Chapter 9
Face to Face
Pain. That was all Severus was able to feel when consciousness returned to him. His entire body felt like one giant open sore. Still, feeling pain meant that he was alive, which he honestly had not expected to be.
With all the speed of a mountain growing, Severus forced his eyes open. At first, his sight was so blurry that all he could make out were some obscure shapes. He blinked several times, willing himself to become lucid, and gradually, the incomprehensible images began to become more perceptible.
Bright light suddenly glared down at him, blotting out his still weak vision. Severus blinked several more times until his eyes adjusted, bringing his surroundings into focus. He saw that he was in a room, slightly larger than an officer's quarters. Metal walls of dull gray appeared on three sides with a door on the last. Gingerly, he tried to raise himself up to get a better look, but something held him down. As he looked down at his sides, he saw that his arms had been strapped down to a metallic slab, as had his legs.
A thrill of dread rushed through Severus as he realized his situation. He was a prisoner, and if his position was anything to judge by, he was scheduled to be interrogated. His mind went into overdrive as it began to think up what possible tortures the aliens might have in store for him. The Petty Officer strained at his bonds with all the strength he could muster, to no avail; they held him fast and hardly even budged. He was not going anywhere.
Then, the door in front of him whirred open, and through it came a pair of bipedal aliens. Having exhausted his meager reserves of energy, Severus focused on the new company he found himself in. They were proportioned in a similar manner to the Asari and each wore a suit of heavy armor that covered their bodies almost entirely, less streamlined than Turian models, but still looking to be designed with peak efficiency in mind. The helmets that hid their faces stared at him, cold and unforgiving, and in their five-fingered hands they held nasty-looking guns, handling them with professional ease. Severus did not doubt that they were prepared to shoot him dead at the first sign of trouble.
The door once more opened up and another alien stepped through. If the first two slightly resembled Asari, this one could have been an actual subspecies. The only difference was the pinkish skin tone and what looked to be a patch of fur instead of an Asari's scalp tendrils. Though he had little to base it on, Severus guessed that this one was a male, as were the other two. Idly, he noted that none of them looked anything like the monster he had tangled with. That being said, he noticed that the armored aliens subtly edged away from the new arrival, clearly uneasy about being around this newcomer.
As it moved to stand next to him, it peered down at the restrained Turian in a way that made Severus distinctly nervous. Assuming that the alien's facial expressions were similar to Asari, Severus inferred that it was looking at him with a combination of curiosity and a strange eagerness. Something was about to happen, and Severus knew that he was not going to like it.
Then, as if acting on the Petty Officer's thoughts, the alien locked eyes with Severus and suddenly, the Turian felt as though his whole head had been abruptly submerged in a bucket of ice water, causing chills to race up and down his spine as his heart rate sped up and he began to hyperventilate.
"What the hell are you doing to me?!" Severus cried as the very unpleasant feeling intensified.
The alien gave no response and continued to stare at him with intense concentration. A second later, a new sensation emerged; this time, it felt like a tendril made of pure cold flecked with shards of broken glass was slithering into his brain. With a thrill of horror, the Petty Officer realized what was happening: the alien was entering his very mind!
Even as he thought this, the tendril promptly burrowed down deep into his psyche. Severus had once melded with an Asari during a one-night stand; the experience had been gentle and pleasurable, culminating in one of the best nights of his life. This process was the exact opposite of that time. Instead of a light caressing, the tendril brutally violated his mind, not caring whether or not it caused distress. The pain was beyond obscene, and Severus could not hold back a scream. The alien ignored him and continued its invasion of the Turian's consciousness.
For the next half-hour, the alien had its mental tendril probe away at his mind, dredging up even the oldest and most repressed recollections, brushing aside what resistance Severus could muster. His entire life was laid bare to the alien; it sifted through memories of his life, lingering for a moment on his boot camp and service years. It then moved on to his very identity; the probe first went through the traits of his race, what they were called, what their culture entailed and numerous other pieces of identification. Then it moved on to Severus's own personality, his desires, his fears, everything that made Severus himself was pulled up and carefully studied. No secret was safe and no memory could remain hidden from the alien's search. Throughout the entire ordeal, the alien never moved, simply staring unblinkingly at the captive Turian.
Finally, apparently satisfied with what had been gleaned, the tendril was retracted from Severus's mind and he sagged down onto the slab, gasping for breath. His brain felt like it had been put in a blender and cranked up to full speed. His motor functions were all screwed up, his thoughts were jumbled together and his vision swam; everything was out of order. He slurred out some incomprehensible words, sounding as though he had just spent an entire night of shore leave downing shots of hard liquor. At last, his brain decided that this was all too much and proceeded to shut down.
Not again.
#
Warrant Officer Mason Grant watched as the alien slipped back into unconsciousness. It was an understandable reaction to a Probe; the mind was a delicate thing and it took very little to shake it up. The fact that it was an alien mind only made things more challenging, and there had been a few hiccups.
With the first alien, Grant and his cohorts decided to combine their powers to achieve a stronger Probe in case its mind proved to be more than one human could handle. As it turned out, they overestimated the alien's mental capabilities and the sudden invasion of its mind caused it to go into shock and die. It was quickly decided that only one para-psychic would be necessary. The second fared little better, having been rendered brain-dead after only a few minutes of examination.
But, Grant reflected, as they say, third time's the charm. With this one, he had acquired a veritable jackpot of information about this alien species. Now to give Admiral Slade the report on what he had found.
As he exited the room, the two guards made no effort to hide the fact that they were trying to stay as far away from him as possible. Grant had long since become used to such reactions. Those who were gifted with the power to manipulate a person's mind were among the most feared individuals in the Federation. The mind was considered a person's most sacred bastion of privacy and the idea that someone else could invade and mess around with it was quite horrifying.
Those who possessed Probe and Mindworm abilities were particularly reviled, and not without reason. For the strongest ones of the former power, the entirety of a person's mind was laid bare and their every thought, desire and dirty little secret was up on display like a museum exhibit. Being subjected to a Probe was considered a violation on par with rape; some considered it to be even worse.
As bad as the Probe's reputation was, it was nothing compared to the Mindworm. They were, hands down, among the most dangerous of all para-psychics. Whoever possessed that power was not only able to get inside someone's mind, but also reprogram it. Memories could be altered or erased completely, personal desires could be reshaped and the most deep-rooted beliefs could be overturned. People with this power were inevitably rendered as pariahs in society.
Of course, there was still the need for those with such talents, as Grant had just proven. A few of the Tagers that had brought in the aliens had offered to "soften them up," but the Admiral turned them down. Why waste time torturing someone when you could simply pry open their mind and find out what you wanted to know?
After a short walk, Grant entered the elevator which went directly to the Admiral's quarters and pressed in his destination. The elevator thrummed as it ascended upwards and a few seconds later, the doors opened and Grant stepped out into Slade's quarters.
The Admiral was already waiting for him, his gray eyes boring into Grant. The para-psychic saluted respectfully, to which Slade gave a slight nod in response. Grant then folded his arms behind his back and stood at attention, waiting for the Admiral to begin his inquiries.
"I assume you've had success with the aliens?" Slade's voice was calm and cool, yet still managed to be intimidating.
Grant nodded. "Yes sir. It only took my colleagues and I three tries before we got what we wanted. The first specimen's mind was entered by the combined efforts of myself and Corporals Steven Warren and Marcus Harding in anticipation of its mental forte potentially being greater than any one of ours. We overestimated its strength of will and accidentally killed it before any information could be gleaned." He paused for a moment before the Admiral gestured for him to continue.
"The second specimen was examined by me alone as it was judged that one Probe would be sufficient to break into the alien's mind. Unfortunately, I caused a hemorrhage in its brain, resulting in a persistent vegetative state. Again, there was not enough time to glean anything from its mind.
"On the third specimen, I successfully entered its mind and was able to delve into its psyche without any serious effects. As a result, the alien yielded a great deal of information."
Slade cocked an eyebrow. "And I assume what you got was useful?"
Grant allowed a small, smug grin to cross his face. "Oh yes. In fact, I was amazed at what I saw. The alien was…well, nothing like what I expected."
A look of mild surprise flitted across Slade's otherwise imperceptible face. "How so?"
"Well, to be honest, I was expecting its mind to be along the lines of the Migou: creatures so far removed from us that we couldn't hope to comprehend their thoughts. As it turned out, their thought process is almost parallel to ours; they experience emotions like we do, have personal interests and desires and have a similar concept of identity like we do. Still quite different, you can be sure, but similar enough that understanding was not too hard."
Clearing his throat, the para-psychic began to divulge his findings. "They call themselves 'Turians,' a race of bipedal, mostly-carnivorous avian-like creatures, though I didn't really examine their biology very closely. They appear to have a very militaristic society; from what I could see, there is a compulsory enlistment for all of them once they reach fifteen years of age and often serve until thirty. The one I examined was well into his forties and still serving."
Upon hearing that, Slade's forehead creased into a frown. "A military-oriented alien race," he murmured. He supposed that he shouldn't be surprised; when someone attacks without warning or provocation, odds are they weren't big on peaceful coexistence. If anything, they seemed to have a real hard-on for war.
"What else did you learn?" Slade pressed, by which he meant had Grant learned anything that might give them an edge over their new adversary. The para-psychic took the hint.
"Well, aside from some personal information about the alien, not much else. I don't think he was a very high-ranking individual in his military, so I'm afraid he did not have anything that would be considered to be major military secrets."
Disappointment made its way onto Slade's face, but like a seasoned campaigner, he pushed it aside. They still had some other options available to them. "Thank you for your report, Warrant Officer. You are dismissed." Grant nodded and gave a salute before turning on his heels and leaving the room.
As soon as he left, the Admiral pressed a button on a comm device on his desk. "Goldstein, what's the status on the translation of the aliens' language?"
"Just about done, Admiral," came the nasally reply of the tech officer.
"Good. The moment it's finished, send me a download on some LRUs."
Language Recognition Units, often simply called LRUs, were one of the many implements that came out from the late twentieth century. They could hold up to five languages and translate it right into the user's ear. Of course, they only translated incoming words, so in the event that two people who spoke different languages wanted to hold a conversation, they each needed their own set.
Slade pressed another button. "Officer Tenavy, prepare a security detail; I'm going to have a face-to-face with the alien leader."
"Yes sir," answered the Nazzadi woman. "Anything else?"
"Yes, tell Carnage that I want him and Snitch with me while I'm talking to the alien. Be sure they get their own LRUs."
#
When he had first been brought aboard the alien ship, Jorus's mind had practically churned with ideas of what might be in store for him, and none of them were good. When they had stuck him in a room and left him to stew in his own thoughts, the anticipation only worsened his already morbid imagination.
Then, there came the sound of his prison's door opening, and Jorus stood bolt upright as two aliens strutted in. One was armored and carried a baton which crackled with electricity, along with a sidearm holstered at its waist. The other was unarmed and wore only a uniform with an insignia on its shoulder and some other decorations on its chest. This one made a "come with me" gesture at Jorus and the armored alien hefted its weapon, not enough to be considered threatening, but enough to convey that it was ready to be used at a moment's notice. Not wanting to have that happen, Jorus promptly took up the pace behind the uniformed alien.
After a few seconds of walking, he was led to another room. Inside, more aliens awaited; one, another uniformed specimen, was seated at a steel table. This one's livery was somewhat more elaborate, most likely denoting a high-ranking individual. Standing a few steps behind him on either side were two more aliens, dressed in simple but utilitarian clothing.
Jorus was directed into a chair opposite of the uniformed alien. As he sat down, the alien made a dismissing gesture at the ones who brought him in. They saluted and exited, leaving the captain alone with his new hosts. Jorus was now able to observe them more closely; all three seemed to be of the male gender, and the alien sitting opposite of him appeared to be of slightly advanced age, but his visage was hard and strong.
As for the other two, the captain was not sure what to make of them. Their stances were nonchalant, but when they gazed at him, Jorus felt as though he was being sized up, though not as if he was a potential threat. No, it was clear enough that neither of them viewed Jorus as a danger in any sense. Their scrutiny was more along the lines of pack hunters studying a prospective prey item. Unlike the one before him, there were no insignias or any visible markings on these two, and Jorus suddenly had a sinking feeling come over him. In his experience, only civilians and black ops people wore clothing with no denoting emblems.
If those two are civilians, I'll kiss a Vorcha, Jorus thought.
The uniformed alien then gestured at the alien on his left, who handed over what looked to be a headset to the Turian. The intent was clear and Jorus immediately put it on; the earphones were clearly not designed for his kind, but it fit well enough. Once he had gotten it situated, the uniformed alien pressed a finger to an ear and spoke.
"Can you understand me?"
The translation into Turian was tinny and robotic, but it was crystal clear. "I can," Jorus answered. "Are you able to understand me?"
The alien simply nodded. "Shall we proceed with the introductions?" He stared pointedly at Jorus, who took the hint.
"Jorus Irion, captain of the Resolute Spirit of the Turian Hierarchy's Navy." Jorus felt a tinge of pride at how steady his voice was.
"Silas Slade, Admiral of the New Earth Federation Astral Navy," the alien responded. "The two behind me will be referred to by their callsigns." He looked over at the other two aliens and pointed as he named them. "Snitch and Carnage."
An involuntary shiver passed over Jorus. Those two were definitely black ops, and by the sound of it, they were the kind that got sent in when someone had to be eliminated.
"I believe we've already met," said the one called Carnage.
Jorus cocked his head in confusion. "We have?"
The alien let a feral grin cross his face. "Oh yes. Of course, I looked a little…different then." He then backed up a few steps. "Here, let's see if I can't jog your memory."
What happened next would come to be counted amongst Jorus's most unpleasant memories. Right before his shocked eyes, slabs of dark red flesh materialized out of thin air, flowing like melted wax as they wrapped themselves around the alien. Within moments, the alien was gone; in his place stood the towering, winged demon that had forced his surrender back on the ship, every bit as terrifying as before.
The monstrous thing gave the Turian a crooked grin. "Do I look familiar now?" Its voice sounded like a cross between stones grinding together and someone drowning.
Wide-eyed and shocked almost beyond rational thought, Jorus could only utter a small squeak in response.
"I think he's had enough," Slade said. "I still need him to answer my questions."
Carnage shifted back to his normal form and stood behind Slade, favoring Jorus with a predatory gaze. The Turian's eyes remained locked onto Carnage. "W-what in the name of…?" Jorus stammered, clutching the edge of the table in a vice-like grip.
"What he and Snitch are is irrelevant," Slade informed him, cutting off the stream of words. "Suffice to say, they are not wholly mortal."
That last part broke through Jorus's panicked mind. "Mortal? What does that mean?"
"As I said," repeated Slade, "it is irrelevant what they are." He then narrowed his eyes at Jorus. "And I am not about to give out state secrets to the enemy."
It was at that point that the Turian captain remembered that, thanks to the late Admiral Gallus, the Patrol Fleet had committed a blatant act of aggression against these aliens. They had no idea that this entire incident was the result of one Turian's overzealous attempt to enforce Council law; instead, they saw it as an act of war and were going to respond in kind. The meeting was abruptly cast into a whole new light; they knew that he was a ranking officer amongst his military, so it would stand to reason that they believed that Jorus was privy to the more classified information. No points for guessing what was going to happen shortly.
Once they got what they wanted, there was only one logical path for the aliens to take: all-out war. The thought was enough to make the captain's blood run cold. He had seen how easily their dreadnought had mauled the Patrol Fleet's ships; energy weapons of such scale had eluded even the best and brightest of the Council races, even the Salarians, and yet these aliens had found a way to make entire broadsides with them. Then there was the fact that there would doubtlessly be more things like Carnage participating in the war, plus whatever else the aliens had up their sleeves.
His thoughts were then interrupted by Slade. "Now then, here's how we are going to proceed." He leaned over the table to look the Turian in the eye. "I am going to ask you some questions, and you will answer them honestly. Snitch here—" he pointed over at the alien to his left—"will be listening to your thoughts and inform me if you are lying."
Snitch tapped the side of his head, grinning as he did.
"Should it be made apparent that you have lied," the Admiral continued, "Carnage will step in and inflict bodily harm upon you, a task for which he has great talent."
"And before you start with the 'I'll-never-tell-you-anything' shtick," Carnage put in, "let me tell you something: just like Snitch has his own powers, I've got mine. Know what it is?"
Jorus shook his head, though he had a feeling Carnage's ability was going to be something very nasty.
A bloodthirsty smile crossed the alien's face. "I can manipulate flesh. So, for example, I could rip off your arms, reattach them, and rip them off again. Or, if I'm feeling creative, I could move parts of your body to other areas, like say, moving your eyes underneath your arms or something like that. Best of all, I can ensure that you won't die from shock, blood-loss or anything like that, so don't go thinking you can hold out because trust me, you won't." With that, he stepped back and crossed his arms, still smiling. Jorus could tell that the alien was trying to be intimidating; and he was doing a damn good job of it.
Slade, meanwhile, simply folded his hands on the table and said, "Now that we've cleared everything up, shall we begin?"
Throughout the entire time, Jorus had sat in numb silence. His worst fears had just been confirmed; the aliens were going to find out as much information as possible about his people and then they were going to go to war against them. In his mind, he could already see worlds burning. Jorus knew that he had to act now; though their militaristic culture might suggest differently, Turians were not eager to go to war and in fact preferred peace.
It fell to Jorus to make the aliens see that.
Swallowing hard, Jorus said, "Admiral Slade, before we go any further, I want to personally assure you that my people don't want war."
Slade's expression hardened. "Is that so? You've done a rather remarkable job of convincing us otherwise."
"I swear to you, it's the truth!" Jorus declared, desperation clear in his voice. "This whole thing has been a terrible misunderstanding."
Even as the words left his mouth, Jorus knew he had said the wrong thing. The expressions of all three aliens darkened, making it quite clear that they viewed the incident as considerably more than just a misunderstanding. Jorus mentally cursed himself, reflecting on how out of his league he was right now. He was no diplomat; he was a soldier, someone who followed orders and fought battles. He didn't know the first thing about making peace.
"Well, I suppose that leads to my first question of why did you attack us?" Slade remarked. His eyes were like cold flints as they stared at Jorus. "So please, enlighten me about why this is all a 'misunderstanding.'"
Jorus swallowed again. "It would be best if I first told you some history," he said. He took a deep breath and began. "The Turian Hierarchy is not the only faction in the galaxy. We are part of an association of several races, with a Council that oversees it."
Jorus noticed the aliens suddenly stiffen. Slade and Carnage looked over at Snitch, who simply nodded in response, resulting in looks of concern becoming fixed on their faces. Apparently, they had yet to come across any information about the Council or any of the Citadel races. Hope flared in Jorus; perhaps they would now be more reluctant to strike back after having learned that the Hierarchy had allies. In any event, none of them made to comment, so Jorus resumed his narration.
"A few thousand years ago, the Council races made contact with an alien race called the Rachni. The history of that time is a bit lengthy, but the short of it is that they were utterly hostile and waged war against the Council, but fortunately were defeated after some time."
"Nice story, but what does this all have to do with you showing up and attacking us?" Carnage asked impatiently.
"After the war ended, the Council made the decree that activating dormant Mass Relays was illegal without knowing what is on the other side."
"A Mass Relay?" asked Snitch. "Wait…you mean that giant thing floating around out there?"
Jorus nodded. "Yes. The civilizations of all races are based on the technology of the Mass Relays. Thanks to them, we can cross vast distances almost instantaneously. Of course, so can anything on the other side, hence why activating dormant relays is forbidden without thorough investigation; we don't want another Rachni War, and my people help enforce this law."
"So does that mean anytime you find a new race tinkering with them, you go attack them, invade their worlds and later say 'Oh, just so you know, you were breaking the law, so this is your fault'?" Carnage demanded, venomous contempt evident in his tone.
Jorus shook his head vigorously. "No! Absolutely not!"
"Then kindly inform us why we were deemed to be an exception," Slade interjected.
Jorus sighed. "The admiral in charge of our force was overly concerned with enforcing that law," he admitted. "And when he found out that your technology did not have the same basis as ours, he acted hastily and against all advice."
"Well, isn't that convenient?" Carnage sneered. "The old 'I-was-just-following-orders' crap happens even with aliens."
Jorus quickly doused the flicker of anger that welled up inside him before he did something he'd regret. The sentiment, after all, was not uncommon amongst other races. All he could do was try to explain how deeply the sense of discipline was ingrained into Turians.
"I know this must seem like I'm making excuses for what happened," he said, "but for my kind, it is an inherent part of our culture. Disobeying a direct order is one of the greatest taboos for us."
"Regardless of whatever your culture may entail," Slade said, "you attacked us, invaded one of our worlds and killed many good people, all in the name of upholding a law we've never heard of. Do you honestly expect us to just wave it all away?"
"Of course not," answered Jorus immediately. "What happened was an appalling mistake. If you agree to talk peace, I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to see that amends are made."
Slade looked over at Snitch, who shrugged and said, "He's being honest with us. He really wants to have peace."
The Admiral nodded in acknowledgment and turned to face Jorus again. "Part of me wants to slaughter you all for this affront," he said, his tone carrying the cold air of a judge pronouncing his sentence on the accused. "The first alien race we encountered wanted to enslave us all for no other reason than because they viewed themselves to be superior."
That would definitely explain the ferocity of their counterattack, Jorus reflected. An experience like that would leave some deep scars.
"Fortunately, I too would prefer peace over war. Our last one claimed far too many lives, and I will not be the one to plunge us into another. I will speak to High Command about negotiating an end to hostilities between us and your people."
Jorus sagged in relief. "Thank you, Admiral. I promise that—"
"However," Slade interrupted, "there is still the matter of your ground forces on our planet. The reports I have received say that they are still fighting against us; before we can discuss the possibility of peace, you must first force them to surrender." He stared coldly at Jorus. "My superiors and I tend to be skeptical about someone wanting peace when they still have forces engaged in open battle with us."
"Oh…," said Jorus. "Right. Of course. I'll contact them immediately. Do you have some means of communication?"
#
Desolas knew that the situation for him and his remaining forces was a dire one. In spite of a timely delay of the enemy's advance thanks to one of their strange mecha going berserk and taking out several others, the aliens had once more rallied and were about to renew their assault. In preparation, the general had ordered all available troops to form up against the main front. As of now, every gun he had left was dug in, primed and ready.
He was under no illusion that it would accomplish anything more than buy time. A Patrol Fleet's attached ground forces, while excessive in the eyes of other races, was not a real army; it was a small detachment, meant to deal with pirates, slavers and other minor threats. It was not meant to engage in actual warfare. The aliens had already mauled them badly during their initial assault, and the subsequent attacks they conducted depleted Desolas's already meager reserves. Unless something happened soon, the next battle was going to be the last.
Just then, one of the terminals picked up a frequency bearing Hierarchy codes. Before the Turian in charge of that particular terminal could even finish his announcement, Desolas had bounded over and thumbed a key to bring up the message. Moments later, the visage of Jorus flickered into view.
"Captain!" Desolas exclaimed, relief flooding his body. "Spirits above, I am glad to see you!"
Jorus allowed himself a small smile. "The feeling is mutual. I had feared the aliens had finished you off."
Desolas immediately launched into a tirade of questions. "Has the Hierarchy received word? When is help going to arrive?"
"General," Jorus began solemnly, "as much as I wish otherwise, I'm afraid I haven't come with much good news."
The newfound elation Desolas felt evaporated almost instantly upon hearing those words, to be replaced by sickening dread. "What do you mean? What happened?"
Jorus shut his eyes for a second, as though seeking strength from a higher power. Then, he opened them back up and broke the news. "What's left of the Patrol Fleet has been surrounded by the aliens' fleet and the remnants of the Resolute Spirit's crew have been captured, myself included. They've jammed all communications, so no word has been received or sent."
"But then how are you contacting us?"
"That's the sole bit of good news that I have. After talking with one of the aliens' leader, I managed to convince them to talk peace. First, though, you and your troops must surrender."
"Surrender?!" Desolas shouted incredulously. "If we do that, we'll be at their mercy for who knows how long!"
"If you don't, not only will you and all your soldiers die, they will take your refusal as a sign of contempt, and we can say goodbye to any hope of peace!" Jorus countered. "General I beg you, for the sake of our people, surrender!"
He glanced off to the side, and Desolas heard a strange language being spoken to him. Jorus turned back to the general and said, "The alien admiral says that he wants your decision now."
Desolas went silent as his two most fundamental instincts clashed together. On the one hand, he was a Turian, a race whose entire society revolved around the military. Not since the Krogan had they fought an opponent that could push them back, and even then they inflicted more than their fair share of damage before unleashing the genophage and defeating them for good. To admit that some upstart race had effectively routed them, even if they were just a minor detachment, was nothing short of humiliating.
On the other hand, spitting on the aliens' offer to end this conflict peacefully simply for the sake of pride would be at the height of stupidity. Should he reject the offer and order his troops to fight till the last, he would not be remembered as the general who fought valiantly to do as much damage as he could to a newfound enemy. No, he would be remembered as the one who single-handedly destroyed any possibility of peace and would be held responsible for all the horrors that happened after. Pride and pragmatism battled each other for dominion over the other and at last, one achieved its supremacy. Grimacing as though he had a foul taste in his mouth, Desolas gave his answer.
"Captain, tell the aliens that I agree to surrender."
#
Codex: Para-psychics
Just as magic became part of normal life, so too did para-psychic powers. Though not as numerous as practitioners of the arcane arts, people who possess such powers are still common enough. They are people who naturally harness their internal reservoir of energy and shape it to their will. The difference between the two is that, while a sorcerer has to spend copious time on rituals to cast spells, a para-psychic can call upon his powers with only a thought. Moreover, these are not the feeble psychic abilities many had once thought them to be in the old days; they are very powerful and often very dangerous, with sometimes the most potent and primal forces of nature being wielded upon a whim.
Types of Powers
There are four categories that of para-psychic powers that can affect the World of Elements:
Environmental—These powers affect the forces of the world around the para-psychic. This category includes such abilities as Pyrokinesis, Telekinesis, Cryokinesis, Electrokinesis, Gravikinesis and Photokinesis,.
Manipulative—These powers are those that affect other creatures, more often than not against their will. Examples include Empathetic Projection (influencing another's emotions), Dream Projection (entering someone's dreams), Aura Masking, Telepathy, Probe (delving into someone's mind and memories) and Mindworm (altering memories and recreating someone's mind).
Sensory—These powers grant the wielder supernatural senses. The powers Empathy, Psychometry, Retrocognition, ESP, Clairvoyance and Precognition fall under this category.
Somatic—These powers give to their user superhuman physical abilities. Power Boost (increase of strength and endurance), Magnetism (increase charm and charisma), Psychic Healing, Hyperagility, Hyperspeed and Teleport all belong under this category.
Being a Para-psychic
Everyone undergoes aptitude testing during their school years for both psychic and magical potential. Those that achieve high scores are put on watch-lists by the OIS. However, para-psychics are unpredictable and most only start manifesting their powers once reaching adulthood. This makes them hard to track, even though the OIS gives its best effort. Upon manifesting their first power, para-psychics have the option to undergo training and there are many institutions dedicated to teaching young psychics how to control their newfound powers.
Legality and Registration
Just like with sorcerers, para-psychics are closely regulated by the government. There are three official classifications of powers: Acceptable, Dangerous and Invasive. Those who have manifested powers deemed to be no danger to society are ranked as Acceptable and are not required to identify themselves in public. Those who possess powers considered Dangerous, Invasive or both must identify themselves, usually with badges or some other form of ID. That being said, all para-psychics are mandated by law to register once their first power erupts. Not adhering to the regulations carries punishments just as harsh as for those who violate the laws set down for magic users.
Service or Independence
There are two paths for most para-psychics: government service or private employment. Those that choose the former get excellent benefits, good salaries and best of all many no longer have to wear identification markings in public. The private sector is very lucrative for para-psychics; they can expect large paychecks and respect from the corporations who will employ them.
Burning
Where sorcerers work under the threat of magical mishaps, para-psychics must face Burning. This event happens when a para-psychic exposes himself too often and without proper respect to the cosmic forces that fuel his power. When a Burn is triggered, the para-psychic's powers flare up randomly and out of control. In severe cases, a Burn can become permanent and only certain magic spells will be able to cure it. Unfortunately, such remedies are usually administered only once they're within an OIS detention facility.