Chapter 55 – Ghost of a Chance

The former Citadel Councilors met again, this time to discuss a new piece of information fed to them by "anonymous sources."

"It appears we may have our champion" led off Grayson. "Observe."

Manipulating sapients "for their own good" generally drew frowns and condemnations. Where Cortana came from, she and her fellow artificial intelligences did exactly that out of a desire to give the United Nations Space Command and humanity a chance to fight back against the Covenant. Now, she engaged in the behavior again, first to buy enough time to gather all necessary DNA samples of every sapient race in the galaxy, and now if things went well to present a true hope as opposed to the set-up that Nova Vita had been. Unlike Citadel artificial intelligences, Cortana's human origins permitted her to feel and understand a full range of emotions, the root of her "inevitable decline" as the geth ever-so-annoyingly put it. Guilt, shame, happiness, sadness, anger… With geth assistance, she'd transcended the computational limits otherwise imposed. Now she definitely felt bad, especially after finding out how much love and effort Gaige put into designing the Nova Vita starship with Tali, even if some of the ideas were impractical or unworkable.

The AI surreptitiously fed photos of Samantha Shepard, suited up, to her galaxy's old leaders.

"As I said, the best thing you could do was leave her alone" added Cortana, making no attempt to conceal her smugness on this point. "Those Republic Intelligence Service bastards actually had a plan to force her back into service before she was ready—and they were going to ask for your help. Those messages were…rerouted."

"I am beginning to wonder whether our beliefs regarding artificial intelligence are in need of updating."

Tevos wasn't expecting to receive a rhetorical beat-down from Cortana, so when she got one it was all the more shocking.

"You think?" snapped the AI. "Maybe, just maybe, the reason you flesh-and-blood have so many problems with artificial life is because you've decided it's a foregone conclusion that there will be a conflict, so you create one. I've been inside the geth Consensus. They don't want to fight you. Most of them just want to be left alone!"

"But surely, their attacks against the quarians…"

"If you think the geth are at fault for that, you are as blind as you were when the Reapers smashed down your… Oh wait, you left the gates wide open! The quarians attacked first. They set the precedent of assuming the worst. What would you do if someone tried to kill you off on the basis that you were a threat even as you did nothing? You'd become the threat. Or would you just roll over and die? Huh? Maybe that's what this esteemed body expected of the krogan after they weren't useful anymore, except with a species like that you'd have better luck asking a Brute Chieftain to dance!"

Grayson smiled wryly. "I realize that once I became part of this Council, I lost most of my ability to criticize it from a political standpoint—as soon as you touch the muck, you might as well have taken a dive. But this isn't a political convention or a stint on the nightly news. I've kept many things to myself in the interest of the galactic peace and maintaining comity within this body, but Cortana has been right all along. As was Samantha Shepard. Unlike Sparatus, I will not resign—however, let it be known that I, Adam Grayson, Republic Spacelane Protection (Retired) do officially believe that this body is incapable of appropriate action when times call for it."

Two of three Councilors couldn't believe what they'd just heard. This outsider who'd only spent a few years on the Council and a correspondingly-short time in their galaxy, thought he could just waltz in and suggest changes to a system that worked for over two thousand years?

Tevos took the diplomatic route.

"While I can appreciate your sentiment, I do think your outlook would change with a more thorough reading of…"

Victus, the other general-turned-politico, interrupted. "Has it ever occurred to anyone here that just because things have been this way doesn't mean they have to stay this way? Age is no guarantee of effectiveness."

Cortana, on the other hand, had read through the history of the Citadel Council. As far as she could tell, the shortsighted nature of salarians (with their 40-year lifespans) combined with institutional conservatism on the part of the asari made for an incredibly "sticky" governing style. Finding a solution for today's problem without thought of tomorrow layered atop unbreakable allegiance to overriding principles guiding those solutions honed over thousands of years. She stood ready (both literally and figuratively) to inject this line of thought, though she would not do so now.

Tevos and Clethon were more perplexed than angry at this turn of events. That Grayson, whose society had, they presumed, much different problems might object to their governing style wasn't surprising. Victus, however, made less sense. The turian Hierarchy supported the Council-based system, serving as its military arm, for over a thousand years. Then again, Victus hadn't been chosen for his rigid adherence to traditional doctrine.

"We have four species with very different perspectives" continued Victus. "The asari tend to take a very long view, which is admirable in principle but insisting on governing in a way that always looks as far to the future as possible while glossing over current problems may be counter-productive. The salarian outlook is the complete opposite. The turian deference to authority does not help this situation."

"And we humans come in and shake everything up."

Humanity and the Systems Alliance challenged every notion the "Citadel system" had been designed around. Advancements were slow, and had to be earned through copious contributions (asari requirement), but each species wishing to be received on the Citadel also had to demonstrate the ability to handle minor problems without crying for help over every stubbed toe (salarian requirement). Furthermore, uppity species were not thought of highly (the quarians for the geth and humans for their insanely-fast advancement with expectation that others would accept such changes without argument). Humanity even altered naval warfare itself. Apparently, the notion of sticking a bunch of fightercraft on a dreadnaught-size vessel and using the fighters as a primary weapon never occurred to anyone until the Systems Alliance thought it up, drawing from humanity's many internal conflicts in which sea-going versions of such ships were employed.

Never mind that humanity transformed the galaxy twice. The arrival of the Trans-Galactic Republic had been deeply unsettling; the notion that other humans existed in places outside known space had some extranet conspiracy theories running about humanity either being some kind of virus or in an odd twist, humanity as avatars of vengeful gods angry over perceived mistreatment.

"The average salarian will not live long enough to experience the many ways society will change due to human influence. We merely attempt to shape the outcome so as to minimize disruption." Clethon seemed resigned to possibly having his entire species rendered irrelevant should the human get his way. Still, should Grayson be heading in a Cerberus direction, he was unflinchingly nice about it…

Tevos shared Clethon's feelings, except they were magnified by the immense length of the average asari's life.

"I can only hope that in your efforts to reshape society, that you will remember the rest of us, if we ever find a home again…"

The pettier part of her nature resented the fall of the asari as guiding protectors who'd steered the development of galactic society for a period of time exceeding several asari lifespans. Of course, that ability came with a bit of cheating—demanding everyone else hand over Prothean technology while hording a completely-functional Prothean beacon on their own homeworld, but had the galaxy not prospered? Now, everyone looked to the impulsive, sometimes downright reckless extra-galactic humans with their incredibly powerful navy, weapons, and advanced medical technology that simply outclassed anything that other races might throw at it. That the humans could be so selfless in their position when the asari gleefully made themselves masters of the universe caused no small amount of discomfort among the few asari who escaped Thessia's fall.

"We humans have a saying…" began Grayson, only to be cut off by a barking laugh from Victus.

"Garrus tells me you humans have many of them."

"This is true" replied the former Admiral. "Anyway, it is amazing what we can accomplish when no one cares who gets the credit. I've come to the conclusion your 'Citadel system' worked fine when everyone agreed to obey the oft-unspoken rules. Except when the Systems Alliance came along and challenged the current order, things weren't able to adapt as well as everyone would have liked."

"Adam Grayson, what would you do?" asked Tevos. "Forget about the Flood, forget about the war. You can arbitrarily reshape the government of our galaxy as you see fit. Explain to us how you would change things."

"I could go on a long spiel and try to make it out that all human systems are superior, or that we're some greater race for whatever reason, and because our institutions are better-able to handle the circumstances we've faced everyone should just let us do all the leading. But that's not what the Systems Alliance was about, and that isn't how the Trans-Galactic Republic operates. In fact, I believe the human system would utterly fail in this galaxy—a unicameral Senate with a chief executive standing atop a galaxy with this many interspecies issues would only make things worse. Even if no one is thinking about us-versus-them right now, someone will inevitably start. A human president means the asari, salarians, elcor, volus, quarians, vorcha, batarians, turians, drell, hanar, and geth not being able to exercise that power for the duration of the human's term. Until everyone, humans included, can move past viewing government as a zero-sum game, such a setup is doomed to fail as it stokes interspecies tensions."

"That is all well and good" replied Clethon. "But that does not answer the question about the fate of the galaxy."

"Truth be told, I don't know. Wasn't this meeting supposed to be about Shepard?"

Grayson knew what he didn't know—enough about the various species here—to suggest a solution to problems that predated the Trans-Galactic Republic's arrival by millennia. Still, there might be an opportunity to rebuild civilization and should that opportunity arise, he was determined to push everyone onto a better path than the one that let not one, but two existential threats storm through the gates.

[…]

Bill Arkansas Jakobs became aware the cloning operations on Plutus, previously thought safe (even from the rampaging Infection on the very same planet) had been disrupted which would trip up the previously-passed resolution to shake up existing power structures. A huge inconvenience stemmed from the prize, Athena, disappearing. A few of her sisters escaped and were able to warn of the loss and describe an apparent cession of Infection activity on the planet.

"I did not think this was as much of a deal as that Shepard woman made it out to be" he said to his board, satisfied at making the right call. "Now we just need to recover from damage to our speed-cloning so we may produce the altered personnel we need…"

Pickens Jakobs pointed out the infeasibility of obtaining more necessary Eridian relics. "The Trans-Galactic Republic may still control Pandora's northern polar area. Furthermore, our intelligence suggests a phenomenon that split the planet open to its core, which means navigation could be hazardous."

"Then we should find out what's actually going on" added Lawrence Jakobs, as if this conversation were boring and stupid (he thought it was). Why have a meeting to decide to take a very obvious action?

"Even still" interjected Clayton Jakobs, "we are on-track to have enough clones to either improve the efficiency of the Farsight dreadnaught or bring an additional 'destroyer' online within the next two months. Our efforts to permanently change the balance of power will succeed."

Dallas Jakobs held up a printed photo of Jackie. "And we're not held hostage or forced to bend to the whims of this screaming brat, either."

Bill decided to go public with his knowledge of Jackie's transformation.

"The Jackie you remember no longer exists. She called me a few weeks back, quite different than the woman we were used to. She's changed. As a person, she will likely be markedly better off, but in terms of doing what we need of her, she has made herself nearly useless."

Wayne wanted to know how a major family shareholder could be labeled "useless." Especially since most people who insulted Jackie learned harsh lessons, sometimes permanently.

"Jackie has served a…unique purpose." Pickens didn't want to get on the Chairman's bad side—the last time he'd complained about Jackie at a shareholder meeting he'd been told to cease or leave. "She has brought specific…um…assets to our marketing campaigns. And her interesting friendships with certain high-ranking individuals working at competitors certainly provided…amusement."

"You needn't talk around it" said Bill agreeably. "Jackie sold our products through pure, unadulterated sex appeal. The sort that works wonders on frontiersman-types who prefer our promethium-free weapons over any other that requires annoying amounts of maintenance. Her dalliances with Jack over at Hyperion only served to make them look incompetent—which, while it may not have boosted our sales, it did definitely damage their reputation. Tediore Capital Investments did not choose to backstop their Slingshot Project in any significant capacity…"

"We must send our operatives to investigate events on Pandora and allocate more resources for the other un-damaged Vaults inside Fort Jakobs. Acquisition of Eridian relics should be a top priority so we may produce more clones. Do I have a second?"

Lawrence hoped to get business done and leave. After all, they weren't Hyperion.

The motion passed easily. Cloning operations would accelerate, using DNA borrowed from several captives who were otherwise condemned to a boring, though not unpleasant, existence in Jakobs holding cells.

[…]

While Jakobs crowed about the lack of a threat from the Infection/Flood, the Eridians found themselves forced to confront the very thing they'd been desperately trying to avoid. Neither faction actually wanted to fight the Flood again—they just had vastly differing opinions on the best way to achieve the goal of preventing it. Unfortunately for them, the Flood from the past bore little resemblance to the Flood of the present. The Machines (having been dubbed "Ancient" at some time long ago) were indeed vulnerable and now that shortcoming showed very clearly as lines of them arrived already turned on their creators. If only Eridians from other planes managed to bring their Sentinels to this place… Having obtained some kind of ability from the very same element that let them through in the first place, these Flood-Machines charged across battlefields at impossible speeds, allowing them to bypass a good number of defenses. They were able to directly attack Eridian structures rather than being forced to run a gauntlet of heavily-armed, automated space stations, turrets, and other weapons.

Fortress vessels moved to intercept. Their powerful energy weapons cut many Flood to pieces, but were unable to damage those in the midst of a "charge"—where a ship, enveloped in a purple shaft of light, crossed immense distances unimaginably quickly.

TYPICAL FLOOD TACTICS roared a Reformer in a Conclave of Defense assembled when it became apparent an old enemy had returned.

Typical tactics with an evolution retorted a Pure Ecumene. This is precisely why we believe handing the Mantle to others is a mistake—we could have solved this on our own.

As debates over religion often went, whether the parties be Eridian, human, asari, or some other species, much conflict and hot air were had with very little resolution. Even faced with their own machines turned against them, buffed by powers that made many outlying defenses useless, Eridians would survive the onslaught. This brought up the question of who actually brought the Flood back to their space, and what to do about it.

A third faction began to emerge, mostly from the "Pure" side but with a handful of Mantle Reformers joining in as well: the radical notion that risk of interplane war be damned, Eridians should return to normal space and fight alongside the lesser species in hopes the Flood could be wiped out permanently. This position received strong advocacy from the Eridian (unbeknownst to them, the same Eridian) who both attempted to protect Sally McKnight and had conversations with Garrus/Nimitz/others.

Oh, and no storing the Flood away for "study" this time…

The Eridians from universes in which this unwise action took place would be probably be disciplined, at the risk of calling unwanted attention (again).

The anonymous low-ranking Lifeworker, now dubbed "the Champion" by his peers for his unceasing advocacy for the lesser races, decided in a moment of some hypocrisy to handle matters on his own. The Pure Mantle's believers felt handling of said mandate was served better by leaving it only in Eridian hands—yet here he was manipulating machinery that would grant extraordinary power to a single person in normal space. The power, specifically, to awaken and utilize Eridian weapons left in case exactly something like this happened and the makers of these devices were forced to fight in normal space. At a minimum, it might buy time while the Eridians themselves decided what to do.

Thus, Maya nearly crashed the simulated blastboat she'd been training on as her whole body seized up, which took her hands off the controls. Her posture resembled a jumping-jack while simultaneously remaining seated due to crash webbing, until whatever happened abated.

"Ow" she remarked, entirely devoid of any emotion.

Looking at her right arm, which used to be devoid of markings, she saw that not only had a whole new (asymmetrical) set of tattoos appeared, but the entire sleeve covering said tattoos had been incinerated.

"Maya!" barked her instructor. "You're supposed to be firing the missiles!"

"I think I have a lot more important things to do than firing virtual missiles…"

Unbuckling herself, the aspiring star pilot left her sim half-finished which caused a digital representation of her craft to smash into a Prosecutor that served as target practice. Maya didn't quite know the meaning of her new fully-tattooed look, so she headed to the nearest weapons range to find out.

If this was some Eridian thing, they forgot to include an instruction manual…

Hefting a compact auto-blaster, she let loose on Flood-shaped holograms downrange.

"Welcome, [Maya]."

That the computer overseeing her progress still stilted/stuttered when pronouncing a name struck her as creepy. Considering available technology, it seemed like someone took a shortcut somewhere. Oh well—her score hadn't budged.

"Accuracy: 27%. Critical area hits: 7%."

She sighed. Secretly, it had been her hope to become some kind of borderline-all-powerful physical goddess like Sarah, even though Sarah's use of those powers were by most measures morally questionable. Putting that thought aside, at least she'd managed to grow beyond her miserable circumstances on a Pandora that didn't even exist in this universe. Maya kept wondering if she'd wake up next to Jack, or if an Eridian would yank her back to her own planet saying "Okay, experiment's over!"

The Siren decided to find Patricia Tannis.

[…]

"Log, Eridian Artifact number 7821: I have made limited headway regarding the glyphs carved into this item. It appears to have been some kind of ceremonial staff, or at least part of such a thing. Our trip to Eridian space both enhanced my knowledge and created additional questions. I hypothesize this belongs to, or belonged to, an individual of the Ecumene rank. Its luminosity has increased exponentially over the past five seconds of observation and I have no knowledge of any external stimuli that would have brought such a change about. I will…"

A beep told Tannis someone entered her lab space.

"Hello? Dr. Tannis?"

"The only people who call me that are…"

The scientist in question stopped speaking, mildly curious as to why the woman before her glowed so brightly.

"…have you noticed that you are emitting more light than most archeological spots?"

Maya looked around, then down at herself. She hadn't actually noticed this—as a matter of fact, to her, everything else seemed to be self-lit somehow, but only in the lab. Turning to a nearby table, the Siren saw what looked like a brightly-glowing tube. Without asking, she grabbed it only for the rough-hewn (stone, maybe?) item to slide out of her hand. Trying to catch it, Maya found herself "holding" the artifact, both hands closed as if wrapped around it except for containing nothing but air as it hovered between her hands. Whatever it was, it moved with her as she swept back and forth. The blunt top let off a pulse of light after a particularly aggressive forward stab, followed by a series of crashing sounds. Within seconds, another similar-looking artifact "attached" itself above Maya's right hand, having blasted its way out of storage. Curious, the Siren tried a reverse-move, yielding the same result: a new Eridian relic below her left hand. All three lit up a brilliant whitish-blue with more patterns similar to the markings of a Siren.

"Are you trying to destroy the lab?" questioned Tannis angrily. "I cannot even begin to imagine the damage caused—both of these were stored among hundreds of other priceless, carefully-catalogued items of interest!"

"Hey, don't look at me. These things have minds of their own!"

"If you're done waving that…set of valuable Eridian carvings around…I'll be putting them back now!"

Maya placed the three stone pieces on a nearby table. Without her hands, they stopped glowing and became mottled grey once again, moving out of alignment with each other until they hit raised edges of the work surface meant to stop exactly this—things rolling off. Patricia Tannis barged the Siren out of the way, attempting to take "hold" of the trilogy as Maya had before. No reaction, not from grabbing the artifacts or from placing her hands in the empty space between re-aligned pieces.

Tannis threw up her hands in frustration.

"These must recognize the power of Sirens."

"In that case, I'm going to go touch everything!"

Maya ran off into lines of boxes big and small. Tannis could only sigh at the grown woman (she had to be what, mid-thirties—not that Tannis was ever good at estimating ages) expressing childlike enthusiasm, though a small part of her admired Maya's interest in Eridian anthropology, despite her strong belief that the Siren's intellect might not be up to the task.

Less than two minutes later, Tannis found her work interrupted again. Maya slammed a large rectangular piece down on her lab table, babbling excitedly about "some new weapon."

"You are clearly suffering from delusions."

Tannis knew on some level her haughtiness didn't win her friends, though her knowledge of the Eridians did leave her with much influence among those who mattered most. She failed to see what was so exciting about Artifact 1321—a rectangular prism slightly longer than the average arm. Its edges were curved, unevenly at that, but otherwise it offered nothing unique. Only when Maya took it off the table did Tannis notice something extremely odd: her hands disappeared inside the relic, along with portions of her arms. It was as though a rectangular façade existed that the Siren could somehow reach into or through—which became immediately apparent as the front end of an alleged "box" began spitting bluish-white bolts of energy.

"This is nonsensical! I cannot comprehend what I am seeing!" cried the baffled scientist.

Maya gave Tannis a look of confusion.

"It's…some kind of gun. Can't you see it?"

"I see a box. With your hands disappearing into it."

To Tannis' abject horror, Maya dropped her excruciatingly-catalogued item to the deck, where it made a loud "thunk" that seemed in line with its apparent shape. Grabbing a digipad, the blue-haired woman briefly sketched out what her companion ostensibly could not see. The supposed "weapon" took on a very fluid shape—a half-cone with flat front and a smaller half-cone on the bottom with a grip. At the weapon's back, another partial-shape combined with a protruding grip from the bottom suggested a two-handed device. All joints between the various components were rounded off, either concave or convex, matching the direction of edges joined. Indents in the weapon's casing running along its length completed a rather strange look.

"I would say you have quite an imagination, except for the scorch marks now apparent on the far wall."

The scientist tried to grab at Maya's supposed weapon near the places her hands seemed to merge into stone, only to have her fingers hit something solid: the cool stone surface she'd been handling previously.

"This makes no sense."

For the first time in a while, Tannis pouted.

[…]

Executive Minister Charles Day received yet more disturbing reports from Republic Spacelane Protection: this "infection" (or as RISE now called it, "Flood") contaminated almost a third of the Home Galaxy. Being aware of the Great Opportunities Fleet and its unexpected demise, the Executive Minister figured a full-on war was to be had. Instead, he faced a game of subterfuge befitting a HoloNet spy drama. The Flood steamrollered stellar neighbor Gamma-Six, using brute force to smash through any defenses, even those reinforced with Trans-Galactic Republic technology, ships, and personnel. Its apparent approach here reflected a different strategy. Instead of capturing as many ships and bodies as was physically possible, it seemed to have evolved to spread much more slowly, with symptoms manifesting themselves only after some length of time passed in which the patient exposed many others to Flood spores, emitted from the respiratory system in most cases.

Studies of Flood tissues combined with the small amount of data operatives managed to transmit from many light-years away suggested an alien unlike any seen before. Even the Symbiot Lifeforms responsible for Current abilities, whose existence had been mostly historical until recently, were not this nefarious. Viral agents attacked anything in sight. Bacteria multiplied without restraint. But this Flood—it modulated its own development until just the right moment, turbo-charging its growth at a time that would let the host spread the maximum amount of itself to others.

For a society that pledged openness along with its insipidly happy motto, the Trans-Galactic Republic's government attempted to keep both knowledge of Flood and awareness of a return of Channelers to itself as much as was feasible. What portion of this came from the Republic Intelligence Service and its notorious information-hoarding would be down for historians to debate centuries later. News anchors even alluded to it, saying things like "In the interest of avoiding panic, the Intelligence Service today declined to make available information on the Flood even when faced with a 'Floodlight Law' information request." The late-night pundits who then followed nightly news proceeded to poke fun at potentially causing the very effect the government sought to avoid—lurid descriptions of "Flood" with laser eyes, building-leaping legs, monomolecular claws, and blaster-proof skin abounded in seedier corners of the HoloNet. Less-informed citizens began to believe some of these allegations, despite little evidence to support them.

The Republic Intelligence Service didn't mind these rumors. If the Flood sounded tougher than it actually was, convincing the public to support additional Star Dreadnaughts or even more freedom-of-action for RISE wouldn't be difficult.

At present, it became much harder for quantum-armored supercarriers or under-construction Star Dreadnaughts to serve as an effective counter to an enemy the size of a few cells for those who actually knew how the Flood operated at the moment. One saving grace arose from being able to detect reservoirs of the Flood in some species, though a caveat followed of the carrier's usually horrific death shortly following injection of Flood-revealing chemicals, as if the parasite reacted to being found. Unusually tight quarantines around critical projects spawned yet more questions, though deflecting them was much easier since the general public knew of the Flood's infectious nature.

"And we've found out the hard way, Minister, that attempting to use bacta on a Flood victim or wounds with Flood cells will give you nightmares for weeks."

Indeed, Day retched into his wastebin upon watching holos detailing the process of Flood infection. These were observed firsthand by scientists at Garthmot based on holos taken from the initial incursion at the edge of the Home Galaxy. Explosively-fast takeover of the host, utter rejection of any attempts to attack with antibiotics, and of course the easy metabolization of bacta fueling even quicker growth with the possibility of limited self-healing later in the cycle should the newly-turned body be attacked. For the moment, the relative thinness of bacta (as opposed to medi-bac, unknown to Trans-Galactic Republic scientists here) prevented it from being fully utilized in the way it had been with Tanks on Omega. Still, cultured cells spread like wildfires in the presence of what was normally considered miracle fluid whether injured or not.

"We've not had to fight an enemy like this since well before the current government existed" he muttered. "Our approach to conflict needs a fundamental alteration."

His HoloNet transceiver buzzed. Whoever it was bypassed the usual layers of security between the galaxy's leader and any incoming callers.

For a notorious smuggling kingpin, John Jackson didn't conjure up images of a rough-hewn spacer or dirty pirate. Coiffed hair, distinguished face, tastefully-pricy suit. He'd been a gunrunner once, but long ago gave up that life as he became more involved in the management of a sprawling "alternative transportation" empire. As part of a semi-unspoken truce between his "colleagues" and the current administration, the latter would keep their hands off the former if smuggling avoided or minimized certain types of cargo (e.g. slaves). Plus, public opinion polls showed voters tended to care less about material smuggling than trafficking—the issue dropped about ten places in the "importance" list if it trafficking was specifically excluded from otherwise-illegal activity. Hence his unofficial-official access to the Executive Minister.

"Consider this a warning. Some within our council do not believe your government is doing enough to protect us from this extragalactic menace and are taking actions accordingly, without unanimous support."

Day disliked the notion the most powerful man (or woman) in the galaxy sat on the receiving end of vague near-threats from lawbreakers, but also appreciated the heads-up that something was about to explode.

"And what, pray tell, do these unnamed entities want me to do? I have the Republic Intelligence Service damn near taking control of all defense efforts, refugees fleeing from Flood areas, and now this?"

Johnson spoke slowly, carefully.

"There are those among us who are inclined to believe that the majority in this galaxy was ill-served by the failure to properly defend our neighbor, in which stellar brothers and sisters were wiped out by this…Flood, you say?"

First time I've heard anyone openly admit there are closet racists among the smuggling titans…

"The lexical change was…not my doing" replied Day, similarly coy. "Nevertheless, we had no firm knowledge of significant sapient presences in Gamma-Six."

He's a politician, of course he'll claim no official knowledge of the times our traders flew to the edges of that place and saw way more activity than a galaxy supposedly hosting no intelligent life would have…

"This is just a cautionary tale that some reactionary groups may soon take matters into their own hands."

John Jackson disconnected. Conversations with the Executive Minister were always awkward and short. Neither could be too candid lest the exchange be recorded and leaked by the other.

His erstwhile rival within the Band of Brothers, Jack Johnson, indeed insisted in private that the Republic's response to an invasion a galaxy over hadn't gone far enough, while Jackson insisted even sending the Great Opportunities Fleet represented a step too far. Terra Nova was an accident—you couldn't blame them for fending off a threat against themselves that also happened to endanger their hosts. But the "Opportunities" afforded by deploying vast numbers of Spacelane Protection assets on what looked like a feel-good cultural mission struck Johnson as a foolish waste of resources when a couple of envoy ships could have handled it.

The profits made by bringing certain technologies to pro-Human organizations in that distant land alongside the fleet kept most objectors to such involvement quiet until now. So long as their shares continued to flow, nobody placed ideology above additional credits easily earned. When that spigot shut off, though, head honchos accustomed to the additional revenue began seeking other sources, including ingratiating themselves with the Republic Intelligence Service. This suggestion caused others to balk. John Jackson led a faction that preferred stable, but lower returns from activities well within the bounds of noninterference agreements held with the Trans-Galactic Republic. Jack Johnson wanted to chase higher profits even if it meant intergalactic travel and/or cooperating with shady parts of the government who might make you disappear to settle debts instead of paying what was owed.

Such disappearances were what the Republic Intelligence Service wanted to secure, not for smugglers, but for individuals taken by the Flood. Footage of fast-acting Flood agents and their predictably gory results actually ended up undermining control efforts when the microbe elected to behave differently in the Home Galaxy—"If their face isn't exploding off, they can't possibly be carrying it" went the (bad) logic. Due to this, what was once contained at 10% of Home Galaxy territory ballooned to 33% in a very short timeframe. The biggest guns couldn't touch the problem, and the RISE Council recognized this even as the public face of the government put its faith in Flood testing kits (that often killed the examinee).

"So they want us to haul away people to conduct experiments on them?"

Scarlett DeWinter, one of the oldest members of the Band, had been one of the driving forces behind what was known internally as "Smuggling With a Smile"—no slavery, no prostitution, and limiting types of illegal drugs carried to Category III or lower (Categories I and II being those that the Trans-Galactic Republic rated as highest on "aggregate self-harm" risk). So now all of the sudden there were serious discussions about transferring patients to black-site labs under the guise that they'd already died? She didn't like this one bit.

Roscoe Woodfield argued it would make no difference, "As soon as that test needle goes in, they're dead anyway! Why not let them do something useful before dying?"

He'd been a proponent of "alternate investments" in the past, including the talking-but-not-officially with the Republic Intelligence Service.

Jack Johnson made his most open gesture yet at a Band of Brothers meeting indicating a strong "pro-Human" outlook.

"If these Humans are going to be killed, we might as well help find a cure to keep others like them from sharing their fate."

Several odd looks were earned from this comment. If Jack Johnson chose to publicly force a discussion amongst the Brothers (and Sisters) of who believed certain species to be superior to others, it was going to make things very tense, to put it mildly. DeWinter remembered the brutal gang wars thirty years ago—the mostly-Human-dominated cartels were heavily into trafficking non-Humans at the time both as labor and for other, darker purposes. The few which weren't run by Humans soon were courtesy of scandals, subterfuge, and at least one very suspicious "accident." The Executive Minster of the time, Natalie Buchanan, had been elected on a rather pro-Human platform and tried to ignore or rationalize the situation until the Home Senate threatened to remove her from office via a vote of no confidence. That the tenth member of the Trans-Galactic Republic joined only five years prior to that with Humans as a not-well-treated immigrant minority did no service to the situation.

As all politicians tend to do when an event would upend everyone regardless of party or ideology if not addressed, a compromise emerged. One which would allow Buchanan to finish her term (mostly as a figurehead) while the Senate patched everything up. A Select Committee on Trafficking emerged as a sub-committee of the Select Committee on Smuggling (itself a subcommittee of the Committee on Sapient Rights). Recommendations included an expansive anti-slavery inspection/interdiction campaign, revamped education on the subject, and extreme prison terms for those caught engaging in the practice. A special tax was to be levied that would support these endeavors until they were "no longer necessary," applying to all Outer Rim traffic until protests by legitimate shippers torpedoed it. Many back-room deals ensued to which surprisingly few were privy to. Whatever it was, some collaboration between smugglers emerged that resulted in "Smuggling With a Smile" that held to this day. It may have had something to do with some within the Band preferring forgoing slave-revenue to a massive government crackdown, combined with angry traders who, in a successful effort to discourage the tax offered to work with the government on conducting "surprise inspections" (for which they would be paid and permitted to carry heavy armaments, of course).

DeWinter put on her sternest face (at over seventy standard years of age, she had plenty of practice). "You realize Humans are not the only ones to fall prey to this Infection, Flood, or whatever it is being called now. Focusing only on the fate of our species risks reigniting the very fires we quenched years ago in this exact chamber!"

"Then why does RISE only seem to want Humans?" countered Jack Johnson, speaking as if discussing something trivial like podracing bets or shockball scores.

Marvin McKee understood Johnson's affinity for his fellow Humans—in a sense it was pragmatic to cultivate ties to the majority of one's customer base in hopes of winning more business. However, when majorities were defined by species rather than, say, market niche, politics inevitably got dragged in and the whole situation turned into a mess.

"Let us not concern ourselves with the motivations of the Republic Intelligence Service" he reasoned. "Other than those which would impact us or our other customers, we have never considered the ideological leanings of our clients."

"But what of our missing recipients in the other galaxy? They have gone dark."

Kayla Verdansky's move from political heiress into free-trading caught many by surprise. Still, she'd entirely earned her position at the head of Eternal Moon through vicious subterfuge, applying political tactics to a smuggling organization—rising from thought-harmless "slave" to running the entire company in fifteen years. Now, she concerned herself with Human-centric efforts as befitting her past in elected office (never mind that very platform won her exactly one election—and that only on the back of the Verdansky name).

"By all means, Kalya" offered John Jackson, "if Eternal Moon wishes to fund expeditions to other galaxies to ascertain what happened at the risk of angering the government, you are free to do so without the support of this body."

Even though Jack Johnson had a strong desire to turn the Band of Brothers in a more Human-focused direction, he realized now that trying to do so at this juncture would be unproductive as none of his quiet allies were willing to take an open stand.

"We are supposed to be discussing the proposal from RISE" he corrected, trying to steer conversation back toward its original topic.

Sometimes-bitter-rival John Jackson resisted the urge to mock his compatriot. "Jack, need I remind you of who brought up the notion of Humans specifically needing additional protection…"

The All-Brother mantle had just rotated, and its new bearer dropped the hammer on everyone for falling out of line with the gathering's official purpose.

"Enough. We can break the unspoken rules barring personal views irrelevant to our profits from this chamber, or we can move forward with a lucrative contract."

Leonard Cortlandt, not known for raising his voice (which made his terms as All-Brother interesting), waited for the others to respond.

"I offer a motion to accept the Republic Intelligence Service contract as written with no amendments." John Jackson rose as he said this, knowing psychologically that would give him the impression of being in charge or at least having more influence for his position. The pro-Human pressure cooker remained sealed for now—by an 8-5 vote, it passed.

If the Republic Intelligence Service managed to make miracles happen with these walking dead, few would complain versus facing an entire galaxy taken over. Still, Smuggling with a Smile now needed an asterisk after it.

[…]

Garrus found himself sought out by Urdnot Wrex. The two were on friendly terms despite long-running species-wide animosity, so talking to the one turian who thought he was funny was pretty par for the course. Said turian didn't know how to answer the krogan's questions, though, which made him uncomfortable and wish for Shepard's involvement.

"What are we supposed to do?" growled Wrex. "The krogan, the drell, the hanar… Hell, even the batarians are all endangered species. The asari! What a fall!"

"I honestly don't know."

Garrus paced back and forth in the Normandy's Combat Information Center. He recognized with changes wrought by Sarah and the Eridians that his missions to stir up the citizenry (or corporate-ry?) were now pointless and may actually have ended up undermining the goal by focusing resources on what now was the wrong target.

"You couldn't have predicted that one" laughed the krogan. "Some extra-universal bunch of weirdos shows up with the ability to destroy the Flood? And then refuses to get their hands dirty? Makes perfect sense to dump the mess on their doorstep."

The turian called up Normandy's shipboard AI.

"Cortana, you once told many of us that Nova Vita was a ploy, that it wasn't ever supposed to fly, it just bought cover for you to gather necessary materials. So what does your plan say now?"

"Did you ask the Eridians about the last time they reseeded an entire galaxy?"

She liked this 'turian.' No beating around the bush, no half-witted, hackneyed measures.

"That…never came up. Before you yell at me, hear me out. You're aware of the disappearance of Elizabeth Booker, correct?"

Cortana took on a pensive look before responding. "Yes, I am. Sally McKnight was returned to this fleet. However, I refrained from accessing files related to her departure and subsequent arrival."

An AI with ethics. Everyone who thinks computerized intelligences are going to just automatically kill us really needs a perspective update!

"Well, I don't have the decryption keys, but I can tell you more about that. The Eridians fled this universe, and many parallels like it, to escape the very thing that now plagues them."

"Them?" interrupted Cortana in a flash of purple-red. Extrapolating from Wrex's comment, she continued "Wait, you found a way to send the Flood to their universe? Why do you think that's going to force them to help us?"

Garrus updated her regarding the religious divide he, McKnight, Nimitz, Sarah, and others had observed upon being brought into Eridian space.

"So you're trying to exploit that conflict. Just like you attempted to stir the pot here."

Garrus reminded her of the Office of Naval Intelligence from her home universe. Not nearly as unethical, but still willing to take actions that she knew would offend moral sensibilities. Of course, that presumed morals were a luxury that could be afforded right now—if it took underhanded tricks to get impotent people or demigods to defend themselves she was all for it despite the reams of philosophical debate it would inspire later. Now it appeared no such actions were necessary, at least not with anyone in this dimension anyway.

"This time, I'm not lighting the whole fire" he countered. "These Eridians, Forerunners—they're basically gods from down here. I think it would be a tad presumptuous to say that our actions would compel them to do anything, but I'd rather have the Flood there than here."

"So we're pinning our existence on a few religious dissenters. Interesting gamble, especially since there's a heavy Flood presence in your galaxy already."

"The power of the few should not be underestimated."

The female krogan "Abra," who'd been subjected to combination therapy to cure the genophage, spoke up. She had been rather scarce, since two baby krogan could be a handful. Of course, krogan mothers of old used to care for clutches of thousands, so by that standard her life was easy. However, keeping her and Wrex's offspring out of trouble aboard a giant starship wherein curiosity could be lethal meant an extra-close watch.

"This isn't exactly how I would go about rebuilding a race…"

Even though he tended to make decisions that skirted some notions of morality, the idea of setting oneself up as a god/emperor and reshaping an entire species due to most of it being wiped out felt…off to him.

Wrex, however, displayed no such disinclination.

"You know, I enjoy headbutting, but at least there are going to be far fewer like Wreav now. Maybe the krogan can have a future sooner rather than later. I'll take it."

"Well, that's great, but does anyone have a superweapon that can solve everyone's problem?"

"Nope, still gotta work for it, Garrus."

The turian looked slightly disappointed after Wrex's comment.