought up the orange haptic interface to life on her left wrist, typing a few commands on the small hovering keyboard.
"It seems I have appointments of my own to attend to, you'll have to excuse me," she said, not looking up from the omnitool as she stood from her chair.
"I understand, please keep us updated," Filip said, standing up and buttoning his grey suit's front, adjusting the sleeves on the jacket, and re-checking the tie pin.
"Don't worry; in fact, if I take everything into account, I should be the one saying that," Irissa said off-handedly, leaving the room together with the man, but taking a different direction as she navigated the Citadel Tower.
Throne Room, Kel'Shan.
In Kel'Shan, specifically on the hemisphere in which the capital was located, night had fallen hours before.
The stars in the black dome were occasionally obfuscated by fireworks; at the direct orders of their ruling Dalatrass once again, as news of their victory had arrived, celebrations were in full swing.
Multicolored patterns exploded high in the sky, along with silvery showers falling from the tops of skyscrapers and golden rockets crisscrossing high above.
Information about their current was made public at once, elevating the morale of both civilians and servicemen, and there was only one word in the minds of many nobles of greater and lesser standing: 'Deliverance!'
The tension of the previous days, the unnerving uncertainty, had completely dissipated from the minds of all those with a stake in the conflict and those who had simply been caught up in the middle.
Nizen enjoyed the cool breeze that entered the room through the large terrace overlooking the city, carrying with it the muffled explosions of the fireworks.
She had her glass refilled by serfs with imported human champagne at a continuous pace, a courtesy brought by the human fleets that previously orbited her planet. "It is fascinating, I can barely feel the alcoholic content, and it isn't overly sweet or numbing like some drinks, it simply fits the occasion perfectly."
"We are glad you enjoy it, it is directly from Terra," Mikhail said from below her throne, sitting on one of the cushions that were many days earlier populated by the adulating nobles.
"It tastes like victory mother," Cinis said from one cushion across from the human agent, looking up to her holding her own glass. "Slightly inebriating, exciting, and generally perfect in every measure,"
"Exactly!" Nizen agreed, letting out a laugh of delight. "It tastes like victory, and we have won in fact."
"When will the Crown Prince arrive?" Cinis turned her gaze toward the human agent, her words carrying double meanings. "There is much we need to discuss, preferably in person."
"Shortly, two days at most," he answered, matching her gaze for a brief moment, before sipping on his own drink.
"It will be delightful, rarely do we have a visitor of his status, and I will make sure that the event goes as smoothly as possible." Nizen commented, at ease with herself and the situation. "Another meeting of court, like in the old days."
"I still remember the stories of your youth court gatherings, when my grandmother was still alive."
"Those were the days Cinis," Nizen sighed, having her cup refilled once more. "When Sur'Kesh did not hate us as much as it does now."
"Now, this will be the first of many, and the following ones will be even grander, fitting for the Dalatrass of Sur'Kesh," she said, smiling at her daughter. "You'll absolutely love the homeworld, the best bloodlines, the best real estate, the prestige and historical legitimacy, the honor and grandeur, the very birthing pool of our civilization,"
Cinis smiled back, hiding the lingering sadness deep within her core: "You make it sound like a dream, mother."
"In some ways it is, a dream we have made reality," she said, looking downward to Mikhail. "In large part to the human efforts, political and military; without you we wouldn't have achieved any of this, our long-standing heraldic claims, our justice."
"I am humbled, Dalatrass," Mikhail bowed his head. "But truly, I am simply an agent out of many; the Prince would be more deserving of any praise."
"Indeed, after all he was the one that accepted this alliance," Cinis agreed with the agent. "We have waited long generations for triumph; a few days will be of no consequence now."
"You are right," Nizen said, eyes shifting from the beings below her to the night sky outside. "I guess I am just being carried away with emotion, I've envisioned this moment for long years…"
"It is best if we leave you alone then," her daughter replied. "My moment is near, but right now, this is your time, and beyond that, I wish to contemplate over these events…"
"Very well, even if I don't turn my thoughts towards the Wheel, I imagine a few moments of personal recollection about the events will be positive." She said, smiling softly at Cinis as her gaze fell on her. "You two may go,"
And so they did, promptly standing up, bowing, and leaving Nizen to her thoughts and champagne.
"I am certain that it must be done," Cinis said as she paced around on the room. "But still, it is hard, no matter how much I steel myself or rationalize the situation, the dread remains."
In accordance with her station, her wing of the skyscraper-styled palace was as opulent as the rest of the living spaces used by her immediate family.
Exclusive furniture and artwork populated the palace, made of materials of the highest quality and at times present there simply because they could, not out of any true necessity.
The antechamber to her bedroom was no different, and while she fretted from left to right over a rich rug, Mikhail comfortably reclined himself in a large sofa, drinking a glass of water.
"You should be glad that, ironically, females in close kinship can overcome the birth imprint in most cases, else we'd have to remove you as well." Mikhail said. "If you must feel guilty, feel it over the innocents who lost their lives to your mother's scheming, not about the coming retribution."
"I understand that," she replied. "Yet she is still my progenitor."
"I know," Mikhail said, restraining a sigh that wanted to escape.
"I must have guarantees, Mikhail; guarantees that the Sesoln won't be further prosecuted for anything else by the Empire." She said, quickly voicing her thoughts. "What I am about to do is common in salarian history, but murder is still murder."
"That's the agreement," he reasserted. "The beef isn't with you or your cousins, or great-cousins, or whoever else, it's with your mother and her attempt at blackmailing us, and once she is removed we will be satisfied."
"Beef?"
"The disaffection," he supplied. "Really, you know she is too drunk with her own power and with the promises of even more power."
"I know," she replied. "It is bad enough that this entire situation developed in the first place."
"This is the path in which things can be salvaged without further damage to either party," he continued, repeating his words of previous conversations. "Sajie has agreed, her mother is oblivious, but she'll play along, there's no question about that."
"Eventually, things will settle down, she will become Dalatrass," he stopped for a second, the subconscious fear of the room being monitored creeping up again on the back of his thoughts.
Quickly, and almost imperceptibly to Cinis, his rational side won, reminding him that Cinis's personal birth-imprinted STG squads cleaned the place of devices with regularity, and his expression relaxed.
"We put this all behind, and go on with our lives and you try and maintain power as your family always did, no stunts, no galactic escalation." He said, regaining the train of thought.
"You're right," Cinis closed her eyes, releasing a sigh of her own. "Yes, you're right; I'm doing the right thing."
"Look," Mikhail spoke after studying her after a few seconds of silence. "You're clearly on edge, so why don't you go do your…thing…get yourself relaxed and catch some sleep, we talk later, in the morning."
Salarians could blush around the capillary veins on their horns, but as her skin tone was naturally green it was a barely perceptible change in hue; one that Mikhail didn't identify, but he knew by her body language that she was slightly embarrassed.
"Alright, good night I guess," she said, concealing her embarrassment as best as she could, before calling up her omnitool and pressing a button on the haptic interface, summoning her guards.
Two armored salarians brandishing assault rifles quickly entered the room through the main door and bowed deeply: "At your service, my lady,"
"I am retiring for the night, please escort my guest to his quarters." Cinis ordered them, promptly turning and making her way across the room to her bedchamber.
Mikhail stood up, leaving the glass of water on the couch, and following the two soldiers without any incident.
Upon entering his own room, he finally released a sigh, his back hitting the door as he slumped a bit, attempting to relax his muscles.
"Fucking salarians…" he pinched the bridge of his nose, not caring that the technicians monitoring his room heard his displeasure loud and clear.
He undressed out of the usual suit, moving to his suite bathroom and stepping in the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away his own tension and edge.
The moment of his personal triumph drew near, the culmination of the collective efforts by the MID, and the end of his assignment.
In his perception, every second spent in their company stretched out into minutes, every hour stretched into a day.
'Only for a little while more now,' he thought, his thoughts drifting into the future as the falling water massaged his body and eased his mind of the piling burdens.
Citadel Tower.
The private lounge served the Council long before any of the occupants had been born, even Irissa herself.
Armchairs and sofas were spread around in a circle facing each other, and vases with flora from the four corners of the galaxy decorated the space, tapestries in the bronze-colored Council banners hung down from a few walls, with the white symbol of the Citadel emblazoned in white.
Subtle artwork in the form of sculptures and paintings also decorated the walls, worth fortunes in their own.
"So?" Irissa said, crossing her arms as she sat on one of the many seats, facing her turian colleague directly.
"I trust you're updated?" He questioned her.
"Indeed I am," she said.
"Very well," Herilus said. "I won't lengthen myself here: we do not plan on attacking the Empire, yet the populace will clamor for that and so will the Vaerdall until reality settles in for them."
"We suspected as much, and I'm glad you see things that way, so I don't have to lower myself as to actually make threats regarding economic action," Irissa replied, opening a satisfied smirk. "And in any case, your true objectives have been achieved for the most part have they not? Military defeat notwithstanding…"
"You should know I won't comment on that," He said, mandible spurs flexing. "But one of the reasons our colleague isn't here now is exactly that: we'll be pulling back all surviving assets back to the Hierarchy for rest and refit."
"What we need is guarantee that the humans are satisfied with things as they are right now," Herilus went on. "And the reason I'm saying that to you because obviously your government is the best to intermediate this, whether anyone likes it or not."
"That is a given, we will mediate any meeting between you," She replied. "The humans have no special appreciation for you, but they do not have any strong inclination for conflict either, so while I'm not one of their diplomats, take my opinion as an educated guess."
"I am glad to hear that as well," Herilus said.
"But what about the resolution we approved?" Irissa asked. "That is the most important issue, the moment you presented the alleged proof of the Sesoln conspiracy, and passed the resolution, it is valid until annulled, if you annul it now, your career in politics will be destroyed, forever."
"So either you resign immediately, grinding the Council to halt for an indeterminate period of time and allowing someone else to step up, or we can re-vote it again as it stands, this time choosing the sensible option, but then it will be your responsibility to conjure an excuse good enough to revoke the resolution if you want to avoid general outcry." She continued. "I can and will vote in your favor, but we, especially you, need the image of legitimacy."
"We have a few things in store, and a lot of options on the table, be assured; and as you said this is our problem after all." The turian said. "Regarding my political career, that isn't a concern of your either, being entirely honest. I served the Hierarchy to the best of my abilities even during my infantry days, and I am not particularly worried about my future right now."
"I imagined no serious repercussions would befall you or the Primarch, at least not what anyone would consider serious," Irissa replied with an insincere smile. "Stepping down to quiet retirement somewhere, anywhere, with your name disappearing from turian mass media except for history books that will, of course, be propaganda."
"You're not spotless either," Herilus shot back. "We haven't forgotten that you kept contact with a new species secret until they were reopening dark relays and poking around on abandoned stations, even if they were going behind your back as well."
Tense silence fell between them, neither backing down from the undeclared staring match.
Irissa eventually grew bored with it, and decided to break it: "When can I expect the session in question?"
"Soon, a week's time at most, a few details need to be agreed upon, a few loose ends tied up." Herilus said. "Speak to them as quickly as possible, please, the sooner this ends the better."
"I will," Irissa said while standing up, being quickly followed by Herilus. "By the way, about the ongoing peace talks, will your representative show up, or you will be dropping the pretense of it actually amounting to anything?"
"If you ask me about the Vaerdall representative, I can't answer you with certainty, at least not right now as we speak, we are still in the process of gauging what they will do, he may even not show up entirely, as I said a few details need to be settled," He replied. "I am particularly interested on how they will behave, it will be interesting."
"On our side, she has been briefed on her following course of action, we will be present, we won't be uncooperative," He continued. "I also have a pretty good idea of what your human protégées will demand now,"
Irissa paid no comment to his choice of words referring to their allies; after all, he knew nothing of the real depth in which her interactions with humans reached.
An idea came to her mind, and she voiced it aloud: "We can utilize the peace talks to establish communications between you and the human representative, after all our own diplomat will be there as well, after the proper discussions end and the Vaerdall diplomat leaves of course,"
"Perfect!" Herilus said. "We won't waste time, I'll arrange things on our side, please carry on with your diplomat and the human one."
She nodded in agreement, and soon left the room at the practiced and elegant pace of asari diplomats.
"Diplomat, let's face the facts," Filip said, eyeing the salarian in front of him directly. "Your fleet is essentially combat-ineffective now, all turian and Vaerdall ground forces in Sesoln affiliated planets are completely cut off from space support and will eventually be destroyed or surrender, moreover the allegiance between your vassals and you at this moment hangs on a thin line."
"You have seen the document I presented earlier and confirmed its validity," he continued, placing both palms on the table. "I am authorized by Sesoln Nizen herself to act as a diplomat in her name, and again, they offer you the chance to surrender upon the condition of the payment of reparations over time, including but not limited to liquid assets, real estate, and heraldry titles."
"And as the acting human diplomat on this station, all we petition for a ceasefire between all involved parties," he completed. "Irrespective of the resolution passed by the Citadel Council at the beginning of the conflict, this is my appeal to you: peace takes precedence now."
They were gathered in the same room as before, the only difference being the increasingly tense air around them.
"The Republics, as always, will seek a peaceful resolution; the loss of life is too great already." Nassana interjected. "A ceasefire now will allow the situation to de-escalate and prevent catastrophic consequences should either party take hasty measures."
Fadiana, the turian diplomat, turned to Vaerdall Sals, expecting to hear his reply.
She had been briefed by Councilor Herilus before, and now she was going to act accordingly to her orders, even if she disagreed vehemently with them.
To her, the immediate and proper response to this farce should be declaring war on the Interstellar Aryan Empire immediately following the defeat at Faestok, not only for defiance of a resolution by the Citadel Council but by also attacking Hierarchy forces.
Yet, the Primarch and his advisors held other views.
To them, peace and galactic stability seemed to be the paramount goals, ranking higher than the loss of turian soldiers to alien forces.
In her heart, her orders were wrong, even immoral if she went further, but to her mind, they were absolute if put in light of adherence to the chain of command; she would not doubt or hesitate to perform as she was expected to do.
Anything else and she might as well begin questioning the foundations of the Hierarchy itself.
"The Council resolution is absolute," Sals replied with confidence in his voice. "The loyal clans of the Ten will be called to arms, with the full weight of all naval assets available to the Salarian Union, the treachery by the Sesoln and Solus won't be left unpunished."
"This is fantasy, diplomat, at best they won't answer to your communication attempts, and at worse they will all converge against you." Filip replied. "No Council resolution will defend you against your own cutthroat politics; no half-baked excuse for war matters now, Sur'Kesh is up for grabs! Can't you realize that? Settling for peace now is the only hope your clan has of maintaining any status."
"Even if by some unexplainable miracle you manage to defeat the Sesoln and the Solus clans and even our own fleet, then what? What protects you against all your other vassals? Who fills the power vacuum?" Filip continued. "You have the chance right now to turn the Third Salarian Civil War into a conflict of days instead of one of months and even years, are you prepared to see all clans thrown into all-out warfare? Your nation will rip itself apart!"
"Whatever the motivation for this conflict, be it economic, political, personal, it will all be outweighed by the sheer destruction that will follow if it is allowed to continue unchecked." Nassana said, building upon Filip's words. "The Council resolution against the Sesoln is valid and sovereign, yes, but their penalty needn't be carried out over war and death, and the Republics are staunchly committed to acquiescing to the Council's decisions, but we can't sit idle and watch neighbor societies destroy themselves."
Sals façade betrayed nothing as he heard their appeals and veiled threats, and he chose to look towards Fadiana, expecting–hoping–for her to support him.
Their eyes met, and long seconds passed with nothing but silence between all parties.
Only now the salarian's mask cracked, with his eyes widening if only for the briefest moment.
"That's it?" He asked.
The turian diplomat looked away from him, her face impassive, but her heart burning in shame.
Fadiana's persistent silence was all he needed to hear for the massage to be fully understood.
"You gambled, and lost, there's nothing to be done now but damage control." Filip said, probing for a reaction.
At that moment, the weight of the galaxy fell upon Sals's slim shoulders, as he matched gazes with the human representative across the circular table.
"We will need guarantees, the Sesoln will demand the universe and then some," he said, ignoring the other two beings in the room, focusing on Filip. "They will not be satisfied until we are dead, splintered, humiliated, and everything else.
Pragmatism had at last triumphed over pride.
"I can't promise you won't lose status, or money, or even the heraldry titles," Filip said. "But I promise that you won't be forced into imprint submission neither be completely wiped out. I can also promise that you will not be the only one left to pay the bill for this whole show, we'll make sure of that."
"Then…it seems we have a ceasefire," Sals said. "Let's see if you will uphold the agreement."
"We intend to see this through to the end, be assured." Filip replied, extending his hand to the alien.
Sals promptly shook it, mimicking the alien gesture.
"Absolutely wonderful!" Nassana suppressed her desire to laugh in mockery of the situation, eyeing all the dignitaries present.
"The Republics are glad we could all come to an agreement," Nassana said, offering a small smile to both Filip and Fadiana.
"I'm sure they are," Fadiana replied dryly.
Sals had departed to communicate with his Dalatrass, resigning to be the bearer of bad news, even if he was thousands of lightyears away from his clan matriarch, and thus leaving the other diplomats alone.
"Cutting right to the heart of the matter, Diplomat Frumsis, I must say a few things."
Fadiana turned her eyes toward the human, studying his face for any sort of sign she might interpret, before nodding shortly.
"It is unfortunate all of this came to pass, really, this is an official stance from the Interstellar Aryan Empire, its Senate, and its Emperor." Filip said, spreading his hands as he spoke. "We wish things had gone differently, but the situation forced our hand, as it forced yours, and so we find ourselves here today."
"Irrespective of the results of our corresponding military endeavors, we regret that our forces undertook direct action against each other; even though at one point it was necessary according to our particular interests and objectives." He continued. "In that light, we also understand that animosity generated through armed conflict is hard to wane and that your citizenship in general will invariably feel anger and animosity, even hatred, towards us, and that our own population will eventually return the sentiment."
"That's supposed to be reassuring, or conciliatory?" Fadiana questioned him.
"Please, allow me to finish," he amended. "That said, the Empire has no inherent desire for war, as I'm sure your government doesn't either, and we wish to make such intentions, or rather the lack of them, clear to you."
"We understand, and we reciprocate the desire for peace," Fadiana forced the words out of her mouth. "You are correct in your assessment about the inevitable…animosity between our two governments and populations."
"In regards to the soldiers who died on both sides of your occasional clashes, and to the lost assets, what is the stance of the Hierarchy?" Nassana chose that moment to approach the sensitive topic.
"We expect monetary compensation, not up to the actual cost of the lost ships, but a symbolic recognition of their sacrifices." Fadiana managed to keep the disgust out of her voice.
"Done," Filip promptly answered. "We expect in turn your support for our entry into the larger galactic society, especially regarding our exemption from the associate-member clauses of the Treaty of Farixen and the reforms discussed earlier regarding the Citadel Conventions."
"You will have our support," she answered categorically.
"Excellent," Filip smiled both at her answer and her tone. "It seems then that we have finally reached a middle ground, I am glad we have spoken."
"The Hierarchy feels the same, diplomat," At this point, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything about the conversation anymore.
'I've just sold out my brothers and sisters in arms,' was her only thought as she shook Filip's hand, as did the salarian before her.
AES Intruder, interstellar space.
"The first phase has gone smoothly, as smooth as it can be in any case," Constantine said to the three men in black uniforms in front of him as the trio stood on the CIC of the Intruder. "This is the time."
"We are as ready as we'll ever be, the only thing left is the actual execution," Werner said. "Even if few of us come out alive, and I'm certain we will have losses, the mission will be a success, I can feel it."
Hill said nothing, remaining impassive at the news.
"We have the training, the assets, and the motivation to do it, sir." Falkner said, nodding in affirmative, convincing both himself and the Prince in process.
Constantine returned the nod, and then looked down to his silver watch, watching as the needle-like pointer flawlessly slid over the clock face until it reached a specific point.
"1200 hours Zulu; Operation Switchblade has officially begun," Constantine suddenly said. "Go alert the ISF detachment, all men to their battle stations."
The two ISF operatives and the MID agent wasted no time, saluting crisply and leaving him, going to attend to their respective duties.
Falkner and Werner took an elevator out of the CIC towards the cargo hangar in order to perform last-minute inspections on their gear, and Hill barking orders on the CIC, still being the acting CO despite Constantine's presence in the ship.
Constantine turned around, eyeing the officers and ensigns manning the consoles on the crew pits along the CIC, and the helmsman at the end of the room, facing the ship's bow.
The alarm quickly began to sound, and the technicians quickly began donning their zero-g suits, with the empty consoles being quickly manned by their respective staff as they arrived on the deck.
"This is it," he muttered to himself, as the pent up worries generated over the last week wormed their way into his mind again.
Shortly after, as Constantine began donning his own zero-g suit, the ship escaped the tridimensional void, breaching lightyears worth of exotic matter, rushing to meet its ultimate fate.
A/N: As you all noticed by now, fleet sizes are kind of severely scaled up, after all this is an AU. I plan on doing a coherent Codex at the end of the story, but feel free to ask any questions on PM if you so wish.
In any case, thanks for reading, and I hope you leave me feedback!