Master of the Ring
Chapter Two: Objects in the Rear-View Mirror
Cicaro, formerly First Consul of the Tal'Shiar, now self-styled Emperor of the Romulans, was tall, gaunt and greying. At almost two hundred Standard years of age, he could have long ago retired with honour. The Federation had been open-armed and open-handed to Romulan survivors, and he would have been assured of comfort -a home, credit, everything he might need. But what need had a Romulan of comfort? Comfort was the bringer of weakness, of surrender! Cicaro lived the austere life of a soldier in barracks, he ate sparingly, exercised intensively and generally shunned all forms of indulgence. This indeed kept him in good physical condition, but it was clear that the majority of his energy came from inside. His intense, almost unblinking eyes burned with the fires of fanaticism.
Since the destruction of the Romulan Star Empire, he had worked, argued, plotted and schemed for its restoration. It had been clear to him from the start that these so-called 'Daleks' had been a fraud, a deception. They were a myth, spread by the Federation and their cohorts, designed to draw all races in the Galaxy into their alliance, so that they could be dominated by the damned humans! How else could a fleet, an army, which had devastated the Empireow else could a fleet, an army H
have been defeated by the Federation?
Cicaro had heard the stories. Of the valiant, days-long battle in which Admirals Janeway and Picard had held off the Dalek vanguard. Of the mighty Coalition Fleet of Federation, Klingon and Dominion ships that had at last met and destroyed the Dalek fleet. Lies, all of it! The Federation were behind the destruction of the Romulan Star Empire, and one day, the Galaxy would know it, Cicaro had the proof, and soon, he would destroy the Federation with its own weapons!
But for now, he needed allies. His resources were limited and his forces few, but if he could draw on the resources of the Ten for a while, he would be able to achieve his goal. So he tolerated the grandiose play-acting of Number One, as well as the sniping and bickering of the others. They too, would fall. For now, he was content to be Number Three, and to wear the ring he'd been given. That at least was a useful tool, and one day, he would probe the secrets of its technology and make more.
He looked up. Number Two was watching him, in that disturbing way of hers. The old woman, he sometimes felt, saw and understood more than was good for her. She might have to be removed, if she became a threat.
The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, Number Two here, looked back at the Romulan and laughed inwardly. These people were not a match for their Vulcan cousins! Vulcan discipline was such that, even when enhanced by her Ring, she could not read them, and the Voice did not touch them. But the Romulans were as weak and malleable as humans. When the Sisterhood escaped the Butlerian Enclave, the Romulans would be an excellent addition to the Imperium, unlike the savage Klingons, who would have to be exterminated. She could feel Number Fours' restlessness and barely-suppressed rage from here. They were animals, pretending to civilisation, but some might be useful sacrifices in preparing the way for the Kwisatz Haderach and the Sisterhoods' final victory.
Number Fours' name was Korak, and he had once been high in the favour of Chancellor Gowron. Then he had seen Human plotting remove Gowron and replace him with Martok. Since then, Korak had believed that the proud Klingon race had become Humanitys' attack dog even as the Vulcans had become their scribes. He was here to achieve the liberation of his people, to allow them to stand as equals to Humans in war or peace.
Perhaps the most honest of all was Number Five, Yerbo was a fat Ferengi who made no bones about the fact that he was in it for the Latinum. Already hugely wealthy, he had an endless appetite for more. "I'm here because my loyalty is for sale and has been bought." He would say. "And here I stay until I get a better offer!"
Everyone knew why Number Six was here. Kartan Durat had been a ranking agent of the Obsidian Order. The fall of the Cardassian Union and its subsequent, democratic, reconstruction had left him adrift. He was here because his skills were of no use anywhere else. Velek the Orion, Number Seven, was the current leader of the Orion Syndicate, an organisation seeking to regain its' dominance in Orion society.
The last two were enigmatic at best. Number Eight was an attractive-looking, apparently Human woman who introduced herself as The Rani. Other than an obvious expertise in biology and genetics, nobody seemed to know anything else about her. Number Nine wore elaborate black robes, looked like a Human male with a thin, bitter face, called himself The Valeyard and said very little else.
Number One, The Master, stood in the shadows behind his chair and laughed silently at them all. Then he glanced down at the Ring he wore; a thick gold band around which the circular patterns of Gallifreyan script glowed deep blue. It told him everything he needed to know about the thoughts and desires of his nine subordinates, and the longer they wore the rings he had given them, the more they used them to enhance their skills and abilities, the more their wills would be drained and made subject to his.
It was not without risks. The Orion and the Cardassian were already almost completely dominated. The Ferengi, with his four-lobed brain, never would be, but his loyalty was as deep as the Masters' pockets, which were currently bottomless. The Klingon would also come to heel soon, if his savagery was properly directed. The old Romulan would be stubborn, and the Bene Gesserit witch already had a lifetimes' indoctrination that had to be overcome, but The Master had time. The real danger came from his two fellow TimeLords, who might realise what was happening and were both capable of wielding his Ring. So they had to be kept busy. Well, there was plenty to do, the Universe would not conquer itself!
XXXXX
Gunny B'ragh had done his job as usual. The squad waiting at the Raven was the one Shepard himself would have picked. His Lieutenant, Kaidan Alenko, tough, smart and gifted with people. Corporal Garun, a lanky Romulan sharpshooter with an irrepressible grin. Technical Sergeant Natalia Nemarovna, her compact form quivering with pent-up energy. Rifleman Wexx, a massive Gorn whose bulk belied his lethal speed, and two other Riflemen, Carter and Sampson, both capable veterans.
There were also two other people there. A tall, powerful-looking woman with a mane of dark hair, wearing Ops gold, and a smaller, curvaceous woman in Psi-Section white.
The dark-haired woman spoke first. "Lieutenant Ashley Williams, sir. I'm your pilot. Now you're here, I'll start pre-flight!"
"Carry on, L-T." Shepard told her, then turned to the other woman. "You're the Psyker I requested?"
"Yes, Colonel." She replied. "Lieutenant-Commander Lara Tilson. I'm a Level Three Psyker, and I have combat training and experience!"
Shepard looked her up and down. Her eyes were steady, even though they twinkled with amusement as he studied her. She seemed poised, but Psykers in general had superior kinesthetics, so that was no indicator. The weapon at her hip, however, was. A Mark II Pulse-Phaser Combat Pistol. A relatively new type of weapon which, instead of firing a steady beam or compressed bolt, emitted phased plasma in a series of rapid pulses. These weapons had proved capable of shorting shields and penetrating armour very quickly at short range, but were not easy to handle for a novice. The fact that Armoury were willing to issue one to the Lieutenant-Commander said a lot for her skills.
"Right!" Shepard lifted his voice. "Listen up, people! This is a recon mission. There's somebody groundside with tech that shouldn't be there. So if they're ours, it's a Prime Directive violation. If they aren't ours, then we need to know whose ass we're gonna be kicking!
"Now we're going in quiet, and we stay quiet. Observe, report, but do not engage unless attacked. If things do go south, we stick together and head back to the ship! If it really hits the fan, we're in Transporter range, but beaming out will tell the enemy exactly where the Enterprise is, which we don't want until we know what we're up against.
"As you can see, we have a Psyker on the team, so any emergency comms will go through her.
"Stay tight, stay quiet, watch each others' backs. Eyes peeled, ears open, mouths shut!
"Got that?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" The squad chorused.
"Hell, am I going deaf?" Shepard demanded. "Try that again, pretend you're actually Marines!"
"SIR, YES, SIR!" Was the response.
"Better!" Shepard allowed. "Thought I might have been talking to myself back there! OK, Gunny, load 'em up!
"Kaidan, a word?"
Shepard led the Lieutenant off a little.
"Kaidan, the Psyker says she's good for combat, and she looks like she can handle herself, but she's no Marine. If it gets hairy down there, I need you to stick to her, cover her back."
"Understood, Sir!" Alenko said. "But you might as well have said so back there. She's gonna know."
"Nah." Shepard shook his head. "Psyker etiquette. They don't read friendly minds without orders or permission. Xavier's First Law, they call it.
"Now, let's move!"
XXXXX
As the Seeker came into the Great Hall, he could smell dinner. This being a Sunday -for those who still named the days of the week – Duncan had gone traditional, and the enticing aroma brought back old memories, interrupted by Logans' voice.
"Well, at least he ain't cookin' haggis!"
Deadpool chuckled. "The haggis I kinda like, but the neeps and tatties I could live without!"
This baronial hall, and the manor which contained it, was the home of Duncan MacLeod, the Highlander. It was, of course, nowhere near Scotland, or even Earth, but on a small planetoid orbiting a White Dwarf star in a system of no interest to anyone. The planetoid was honeycombed with the tunnels and vast chambers which constituted Warehouse 20 – the Last Warehouse. When the Regents had created this last depository, manned with robots and holograms, they had asked the Immortal to be its' custodian. Duncan had created a home to his own tastes, a reconstruction of one of the manors held by the Clan MacLeod centuries ago. It was, to all intents and purposes, the headquarters of the Old Firm.
The Seeker made his way to the long table and sat in his usual seat. The table was already set, he noted. Logan pushed a bottle of manzanilla sherry toward him.
"Just got time for a glass, I reckon!" He said. "You kinda phased out for a sec there, Boss. You OK?"
The Seeker nodded. "Yeah. Smell of the cooking just took me back. I could see Ron and 'Mione and the family sitting in The Burrow, waiting for one of Mums' legendary Sunday dinners! Remember those, Logan? You were at quite a few, over the years, so was Duncan."
"I remember." Logan said. "Molly was one Hell of a cook! One meal there was enough to tell me how Ron got so big!
"Funny thing, memory. That was like, centuries back, but sometimes it's like it was yesterday!"
"Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are." Deadpool pointed out.
Meat Loaf, Wade?
What, you expected Shakespeare? Just keep typing!
"That, I am now discovering," remarked the fourth man at the table, "holds more truth than I once believed!"
The Seeker looked at the bearded man in white. "Well, you have far more memories than any of us, My Lord White."
"Indeed, My Lord Seeker." Was the reply. "Many of which I would gladly be rid of, did I not require them still."
Just then, Duncan came in, towing a fully-loaded hover-cart. "Levitation time, Harry!" He called. "Let's get this lot on the table before we all starve tae death!"
There was roast beef, about half a bull, as far as Harry could tell. There were roast potatoes and parsnips glazed with honey. There were Yorkshire puddings and horseradish sauce. There were carrots and peas and greens. There was gravy. There was rich red wine. And after that there was apple crumble with custard. For quite some time, there was no unnecessary talking.
Finally, the last remnants of dessert were cleared to be replaced by bottles of port, Madeira and Marsala, bowls of fruit, baskets of nuts and plates of crackers beside hefty wedges of Stilton cheese. Duncan and Logan lit cigars, while Lord White filled and lit a long-stemmed, elaborately-carved pipe. A warm weight arrived on Harry's lap. Duncan -a stickler for tradition – had completed the manors' population with an indeterminate number of large, floppy dogs. The one with his head now in Harrys' lap was a Golden Retriever named Smiler, who had become attached to him.
Harry fussed the happy dogs' ears as he got to business.
"I'm afraid we have to report failure, My Lord White." He said. "The Shining Trapezohedron is no longer at the bottom of Narragansett Bay, nor could we find it on Earth. We did find evidence to suggest it might have been taken off-planet in the 1950s. But by whom and for what reason, we don't know."
"Not failure, My Lord Seeker." White replied. "I did not send you to retrieve the item, but merely to ascertain whether or not it had been removed, which you did! You will recall that I was most insistent that you should not attempt to obtain, or in any way handle, the Trapezohedron."
"True for you." Duncan said. "Though I'm fair confused as tae why! Ye came here months ago, Lord White, askin' if it was here in the Warehouse. When I told ye no, ye asked if anyone could find out if 'twas still on Earth. 'With utmost discretion', was what ye said, an' when I mentioned Harry ye were fair fired up that he should look!"
Harry noted that as Duncan got older, he retreated more into his native way of speaking. He hoped the process wouldn't go too far, as he didn't fancy translating Gaelic to anyone who'd not been near a TARDIS Translation Matrix!
"My Lord Seeker," White was saying, "is, however much he refuses the honour, a TimeMage as I am. He also, by virtue of his ancestry, has a certain link with the item in question. Where he to come close to it, he would certainly recognise it for what it was. That is also why he, in particular, should avoid handling or having possession of it."
"That's something I don't get." Deadpool put in. "Look, we all know Harry has Eldar blood from way back, because he's a wizard, and that's what wizards are. But what makes him so special? Wouldn't any wizard do?"
You know I know, why not just let me say it?
Because you're enough of a show-off as it is!
"His blood is not only Eldar," White told them, "but royal Eldar, and indeed royal human as well. By direct descent, Harry Potter, called The Seeker, is of the Line of Luthien, that through all the Ages, has never failed."
"OK, great, I can get behind that." Logan allowed. "It explains a lot about Harry. But I've read the Red Book, we all have, and it don't mention no Shinin' Trapezo-whatever!"
"The Shining Trapezohedron is a magical periapt." Duncan told them, his brogue gone now he was 'talking business'. "I looked into Warehouse records, and the Regents knew about it, but given the location it was in, it was felt that recovering it wasn't worthwhile. It's a black stone or crystal, about four inches long with a lot of angled facets, mostly black but with red striations and gold flecks.
"It first appeared in Egypt, in the hands of the Pharaoh Nephren-Ka, at the end of the Third Dynasty. He claimed he could use it to discover any knowledge, and built a temple round it. But apparently the rituals carried out in there were so horrific that in the end Nephren-Ka was deposed, the temple destroyed and the stone buried.
"Then in the 1840s, a man called Enoch Bowen apparently found the stone and brought it to Rhode Island. He bought an old church on Federal Hill in Providence and founded a cult he called "The Church of the Starry Wisdom". Nothing was ever actually proved against the cult and its' members, but it didn't survive Bowens' death in 1865. The church was locked up and nobody would go near it for years. Then in 1935 a writer named Robert Blake was found dead in mysterious circumstances following a severe storm. When they went through his papers it was clear he'd been investigating the Starry Wisdom cult and claimed to have broken into the church and found something there. The investigators went through the church and found the Trapezohedron in its box, but before they had time to do more than photograph and describe it, a Dr Dexter stole it and threw it into the bay, saying it was dangerous."
"Quite so." Lord White said. "But what was the origin of the stone? Did anyone know?"
Duncan shook his head. "Nephren-Ka said it had been made on a trans-Plutonian planet named Yuggoth and brought to Earth by the Mi-Go, that the Elder Things had looted it from the Mi-Go. Then the Serpent-Men of Valusia had taken it from the ruins of an Elder Thing city, but the Lemurians stole it from them. Apparently it had been brought to Atlantis when Lemuria sank and Nephren-Ka claimed to have found it in a ruined Atlantean colony.
"But there's big holes in that story. Yes, the Mi-Go existed, and visited Earth as late as the 20th Century. We've found ruins on Makemake, a dwarf planet in the Kulper Belt, that suggest that there was a colony there until the 21st Century. But there's no proven connection with the Trapezohedron. Nor is there any mention of such an object in what we've so far translated from the Elder Things' capital in Antarctica. The Silurians have no record of it, either, though their historians have gone through everything from Valusia. Nothing in what few Lemurian records we have mention it, and Atlantis was Numenor, and none of the Annals we have mention it, either. So I'm inclined to disbelieve Nephren-Ka!"
"As well you should!" White stated. "The true story and nature of the Shining Trapezohedron is quite different, and I myself have only recently uncovered it. It is only by necessity that I tell it now, and you must exercise all discretion in choosing who else you will tell it to!" He refilled and relit his pipe, and began.
XXXXX
The Raven came in low and fast across a barren landscape. The area, kilometres wide and deep, was mostly grey, with odd, irregular mounds scattered around and occasionally a skeletal, weathered structure poking up out of the ground. Near the edge, there had been splashes of brown and green, but they had quickly faded away.
"This used to be the capital city of Eminiar VII." Lieutenant Williams told them. "It was destroyed in a single, massive, anti-matter bomb strike on the first day of the hot war. There was so much residual radiation that the vegetation is just now starting to creep back."
"Will we be safe down there?" Kaidan asked.
"As long as all your shots are up to date, you'll be fine!" Was the reply. "I brought you here because there's some activity going on in the area. Small group of local life-forms along with a few that are shielded in some way..
"Touching down now."
The landing was smoother than expected. Williams shut off the engines and turned in her seat. "Right, the group I detected are about two klicks north-east of here. The terrain is bumpier that way, so you should have plenty of cover. I'm going to stay cloaked, so remember where we parked! If you run into trouble, give me a call and I'll come get you!"
The squad disembarked. By the angle of the sun, it was just past noon, local time, and comfortably warm, though there was no wind. Eminiar was a whiter sun than Sol, so to Shepard the planet looked washed out. There was a slight, unpleasant, metallic taste to the air.
Commander Tilson was gazing around her. She caught Shepards' eye and grinned, the cold sunlight making her white teeth show even more starkly against her chocolate skin. "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" She quoted.
"Shelley?" Shepard hazarded.
"Yep!" She gave him a quizzical look. "How come people on the colony where I was born are more knowledgeable about Human culture than the Earth-born?"
"Good question, but not one for now." Shepard told her. "Carter, take point. Everybody stay in sight of each other and keep your eyes peeled. Move out!"
Even when exercising care, it doesn't take long for Marines to travel two kilometres. Shepard noted with approval that Commander Tilson seemed in no way discomforted by either the pace or the manner of travel.
Carter, ahead, arrived at a three-metre high ridge and held up his hand to halt the squad, indicating by hand-signal that he intended to take a look. Climbing cautiously up to the summit, He looked over, then seemed to freeze in place for a second or two. Then he signalled for the squad to come up, indicating the need for extreme caution.
This isn't good. Shepard thought. Carters' seen it all, so if he's worried, there's a problem!
The other side of the ridge was steeper than the one they'd come up, and the ground beyond was lower. A large, flat area broken by a number of pits. Pits too regular in shape to be natural. Several of these were being worked by humanoid figures in grey coveralls. They were using hand tools, picks and shovels, and working methodically, rather than quickly. Shepard was struck by something odd about the workers. He took out his distance-viewer to take a closer look. Yes, they were human-looking, probably Eminians, but their faces were stark white, without any colouration except for some black streaks, like veins, that ran across them. The faces were blank, not even making the grimaces expected during manual labour. They didn't seem to blink, and they never spoke. No chatter, no complaints, not even any kind of instructions. Something nagged at Shepards' memory.
He pulled back the focus to look around more. There was a ring of carts, set equidistant from all the pits being worked. Some of them were already partially filled with what seemed to be a mix of metal, plastics and damaged tech.
But it was the figures standing around, watching the workers, that sent a chill down Shepards' spine. The basic outline was familiar from the files he'd studied; roughly two metres tall, covered in armour and with the strange, earphone-like structures on the head. But the armour was not silver, it was black. The metal face-masks were the same, except that the left eye was now a socket, designed to accommodate modular eyepieces. Similarly, the left arm of each was fitted with a specialised tool- arm fitted over the hand.
Shepard heard a Klingon oath from beside him.
"You seeing what I'm seeing, Gunny?" He murmured.
"The offspring of a mating between the Borg Queen and the Cyber-Controller, if such an abomination was possible!" B'ragh growled.
"The Gunny pretty much nailed it!" Tech-Sergeant Nemarovna supplied. "Those things are almost a fifty-fifty mix between Cyberman and Borg tech. The others are locals, full of Borg nanoprobes but with no cybernetics."
"What are they doing?" Kaidan wanted to know.
"Scavenging." Nemarovna told him. "Everything in those carts can be recycled. Typical Cyberman behaviour – they were always scavenging for things, their programming included manufacturing but not sourcing raw material. They were never intended to stay in one place for long enough to set up mines and so forth."
"An army living off the land." B'ragh said.
"Colonel!" Garun said. "There's an overwatch here, and we're about to be….Correction, we have been spotted!"
The Romulan brought his rifle to the aim and fired. He was not using a phaser rifle, but a projectile weapon. A railgun which used powerful magnetic fields to accelerate a small ferrous slug to near-light speed. The shot was soundless, thanks to efficient baffles on the muzzle, but the black figure on the tower dropped at once.
But it was still too late. The grey-clad workers all collapsed at once, like puppets with cut strings. The black cyborgs began to head, swiftly and silently, in the direction of the squad.
"Hold your fire!" Shepard ordered. "Wait until they get onto the slope and have to slow down. Aim for the legs, it's quicker to immobilise them than try to kill them, the armour on the legs will be thinner!"
"Aircraft headed our way!" Kaidan announced. "Troop-carrier by the size. Maybe three minutes out."
"Damn!" Shepard said. "We won't be able to retreat, ground's too open, they'd swamp us with numbers. Shepard to Williams, do you copy? Williams, are you there?"
"We're being jammed!" The Tech-Sergeant told him.
"Give me a second!" Tilson said. She closed her eyes in concentration for a moment, then opened them. "She's on her way!"
"Fire!" Shepard barked.
The volley was successful, knocking all but one of the attackers down and sending half of them sliding or rolling helplessly to the bottom of the slope. One had dodged with surprising agility, only to run into fire from Commander Tilson, who fired her weapon in two short, accurate bursts that took out its knees.
"Nice!" Garun remarked.
"Not just a pretty face!" She told him.
Then the Raven dropped its cloak as it touched down nearby. They door swung open as Shepard saw Lieutenant Williams settling herself into the turret above it.
"Go!" He barked. "By the numbers!"
Kaidan tapped Tilson on the shoulder and they went. Carter and Sampson followed as Kaidan replaced Williams in the turret.
Garun and Nemarovna started to move, then one of the cyborgs, dragging a damaged leg but still moving, crested the ridge and half walked, half-fell toward them. But it hadn't gone more than a metre when Wexx, the massive Gorn, slammed into it. The pair rolled down the slope, locked together. There was a screech of tortured metal as Wexx tore away the weapon mounted on one arm, before the other hand clamped on his throat. Then Nemarovna was there, shoving a probe-tool into the wrecked prosthesis. The cyborg went rigid, then collapsed.
"Take that with you!" Shepard ordered, and Wexx hauled the thing across his shoulders easily, then ran for the ship with the others. As they reached the doors, Shepard said "OK, Gunny!", and he and B'ragh took off. They reached the ship without incident, and Williams took it off and up, heading for space like a scalded cat.
"We have bogies on our tail!" She announced.
"Cloak!" Shepard directed.
"No point!" Williams replied. "They're locked on to our ion trail. Clearing exosphere, engaging Mass Effect Drive! Hang on!"
This was a new experience for Shepard and his squad. On even the smallest shuttle, the shift from impulse to warp was noticeable only if you were looking out of an Observation Port. On bigger ships, there was a slight quiver on going into TransWarp. But now, the entire squad was jerked backward as the Raven suddenly accelerated to beyond light-speed at a rate even the inertia-dampening fields couldn't keep up with!
"I thought," Sergeant Nemarovna noted, "that Mass Effect was still in the experimental stage?"
"It kinda still is." Williams allowed. "At the moment, it's being trialled in Corvid-class stealth runabouts like this one and Manta-class stealth frigates."
"Why only stealth craft?" Shepard asked.
Williams shrugged. "No ion or plasma trails, and you can use it while cloaked. It gives the option for a quick, untraceable getaway for ships too small to use TransWarp. There's so little Element Zero around that using enough to power a drive for anything bigger than a frigate would be wasteful.
"Right, we're far enough away. Securing from Mass Effect. I took off in the wrong direction so any search won't go near the Enterprise. We're gonna have to loop back now. Going to warp."
"Anybody else hungry?" Asked Wexx.
