A/N: This was a very difficult chapter to start, for some reason. To the point where my brain gave me a new idea to work with, and I actually started writing an entirely different story instead, called "Pretty Good Year", which is a nice romance piece between Traynor and Liara, and is a sequel of sorts to Old Soul. Please feel free to check it out, review, etc etc. :-)
Regardless, it felt like I just couldn't get started on this one. Fortunately my Editrix Supreme, Caracal22, came up with a good POV idea to start from, and once I got past the beginning inertia, the rest came out well enough (I hope). And, as always, this chapter, which was a tricky one to write, would be far weaker without her guidance and input. A thousand thank-yous, as always!
Next installment has more or less been already written, so expect that in a week or less. Gives me time to catch up on the huge reading backlog I still have *heh*.
It was a gorgeous September day in Trafalgar Square, with a soft breeze, and temperatures around a perfect 20 degrees Celsius; as nice a day as anyone could have possibly hoped for. A day entirely unlike the same one last year: The Battle of London, when Earth was finally retaken from the Reapers, and the resultant aftermath...what some had begun to poetically refer to as "The Quieting Pulse."
A year since the Reapers underwent a monumental sea change, as one; a year since they had made their startling transformation from an implacable, Godlike foe of lifekind, dedicated to the single-minded purpose of wiping out all life in the Galaxy into an almost completely detached and silent beneficial force of nature, quietly repairing and making amends for the damage they had caused. Damage that might have taken the better part of a decade or longer to recover from was nearly complete within the city itself, and already the Reapers were moving out elsewhere into the world.
One couldn't help but wonder: When the physical destruction was remedied in full, when the Galaxy was brought back to the state it had been in before Sovereign had opened the first volley against the Citadel Races and beyond...where would the Reapers go? What would they do? It was a topic that academics and military strategists spent sleepless nights debating, with a wide spectrum of theories springing forth; anything from "return to the dark spaces outside the Galaxy" to "engage in a singular bout of self-destruction" to the more conspiratorial "reveal their true purpose and once again engage in hostilities, having secretly sabotaged everything they had rebuilt."
In contrast to the long, heavy shadow they cast on that day, a year ago, the Reapers themselves now seemed to be something of an afterthought at the "Rally for a Brighter Tomorrow", being held within the Square and throughout much of the main city of London itself. Part victory celebration, part memorial, and part unity demonstration, the message was clear: Earth was the final, decisive battleground in the war against the Reapers, but it was the rest of the Galaxy coming together as one that finally saw the battle for liberty and freedom being won.
While the majority of the crowd was Human, there were no small numbers of Turians, Asari, and Quarians, with a respectable smattering of Salarians, Krogan, and even Geth. The mood carried aloft on the gentle breeze was bright and upbeat, with various pockets here and there, of prayer circles and solemn remembrances of all who died or otherwise had lost pieces of their lives to the War; indeed, it was a curiously odd mix of spectacular carnival, old time revival, and introspective reflection.
Shepard had tried her best to keep a low profile, but it was exceedingly difficult for the Hero of the Galaxy to avoid attention, especially on this day. Regardless, Holly DID want to be there. She kept mostly to the quieter memorial services, primarily meeting with family and friends of those who had given their lives to the war effort.
At noon, however, she had given a speech at Nelson's Column, where tall scaffolding had been erected around the base, creating a large, central dais from which speakers throughout the day could be heard. In her speech, she extolled the bravery and sacrifice not only of Humankind, but of all races in the Galaxy, most of whom had also had their own homeworlds ravaged by the Reapers.
It was a masterstroke, in terms of timing: The war rally made it oh-so-difficult for groups such as Terra Firma, Humanis and Westerlund to protest, without also simultaneously attacking the remembrance of the war itself, as well.
"Which is precisely why Diana and I went to all the trouble to get this all set up for this day." Jillian Edwards thought to herself, as she took in the sweeping scope of the packed crowds, high up on the terrace of the National Gallery, where she and the rest of the media crews had been stationed.
Officially, the event was being sponsored by various NGO's and volunteer groups across the Systems Alliance, as well as from the other Citadel Races, but in the grand scheme of things, Allers was one of the chief motivating forces behind the entire setup, with additional monies brought in from any number of black budgets. It was yet another weapon in the arsenal of the war for hearts and minds. A struggle which was turning into an increasing, stalemated slog; while Humanis, Westerland and similar "pro-human/anti-alien" groups were on the defensive, they still had managed to find remarkable traction and resiliency. The novelty of the "Tiger Mama Tapes" had worn off; even the scandal with Khalisah al-Jilani was starting to fade, at least in terms of acting as a weight around Westerland's neck. They had cut her loose after barely a week, and that had bought them some small amount of redemption.
A long, unceasing drum roll seemed to settle between the two camps, as if waiting for the next great disruptive blow to be struck, and upset the balance in one direction or the other, once and for all.
"But for today, "The Good Guys" are scoring points by the boatload."
Jillian watched as Allers was finishing up her speech, more of her "ah shucks" brand of interaction that made her such a valuable media asset in the first place. She was quite the sight to behold.
Of course, Edwards was a bit biased as well, to be certain; there had been almost immediate smoldering flirtation between the two of them when she had accepted the job of personal assistant almost six months ago. It had built up to an almost intolerable, aching intensity between the two of them, until sparks practically flew whenever they made contact, until they at long last literal feel head over heels into bed with each other.
What began as an "employment arrangement with extreme fringe benefits" was turning into something more. At least...in her heart of hearts, that's what Jillian felt; that's what she wanted to believe. It was hard not to be guarded, not to be skeptical of the flash and spectacle, especially when dealing with someone like Allers, in which illusion and glitter and fantasy were part and parcel of the trade...
...but when she turned to her, just last week and said...
Jilly-bean, I just want you to know...you're the best thing that's happened to me in years. Maybe...ever. You know. I just thought you should hear that, because I probably don't say it enough..."
Oh sure...it wasn't "I love you" or "Lets get married, sweetie!". But Jillian knew that for Diana...in her own way, it was the next best thing.
"Alright, I can see the powers that be waving at me to wrap it up, guys, so before I go, I just want to say...you rock! We rock! All of us here! So many of us came together on this spot, about a year ago...either literally, or in the name of all of us...and started a new age of peace and freedom. I mean think about it...some of these science folks, they think the Cycles the Reapers were repeating? Lasted over a billion years. BILLION. With a B! And we, WE were the ones, all of us, who finally beat the shit out of what was the closest thing to true evil anyone had ever seen in their lives. I'm pretty damn proud that all of us, all of the races, were the ones to bring it all to an end. So let's not lose that momentum, okay? Lets not lose that feeling. Lets try to stick together, like we did last year, for as long as we can...because if we do, there's no telling what we can achieve!"
A deafening roar surged through the crowd; signs were waves, cheers cried out, horns blown, cups rattled. Diana trotted off the stage, yelling "Have a damn candied apple for me, would ya?!"
There was a hover-transport, something of a long, black flying limousine, that was waiting to take Allers away, all as part of the security detail. The standard operating procedure was to have it head off into the distance to a secure location, as another transport swept the next speaker to the podium.
A message came over the communicator in Jillian's ear.
"Hey Jilly, hold on, I'm going to have the limo float over to the Gallery and say hi...gonna pick you up, and we can snuggle our brains out in celebration."
The other woman laughed, scarlet coloring her cheeks. She then promptly shook her head. "Baby...this is an open channel...and you should probably just head straight away, I'll meet you at the landing pad in a few minutes..."
"Fuck that, I'm not going to just zip off like some politician. I wanna say hi to the crowd, as close as they'll let me."
The limo hovered about 10 feet off the ground, as it made it's way over to the camera platform. The sunroof pulled back with a soft hiss, and Diana popped out, all smiles and waves for the crowd below.
"Hi everyone! Sorry, this is as close as Security says I can get. Otherwise, I'd totally be partying it up with you guys right now."
Someone in the crowd suddenly called out, "Hey, Diana! Catch!"
An object was tossed out, gently arching towards Allers.
It smacked into her hands as she reached out, wrapping her fingers around the neck...
Diana glanced at the bottle of Epstein's Steel Rail Lager, a hometown favorite on Beckenstein.
"Oh my God, whoever just threw that to me...you? Was it you? Dude, you fucking rock! I haven't had this in years!"
She twisted off the cap, almost squealing with childlike glee as the built up pressure was released, spraying almost half of the bottle's contents out over the crowd. She took a triumphant swig, swallowing hard as she held the bottle up high in triumph, to the cheers of the nearby crowd.
"Oh God Di, you are such an attention whore sometimes..."
Diana reached up to touch her own ear communicator and purred "Yeah...but I'm YOUR whore, babe."
"...that is the sweetest, sleaziest thing you've ever said to me."
Diana gave another laugh, and pumped her fist towards the crowd. She was clearly in her element.
Fifteen seconds later, there was a loud "whump" on the front of the limo. A cloaking field dropped, revealing a male Turian, kitted out in what was colorfully known as a "Wu-Xia Rig": a specialized armor enhancement that used a meshed network of micro mass effect generators to allow the wearer to make incredible leaps, mid-air twists and landings.
He pulled out a pistol, silently leveling it straight at Allers.
She tried to duck, almost making it down into the limo, crying out in pain as she took a bullet to the shoulder.
He fired several times down into the limo itself from the roof, through the open sunroof, before suddenly executing an absolutely impossible-seeming leap upward into the air, then bounding off the top of Nelson's head on the Column itself, before the cloaking field recharged; he then faded into thin air once more.
The crowd burst into an absolute panic.
Security did their best to try and chase after the assailant.
The limo zoomed off, the driver signaling on the emergency channels the current status of the situation, and that he was heading to the nearest hospital.
Jillian stood, rooted to the spot, absolutely gripped with cold, dread fear clutching her guts.
"B...baby?" she croaked.
There was a soft groan, mixed in with a wet sounding gurgle, as Diana struggled to speak over the comm.
"Jilly? Guy...guy shot me..."
"Diana! Please...hold on! It's going to be okay, they're going to get you to a hospital. Just please! I'm begging you...hold on!"
"'s bad...wound. Blood...lot of...oh...God. Jilly-bean...just in case..."
Jillian couldn't breathe.
"No! Don't you say it! You're going to be alright!"
"...never got a chance to say...I lov..."
The line suddenly went dead.
Trembling quietly in the breeze, hot tears rolled down Jillian's cheeks, as she finally collapsed onto the platform, high, keening wails of grief piercing the air.
In the span of barely ten seconds, triumph had turned into absolute terror.
ALLERS ASSASSINATED AT MEMORIAL RALLY
Second Star News Network
September 12th, 2187
Candlelight vigils have begun to spring up across the globe, as the death of Diana Allers becomes a focal point in the struggle between various political groups, reflecting a sometimes acrimonious conflict that has emerged since the last Parliamentary elections.
Allers, an independent reporter who rose to prominence last year during the Reaper War, when she was embedded on board the Normandy, earning her the affectionate moniker of "Shepard's Reporter", was fatally shot by an allegedly Turian assassin around 2:30pm London time, at the "Rally for a Brighter Tomorrow." She was flown to the Royal London Hospital where she was pronounced 'dead on arrival' due to massive hemorrhaging and blood loss.
The reporter had finished addressing the crowd at the rally, and had reportedly deviated from security procedures to continue speaking with those in attendance, standing up through the sunroof of her armored limo as it hovered close to the crowd.
A bottle of beer was tossed to Allers, who began to celebrate. Seconds afterwards, an assassin decloaked, fired several times at Allers as she fled back into the limo, before making his escape. Investigators are looking into the possibility that the bottle toss was part of a distraction undertaken by a co-conspirator.
The System Alliance Department of Homeworld Security has come under extreme criticism for the handling of the situation in light of the attack, especially from Scotland Yard and Interpol, both groups claiming that they were intentionally kept out of the loop, and prevented from mounting their own effective security procedures for the rally.
Secretary-General Alexis Valentine made a short but determined statement on the steps of DHS Headquarters in The Hague at 9:30pm this evening, local Netherlands time.
"Let me assure all the peoples of Earth and beyond that this heinous crime, this act of terrorism against a popular member of the media, who devoted her life to bringing the truth to the public, will not go unanswered for. Neither I nor anyone under me will rest until the perpetrator is brought to justice. And you have my personal guarantee on that. If the DHS is unable to bring this situation to resolution within the next three months, I will personally step down as Secretary-General; that is how serious I take what has happened this morning.
Jillian Edwards, Allers personal assistant, the last person to speak with her, and also rumored to be her lover, could not be reached for comment at this time.
It was a grey, wet day...fitting enough, given the occasion. A thick swath of humanity, stretching out for almost a mile in diameter, surrounded the great structure of the Washington National Cathedral, located in the Northeast American Republic's administrative district of New Columbia. In the old days, it had been known as Washington D.C., and had served as the capital of the former United States of America, before The Great Dissolution occurred in the late 21st Century.
Holographic projectors ringed just outside of the Cathedral itself, casting a pale, sickly light on the crowds, allowing them to view the proceedings.
Inside, the Cathedral itself was almost dangerously over-filled, as the funeral commenced. A black closed casket, composed of dark, highly polished wood sat solemnly perched upon a raised platform. In keeping with her final will and testament, Diana Allers had been cremated upon completion of the initial autopsy, with her remains forwarded along to Beckenstein, where a smaller, but no less heartfelt service was to be held in a month's time from now.
Jillian was dressed in deep, somber black, a pillbox hat and mourning veil obscuring her puffy eyes. In the pew across the aisle from her sat Admiral Hackett, Garrus, and Shepard.
"Any luck so far on finding out what happened, Admiral?"
Holly spoke softly, trying keep from disturbing the proceedings. They were both scheduled to eulogize her shortly, and she was determined to try and find out as much as she could.
"Actually, there HAS been some progress. DHS thinks they've just identified the assassin. Thanks to information provided by our Turian allies." Hackett glanced over to Garrus, who was huddled in close at Holly's other side, and gave him a nod.
Garrus hummed softly in the back of his throat in acknowledgement.
"The Primarch was...shall we say...particularly displeased that it was a Turian who murdered Allers. It's managed to play right into the hands of Humanis and Westerlund, even though the thought that any Turian would have a personal grudge against Diana at all is...well, it's patently ridiculous. Still, Victus is taking it all rather personal, which is why he's insisted on making an official state visit for the funeral. I'm sure he'll be gratified to hear that the database he provided you has helped make a difference."
Hackett nodded once. "We've got a name now: Tallik Berundin. The stealth field and mass reduction rig certainly seems to fit his MO. Now we just need to figure out who hired him."
Holly let out a slow, even breath and murmured "Well, with Homeworld Security and Turian Intelligence both on the job now...well...I hope the fucker got paid well enough, because I don't think he's going to get much of a chance to spend it. Although it..."
Holly trailed off.
Garrus glanced over, quizzically "What's that, Shepard?"
"Ah...nothing."
It was too neat, was what she was about to say. Humanis, or some sort of extremist fringe thereof, was the obvious suspect. But murdering Allers simply made a martyr of her. Using an alien to do the job was a tactical move suggesting an attempt to throw off the scent while stirring up anti-alien sentiment...but at the same time, whipping up the other side into the sort of passion that Diana's death had engendered seemed like too foolish a move to make it worthwhile in the end.
Desperation, perhaps?
Or someone...trying to make it seem that way.
It was the Infiltrator training at work now, trying to analyze the situation. Why go to all the trouble to bounce right up and shoot Allers point blank? That didn't seem like a Turian thing at all to do, unless he was being paid extra to execute it in that very particular fashion, of course. But that was still taking an incredible risk, especially when a sniper shot would have accomplished the same thing; in some ways, it would have been even more terrifying.
"Shepard...you're up."
Garrus nudged her arm gently, and startled, she suddenly rose to her feet. So lost in thought had she become, she completely missed Hackett giving his brief speech. She managed to catch it later on, and it wasn't half bad. She particularly liked the part about how "some of the greatest calls for freedom and brotherhood in history had been made in this very city", and how "fitting it is that we come here now lay to rest a champion of truth."
Holly slowly walked up, turning and then gripping the lectern. She desperately wished Liara was here, but she was having a bad day, and Dr. V'Lork had demanded that she remain in bed, despite how much Liara herself wanted to come along.
But she needed to face this alone now, despite the inner conflict she was currently experiencing; the last few weeks had shown her how much of Allers' image had been a carefully crafted fabrication. It wasn't all false, to be sure; Allers played for the side of the angels, more or less. She just had no problem getting her hands extremely dirty while doing so. Whether that had been a recent development, or was how Diana had played the game from day one...Shepard just wasn't sure.
But people didn't need to hear about that Diana right now. They needed to know...a truth, not THE truth. And Holly realized there would be time for reality another day.
"I uh...I remember the first time I met Diana Allers. She was harassing one of my security officers, and. Uh. She was um...she was really insistent, on getting onboard the Normandy. Despite my shall we say less-than-sterling reputation with the media. But she clearly wanted it...she wanted to tell a story that would help get people behind the war effort, in a war we could not simply afford to lose. She was convinced that the Normandy was the focal point of the story...maybe she was right...case could certainly be made, I suppose."
"So I gave her a chance...'cause I thought she damn well deserved one; she lived up to that moment, to that chance she had earned for herself. She broadcast some good stories, stories that helped win the war...but she kept me honest, too. She...she was fearless."
Shepard paused for a moment.
"Yeah. That's the most important thing you need to remember about her, in the end. She lived her life, fearlessly...right up until the very last moment. She wasn't afraid to roll up her sleeves and do the hard, backbreaking work of digging up the truth and making sure people understood what was going on out there...but she also made damn sure to have fun while doing it. Some asshole can come and kill her body...but never her spirit. In that regard...they failed. Utterly."
There was a sharp intake of breath, and a fresh round of sobbing coming from Jillian up in the front row. Holly mumbled a brief ending to her impromptu speech, and somberly made her way back to the pews.
Still something damn fishy about all of this. It was dirty work they had all been engaged in, to one extent or another. She couldn't help but feel this was simply blowback from all of that; rather, she prayed to God it was simply blowback, and not something far more insidious and sinister in origin.
One Week Later
Sir Finnigan Cauldwell was an aging man, portly and balding, pasty skin and spotty complexion, well into his sixties. He remembered damn well what the planet was like before all this nonsense with alien species and long distance space exploration came into being. He remembered a Human race that was proud and strong, with a singular voice, before it simply was threatened to be swallowed up in some dissonant chorus of trillions of other inhuman beings; creatures who failed to understand Earth's special and unique place within the Galaxy. Who would never fully appreciate its exceptional nature.
Naturally, he found a place for himself in Humanis, having risen to the rank of Party Whip, after Armitage was shipped out to become Council Ambassador. Why the woman wanted to bother with even consorting with aliens was beyond him; if it had been his decision, he would have recalled the Ambassador home permanently and left it at that. On the other hand, the position did give Humanity no small amount of power and influence, despite the risk it opened up to corrupting the purity of the Terran spirit.
Regardless, it was just as well that he had stayed on in her place.
He sprawled out in the antique Louis XVI armchair, his favorite, ensconced as he was in the den of his labyrinthine estate just outside of Stratford-Upon-Avon. His wife, Lucretia, had just brought him his tea and biscuits.
Reaching out with short, stubby fingers, and cramming one of the chocolate-frosted digestives into his mouth, quickly washing it down with a swig of tepid Darjeeling. He snorted with disgust as he regarded the latest news headline displayed across his datapad.
"Queen Alice to award the Elizabeth Cross to Diana Allers". Pah! Apparently the old bat is relaxing the requirements, no doubt trying to score cheap political points for herself. I tell you, Lucretia, how I long for the days when the Royals comported themselves with at least some dignity and decorum. Oh! To have lived in such times."
Grumbling as he gently smashed another biscuit into his mouth, then mumbling around the food, he continued, "To bestow an honor reserved for our own military men and women on this...this muckraking trollop!" He tossed his pad down onto the table, the angry clatter ringing through room and down the hall.
Mrs. Cauldwell simply nodded her head once, maybe twice, and softly said "Yes, dear. Of course, dear."
As she had for years.
One of the servants - possibly the cook? - poked her head in, her face stark white.
"B..B...Begging your pardon, Sir Finnigan, but there are some people here from the Ministry of Defense who are escorting...oh!"
She trotted quickly away, as Secretary-General Alexis Valentine strode through the door, flanked by several heavily armed members of the Systems Alliance military police, who in turn were also backed by members of the British Homeguard.
"What is the meaning of this! You can't come barging into a man's private house! I have my rights! I have an entire team of solicitors ready to pounce upon the bloody lot of you! Don't think I don't know why you've come around...trying to intimidate one of Britain and Earth's last true patriot sons...!"
Valentine tilted her head slightly, which seemed to prompt the guards at her side to cock their rifles, and level them upon Sir Finnigan.
"Finnigan Cauldwell." she smiled, cold, unkind, full of barely contained malice. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I always suspected you'd go too far. I'm sure you'd thought you'd get away with it as well. Men like you always do, until the bitter end."
"What are you prattling on about, you cow!?"
She held up a small holoprojector in her palm. Thumbing the button on the side, an image of Tallik Berundin, looking quite worse for the wear, blood coming down the side of one head, his left mandible a mangled wreck. He spoke, in a soft and broken voice:
"It was Cauldwell. He...he worked through intermediaries of course. Didn't think I knew it was him, but I never take a job if I can't figure out who's pulling the strings at the top. They say he lost it completely, after Allers exposed his son's corrupt dealings offworld. Wanted her dead...willing to pay a hell of a lot of credits to make it happen, make it public. Risky job...but it was so much money..."
The snapped the image off, and returned both hands to clasp behind her back.
"What...who the devil is he?! What are you going all on about!?"
"No point in feigning ignorance, Sir Finnigan. Not anymore." Valentine spoke the title with as much contempt and disrespect as she could muster without seeming overly savage about it. "We have you. We have your co-conspirator. You are going to disappear now. Into a very deep, dark hole. This is the end for you. And, I imagine, for that group of barely competent fools you call a political party as well."
Cauldwell flew into a rage, trying to lash out physically at Valentine with his nearby cane.
"THIS IS MADNESS! You can't just come in here! You need a warrant. I have rights! I demand to speak to my solicitor! I HAVE RIGHTS!"
One of the guards smashed him hard across the jaw with the butt of his rifle, prompting him to crumpled down into a whimpering pile on the floor. Cauldwell's wife looked like a frightened deer caught in the headlights, too scared to move, to speak; she trembled as if stricken with palsy.
Valentine kneeled down, smirking triumphantly, "Actually, no. You don't. Thanks to the Homeworld Defense Extraordinary Empowerment Act that your party was chiefly responsible for pushing through right after the last election, I now have the ability to declare people like you domestic terrorists, a threat to homeworld security. And to do exactly what I'm doing now, which is turning you over to the SAAF. I suppose I should say thank you."
She rose, gliding slowly out of the library, pausing just outside, and looking over her shoulder.
"Bring his wife as well. Round up the rest of the staff. We're not done here. Not by a longshot."
Sir Finnigan protested his innocence until the very last, screaming and whimpering all at the same time, his cries fading out as Valentine departed, a wry smug smile of triumph emblazoned upon her lips.
Holly couldn't sleep lately. Liara did little but sleep. It created an odd sort of imbalance, where Shepard would find herself working on her model kits into the wee hours of the morning. Or watching televised broadcasts late at night, as she was doing now. Desperately trying to find an old biotiball rerun, racing results, or something to keep her mind off the dark notions and feelings swirling around in her heart over the past week.
"...interrupt this episode of 'Kooking for Krogans' to bring you this breaking story..."
Holly pulled herself up straight on the couch, and turned the volume up.
"...can now confirm that at 4:08 pm London Time yesterday, Sir Finnigan Cauldwell, Party Whip for Humanis, was taken into custody, along with his wife, and his entire household staff, over what the Systems Alliance Department of Homeworld Security claims is his connection to last week's assassination of Diana Allers."
Holly changed the channel, finding that the story was the same on almost all the main broadcast frequencies.
"...Second Star News Network, with a breaking story: Rioting has broken out in cities across the world, with flash mobs forming and attacking Humanis party offices across the globe after the shocking revelation that Humanis Assistant Party Leader and Whip, Sir Finnigan Cauldwell was taken away by DHS Agents yesterday, over his alleged role in the recent assassination of Diana Allers."
The channel changed again.
"...has been declared a domestic terrorist and enemy combatant, and is being detained in a military prison without access to counsel; ironically enough, an act legal thanks to legislation that Sir Finnigan himself was largely responsible for enacting..."
*click*
"...Prime Minister has summoned an emergency meeting of his entire Cabinet. Well placed sources are already beginning to predict the imminent collapse of the current Systems Alliance Government..."
Holly muted the feed, dumbstruck, a cold, hard knot of fear blossoming painfully in her core.
Suddenly, it all seemed to fit into place. It was to clean...too perfect. How could it not have been orchestrated from the beginning?
Shepard rose, shaking like a leaf, as she forced herself, step by step, over to the communications terminal. By the time Steven Hackett appeared on the display, she had already had time to pour herself a drink, and he caught her in mid-swallow.
"Shepard...it's late. What's on your mind?"
Holly stood rock still, only moving her eyes towards the screen, hand clutching the tumbler of whiskey in a deathgrip.
"Seen the news...Admiral? "
"Oh...Oh! You mean Cauldwell? Yes! I just heard about it half an hour ago. Figured I'd call you first thing in the morning...but I can only assume you already heard..."
"About them conveniently finding a neat, nice finish to all of this? One that quickly turns the tide against Humanis, once and for all? Not barely a week after Diana was martyred? Fuck yes. And I didn't even hear that Berundin had been caught and interrogated...but I dug around a little while I was waiting for you to respond to my call."
"Yes...well...apparently The Systems Alliance Intelligence Network tracked him down two days ago, kept it hush hush...Shepard?" He started at her, a quizzical note rising up in his voice, "What's this all about?"
Holly didn't speak, not for the better part of a minute.
"Swear to me, Steven. Swear to me that this isn't all some sort of dog and pony act. Please...PLEASE tell me this isn't something the military is pulling just to get Humanis out of the way...that they let Diana get killed...or WORSE, that...that they..."
She couldn't make herself finish the sentence.
"Shepard...Holly. Please...listen to yourself. You realize how crazy this must sound..."
In an instant, she was on her feet, voice rising angrily.
"Crazy? Really?! As crazy as illegally bugging an elected official's office? As crazy as engineering a scandal, potentially out of whole cloth, to take down one influential reporter? As nuts as me having to come down and help you out with all of this mess, because there was talk about potentially staging a military coup? Once we start going down these slippery slopes, Admiral, how hard is it for what SHOULD be 'crazy' to become 'peace at any price'?"
She took another drink, and then stared hard at him, with a desperate expression.
"Please", she croaked. "Please tell me you didn't know anything about this...please tell me if there's something going on, you weren't involved in it..."
Hackett's eyes flashed with anger at first...and then suddenly softened.
"Holly...look, you've clearly been drinking and...it's late. But...please believe me. There's nothing sinister going on. Humanis got desperate. They got sloppy. Cauldwell couldn't help himself, and it's going to drag those bastards down at last. We've won. I promise you, there's no conspiracy behind this. You...you have to have faith in the system."
Holly half-laughed, half-sobbed, a look of bitter defeat crossing her features. "Seems not all that long ago, I was the one saying that...and you were telling me how naive I was. How quickly times change, Admiral. Well...I guess we won then, huh?"
"Holly, get some sleep. Please. We can talk in the morning. I'm sure once you've had a chance to settle down, you'll feel..."
"Goodnight, Steven..."
She cut him off, the feed going dead, plunging the room into total darkness.
A soft, keening wail, punctuated by a staccato repetition of sobs had roused Liara from her deep sleep. She glanced over to the side, found Holly missing. That half of the bed was cold, so must have been unoccupied for hours. She slowly pulled herself up onto her feet, pulling a silk robe around her, and slowly, achingly made it to the living room.
In the pale light of false dawn, which had only just begun to stream through the windows, she found Holly sitting on a chair, cradling something in her lap. As she slowly made her way over, it became apparent that it was Holly's medal case, a wide array of some of the highest military honors in the Systems Alliance Armed Forces on display within.
She laid down gentle fingers upon her bondmate's shoulder, prompting her to startle, for just a moment.
Holly turned her head upwards, regarding her with puffy, bloodshot eyes.
"Hey...I..." she spoke, in a soft, choked voice.
Liara knelt down, "Love...you look awful...what's wrong?"
She could smell the liquor on her from here.
Looking back down, and tenderly stroking the sides of the glass case, Holly spoke, barely above a mumble.
"Been with the SAAF...almost half my life. A long...long time. Was my family, when I didn't have any. I was so...really proud to be an Officer. Best thing I ever done. Best thing I ever had in my life, other than marry you. I was part of something grand. Bigger'n me. Better'n me. It gave me the strength to be my best, when bein' my best was... not easy."
She tilted her head down, tears splashing on the case as she started to cry anew.
"Was it all a lie? I fought and killed...and led so many men and women to their deaths, for all the ideals I thought the Systems Alliance stood for, for what I thought was worth saving, til the bitter end. For what Earth...stood for. And now...NOW..."
Her face became a mask of near blinding fury, as she rose up, and in one shaky, violent action, threw her medal case against the wall, where it cracked loudly.
"Lies! All of it! All fucking lies! All of their deaths, for an Earth that didn't deserved to be saved! What do I say? What do I say to all their families? All the people who died for this...this fascist bullshit!"
She sank to her knees, and started to howl in grief. Liara was on her, as fast as possible. She had no idea what had happened, what had triggered this. But she pushed the fear and confusion down, out of her mind, and simply tried her best to sooth her wife, as best as she knew how.
"It's going to be okay, Holly. Whatever it is. I promise you. Please love...please believe me."
Liara's words seemed to have a calming effect, however dilute. Holly nodded a few times, and suddenly clung to Liara in return, as if she were the last possession she had in a cold, uncaring universe...and was desperately afraid to lose her.
"I wanna...wanna go home. Lets go back home...to Thessia. That's where home is now, pretty Bluebird. You, an' the baby. Thessia...
Her fury suddenly spent, the booze and anger taking it's toll, Shepard began to collapse into deep exhaustion. Unable to carry her back to bed, Liara simply grabbed some pillows, and did her best to make her comfortable on the floor, as she watched over her.
"We will, Holly. As soon as we can." she whispered.
PRESIDENT DISSOLVES PARLIAMENT, CALLS FOR NEW ELECTIONS
Second Star News Network
September 21st, 2187
Martial law has been declared in Seattle, which saw a night of protests turn bloody as angry mobs stormed local Humanis offices after reports of alleged connections between a high ranking party member as the assassin who killed Diana Allers emerged. At least five are reported dead,
In response to the mounting controversy, Helmut Koenig, Prime Minister of Systems Alliance Parliament and Nova Federalist Party Leader, met in a closed door session with his Cabinet yesterday morning. Emerging several hours later, he then contacted Alliance President Bjorn Torasson, who released the following statement at 1:00pm Reykjavik time:
"I have just spoken with Prime Minister Koenig, who believes that in light of the ongoing situation with the Humanis Party, which composes the chief coalition partner in the Parliament, he is currently unable to serve the people of Earth and it's many colony worlds in full faith and with the respectability the position calls for. Upon his recommendation, I am therefore dissolving the current Parliament, and will call for new elections, to take place in exactly two weeks from now, on October 4th. "
"The Prime Minister and I ask that we come together, during this time of crisis, and to put an end to the violence that has gripped many of our cities this night. We understand and we grieve with you...but we ask that you make your voices heard, not on the streets, but at the ballot box. We are confident that Humanity will emerge from this trying chapter stronger than ever before. I thank you all."
Humanis party leaders continue to proclaim their innocence, disavowing any involvement in the plot to assassinate Diana Allers, distancing themselves from Sir Finnigan Cauldwell, and referring to him as a "rogue element that stains the noble aim of our Party." They have vowed to "get to the bottom of the true situation", and that "history will see us vindicated as victims".
Eight Weeks Later
A fierce, crimson mane, alabaster skin, thin, willowy build; the Human female emerged from the crowd discharging from the Star of Orion capsule hotel. Trailing a small, wheeled metal travel case behind her, a tag attached to it read, in crisp, handwritten letters:
PROPERTY OF ARTEMIS SALINGER.
Dressed in fashionable human clothes, high heels softly clacking, she made her way over to the taxi line, hovering vehicles waiting to bear their passengers to their destinations. Glancing curiously over her shoulder, she noticed a black armored limo glide smoothly up to the edge. Slowing her pace, she then turned to regard it as one of the heavily tinted windows lowered itself down.
Inside was Systems Alliance Fleet Admiral Luis Ortiz.
Giving a friendly smile, almost pulling it off with some sort of sincerity, waving his hand, beckoning to her.
"Care for a lift to the spaceport, Diana?"
She narrowed her eyes, frowning deeply for a moment as she looked around. Then clambered into the limo, facing Ortiz, if just to bring the conversation from out in the open to someplace more discrete.
The limo slowly made its way into the standard traffic lanes high above the city. The two regarded each other in silence for a few seconds.
Luis was the first to speak.
"Well, Ms. Allers. Here we are. And I must say, I'm still...quite impressed with you. I couldn't think of a single other woman who would come to me with a plan to fake her own assassination. It's quite the thing, to have to stick with for the rest of your life. Don't think your dedication to ensuring peace and stability on Earth, and elsewhere in the Human sphere of influence will soon be forgotten.
The woman spoke, in a voice that was not quite as what Diana's had been like.
"Well, I guess we should both be impressed. You weren't kidding when you said you could give me an operation to change my appearance, right down to my voice and retina patterns."
Ortiz nodded once, looking inordinately pleased with himself, "Fruits of the research Miranda Lawson, and those who worked with her undertook, in order to bring Shepard back. Not that she has any idea we've gotten a copy of it. But as a result, we can do truly incredible things, nowadays."
"Heard she took it hard. Shepard I mean."
Ortiz snorted, rolled his eyes with heavy over-exaggeration.
"Shepard wins wars...but she is distressingly naive in what it takes to win the peace. And Steven, with his willingness to embrace the realpolitik of the situation...even he lacks a certain...flexibility...that these sorts of things require. Still, she doesn't seem to feel the need to publicly make a scene, to ask...uncomfortable questions. As long as that continues to be the case, I don't see any reason to have to deal with her. Given her high profile, I would prefer to leave her be."
Ortiz held out his hands, shrugging slightly, then finished, "Regardless, you made the right decision, coming to me directly with your idea."
"Yeah well...to be perfectly honest, I figured it was just a matter of time, before Humanis took a shot at me. Or before you did, more likely. I simply made the first move, before anyone else got the notion. And hey, we all got something we wanted, right? Humanis got slaughtered in the election, saner heads are in charge. And I'm sure you REALLY enjoyed destroying Cauldwell..."
Ortiz chuckled, leaning forward and steepling his fingers. "Someone had to take the fall. He was the most obvious choice; a particularly tall nail in desperate need of pounding down."
Diana smile herself, in return, "And now I'm fucking immortal. History books are going to have my name emblazoned in them for decades. Centuries. And those assholes in the Pulitzer Committee are giving me a posthumous award. Diana Allers is now the stuff of legend. Can't get much better than that, career wise."
"And now you're free to play the field once more as well, yes?" He tilted his head back and laughed, as if expecting her to find the statement as amusing as he clearly did.
Allers simply narrowed her eyes, gaze full of steel and unrealized promises. She spoke in a soft whisper.
"We all made sacrifices for the plan, Admiral. Some of us more than others."
He sighed hard through his nose, and the sudden chill in the air brought the conversation to an abrupt end.
Five minutes later, the limo pulled up to a quieter section of the spaceport.
"And here we are, Ms. Allers."
Diana reached for the handle.
Found the door was still locked.
"There is...one thing. That occurs to me."
She glanced over to him, the mood turning dangerous.
"You have a lot of problematic secrets, in that newly resculpted head of yours..."
Diana frowned, trying not to come off as livid.
"Really, Ortiz? You went to all this trouble, and NOW you start in with the threats?"
"Threats? Hmmm...such a strong word. I am just very curious...why I shouldn't take steps to ensure that Cauldwell has company."
Diana leaned in close. "I have two even stronger words for ya, Luis: Shadow. Broker."
The Admiral paled, if just slightly, backing off just an inch or two.
"All those fun conversations, discussions we had, all the planning? Everything it would take to completely bring you and your little circle of friends down? He's got a copy, and we've got an arrangement now. A fringe benefit being that he doesn't release all that info in the most damaging fashion possible, as long as he keeps hearing from me. Next check in call is right before I get on board my flight, actually."
The two locked eyes now. A contest of wills flared up silently between them.
Diana did her best to project an air of complete, assured confidence, praying her heart wasn't beating too loudly, while Ortiz torturously weighed the factor in his head. Was she bluffing? What was riskier? Keeping her detained...or letting her run free.
"Tick tock, Fleet Admiral. The bossman, he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Another few seconds...and then the lock to the door unlatched with an audible clunk.
Ortiz had an almost angelic look on his face, "Have a safe and pleasant journey..."
The mask dropped, revealing barely contained rage and loathing behind it.
"Whomever you are."
Allers departed, doing her absolute best to walk slowly, calmly away from the limo, even pausing to turn and blow Ortiz a small kiss as the limo pulled away into the sky.
With trembling hands, she pulled a small portrait out of her suit pocket: Jillian and herself..her old self, in a casual embrace, taken about a week before she was 'killed'.
"Sorry Jilly-bean" she whispered. "I wasn't any good for you in the end, anyhow."
Holding the picture up against her chest, right over her heart, she closed her eyes, and wished she could have said the same was true in reverse.
Ten minutes later, Artemis Salinger boarded the ship that would bear her aloft to the rest of her life.
