For those who are curious what the ghouloons look like, the following tells you where to go for the book cover for the Draka series book 'Drakon'. The ghouloon is in the background in a mural, holding a Holbars-style gun. In the foreground is a drakensis.
Go to www (dot) stephenhickman (dot) com/draken (dot) htm
Again, reviews are welcome. They're what's keeping me writing.
PRESIDIUM
CITADEL
WIDOW SYSTEM
SERPENT NEBULA
Miguel Hiero stood on the balcony outside of the Human Embassy, resting his hands on the parapet and looking out over the Presidium. The low murmur of voices of the various bureaucrats, diplomats and various others with official government business on the walkways below provided a backdrop to the sound of breezes blowing through the leaves of the trees below, and the more distant splashing from the jets of water spouting in the level's central lake.
Some personal benefits to having an embassy, in addition to the larger ones, he thought. The weather was far more temperate than the desert-like heat of Hermosillo he remembered from before the Fall. More like San Francisco, he decided. He had become accustomed to the controlled weather of the Citadel; he and his family had been living here for most of the past decade, with only occasional trips back to a Samothrace that had developed remarkably fast in the snapshots of each visit, fueled by asari and volus investment in the planet's extensive platinum deposits, as well as human and drell drive harnessed by terms of National Service.
His mouth twisted as he recalled the day three years ago that both humanity and the drakensis had been granted embassies on the Citadel. The Salarian Councilor had floated the idea of the two races sharing an embassy, as the elcor and volus did. That had produced something previously unimaginable: Samothracians and Draka on the same side. He and Helene Renston, newly appointed as the human and drakensis ambassadors respectively, had argued ferociously against that arrangement, outlining their species' shared history. Surprisingly, they had found themselves backing each other on certain points when the other faltered.
Which is what the Council probably had in mind when they proposed the idea, Miguel thought, shaking his head. That was how he had interpreted the knowing smile on the Asari Councilor's face when they had eventually backed off from that suggestion and finally arranged separate embassies, anyway. We agree that we hate each other, can't trust each other, and can't stand the other's company, he thought morosely. Hurray.
The drakensis had ended up getting a larger embassy that looked directly out over the Presidium, giving it an open and airy atmosphere, while humanity had been stuck with a smaller, indoor embassy. But at least it has access to a balcony. The Council apparently attached the relative importance of each race with respect to galactic affairs to the dimensions of their embassy. And the stark fact is that the Snakes have more numbers, both population and military, than we do. It went along with what he had come to think of as the trademark of the Council: mind games and talking over real action.
Miguel straightened from the parapet with a sigh and made his way back into his office. It was sparsely decorated: a few desert landscapes on the walls; an old photograph on his desk of himself as a boy with his mother in Sonora, alongside a more modern electronic frame displaying he and his family on a recent trip to Jefferson; and the Samothracian flag hanging on the wall behind his desk, the two white wings of the Winged Victory of Samothrace flaring out from a sphere of white stars representing each system within the USS, all on a sky blue background.
Ironic that we and the Snakes both revere the Ancient Greeks. The statue commemorated on the flag, the Winged Victory, had been discovered in the 1860s by a French amateur archaeologist on the island of Samothrace and sent to Paris. It had been removed from the Louvre at the outbreak of the Eurasian War and taken outside Paris, then shipped to Britain with other art pieces along with the flood of refugees fleeing the Draka advance to the European Atlantic coast later in the war. Later still it had been shipped to New York where it had held pride of place at the Metropolitan Museum of Art until the Fall, where it had been presumably destroyed by the multiple Draka fusion bombs that had vaporized the old American capital. The Winged Victory had held enough in the memories of the human refugees - along with its association with the name Samothrace - that it had been utilized as a national symbol.
We each borrow from the cradle of Western civilization, but take different aspects from it, he mused. We from the basic democratic principles of Athens and Republican Rome, while the Draka have taken on the aspects of Sparta, with its hereditary citizen-soldiers and slave castes, and the Roman legions. Hard to believe two such different societies can come from the same sources. Of course, the philosophical thinkers of the 19th Century added to it.
He was distracted from his historical ruminations by the beeping from his extranet terminal that signaled an incoming call. After checking the call's origin, he sighed again as he reached a hand out to the holographic interface to accept it. Someone in Jefferson again. As ambassador for humanity, he represented his species to the Council. What many back on Samothrace failed to understand was that he had less power than they thought he did. He could bring their concerns and proposals before the Council, but they held the ultimate power and could choose to dismiss anything he said.
The Turian Councilor is sympathetic to us, but we've lost political clout as memories of the drell evacuation have started to fade, he thought with a familiar bitterness as the terminal started to establish a real-time connection. With the Turian Hierarchy's ships helping to patrol Samothrace's claimed space in the Attican Traverse, a lot of aliens saw humanity as a more militaristic version of the volus – a client species of the turians in everything but name.
Maybe once the New America's refitting is finally finished they'll view us differently. According to the Naval Forces, once it was completed the former colony ship would be a dreadnought on par with the Asari Republics' Destiny Ascension, the current flagship of the Citadel Fleet, in both size and firepower. The down side was that they estimated it was still more than a decade before it would be combat ready.
In the mean time we have to juggle expanding our shipbuilding capabilities with building up the Naval Forces, along with everything else that needs to be done. The USS was in a race to build a nation that was self-sufficient in defense out of a frontier galactic region that was bare of infrastructure and with a relatively minuscule population. And the enemies they were looking to guard against – the Domination, the Hegemony, and the various criminals that still operated within the Traverse and out of the Terminus Systems – all had long established economies and much larger populations to draw upon.
With those dispiriting thoughts running through his head, he straightened as the final levels of the latest encryption developed by the SSI and carefully contracted salarian programmers were established and the call finally connected. Miguel raised an eyebrow as a familiar face appeared on the screen, receding gray hair with streaks of the original dark brown and blue eyes staring out of an Anglo-Saxon face. "Are you sure this connection is secure, Senor Winters?" he asked. He had never been contacted by the Institute man by anything other than personal meetings before, one of the old-fashioned methods the SSI used to prevent the other species more experienced the ways of the extranet from intercepting Samothracian official correspondence and intelligence.
"Aye, we're set," the Englishman replied. "Ye know I'd prefer other methods, but we thought ye needed to know this as soon as possible." A pause as he waited for the ambassador to switch mental gears to receive information, then continued. "One of our agents was on an operation out in th' Traverse, a planet called Tuntau. She encountered a Council Spectre while monitoring a clandestine meeting between the Draka and their batarian allies. Her team returned to report that it went south an' turned into a firefight, but the main players got away. The batarians were handin' ower some aliens of the Council species, an' at least one was a merc. They strongly suspect a slavin' connection, but nothin' concrete."
Miguel frowned as he absorbed the information. He wondered how a Spectre had gotten involved, but knew enough to realize that he'd probably never find out why. Everything surrounding the Council's elite agents was classified, and the SSI was barely making any ground in learning more about their organization.
"I suspect you have more to tell me," he said finally; the information that had been presented so far didn't carry the urgency that required a security risk such as this.
Winters nodded. "Whey aye. The Spectre recruited her to follow the players. She's gone with 'im to Omega out in th' Terminus."
Miguel opened his mouth, then closed it. He had been about to reply, but the implications of that piece of information kept stacking up the more he mulled it over. The fact that an SSI agent was working with a Spectre could only help improving Samothrace's image to the Council. Unless the Spectre has some ulterior motive, he thought. Off hand he couldn't think of any. Unless...
Winters put what he was starting to develop in his own mind into words. "D'ye think it's possible he could be evaluatin' our agent for membership in their ranks?" There was a gleam in the Briton's eyes at the thought. "A human Spectre?"
Miguel found himself smiling despite himself at the idea. The Spectres represented the Council's power and authority. If they were to accept a human into their ranks, it would give humanity extensive political clout. Maybe even eventual membership in the Council itself.
He shook his head as soon as the thought passed through his head, scolding himself inwardly for the flight of fancy. "The Spectres are recruited exclusively from the Council races," he answered aloud. "Much as we hate to admit it, humanity isn't even a regional power at the moment. We've settled a large part of the Traverse but the settlements are far flung and sparsely settled, and the Snakes are competing with us over the rest. Without the turians acting as a deterrent, the Draka and the batarians would have tried to overrun us already. I don't think they would seriously consider a human as a Spectre, not even the turians."
Which left potentially the most staggering implication. "What concerns me most is that the Terminus Systems' don't recognize the authority of the Council, and the Spectres are the biggest symbol of that," Miguel continued. "From all we've heard the species there are fractious and constantly war with each other, but a perceived threat from Council Space might unify them into waging a war against the Citadel."
Winters frowned. "Are ye sayin' that this Spectre may have gone rogue?"
"Not necessarily. Spectres are given extensive leeway to do what they think is necessary to protect Council Space." A pause as he considered. "It's possible the Council doesn't know what this Spectre is up to." A smile. "Which means we possibly have information that they don't." And providing it would also help improve their reputation with the Council. And even if they do have the information, it just proves that we're willing to cooperate with them anyway. The situation was a win-win for Samothrace anyway you looked at it.
Miguel explained his reasoning briefly to the Institute spook, then continued, "The only way this could work out even better is if the Spectre and our agent can actually prove the drakensis and the batarians are trading citizens of the Council races as slaves."
"I know the agent we've got out there, Ambassador," Winters replied with a smile. "If it's there t' be found, she'll get it done."
APPROACHING OMEGA
SAHRABARIK SYSTEM
OMEGA NEBULA
TERMINUS SYSTEMS
MAY 13, 2014
Maybe this was a mistake, Janet Lefarge thought to herself as she set the heel of her hand on her lower back and stretched. There was a crackling of vertebrae and a feeling of relief. She sighed at the eased muscles and glowered at the salarian-style bed that was in one of the few compartments of the Spectre's ship, tossed in seemingly as an afterthought alongside several containers of electronic components, rations, and the various other accouterments he apparently needed for his job.
"If I had to travel with an alien, it could have at least been a mammal," she muttered under her breath. The bed was astonishingly hard, manufactured for the comfort of an amphibian species. The fact that she had the run of the room for most of the time because the salarian needed only one hour of sleep a day was little compensation. She was starting to feel like one of the spare pieces of equipment that had been tossed in there.
The Spectre, Dublo, had barely spoken to her outside of the occasional grilling over information about the Draka and the Domination in general. Return questions had been met with clipped answers, monosyllabic where possible, or silence. Considering that most of the salarians she had encountered tended towards chattiness, dealing with one that was positively taciturn left her at a bit of a loss. Especially considering that she tended towards extroversion herself.
She had reviewed the intel that had been gathered so far countless times in a small notebook. She had stripped and maintained the weapons she had brought with her until they were in near factory condition. She had attempted to try various alien foods in case her own rations ran out – and discovered that she liked tupari juice. But she had continued to rattle around in the cramped confines of the shuttle, prowling around for things to do during the days it took for a journey across the galaxy through the relay network. She had finally settled on sessions of various exercises, relying on physical exertion to vent her frustration and boredom.
That had created some embarrassing moments – at least for her – when she had used to lavatory to clean up after her workouts and the Spectre had walked in on her when he attempted to use the facilities himself. Logically, she understood that salarians laid eggs and that they didn't possess sex drives like humans and some other species did. Moreover, she understood that a salarian probably wouldn't even find a human physically attractive. Nevertheless, she still recognized him as male, even if one of an alien race. And I really wish I hadn't remembered that his species has photographic memory. After her furious reaction at two further walk-ins after the first one, the salarian had finally gotten the message that humans – or at least that particular human – wanted privacy.
"Serves him right," she muttered as she finished getting dressed, pulling her tank top down over the taut muscle of her stomach. She had the distinct impression that she had been invited along merely as a contingency of some sort, or maybe a faster way of getting detailed information about the Snakes than searching the extranet. God knows he's not treating me on anything like equal terms.
Janet walked out of the room after giving her short hair a few swipes with a brush and setting it back inside her pack. The Spectre had said that they'd be arriving at Omega today. Or at least he said we'd arrive after what he had 'discovered was an average human sleeping cycle'. She severely hoped that meant he had looked it up on the extranet and hadn't been watching her sleep. The thought of those big, black pupilless eyes gazing at her while she was unconscious gave her the willies.
She paused as she heard voices talking up ahead, her mind immediately clearing itself and focusing on the situation at hand. That's weird, she thought. He's never used his terminal for real-time calls before. She silently slipped her boots off and set them aside, then walked silently over to the door the voices were coming from in her socks. She crouched next to it, waited until she could hear Dublo talking, then glanced around the corner briefly and smoothly; sudden movements tended to attract the eye.
She took a moment to mentally process what she had seen. The salarian Spectre had been standing in front of something she had been curious about shortly after she had first come aboard: a set of three holographic emitters set up in a line against one wall. She had asked him about it, but that had been one of the questions that had been met with silence. Now they were projecting the three-dimensional monochrome images of three individuals: a turian, an asari, and another salarian.
"You know we prefer not to become involved in the specifics of Spectre activities," she heard a female voice say: the asari. "However, we have received a troubling report from the Human Ambassador."
"He told us that you are currently en route to the Terminus Systems with a human intelligence operative," the other salarian continued. "More worrying still, we've heard that you're destination is Omega itself."
Janet's eyes widened. It's the Council! He's speaking to the Council personally. She knew that Spectres answered only to the Council, but she hadn't expected that it meant personal real-time communication with the three most powerful individuals in the galaxy. She thought that they would be busy enough without having to deal with each and every one of their agents. I suppose that's proof enough that there can't be that many Spectres.
She refocused her attention back to the conversation as she heard another voice chime in, this with the distinct flanged quality of a turian. "You do realize that the authority of the Council is not recognized there, Flemin? And that if they find out you are a Spectre that it could mean interstellar war?"
"I do realize that, Councilor," Dublo replied. "However, my current investigation has shown me strong evidence that certain political entities based in Citadel Space could be involved in conspiracies infringing upon Council law and treaties. That same evidence has led me to Omega where they are currently active."
There was a moment of silence, then the Salarian Councilor replied. "It is true that the Special Tasks Group has been known to actively follow sources of information. I do remind you, Flemin, that you are no longer in the STG but are, in fact, a Spectre now."
"I can still remain discreet," Dublo replied. "I have always made active use of my Spectre status only as a last resort, and doing so would only hinder my investigation in a location that doesn't recognize Council authority, such as Omega.
"That is one reason I have had the human operative accompany me," he continued. "She is of the Human Strategic Studies Institute, an organization that has a vested interest in pursuing these same political entities. They have only rarely operated within the Terminus Systems, and never within Omega, but the SSI will draw less attention than a Spectre while overshadowing my involvement."
"Thereby putting the Human USS under the threat of Terminus retaliation!" the Turian Councilor retorted angrily. "Might I remind you that the Hierarchy patrols their space as part of a bilateral agreement? And that they are as much a part of Citadel Space as the Salarian Union?"
"Please," the Asari Councilor interjected in a soothing tone, silencing her turian counterpart. "I believe that Flemin has only the best interests of Council Space at heart. There is a reason we have given Spectres the powers to do as they see fit in the pursuit of their mandate." Her head turned to spear the salarian Spectre with her gaze. "We will trust you to do what you deem necessary in the pursuit of this operation. But there are extremely sensitive political considerations, with regards to the Terminus Systems on one hand, and the drakensis and batarians on the other." She turned her head to gauge the Salarian Councilor, who nodded. Another look to the Turian Councilor was met with an agitated fidgeting of his mandibles, followed by an abrupt nod.
"You are to maintain infiltration protocols," the Salarian Councilor warned. "We do not want this investigation developing into an incident." Dublo nodded in response.
"We will await your next report then," the Asari Councilor concluded. The holograms faded from view and the Spectre watched the spot where they had been for a few moments, the only sound that of the emitters powering down. When he turned to leave the room, he stopped abruptly as he saw Janet standing in the doorway, her boots back on her feet, a furious expression on her face, and fists clenched at her sides.
"The Council had no idea we were heading for Omega?" she demanded. "And you were planning on using the Institute – using me! – as a scapegoat? You may be a Spectre, but I ought to knock you on your ass!"
Her sudden appearance and going immediately on the attack was partly strategy, and partly her being majorly pissed off. She knew she was dealing with a professional intelligence operative, so getting him as mentally unbalanced as possible was her best bet in gaining an advantage.
Dublo held up a placatory hand, its two fingers and thumb spread out. "Please, let me explain," he said quickly. "The reasons for my withholding this information from the Council should be evident, considering their reaction just now." Janet clenched her jaw, but nodded slightly in acknowledgment of that point at the very least.
"When my investigation was complete, I would have provided them a full debriefing," he continued. "As for my reasons for bringing you along..." He smiled and spread his hands, looking... sheepish? "Truthfully, I developed that reason shortly after my conversation with the Council began, though I admit it makes sense in hindsight.
"However," he put in quickly, before Janet could explode, "my original reasons were still good. I need backup on this investigation. Having an operative of the SSI makes sense for any dealings with any entities on Omega. Your Samothrace, while impressive, doesn't pose the threat to the Terminus Systems as a whole that other component species of Citadel Space would. And your people's well known antagonism with the drakensis and the batarians makes your involvement completely logical." He tilted his head to the side, waving a hand out with one palm up. "Your involvement is much less likely to provoke an incident than my presence, a salarian who could either be a member of the Salarian Special Tasks Group or a Spectre."
Janet grimaced slightly as she considered the Spectre's words. It made too much sense. She hated that it utilized Samothrace's current weakness, but she was willing to admit that it made sense to use it as an asset in this instance. She wanted to be angry with him, but...
"Then what about what's been occurring during our trip here?" she ground out, putting into words what was really bothering her. "You say you brought me along as backup, but you've been treating me as little more than a ready source of information, like some datapad you've thrown into a container back there. Nothing like a team member, let alone a partner!" She folded her arms. "I don't know how your STG works, but in the Institute we don't treat our people like cargo." Most of the time, she added mentally.
"Ah." Dublo clasped his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth. "I have... not had to work with anyone for quite a while," he said after a long moment. "It has been nearly a decade since I was with the STG, and most of my missions as a Spectre have required little to no assistance." He stopped and looked at her. "I am... unpracticed at working with fellow members of the intelligence community. Also, haven't had to deal with humans before." He spread his hands. "My fault, and I apologize. I will endeavor to do better."
Janet glared at him for a few more seconds, then sighed through her nose and shook her head. "Fine," she said shortly. "We're getting close to Omega?" She waited for his nod, then returned it with one of her own. "Then I'll see you then. I need to see to my equipment before we disembark."
She turned on her heel and walked out, giving herself the luxury of a deeper sigh as she walked down the corridor. "He's still a jerk," she muttered under her breath. But I guess I can't ask for a better apology than that. I guess I'll see how things go from here.
Dublo watched the human female walk out of the room, then shook his head. Hormone-based species are quite troublesome to work with, he thought to himself as he busied himself with checking to make sure the holographic emitters were still in full working order – the powering down sequence had taken a fraction of a second too long this time.
After tweaking the thermal conductor cooling system, he headed back to the front of the ship and slid into the pilot's seat. Omega was fast approaching now and he needed to find a relatively secure port to dock his ship at. He took a moment to look at Omega itself as it grew bigger in his vidscreen. The top portion showed its origin as an asteroid, while a massive metallic stalk extended from the bottom of it, lit up with habitation and littered with haphazard arms constructed out from from it, they in turn littered with more add-ons. All in all it reminded Dublo vaguely of the images of nuclear explosions he had viewed, the signature mushroom cloud.
With characteristic quickness, his mind flitted back to the problem of the SSI agent. She was brash and short-tempered, but occasionally showed a startling flash of insight that hinted at a calculating mind beneath.
If not for the involvement of the Draka, I would have left her behind on Tuntau. But having a member of their perennial enemy along could prove useful in many ways; as a goad for one. Provoking an opponent into a furious reaction can reveal weaknesses. He would need all the help he could get on that score, considering the formidable physical and combat prowess the drakensis and their ghouloon minions displayed.
"Attention, salarian ship!" The harsh voice suddenly blared over his terminal. "This is Omega Control. We have you on an approach vector. Do you want to dock?"
The corners of Dublo's mouth turned up slightly. He knew from studied reports that Omega had many 'Omega Controls' operated by the station's larger factions, each claiming to be the Omega Control. Fortunately, they seemed to operate by unspoken agreement to hail only the ships that were approaching docks that their respective faction controlled. Conflicts over that in the past had led to numerous ship collisions near or with the station.
"This is the salarian ship, Omega Control," he replied. "I am indeed seeking to dock. Stand by."
"Copy, salarian ship. Be prepared to pay the docking fee, as well as any tolls if you try to go into any other districts," the person at the other end said matter-of-factly. "Firefights are at a minimum today at this section of the station, so you should be able to move around pretty easy."
Dublo shook his head at the news, reported as casually as that of the weather around a spaceport on a planet's surface. "Copy, Omega Control." Welcome to Omega, he thought ruefully.