Chapter 17. New Recruits
2130 CE, Citadel, Presidium
"That is a very unusual theory, General Arterius," the salarian councilor spoke, "and truthfully I don't know why you'd deliver it to me," the salarian said as he looked out of his office window, the Presidium in all of its artificial beauty clearly visible from his room.
"Because you aren't exactly who you claim to be, 'Councilor Idril', I haven't met many salarians in my life and I would never forget the face of the STG agent who was there during my first raid on a slaver base."
"Excuse me?" the salarian replied.
"Cozek, do us both a favour and drop the act," Desolas sighed, the memory of a STG agent shooting two batarians with a single round from his Carnifex while burning another with a plasma round fired from his omni-tool one of his favorites.
The salarian 'councilor', brought up his omni-tool, most likely deleting the last few minutes of their conversation from the records and exhaled once, something Desolas knew most STG agents to do when they had to make an important decision.
"Didn't think you'd remember," the shift in tone was evident, the long, smoothly spoken sentences vanishing in an instance, the salarian's stance changing into one more natural for someone that had spent the better part of his life in the military. Pulling down his hood, the scars of his past employment became visible, a rather large scar running down the right side of his head and a small piece of one of his horns missing.
"Doesn't take a photographic memory to remember such an entrance," Desolas chuckled.
"How dangerous? On scale from basic pirate raid to Rachni Wars?" the calculating voice of an intelligence officer began to ask.
"Worse than the Rachni, worse than anything we've seen up to now."
"You believe this Harbinger to be existential danger to galactic society?"
"Yes. We've barely scratched the surface of what he truly is but that is precisely what worries me."
"Salarian doctrine sees lack of knowledge as most likely cause for military defeat."
"You like to win your wars before you even start them and that's exactly why I came to you. Out of all the organisations I know, out of all the people I could possibly have contacted outside of the Hierarchy, I believe that STG has the highest chance of helping us catch up."
"Harbinger has been observing for untold amount of time?" the salarian asked, causing Desolas to nod,"Ahead of us, unknown how far. Artifacts could be beginning of strategy, could be part of final offensive."
"This thinking is why I contacted you," Desolas commented.
"Not your only reason, you want political support."
"And this is why I hate spies," Desolas sighed. "Matter of fact is you have a vote on the council and while you answer to the inner cabinet on big matters, you've probably been given some room to work by STG in order to do damage control."
"Correct."
"I need you to make every preparation you can possibly make without drawing attention."
"You fear that Harbinger is observing our actions?"
"Someone controlled those pirates, someone controlled those artifacts."
"Large military build up would provoke reaction. You fear accelerating main attack?"
"If your enemy is massing troops on your border, you don't just wait it out, you bomb them to ash while they gear up."
"Will forward this intelligence to STG."
"You're an old man by salarian standards, aren't you Cozek?"
"Final decade of my life expectancy will soon begin. You fear that my successor will be less cooperative?" the salarian agent spoke as he typed on his omni-tool.
"I fear he or she won't be a soldier, I fear that the next councilor will be like Tevos or Vaelan.."
"Selfish politician would endanger galactic society. Will make necessary preparations."
"Thank you, Councilor Idril," Desolas spoke as the door hissed open, pretending the last few minutes never happened. "We will stay in contact."
The salarian nodded before pulling his hood up and once more turning into his act, the scars that would raise some questions disappearing.
Six Months Later, 2131 CE, Palaven
"I'll ask you again, why are you here?" the instructor spat as Saren climbed up the hill again only to give the same answer as the forty times he had already given before.
"To become the soldier I need to be, Sir."
"I don't believe you," the grey plated turian replied, "do it again, come back with an answer I like " he ordered as the cold wind hit Saren's face. He knew this was some sort of test, they'd drop him the moment he complied. Saren rolled down the hill once more, his body already numb from the constant pain he experienced and the sleep deprivation he had suffered over the last week.
Desolas had told him about this part of training, the opening stage in which the legion aimed to eliminate all those it saw as unworthy. The absolute limit of physical suffering they could subject the recruits to without permanently injuring or killing them. Blackwatch wanted him to break, if he broke they could dismiss him and spent their time training the soldiers they thought could pull through the rest of the year and a half of training ahead of them.
They didn't need people who'd go back on their principles to avoid hardship or pain, it went against the legion's own code.
He felt the 'softer' ground of the hills flatening slope, signaling that his descend was finishing and once more began to climb up again. The face of the sergeant already telling him that this wasn't the final time he'd do it, recruits next to him struggling to get up while Saren simply kept pushing himself, ahead of the rest, driven by something bigger than himself.
He simply had to make it after all.
"So you bare face, why are you here again?" the instructor questioned, his tone as insulting as possible.
"To become the soldier I need to be, Sergeant." Saren replied.
"Lying, just as expected. Get down. Now."
This process dragged on for hours, Saren would climb up, the instructor would ask him why he had thought he'd apply for Blackwatch, Saren would give his honest reason and he'd be ordered to do it all again.
Saren only realised that time was actually passing when the light of a noon sun was slowly starting to fade, night approaching faster than he had expected or yet another recruit dropped out or was carried away by medics on a stretcher.
"Why are you here?" he was asked again.
"To become the soldier I need to be, Sergeant."
"There's no shame in quitting, Arterius. All of this ends when you tell me the real reason," the instructor said, their tactic shifting from insulting to somewhat nice. "A hunter knows when his time has come," he quoted in order to pursue him. "So just tell me."
"To become the soldier I need to be, Sergeant," Saren wouldn't give in.
"Again."
Saren dropped to the ground only to be stopped by the instructor.
"I ordered you to tell me again, Arterius. Tell me why you are here."
Looking around himself, Saren registered that out of the forty-six trainees of his class that had started the day, only he and three others remained, all of them stopped by their own instructors in varying stages of rolling down the hill, an unconscious turian being carried away on a stretcher by turian medics below.
He could see another 'class', only four soldiers by now, resting on a hill in the distance. They had been forty-three at the beginning of the day if he recalled correctly.
Yet another four on another rocky slope.
The final hill also marked by four turian silhouettes with the sun in their back.
Four soldiers left standing on each hill. One team standing on each hill. Blackwatch units were trained in teams. He knew that, he had forgotten it due to the pain of the last few days. Sixteen out of the 200 that had started training half a year ago remained. Four teams ready for the actual training.
It was really obvious now that he took the time to think about it.
"I am here to become the soldier I need to be, Sergeant."
"Get to your team, Arterius."
"Yes Sergeant," he replied before offering a sharp salute, new found strength allowing him to jog towards the first other trainee of his class, the soldier simply sitting down as his body gave in to the sudden rest.
One step closer to becoming a Spectre.
10. April 2389 AD, Arcturus Station
The months since Tevos's trial had been quiet, in comparison at least.
HSA forces had been withdrawn from the Terminus due to pressure form the Council, slaver bands now starting to become a more common sight along human borders in the Attican Traverse due to them filling the void left by the absence of either Eclipse or human forces. Just three days ago a raiding party had been intercepted by a non-scheduled patrol, the old batarian vessels fleeing the moment the patrol began powering up its weapons.
However, relations with the Council had improved, the new asari councilor aiming to avoid the mistakes of her predecessor. Alec had a good feeling about that matriarch, as far as he knew she had been selected for her abilitiy to control the damage of political fallout.
One Matriarch Benetia Tzoni if he recalled correctly.
He usually didn't though, asari names had never been his strong suit. Something about their language simply rubbed him wrong.
Ever since the political disaster that had been Tevos's last few months in power the shame of her actions had caused the asari to be more 'cooperative'. No longer did he have to deal with protests about 'war crimes' in front of the HSA embassy, the protestors now busy protesting Tevos's actions in front of the asari embassy.
They might be annoying and a threat to security but at least they weren't hypocrites, he had to give that part to them.
But he decided to shove work into a drawer for now. He had more important matters to attend to after all. Alec slid open the door to his home with one hand, balancing the large teddy bear on his other arm as he stepped inside. He closed the door as quietly as possible and noticed a breach of darkness inside the apartment.
She had stayed up. Waiting for him to come home.
"Surprise," he spoke, trying to keep his voice as down as possible as he walked towards the room which lights were still on.
"You are not nearly as sneaky as you think you are Alec," Hannah whispered back from inside.
"I'm losing my edge," he chuckled as he set the stuffed animal down on the desk before walking into the room he had heard the voice from, his wife dropping the tablet and rising from the couch.
"Just kidding, Anita ratted you out, she told me you'd get here today," she smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.
"Damn her."
"Emily's sleeping for now so I'll let that one slide," his wife informed him, her no swear policy once more entering the specialist's life. "She should be up soon though so watch it mister."
"No 'I love you'?" he asked as he tried his best to sound hurt, the joy of being home butchering the act.
"See it as punishment for keeping me this late."
"Last minute entrances are kind of my thing," he replied.
"I'm glad you made it," Hannah admitted as she placed a hand on his chest. "When I heard about the delay, I was sure you'd miss tomorrow."
"I promised I'd be there, didn't I?" he asked as the clock hit midnight, marking his daughter's birthday.
"Close call though," Hannah said as she observed the clock.
"You know 'Close Call' might as well be my middle name,"
"Weird, I always thought it was Emile."
"Why did I ever tell you that?"
"We both know the answer to that one, buddy."
11. May 2389 AD, Terra Nova, Maguires
Holderman stepped into the bar located on the outskirts of one of Tera Nova's smaller cities, the planet long since having moved past the point of consisting of one major hub of prefabs, nearly two billion humans spread across its surface by now. Most of them were decedents of the millions of migrants that had moved to the planet shortly before and after the founding of the HSA, living in real houses across Terra Nova's temperate areas near its poles.
The smoke of cigarettes and the smell of alcoholic beverages hit him just as bet as the ancient look of the house, the place was devoid of any modern technology as far as he could tell.
"What will it be?" a bartender asked him as he set down on one of the chairs next to the counter.
"Guess I'll take a beer," he replied as he began to look for his target.
He wasn't here for a joyride after all. Apparently the director was looking for people to start something, veterans, policemen, people with training and no place to use it.
He spotted a man sitting in a booth, smoking a large cigar as he stared at an half-empty glass of whiskey. His hair was black, his eyes a pale green, a large tattoo running down his right arm, the upper half of his arm covered by his red shirt.
He fit the description the Cerberus agent had been given.
Grabbing the glass he had been given, Holderman walked across the bar, taking care to blend in with the other people, seeming as if he belonged.
He dropped into the booth and set down his glass, "Sergeant Zaeed Massani?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Someone who can help you. I think I've got an offer for you, an offer you'll take."
"You sure about that? What the fuck do you even know about me?" the grizzled, noticeably intoxicated voice replied with a certainty Holderman would soon shatter.
"You were promoted and honorably discharged after a psychological evaluation found you unfit of duty, correct?"
"Beat it," his target slurred, realizing that the man who had approached him had insight in his life.
"After your sergeant was injured during a raid on a separatist cell, a raid in which an order you gave resulted in civilian casualties you were given a command, a rather successful one."
"If you wanna keep your teeth, you're gonna stop talking and start walking," the former soldier threatened.
"Nine years of service, enlisted at the age of seventeen, straight out of military school right here on Terra Nova," Thomas summarized what he had learned from Zaeed's file. "Yet you throw in the towel after a mission goes south. Why not do it when those civilians died?"
Zaeed made a move to punch him but lacked the sobriety to do so, causing Holderman to grab his head and smash it into the table just as the song currently playing stopped. People stared at him for the short break between the song's end and the beginning of the next one before returning to their business."
"One 'Vido Santiago' was court martialed after you reported him to have killed a prisoner during your last assignment, is that correct?" Holderman questioned as he let go of Zaeed.
"Vido was a good soldier but a shitty guy, shot an iffy that surrendered in cold blood." Zaeed replied, wiping away blood from the injury he had inflicted on himself while trying to punch Holderman. "They might be bastards but we still have rules."
"You were a great soldier as well. No casualties until your last mission, flawless success rate up to then. Now you're a drunkard wasting his time in bars. What does that make you?"
"None of your business, that's what I am." the veteran replied.
"You can't hold a civilian job, you can't go back to the army either. Your psychological discharge prevents an application to a police force as well."
"Get to the bloody point before I try punching you again," his somewhat frustrated voice insisted.
"Your life choices shows that you want to fight people who can't do it for themselves, you hate the thought of innocents being hurt, that's why that hand grenade stunt and the crimes of your subordinate still haunt you."
"And?"
"I can help you sober up and get you a job in which you can follow your true calling, Mister Massani."
"I'm listening," the other man said as he rested his head against the wall, keeping the blood from flowing down his nose.
Holderman retrieved a tablet from his jacket, a picture of a blue sun and a text below it visible on its screen, he handed it to the drunken man and leaned back in the booth. Zaeed began to read the file as Holderman took a sip from the beer, it was by far better than the cheap stuff he had drank during his time with the corps, that was for sure. Now he just had to wait for a reaction from his target.
When he finished, a chuckle escaped the drunken man's mouth.
"And?" Holderman asked.
"Why pick me? You said it yourself, I'm a drunken fool, not exactly a good trait for someone your boss calls 'high priority individual'."
"You have a problem with people that hurt the defenseless. You wouldn't have reported your comrade if you didn't, you wouldn't beat yourself up over collateral damage the way you do if you didn't. You drink because of a lack of purpose, once you get purpose you'll stop. Furthermore your leadership skills are something this group is going to need if it wants to succeed. People who can lead in the field."
"So you decide that I'm a good fit for leading a bunch of guys that shoot slavers in the Terminus because you think once I get to do that I'll stop being a drunkard and a liability?" as he began to raise his glass of whiskey.
"Exactly."
"Heh," he laughed. "That's crazy," Zaeed commented with the same slur.
"I'm going to need an answer," Holderman insisted mere centimeters before the whiskey would have touched Zaeed's lips. This was the moment of truth, the moment in which the psychological evaluation of Zaeed Massani would either turn out to be correct or a waste of time.
Then the man withdrew the glass once more, the whiskey distancing itself from his mouth.
"When do we leave?" he questioned as he set the glass down, his voice surprisingly free of the previous intoxicated slurring.
Mission accomplished.
9. July 2389 AD, Citadel, Chambers of the Citadel Council
"To summarize, you'd be willing to allow human candidates to join C-SEC even though the HSA has yet to sign the associate status agreement?" Anita Goyle questioned, not expecting this surprise summoning to yield anything good.
"My colleagues and I have decided that humanity has proven its interest in upholding our own law, after all it was your species that alerted us to the conspirator in our own ranks. See this as a way to value your deeds and pave the road to better relations between our people."
This was most certainly a move to pacify more vocal parts of the population, still upset by the fact that one of the three members of the executive committee had turned out to be the master mind behind a war that had resulted in destruction not seen since the Geth War, a war that still had effects on their own colonies, some now threatened by the result of Tevos's actions.
As far as Goyle knew, Matriarch Benezia had been reluctant to take the position of councilor, assuring everyone that she was merely a 'temporary representative' at her inauguration nine months ago, although one could question exactly how long an asari, their life span being nearly a thousand years, considered temporary.
Tevos had acted as a councilor for nearly 168 years and she hadn't even come close to the longest ruling asari representative, Matriarch D'vos, who had served her species from the end of the Rachni Wars up to her death almost 350 years later.
For all Goyle knew, she'd look at Benezia for another ten years and she was strangely okay with it right now. The asari had most certainly been instructed to play nice in light of the public humiliation that had been Tevos's last year as a councilor although Goyle was certain that she'd grow less nice as the memory of that particular mess slowly faded into the past once a new major diplomatic incident appeared.
And new major diplomatic incidents happened, she had studied enough galactic history to know that much. Though if the pace kept advancing as it had ever since the HSA had appeared, that would be sooner than Goyle would want it to be.
Previously major diplomatic events happened once, maybe twice in a century. Examples being the almost war between the Hierarchy and the Hegemony, only stopped by a salarian veto that had resulted in nearly ten years of frosty relations between century old allies and the debate between settling claims on garden worlds which had driven a wedge between the Salarian Union and the Asari Republics shortly before the Krogan Rebellions, only the threat of complete military defeat causing them to throw such a dispute out of the window being examples of that pattern.
But in the last six years, things had gotten more complicated, the HSA creating ever closer ties with the Hierarchy who had longed after an ally that fit their own politics of acting instead of talking all the while antagonizing the well established original founders of the councilor by pushing for change that hadn't happened on such a scale since the edict that banned artificial intelligence in 1896 CE, a sore memory in the enduring lives of the asari and a repeated story in the short generations of the salarians.
"Will you forward this proposal to your government, Ambassador Goyle?" the salarian councilor Idril asked, tearing her from her thoughts.
"I will, councilors."
"Is it save to assume that the proposal will be accepted?" the turian councilor, Ioventus, asked.
"I am confident that my people will be grateful for an opportunity to move past the events of the last years."
"Then this meeting is adjourned," Matriarch Benezia said, "Contact us once your government has come to a decision, if you accept the proposal we'll begin making preparations as soon as possible."
"You have my thanks for this offer, Councilors," Goyle said, the diplomat in her telling her to say something the most important of councilors in the eyes of the HSA would enjoy hearing, "We are grateful for the opportunity to do our part in ensuring the security of this station and its people," this would most certainly earn her even more points with the turian councilor. Points the HSA would invest when the time to address the dreadnought issue came again.
The Chancellor had of course informed her of Project Chimera, the last option that would bent the rules regarding the definition of a dreadnought by shortening the main guns of the aging Everest-Class dreadnoughts and act as a work-around regarding the Treaty of Farixen but she had still been instructed to aim for another solution.
The preferred alternative considered right now was to offer an exclusive deal to the council, dedicate ships, especially the dreadnoughts that exceeded the limit put on the HSA by the Treaty, to the peacekeeping effort of the Council, mainly the Hierarchy, and reduce the economical and politcal strain placed on the Union and the Republics by relieving some of their ships from patrol duties, and deploy the human vessels in turn.
Both the salarian and asari 'government' lacked the centralization of the Hierarchy and the Human Systems Alliance. They had long since struggled to justify the deployment of military vessels in space that seemingly lacked armed conflict to the people they answered to, the individual republics in the case of the asari or the members of the inner cabinet of the Salarian Union.
Some elements in both the Salarian Union and the Asari Republics saw the constant deployment of naval vessels as a waste of money, the logistical strain and funding required to keep it going better invested into colonies or infrastructure projects..
Both of the governments had never experienced infighting on the level the Turian Hierarchy and the HSA had, nor did their military doctrine lean towards the large scale deployments seen in turian or human history, instead prefering smaller, highly skilled forces of skirmishers.
A doctrine that had almost resulted in their annihilation at the hands of the krogan, only a technological edge keeping them in the fight until they stumbled upon the legions and fleets of the Turian Hierarchy.
As a result of this approach, their respective navies never really grown since the entrance of the Hierarchy as a permanent guardian of galactic civilization, the general trend ever since 900 CE being a decrease in patrol activity of the two other council members followed by an increase of activity by the Hierarchy.
The Turian Hierarchy, only remaining silent about the issue due to their culture expecting them to take the weight of these duties on their shoulders, would most certainly approve the proposal.
She just had to get another councilor to do so, then the deal would work. She wasn't sure it would work thought, after all it was a radical change.
Right about now it looked like that councilor would be Benezia.
All in due time though, right now she would have to speak to the chancellor about potential recruits for the Citadel Security Service, C-SEC.
11. November 2389 AD, Arcturus Station
"The second anniversary of the mercenary attacks are coming up," the Minister of the Interior said.
"Colonial Watches are preparing for riots in the Fringe," General Vasquez added.
"HSAIS and Cerberus have leads on planned actions by separatists, Sir," Harper spoke as well. "It seems like they are being coordinated by one 'Surgeon', a new player."
"Slavers are growing more aggressive with every day, Chancellor Noé," Minister of Defense Suhail Nadim informed him.
"Ambassador Goyle's informs us that the preparations for the first C-SEC trials are almost finished." Kaldec, the man in charge of Alien Relations quickly injected.
Noé sighed. "I'm getting too old for this job," he lit up one of his cigarettes, "Alright. One thing after another," he folded his hands on the desk.
"I want HSAIS to work with the Colonial Watches in the fringe to crack down on any cell that represents a legitimate threat. Pass the targets on to ASOC, they'll take care of the matter. Increase patrols shortly before the vigil."
"Yes, Sir." the General spoke as he began to type on his tablet.
"What about the Surgeon, Chancellor?" Harper questioned.
"I'm getting there Harper," Noé said. "I want Cerberus to launch a task force, collect evidence, interrogate key people, find a trail to this Surgeon guy. Use him in our favour."
"We could take over his operations to draw out sleeper cells," Harper said. "I'll get to it," he added before the director of Cerberus joined General Vasquez in relaying orders to his subordinates.
"Moving on, the slavers are becoming more of a threat?"
"Yes," Minister Nadim replied. "A raiding party was stopped just in time by one Captain Hackett above one of our new colonies in the Skyllian Verge, their fleet could've carried away thousands, effectively destroying development."
"They'll try again, forward a detailed report of the engagement to the battle groups in the area and have them search for activity around the key relays. Maybe we can track down their movements, destroy their hub."
"We already did, that's part of the problem," Admiral Jun injected.
"Don't tell me, they fled into batarian space?"
"Yes. They escaped via a route leading deep into Hegemony territory."
"Tension is growing in the Verge," the chancellor observed. "Have Goyle talk to the batarian ambassador."
"Chancellor Noé," the director of the HSAIS spoke up."These groups are most likely backed by the Hegemony itself."
"I know."
"Diplomacy won't solve this, not in the long run," the Admiral of Navy argued.
"Action will, deploy a carrier group into the Verge days prior to the meeting."
"Is this really the right time for gunboat diplomacy?" Kadlec questioned, opposing the view of Admiral Jun.
"It's the only language the Hegemony speaks. They need to understand that we've been in the Verge for a long time. We'll not give in to their attempts of intimidating us."
"A deployment would require a vote of the parliament, we're not at war."
"Let me worry about that. Now, next issue. C-SEC trials, correct?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Approach decorated policemen, special operations guys that are almost at the end of their terms of service and show no interest in staying in the military, maybe some of HSAIS's intelligence specialists for the investigations branch."
"Sending people who know their handiwork is important here," Kadlec added. "If our candidates make a good impression, we'll increase the odds of the Council accepting our alternative for the Treaty of Farixen."
"Speaking off, the veto only lasts for another few months, correct?"
"Yes, the veto of Councilor Ioventus will expire in June 2390 AD or in their time, 2132 CE," Kadlec answered the chancellors question. "Deployments to the Verge could have a negative impact on achieving a special status regarding the Treaty of Farixen."
"Well no one ever ran into the Council with enough dreadnoughts to actually violate it, correct?"
"Yes. The Treaty was only signed after the Krogan Rebellion in 800CE, ever since no other space faring race has made first contact with the council."
"The last first contact before us and the yahg were the drell some 130 years ago," Harper injected even though this subject wasn't his exact area of expertise. "Although they weren't space faring."
"That's a good argument then, the Treaty has never been applied to a race that's been space faring for over two centuries before making contact with the Council. Our reason for getting a different deal is the fact that we have a very different situation to begin with," Chancellor Noé spoke as he snuffed out his cigarette in the ash tray. "Unlike the drell or the elcor we got of our planet by our own actions."
"And unlike the Illuminated Primacy, the quarians or batarians we already held a lot of ground before making contact with the Council," Kadlec added.
"There's truth in that, furthermore the only race to shared our stage of militaristic development upon contact were the turians," Harper replied, a certain sense of pride in his voice.
"Goyle expects them to vote in favour of the proposal, relations between us and the Hierarchy are getting better every day," Noé replied. "The next series of joint exercises is beginning in the fall of 2390, that's good timing."
"We should still make preparations to conduct Project Chimera, if worst comes to worst," Admiral Jun commented, "If we are bound by the Treaty of Farixen, we'll have to reduce to five dreadnoughts."
"Remind me, how many Killimanjaro's are currently active?"
"Four in the navy, one with Cerberus," Admiral Jun replied.
"The Cerberus one doesn't officially exist though, meaning we could construct another one," Harper reminded him. "Though I advise against it, should it ever be spotted."
"Very well then, let's make sure that the funding for Project Chimera is secured before we even ask the Council about a little help with it. Start briefing selected construction crews on the matter, nothing final though."
"Yes, Sir."
"Anything else we need to discuss?" he questioned, no one answering.
"Yes, Sir," General Stelios spoke up, "I'd like to inform you that the SR-8x is now no longer merely a prototype, although field testing suggests that we would profit from an actual mass accelerator more. The rifle, while superior to the SR-7 in terms of range also requires more maintenance."
"Cerberus is working on something, General," Harper said. "We call it Project Valkyrie."
"A pure mass accelerator?"
"It's still in the early stages of development, it'll take a few more years to actually reach the troops, but yes. The SR-9 Valkyrie will be a conventional mass accelerator with a work-around regarding the overheating issue."
"If you don't mind me asking, what's said work-around?"
"Ejectable heat sinks."
"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a mass accelerator? Shooting thousands of rounds until your block is dry without reloading?" Stelios questioned, the man having been trained with the old SR-6 back in his days in the field.
"As I said, we're working on it."
"Very well then, anything else?" Noé asked, interrupting the discussion between two people who probably liked guns a bit too much.
When no one spoke up, he dismissed the room.
Only for Harper to linger.
"There is something else, Sir."
"I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"I didn't bring it up because this matter regards one of the assignments you gave Cerberus early on, one you instructed me to keep to myself," Harper said causing Noé to recall the first time the Cerberus Initiative had been deployed.
"Parnack?" Noé said as his eyes narrowed.
"Yes, Sir."
"What happened?"
"Three weeks ago two shuttles managed to land on the surface, experimental cloaking devices shielding them from our scanners until they had already touched down."
"How many escaped?"
"One shuttle managed to survive the trip to the relay, given the size of the vessel and the size of an average yahg, it couldn't have been more than two, not counting the room potential crew members occupied."
"So two yahg escaped? That's bad but not nearly as bad as I expected though I wonder why you didn't tell me this earlier."
"I waited for a development in the case, it seemed rather random. Then Lightbringer tracked some chatter, the shuttles were sent by the Shadow Broker."
"What would he want with the yahg?"
"We don't know, not yet. Study most likely, but that's not my main concern. Our observation of Parnack has made one thing clear, the battle has left their culture with an incredible hatred for us. They've rallied under the nation on whose soil we landed and ever since then they've been 'planning their revenge' so to speak. We didn't take most of the broadcasts we picked up as a serious threat, after all they didn't have access to the galaxy-"
"But now at least one of the has. You're afraid the yahg could cause the Shadow Broker to take action against us?"
"No, the Shadow Broker isn't one to get directly involved in most matters. I'm afraid what the yahg will do now, they aren't exactly stupid. On the contrary, those bastards are cunning, that's part of what makes this case so dangerous. It could escape, it could use this as an opportunity to get into a position of power."
"A yahg with limited access to the Shadow Broker resources? Surely Lightbringer can track it, it would stand out like a sore thumb."
"That's the thing though, it doesn't. Chatter about it died a few days ago, we can still track the low priority channels in which it was mentioned but its no longer there. It vanished."
"Someone moved it up?"
"More likely than someone forgetting about it."
"Lightbringer doesn't have any clues to go on?"
"No, in fact multiple things simply vanished off the grid. There was a fifteen second blackout on every channel and after that some things were just gone."
"It's a strange theory," he said only for Harper to narrow his glare. "Keep an eye on it, inform me of any serious development," Noé sighed. This might just be nothing but Lightbringer existed for the sole reason to track down the Shadow Broker, no reason for them not to act on this more far fetched lead, after all it was still better than nothing at all. "Anything else you want to share with me Harper?"
"No, this will be all."
If Noé had been less exhausted, younger and sharper, he might have picked up on the second of hesitation before Harper's statement. But he was becoming old, the duties of running a government in times of major political shifts slowly eating away at him. Therefore he didn't pick up on the fact that there was something Harper wanted to share but couldn't.
2. January 2390 AD, Elysium, Colonial Capital New Illyria
He closed the blinds of his apartment, the last rays of orange sun light vanishing from his face before he searched for the parts of signal scrambler hidden in his apartment. He grabbed the components from within his computer, the walls, the air duct and the frame of an old picture. Then he began putting together the device that would hide his transmission. Someone wanted to talk to him, the encrypted message his assistant had received had made that much clear.
Precautions had to be made. The HSA couldn't track him. It would put everything he had worked on in jeopardy.
He hadn't gone into hiding for nearly nine years to throw it all away by being reckless.
The communicator came to life as he punched in the frequency that had been given to him by one of his contacts. When a disembodied line was the only thing that appeared as a blue hologram, he checked if he had entered the correct frequency.
He had.
"What do you want?"
"Is this the one who calls himself 'Surgeon'?" the one on the other side of the line questioned after a long pause, his tone heavily altered by a computer program. The line moved as the deep voice echoed through the apartment, the sound proof walls he had added ensuring no one would eavesdrop.
"Who wants to know?"
"We share a common foe, Surgeon," it spoke. "Your group aims to bring down the HSA, so does mine."
"Who are you?" he questioned, his own accent well hidden by his own voice distortion software.
"For now, you can simply call me a benefactor to your cause. I can get you what you need for your plans."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he wouldn't simply give away the upcoming plans to a stranger on a voice call. It could simply be a trick after all.
"You believe me to be a spy, don't you?"
"You can never be too careful with the HSA. They might be oppressors but they are rather competent at tracking the people they want to hunt down."
"You have evaded them for a long time, do you believe your methods have failed now? You're more careful than ever," the voice said as a file was sent from the other side. "Although there is still room for improvement."
He opened it up and his eyes widened as he recognized the small side street on the other side of town he used as a meeting place. He himself had turned his back towards the camera but his contact, the one who had given him this very frequency, was clearly visible.
"Your assistant was easier to track down than you, call him right now. Ask if she's fine. I am not your enemy," the voice ensured him. "I'll wait for you."
Muting the device, he dialed the number of his contact, the phone on the other end being picked up after the fourth time it rang, just as they had agreed on.
"Bit late for a courtesy call, isn't it?"
"I just wanted to ask if our date tomorrow is still happening? You said you might be busy," he replied with the code phrase.
"I always have time for you," she replied. Everything was fine.
"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night," he sighed.
This would be interesting.
Un-muting the communicator, he began to speak.
"What kind of assistance do you over?" he asked, trying to get a feel for his secretive 'benefactor'.
"I've studied your past operations," this was bad. He couldn't possibly be talking to someone who knew who he was, could he? "I have to say, I am impressed by the way you fought them and amused that you call yourself Surgeon nowadays. There is irony in it."
"Them being?" he questioned, ignoring the later statement.
A pause.
"The humans who opposed you," his benefactor was an alien. That much was for sure. A fellow separatist would've simply said 'the HSA', 'the oppressors' or simply 'the people who opposed you'. Only an alien would say 'humans'.
Working with this benefactor would be risky. It went against most of the things he had used to gather followers in the last few years, a loss of credibility had cost them the first uprising after all.
It also went against his personal agenda as well. He disliked aliens. They were a threat but the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
He'd use him. For now.
"Then you know how I do things, what I'll need."
"You'll need a network to wage your war and you'll need materials to create a new masterpiece."
"You already know my plans?" he questioned the voice. This may either be a gamble or the benefactor knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Fragments of it. As I've said, I've studied the way you work, I can help you improve it."
"How?"
"Your foe has adapted to your tactics, they've used your past actions to created counter measures, security systems."
"And you can help me obtain the things I need to get around them? Deliver me the things I need to strike again?"
"Yes."
"Most of said things are military hardware in high security facilities. How are you going to get me the things I need?"
"I will contact your assistant again once the situation allows it, until then remain passive," the voice didn't answer the question at all. Still there was an authoritarian tone behind that statement.
"Why exactly should I take orders from you?"
"It wasn't an order, it was a request," it corrected itself, sounding almost offended that he didn't accept its 'request'. This benefactor liked being in charge.
"I'll keep the smaller operation going, this is bigger than me after all," he defied him again.
"It is your decision," the voice sounded almost angry, the heavy distortion disguising it. "Have a good night, Surgeon."
Either the benefactor possessed a clock with Elysium's standard time or he was being observed. The conversation led him to believe the later.
Dialing in another number, he contacted one of the few people who knew he was still alive, the other person also waiting the agreed four rings before answering.
"Good morning," the person on the other line greeted him.
"Evening actually," he corrected his contact.
"Whatever. Why are you calling me?"
"Are you busy right now?" he asked, the question a half truth. It was their code phrase for clarifying if they could talk in secrecy, if their counter measures were in place.
"I'm free to talk," this was good.
"I just got a call from someone who wants to help our cause," he began to explain his recent conversation. "A benefactor, most likely an alien one."
"We don't work with their kind. It would kill our credibility with the people we recruited after the mercenary attacks."
"He offered to help me with another masterpiece," he explained. "Another masterpiece would give our cause the strength it requires right now."
"I told you to stop working on that. Do you know how much propaganda I had to spread in the last few years to get people to overlook your actions? There's a reason they called you the 'Butcher of Elysium'. It's not exactly a title that draws in new recruits."
"I did the right thing, my way of doing things worked. Elysium was not the root of our defeat."
"It 'worked' after years of guerilla warfare and still caused half your forces to desert you. It was a complete failure, otherwise you wouldn't have been shot by your own men."
"Traitors that I'll hunt down eventually," he commented angrily as he touched the scar at the side of his head where his most trusted subordinate had shot him after the deployment of his masterpiece. The round hadn't been strong enough to kill him, he had refused to die. There were still things he needed to do in this life.
"If you blow up a colonial capital right now and take the credit for it, you'll blow up our cause along the way. The Fringe Wars should've taught you that."
"It depends on which capital I blow up," he chuckled.
"What are you suggesting?" the voice on the other line questioned.
"We hit a core world, they reap the benefits of the HSA's oppression of the Fringe. If we deal a crippling blow to worlds like Arcadia or Terra Nova, new recruits and worlds will flock to our cause just like they did here on Elysium after the initial Separatist Seven rose up. Show them that the tyrant can bleed and they will summon the courage to join our fights against him."
"And this benefactor can get you the things you require to do so?"
"He said he'd contact me again but I believe he can," the man replied. "I also believe that the benefactor has people observing me."
"And you decide to contact me?" the other voice stated in disbelief. "Reckless fool."
"Calm down, I am in the clear right now. I just know that he had eyes on me during a meeting with my assistant."
"Mind your actions," the other voice declared angrily. "You might be important to our cause but if your actions threaten it, I'll finish what your comrades started. Personally."
"I mind my actions more carefully than you ever could, its why most people think I am dead," he spat back. "You should mind your words, I am the face of this movement. You're a nobody."
"I am a nobody because I am good at my job. Report any further developments," the voice said before he shut down the communicator. "and don't you ever threaten me again."
He disassembled the device and hid its components again before pulling out a sheet of paper, a favoured method of communication back in the Fringe Wars.
After all, you couldn't hack a note written with a pencil.
Andrej Kamarov looked at the device that had earned him his infamous nickname, 'The Butcher of Elysium' and chuckled as his fingers retraced the wiring drawn on the blueprint.
His masterpiece. They were still trying to undo his handiwork with their machines, a process costing them up to today. A masterfully executed blow against them that was still making them bleed almost nine years later.
Detonated on 27.3.2381, the bomb had caused Illyria to be abandoned, a new capital being constructed after his cobalt isotope had ruined the soil of the HSA's biggest sign of oppression, the steel and glass towers still visible over the mountain range right outside the window facing his bed. An artist liked to admire his work after all. He didn't need all the attention it had gotten him, he just needed to see his work and from his apartment he could do just that every day he woke up.
This bomb had caused the reason the original IFS leadership had cut their ties with him, it hadn't been the murders, the torture or the attacks on hospitals. It had been the treason of his 'allies' after the fallout, their sudden decision that the most effective attack up to now had crossed a line.
It had been his masterpiece that had gotten him kicked out of the leadership meeting on Shanxi.
It had been the reason he wasn't there when the fools died.
His masterpiece had saved his life and now he could create another, deal another blow to the HSA. Admire his work once more.
Rolling the blueprint together, he couldn't help but be excited at the prospect of getting to work.
He hoped the benefactor turned out to be the real deal.
Codex: Elysium War (Part of Entry Series 'Fringe Wars')
Elyisum, one of the most populated world in the Fringe, joined the Separatist Seven movement after the initial uprisings proved that the HSA could be defeated.
Early conventional operations by IFS militias were quickly crushed by prepared local HSA forces, the underequipped separatist forces not capable of dealing with the well-trained and motivated soldiers of Elysium's Colonial Watch.
Surviving early defeats, the militia man, amateur artist and employed chemist Andrej Kamarov quickly rose through the ranks of the IFS until being promoted to the commander of all IFS forces on Elysium for his asymmetrical tactics and expertise in creating explosive devices with which he could damage the HSA forces on Elysium.
An educated man, Kamarov quickly ordered his forces to lay down any formal uniforms, create local cells and blend in with the normal population in order to avoid conventional engagements which he knew he'd lose in the long run due to Elysium being one of the major strongholds of the HSA forces in the Fringe besides Bekenstein and cut of from heavier IFS support.
His strategy paid of from a purely militaristic perspective as his forces managed to deal asymetrical strikes against the infrastructure and morale of the HSA forces on Elysium in the years 2378 and 2379 but in doing so, caused large amounts of civilian casualties, turning the population against Kamarov's IFS movement.
In 2380, his forces increased their brutality even more by employing two stage bombings, first attacking crowds and then attacking the hospitals they were sent to be treated in. These actions were justified by Kamarov viewing everyone that didn't join his forces as traitors to the cause. Anyone who didn't actively support him, in his eyes, supported the HSA and deserved the treatment as any of his foes, death.
A wanted war criminal, the separatist leader survived three assassination attempts but also draw the ire of the IFS leadership who disliked his methods and brutality against civilian populations on contested worlds due to his actions pushing them into the hands of their foes, the HSA. Tensions peaked after the bombing of Illyria on 27.3.2381, resulting in the IFS declaring Kamarov a rogue commander. The bomb detonated, poisoning the air and ground of the city due to its radioactive nature and the cobalt isotope included in it.
Hostilities ended after the infighting of the IFS leadership on Shanxi caused the movement to collapse in on itself, Kamarov evading death at the hands of his former comrades and vanishing in the chaos of the early days after the war. However it is believed that Kamarov was murdered by his own deserters after the bombing, his followers turning away from his as he incinerated friend and foe alike with his device.
Kamarov, alongside the unknown commander of IFS Naval Forces, is the only IFS leader to remain unaccounted for. Because of this, post-Fringe Wars propaganda began to revision his actions with the aim to give the separatist movement a figure head to rally behind. This actions have had little success on most worlds, only Shanxi and ironically Elysium showing shades of success due to the degree of martial law placed on them after the Fringe Wars.
A/N: So chapter 17 is here, somewhat delayed because well I told you.
Let me know what you think, right now we're at 119 reviews, 283 favorites and 349 follows. Going strong guys.
This chapter sets up the next major story point, I hope you like it. Bit of a rushed A/N but I really gotta go somewhere right now.
See you around next time.
