The Nevermore was an enigma among the Alliance, probably even among its own organization outside it's hull. The black ship. The devil's carriage. The home and birthplace of the Alliance Intelligence Branch. No one knew its commission or launch date, or even the class of the vessel; the only thing agreed upon was that it wasn't a Dreadnought. The size and firepower of a Cruiser, but with manoeuvrability that outpaced the most agile of Frigates.
All Anderson knew was that it was the finest ship he had ever been on, if the most eerie one as well. The ship was completely silent, even missing the familiar thrum of engines beneath the deck.
The Nevermore was certainly living up to the reputation; despite the fact it had rescued them, it was still one of the most restricted vessels in the galaxy, a fact that only now was dawning on the remnants of his crew. And they were his crew now. With Malony dead they fell under his responsibility, to reassure the remaining men and women under his command who had no idea why they were being held captive on a friendly vessel.
It was a mystery to him as well.
After being searched and stripped of weapons by black armored marines, they had been confined to the cargo bay where it fell to Healy to patch them up with medical supplies left for them. The entire place had been stripped; it was obvious that pieces of technology had been removed just to keep them out of sight.
In the lull that followed, Anderson did his best to push the thought of those who had died out of his mind. Thankfully, Gregor's missing hand was the most severe injury they had… the rest hadn't made it to the ship. He would deal with the deaths in his own way later, for now his people were counting on him to stay strong, and they weren't out of the woods just yet.
He kept himself occupied, going from man to man, asking how they were holding up, offering encouragement and keeping people busy where he could to keep them from brooding. Within reason, of course. While cleaning up after combat kept a man from brooding, pushing busy work, not an exercise in futility.
But as the hours dragged on he gravitated towards the corner where Ruby lay curled up sleeping like the dead.
Poor girl, he couldn't imagine what she was going through.
After what felt like days the door finally hissed open, drawing everyone's attention and admitting a man Anderson never expected to see again.
Thin and wiry, and standing a few inches shorter than himself, the officer bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the late Maloney in terms of features. Blink and you could have thought they were brothers. However that was where the similarities ended. A long scar started at his chin, went over his left eye and seemed to bury itself in his skull. The damaged eye had been replaced by a prosthetic, but somehow the blue orbs held a steely resolve that few men could match.
Anderson knew him all too well; he was there when he got that scar. A parting gift from the First Contact War.
Richard Fang. A man he thought was dead for almost two decades.
Colonel Fang, according to his bars.
Anderson stepped forward and saluted smartly as was his duty as acting officer. "Colonel, sir, I am Lieutenant David Anderson. On behalf of me and my crew, I thank you for the rescue."
"At ease, Lieutenant," Fang said in a much deeper voice than his thin frame suggested, saluting back. "Step outside with me."
Anderson gave his men a reassuring nod, then followed the Colonel out. As soon as he did, the door slammed shut and locked. The hallway was deserted. Even when they were alone, Anderson remained at attention as Fang looked him over with a bored expression. Though they had been good friends at one point, that was years and several levels in rank ago. He wasn't going to assume anything, not even that Fang was still his friend when his crew and Ruby were essentially being held hostage.
Alliance Intelligence might as well have been Spectres for the lengths they went to keep secrets.
If Fang recognized him, or that he even cared, he gave no indication and levelled a flat glare at Anderson. "You understand the precariousness of your situation, Lieutenant?"
Anderson kept his face neutrally blank. Now that combat was resolved it was back to the administrative nightmare he'd backed himself into. The hard part was figuring out which situation Fang was referring to. But before he could answer, Fang spoke up again.
"Critical mission failure, a downed frigate, half your crew dead and nothing to show for it." He stepped closer to get in Anderson's face. "Coupled with the assault on a superior officer, give me one reason why I should have you thrown in the brig, Lieutenant."
No matter how much Anderson wanted to Blame Maloney for all their troubles, he gritted his teeth and responded. "Sir, I have no excuses for my actions."
"None what so ever?"
"None, sir."
"So I heard. Captain Maloney was insistent we forgo the court-marshal and dismiss you on the spot." He tilted his head to the side, as thought considering another option. "That, or 'lock you in irons,' were his exact words. He was quite insistent in on it. Give me one reason why I shouldn't."
If his threat said one thing his body language said another. On one hand it was an honest demand delivered with the full power of his rank, but the tilt of his head was the same dismissive gesture he used for all his pessimistic observations back in N7 school.
It was clearly a trap if ever there was one. A test.
Maybe.
"Sir, I cannot speak for the actions of my Captain, but I can give an account of my own. I performed to the best of my abilities save for... one error of judgment. For striking my superior I am ready to stand fully accountable."
Fang didn't even blink. "I see you haven't changed," he said quietly. There was a subtle shift in his tone as he dropped the act, but Anderson wasn't going to accept it at face value. How ever much he wanted to believe Fang was still his friend he couldn't drop his guard and risk offending him, not while his crew and Ruby were still onboard.
He always trusted Fang for his dedication to the mission, no matter the costs. Now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. I Fang wanted to hush things up permanently, there wasn't a damn thing Anderson could say that would stop him.
"Ultimately, we have no say in the matter," Fang continued. "We'll file the report with Alliance Proper and leave you with them. You and your crew will be deposited on the nearest Alliance colony via unmarked shuttle. An alibi is being prepared for your status and the ultimate fate of the Pearl. You will be briefed one hour before our arrival. NDAs will be delivered shortly. You will ensure your crew understands the severity of their situation, otherwise they are forbidden from leaving this ship. Am I understood, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir." Anderson nodded. "Sir, if I may be so bold, what's the status of the objective?"
"Being handled. And this girl?" Fang tilted his head in the direction of the door. At Ruby. "She's not listed in any of the ship's manifests or security logs. Where did she come from?"
Anderson silently cursed. He should have seen this coming. Lack of communication always caused complcations, and now he didn't know what landmines Maloney had mentioned or failed to mention in his report. Damn that man.
Now it fell to him to drop the bomb, but how would Fang react when he learned that Ruby came from the Glyph? Maloney was right about one thing; it had to be the source of Ruby's appearance. There was no other explanation; but how did arrival via classified a rock translate over onto a human being? But it wasn't like he had a choice. Fang would find out eventually, with or without him.
So he told Fang everything; about the botched first attempt and finding Ruby at the bottom of a crater. Fang listened impassively and was silent for a long minute after Anderson finished his recounting.
"From the Glyph, you say?" Fang said at last, and a pit opened up in Anderson's stomach. He couldn't imagine what would happen to her, but duty compelled him to answer.
"Yes sir."
"Why wasn't this reported?"
"Breakdown of communication, sir," Anderson answered as honestly as possible. "It won't-"
"Or greed run wild," Fang interjected. The pointed look that followed made it clear that Anderson wasn't completely absolved of blame, he could have mentioned it in a report of his own, but at the moment, Maloney was the one at fault. "Regardless, she stays with us."
Anderson's heart clenched. "Sir, I-"
"This is out of your hands, Lieutenant." Though Fang was as toneless as ever, his flat statement cut deeper than a knife. "She must remain isolated, end of story."
"She's only fifteen for god sakes!" Anderson hissed. Good grief what was wrong with him. Attacking a superior and now talking back to a Colonel? To Fang of all people? "Richard, please, just think about this."
Fang's expresion went completely blank to the extent he looked more machine than human. "Lieutenant-"
"O~oh! Did the big bad Lieutenant manage to break your cool Fang? Clumsy of you."
Anderson jumped as the tense atmosphere was shattered by a cackle at his elbow. Fang merely exhaled slightly as a man slid out of Anderson's shadow as though he'd been there the whole time.
He was thin to the point of being anorexic, something Anderson thought impossible with today's technology. Short, too, shorter than Fang anyway. Deep wrinkles covered his hairless head, under which hung a grandfatherly smile, though the warmth it sought to inspire was offset by his eyes. Small beady things that burned with a manic glee.
His black DEUs were immaculately pressed, with edges sharp enough to cut glass. Shoes polished to a mirror shine. Interestingly no rank was visible anywhere on his uniform, not even on the cane which he held like a refined English gentleman of old.
Anderson took it all in with a single glance, hackles raised without a visible rank. The man was obviously important to talk so frivolously to a Colonel. In a case like this it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Sir," Anderson saluted the man sharply.
Or rather, he tried to.
The cane lashed out, catching his wrist before it could make it to shoulder level.
"Please, none of that with me," the man pouted—pouted—childishly, guiding Anderson's hand back down. He tapped the blank epaulets on his shoulder. "Tell me what do you see here?"
Anderson glanced at Fang for help and got nothing but a blank mask. The old man caught his look and grinned manically. "Please, Lieutenant, it's quite simple. Just answer the question."
Simple. Like wandering into a minefield.
"No rank, sir." Anderson replied carefully.
"Exactly!" He tapped his cane on the deck. "Nothing! You know what that means?"
One of two things.
One; an insane old man snuck aboard a top secret military vessel for the purpose of a joke. Very, very, very unlikely. He wore the uniform, Fang showed deference; he was obviously someone important.
Even minefields were more predictable than his. They killed you quickly, at least.
"I don't know, sir." he answered honestly.
"No saluting!" the man crowed. "If he wears a uniform without a rank you do not salute! Otherwise you'd have young Lieutenants, like yourself, saluting perfectly worthless privates mucking about after inspection under the assumption that they're Admirals in disguise! Bars are gold for a reason, after all. And if you do miss saluting a Colonel because he doesn't have his bars on, then that's his own bloody fault!"
A cocky smirk spread his lips. "The point is, Lieutenant, I don't want to be saluted. It's as simple as that."
"Very good, sir."
"Yes, it is!"
The hallway trailed off into an awkward silence. Anderson certainly wasn't going to talk of line, not before this unrecognizable authority. Though maybe he could be reasoned with about Ruby. He couldn't bargain with Fang, not in a million years, but this guy...
The old man blinked, glancing between the two younger men as if waiting for some cue. Finally, he jabbed the head of his cane at Fang. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"
"I thought you wanted to do that yourself, sir."
"It's a practise of creativity!" He jabbed Fang in the shoulder, lightly. "Extrapolate! Amaze! Consider who you are introducing and revel in the descriptors at your disposal." He glanced sidelong at Anderson. "He's having trouble adjusting, forgetting some things, scars and all that. Give him some time."
If he was trying to annoy the Colonel, the only reaction he got was the smallest of exhales. Fang motioned with a hand and said, simply. "Lieutenant, this is Director George Kraft of the Alliance Intelligence Branch."
"We really need to change the name," the newly named Director mused, almost to himself. "Or at least add in the 'B.' Aye, Eye. Think about it, everyone always refers to us as A.I.! In a world where acronyms are everything that could prove especially deadly. We need to add the 'B!' We'd be the A.I.B.! AIB! Take initiative, Fang. Make it happen!"
"You are still the Director, sir." Fang said with the patience of a saint.
He was conked over the head for his trouble. "Oh, I see, you're waiting for my death to make changes. Oh the humanity! My own 2IC conspires against me!"
A single look from Fang was all it took to say that this was normal behaviour.
"So, what brought this about then?" The Director turned back to Anderson. "It's been a while since I've seen Fang riled up like this. Quite amusing, dare I say."
"An issue with their personnel count, sir," Fang spoke up. "Nothing to concern yourself with."
"Oh dear, oh dear!" the director bemoaned, clearly concerning himself with the situation as he glanced around the bland hallway. "Well, this is no place to hold a civil debate!"
"It's not a debate."
"Nonsense! Come, come!" He started walking down the hallway with a spring in his step that defied his age, motioning for them to follow. "We shall not argue in that halls like philistines! But settle this in style like the gentlemen we are. Come! Both of you!"
The two officers shared a look, and Anderson took some modicum of comfort from the grim acceptance on Fang's part. So this was typical of the old man. As they followed him, Anderson took up the rear of the column, as an officer of lower rank should. But he was startled when the Director motioned for him to walk beside him.
"It's delightful to have someone else to talk to," the old man said when Anderson drew level with him. "No one's brave enough to look me in the eye and Fang's as stiff as a board. You're a welcome break from the monotony, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, sir."
"And stop calling me sir! Remember the rank, or lack thereof. No epaulets, no respects! I am merely an old man with the power to hold you here forever if I so desire. Call me Gilderary if you have to. Or Tim. Yes, Tim works. Call me Tim."
"Uhm… Okay, Tim."
However eccentric the man was, the trick was to maintain proper decorum. If the Director wanted to be called Tim, then by hell Anderson was going to call him Tim.
They appeared to have left the isolated section of the ship. Crewmen in black BDUs hurried past, carrying data pads and talking in hushed tones. They all gave the Director a wide berth and stared at Anderson curiously. They looked healthy enough, but there was something about them that set Anderson's teeth on edge.
The way they stared with hollow eyes, as though they walked the wire day after day.
The old man waved them away with a chuckle.
"Oh, just ignore them. They're as starved for conversation as I am. We're under a bit of a time crunch, you see. Change of Command. Passing the torch, if you prefer it."
Fang coughed politely from behind them. "Sir, the Lieutenant doesn't need-"
"Nonsense! Small talk is the ointment of the soul! And so little happens here that such a promotion is worthy of discussion. Of course…"
The cane came up faster than Anderson could blink. The tip had been sharpened to a point and was currently shoved up his nose on a direct course to his brain. He froze, feeling the tip dig into the soft flesh of his nostrils.
The Director leered at him, eyes burning fiercely. "... of course, if he breathes a word of it outside this ship, death will be the last thing on his mind. Get the point?"
The tip of the cane jabbed sharply into his flesh. Anderson swallowed, struggling to keep up a strong facade. He hadn't even seen the man twitch.
"Yes… Tim."
The Director's leering grin turned more genuine. The cane was whipped out of Anderson's nose to settle in front of the old man once more "Ah! You pick up things very quickly, Lieutenant. And don't take it the wrong way, that really is a complement. You're far brighter than some of the other plebeians we've had to take on board. Most never made it off."
He led the way deeper into the ship, jabbing a finger into the air. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, your NDA will cover everything in detail. For now, revel in the fact that you are one of the few to butt heads with my successor and live!"
Anderson glanced sharply at Fang, who shook his head minutely. Probably for the best. He couldn't tell if this was an act or if the man was genuinely senile.
"I'm old, you see. Time for new blood to take the reins. What do you think of him, Lieutenant? It's rare I can get an unbiased opinion from the crew, and asking outside the ship just welcomes the possibility of manipulation. So what do you think of our Director in waiting, Colonel Fang?"
Anderson's brow furrowed. A strange question with a lot of unspoken context. Undoubtedly the Director knew their history, knew they were both N7s from the same class. And if he didn't learn that from Fang he most definitely knew it from record.
Back to the question at hand, he was well familiar with Richard Fang from N7 school and the war. But Colonel Fang? The Fang he only learned was still alive as of a few minutes ago?
It was a loaded question if ever he heard one.
"I believe he's a good choice." Anderson replied, diplomatically.
"Reasons, Lieutenant. Don't leave me hanging."
"He's a stalwart man, and an even better soldier."
"I see… " The Director rubbed at his hairless chin. "Awfully generous for a first impression."
"First impression?"
"I mean no disrespect, to anyone involved, but how can you be sure this is the man you knew all those years ago? People change, Lieutenant, and a lot can happen in a few years. A ringing endorsement for a man you've technically never met, considering his injury."
"Because I know my friends. I know the kind of man Richard Fang aspired to be. While his injury might have set him back, you put him in an environment where he thrives as a person." Intentionally or not, as the case may be. "Things change, true, but they can change for the better. I have no doubt that the Colonel will live up to your expectations."
"And if I told you he'd put a bullet in your head if you made a single move against me."
Anderson gave Fang a sidelong glance. "I wouldn't doubt it for a second."
"You sound awfully sure of yourself, considering that it's your life we're talking about. What do you think, Fang? Would you put a bullet in your friend's head?"
Fang's face remained expressionless. "What kind of question is that, sir?"
"Hmmm." The Director nodded to himself, giving Anderson a long look. Then he nodded, as if Anderson had met his expectations. "I see."
What kind of question was that?
Yep. Fang hadn't changed a bit. But the line of questioning hadn't been intended for the Colonel. It was clearly a probe, a test of some kind. Question was, what was the man looking for?
The Director led them into a dark office. It took Anderson a minute to realize lighting wasn't an issue; black satin drapes covered the walls and ceiling and black carpet covered the floor. The fabric gave the illusion of walking into a dark cave, lit by a number of candles of all things.
Candles on a starship? In a room that could go up in flames at a moment's notice? The old man really was senile.
"Please, sit." The Director motioned towards two chairs set before a beautifully carved oaken desk. "Something to drink, Lieutenant? I have coffee, tea… cocoa for the heretics. Maybe a spot of whisky, if you desire?"
"Coffee will be fine, thank you."
"Just 'fine?' You're not choosing it just because it was the first item to pick, was it?"
"No." Hopefully it was better than the drivel he stomached on the Pearl.
"Ah, I see." He toasted Anderson with his cane, as though he could read his mind. "A true believer until the end. I can respect that."
Whatever that meant.
Reaching behind the drapes, the Director pulled out a platter with three steaming mugs and set it on the desk. Wondering where they appeared from, Anderson accepted his mug and politely took a sip. It was the best damn coffee he'd ever tasted. Black, just the way he liked it. The Director must have some serious perks to get brew like that.
"Now then," the Director seated himself on the other side of the desk. Ignoring his mug for the moment, he steepled his finger before him. "A personnel issue, you said? I thought a man of your standing and calibre would have such issues taken care of before you left dock, Lieutenant."
All levity drained from his voice and he fixed Anderson with a look that could silence a tribunal. Now came the reckoning.
Anderson steadied himself, setting the coffee on the desk and squaring his shoulders. The Director's labelling might have been intended to throw him off balance, accusing him of being at fault. He wasn't; Ruby's appearance was pure coincidence. Now it was up to him to make his case as honestly as possible.
"It's the girl, sir," he said, dropping the ridiculous name he'd been saddled with. The drop of levity had changed the dynamic of the situation, and unless told otherwise Anderson would show the respect the Director was due.
"The 'girl?'" The Director repeated, drily. He effortlessly caught Anderson's questioning glance at Fang. The man was eerily observant. "We are a multi-faceted organization, Lieutenant, I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with the day to day operations."
Yet he chose to insert himself into Fang's operation on a whim.
"Make no mistake, I trust Fang's judgment on the matter, but this case in particular interests me. Rarely does one of our recruitment operations get… mishandled in such a manner. To put it extremely lightly. Assaults on the Captain, the mutiny of his XO, a potential stowaway. What a mess. Unfortunately, the Captain's demise has left no one to answer for his actions. Other than you, that is."
The Director's eyes narrowed as he glared out over his intertwined hands, his voice hard. "The bonehead's report was gravely lacking. And with his XO relieved of duty there was no polarizing perspective. So, Lieutenant, when you explain this 'personnel issue' and this 'girl,' start at the very beginning. I do so love a good calamity."
The man could be downright terrifying when he wanted to. His eccentric nature was purely an act to throw him off balance. Anderson couldn't deny the chill that went down his spine at the abrupt tonal change. He'd known he walked the wire, but damn, the Director sounded like he was ready to space them all.
So he started at the beginning, going over the preparations in Alliance dry dock until the Director motioned to skip ahead to the meat of the operation. Anderson carefully described their arrival in the system until the Director abruptly demanded to know the working relationship between the two ranking officers.
It was a game of cat and mouse that left Anderson on the edge of his seat. The questions varied, but always kept the flow of his narrative. An observation of the crew was met by a question of moral and general opinion of the command staff. They were all questions expected in a debrief, but the Director seemed to have a psychic knowledge of when to ask them to squeeze out more information than Anderson thought possible. He was practically singing his own doubts in life at the top of his lungs before they even got to the landing on the moon.
Then they got to the Glyph.
"You stood on it?" The Director asked.
Anderson nodded, throat dry, but he didn't dare take a sip. "Yes sir."
"Did you feel anything peculiar while doing so?"
"It was… pretty to look at," he struggled for words. "Felt like it wanted to draw me in somehow." He shook himself out the stump and got back on track. "We set the charges and were prepared to withdraw when I noticed a footprint leading away from the Glyph."
Instead of asking another question, the Director merely blinked. After a brief moment of contemplation, he motioned for Anderson to continue.
"Following the tracks we found a girl about thirty meters from the Glyph. I think-"
He was interrupted as the Director's finger shot up. "How did she get there."
Anderson shrugged helplessly. "I don't know how, sir, but I believe the Glyph is responsible. She didn't have a hardsuit or breathing apparatus, just straight civilian clothing. No omni-tool, identification, nothing. There's no way a ship dropped her off before we arrived in the system, she simply wouldn't have survived that long in the atmosphere. I barely got to her in time as is. And we would have detected another ship leaving."
He considered his next words carefully. "The Captain believed it was some sort of Prothean teleportation system. I'm… inclined to believe him. All the evidence lines up."
"Yet nothing in his report mentions this girl at all." The Director shot Fang a glance, who shook his head; the first movement he'd made during the whole exchange. The old man seemed to accept that. "I can hardly fault you for the actions of an idiot, Lieutenant. However, your reason for not sending in your own version of events is?"
"The mission wasn't completed, sir. I couldn't send a report saying we just walked away."
"So you punched your Captain in the face instead of reporting him to higher authority." The Director's accusation stung.
"As you know, sir, I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."
"At least you're honest about it," the Director muttered drily. "And this girl? By all due rights she's a stowaway. Why are you intent on helping her, especially if it meant butting heads with a Colonel of all people?"
"She's lost, sir." Anderson replied plainly, then struggled. "I thought… I've been in his situation before. Watching lives shatter and I couldn't take it anymore. And if this was going to be my last command I wanted to do something worthwhile afterwards."
"Like helping a lost lamb back to its flock. Noble. However, once Maloney's insubordination comes to light you'll be cleared of all charges."
"But it won't change what I've done, sir. I struck first when I could have reasoned with him. The moment the Admiralty learns of that they'll never trust me again."
"An attack dog that slipped its leash," the Director summarized.
Anderson's face burned with shame. "Exactly, sir."
"Then they'll never hear of it."
Anderson looked up in surprise. The Director's expression didn't change but it was less harsh than before. "It would be a waste to lose such a dedicated officer over this, Lieutenant. Thankfully Maloney's idiocy was so momentous it will overshadow everything else. The Brass will never hear a word of it from us." He leaned forward. "Just. This. Once. If it proves a habit that will swiftly change. Don't let it happen again."
Anderson nodded sharply. "Yes sir."
The Director leaned back. "As for the girl… she complicates the situation. I understand your desire to help her, truly, but now her very existence is a threat."
He regarded Anderson for a long moment, judging him. "I will say this, Lieutenant, Maloney was not far off the mark. The problem arises in returning her to wherever she came from. If her disappearance is reported then forming an airtight story, one she will follow without question, will prove extremely difficult. Too many possibilities for leaks. And, Lieutenant, it is imperative not a word of these deathtraps makes it to the public ear."
Anderson stiffened. Deathtraps? But... he just implied it was a teleporter. Ruby came out just fine. What exactly where they dealing with here?
For the first time, Fang shifted in his seat. "Sir, you can't be considering this. She's an operational risk. Letting her go is too dangerous."
"As is keeping a loving family separate."
The incredulous silence that followed his statement stretched on for a full minute. Even blank faced Fang didn't appear to understand what he'd just heard. Neither could Anderson, and this was the man who would space him if he breathed a word of this very ship.
"May god pity the foe who forces a good man to war," The Director said, the quote missing Anderson completely. "I believe in people of incredible talent. Incredible will, and unshakable resolve. You can train all these things, but on occasion they spring up out of a desperate desire. Survival. Revenge. A family, a father... a brother hunting for their lost daughter or sister. I've seen it happen before."
He turned to Anderson. "And does she have a family, Lieutenant?"
"According to everything she said, yes sir."
He nodded, satisfied. "I've played the long game my whole life, gentlemen. I'm not so arrogant to believe a lone man or woman is harmless. If we keep her here against her will there exists the possibility of retribution. Her disappearance might spur a man to unimaginable lengths to reclaim what he loves. While not so obvious, the will of a single man could prove disastrous in the future. We've done well to keep this operation airtight, but leaks to the outside world had to happen eventually. We're fortunate they're as benign as this."
Fang didn't appear to agree in the slightest, but the Director waved him off.
"Consider me thoroughly invested in your rescue attempt, Lieutenant." At the tap of a hidden button, his deck erupted with an intricate holographic terminal. "Constructing an alibi will be difficult, but then I like a challenge. I'll see to it personally. Now, her name, Lieutenant?"
Anderson shook his head, confounded at the suddenly shift in events. "We couldn't find her on any database, sir. Perhaps her family never registered her."
"You'll find our database is much more extensive." The Director gave a wiry half smirk, flexing his bony fingers as he prepared to type. "Her name, Lieutenant?"
"Ruby Rose."
The Director froze mid blink.
"Say that again."
"Ruby Rose, sir."
The chair hit the far wall with bang as the Director shot to his feet, nostrils flared and eyes wide, glaring down at Anderson with a fury that rooted him in place. Then just as quickly, it was gone. The Director sighed, gathered up his chair and sat, eyes screwed shut and lips moving in a soundless whisper.
Anderson risked a glance at Fang. The Colonel wasn't exactly slack jawed, but his eyes were the widest Anderson had seen them since coming aboard. Whatever just happened, it wasn't normal.
Finally, the Director resumed his pensive pose; only the intensity of his gaze gave away that anything had happened.
"Describe her for me," he said. "Clothing. Attitude. Anything and everything in her possession. Do not. Lie. To me."
He looked ready to kill.
Anderson did so, describing in length Ruby's strange clothing, her hair and her bubbly personality. With each descriptor, the Director grew more agitated. And when Anderson mentioned her peculiar eye color his face went slack. On a whim, Anderson went into detail on the abnormalities of the planet Ruby had called home, this illusive planet called Remnant. Kingdoms and such.
When he finished, the Director was utterly still. "But I feel that's not all, Lieutenant. Tell me everything."
"Well…" Anderson hesitated, trying to articulate exactly what he saw. "I don't know how to describe it, sir. She would... move abruptly fast at times, and every time she did she seemed to bleed rose petals, almost like a biotic field. I've never seen anything like it before."
"Did anyone else see it?"
"I can't speak for my men, sir, but she made no attempt to hide it."
"But they all know of her existence now—that's her sleeping with them in my cargo bay, correct?"
Anderson flinched at his tone. "Yes sir."
The Director opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again, failing to get the words out. It went on for a minute before he got up and began to pace the room, growing more agitated by the minute. Finally, he stopped.
"She can't stay here," he said it more to himself than anyone. He turned to regard Anderson with a critical eye. "You truly want to help her then?"
Again, Anderson nodded firmly. "Above all else, sir. I owe her that much."
"And if a reassignment would help you do that?"
"I'd take it without question, sir."
"Good… that's good." It was a different man who took his seat behind the desk, but Anderson couldn't place what had changed. "I will be honest with you, Lieutenant Anderson, this changes everything. Ruby… is known to me, though she won't exist in any records for undisclosed reasons. It's a complicated situation, but trust me when I say we both want the best for her."
He typed furiously at his terminal. "We're fortunate, your personal account provides the perfect set up. A disgruntled officer, wanting more than the rank and file, adopts the orphan of a lost colony to rekindle his life. You have lodging on the Citadel, I see?"
Adoption? Anderson shook his head in bewilderment. He just wanted to help a girl get home on whatever of his pension he was able to salvage, he never imagined it would snowball into this. He was prepared to fight to keep Ruby from becoming a lab rat for life, but going from unworthy protector to this?
It was almost more than he could process.
But why adoption necessarily? Surely it wouldn't take that long to find her home planet.
He pulled himself together enough to answer the question. "Y-Yes sir. A small apartment on the Zakera Ward."
At that point, he wasn't surprised when interior pictures of his residence appeared before the Director. Of course they would have tabs on him. Though the intensity of the Director's focus was a little disturbing. "Hmmm. A little small for a budding family. We'll get you something bigger."
He clapped his hands and the holograms abruptly vanished. Elbows resting on the desk, he leaned forward with a look of perfect sincerity, and the promise of eternal retribution if crossed.
"I want to make sure we are on the same page, Lieutenant David Edward Anderson." He hammered home each syllable of his name like an orbital strike. "This is your reassignment. Taking care of Miss Rose, ensuring to give her a good life. And if you don't, hell will be a vacation compared to what I can put you through. Therefore, I give you this one chance to back out. If you are unwilling to accept the trials of fatherhood, say so now."
Was he?
The same feeling of stepping off into the abyss engulfed him. He was used to having lives depend on him; this was no different than ensuring the safety of the men under his command. But that word; Fatherhood, changed the dynamic entirely.
He remembered the long, bitter arguments with Cynthia that led up to their divorce. Her desire to start a family, have children while he remained stubbornly rooted in his career. He wouldn't have been a good father, he knew that much. Gone three weeks out of every month, he would've been a passing face in the eyes of his kids; a bitter old man who stopped by on occasion with gifts to wish them a good day at school. Trying to convince them they had a father at all.
He wasn't ready for that.
Now that same responsibility was being thrust upon him by the very same reason he'd rejected the possibility of a family all those years ago. Strangely enough, his first thought wasn't outright rejection, but how he could accommodate such a responsibility.
He wasn't sure if he was ready for this… but by god, he didn't realise how much he wanted it.
The yawning loneliness of a life devoid of family. The feeling of love, of being wanting as Ruby embraced him as he made his promise to her.
Of a life outside the pain and horror of war.
Of family.
Anderson straightened and met the Director's gaze evenly. "Sir, I would be damned if I let anything happen to her."
A slow blink was his response. "So you accept this responsibility then?"
"I do, sir."
The silence that followed his declaration seemed to boom in the quiet office, as though something momentous had just occurred.
The Director nodded slowly. "As of this moment consider yourself under the command of the Alliance Intelligence Branch. Your transfer orders will come down the pipe in a matter of days, posting you to the Citadel as an Ambassador's aid. A lofty position, and flexible enough to provide care for your charge. However, certain precautions must be taken."
"The unusual abilities you witnessed, Lieutenant, are what's known as a Semblance. A very powerful ability Miss Rose can harness at will. She can explain to you more in more detail, however, it is imperative her gifts remain hidden from the galaxy at large. Her life was in extreme danger the moment she set foot on EO-839. If word of her Semblance spreads, it's only a matter of time before death will call her name, and there's not a thing we can do to stop it."
Anderson nodded, but it couldn't stop his doubts from growing. "But… Forgive me for being so bold, sir, but if she's in such danger why entrust me with her at all? If you know who she is why not send her home?" Anderson asked.
"Because I want what's best for her," the Director replied plaintively. "This ship is the safest place for her, yes, but it would be her prison for the rest of her life. Don't you understand what you've done? You have given her hope, David Anderson, hope of seeing her family again. And if I snatch that away I will be her jailor, regardless of the life I can provide for her."
Hope? Anderson frowned. That didn't answer his question. "Sir, please, if you know who she is, do you know where she comes from?"
The Director ignored him, leaning back in his seat. "Unfortunately, your crew will have to be transferred to the Nevermore. They know too much already, and we need the manpower. It'll be a promotion, sweeten the deal a little. Top secret ship, top secret assignments all the time, work of the most valuable import." He forestalled Anderson's protests with a raised hand. "This is non-negotiable, Lieutenant. I know you care about your crew, but this is one instance where we cannot risk a loose tongue."
Anderson's jaw clenched. That wasn't what he was about to ask. This was a deliberate stonewall if ever there was one.
As for his crew... well, there was nothing he could do for them now, that part, at least, was out of his hands. The Director had spoken, and he held all the cards. But at least they'd be taken care of.
The old man in question let out a weary sigh. "You and Ruby will be moved to private quarters for the remainder of your stay, meanwhile your crew will be integrated. We'll finalize the details of your alibi and transfer within the hour. In the meantime… bring Ruby up to speed on what's happening. Fang, make it happen. You are both dismissed."
They both stood. Fang moved to the door, but Anderson remained in place, gathering himself. The Director raised one thin eyebrow that was both inquisitive and threatening. "Something on your mind, Lieutenant?"
Anderson swallowed the lump in his throat. "Sir, you didn't answer my question. I'm honored that you entrusted me with Ruby's safety, but if you know who she is, where she comes from, why can't you send her home?"
Fang took a single step forward, but the Director held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "I wasn't aware that iusse was your concern, Lieutenant."
"Sir, I gave Ruby my promise."
"Am I suppose to feel sorry for you, then?" He snapped, then his face softened ever so slightly. "Let the dead rest, Lieutenant, we can't help them now. Go."
That... what kind of answer was that? "Sir, can you at least tell me where Remnant is?"
The Director fixed him with a glare that made it clear he'd over stayed his welcome.
"Get. Out."
-o0o-
Ruby.
Ruby Rose.
Here.
Here!
His coffee had gone cold hours ago and the candles had burned down to nubs. The only light was the floating holograms on which was the elaborate profile he had tailored just for her. Medical records, colonial history, everything it took to create a person from nothingness.
But this wasn't supposed to exist in the first place.
She wasn't supposed to be here!
The Director's fist clenched around the head of his favourite cane, squeezing the polished wood so tight he feared it would crack.
However furious the thought made him, he had to fight to keep from rushing to her side and hug the daylights out of her. The child of Summer Rose alive! If he hadn't seen her face with his own eyes he never would have believed it! After so many years…
He leaned back in his chair, a scowl on his face as he flared his Aura. The familiar light flickered across his skin, spider webbed with the blue veins of rot that spread out from his black heart. This body didn't have much time left, it simply wasn't compatible with the spirit it contained, but it would safice for a few more weeks.
The room around him reacted; ancient technology hidden behind the drapes humming to life, connecting his mind to a network as old as he was.
His soul roared out a message, and waited.
The black drapes around him stirred from a silent whisper, an answer carried by a solar wind from light-years away.
"She is here," he whispered, accusingly. Again, hardly daring to believe it. "Why?"
Another whisper, bearing an explanation that turned his face deathly white.
The door hissed open, startling him. Fang stepped inside, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the hum of the system. The Director glowered at him irritably, finishing the communication with a terse command before turning to his mortal 2IC.
Unfortunately there was nothing he could target to accuse the man for interrupting him. Fang would never address him unless all his duties were accounted for. So he merely folded his arms and waited.
"You never brought up Ruby Rose before, sir." Fang said at last. A mere statement, but it irritated him beyond measure.
"Because she wasn't relevant," he snapped. "She isn't supposed to be here at all!"
"But she's important to you," the man noted.
The Director sighed, running a hand down his face. "More than you know, Fang. More than you can possibly know."
"Does she change things?"
The Director considered that for a long, long minute. "We always were in the endgame, I'm afraid. Now it's only a matter of time before she's discovered and then all hell is going to break loose. One way or another, it's all coming to an end."
He looked up at Fang, forlornly. "You trust this Anderson?"
"With my life," the Colonel replied.
"Well, time to put it to the test. He's got the epitome of countless years of sacrifice in his hands… we can't afford to fail now."
"Then why let her go at all?" Fang frowned, the only sign that he was ever truly furious. "You might have fooled Anderson but you don't fool me for a second."
The Director blinked in bewilderment. "Fooled?"
"You're a self admitted sociopath. You would never throw away an asset, especially one as valuable as her unless it was for a damn good reason. She has a natural Aura and Semblance, and you send her the Citadel alone, without security, against protocol when we're preparing for war. Why?"
The Director gapped like a drowning fish. "Am I really that obtuse?"
"And worse."
"Fair enough," he sighed flippantly. "Make enough decisions and everyone believes you're the devil incarnate. But after all these years is it that hard to believe I still have a working conscience?"
"I refused to believe you did this purely out of the kindness of your heart. Or what's left of it."
The Director stood, slowly, taking his cane. "I loved Ruby Rose like a brother. Whether you believe me or not, that's up to you. However, my orders will stand above all else. She will live her life as she sees fit, and not you, or anyone else following you will stand in the way of that. Am I understood?"
Fang's glower deepened. "You know that won't save her, sir."
"Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir," Fang answered after a long moment of terse silence.
"Good." The Director sighed, feeling the age in his bones. "This body doesn't have much time left. I'll see Ruby's integration through to the end, but then I must go."
"And how long will that take?"
"A few weeks, maybe more." Striding past the Colonel on his way out, he clapped him on the shoulder. "Just stick to the plan and stay out of sight. Trust your instincts above all else, they were designed to be better than any mortals. And if you ever need advice, you'll know where to find us."
"You never answered my question, sir. Why the Citadel?"
"Why indeed?" The Director shuffled past him, deflecting the question. "What drew Anderson to that cursed place? Solidarity with the other races for when the end comes, perhaps? Who can really say?"
The door opened as he approached, but he paused on the threshold. "Solidarity. Hmmm. Something we all need… now, more than ever."
A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this one. The Director just needs to be considered from so many angles and trying to write dialog without giving too much away was a welcome challenge. It's probably not what some of you were expecting, but I'm trying to make a web of intrigue here tying the two universes together.
So, finding Remnant… not going to be as easy as Anderson thinks.
Anyway, please let me know what you think. Drop a comment, I'd really appreciate it.