Chewing her lip, Sayla absently nodded along to what her counterpart was saying. "Yes of course, I'll do what I can to get the storage areas reserved."
"Thank you, if this seed grain goes under we could face a famine." The other woman left, leaving her to stare at the monitors bolted to the wall. She hadn't looked away in a while.
The camera feed was piped to the docks underneath Austin instead of the government quarter, rerouted with difficulty and great delay. Obviously since most of the engineers in both Texas and Banna were frantically working to contain the breach. Here in a repurposed break room, a separate yet identical place to where that first face to face talk with the turians was held, she ignored the aides rushing in and out with reports to the ministers, only looking away when a harried one came up to her.
"Maam, power in grid three is still offline but Chief Zheng is confident it'll be on again by nightfall." He shoved a paper into her hands, pacing as she read.
"Thank you. And tell Matthews good work on the water regulators." She dismissed him. Nodding, he rushed past several more aides who delivered slightly improved news to the other ministers, sans one; the law enforcement chief was in grid five, a town renamed Tippy Tree when the new residents moved in. Four days ago it was home to some five thousand souls.
Once again Sayla recounted the information, repeated in a fashion she recognized. Tippy Tree itself, an adjacent suburb of mostly farmers and mechanics, a power station, a manufacturing plant that churned out components for their ships, those were the areas which suffered noteworthy damage. The final tally wasn't in yet, but after the last combover casualty estimates were in the twenty thousand range. Most perished when the kinetic impactor blew open the colony wall, the remainder were either caught in the blast zone or suffocated in places where air pressure fell too low too fast.
More people died in five minutes than in the past four years.
Sayla supposed the damage could have been worse. The projectile expended most of its energy punching through layers of reinforced hull, so Tippy Tree took the brunt of the blow. Some debris landed on the far side of the colony, causing some additional deaths and damage, starting a fire in a wheat field which fortunately was contained before the majority of the crop was lost. Apparently the shot wasn't fully charged according to the liasons, had it been the entire O'Neill cylinder could have been compromised. A small comfort for so many dead.
Watching the screens, Sayla distinctly realized that she wasn't too overwhelmed about the news. This disquieted her; after all the death of the OYW, all the carnage she witnessed on the colonies, on Earth, grueling operations pushing the war to space, the barbarity in the following years, from both Zeon remnants continuing the war they lost and the Titans crushing opposition, she found herself numb to it all. Just more names on a long, long list.
Sayla made time to pay a visit to the funeral, or rather stole time, she was supposed to check in on a power substation nearby. But she hopped out of her car to jog towards the nearby park, ignoring the bodyguards chasing her. They seemed ready to tackle Sayla and bring her back, but they had the sense to cool it in front of the small crowd.
Edging around the gathering, she beheld a priest finishing his sermon. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We commend these brave souls to their eternal rest. Amen."
Numbering a few dozen, most of the crowd wore appropriate formal black clothes, save for the immaculate brown uniform of Captain Synapse, hands shaking slightly while he went to each casket, all of them empty. One hundred and fifty crewmen from the two sunken ships, many of the Wild Snake's escape pods having been destroyed in the battle, plus a dozen fallen MS pilots; this was just the latest funeral he had to attend.
Sayla roamed her eyes over the rows of portraits, smiling or stoic personnel who fell in the line of duty. A part of her wanted to scoff at two of them, of a bushy haired man in a zeon uniform, and a sour faced redhead in a federation one; Karen and Lorenz never got along, and now here they were, side by side at the memorial. Karen's casket had her friends approaching, Shiro, Sanders, Michel, Aina, Kiki, the first being the one to lay a flower bouquet on the wood. In comparison Lorenz had a smaller group, his wife Karla laying an old radio on his casket then immediately breaking down weeping, she needed a friend, a downcast Hickam, to help her stand.
Zinobaev. Reeve. Duchel. Uraki. Thomason. More. All empty caskets.
"Maam?"
Sayla shook herself, shuddering as the new aide shot her a frown. "I'm fine. Tell the Ibrahim clan the tobacco can survive time in storage, we need those greenhouses for corn. If he tries stalling over the environmental status, warn him that I'll pay a visit in person."
Once they departed she exhaled slowly, mentally clearing her itinerary. She was going to visit the breach, not as an official but as a volunteer; her medical skills were rusty but still present. Getting too detached would lead to nowhere good, she needed to remember these were people who wanted a better future, so much that they left behind everything they ever knew. Sayla had to be there for them, to bring hope before despair spread.
As soon as this accursed meeting was over with.
The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, the people gathered here as part of a more localized command center than the government sector, grew quieter and tenser when a door opened. Sayla took her eyes off a feed showing a fire being contained, turning to see a couple men shuffling inside, one a harried bodyguard clearing the way.
Showing dark bags under his eyes and sweat patches on his shirt, Manswell groaned after rubbing his temple. "Alright, the party is taking off. You're coming too, Mass."
"Very well." Sayla spared one more look, this time on the exterior feed.
Against the backdrop of space, the gaping hole in the colony was being repaired. Construction pods moved support beams and plates to patch the hole, stemming the ongoing atmospheric loss bit by bit, while shuttles quickly ferried as much material as they could, every so often disgorging more workers or more rarely taking on resting men and women. There had been a few accidents from personnel laboring until they passed out, but fortunately Sayla hadn't gotten any reports of fatalities.
According to the PR office they had been turning away volunteers for the past two days, anyone with welding experience (and many who didn't) were showing up to help. There were more people than equipment they could use, which did help with shift arrangements. Besides that general aid did wonders for the displaced and the injured, even considering the colony's supply reserves were far smaller than she was comfortable with.
Light dots from welders lit up the shrinking hole, some blocked when a winged shuttle smoothly flew to one location; the opening hatches allowed dozens of new figures to hop off via maneuvering thrusters, their misshapen forms carrying equipment smaller and faster than their human counterparts. They spread out quickly, getting to work in sealing plates at regular intervals away from the current workers, shoring up thin areas where they hadn't yet reached. Like their people, the turian personnel seconded from the 79th scout flotilla prioritized speed over form, once the air loss was stemmed the hole could be properly reinforced.
As the shuttle picked up a batch of returning turians, the starry view darkened due to a frigate cabled to a metal rich asteroid, the rock taken from the far edge of the system for Banna's hungry ore processors. This was the latest of the deliveries, other ships had already brought huge amounts of rock and ice bodies for them, while the larger cruisers ensured all of their gas skimmers could operate in safety, refilling their fuel stockpile to maximum capacity. For now, raw resources needed to repair the damage was no issue.
"Maam?" An aide reminded her, taking Sayla away from the room.
Heading down the hallway, Sayla joined a gaggle of aides and a couple officials heading to the docks, nobody who wasn't replaceable. Only she and Manswell had the kind of knowledge the aliens would be interested in, but he refused to let her stay behind; he claimed she could reality check him, but Sayla figured he wanted a token opposition. Once there she found a large shuttle awaited, a couple workers doing final checks when she entered the cool yet greasy room. Manswell hung to the side, chewing a lip while he did a headcount. When Sayla stepped on the gantry she met his gaze, narrowing her brow at his huff.
"I hate this part." Strapping into a seat, a lower level aide held a small bag to his face, breathing heavily despite the whole compartment sending him leery stares. Sayla herself took a window chair near the bow, eying the young pilot discussing something with his maintenance chief before sighing in relief, patting him on the shoulder then heading into the cockpit.
Shortly afterwards the engines rumbled, the shuttle which usually ferried passengers between colonies now pressed into service as an ad hoc diplomatic transport. They launched from the docks, going past the watchful Marie Dietrich holding position nearby the hull, for what little that mattered.
Forty four ships hung around Texas and Banna while they began connecting, offering mechanical aid and especially protection for the humans. Her skin crawled at the idea of so many alien warships around them, although she hadn't gotten any reports of hostile behavior; if anything they were being startlingly helpful, such as starting sweep operations to catch battle debris.
Some protests had sprung up against letting these aliens cozy up around their home, but truthfully there was little they could do. Two ships were lost, a dozen mobile suits destroyed, most of the remainder badly needed repairs; all due to fighting just eight foes with turian support. There was no way this armada could be stopped without killing everyone, adding to her anxiety over this entire affair.
The shuttle flew towards the indicated ship, as yesterday's communique requested. Not the Hephatarus nor the Aberrian, dispatched to stand guard over the skimmers while their crews enacted repairs, instead they approached another sizable warship which had approached in the last hour. A heavy cruiser just like the Aberrian, this one was named the Titan's Claw; according to the message it was the nominal flagship of the entire flotilla. A flight of dagger shaped fighters crossed their path, but broke off quickly.
A bay opened when they were close, being glued to the window Sayla picked up every detail she could on the route, noticing rows of thin radiator panels on the ship's wings. She committed as much as she could to memory, mentally drafting plans to fight back in case things went sideways. Academically it was pointless but she had to try. She kept that in mind while the shuttle rumbled, coming to a halt inside the turian cruiser.
Manswell went down the aisle while a large tube extended to the hatch, the hull by the door popping from pressurization, finishing with a thump from an extended ramp. As the communique explained there was a sealed room for crewmen nearby, much like the break room back in Texas. This time the turians were returning the gesture. Sayla wanted the next stage of negotiations to be held on the Marie Dietrich so they had some influence over the talks, but the message was firm on their terms.
Standing up, Sayla cut off a couple aides to be at the head of the line, not so subtly pulling Manswell away from the front. The hatch hissed open before he could make a scene, composing himself as cool, metallic tasting air wafted in; repeatedly sterilized she guessed. Beyond was a plain tube that had wrinkled walls, the ceiling was high and the width could let two or even three people walk abreast without much issue.
They weren't alone; there was a turian guard in thick armor and a gun on his hip, but he respectfully stood while a familiar face lowered his hands from his back, mandibles stilling while he approached. "Director Manswell, Minister Mass. Thank you for coming on short notice."
"Captain Cincannato. I see you're in good health." After overlooking him Sayla found nothing out of the ordinary, save for a quick breath after the translator did its job.
"I am, thank you for your concern. I have been requested by my superior, Commodore Kuril, to escort you to the meeting." Cincannato lowered his gaze for a moment, the guard sending him an unreadable look. The impromptu liaison to the humans evidently wasn't as calm as he seemed. "Do you have your affairs prepared, Director?"
"As ready as can be. Let's go." Manswell flashed some enthusiasm, but that was buried under the concern, his several advisors showing only worry. Nothing he said was binding until after a round of plebiscites, but still Sayla was wary that he would do something impulsive.
Following Cincannato through an airlock Sayla entered an eerily similar room as Texas, finding that the panels, the lighting, the surface details may have been different but the feel was the exact same. This was a room meant for workers to recover, right now pressed into service for a lack of better options. Particularly thanks to another couple turians conversing in the back, one dismissing the other to level a flat gaze upon the party.
"Commodore Kuril." Cincannato saluted, as did the guard he brought, joining the other couple men (she thought) keeping watch from the edges.
Kuril was a tall turian in blue armor, his grayish carapace showing a simplistic set of horizontal white stripes on his mandibles, with part of his frill chipped off. He had a noticeable limp as he stomped to a large yet bare table, idly waving for the men to stand down, then gesturing for the humans to approach. A lack of chairs was obvious, Sayla had the unhappy impression it was intentional.
"Director Manswell I'm guessing?" His flanging voice was rougher than Cincannato's, aged maybe, focusing on the man.
"That's right. Thank you for meeting with us in person." Nonetheless Manswell smiled.
"Welcome aboard the Titan's Claw. Captain Cincannato is my advisor considering his greater experience with you. As he is relieved by his command he is able to devote himself to this task." As he spoke the first turian moved to the table's side, hands behind his back again. Sayla observed a small shiver in his form. "Lieutenant Varkis there is recording the meeting." He nodded to a nondescript aide who set up a small display, nodding in acknowledgement.
"In that case, for the record I am Victor Manswell, Director of Project Exodus and appointed representative of Texas and Banna colonies." Manswell sounded so prideful of the role he generously assigned himself, over the protests of literally everyone. Grissom had a fit when she found out she couldn't send her marines with them for security, although she had no answer in how to fight back. "This is Interior Minister Sayla Mass, my chief backer and my close friend."
He waved a hand to her for indication, all Sayla did was take a small breath of processed air, observing the elder turian stand almost still as he went through his advisor's names.
When he was finished Kuril nodded. "First off, I sympathize with your losses. Losing civilians is deplorable."
While Sayla noted the lack of inflection he moved a small projector to the middle of the table, activating it to show a hologram of the system, including their current position, as well as those of the Relay. The view panned back when he pushed a button, showing a wider view of the galactic arm.
"At present, our location is several light years from the nearest battlefield. It was an amazing coincidence that Captain Cincannato's patrol found your expedition, had I assigned a different Relay or delayed the mission, you would have missed him. And then you would be unprepared for the krogan raiders." Kuril highlighted areas, different colors marking what she guessed were zones of control.
"Beg your pardon commodore." Sayla raised a hand, noting him stiffening when she spoke. "May I ask how the krogan found us in the first place? You just mentioned the odds of an encounter were slim."
Cincannato coughed. "The distortion effect from your reactors must have interfered with the radio waves from the gas giant. The anomaly was small but noticeable to my vessel, though at the time it was dismissed as stellar phenomena. Otherwise, my assumption was that this was a scouting mission to locate fresh resources, in preparation of a rumored offensive into Hierarchy space. It was poor luck for both parties."
"The how is irrelevant. What's done is done." Kuril sent Cincannato a glance, then swiveled his eyes. "Hours ago a courier from the nearest communications hub arrived, directly from High Command. I have been ordered to carry out negotiations on behalf of the Hierarchy, for this purpose I have been given vast authority in this matter. The final stage will have to be ratified by Palaven, but I was assured that any statement I give would be considered made on their behalf."
"That's unusual. I would have assumed that your commanders would have sent a proper diplomatic team, no offense to your efforts. It is to my understanding that your allies, the Asari Republics and the Salarian Union, would have to be consulted as well." Manswell frowned.
"I may not be properly trained for this situation, but I have my orders. Now to start with, my superiors have authorized me to offer you sanctuary in turian space." Kuril spoke simply, highlighting several star systems that were quite some distance from their location.
"Sanctuary." Sayla repeated as the aides murmured, catching Cincannato twitch his mandibles.
"Specifically, an autonomous zone within one of our core systems, there are several recommendations but the final choice of location is yours. You will have full protection of all fleet assets in range, equal in status to any turian colony, and access to natural resources in the area. As well, you will also be granted technical support. Advanced manufacturing machines, improved fusion reactors, element zero drives, even nutrient samples if the biological complications can be overcome. Cincannato can elaborate on the specifics later." This time he didn't look, but Sayla nonetheless felt some hostility.
"That is generous. Quite generous indeed. Can I assume further terms can be negotiated?" Manswell rubbed his chin.
"Of course." Kuril had his eyes locked on them.
"In exchange?"
Cincannato altered his breathing rhythm slightly, silent as Kuril swiveled to Sayla. She stood firm under his gaze, schooling her expression into one of neutrality.
"In peacetime, such a generous outreach would be considered charity, well within your government's ability to absorb. But you're not at peace. You haven't been for half a century." Her eyes narrowed, noticing Manswell tugging at his shirt but not minding. "Forgive my bluntness, but you want something from us. The only thing I can imagine you'd be interested in is our beam weapon technology."
Kuril was silent for a long moment, Cincannato looking as if he wished to speak but refraining from opening his mouth. "You are correct. In times of peace, the aid proposal wouldn't bat an eye anywhere in the Hierarchy. But right now peace is a luxury few in the known galaxy can afford. It is without a doubt that your people have gone through much hardship of your own, surely you would understand that this gift wouldn't be for free. Can you say if our positions were reversed, you would not get something valuable out of this too?"
He stood up straight, waving away a guard who perked up, probably an assistant.
"The asari have a saying, a gift requires an exchange. It's similar to a turian axiom, quid pro quo. So then, what do you wish for a return gift?"
"Something that is of as great a value to us as beam weapon technology is to you." Sayla said neutrally.
"Ahem, Minister Mass is wary of wild claims. Obviously we would need personal assurances from your leadership, but I do believe you are being honest." Manswell sent Sayla a sideways glance. "This would take time, but we do need to consult our populace first anyway."
"So I've gathered, according to the report you're fond of this, ahem, popular vote method." Kuril distinctly sounded as if he was reigning in a scoff.
"Sir, it seems to be working out for them. They have had bad experiences with negligent leadership, so a governance system similar to what the asari practice leads to less discontent." Cincannato supplied.
"Whatever the reason, you should inform your population of the circumstances then. While not likely to occur soon, sooner or later the krogan will send scouts to verify what happened to that task force. If you do reject the terms I will have to withdraw my flotilla, we need to rotate to a core world for rest and refitting. This offer is in your best interests." Kuril concluded.
"How long will you wait? Understand that this is a complex affair, essentially we're trusting our very existence to you. And you are expecting payment." Sayla ignored Manswell nudging at her foot, instead eying the way Kuril stiffened.
"This technology is of great value, well worth the trouble. It's simplistic yet extraordinarily powerful. I can't simply allow a chance like this to slip away without doing all I can. However, time is of the essence, there is a war on if you recall." Kuril pointed out via a wave.
"Sir." Cincannato coughed, after a moment Kuril gestured. "I wish to add to the record that this technology may not be so enigmatic. My chief engineer has reported some theories to its mechanisms. I propose that this information should be sent to Palaven for research. If the humans do decide to reject the proposal we will not have nothing to show for it." He went quiet, seemingly bracing himself.
Kuril stared at him, roaming his gaze over a puzzled looking Manswell and a frowning Sayla, hopefully unable to see her mind racing. Worried thoughts paused when Kuril waved at the aide, Varkis widening his eyes before hesitantly reaching a claw, another quicker wave hitting something that deactivated the device.
"Is there a problem Commodore?" Manswell asked carefully, his aides exchanging worried looks.
"You're right, Lithri, theoretically Palaven can bang out a prototype with this information in a few years. Years of warfare, where our people are dying in droves. Such as the thirty eight crewmen of the Gravirus." Kuril dropped all emotion, Cincannato restraining a flinch.
Sayla needed a great deal of self control to keep from shooting Manswell a dry glance, noting him doing a double take. More concerning however were the uneasy looks the other turians sported.
"Excuse me?" Manswell exclaimed.
"Every day we are losing soldiers and ships. Turian lives are being spent in a grinding war of attrition, against a foe we may not be able to defeat. These beam weapons of yours allowed your primitive ships, that is a statement of fact not an insult, to inflict greater damage to a krogan task force than my subordinate's own vessels. Cincannato's report mentioned you experienced a war of comparable devastation, did you not wish to find a way to end it sooner rather than later?" Kuril posed, brow plates creasing.
Sayla waved to cut off Manswell before he could speak. "At what cost? If you desire our tech this much, you may resort to force."
"Yes, I could." Kuril said starkly, ignoring his own men balking. "I am authorized to deploy the flotilla marines to acquire your technology regardless of the losses you will suffer, doing so will lead to my removal from command but the message tacitly permitted this option. My sacrifice will be worth gaining such a massive advantage."
"Commodore, I can show you the reports-" Cincannato clamped shut with a single glance.
"I'm sure you can, elaborating how we could perhaps have a working prototype within a few years. Instead of having a functional machine that can be studied now, so production can start within months. The Hierarchy needs those beam weapons now. I need them. I've lost too many soldiers to not do all I must here and now." Kuril balled his claws into a fist.
"Commodore-" Manswell tried to speak, but he went on anyway.
"While we were busy safeguarding your stations, a krogan fleet attacked an asari colony two hundred light years from here. A Hierarchy flotilla just like this one helped the defenders." His eyes narrowed. "Twelve of our ships were destroyed, including four cruisers. The asari lost ten ships. Joint Fleet Command has not yet deployed any reinforcements, if none can be mustered soon we'll need to evacuate the planet. The 79th can't be rerouted, because even if we haven't lost five ships, the rest are badly in need of supplies and repairs. Forgetting altogether that we're protecting you."
Sayla didn't relent on her staring, keeping silent as he took several quick breaths.
"Did Cincannato mention that the krogan have been bombarding our planets? Two worlds have been rendered entirely uninhabitable so far, a dozen more are facing massive ecological damage that may never be repairable. Ulchalda and Carthaan are barren rocks due to the krogan." Kuril went on.
Both Sayla and Cincannato flinched, shooting him a wide eyed look. "Hang on. You told me…"
"I… yes. My home was destroyed by krogan orbital bombardment." He balled up his claws, visibly restraining his shaking.
Kuril set his claws on the table, speaking softer. "You have the answer to that from happening again. Millions, billions of lives can be saved if you trade us your weapons."
"I find it hard to believe you're so desperate." Manswell stated flatly, frowning deeply.
"Believe what you will. But I implore you all the same: take the deal." Kuril opened his eyes and gestured at Varkis, who's claws shook a little as he restarted the recorder. "Now, your reply?"
"We… will need some time to discuss this amongst our civic council. Then put it to a vote." Manswell creased his brow, exchanging a look with Sayla.
By her sides her fists clenched. "I agree. I hope that is acceptable to you."
