Chapter. 29 Social Drinking
20. January 2396 AD, Citadel, HSA Embassy
The trip back from Camala had been divided between a visit to the medical bay to pick up painkillers, receiving a complaint from the Iwo Jima's captain for in fact scratching the paint of his frigate's hangar, being told that he had nearly crushed Saren Arterius with a krogan and earning the turian's congratulations on actually killing Skarr shortly afterwards, who only asked Anderson to warn him next time he'd attempt to blow up an Element Zero factory above his head. Then he had been asked to prepare a detailed report on the events, a task he had tackled with the help of Lieutenant Sanders and which had consumed the last few hours of sleep he could've gotten on the Iwo Jima in order to be completed. Once the ship had docked on the Citadel, Sanders and himself had been asked to get to the human embassy as soon as possible, parting ways with the Spectre who in turn had been called to his own superiors.
Looking back on just what they had accomplished and considering everything put against them, Anderson realised that they had gotten off Camala remarkably unscathed while achieving a very nearly impossible task in the process. Qian was silenced, the public image of the HSA was preserved since no data had been leaked and apparently they had helped Saren Arterius in stopping a terror attack on the Citadel in the process. Their cooperation had paid off for both sides. The good guys had gotten what they wanted and the bad guys had been stopped once again. Right now the N7 was on his way to the ambassador to be debriefed, having been selected to precede the most likely much longer session dedicated to Kahlee Sanders. Anderson knew he should feel really good about himself right now.
But if he was honest with himself, he felt the opposite of that.
The moment he had entered the embassy, leaving Kahlee Sanders outside, he had been informed that the divorce from his wife, which was rooted in the fact that he was hardly ever around because of his profession, had been finalised. While he had known that it was only a matter of time for this moment to arrive and had come to terms with the idea of being divorced some time ago, it still stung now that it was actually here. The N7 already had a very clear idea of where he'd go once he was dismissed, it was an old human tradition to drown your sorrows with alcoholic beverages. Who was he to go against such an integral part of his species culture?
Now, for the third time in the last few weeks, he was about to step inside Ambassador Goyle's office, an action that had previously put him in some quite unfavorable situations. This time would be different, at least he hoped that it would be. After all, the third time was supposed to be the charm, maybe the universe would work in his favour for once. When the door opened and he wasn't greeted with yet another stranger, Anderson was optimistic. The blonde woman sitting behind her desk, once more indulged in work, was the only other person in the room and as such the chance of being surprised three times in a row seemed small.
"Staff Lieutenant Anderson," she greeted before looking up from her terminal. "I heard you were back. Please, sit down," the ambassador suggested and the N7 did exactly that. "First of all, I'd like to congratulate you on your success. From what I've gathered by reading your report, the odds were everything but in your favour. Remarkable work."
"I had help," Anderson shrugged as he fought the urge to lean back, keeping his back straight instead. After all, falling asleep during a meeting with the ambassador would kill any chance of every being promoted past Staff Lieutenant. He didn't plan on snuffing out his career just yet. "Without the Spectre, things would've gone differently."
"He was the one who went after Qian, yes?" the woman asked.
"Yes," the Lieutenant nodded, a slight pain traveling through his neck in the process causing him to tense up. "I stayed with Sanders while he pursued both Qian and Had'dah," he explained as he rubbed his neck."
"Do you think Qian told him anything about his work?" Goyle's eyes narrowed. "Did Arterius show any changes in behaviour aboard the Iwo Jima?"
"I don't think so," Anderson replied. He knew that this particular conversation would not occur right now if he had been the one to take care of Qian. Goyle had supported going to Arterius for help under the condition that he was kept in the dark about Qian's actual job. Because the doctor turned traitor had died, or from what the Spectre had told him committed suicide, in Anderson's absence, Anita Goyle probably feared that Doctor Qian may have spilled his secrets before killing himself. He understood where she was coming form but from what Saren had told him, Qian had rambled about seemingly random things before blowing his head off with a salarian spy device. Since the Spectre struck him as the kind of person that would've confronted him about something as serious as breaking the AI ban, the lack of such a conversation reinforced that version of the events.
"Good," Goyle sighed in relief. "We'll keep an ear to the ground for a few more weeks, just to be sure nothing got leaked." The woman got up from her chair and walked a few steps before turning on her heel to face the N7 once more, curiosity on her face. "How would you describe your experience with this kind of work? I know you were far from comfortable with using Lieutenant Sanders as bait but other than that, how did you feel about what you were doing on Camala?"
He knew exactly what this was and considered his answer carefully. Some time ago Anderson had been told that he was in fact one of several soldiers being considered as the first human Spectre and that this mission would factor into the final choice of the committee tasked with selecting their candidate. On the one hand, he couldn't argue with the results. The mission had been a success and by the looks of it everyone on his side, including the HSA's image, had survived Camala. He had killed a krogan in single combat, fought of several batarians without the Spectre's hand and ensured their getaway to top it off. But on the other hand he knew that without the Spectre's convincing, he would've never gotten close to Qian in the first place. Had Anderson been alone, he would've shot Skarr the moment he had picked up Sanders by her throat. Therefore eliminating the reason for them to go to the factory in the first place.
"It was different than what I'm used to," he spoke, "and I feel like things would've gone very differently without Arterius."
"How come?"
One of the many things Anderson had learned during his years in the military was that it was incredibly important to recognize your mistakes and admit to your weaknesses. It had kept him alive. He knew what he could do and he knew with what he'd struggle. It was a lesson he had learned early on, a lesson that had stuck with him through time. The lieutenant wasn't afraid to be self critical, even if his answer would most likely deal a heavy blow to the question as to whether or not he'd be a good fit for the Spectres.
"I most likley would've pulled the trigger too early," he admitted. "I wasn't willing to put Sanders into the situation she needed to be in to lead us to Qian," he paused as he rubbed his neck. "The assignment wasn't the issue. Neither was the danger I was in or the foes I was facing."
"It was your attachment to Sanders," Goyle commented. "Or rather your general dislike about putting a bystander into the line of fire."
He nodded.
"When I'm in the field as an N7, I know that everyone around me is not only willing to put their life at risk, I know that they have the skills to do so with a reasonable chance to survive. With Sanders, that was different. She's was a technical officer doing the work of a spy."
"You were the one who argued that she might be needed in the field," Goyle reminded him as she raised her eyebrow.
"She needed to be there," Anderson simply replied, not disclosing why the lieutenant's presence was needed. It wasn't his place to talk about her guilt to someone else.
"But you still struggled with actually having her there?"
"Yes," he once more nodded.
"I understand where you're coming from, Lieutenant Anderson," she replied sincerely as she looked to back to her desk or more accurately to her terminal. "Gambling with a life is never easy, especially if the chances are stacked against you. I'm going to ask you another question and I'll need an honest answer from you."
"What is it, ambassador?" he already had a hunch.
"Do you think you could do this again and again? Do you think you could be a Spectre?"
Once more the lessons that had stuck with him through the years took command of his answer.
"I don't know," he stated in a clear, certain voice. "I can't tell you that right now."
The ambassador merely nodded, not pushing for either a 'yes' or a 'no', an action he was thankful for because truthfully, he didn't know if he could live as the kind of person a Spectre needed to be. Saren Arterius was by no means a bad person, if anything he displayed more heroic tendencies than the N7 himself but deep down Anderson knew that he lacked the kind of drive that caused the turian to be just as ruthless as the people he fought against if the situation called for it. David Anderson prided himself in never going against his moral compass. If an action was wrong, he wouldn't take it. Even in face of the worst situations, he had never abandoned his principles, always sticking to the code that had brought him home time and again from each of his missions. No matter how tough times were, he always held on to the ideals that formed the very foundation of his character and always tried to make the world around him a better place in the process.
He didn't know if he could hold onto those as a Spectre and neither did he know if he could let go of them if a mission required him to do so. Such an internal turmoil would not only be dangerous for him, it might put even more lives at risk when push came to shove. Before he could answer the ambassador's question, he needed to figure out the answer of his own problem.
"I can't thank you enough for your part in this mess, Lieutenant," Goyle said as she extended her hand to him which caused him to get up before grabbing and shaking it.
"There's nothing to thank me for, I was just doing my job," he replied. Anderson had never expected praise for the things he did, to him it was all part of being an N7. He did the things he did so others wouldn't have to.
"You were doing much more than that and you made quite the impression in the process," the woman disagreed, a small beep from his omni-tool informing him that he had received new contact information, "once you know if you could be a Spectre, come back to me," she added as he nodded firmly before letting go of her hand. "If there is nothing else you'd like to say, you're dismissed. Enjoy your time off."
"Good bye, ambassador," he replied in a sincere tone as he walked towards the door of her office.
"Good bye, Staff Lieutenant Anderson," she echoed before he closed the door.
And just like that, he found himself walking out of the embassy building, the goal in his mind the first Rapid Transit station that could find. Right about now the only thing David Anderson wanted to with his life was to get ridiculously drunk at the cheapest bar he could find. He had been in Chora's Den a few times already, the krogan bouncer there had a soft spot for humans, even if they came alone, and as such he was confident that he'd get inside. The objective of his next mission was to get as hammered as he possibly could without blacking out and being robbed blind by some Lower Wards thug. He took a couple of steps through the embassy area as he looked for one of the automated rides before another familiar voice caught his attention.
"You were just gonna disappear on me like that?" Sanders asked as she walked towards him with a smile, most likely on her way to her very own debriefing. "No farewell, no good bye, not even a see ya?" she joked, causing him to crack a faint smile. "After all those endless hours we spent on that report, I thought we'd be closer. Be honest, is it Arterius?"
"We bonded during the ride to get you," he countered as he decided to go along with her less than serious approach. "There's only room for one mission partner in my heart and he seized it the moment he brought me that dust buggy," Anderson explained with a very serious tone before he began to chuckle at his own joke, causing both of them to share a laugh.
"I never thanked you for getting me in on the mission, did I?" Sanders asked once they regained their composure.
"You didn't have to," he shook his head. "You needed to be there to see this mess through. I've been where you are right now," he smiled, hiding all but the slightest trace of guilt in his voice. "It gets better with time, trust me."
"But it never really goes away, does it?" she raised an eyebrow. Kahlee Sanders was far too observant for his liking.
He had lost a few friends over the years, that was simply a part of the job and as such he had come to terms with death, at least on most occasions. Losing his best friend was something that Anderson never quite came to terms with, it had left a permanent mark on him. Master Chief Santino Abrami had died almost eight years ago but the memory of his final moments was still etched in Anderson's mind, countless of times the lieutenant had asked himself if something he could've done would've allowed him to save the man who had saved him time and again, if he could've switched places with him, if he could've stopped it at the last possible second. He knew that Sanders was asking herself pretty much the same questions but he suspected that her guilt was even bigger than his. She had gotten away in the nick of time and he knew that if he was in her shoes, he'd blame himself for running away, even if it was far from the truth. At least he had been there when Santino died, the technical officer couldn't claim the same thing and that made it all the more difficult for her.
"Are you going to be ok?" he asked as he looked at her.
"I think so," she shrugged as her smile grew a little less bright. "Not now but eventually."
They lingered next to each other for a few, pleasantly silent seconds as Anderson struggled to come up with an answer. Nothing he could say would bring any of the people who died on Sidon back to life and neither could he utter a few words and make Sanders understandable survivor's guilt vanish.
"I should get going," the lieutenant muttered, before Anderson had made up his mind. "Goyle is probably waiting for me and I think I already irritated her more than enough last time."
"She didn't seem that angry," he shrugged. "You'll be fine," Anderson ensured the woman.
"I'll see you around, David," the blonde woman's smile returned as she began to walk away. "Hopefully sooner than later."
"Take care, Kahlee."
She was a remarkable woman, at least in his opinion. Not only had she discovered a potentially catastrophic threat to the HSA but had also displayed a degree of bravery he had never witnessed before. He admired her and he had a feeling that she returned that admiration towards him. They both knew that there was something more than a companionship between them but right now neither couldn't act on it and so Anderson began his journey to Chora's Den. Just another thing he'd like to forget for today.
Early 2138 CE, Citadel, Office of Councilor Idril
"You seem to hold this Lieutenant Anderson in high regards," the salarian said as his hand rested just underneath his mouth, "according to your report, he played a crucial role in ensuring your escape."
"He's a very capable soldier," the Spectre nodded as he folded his hands behind the small of his back, "and a very good get-away driver. Never seen someone drive that crazy and come out to tell the tale."
The old salarian chuckled with a sense of familiarity as if he had been in a similar situation at some point in his life, which seemed unlikely and very plausible at the same time given the questions Saren had about him. Something about Idril didn't seem quite right to the Spectre, he just couldn't figure out what it was. When it was just the two of them, the councilor appeared to be better at Saren's job than he was himself, providing useful advice and insight into the work of a Spectre while being able to relate to the situations Saren found himself in far better than a politician, or really anyone outside his line of work, should be able to.
Furthermore small things about the salarian didn't quite fit the person he was supposed to be either. He had rather muscular frame for a salarian of his age and while that may be explained through a disciplined physical routine, a curious looking cut on his arm barely visible under his robe and a generally strange attidute at times all raised questions Saren couldn't find conclusive answers to. Maybe these things were all part of a series of coincidences or maybe there was a logical explanation behind each and every one of them. Maybe he was just overthinking the subject at hand. Or maybe all these little things were evidence of something else entirely, something that would raise even more questions.
When they were outside of the public eye, Councilor Idril struck Saren as different from the person he was portraying to the galaxy, even if his off the record background checks had all but confirmed that the red-coloured amphibian was in fact 'just' the career politican hailing from a rather influential dalatrass family he claimed to be. Yet every time Saren received a briefing or debriefing from the salarian, small holes appeared in a narrative that was otherwise perfect, small holes that made Saren think that Idril had been a lot of things in his life but never a politician.
"You know you'll soon be able to supervise a candidate in the field should you chose to do so?" the salarian questioned as he looked at his omni-tool, only catching Saren's nod thanks to his ability to multitask beyond anything the Spectre had ever seen outside of the salarian species. "The decision to induct someone into the Spectres has to be made carefully. Few apply, even less are suited. It would be your duty to find those that are."
"I know," he replied somewhat distracted as he looked around the office, pictures, personal affects and certificates linked to Idril's name strangely absent. The offices of both Benezia and Ioventus, who was currently supervising the former Primarch Sparatus that had been chosen to suceed him by the Council of Primarchs, were proudly bearing the milestones of their political, academical and military careers, displaying them to everyone who walked inside as a way of informing them that they were in fact more than qualified for the duties that came with being a councilor.
Idril had never had displayed anything like that. His office wasn't decorated in any way, it was spartan, even by turian standards. Looking back it had been that way ever since the first time Saren had set foot inside the room and it hadn't changed a bit over the course of the last few years.
It might be a personal choice, it might be a cultural choice. He knew certain salarians were incredibly humble and opposed to ever admitting to the good things they did during their lives and were unwilling to present them to the public because they presumed that to be a way of bragging but those salarians rarely if ever became politicians, let alone councilors. To even be considered for the position of representing their entire their own species, in essence becoming the face of their people to the galactic community, one needed to be a shining example of the values of their race, an incredibly public figure out for everyone to admire and relate to, not someone opposed to presenting their achievements.
"From this report, I'd presume that Lieutenant Anderson might catch your interest?" the councilor asked. "Even if he 'collapsed a krogan' on you," the salarian air quoted. He knew it wasn't the most formal report to ever leave his omni-tool but he had written it as fast and detailed as he possibly could aboard the Iwo Jima. On the trip back to the Citadel there hadn't been enough time to consider the way he could have phrased certain events differently, he had been occupied on by very different matter, a matter still clouding his mind at the moment.
'The truth'.
A concept mentioned by the late Captain Haliat several years ago and once more brought up by both Had'dah and Qian. All three had behaved very similar although they were very different people with very different mindsets and backgrounds. Each of them had been convinced of what they had been talking about but not in the way an insane person was convinced of their own delusions. No, Haliat, Had'dah and Qian, while insane, had been as convinced of this 'truth' as Saren himself was of one and one making two. There had been a method to their madness. The situation had caused Saren to once more view the recordings made by Elanos Haliat and compare them to the more recent audio files his omni-tool had captured during the mission on Camala, an action that had only sown even more worry in his mind in regards to the things these three people had said.
Doctor Qian had told Saren that he'd experience the thing they were talking about within in his life time and the human had been convinced that it was so incredibly horrifying that death would have been the preferable option. In comparison, Haliat had spoken about how the artifact could create a new breed of turians able to endure 'what's to come', a reasonable reaction in face of the kind of odds that had driven the doctor mad due to the turian's background. Blackwatch was trained to face the impossible. Then, like the batarian, Haliat had mentioned how insignificant they were compared to 'it', which might have been the thing Qian had told him he wouldn't be ablet o stop.
But the similarities between these cases hadn't stopped there. Had'dah had spoken about the concept of doom as well while completely abandoning the desire for vengeance that had driven him to the actions which had alerted Saren to him in the first place. His personal drive had been wiped away and replaced by a sober acceptance of something he believed to be unchangeable, something Haliat had experienced in a less severe way most likley due to his more resilient mind. Furthermore both the aristocrat and the turian soldier had spoken of events set into place long before their time, Had'dah had called described it as a path set before his ancestors sailed the stars and Haliat had described this concept as one already present before the turians first rose to civilization on Palaven. Both had believed into a kind of predestination for their people.
All of these similarities further confirmed that Desolas was right. Something was coming for them and by the sound of it, it would arrive incredibly soon and threaten everyone in its path.
"Agent Arterius?" the salarian asked.
"Excuse me?"
"I asked if you'd consider Staff Lieutenant Anderson to be a viable candidate for the Spectres."
That was one of the things his brother had asked him to do as a Spectre. Ensure that a human became a member of their ranks to give the HSA a viable claim to a seat on the Council and in turn allow them to bolster up their military to prepare for the fight that was to come. He was on the verge of being considered as an agent with enough experience to begin the field training of a new candidate and as such he had actually been waiting for human politicians to bring up the subject. Sending someone to try out for the Spectres was a difficult process and besides members of the races holding a seat on the Council, only the quarians had ever managed to find their footing into the organisation before their people and society fell prey to their own creations and ambition. They had been the only other race to ever induct agents into the ranks of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch.
But they were not the only ones who had tried. The Batarian Hegemony had time and again asked to send their own candidates to field training but the Council had denied these requests throughout history as both a very public protest against the batarian government and its behaviour and a political play to keep them from having an actual claim on a seat on the Council, something that would be an utter disaster for the galactic community. The last things the galaxy needed were even more arrogant batarians.
Fortunately for the galaxy, the blessing of the Citadel Council was needed before a species could request their finest to even be considered as viable candidates. This need for permission was necessary because it was generally accepted that having active Spectres was one of the most important steps a race had to take before receiving a seat on the council. Saren was certain that humanity would receive that permission should they ask for it since they already did more to uphold the galactic community than most other associates, with the exception of the volus who had created the galactic economy out of nothing and continued to ensure its stability, and in his eyes it wasn't a stretch to assume that they'd be able to step up to the responsibilities of a council seat. He could give humanity a push into the right direction if he took a human under his wing. At least as long as he picked the right candidate. If he chose someone unsuited, it might push them into the wrong direction.
"He's an exceptional soldier, there's no doubt in that," he said. "But I think his morales and principles might stand in the way of his full potential."
"How come?" the salarian asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
"He's very good in the field, he's got good instincts and a lot of courage. All traits needed to be a Spectre. But he has trouble with keeping his personal values from interfering with his mission."
"Common problem. Only few individuals can shut off their moral compass for the sake of the mission," the salarian nodded before picking up on something in Saren's expression. "But the inability to go against one's own principles is not a necessarily bad trait. Especially for a Spectre."
There it was again, the insight he shouldn't have but still possessed. Idril had a point and it was a good one.
"What do you mean by that, Councilor Idril?" Saren asked.
"You operate in the darkest corners of the galaxy and see the worst things it has to offer. That can change you," the salarian explained. "Sometimes principles are the only thing keeping you on the right path and staying on the right path is one of the most important things for someone operating without any checks in place."
"So you're saying he's a good fit?" the turian asked as he looked out of the window the salarian was looking through, the evergreen scenery of the Presidium looming in the distance as the artificial blue sky slowly started to grow darker due to the evening protocols kicking in and altering its appearance in the process.
"I am not the one who has to make that decision, Agent Arterius," Idril simply replied. In that the salarian was more than right. If he supervised a candidate, it would be his call to make as to whether or not that person would make a good Spectre. But before that it was the candidate's call to apply in the first place and before either of the two it was humanity's call to send a candidate to begin with. The salarian's omni-tool beeped as he received a message, causing him to summon the orange holographic display out of thing air. "And at the moment it is not a decision you can make either. I think it would do you some good to put your thoughts back into order, you must have quite a lot on your mind. The conversations with your targets must've gotten you thinking. I'm sure your brother would like a word about it in due time, after all he's been rather focused on the same subject for quite a while now."
Saren's eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the salarian who now had turned his head to him with the faintest of smirks.
"How do you know about that?" Saren asked as he recovered.
"Take the next few days off, Agent Arterius," the councilor began as he looked out of the window once more, his large eyes staring at something in the distance as he let out a single cough.
"What's your part in this Councilor Idril?" he pressed on. He knew that Desolas had been making contacts with certain groups to build up the galaxy's strength from the shadows. Maybe the councilor was part of such a group or maybe he had simply figured out that something was going on by himself.
"For now just know that I'm on your brother's side. You'll learn the rest eventually," the salarian shrugged as he pulled down his hood, revealing even more scars and answering Saren's question in the process.
"I'd like to learn it now," the turian muttered as his curiosity got the better of him. If Desolas had been in touch with someone as powerful as a councilor it would mean that his brother had better connections than Saren could've possibly suspected.
"Suggest you go to," he once more looked at his omni-tool, "Chora's Den. Get some drinks, get a clear mind. Consider it your next assignment," the salarian went on as his speech pattern now changed noticeably. "Used to help me."
"Why that place?"
"You'll figure it out once you're there," Idril offered while his back remained turned towards Saren, the lights in the office turning on as they registered the growing darkness creeping in from the outside.
The turian simply nodded, walking out of the salarian's office with a direction, some answers and even more questions.
20. January 2396 AD, Citadel, Chora's Den
The bouncer hadn't given him any trouble and with the fourth empty glass hitting the table in the center of the bar he was well on his way to achieve the goal of his newest mission. Shortly after leaving the embassy, while riding one of the many automated skycars making up the Rapid Transit system of the Citadel, he had been notified that he had exactly two days of leave before the Hastings would pick him up again and he'd be able to dive into his work once more to further distract himself. Until then he'd try to spent as little time as possible thinking about his ex-wife and as much time as possible doing literally anything else. He didn't feel like actually dealing with the issue at hand for once and in Anderson's own mind he had earned himself the right to ignore it for the time being.
Ordering the fifth glass from the salarian bartender he prepared himself to further increase the amount of alcohol flowing through his blood stream until the realisation that someone was now standing next to him tore his focus away from the glass in his hand.
"Drinking alone?" the turian asked as he shook his head towards an asari behind the bar, not ordering himself a drink for the time being. Saren Arterius leaned against the bar, resting his arms on the polished metal dividing the crowd from the bartenders, still wearing his suit of armor. He hadn't expected company and if he would've been sober he would most likely have asked just how the turian had found him. The Citadel was the biggest station in the galaxy and the chances of him simply running into Anderson by chance ranged from miniscule to downright impossible.
But since he wasn't sober he didn't really care about all of that.
"Yeah," he shrugged as he slowly spun the glass in his hand, causing the liquid inside to move in circles.
"What's the occasion?" the turian questioned as he turned towards Anderson, looking at the already empty glasses standing in front of him. "You've obviously been at it for quite some time now so I'm going to assume that it's not a good one."
"Freshly divorced," the N7 declared as he raised his glass to his mouth, sipping at its content for a moment before lowering it. "Just go the final decree of divorce from my now ex-wife," the N7 explained as he downed the rest of its content. "Now it's definitely over."
"Oh," the turian muttered. "I'm sorry?" he offered with a bit of uncertainty. While the turian was far more capable than Anderson when it came to combat and field work, it was also very evident that the human was still nearly a decade older than him. The Spectre lacked a lot of the life experiences Anderson had already gathered in the years he was ahead of Saren Arterius.
"Don't be, not your fault," he sighed as he ran a hand through his short brown hair before lapsing in a short silence. "She just couldn't deal with me being away all the time, I get it. It sucks but I get it."
"Ours is not an easy road," Saren argued. "We go through things most people will never understand."
"But we do it so they don't have to," Anderson finished his line of thought, causing the Spectre to nod in agreement.
"We'll need people like you in the future," Saren suddenly said. "I'm afraid that things won't stay the way the are right now for much longer and the galaxy could use someone like you, someone who sticks to their ideals no matter the situation."
"What are you getting at, Saren?" Anderson asked as he ran his finger along the edge of his empty glass.
"I'm not blind. Part of the motivation behind us working together was to give you a taste at the work of a Spectre," the turian shrugged, "if you get the chance, take it. You did good."
"The hell I did. I would've jumped the gun on Skarr," Anderson chuckled as he looked at the lights reflecting of his glass. "I would've blown the mission and our chance at getting to the targets if you hadn't stopped me. My ideals stood in the way of my mission."
"You would've done things differently to begin with," the turian countered as Anderson set his glass down. "Camala went down like that because I was the one dictating the terms of the mission. If it would've been your assignment, you would've never put Sanders into the line of fire to begin with. If I learned one thing out of the experience of nearly being crushed by a krogan you blew up," the turian said as Anderson let out a little chuckle, "it's that you do things differently. I had a talk with someone who told me that the ideals that make you who you are might not be an obstacle at all."
"I'm too drunk and too tired to interpret that," the N7 admitted as he raised one of his fingers at the turian.
"They'll keep you on the right path no matter what the galaxy throws at you, I know they will. Staying on the right path is worth more than pragmatism, Anderson, and if anyone can stick to their principles in spite of the things people like us do, it's you," Saren explained. "I can't tell you why we'll need people who are as grounded as you are but I can tell you that we'll need them. Soon."
"That's really fucking cryptic," David Anderson sighed.
"I know," the turian chuckled, "just think about it, alright?" Saren muttered.
He considered the turian's words. While there was an urgency hidden behind them some might assume to be of manipulative nature, there was also honesty, a lot of honesty. Saren, for one reason or another, was convinced that Anderson would be a good fit and as the N7 repeated his words inside his mind, something inside him shifted, doubts were replaced by new found certainty and a previous lack of purpose vanished to make room for the idea of possibly making the galaxy a little brighter. One assignment with a Spectre had stopped a terrorist from unleashing his wrath on the Citadel and saved the HSA from public humiliation and political sanctions. It had made a difference, more so than most of his N7 assignments.
"Fine. I'll do it," he finally replied.
"I told you to think about it."
"I thought about it and now I'll do it," the N7 pointed out.
"I can live with that," the turian said as he held up his hand towards the bartender who recogized the gesture and reached below the bar. "Back to the issue at hand then."
"What are you doing?" Anderson asked as he looked at his turian companion while the bartender handed him a long cylinder of dextro alcohol in one hand and a fresh glass of whiskey in the other.
"Human and turian culture are very similar in some aspects," the Spectre smirked as he gave the fresh glass of whiskey to the N7. Now held up the blue coloured, dextro alcohol. "We drink when things are bad," he added, "and besides I can't let you drink by yourself. It looks sad and pathetic. If we do it together, it's social drinking, which is completely acceptable."
"To what do we socially drink then?" Anderson chuckled as the Spectre turned towards him and handed him the glass.
"To better times," Saren raised his own tube of blue liquid into the air and towards the N7.
"Hmm, better times," Anderson mused as he realised where the Spectre was going. "I'll drink to that," he chuckled as their glasses collided, setting of their first round together, a round that was followed by another, then another and another and another after that. Sure enough time began to blur together with each round and eventually Anderson found himself waking up on a couch as rays of artificial light found their way through the window and right into his face, the hazy image of parting ways with an equally drunk Saren Arterius some hours ago and renting this room only returning to him as he saw the jacket of his dress uniform partially blocking the window inside the room, the blinds placed above it wide open and unused. He had never been susceptible to hangovers in the past but if the headache he felt right now and his inability to do something as simple as lowering blinds was anything to go by, he was having a one right now, a really bad one. He rubbed his brow as small drops of sweat touched his hand and tried to remember the events that had occurred after their fourth round to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't recall what had happened after a certain point but luckily for him he did remember the most important conclusion of the conversation that had taken place before their first round had set of the series of events that had let him into this room, and as such he began looking for a contact on his omni-tool, a bit of joy washing over him as he found it.
Maybe she was up already. Only one way to find out.
A groan escaped his mouth as the orange light of his omni-tool hit his still sensitive eyes before he began to type his message for the woman, only noticing the fact that he was missing at least ten hours worth of memories once he read the time displayed by the digital clock in the corner of the holographic display. It was noon already, he had left for Chora's Den sometime during yesterday's early evening. What in god's name had he been doing from the time between meeting Saren and waking up in this room? He shook his head in an effort to clear it but when that didn't work either, he chose to focus on what he had originally set out to do when opening his omni-tool. Once more resuming his work on the message for the blonde woman, he opted for a shorter approach and deleted what he had already typed. He didn't need to write an essay, he just needed to get his intention across. She'd get it.
'I made up my mind. Count me in,' he typed before sending the message to Ambassador Goyle, figuring to might as well look around the room to pass some time while he waited for a reply. However that decision was rendered irrelevant as he received a new message mere moments after reaching for his jacket. He could've guessed she'd be this fast, after all she was always working when he had seen her and since it was noon already, she had probably been awake for quite some time now.
'Good. Consider yourself the final candidate,' he read with a smile, the earlier doubts still absent. He knew he would've regretted not taking a chance like that some time down the line.
He pulled his jacket from the window, causing even more light to flood into the room as Anderson rubbed the last bit of sleep out of his eyes only to double back at the sight of the Presidium. How had they gotten up here from the Lower Wards? He had assumed that he was still down there right until removing his makeshift curtain. Once more deciding that he probably couldn't answer that question, the N7 slung his jacket over his shoulder before turning on his heel and walking out of the hotel. There was no need to stay here any longer. He needed to prepare for his pick up anyway and maybe he'd even remember the rest of the night while he sorted things out. If nothing else he could always contact the Spectre, he'd be able to fill in the blanks.
At least that's what the N7 hoped for.
A few hours, one chat with an equally clueless turian, a packed footlocker and several cups of coffee later that hope would start to disappear. Anderson would only learn bits and pieces of the things Saren and him had done during their first of many nights of 'social drinking' over the course of the following years, picking up stories and accounts that slowly created an incredible tale no sane person would wish to be part of.
Not that any of these stories would prevent the two from doing it again and again.
Early 2138 CE, Aephus, Turian Naval Rally Point
"I agree, it was time," Desolas shrugged as he looked at the projection of the salarian in front of him. "Although you could've been a bit less cryptic about it, Cozek."
"You know me, I like being cryptic," the salarian chuckled before coughing. He hadn't been in the best shape as of late, something that worried Desolas not only because of his position on the council and the value associated with it but also because he considered the former STG agent to be one of his friends. While his replacement had already been briefed on the situation, already working hand in hand with Cozek's contacts, it still seemed strange to the general that the red-skinned amphibian would only be around for a few more years at best. Such was the reality of a short-lived species, while Cozek was only slightly older than Desolas but much closer to death already. "Have the humans found anything?" he asked, taking the general back to the conversation.
"No, they are just as lost as we are. Worse even, Qian was one of their top scientists. There's no telling what kind of damage he did behind the scenes. Two people exactly like Haliat are not good," the turian general sighed. "Your STG contacts found nothing pointing to an artifact either did they?"
"No. Yours?"
"Nothing," Desolas replied with a frustrated tone. "We managed to trace Had'dah's steps back to the Perseus Veil thanks to Saren's data but there's nothing at those coordinates. Whatever the surveyors found, it's no longer there. Nothing close to the size of the object mentioned in the survey report was orbiting the planet. Unless it flew away, it should be there."
"Geth could've taken it into possession," the salarian suggested as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Or Had'dah Enterprises destroyed it to remove evidence," he gestured with one of his hands.
Ever since his little brother had exposed the head of the company as a maniac with plans to attack the Citadel Council, Had'dah Enterprises had been the target of an army of C-SEC prosecutors looking to dismantle the concern as a response. It wasn't such a stretch that they'd blow something up that could incriminate them even further. On the other hand the geth were a reasonable possibility as well. No one knew just what they were doing beyond the Perseus Veil, deep within in their space. If Had'dah found something with abilities akin to the artifacts, the geth might have moved it away from the rest of the galaxy and into their home space to study it. They certainly possessed the means to transport something of that size but whether or not that was a good thing would remain to be seen. While they hadn't left their space for nearly three centuries, they hadn't played nice with organics either. If the managed to figure out how the artifacts work, their behaviour might change.
"Either way, we got to figure out what he found and we need to step up our game. Qian said that Saren would live to see it, that means whatever the Harbinger is planning could happen at any moment."
"Had'dah mentioned predestination, something Haliat did as well," the salarian observed. "Qian and Haliat also both spoke of our lack of understanding. Their truth seems to be centered around our misunderstanding of something we consider a fact."
"I noticed that as well," the general said as sat in his office, looking at the empty seat across of him. "If we were to figure out what that misconception is that they're talking about, maybe we'd get a better idea of what they are talking about."
"We should look into the works of scientific freelancers," Cozek suggested. "People diverging from accepted truths."
"You want to look through the works of conspiracy theorists?" the general said with a hint of doubt. "Most freelancers might as well be fantasy authors given the things they claim to have proven."
"Correct," the salarian admitted. "Yet one of them might have the right idea. Ancient salarian society mocked the first mind to dream of a world besides Sur'kesh, she turned out to be right. Can't afford to ignore an angle because it seems unlikely from our current point of view."
Desolas sighed once more. "I'll get my people on it," he was able to see the logic behind Cozek's line of thought. Freelancers were dismissed for outlandish theories considered false by the scientific community and Qian and Haliat had both pointed out a major misconception within that very community. A member of the community wouldn't be able to see what they were seeing, someone outside of it however may just have the right idea. A different perspective could go a long way in situations such as these and they needed every advantage they could have.
"Good," the salarian nodded before once more coughing, this time only catching his breath after several attempts.
"You should get some rest, Cozek."
"Already slept earlier. This is more pressing, need to get this done. Can rest later."
"Stubborn bastard," the general muttered. Not that he'd behave any different from Cozek.
"I'll draft up a list of potential individuals of interest as well, will focus on salarian and asari individuals."
"Seriously Cozek, you should slow down a bit, you don't look so good. Let me handle this," Desolas once more voiced his concerned, worry in his voice. One of the leading cases of death for elderly salarians was overexhaustion. Salarians tended to live their lives on fast forward but there came a point in their lives when their body wasn't able to keep up with their mind, causing them to unknowingly overwork themselves.
"Will be fine," the salarian insisted. The reaction was to be expected, people like him didn't like to slow down.
"Keep an eye on my brother for now, I'll handle this," he offered as Cozek sighed at his suggestion.
"Will pass on the drafting of the list to one of my contacts," the councilor finally accepted Desolas' advice.
"Good. It would be a shame if a cold killed your scrawny ass prematurely."
"Would be embarrassing. Take care," the salarian chuckled.
"Back at you," he nodded as the projector turned off.
Now to inform Director Rei of their new angle.
26. January 2396 AD, Arcturus Station
Harper stood in the middle of the room as Noé read through the finalized report of both the mission on Camala and its aftermath. While no one had leaked word about the HSA's more than illegal AI research, the fact that Qian had been influenced by something related to the Object Omnicron's was beyond worrying. They had tried to recover the data stored on Sidon's servers but not only the doctor had wiped his private work from the network but the explosion set off by the batarian forces that had attacked the base had also caused irreparable damage to the research facility's server unit, making it impossible to recover anything that hadn't been copied onto the reinforced backup servers which had survived the detonation but had been devoid of Qian's notes. The members of logistical staff who could've seen the object during the short period after its arrival to the base were dead as well, making them unable to act as witnesses, and the sole survivor, one Lieutenant Sanders who had already been reassigned to her next project, was of no use in this matter, since she had not come into direct contact with the trigger during her time on Sidon.
"And the coordinates turned up nothing?"
"No, Sir. Whatever Had'dah found is gone. Our turian contact figured that the geth may have taken it."
"Kind of reminds me of the Leviathan of Dis," the chancellor commented. "Maybe whatever was orbiting that world is similar to the thing that crashed on Jartar? Both are pretty desolate places, could be a pattern."
"We have no way to verify that, Sir."
"Just theorizing here, Harper," the man murmured as he ran a hand through his greying hair. "Qian didn't have any implants, did he?" Noé asked while scrolling through the report.
"Not according to the Spectre that killed him," Harper replied. This was the one detail that had genuinely unsettled him. Previous cases that had shown the degree of obsession that both Qian and Had'dah had displayed had been heavily modified by the Object Omnicrons, their implants amplifying its influence. These cases suggested that they either were wrong about the way the devices created their thralls or, which in his mind was more likley, that there was an even more powerful version of whatever the alien artifacts were doing to the people their targeted. If that was the case, they'd have to be far more careful in the future. Furthermore Qian's mental decline had been rather swift even in the absence of one of the objects. It had only taken him a few days to shift his loyalties. "The recovery of his body would've been essential."
"Well, that won't happen, he blew his head off and got crushed by several tons of ceiling and krogan. Talk about overkill," the man said as he scratched his chin. "The batarian is gone as well. Suicide west. They were absolutely prepared to die for their secret. Never thought I'd see the day someone as selfish as a batarian aristocrat made such a selfless call. Kind of worrying really."
"Personally I find Qian's words to be the most worrying thing about all of this," the director of Cerberus said as he pressed a button on the tablet he was holding, replaying the recording of the Spectre's helmet camera. "You'll live to see it, turian, and when you do, you'll wish you would've died earlier," it echoed through the office as Noé looked up to him. ´"Director Rei has been worried that this Harbinger might make his move sooner than later before, I think this all but confirms that suspicion," Harper added as he paused the recording again. "We need to prepare."
"How do you prepare for something you know next to nothing about, Harper? How do you fight something without knowing what it is?" the man asked while looking away from the screen and into Harper's blue, artifical eyes.
"I don't know, Sir," the former specialist said as he looked at the chancellor. "I just know that we have to win."
"That makes two of us," Noé nodded before returning his attention to the report.
Jack Harper had never been one to consider back down from a fight but right about now he asked himself if it would even be one. If they didn't learn more about their foe, they wouldn't stand a chance.
He'd have to change that, by any means necessary.
Codex: Quarian-Citadel Relations before the Geth War
The quarian people first made contact with the Citadel Council shortly before the Rachni Wars, joining a connected galactic community already made up of the asari, salarians, volus, elcor, hanar and batarians in the process. Having already established a small number of colonies and outposts throughout their territory in the Perseus Veil and Terminus Systems, the quarians were surprisingly advanced compared to the other races that had previously joined the Citadel as associates, being the only non-council race besides the volus to find be the one innitiating contact with the Citadel on their own terms adn rivaling both the salarians and asari in their understanding of the wonders of the galaxy.
Their relative isolation from the rest of the galaxy forced the quarian people to become very selfreliant early on, a tendency still observed within the remnants of their society today while their dextro-amino acids and the lack of worlds capable of supporting them limited their expansion.
As an associate of the Citadel Council, the quarians took a part in both the Rachni Wars and the Krogan Rebellions, siding with the rest of the galaxy on both occasions while emerging remarkably unscathed out of the two most devastating conflicts in galactic history due to the location of their territory and the distance between it and the parts of asari and salarian space that saw most of the fighting.
This position of strength, only lessened by the induction of the Turian Hierarchy to the Citadel Council, combined with a swift rate of technological progress, capable diplomats and resource rich territories gave the Quarian Conclave a unique standing among the other associates,a standing that eventually allowed them to become the first non-council race to induct members of their military into the ranks of the Spectres, an achievement that would remain unchallenged until the induction of the first human Spectre.
With the rise of artificial intelligence, the Quarian Conclave grew even more influential, leading the research efforts in the field through their unmatched understanding of advanced programming and their unique approach of networking several, less intelligent AIs into bigger, more capable construct.
This approach would eventually lead to their downfall.
In 1843 CE the Quarian Conclave, well aware of its disproportionate strength compared to the rest of the associate nations, asked to be granted a seat on the Citadel Council, a decision turned down by all three members of the executive board on the grounds of keeping the balance due to both the hanar and volus voicing a similar request only years earlier and being turned down as well. Arguing that the quarian people had yet to contribute something worthy of a seat on the Citadel Council to defend their decision, the three acting councilors unwillingly became the catalyst of the single most important decision of quarian history, the creation of the geth.
The Quarian Conclave, eager to prove itself, looked inward and came to the conclusion that their experience with artificial intelligence was the surest way to prove the Citadel Council wrong. The geth, meaning 'servant of the people' in Khelish, were meant to be the quarian contribution to the galaxy. Semi-sentient, networked artifical intelligence drones meant to serve the quarians and by extension the rest of the galaxy as both laborers and soldiers with unrivaled efficiency, growing smarter as their numbers increased.
The concept worked, for a time.
In 1889, the geth achieved something they were never meant to achieve. Sentience.
A series of events and the horrified reaction of the Quarian Conclave to the newfound awareness of their tools would eventually lead to the Geth War, a conflict raging on for nearly six years and resulting in the death of nearly 30 billion quarians across all of their colonies. Upon its conclusion in 1895 it lead to the closure of the quarian embassy on the Citadel, effectively banishing the remnants of the Quarian Conclave, the Migrant Fleet, from the greater galactic community and ending relations between them and the Citadel Council.
A/N: So, delayed chapter because I hit a little writers blockade (induced by playing a lot of Stellaris and having a full social calender) early on, only powering through this chapter when I realised that it had already been TEN days since my last update. For me, that's long. At least while I still have time.
So, Revelation is concluded and I finally got to write the scene I always wanted to write while teasing one of the major sources of comedy in the later storyline, Anderson and Saren's first 'social drinking'. It'll be a recurring thing, nothing major, just a bit of lighthearted comedy.
Other than that, I rounded off Revelation's impacts on the overall plot of Semper Vigilo while giving Harper his core motivation for the rest of the story and cementing the very different relationship between the turian Spectre and the human N7.
For the record, we're at 230 reviews, 415 favorites and 509 follows.
Glad you're around guys.
Let me know what you think of this chapter, and on a sidenote, some of the quarian-citadel stuff is based around a talk I had with CaedmonCousland while the rest of it is basically my take on things already present in the canon of Mass Effect. I made up all the early stuff though.
See you around next time.
