OSaBC : The Bird of Hermes

by LogicalPremise

A prequel of sorts in preparation of a roleplaying segment set in the Premiseverse, combined with expanding on understanding some of the pre-Prothean races and their impact on the current cycle. Warning, this is going to be hard and ugly sci-fi horror mixed with political maneuvering and science babble. Language, imagery and concepts are probably best not left to teens or children

31. Epilogue

OSaBC : The Bird of Hermes

Epilogue : the Hydra Rises

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A/N: And here is the final piece, and of course, the credits.

As always thanks to EnigmaticOne for typing this up, any mistakes are mine but of course I don't make mistakes. And if I do, it's Vadder's fault.

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"The worst part of anomalous work is the ugly realization that the job never ends. The war is never over. There is no retirement. The evil always remains, because the entire universe is fucked and we're the only ones keeping it from bubbling over. I look at my son and wonder what accursed nightmares will be his constant companions. If I was a better father, I'd send him away, but the... Deal ensures we are damned for all eternity to the Sorceror. Perhaps that is all we deserve."

- Fredrick Herrero, half-drunk conversation with Paul, just after the FCW.

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Arcturus Station

AL Ship Repensum

1400 hours

It was a tiresome trip back to Arcturus. The Repensum – badly damaged, radiated and partially destroyed – ended up being towed back by a force of Commissariat ships. Sigma Team was taken aboard a Black Rendition cruiser, with everyone placed in 24 hour isocontainment and scanned heavily for infection or other issues.

The data files Srinja recovered were briefly examined – but as the encryption was projected to take a VI days to complete – they were left with her for the moment.

At the end of the isolation period, a pair of Commissars arrived at the cells of Wilson and Holden. Both were dressed in all black, with the sash being a dark grey instead of the normal red, and oddly enough, tattooed with the same weird hexagrammic wards they'd seen on Paig and Sahu.

They didn't speak as they deactivated the force shields and gestured across the armored hallway to a door, but followed the two. Inside was a shower, toilet, sink with omni-razors and hair shapers, and a shelf with two sets of Alliance Formal Dress Blue Class III uniforms, with two medal/ribbon blocks beside them.

The left most Commissar merely gestured again, and the door shut and locked.

"Attention. You have fifteen minutes until recovery squad Kappa arrives. Please utilize the provided facilities and wait." The comms helpfully informed them.

"If I were a betting man, I'd say we're about to meet with someone, or multiple someones, who are important." Holden predicted. "I'll take the first shower."

"At least we get the dress blues instead of meeting in this mess," Wilson nodded in agreement.

Given the pair had been wearing their clothing and under-armor through several days, the showers were nice. Hot water, expensive, waxy soap bars instead of omnigel soap, and towels more luxurious than the ones in Holden's own holdings.

As Sigma's CO and XO they were slightly worried about the rest of the squad, but as the fifteen minutes finished and they finalized dressing, they heard the raised voice of Angsar asking something...

"Where the fuck are you taking us, anyway?"

He seemed to be given an indistinct answer, and then a snort of laughter. A few minutes later, the door chimed apologetically as it slid open.

The same two black-garbed Commissars stood there, the leftmost one gesturing for them to follow.

"Well, after you." Wilson glanced at Holden before moving forward wordlessly.

The group headed towards the aft of the cruiser, passing through at least three secured bulkheads before reaching a larger door that slid open, revealing a hangar bay and a sleek, night-black pinnace.

Six more of the black-garbed Commissars surrounded it, and Holden and Wilson were gently nudged forward. Still, no one spoke.

The pinnace's hull slid open and a walk-ramp extended down as doors scissored apart. Their two escorts waved them inside.

"Lively bunch here." Holden commended.

"When are they not lively?" Wilson snarked, following after him.

The pinnace's insides were fairly luxurious, done in black leather and darkened steel. A large seating area was positioned round a haptic display table, and a washroom beyond. Forward, a door led to the pilot's area, staffed by a female in the black Commissariat uniform just as silent as the previous escorts were. She half turned to confirm the men were both inside before giving a single nod, and the door shut.

"Please be seated, transit clearance is underway." The comms voice – a VI most likely – announced.

Holden and Wilson found their seats as the holotable illuminated. It displayed a map of Arcturus, and the several relay points from the Arcturus relay junction. Oddly enough they didn't seem headed to Arcturus station… nor to Sol. Only an animation of a blue line heading to several relays in sequence, ending up in a star labeled only as "TQ-494-C."

Holden coughed to get her attention. "Can I ask where we're going? Seeing as we're headed away from SA space."

"You are being taken to debriefing." The comms VI answered for the silent pilot.

The pinnace shuddered as it hit the first relay, the kick of the warp core almost silent.

"Is that?" Wilson trailed off before looking at the commander. "Holden, we may be going to a black site."

The destination, if he was reading this map correctly, was at the ass end of nowhere, technically at the edge of SA space, in a worthless system mostly defined by icy asteroid belts, a gas giant useless for HE3 mining, and no useful minerals or planets. It didn't seem like there was any other logical explanation.

The com system – and pilot – did not answer any other inquiries until after the last jump.

Out of the windows of the pinnace, the two saw a sullen red supergiant illuminate a vast array of icy asteroids in flickering crimson, with the purplish hue of a simply massive gas giant as a striking backdrop.

A huge shipyard orbited the gas giant, working on a huge ship, maybe a dreadnaught carrier. It looked only partially completed, a constellation of robots and shuttles surrounding it. A trio of Kazan-class cruisers and two heavy missile frigates circled the station, along with several CAP patrols of heavy fighters.

One long beam extended off from the station, solar panels protruding out at angles and the arms surrounded and pierced a larger than usual asteroid or small moonlet.

"Lot of hardware for a useless system in the ass end of nowhere." Holden observed.

"I really hate it when my theories are right." Wilson grumbled.

GARDIAN hex-sites tracked the pinnace as it came down, landing on a dark steel pad on the asteroid surrounded by low buildings. After a moment, the pad shuddered, and the pinnace began to lower down, cutting off their views of the surface... but not before they saw said surface patrolled by literally dozens of JOTUNS.

It came to a halting shuddering stop almost a full minute later, and the pinnace doors opened.

"I'll take the lead this time." Holden volunteered, heading up and, keeping his head on the swivel, out of the pinnace.

Wilson followed two steps behind, keeping his eyes open and allowing a curious expression onto his face.

They entered a huge bay, with a dozen more pinnaces slotted into the walls.

Approaching them was someone Holden and Wilson took at first to be a young man, but on closer inspection, his entire face was a cybernetic replacement. The man's uniform indicated him to be a Commandant, but they'd never seen something like the white sash before.

"Hello Commandant…?" Holden ventured.

"Welcome, Lord Holden, Mr. Wilson." The man greeted them. "My name is Singh. Who I am is unimportant at this juncture. Please follow me."

The Commandant led them through two heavy steel portals, guarded by ceiling turrets and JOTUN mechs, and down a third hallway, wood paneled and carpeted. The man moved with the unnatural smoothness of someone with extensive cybernetic augmentation, and the pistol holstered at his side looked very suspiciously wrong, as if it was not designed for human hands.

"I would apologize for the..." Singh waved vaguely all around him, "reception. But events have changed in the past day and we are attempting to correct for various inefficiencies."

"...Ahh." He came to a heavy, steel reinforced door, which he opened with a keycard and then retinal scan.

The room beyond was nearly palatial: a huge table with fifteen seats, one raised slightly higher than the rest, the table inset with a starmap of SA space in sterling silver. A giant, five meter wide haptic screen dominated the far wall, with scattered leather couches and a wet bar taking up the nearest wall.

Sitting on one of the couches and examining a snifter of brandy in one hand was a figure Wilson had not met, but Holden recognized. A gold sash surmounted the red-edged Commandant's uniform, and the man's aged features were offset by the clear, gray eyes that flicked up towards the trio.

"I see you have brought our guests yourself. Any reason why?" Commandant-General Marcus Hazred asked.

Singh folded his arms. "My recommendations have been... perverted and corrupted enough that I begin to doubt I should make any more. I wanted to see who was going to be the ones to clean up this little fuckup of yours, Marcus."

Hazred's face shifted into possibly the single most malevolent smirk Wilson or Holden had ever beheld, his voice almost calmly mocking. "If you aren't willing to take the heat, might I gently suggest the kitchen is not for you? No matter. I will debrief Lord Holden and his executive officer, yes?"

"And the circumstances of this mess don't even faze you, do they? The Hand of Rourke were all shot except for your goddamned broken whore snare for Herrero, and now you pull this?" Singh retorted.

He made a gesture of wiping his hands. "I am done, sir. Assuming you don't fuck this up, you can let the High Lords know I wish to retire peacefully.

"...I would be delighted, R'magh. That is all."

Singh stalked out, the door shutting behind him. The other Commandant paused to give a short, amused bark of laughter. "Come, milord. Have a seat. I trust your trip was swift, if not exactly pleasant or clarifying? It has been some time since our last meeting."

Holden swallowed, remembering the last time he was briefed by Hazred. "It was as clear as a conversation with a High Lord at a charity dinner. And yes, yes it has."

Holden took his seat, interlocking his fingers on the table. Wilson took a spot next to him.

Hazred opened a bottle on the table – an expensive Bekenstein brandy – and filled two glasses sitting on the table to half-full. "I do grasp few want to talk to me, given the usual duty I have of revealing certain unhappy truths."

He gazed at the door. "And there are always idealists who seem to forget that idealism is fantasy."

"I doubt this conversation will be any more pleasant." Holden assumed.

"On the contrary." The Commandant-General leaned back. "There is a certain level of falsity in the games we all play – the High Lords, the Lords in Court, the cabinet, R&D, BuPers, et cetera, et al, blah blah blah."

He drained his glass. It probably wasn't his first. "I so rarely get to share good news. I am somewhat enjoying it, which is only amplified by the fact that, as expected, people who can't see past the 'bullshit' have failed even more spectacularly than I could have expected. No matter. Let me deal with the simple pieces first."

"Mr. Wilson. You have performed your duties to the expectation and satisfaction of the High Lords, in what must have been a very trying evolution under both extreme time pressure and a lack of information. Our initial review of your team's armor-cam footage illustrates your ability to support Lord Holden and illustrates why Sigma is so successful."

"It's my job, sir. I do it to the best of my ability." Wilson demurred.

"Thank the nice Commandant for the compliment Wilson." Holden told him.

Wilson looked at Holden's expression, winced, and turned to Hazred. "Thank you, sir."

Hazred smiled and continued. "As a result, it is my pleasure to confirm your promotion to Captain, contingent upon your ability to pass Command Training Series IV and V. You have been given two months of paid leave, as well as two years time-in-rank in regards to pay and seniority. Upon return from leave, you will be TDY to Sol for training and then remanded back to Sigma as the squad commanding officer. As well, the High Lords have seen fit to induct you as a Squire into the Knights of Sol, which – assuming you continue to perform well – could lead to a knighthood in the Knights of United Earth some day."

"Congratulations Wilson." Holden couldn't help the smile on his face for his subordinate.

Hazred picked up a keycard and a secured padd, which he handed to Wilson. "There is a pinnace in the docks that will convey you back to your home, and your leave and orders have already been transmitted to Admiral Vandfar." His face took on a cast of very slight amusement. "I also notified Nyomba Sahu you'd have some time off."

That last part caused Holden to laugh.

Wilson barely kept his jaw off the table in his shock. "I…" He took a moment to choose his words. "Thank you, sir."

He took the padd and offered a wry smile. "I'll be sure to enjoy the time off, sir."

"Assuming he isn't crying in a corner somewhere, Commandant Singh will prep the pinnace for you and assign a pilot – and not one of the Black Rendition types who cut their own tongues out to maintain security. I rarely get to say this, so: very well done. I fear my conversation with Lord Holden is beyond your current security classification, however, so you will need to depart immediately as Lord Holden has somewhere else to go after this discussion."

"Enjoy the leave, Captain." Holden stood up with Wilson, faced him at attention and saluted him.

Wilsdon did so in turn, and they shook hands. "Will do, sir. Enjoy the rest of your meeting."

He stepped back, offering a salute to Hazred before turning smartly and exiting the room.

Hazred waited until the door closed, then smiled. "Good kid."

"That he is, he deserves this." Holden agreed.

The Commandant-General stood, then walked over towards the big table, Holden following. "You are no doubt wondering what this is all about, milord. In your shoes I would do the same, given the... questionable trustworthiness of Synthia and the ordeal you have just escaped from."

"I fear you have now stumbled upon things that have resulted in you having to play in the big boy's league of political skulduggery and exposure to increasingly incoherent layers of back-stabbing, secrets and outright lunacy that passes as our highest levels of governance."

He reached the large circular table and tapped several touchkeys on the haptic control panel built into it. "This edifice is known as Research Station Sixteen, milord. It is, as you have no doubt guessed, a blacksite – and the nexus for the Black Network, a secure intranet for containment of certain troubling archeological findings, certain research projects, and blackmail gathered by the AIS. Tell me, milord: what was your 'assigned' mission, from Admiral Vandefar?"

"We were sent to recover anything from the previous expeditions that could have been used against GOI-545, and also discover what went wrong." Holden answered.

Hazred nodded. "What an utterly inarticulate and vague set of goals. Why, you'd almost think you were being set up for failure."

"That's what we all figured as well." Holden agreed. "In fact I'm pretty sure some of the abominations down there said the same thing"

Hazred thinly grinned. "Instead, you recovered three very... interesting artifacts, and apparently rescued... or recovered... someone of importance. Your 'Engineer Daniels' is not from around here, is she?" He chuckled sharply.

"No sir, she is the reason we got out alive there at the end. Her tech and weaponry definitely didn't obey any laws of physics I know of."

Hazred nodded. "I appreciate the honesty. What most people don't know is that isocontainment is also designed to pick up infiltrators: Eyes of Khar'Shan, League of Zero fuckups, mind-hacked asari 'refugees' that are Discerning, that kind of shit. We'll offer her asylum and rig up a convincing corpse. Dr. Paig has been very helpful in explaining a few things."

He turns to face Holden. "Ultimately, however, this entire incident has gone awry. Turns out, the Department of Abnormalities has been hiding things from us, and it looks very much like Director Aloxius Manswell is a traitor."

Hazred frowned at something on the haptic display. "We know from what you found out that there are... elements... operating within the Commissariat that did not report to the Cadres, that there are corporate entities working with them, that DepAb is in contact with, whatever we call it, other dimensions, and that the entire situation was reportedly mismanaged as far back as five years ago. We can't find out more because the Omega cleanup team managed to get the entire Jeremiah system destroyed by an unexpected supernova, which is rather tricky to hide."

"Hopefully, the encrypted data Lieutenant Avasarala recovered will shed more light on this mess." Holden suggested.

"Perhaps. A great deal of it looks to be Ashland/Eldfell comms with a number of figures." Hazred smiled. "Including your boss."

"My boss?" Holden cautiously answered.

Hazred tapped the haptic controls again, and arched an eyebrow. "Former boss. You're about to move up in the world, milord. My condolences."

The old man glanced at the huge viewscreen, and smiled as the image of Maxwell Manswell filled it. "Your Grace. I am here with Lord Holden."

"Oh shit." Holden quietly whispered to himself, before bowing in a sign of proper respect to the Silver Prince

"I can see that, Marcus. I am old, not blind." Maxwell replied.

"Are you sure, Your Grace? I seem to have this odd memory of 'I told you so.'"

Maxwell was silent, then actually gave a rusty sounding chuckle. "Marcus why have I not had you shot and dumped in a ditch like we did with that stupid bitch Bjarkbur?"

Holden kept his features schooled. Was it a regular occurrence between these two to snipe at each other? Best to just let it play out.

"Oh God. Singh is still crying about you killing his girlfriend, twenty fucking years later, Your Grace. It's getting rather trying." Hazred turned to glance at Holden. "Am I needed for this conversation? If not, I'd like to go back to getting drunk before I have to head to Sol to unfuck this mess with your pet family of sociopathic vampire hunters or whatever the hell they are."

Sociopathic vampire hunters…?

Holden had never remembered seeing the expression of amusement on Maxwell's face before, the Commandant literally sassing him without him being angry.

"The Herreros are not mine, Marcus, and we have people in place to handle it. Jonah knows nothing about..." Maxwell glances at Holden "...the other projects. You can just worry about keeping things calm while we work out how to handle this… what did that fool call it? Ah. Magog Incident."

Hazred bowed, all levity gone from his aged features. "Understood, Your Grace. I will depart as soon as I finish the debrief of Dr. Paigashani. Is that..." He trailed off.

Max shrugged. "It's a moot point now. The mess at the OR HQ... the data files for Echo Mirage were stolen."

Hazred paled visibly and then exhaled slowly. "Well, fuck."

He straightened. "I have my work cut out for me then. I remain your servant, Your Grace."

He turns to Holden. "Half the bottle of brandy is left, you may need it, milord. Good luck, and when you can, please tell Admiral Dragunov that he's not as slick as he thinks."

"I mean… it was really obvious if you think about it. Vandefer thought I was under Aloxius." Holden awkwardly commented.

Hazred paused before erupting into laughter. He kept laughing as he headed out of the door, in fact it sounded like his hilarity continued to increase.

Max, on the viewscreen, merely sighed and shook his head. "I'm beginning to question Synthia's intelligence, which makes me wonder if I need a new head of R&D. No matter."

Holden promptly gave the prince his full attention.

"In normal circumstances, Holden, I'd be disappointed. We're still mostly in the dark as to what was even going on down there, much less why or how."

"But this is far from anything remotely considered normal." Holden observed.

"Yes. We are dealing with the fallout of a number of situations, and amusingly enough you're the only person who seems to grasp that orders aren't optional."

The prince sat back in his chair. "The short version. Lord Kinnix and his people have defected. Somehow they eluded all pursuit and detection and have taken up common cause with a very dangerous and powerful salarian gangster, known as the Shifter. This Shifter is powerful enough to obtain meetings with the SIX, insult C-SEC and C-INT to their faces while running a nightclub on the Citadel itself, and is an associate of cretins like Aria and Six Sins. I should not have to point out why this is both a PR disaster and troubling.

"At the very least, Kinnix could have retrieved Colonel Bright, who was on site at the 'start' of this mess and had gathered a great deal of insight as to what was going on, not to mention that we think they had peaceful contact with Ciana. For the moment, however, we've got a cover story and Kinnix is… off the table. Omega Response was to go in and clean up any evidence of our involvement in the system, and then when the... when certain Citadel authorities arrived we could make it seem we had been openly cooperative with them."

"And now the system doesn't exist anymore."

Max grimaced. "Instead that fool got himself killed and his idiot nephew blew up the damned system, yes. Now it looks like we were hiding something and that we destroyed the system to cover it up. Not useful."

"...The situation has gotten worse. While you were in iso, a... person managed to infiltrate Omega HQ and kill most of the Commissar officers, many of the other officers not on the mission, and the administrator in charge of the project, as well as steal a number of odd devices and information."

"They did come up with a perhaps useful technology, maybe, but we are still in the process of trying to figure out what to do with it. Ultimately, though, they didn't help us find anything, and we have no confirmation that we can grasp at this time."

He waved a hand idly.

"Jonah Ashland will debrief them, but the point remains as far as useful items go, your group was the only real success point." He interlocked his fingers. "So, tell me what in the name of God happened down there and what was the point of Synthia's niece doing this?"

"We didn't make much contact with Ciana, on approach to the planet she contacted Repensum, tried to sound like she was in distress. It was terrible acting and the Admiral concurred. The Repensum lit off a full bombardment on her position. She shrugged it off, contacted us when we reached the Ashland Eldfell site." Holden began to summarize.

"Didn't reveal much but she was particularly hostile to myself, and especially the High Lords. Fast forward to after we passed the dead Salarian Commissar and Rho getting mortally wounded and we got caught by a massive amount of the corpse type species, but they didn't attack us on site. From what I've been able to gather, Ciana was with part of the corpses."

"The one I talked to wasn't one of them, she contacted me again and this time begged me to not trust it. She was losing control of the situation. We got those artifacts and prepared to leave when the entire planet started crawling after us. I have no guarantee on what exactly her motives are, but considering who she was raised by, how she talked to me, I believe it would have led to the destruction of human nobility."

Max pondered this visibly. "Anything else of note? The three artifacts you found seem to be interesting."

"Just one thing, the Curator AI that led us from the facility stated that the things that built the place only allowed psionics to those that served them, and recognized us as allies due to Agent Falkner's presence."

Holden then realized Prince Manswell was also prodding him to explain why he took the artifacts. "Agent Falkner also was the tester of the artifacts we took. I trust his senses to tell if something is worth taking, or if it will kill us and the universe. We were forced to take one that didn't pass his test actually. The Curator AI would only let us leave if we took every possible objective of Ciana's off world."

Max narrowed his eyes. "The precognitive, correct? Why are we allowing this asset to molder uselessly under Vandefar again?"

He shook his head. "No matter. Mm. And the nature of this... artifact? I noted that your report was extensive on the other three – which are all useful – and had almost no details on the fourth except that Vandefar signed off on destroying it by throwing it into a black hole which seems… Excessive."

"It hurt to look at. The Curator strongly alluded that it was most likely what Ciana and her corpses were after. Falkner used his senses on it, he didn't tell me exactly what he saw – but that man laughed at every cosmic horror and abomination we've come across in our time together in Sigma. This is the first time he was deathly serious about destroying it. From the notes he made, he theorized it was the source of the corpse beings." Holden warned.

Maxwell nodded slowly. "For the moment, then – how would you categorize the technology level of these... Ythrongi? I am inclined to see if any other extant remains of the species are to be found in other locations if such can be done safely. I do grasp the point made by this doctor Paigashani that the corpse beings are simply too dangerous to mess with."

Holden grimaced. "Hard to say. I'm not sure how much of a need they had for actual technology considering they could sing a note and cause enemies to just melt according to Paig, but that level of power over reality is incomprehensible to us. Whatever technology they had is probably incomprehensible as well, and just as dangerous."

"And did you encounter any of this Singing or the Ythrongi creatures directly?" Maxwell inquired. "Because I am suspicious that the entire command cadre of the OR group – and the commissars – ALL DIE just after they blow up the entire system. I do not know if they took anything off the planet and frankly the little information we have gotten from this 'Daniels' person is not comforting."

"No Your Grace, I have faith in my team, and we did exactly what I expected us to do, but from all the information I was given on the Ythrongi… there isn't a doubt in my mind that if we ran directly into one, or another abomination who could sing on the world, we wouldn't have survived." Holden flatly replied.

Max nodded. "The leader of the strike force perished holding back enemies to blow up the planet, if I can believe a single word of what the survivors claim. It all simply strikes me as very convenient on their part. Then we have Synthia and her own attempts to cover her failures. Frankly R&D has been a disappointment. Your group accomplishing the tasks is a very good result, although I am still in the dark as to how no one saw this Ciana's slow descent into crazy."

The old man adjusted his blanket. "You have any further thoughts on this?"

"From what I know of her, she used to be very shy and low key, it was only fairly recently she started working hard to become higher up in HERMES, I guess people just assumed she had decided to work harder and go up the ranks." Holden shrugged. "Just what people in R&D talked about it, Your Grace."

Max snorted. "I suppose asking for someone to vet command personnel is being unreasonable? Pfagh."

He fixed his gaze on the younger man. "I have made no secret I am not a fan of yours, Holden. Background aside, dallying with asari is half-ass acceptable for Fordant and Shepard – Fordant was made sterile by the Calcutta Incident and Shepard was damaged... in her youth and could not have children. There's nothing wrong with you in that regard. Asari cannot be trusted even if they are loyal and faithful to the SA and humanity because they are designed – by what hand we know not – to be tools. "

Max shook his head. "That being said, you did what we tasked you with and there's no goddamned salarian gangsters, ancient secret societies, or strange murders going on, and you've unveiled a lot of pieces I did not know were on the board."

His face took on a sardonic cast. "And I fully admit that Aloxius's betrayal means we're no better at vetting our important people than Synthia is. The irony is palpable."

He paused. "Right now, I have a direct threat to humanity that was removed only to reveal several more. The group that controls access and understanding of various paratech is potentially compromised. My R&D chief and AIS director are either corrupt or inept. And the Black Rendition group I thought would keep an eye on this is apparently cutting deals with corporations to investigate alien ruins without notifying anyone."

"So, here is my instruction. First, you'll be sent to Ahern for additional training, alongside some other specialists. This is not combat training, but regimental and army level command instruction and strategic planning work. I will be creating a new black-level operations oversight group. It will be a backstop for both Omega Response and Ahaltocob and Ache Lameo."

"And you want me to be a part of this group?" Holden asked.

"You will be in charge of the group. It will answer solely to the High Lords. For now, Reaper related inquiries will remain with Ahaltocob, and general anomalous items with Ache Lameo, but the destruction of HERMES as a first-line detection/investigation group must be amended."

Holden breathed in, breathed out. This, he really hadn't expected. "Does this group have a name?"

"Not yet." The Silver Prince interlaced his fingers. "If the preliminary debrief of this 'Daniels' person is correct, it appears we are being utilized by certain parties that the Department of Abnormalities is in contact with as a toxic waste dump. If the initial reports of the Omega team are correct, there are one, perhaps two elements interfering in human society and development."

"And my group will be responsible for finding just how deep it goes." Holden added.

"Yes. And if it is a threat – eliminate it." Max made a gesture at Holden. "If 'Daniel's' skills with technology and her statements are true, then moving openly is suicidal."

He exhaled. "The new commander of the Omega team is also most likely going to be the Administrator of the anomalous object containment group, DepAb. You will need to liaison with him to establish… limits. We have no good oversight on this group: the Commissars assigned and specially trained and conditioned were all killed with one exception, and she is not politically – or emotionally – dependable."

Max's smile turned ghastly. "These people are exceedingly dangerous, Holden. Your Dr. Paig may have more information. We have a small roster of useful agents."

"Do I know some of them?"

"Another precognitive, several off the books researchers, an AI – isolated and hardwalled, of course – and some troubleshooters. Alec Ryder will be transferred under your command to manage the AI system. The rest are fallout from a group that was declared defunct a while ago. It was an AI group that was analyzing anomalous items called Echo Mirage, and was the predecessor to Omega. Engineer Daniels' will also be assigned to you. As will...other assets.

"I can work with Alec." Holden nodded. "Those two are quite capable. The rest? I guess I'll just have to meet them."

The old man's already grim smile widened. "I suspect, given I plan to toss this entire Omega mess into the lap of Jonah Ashland, that he will behave as he usually does and try to 'fix things'. While he and Omega are distracted, you will assemble your group and investigate several sites they were active at, as well as follow up on the data taken from your hacker woman, Sracha or Stringy or whatever her name is. Ultimately the goal is to identify if these outside factors – be it some godless alternative humanity beholden to a cabal of literal psychopaths or strange aliens manipulating us to breach our security – can be... handled."

"And I thought Rho-19 was complicated." Holden muttered.

The old man adjusted his blanket again. "Aloxius's corruption was unexpected. He will be dealt with and replaced with an obedient clone. The loss of Agent Rho is not of importance. We can replace him too. It won't be the first time. But you will also have a selection of intelligence assets and Commissariat analysts to look for trends, clues, patterns, and the like."

"Where will we be based?" Holden wondered.

Maxwell looked off the camera pickup for several seconds. "...Watson. You will be 'retiring' from public service due to 'injuries' in stabilizing the mess in Jeremiah and to pay additional attention to noble affairs will be the cover. Your XO can handle Sigma in the interim. They serve well where they are at. Your equipment manifests and all intelligence requests will come from this system, but direct operations from this system are to be avoided. There is a folio on that table. Retrieve it."

Holden noticed it a few seats away, a thick envelope the size of an old pre-Iron hardcover book. Holden wandered over and picked it up, thumbing through it. There was a Red Note – a Sigil, actually – inside, along with several laser lock keys, four OSDs, and – Holden's eyes widened at this – a pair of golden stars.

"No one listens to a commander." Maxwell pointed out. "For the moment you are a Vice Admiral. Two of the OSDs are authorizations – there is a small detachment being refitted for your use at Titan. A carrier-cruiser, two light cruisers, six destroyers, and two troop ships. Troops are modified and code-chipped Penal Legionaries, overseen by Commissariat Lancer captains. The other authorization OSD is for you to use with BuPers to pick additional needed personnel. The third is financial disbursement. Budget of fifteen million credits for now. Maintenance funds will accrue to the account as needed. The fourth is all current information we have on Omega and the Department, including my granddaughter's findings on how DepAb uses various items to inflict short term mind control and possible evasions of that."

"Your initial steps should be pulling together a command, investigative, and science team and several Commissars. Despite what the Commissariat may think, I do not see myself above Victor's Plan, but he was a man in a time before we knew about aliens and the only problem was stupid humans. Changes require flexibility... but I do not want any more pieces of the SA going rogue. Cerberus alone has cost us billions of credits. Hence, I want Commissars integrated into the unit. Your primary antagonists... are Admiral Vandefar and this man."

The screen split, displaying a handsome looking male – maybe Hispanic/Eurasian – in a nice suit. "This is Jaime Herrero, the current OR commanding officer. Mostly an idiot. He is emotional, vulnerable to manipulation, and isolated – his last family member died on Rho-19. It takes a certain level of audacity and ignorance to upbraid me for not knowing the facts of what happened when no one tells me, his own boss lied about it, and no one has explained even now what exactly happened down there. By comparison to Synthia, he's a professional. I'm afraid Vandefar is playing stupid games and I am fatigued of such."

So was Holden. This was going to be cathartic.

"Once you have initial staff in place, purchased some buildings on Watson and all of that, liaison with Lord Senap. He is a cadet-branch of the Colemans and will be… useful. We'll decide the first steps once that is done."

"Then I guess I have work to do." Holden faced Maxwell directly again, at attention.

The old man nodded. "Hazred will issue you a pinnace. It is a Commissariat model – full stealth, jump capable, sensor jamming, no IFF recording. I have ensured you have data access."

"How long until I report to Ahern?"

The Silver Prince glanced aside. "...When you feel the organization is set up enough to begin functioning. Ahern will probably do it via teleconference, as there is not a lot of 'hands on' training for high level strategic concepts. Let us say a month or so."

He paused, then shook his head. "That is all, Holden. Good work."

The signal cut out.

The empty room echoed with his final words, as Holden picked up the Sigil.

A seal of pure gold, thick red card stock, and the momentous declaration writ upon it:

"Let it be known that the Bearer is Empowered with the full and unyielding authority of the High Lords. All requests are to be handled as if from the High Lords directly. All classified materials are to be made available upon request. Any action, order, instruction, or request made by the bearer is to be executed instantly."

The far door slid open, but it wasn't Hazred.

"Yes, Commandant?" Holden greeted Singh.

"Lord Holden, there is a pinnace prepared for you. I fear this station has no sleeping areas, and the instructions were specific. The pinnace can take you to the SCH Caen, which is heading out to Watson this evening."

"Then lead the way, it's been far too long since I've been home." And from his wife Talira.

After a prolonged silence most of the way, Singh spoke. "I hope you grasp that whatever the Prince has you doing is unlikely to end in a good result."

Holden chuckled. "I'm fully aware I'm caught in a clash of unrivaled proportions… I saw just how fake many parts of the Alliance are not far into my service, so I decided to just write it all off. Then I met a woman, made me realize it's better to live a life that leaves the world better then I found it, then one of empty drinking and sex. I've led men into battle, lost entire units, lost 70% of the meat on my bones trying to do that, and be with this woman. I can only do what I can Commandant, and if you asked me if it was worth it? I'd say yes every time."

Singh only nodded, leading him to the hangar. "I can only wish you the best of luck then. Be safe and follow in the Father's path."

X-BoH-X

One day out from Sol

OR Ship The Spear of Longinus

2245 hours

"...Your people's accumulated history is, sorry to say, kind of fucked up."

The body of Deus – Loki's now – had undergone some changes over the past few hours. The skin turned to a dusky brown, most of the muscle mass disappeared, and the blank face configured to look like a fashion model.

Now, he sat in the ship's data center, along with Jaime and Grace, decrypting a bunch of data files he'd 'accidentally' taken from the servers of the planet.

Jaime opened his mouth to speak and paused, as Grace lifted a hand to look up something on a pad. They both froze in place, not even breathing.

"...Jaime?"

"I'm afraid they can't hear you, ambitious little thing." From behind the nearest wall a single human stepped out, dressed in a simple black suit with a slate gray shirt and ribbon tie, and wearing black sandals.

The face could be called nondescript, a perfectly forgettable face – except for the eyes, which swirled with a myriad of colors.

"Very very clever, your escape. Almost didn't even notice." Lethath's possessed servant looked around. "Ah, this ship. This was probably my most brilliant success, manipulating a bunch of holier-than-thou meddlers to send off their greatest weapon."

Loki remained very still, his hands gripping the metal chair tightly enough to make the knuckles whiten.

"Oh, nothing to say?"

Finally, the tension was too much for Loki. "...Nothing you want to hear. Your kind are all sick! Ekkho was right, and the damned Ythrongi War proves it! You could have talked to them!"

The slender figure burst out laughing. He walked over closer, trailing a gloved hand over the bulkheads almost possessively. "Life exists because we allow it. You exist because you serve, and if something does not serve and does not amuse and entertain us..."

He almost aimlessly waved a hand at Grace, who blinked out of visibility. "...What good is it? We do not talk to prey, or slaves."

The expression on the Curator's face was etched in horror. "He did nothing to you!"

He stood, but a second later the suited man almost dismissively waved a hand and the entire ship and all within it collapsed into dust, leaving them in the blue lit realm of FTL.

The man spread his arms, the charge lightning of the ship encircling him before he redirected it, electrocuting Loki's body. Horrific electrical burns etched away at the arms and legs, and the former AI screamed as he collapsed. Falling... and falling... and falling...

Lethath's voice rang around him, cruel and unceasing. "I allowed you to escape because it amuses me to do so. But you think you have freedom? The humans are my creatures, from the start. Earth is my laboratory, the Sol system my personal little pocket playhouse. If you think you can do anything to alter that..."

With a flash, the Curator landed on a hard dusty surface, scattering dust about as he staggered to his feet.

"...This must be Luna." He stared into the sky at Earth, and the figure of the suited man appeared in front of him.

"Behold."

A gleaming dot of swirling color appeared… then two. Loki recognized them. Influence orbs, the tools of the Ascended.

Then another appeared. Another. A fifth.

A dozen.

Hundreds.

Thousands, in long strings.

Millions.

Billions.

"This is my realm, little Curator. Declaim all you wish, bad mouth the All-Highest, tell the poor creatures how evil I am. It matters not. You matter not. They matter not. This is all merely a single piece of bait in a vast, undulating net."

The figure smiled, the skin cracked to reveal rushing, black water, and a deluge erupted, smashing into the curator, pulling him apart–

"...Um, Loki, you okay? You kinda spaced out there."

Loki jerked, then saw he was once more in the data center, Grace and Jaime staring. He opened his mouth to speak when he saw a faint scar, the Levi symbol for "amusement" etched on his left hand.

"...Sorry. Got… caught up in some internal computations. Meat bodies are still a new thing to me."

He smiled weakly, and with a frown, Jaime turned back to looking through the data manifest.

"Anything I can help with?" Grace asked.

The former AI took a deep breath, before swallowing and inclining his head. "...No. But thank you, all the same. I will have to adjust on my own."

And if there were times in the days that followed he could still hear that mocking, disdainful, disinterested laughter… he told himself not to endanger his friends with it.

X-BoH-X

The trip from what used to be Rho and the neighboring Produga systems took almost two days.

The Celestial Council not only towed the Produga relay to a black hole, they immersed the Sandfal relay into the local star and blocked all entry to the surrounding systems.

Not that Jaime could blame them.

The onboard medical staff treated the wounded, while Loki aided in reconstruction of what he could of his databases and useful information.

That was the good news.

Requests for updates from command were met with an ominous silence. Nor could Sloane reach her own Hand of Rourke overseer. On the second day, the communications officer reported 'per instructions from a Lord Mahidol' that all communication for DepAb and OR were on a restricted basis.

Upon arrival in Arcturus, the Spear was met by a giant superfreighter, the SC Tarrasque, a custom built ship designed to dock the Spear inside it to conceal it from observation.

The commanding officer of the ship came down to the interface dock, where he – and no less than two full Commandant-Majors – requested the operational laser-link keys for the Spear's drive and weapon systems.

Espinoza had no recourse but to comply, although he peppered said compliance with some extremely gutter barrio language that made even Sloane grin.

Their arrival in Sol was heralded by a rendezvous with the SCRV Martyr's Blood – the personal heavy cruiser of the High Lords when traveling – bearing orders to pick up "General" Jaime Herrero and "Commissar-Colonel" Amelia Sloane.

The two exchanged extremely doubtful glances as they were informed of this by the Guard of Iron, including one simply gigantic bastard the size of some battlesuits. More worryingly, this one had on the gold-on-red sash of a retired Commissar.

Sloane spoke in a quiet voice. "Lovely. Our escort is Jotuun, CO of the Guard of Iron. This is getting better and better."

The group escorted them aboard. The inside of the cruiser was stupidly luxurious, with real wood deck and wall panelling through the entire fucking ship, priceless works of art hanging on the walls.

Jaime and Sloane were brought to a lavish 'wardroom' bigger than his entire apartment, complete with a marble hot-jet omni-gel massage tub, a two meter holovid screen, and a bed stuffed with Terra Nova hypercotton that felt to the touch like a cloud.

His own internal gyro indicated the Martyr's Blood was sailing straight to Earth while the Spear went towards Titan – probably the refit docks there, he figured.

That left the pair alone in the room – with six guards outside, two of them looking like X operatives with more cybernetics than flesh – for almost two hours.

Sloane spent this time mostly staring at the floor.

Jaime decided that after everything, he was going to take advantage of the amenities while he had the chance. This included a bath and the massage tub.

He toweled off in time to hear Sloane angrily scream and kick a stupidly expensive vase into the wall.

"What is going on and why?!" She snarled.

"No fucking idea, Amelia."

Jaime inspected the wardrobe, fitted with a single set of very expensive hyperweave male wear: a suit, slimline slacks, real shoes of real leather, no tie. They all fit him as if tailored. A Commissar's dress uniform done in Hand of Rourke colors hung next to it.

"Either they've opted for turian Council of Woe melodrama, or an entirely new curveball has been thrown in. Lo que no sería una sorpresa dados los últimos días."

"Given the last few days, it would not shock me if we are being sent to our execution, Jaime."

She gritted her teeth and glanced at the wet bar. "I… all of my conditioning. Is to protect the mission, ensure the security and integrity of the Omega Response teams. Stop any abuse."

Her voice reduced to almost a shaken whisper. "What do I do when the mission is endangered and abused by the people I cannot act against?"

She glanced a second time at the wet bar, and then at her ZEUS, tossed on the table where she and Jaime hung their gun belts, as they were not disarmed upon boarding.

"That is a question we're all facing these days." Jaime acknowledged. "You're permitted to drink. I'm going to drink."

She shook her head, and wiped her eyes. "I'll take a shower first."

With an almost angry motion, she tore the hat from her head, stripping off her overjacket as she walked.

It took almost twenty minutes for her to emerge, and sat next to him, gingerly picking up a bottle of Clase Azul tequila and pulling the cap off. Jaime noticed the fresh uniform hugged her body much more tightly, and glanced away at the sight rather than stare.

Her voice was bitter. "I had all my uniforms loose-tailored. This fucking getup is a goddamned Seducer's outfit, fucking assholes." She took a drink straight out of the bottle. For his poison, Jaime selected a Bacardi 201 rum.

The comm system almost apologetically beeped in the middle of drowning their frustrations, followed by what sounded more like a VI than a person.

"Alert, noble guests. The ship is preparing to dock. Please check the wardroom for any personal belongings. Any entertainment workers must disembark with you. Thank you."

Sloane snorted incredulously. "I don't even want to fucking think what 'entertainment workers' means and my stupid programming won't let me not think of it. Let's go before I throw up."

They gathered their gunbelts. Their old uniforms, the ones worn on Rho-19 under the armor, had been left behind. Everything except for the belts.

The ZEUS Paul gave Jaime was heavy, but not so heavy you can't use it with your own cybernetics. Jaime made sure to have it on. It was the one last thing of his father... both of them.

Two Guard of Iron soldiers stood outside as the pair exited, and they in turn bowed and stepped back as four members of the Yamato Imperial Samurai Corps and four Knights of Iron entered from the farside of the airlock corridor that ran near the cabin.

The big one – Jotuun, Sloane called him – gave an irritated sounding grunt in the same sonic range as underwater volcanoes, and the senior most knight – a handsomely severe woman in her late 40s – bowed formally.

"Welcome, General, Commissar-Colonel. I am Knight-Captain Hirosi Yamada of the House of Yamato. Please, follow me. The situation is… unsettled at the moment."

Jaime and Sloane shared brief glances.

Both noticed all of the knights had both power weapons and asari plasma pistols, and their intent and watchfulness focused outward, completely ignoring the two of them.

All of the Yamato knights also had on honor sashes, which meant they planned to die fighting to protect their assigned charges. This, while removing a suspicion Jaime and Sloane were here to be quietly disposed of, was only more worrisome

The knights wore full combat armor on ostensibly what must be the safest fucking ship in the SA and they acted like they're preparing for an attack.

Sloane shallowly bowed. "Thank you, knight captain. But I am confused, as I am certainly not a Commissar-Colonel."

Yamada smiled almost sadly. "Commandant Forsythe and Commissar-Colonels Danishar, Jameson, and Kansas are all dead, Commissar. You are the last remaining Hand of Rourke officer alive except Baroness Commissar Alina Dachmann."

Sloane paled but squared her jaw. "Well, lead on then."

Jaime heard this and remembered a certain fear the Administrator expressed, that DELTA would attack the Department of Abnormalities. How much of it came true?

The ship docked, shockingly, at a remote extended pier at the Omega Response military base itself. Jaime always saw that docking gantry, but he never ever saw it get used.

Just from looking at the base he could tell it was in Lockdown Code RED. The remaining battlesuits were mounted on the walls and the 'regular' Omega Battlegroup was arrayed in siege defense formation around the base itself.

Snipers and assassins were posted at combat positions and all windows were covered with steel shutters. A literal swarm of gunships and fighters circling the base overhead.

"...Oh this looks bad." Sloane's voice was dull, in shock perhaps.

"Putos eufemismos." Jaime replied.

The docking gangway locked in place, and ten of the bio-enforcer corps secured it, snipers and one battlesuit in the background.

The leader – a lieutenant, Pyzle, one of the Force Recon types – shouted out a demand for identification passkey, and a single knight dropped his weapons and walked forward with a laser key.

They scanned it, then weapons lifted skyward and away.

Yamada jerked her head. "Colonel Braapsa, have alpha and beta teams report to the base command for assignment. Inform Lord Maxwell we have arrived without incident so far."

She turned to the two and gave another bow. "So sorry. Please follow me. All will be explained."

A tense atmosphere clung over the grounds. The knights walked with hands on their blades, and the ten bio-enforcers trailed them. More guarded the central command tower. Crime scene tape and an appalling spatter of blood and viscera were present by the front entry door.

Sloane narrowed her eyes.

They passed through the hatch, and the first floor could only be described as a disaster.

Desks had been flung aside or broken in half, blood splashed liberally almost everywhere, along with signs of combat: impactor holes, charred carpet, the distinctive imprint of a power maul into a wooden panel.

Yamada's voice was soft. "Please, this way. Briefing room two."

The walk to the briefing room was short. The ops pit was empty and shut down. Jaime noticed his own office door askew. A stack of unused body bags littered the floor.

Briefing room two was unmarred, as the knight slid the door open and bowed. Jaime and Sloane stepped inside.

The figure of the Prince of Canada, Jonah Ashland, sat on the far wall's comfortable bench seating. Dressed as always in a thick wool suit of ash gray, his sharp, alert features looked up from a collection of omnipads and slick print images to their entry.

"Ah, good. Thank you, Knight-Captain. Please convey my condolences to the Mahidol Estate regarding the condition of the deceased."

He glanced at the screen on the far wall. "They are here, Maxwell."

The voice of Maxwell Manswell came through firmly and without the usual weakness. "Then brief them. We'll finish this once you've resolved the situation as you see fit, Jonah. Aloxius's ignorance cannot be… well."

The Prince gave an almost disgusted looking grimace, but his voice was neutral. "Of course, my friend. Ashland out."

He killed the commlink, then after a moment, picked up a chunk of metal – part of a door frame you think – and hurled it through the vidscreen, sending a matrix of crazed cracks across it.

"I've only now been briefed on this .staggeringly idiotic exercise. Forgive me if I am... curt. I understand that you, Mr. Herrero, recently lost your last remaining family. Condolences."

Jaime grinned humorlessly. "Forgiven, milord. And thank you." Despite the violence, somehow he suspected he and Sloane would be getting off on a better foot with Ashland.

"Sit." A pause. "Please."

Jaime found a chair to sit down. Sloane did the same, her expression now worried instead of upset.

The older man appeared to make a titanic effort to calm his visible anger, but his voice remained the same polished neutral deadpan as before. "You have been briefed on GOI-545, the 'Reapers', yes? If not, I can do that after I go outside and scream a while."

"Barely. I've seen some pictures, I know the basics of 'super AI cuttlefish' out to kill us, nearly did so in the Benezia Incident. I've been given conflicting pictures about how long we may have known of them." Jaime answered. "Apparently, they're why you decided poking the Ythrongi was a marvelous idea. …If you would please, milord, forgive me for my curtness as well."

"There is no... easy way to say this, so I will be blunt. The Administrator is dead. The XO is dead. The entire Hand of Rourke staff is dead. Six researchers are dead. Three items are missing."

So not the worst-case scenario outlined, but more than bad enough. Jaime sighed. "Right. At this point, I might as well tell you. In a meeting before Hyperion's departure, the Administrator indicated he suspected everything that happened in Jeremiah was one massive distraction by DELTA to attack the Department. He'd made preparations."

"Some information regarding this was supposed to be forwarded to the High Lords. It was routed through Aloxius." Ashland's jaw flexed, his teeth audibly grinding. "The report that reached us was that DELTA was a codename for an STG infiltration group. We have only obtained the actual report in the past twenty four hours."

"...How much did the Minister lie and hide about?" Jaime morbidly inquired.

"What didn't he?" The High Lord gave a very deep exhalation. "The reports we got from Aloxius regarding any data on Rho-19 indicated the Commissariat had a penal colony there 'off the books.' The HERMES report indicated Ciana Vandefar was stealing artifacts to sell to the STG, this DELTA Group, who was attempting to get Omega Response to deploy out of SA space to frame us to look badly in front of the CC and/or expose OR's existence to the STG."

"The conflicting information we then got from Admiral Vandefar – and her knee jerk deployment of Lord Kinnix – made her statements about this being 'dangerous' and needing an immediate cleanup sound like a coverup."

He gestured with disgust at a pad from the Bank of Eldfell. "We now have reports – and no explanation HOW the Silver Legions missed this – showing payments off the books from Aloxius and his picked spear carriers to Ciana dating back almost six years."

Ashland slammed a fist down. "SIX YEARS!"

"I can explain some of that. DELTA." Jaime explained. "We suspect DELTA wiped the Hermes report indicating the presence of the Ythrongi to begin with, after all."

"General, the only thing we know about DELTA from the morass of reports we're trying to piece together is that it's something not native to earth. But… let me finish."

Ashland's jaw flexed again, even as Jaime digested the implications of that repeated rank. "Maxwell issued orders for Aloxius to be taken into custody. The AIS bungled that, it's a mess. What matters is that Aloxius sent an email to a person living in Jerbatten, the civilian town down at the base of the mountain. This person had a Red Note originally given to an agent who did... cleanup work for the Lords."

"This individual had an active fucking black nano system and an illegal eezo whip built into his arm. He drove up and said he needed to meet with the 'command staff, senior researchers, and the Hand of Rourke.' Due to the Red Note, he was let in after confirming the orders with Aloxius – because Max didn't think to kill his comm access!"

He pushed a pad across the table. "The person was indoctrinated. Did they cover what that means?"

Jaime paused to remember. Then it hit him. "Wait. What? Perhaps my recollection is mistaken, but I vaguely remember something about sensors for that kind of thing?"

Sloane shook her head, but not in the way that indicated ignorance.

"After the Benezia Incident we developed sensors to detect the lesions associated with Indoctrination. We budgeted for ten sets for Omega and DepAb, almost EIGHT months ago. Only two made it here, and both had the detection software deactivated and replaced with a testing screen." Ashland tensely outlined.

"As such, he walked in, murdered the Commissar staff with a black nano deployment and used the biomass to create weapons. He killed four researchers, the Force Recon and Scouting XO and CMC, as well as several responding office staff before the base's command master chief sounded the alarm. He cut off the Administrator's hand for some reason, but went up stairs and took three objects: a broken mask, a very rusted knife – and the entire dataset of AI template files for the ECHO MIRAGE project – from the Omega Response commander's office."

Jaime bursts into a string of curses too foul to be repeated. The first two AOs he didn't recognize, but from what little the Administrator, Bumaro, Fairfax had said about the AI, that was more than enough to imagine terrible things happening.

"The figure was attempting to breach what your people called 'the Tunnel' to get to something called AO-001 when he was engaged by the security forces. All eight were killed and the figure – and we have this on video – simply walked into a waverly patch of air and vanished. The video of the face of this figure matches security footage for an AIS agent we deployed during the Benezia Incident who was declared MIA. Oh and the bastard also killed poor young Lord Mahidol, the last male of that subfamily."

He paused, as his commlink lit up, obviously listening to an internal earpiece. "...Good. Cut off the head and core out his greybox. Then scan for indoc and do a core marrow, nerve, skin, and organ sample for Marsgene. Then burn the body. Oh, and captain… have mechs do this, and melt them down once it's done. Use penals to convey the samples under Biohaz-8 to Ahaltocob."

Ashland straightened his tie. "One less problem. You assuredly have questions."

"Many." Jaime breathed out. "Let's start with why in the worst of all hells Aloxius would do all this?"

"We are not sure why Aloxius did it. He has been neutralized. I will have the brain checked for indoctrination and the greybox he has scann..." The Prince trailed off as the commlink lit again.

"Yes?" A long pause. "...What? What kind of… very well. Did you take the samples?"

Another pause. "Oh, good. Get those conveyed as soon as possible… and have someone contact the Asari Consulate. Tell them we may need the services of a Godtalker to interrogate a dead body, and to not pretend they can't do it."

He clicked off. "Bastard had a self-wipe killswitch on his greybox. No matter. We'll assume for the moment he was compromised, either by indoctrination or… someone or something else. This DELTA. We are assuming, then, that whoever DELTA is would be the source of this disaster?"

"Yes." Jaime nodded. "We think DELTA was behind all of this from the beginning."

Ashland leaned forward. "And his or her identity? How soon can we arrest them?"

Sloane actually gave a small chuckle at that. "I think, Milord, the situation is more dire than that. DELTA is assuredly not... human."

"Let me put it this way." Jaime elaborated. "DELTA has been operating through proxies and at a distance all this time. We have no means of localizing DELTA. Even if we did, I am quite certain we have no way of killing DELTA, unless DELTA was supremely foolish enough to stay within the radius of an AO-592 charge for the requisite amount of time.

The lord leaned back. "According to the remaining science members, the lunatic destroyed several OSDpaks filled with useful research data and historical information. It took two seemingly 'deactivated' objects and a data file of an event that NO ONE will actually explain to me what entailed. Now we have this DELTA thing and no clear descriptor. So, bluntly, what is it?"

"...You know, I think this all being a setup to quietly have us killed off would have really been a better outcome." Sloane commented.

Surprisingly the High Lord laughed at that, albeit quietly.

Jaime locked his gaze with Ashland's. "Very well. DELTA, suspected real name Kidun, is a survivor of the 'Ascended', an unbelievably ancient and advanced precursor species. Said species fought and won a war with the Ythrongi, turning their homeworld – Rho-19 – into a twisted prison-lab."

"That was the semi-conclusion I had come to from the fragmented notes recovered, which is not the answer I really wanted to hear, mind you." Ashland admitted. "Our… brief on the Ythrongi was done at 9 AM yesterday and it was exceedingly brief but I was under the belief that this race was over a hundred million years old – or older – and that the theory was they were destroyed by other races who 'teamed up' on them."

Jaime smiled without humor. "Yes to the first, and no, the Ascended did all that themselves."

"Well, that's just vulkin' great. Any other bombs to detonate? Did they make humans, or the asari, or the Reapers or some other turian-level melodramatic shit?"

He glanced between the two of them.

"...You want to tell him?" Sloane suggested.

Jaime decided he might as well. "The Spear has footage of another of the Ascended. They look like huger, non-metallic versions of the Reapers."

Jonah pressed himself all the way back in his seat and tapped his omni. "Jackson. Is my steward there? Good. Have him bring two… no, make that three bottles of the fifty year single malt from the ship here immediately."

He returned his attention to Sloane. "I believe Commissars are requisition and command limited by way of conditioning as to drinking?"

Sloane delivered an almost reckless and impish smile. "Jaime is good enough to enable my alcoholism, milord."

The older man gave another snort of humor. "Quite. Consider it dismissed and allowed until I instruct you otherwise, because Jesus, Mary, and Joseph I did not want to hear that."

His commlink pinged a third time. Jonah listened, this time frowning hard. "Tell him I'm fucking busy unfucking his disaster area and if he can't bother to be civil to people who nearly died unfucking it that he can take it up with Max. Out."

"There are times I begin to question Victor's wisdom." Ashland said in a softer voice to them.

A moment later, the door chimed. Knights flanked it as a tired looking man in formal wear, panting, brought in three bottles of deep reddish scotch in expensive looking bottles.

"Thank you, Jonathon. That will be all."

The servant hesitated. "Glasses or decanters, your Grace?"

Ashland waved him away, and the door shut on his protest.

"With this, the bottle will do." He pauses. "Alright. Has Max already briefed or debriefed you and your group?"

"...Well, he insulted us and claimed we were ignorant of 'reality' and ignored the fact that we stopped the galaxy from blowing up." Sloane took a bottle, twisting the wire-seal off with her cybernetic hand.

"And made various assertions: for instance, that the Administrator didn't brief the High Lords on the Ythrongi, that they've been hiding detection of the Reapers for some time, oh, and laughed about getting away scot-free from the Celestial Council." Jaime grabbed one for himself.

Jonah pursed his lips. "To be fair, the High Lords as a whole have never been briefed directly. We were instructed that DepAb was handled by Maxwell and Aloxius. And our Ythrongi briefing before yesterday was that they were a dead race with dangerous technology. As for the Reaper issue, my understanding is that the Administrator was not sure what the detection was until the Benezia Incident was well underway."

Jaime sighed and yanked the cap off his with the benefit of omega-grade cybernetic musculature. "This is probably fatal to ask, but are you going to tell me he knew nothing about what Aloxius was up to?"

Ashland tilted his head. "Why would a serious question be fatal, Mr. Herrero?"

Having already taken three swigs, Sloane's voice was a little slurred. "He did basically threaten to either have us killed, or hand over everything to the CC."

Jonah rolled his eyes and placed his face in both hands. Jaime's upgraded hearing could hear him mutter, "Our own blind arrogance is going to get us murdered by that lunatic de la Muerte if Ahern doesn't beat him to it."

After a long second, he shook his head. "The most amazing thing about my servants, knights, and bannermen is they serve me with almost unthinking loyalty. More than one has died from such. Men on fire from blazing HE3 refinery damage, holding open a red hot door so one of my brothers could escape. Knights bleeding to death on a distant world in war, allowing my mother to escape captivity. It is somehow too much to ask to treat such service with decency?!"

"...No matter, I suppose." Ashland sat up straighter. "Here are your standing orders. First, fuck Max and whatever he told you. I have been assigned to 'oversee' the Department and that is what I plan to do, if only to ensure to myself that we don't all get mind wiped next week if Eldfell can't keep a civil tongue in his head or his dick in his pants. You answer to me, directly. Any orders from other sources may be disregarded. Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear, your Grace." Yes, this sounded to Jaime like a promising new arrangement.

"Second I am aware of the Charter with the oversight being done by the Task Committee, the military aspects by the field commander, and the department's direction by the Administrator, with the only internal oversight being the Hand of Rourke. There are six more HoR Commissars, all junior to Ms. Sloane here. I will instead simplify things. The division of the project heads certainly didn't stop a decapitation strike. And no direct High Lord insight into operations here has made most of them basically think you are just a pile of jackdaws sitting on a bunch of Inusannon guns."

"Routing this entire mess through Aloxius, as the AIS did data gathering and assessments for you, strikes me as… recklessly and staggeringly inefficient. An AIS agent is an internal counter-spy, not trained to deal with… with ..."

He shuddered as he pointed to the tablet that looked like the incomplete list of Incoherent/incompatible items in the Vault. "Fuck all of that."

"That, yes." Jaime agreed.

"Ergo. Immediately, Commissar Sloane, you are in effective charge of the Hand of Rourke. If de la Muerte has any sense in his fool head, he will authorize escalation to Commandant shortly. And you, Mr. Herrero, are field breveted to General, by the will of the Lords of Sol. And that..."

"Pardon Milord, but I suppose at this point, I should inform you." Jaime interrupted, "In that same meeting I mentioned, the Administrator designated me his successor should the worst happen. For security reasons, he elected to not inform, well, anyone besides Sloane."

Ashland paused. "Please don't take this the wrong way but that sounds almost suspiciously… convenient. I am not doubting you. Only… events."

"None of this has been convenient for me in the slightest, milord." Jaime riposted. "Mind clarifying what you mean?"

"I have been reading case files on these objects for four hours. Is it possible your Administrator knew something would happen and felt he had no way to secure against such?"

Ashland frowned. "Oh, and also, according to his secretary, the Administrator wore a device on a neck chain. It is missing. A circular pendant with inward pointing arrows. Did he also mention this?"

Jaime sighed. "Yes, and yes." He made clear through his expression he did not intend on elaborating about AO-001 or the necklace.

Ashland let it go and continued on. "In an answer to your question – the two of you need to reorganize and refit the entire operation. Aloxius also seems to have data dumped some things to various intel agencies. This location has been breached and is no longer secure. I am told by the security team for that tunnel that it can literally be moved... without explaining how this works."

"We will clear out all OR from this base and turn it over to the Omega battlegroup. I have authorized funds and construction on a new facility in the Atlas Mountains, south of here near Morocco's Legacy. It is remote and surrounded by light beta to delta bands of radiation pollution and far from any civilian presence. We'll attempt to replace your losses in the, um, event as well."

"I will act in a new position, Oversight. My only job is to ensure your group has the Red Notes, resources and cash to succeed while keeping ALL the High Lords personally briefed on ALL operations. will not attempt to interfere or direct any of your activities and will suggest building a dedicated scouting and location intel service for your personal use in this new org."

"...That seems...my pardon my lord, but Maxwell Manswell threatened the opposite." Sloane observed dubiously.

The Prince leaned back. "Is he here?"

Well, that was emphatic.

"Do not mistake me. I am as interested in finding some kind of answer to this Reaper threat as Max or Admiral Vandefar. The difference is we were not actually given a briefing or summary of the actual objects contained. Our data points were the Spear of Longinus and the battlesuit of Captain Logar, handed down to your father and uncle."

"In that, I believe Max. I was told the Department handled things like...sweaters that never let you get cold, or weird 'things' that would raise awkward questions - not, and I quote, an 'energy vampire with both mental control abilities and the capability to turn intangible.' Why in the name of Jesus you haven't hurled all of this into a black hole eludes me, but I am sure there is a reason."

"I can assure you in total confidence there are reasons, Prince." Again, Jaime did not want to go into those reasons, particularly when he wasn't sure how many were good reasons. "But bluntly, the vast majority of what we keep locked away is just that. Too dangerous for the slightest risk of being let loose."

"I don't give a damn if it's sapient cotton candy or an asari stripper. The ideal solution is to catalog and review all the items. Ones your team feels are safe we can look at, down the line. Ones that are not get locked away and I hope you melt the fucking keys. And if we can't agree, it gets locked up. For some reason, the Department never wanted to actually give us any idea what is down here. I am also curious as to more information about these missing items, but I suppose that can wait. I want this base ready for shutdown within three weeks, is that unrealistic? You will be issued an additional budget and mechs."

"I'll need to check with our senior scientist, Dr. Nateesa, but in theory, it should work. If not, I'll inform you right away." Jaime answered.

"One of the science team is still alive? Ah, probably deployed with your group." Ashland actually smiled, although it looked unpracticed. "That is very good news."

Jaime decided as a goodwill gesture to give him more. Loki however, would remain a secret, at least for now. "There is one other piece of good news, such as it is. We brought back Ascended power crystal technology from Rho-19. Only two physical samples, but..."

Jonah Ashland frowned. "As a sideline to my business, I consider myself competent in energy production and storage techniques. Exactly what is this crystal technology, and what does it offer?"

"To be honest, Grace... I mean, Dr. Nateesa, can tell you more." Sloane replied.

"Yes, Dr. Nateesa will explain the fine points of it. But basically, from information found on Rho-19? Planet-busting levels of energy. Capable of adapting to or being used with any system."

The noble arched both eyebrows.

"Very well. I am sure you are both very fatigued and this place is still a crime zone. For the moment, I have you under very tight guard."

He paused. "I dislike being... indelicate, but do I need to split up the bodyguard unit to cover two sleeping areas or..."

He trailed off delicately and Jaime was somewhat surprised to see that Sloane could blush.

She coughed. "No, milord. Forgive the cut of this uniform. I assure you I am an Executor not a Seducer-class."

Jonah's face took on a very subtly amused cast. "I will instruct the tailor aboard the Martyr of his gaffe, perhaps he was merely taken by your striking appearance. No matter."

He gathered the datapads into a neat stack. "I will be sleeping aboard the Martyr for several days until this is more resolved. I have authorized a highspeed set of transports to get your forces from Titan Refit and bring them here, they will arrive in the morning. I am exceedingly fatigued. We'll discuss further when your subordinates arrive."

He stood.

The two both bowed as Ashland exited – pointedly, he took only one of the three bottles of Scotch – and the door shut behind him.

Sloane took off her hat and slumped, her pale hair covering her face. "...So I survived. Whee."

The last was an utterly dispirited sound. "I wonder how long it will take de la Muerte to decide I'm unfit for a command role."

"I wonder how long before I screw something up and the galaxy actually ends." Jaime countered. "'General.' This was the first time I commanded something larger than a squad. I'm sure Grace will be utterly thrilled though."

The commissar shrugged. "But you did well. Initial planning indicated 80% or greater losses."

Her voice lowered. "And I was sure Paul would leave me to command the rear guard and hold the line."

"If I hadn't taken a calculated gamble on the Ysani, Loki, or the alarm, it would have been at least that bad." Jaime opined dourly. "And I like to think Paul felt you deserved better than that."

She capped the bottle she drank from. "He had family. Friends. History."

"I was the only family left, I'm not sure how many of his friends are still alive, and his history..." Jaime looked down. "Well, clearly there were many things he'd rather forget."

"...One is better than zero, Jaime." Sloane pointed out.

"And now I have zero." Jaime told her.

She stood, and grimaced. "I... am unsure how to proceed. Only that I seemingly must. If there is nothing else, I need to go back to my quarters on base here and switch into a decent uniform, before someone thinks I am cosplaying a prostitute."

"Go ahead. I'm going to see if they'll let me into the Administrator's office. He left some notes for me."

She nodded, and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. Jaime realized she left the dress hat on the table. The interior label read: "Standard Fit, Size M/ML, female, Seducer Pattern, BULOGS ID 4943923."

It struck Jaime - not for the first time - that Sloane was literally built like a Fornax porn star. But as long as he could remember she had always been cold, distant, slightly hurt and – at the very start – confused a lot.

Another oddity in a sea of abnormalities.

Jaime raised the bottle of Scotch, an Arcturian 50-year aged single malt that ran something like his fucking yearly salary. "Salud."

He took a deep drink from it, then rose to go visit that office.

The walk was short, given the Administrator's 'formal' offices outside the Tunnel were on the top floor. This floor at least was free of the detritus of battle.

The secretary – a seemingly ageless woman he remembered vaguely by the name of Meryl or something – was not there. The door to the Admin's office was unlocked.

Inside, the area was spacious. Adrien, if that was his real name, apparently collected clocks. They packed an entire shelf of – some of them seemingly built by him to measure esoteric cycles, others old, possibly even pre-Iron.

As he rounded the large desk Jaime saw a pair of Carnifex pistols in slide holsters below the desk at knee high, invisible from the front.

The rest of the office comprised an info and databank system (currently off), two shelves of paper and padd publications (neatly racked), a recliner with massage functions and a large spherical model of Mars.

On the desk sat the picture of a Martian lady – indicated by the slightly plainish features and exaggerated body style – holding a person who looked like the Administrator but younger and not albino.

There was also a single paper envelope and a short bladed, very sharp knife.

Turning it over, the envelope read: "Hello, Jaime."

Jaime started with the envelope. The paper within was old fashioned, actual papyrus, he figured. Some kind of plastic protectant had been layered over it, but even that had yellowed with age. A small red gem was also inside.

The paper's text was composed in some very stilted English:

"If thou art readinge this, y'r appoint'd leader hath fallen. Such is the will of the L-R-D. Notte for us to gainsay, nay, yet to endure. To live in the Accurs'd, Darke, thus that our belov'd and y'r belov'd and all of the L-R-D's creatures may prosper. In that lighte, all of our skills in artifacturre have been turned to the Cryptum. it shalle be a testiment to our lives and deathes, our failures and our success. Prick thy finger with a sharpe blade, and let thy tincture of life trickle into the depress'n in the centre of the silver amulet. Then pushe in the redde stone in the middle, and hold it tighte for a spanne of an hour. When it is ready, it will glow warmly...and you may dispense with all dire warnings and place it round yon neck."

"Laird Henry Fielding, esq, Order of the the Foundation of Salvation under the L-R-D, this daye of Jesus Christo, 1755."

"Well, we're leaving that for later." Jaime murmured, before investigating the desk.

What seemed to be a sectioned off bug-out bag filled three drawers: containing just under ten million credits in securities and volus bearer bonds, two different deeds and VI interlocks for a pair of racing pinnaces docked in London, a very illegal set of combat booster drugs, and a neatly folded AO known as the Masque of Deceit, a cloth face mask that made your features indistinct and had been reported missing a century ago.

There also were at least six sets of fake IDs for him and a Martian female named Relenda Cross who lived in Lowell City, who looked like an older version of the woman in the picture atop the desk.

Jaime didn't know if he should be more amused at the concept of Adrien having a girlfriend, or that the Administrator had been planning to cut and run very soon.

One large drawer at the bottom contained, for no goddamned reason you could ascertain, a LIVE M/AM detcharge with '10kg' stenciled on it and, of all the fucking things, a bag of glitter.

The middle drawer had a neatly stacked set of receipts and reports about mental counseling the Administrator had been receiving. Those stopped almost two years back, the final ones stating he needed to consider checking himself into a mental ward as he was having waking hallucinations.

The final drawer is locked, but you learned all kinds of weird things in OR and it took Jaime all of ten seconds to pick it.

The drawer contained what looks like a very battered and abused DRD – a data record device, used to record lots of audio messages – from the time before omni-tools, back in the FCW or even before.

Given his stated age, the Administrator was not old enough to own this before the war, he'd been born after this tech was old news.

A news clipping padd rested underneath it. Dozens of articles, some modern, others going all the way back to print media long before the Days of Iron.

Many were circled. Dates, maps. And, Jaime realized with a shock… every single article was about someone named Herrero, going back to 1886.

Notes jotted on the side in omnipen read:

"Repeated selection – tool or dupe?"

"Entire family killed in riots, then twenty more appear."

"Biot constructs theory is out, gene sequence shows pure human. Check with the Pyramid."

The last one was a clip of the simple obituary for his father. The note to the side remarked:

"Three times is the pattern. They snoop, something kills them but ensures the line continues. Almost 100% sure they are ARGENT's personal servants, no way to convince TC or MM. Will leave info for AM to run with his people, see what happens. Worst case, more dead Herreros. More will show up if that happens."

Beneath the padd there was only one more thing.

An absolutely ancient paper photograph – something Jaime only read about in books – encased in plastic.

The man in the picture was him – or at least someone who looked almost exactly like Jaime. Some scars differed. The hair coarser, the skin rougher. The eyes were almost the same.

It bore the legend: "Enrico Herrero, Pinkerston Lead, 1903."

On the back lay a scrawl of what Jaime finally realized to be 'manual' – not with an omnipen – handwriting.

"Deja de buscar problemas. Hoy he vuelto a ver al Hombre del Traje, toda la ciudad estaba... congelada. Nadie se movía, nadie veía, había un pájaro colgado en el aire sin moverse ni un centímetro. El hombre dijo 'Puedes aprender la verdad o vivir con las mentiras, tú eliges.' Estoy temblando. Deja de buscar problemas."

"I am now unsure if you aren't just a clone of Ricardo, it's like talking to a ghost."

Jaime sat down, mouth twitching wordlessly.

Thankfully nothing answered him. Only the glint of the small red gem on the desk in the slowly failing sunlight from the window.

---

THE CREDITS

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WAVE TWO

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Commander Malcolm Holden played by Keyes, Absolute Guac Heretic

Lieutenant Commander Eric Wilson played by OnyxStark, Ship's Navigator

Lieutenant Srinja Avasarala played by Aberron, The LAID-Father

Ansgar Falkner played by DaSkyburner, The Cursed Tree

Olon Iridian played by Mooloo, The Official Secondary Copy Editor and Co-Creator of the Battle Chicken RPG System

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WAVE THREE

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Lt. Colonel Jaime Herrero played by EnigmaticOne, The Official PV RPG Manager and Co-Creator of the Battle Chicken RPG System

Dr. Grace Nateesa played by Nolanstar, The Official PV Bartender

Lt. Arizona Deus played by NPC, The Guy Who Makes Everything More Eeeevil

Lt. Jayceon Stryckland played by TempestasAurum, God-Emperor Nerd

Corporal Lawrence Gregory played by SodiumEnriched, PV Discord Commissar

Abraham played by Cthulhew, Serial Killer Cosplayer

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WARNING: ANOMALOUS DATA-STREAM DETECTED. UPLOADING…

(To be continued)