Chapter 110. Actions Have Consequences
27. April 2417 AD, Cronos Station
"So you put a gun into the Captain's back?" Harper muttered while looking at the holographic depiction of Miranda. She was still in her armor and she had just finished her retelling of the most recent operation of the Council Task Force meant to combat the Reaper threat: the boarding of a merchant freighter occupied by an unknown force not at all unlike the mercenaries Strike Team Machai had encountered during their latest operation.
"I did. And even that wasn't enough to discourage him from destroying the Reaper," the operative responded with a hint of confusion. She was clearly misreading Harper's mood. She assumed he was disappointed at the loss of the Reaper wreckage; not the fact that she'd threatened to shoot Hackett's favorite grunt in the back. Similarly, she also didn't seem to understand how close she'd come to finding out what happened when you put a squad of ASOC operatives into a position where they considered your death a necessity.
"Of course it wasn't enough. I thought you read his file," the director stated before pinching his nose and closing his eyes.
"I did," Miranda protested, to which Harper reached for a cigarette.
"Did you?" he grumbled before igniting it and looking at the hologram. "If so, please enlighten me what part of Tore Haugen's service record made you think that he'd back down because you threatened his life," he pulled on his cigarette and exhaled. "Mindoir, Torfan, Virmire, Benning," he listed. "Those are just a few of the many occasions Captain Haugen looked death into the face for the HSA. The man has fought in every single major conflict and war since First Contact with the exception of the Mercenary Intervention," which Harper would assume he would have fought in as well if he hadn't been a child back then, "He's fae insurgents, batarians, geth, krogan clones, husks and a rogue Spectre," to name a few. "Most people would've had enough for one life after going up against one of those, but Captain Haugen fought them all and picked up his rifle every time we needed him to since," he flicked his cigarette into the ash tray. "No matter what the galaxy threw at him, he faced it without ever hesitating. Every. Single. Time," in an uncharacteristic moment, Harper sighed. "While it sounds like an exaggeration, Captain Tore Haugen really is everything the ideal HSA combat leader should be and everything about his life tells you what kind of man he is, what kind of cloth he's cut from," he looked at the smoldering cigarette paper. "Yet something still made you believe that you could intimidate someone like him into following your orders with something as basic as a threat to his life. How could you possibly-"
He trailed off before glancing back at the hologram and remembering the day HSAIS had picked her up from Arcadia.
She'd barely been twenty back then and gone AWOL from the university her father had selected for her. Initially it had been deemed a regular missing person's case but as soon as she'd been found, it had been clear that she'd been running away from the life one of the most influential men in the HSA had designed for her – just like he'd designed her genetics for that particular life.
One look was all it had taken to see the value Miranda offered. Her potential had been obvious back then. Even with the aspect of being a genetically engineered biotic, her greatest gift hadn't been what she'd been born with but the mindset she'd developed because of the life she'd been forced into.
Her flaws had been similarly visible though, chiefly her supreme arrogance and the utter refusal to ever consider that she could be wrong; she'd even argued with the field agent to extract her for crying out loud.
They'd gotten her off-world but as soon as it had become evident that Miranda wouldn't change, HSAIS hadn't been particularly interested in keeping her around.
Cerberus however had. He'd always believed that you could teach anybody to become anything, as long as you applied the correct teaching methods – which he had done.
"Director, I-"
"I'm not done Miranda," Harper said sharply. He hadn't had to worry about Miranda making mistakes for years. In retrospective that was probably the exact reason why what had happened had happened. If she'd be more used to being wrong, she never would've even considered putting a gun into the back of her allies. This was as much his mistake as it was hers. "I know what made you consider this option. I do. But I fail to see how you could think that it would work," he picked up his cigarette again. "I will handle Hackett. But I expect that you fix things with the Captain. The two of you still need to work together to stop what the Hegemony is doing. You can't do that effectively if he has to worry about you turning on him every step of the way," he put down his cigarette and noted how the usually well-collected and confident operative was looking at him.
The uncertainty did not suit her at all.
But it was still what she needed to hear now.
"Now I'm done."
The woman took a small breath and then looked him in the eye. People who didn't know Miranda as well as he did would've expected her to argue. It would've fallen in line with her arrogance and general behavior. They'd be right to as well. If anyone else would give Miranda the orders he'd just given her, she'd definitely argue.
But since he wasn't anyone but rather the Director of Cerberus – the institution that had set her free from her overbearing father – Harper had something only a handful of people could claim to possess: Miranda's respect and her unwavering loyalty.
Hence, the operative only gave a brief reply before getting to the task he'd given her and vanishing after receiving his permission to do so.
Now Harper was all alone with his thoughts again.
… and considering that those thoughts centered around the fact that the galaxy was spinning out of control more with every passing day, that wasn't a good thing.
He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the dark floor of his office, thinking of the things currently causing turmoil.
Public unrest in salarian core space, missing Reaper pieces, a shadowy enemy employing forces with HSA training appearing in connection to the Reapers, the revelation that there was a splinter group of geth who had used the Citadel to spread themselves throughout the digital infrastructure of the galaxy… and the fact that Cerberus – without the HSA's knowledge – had started an operation to steal together every piece of accessible prothean technology in an attempt to figure out what weapon the protheans were trying to show Doctor T'Soni.
And those were just the major, pressing issues…
Beside them, there were still some localized crisis like the IFS remnant, the increasingly violent protests on Taetrus and the continued Collector attacks on human colonies to worry about.
At the moment there was no such thing as stability and few things, if any, were going there way.
One of Tao's operatives had killed the Shadow Broker and at least removed that particular yahg from the equation.
That was something of a relief, even if the yahg themselves were a whole different mess together, one for another time.
Harper tapped the armrest of his chair and opened the mission report and (mostly) uncensored service record of the specialist responsible.
He'd gotten it from Task Force Light Bringer, sort of as a parting gift.
There was no particular reason for him doing this, other than the fact that he needed to remind himself of what a success looked like. (And because he was really looking forward to an explanation for some of the things found on the Broker's ship, including the Hahne-Kedar gear and the clearly Paladin-inspired armor suit.)
A second later, an eight-page report detailing the events on Hagalaz and an unassuming portrait of one 'Callsign Magic' (a designation he recognized from the botched Akuze operation) plopped up.
Before moving on to the report, Harper looked at the portrait for a second to determine if it really was the same specialist. Callsigns tended to change after all.
Barring his uncommon hazel eye color, the man looked like any other unremarkable human male in his thirties. Short dark hair in a military-style cut commonly found among male graduates of a Terra-Novan military academy (minus the buzzed lines on the side that showed memberships to certain schools), no beard, no obvious scars or other outstanding facial features - good traits for a spy and definitely the face of the man who'd survived Akuze.
If he was asked to assign a terrestrial ethnicity to Magic (which was a dying tradition after three centuries of planetary roots mattering far more than skin color), Harper would've either said Mediterranean or Northern African with a lack of a tan. Maybe something out of the southern part of the European Administrative Zone where sunlight was blocked out half the time by the various levels of the megacities would work too.
He scrolled down.
As the Algerian place of birth, the Arabic name of the dead mother, the French-Canadian one of the also deceased father and the notice of a stay in an orphanage in the larger ARA-metropolitan zone indicated, the truth lay somewhere in between those three possibilities.
In the centuries before the HSA, his background would've been an explosive experience of discrimination and clash of identities and faiths but now, over two hundred years after the abolition of human nation-states and the fading presence of religions, he was just another Earth-born orphan.
One in two-hundred million parentless children who grew up in the shadows and the hidden poverty of terrestrial megacities made from steel, concrete and glass.
Harper had always despised those places.
Not only would they starve the moment food shipments from the colonies stopped or dehydrate when the water filtration plants failed, they were also showing the vast differences of life quality back on Earth. If you got lucky, you lived on the literal top of the world.
But if you didn't… well, you didn't.
They were dependent, vulnerable, decadent and concentrated in one place in short: Everything humanity shouldn't be.
Harper reached for another cigarette and returned to the personal file.
Magic's early life really was entirely unremarkable… except for the air-collision that had killed his parents.
His father had died immediately at the hands of shrapnel and the mother had passed away mere hours after birth at the hands of Element Zero poisoning.
Normally she never would've made it past the first week, but if Harper were to guess someone in the HSA had had an interest in making sure unborn children exposed to Element Zero were actually born. As such, Sadiya Morneau been kept alive under questionable circumstances for as long as it had taken for her kid to see the light of the world. The date of the accident was a shame as well; a few months and some exchanged turian medical technology later and they would've easily been able to revert the severe degree of Eezo poisoning that had killed her. That way, Magic would've at least had one parent left.
It was either the man's luck or his misfortune, depending on how you viewed what followed.
Because of this chance of fate and the biotic abilities it had left him with, the specialist's formative years had been spent on Terra Nova, which if he was anything like all the other Terra-Novans Harper had ever met (which were plenty despite Harper not being born or ever having lived anywhere close to the core worlds prior to coming to Cronos Station) likely render all of the above irrelevant and ensured that he only saw himself as Terra-Novan in origin and HSA-patriot by choice.
Going from there, Magic had ended up on HSAIS radar and passed the same screening process Harper had once passed during a fateful night in 2367. But since Harper, like every other specialist, had no idea what it included (other than a seeming preference for young, moldable minds picked up mostly in between school and university), he wasn't so sure what that said about the similarities between Magic, him and all the other humans who had passed through the doors of Section 13 since it had been formed from the Covert Activities Bureau of the JDI.
Harper swiped the personal file to the left with the tip of his fingers and got to the important part of the intel package.
As expected, the report picked up only at the start of the operation and intentionally left out the months of preparation necessary for the specialist to even get into a position where he could lead an assault on the Shadow Broker's base of operation.
If he hadn't been playing the Section 13 game way before Magic had ever been born (and played a crucial role in ending a similar threat to the HSA in the form of the IFS' leadership), Harper would've been clueless on what it had taken for this 'Daniel Morneau' to kill the Shadow Broker.
But since Harper had spent fifteen years in the HSAIS's most clandestine field work branch, he was painfully aware of the sacrifices needed to finish a mission like this and he also understood what the small notice reading 'pending IA review' meant.
As a tap on the notice and the flashing message 'insufficient clearance' confirmed, Magic would be in for an interesting conversation with a particularly unlikeable character.
He massaged the side of his temple with his hand when he read the clear name of the Section 10 operative chosen for the operation. He'd brushed with some of Cerberus' fallout in the past, at least from what Harper had been told. Section 10 was closed off from the rest of HSAIS' field work offices and no one really saw them around unless Arcturus or HSAIS determined that a face-to-face was necessary.
It was something he was grateful for.
Leading Cerberus was stressful, possibly one of the most stressful positions in the HSA… but at the very least he no longer had to directly deal with the blood hounds that made up Section 10.
Few things in HSAIS could tear you up as badly as an Internal Affairs agent looking to cover something up, even if you had done nothing wrong.
Considering the place the galaxy was becoming, the HSA would definitely need the likes of Specialist Morneau to endure and as such, Harper quickly typed a notice himself.
If IA did something stupid like suspend the specialist (or worse, remove him from service altogether), Cerberus's acquisition division would be instructed to… salvage their mistake immediately. It'd anger a few people up the chain of command but giving a disgraced HSAIS agent a job certainly wasn't the worst thing Harper had ever done.
– that is if he hadn't actually done something worthy of IA's attention.
If Magic had screwed up bigtime or gone rogue, Harper would only hope that IA would enjoy its meal.
Satisfied with his brief brush of a success, Harper collapsed the files and looked at the sun in front of him for a moment. It was the usual dance of red and blue.
Then it was back to sorting out the mess that was the galaxy and having one more conversation with someone on the Normandy in anticipation of what might need to be done soon.
With a press of his finger, a hologram assembled in front of him at the exact moment the meeting had been scheduled.
"Have you considered my suggestion?" it was after all half the reason he'd pushed Shepard to recruit them.
His conversation partner stayed silent for a moment, placing his hand in front of his mouth.
"Ignoring ethical implications and personal conflict with task at hand, necessary modifications to pathogen could be difficult. Many unknowns, even more than with Genophage," the salarian doctor started. "Biggest issue however is method of delivery. Viable platform impossible to design without knowing specifics of Collector homeworld. Airborne toxin could be useless if homeworld devoid of air, waterborn delivery pointless if water nonexistant-"
"Let me worry about the delivery, Doctor Solus," he interrupted. "Just answer the question for now. Can you do it. Yes or no?"
The salarian blinked.
"Yes. Can modify the Omega Plague to eradicate the Collectors. In wake of New Canton, more than enough biological samples should have been secured to make quick adaptation possible."
Harper nodded, fully knowing that Shepard would explode if she were to listen in on this conversation, which was understandable considering he was trying to get Solus to give him a hand in a bit of genocide. He had no idea how many Collectors there were, he only knew that this wouldn't end until the last of them died.
And since they hardly had the time to individually shoot all of them, they had to take a shortcut.
"And will you?"
The salarian blinked again.
"Recently saw effects of my work on Tuchanka. Still coming to terms with experience. Vowed to never use medicine to hurt others. Clearly failed to keep that vow," he muttered. "Like to think that I don't repeat my mistakes. Already aided one genocide and lived to regret it, would be foolish to have a hand in another," he let out a long-drawn breath and Harper, despite never having stood face to face with Solus, somehow knew what the salarian would say next. "But Collectors different to krogan. Not sentient. Reaper pawns. Unthinking, unfeeling, barely alive and devoid of any empathy. In essence, biological killing machines," he lowered his hands. "Always advocated for pragmatism. Sacrifice personal principles to safeguard collective wellbeing. Sound logic. STG logic. Necessary," he closed his eyes. "Will send you specifics on how to supply me with samples without Shepard's knowledge. Will hear from me."
Harper nearly allowed himself a satisfied grin.
Nearly.
Even if it was good to know that there were still people out there who could do what needed to be done, securing Solus' help was just a drop of water on a hot stove.
They were still on the fast-lane towards a loss.
Five Minutes Later, 27. April 2417 AD, Mirage of Halegeuse
After giving Undrak's men a worthy farewell, Haugen had been informed that Admiral Hackett was now ready to talk to him. Since he knew better than to keep someone with that rank waiting, the captain had hurried to the comm-room and given the older officer a quick rundown of what had happened, ending on the fact that their supposed ally had put a gun in his back to try and save what was essentially a sleeper-agent factory floating around space.
"Considering that you just told me that you think you fought your former comrades," Hackett began, referring to Haugen's suspicion in regards to the black-armored foes encountered on the bridge, "I think it speaks volumes that the most disturbing part of this mess is that a member of the task force threatened to kill you," the admiral went on before putting a hand that had previously been behind his back in front of his mouth. "Truth be told, if you'd told me one of your team shot the operative for what she did, I wouldn't have blamed any of you. I thought Cerberus could still be trusted, even after what happened prior to Eden Prime. Clearly I was wrong. Today proves that they've started playing their own game some time ago and shows that we need to stop treating them like they're always going to be on our side."
Haugen's eyes narrowed. He was sure it was a slip-up on the Admiral's part but now that the sentence was said, there was no taking it back.
What did Hackett mean by that?
What had happened before Eden Prime?
Years of service in the Army Special Operations Command had made him resilient against asking too many questions, especially once the phrases 'top secret' and 'concerning federal security' got thrown around the room. The answers one got when prying usually ranged from unsatisfactory to outright untrue. But considering that an ally had just tried to stab (or rather shoot) him in the back, Haugen felt like asking this time around, even if he was sure that Hackett wouldn't answer.
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Sir. What did Cerberus do prior to Eden Prime?"
Hackett folded his arms behind his back again and looked at Haugen with a stern view, suddenly giving him the impression that maybe it hadn't been a slip-up after all.
"Arcturus is gonna have my head if they hear me say this to someone outside of the Chancellor's office. But damn them. It's about time you knew what you're working with," Hackett stated. Something about him suddenly seemed different. Haugen had only ever experienced him as a figure of absolute authority, a respectable personification of the highest tier of the HSA's military.
Suddenly however he seemed like an actual person who held a grudge.
It was weird.
"A couple of months before the geth attack, Cerberus lost contact with a research team working on an alien ruin on a frontier world called Akuze. They wanted to keep things quiet, so they sent in a platoon of marines and told them to sort things out. It wasn't just any unit either. It was my brother's."
As the admiral paused his narration ever so briefly, Haugen suddenly remembered a part of Hackett's biography. He'd obviously looked the Admiral up like any good soldier would after Hackett had come to him and asked for Phantom to be placed under his direct command. It had been just before Eden Prime and since Hackett had already been the highest-ranking naval officer in human space and a public persona back then, there had been plenty of biography to go by – including a somber footnote detailing his family's history of service to the HSA.
Hackett's youngest brother, HSAMC Captain Francis Hackett, had been killed in action in June of 2414, half a year before the geth had landed on Eden Prime. Back when reading the biography, Haugen had figured that the lack of any details regarding the death of Francis Hackett (it had only said that he'd died in combat) had been because the biography he had picked was about the admiral and not his brother, who'd more likely than not died in an unspectacular skirmish with slavers or mercs – as marines on the frontier tended to do.
Clearly that hadn't been the case.
If Cerberus was involved, the answer was more likely than not that the death of Hackett's brother was also a 'matter of federal security'.
Although Haugen figured he was doing a good job at hiding his current realisation, he clearly wasn't.
"Judging from your look, you already know how that story ends," Hackett pointed out.
"Yes, Sir. I heard your brother was KIA. I'm sorry for your loss," he retorted formally and with an slight nod, a gesture of respect from one soldier to another.
Hackett didn't reply, not even a thank you. Instead, he just kept talking.
"Like you already know, the platoon didn't get out alive. Neither did the Cerberus team," Hackett went on. "Initially we had no idea what happened, but then it became clear that the team had dug up a Reaper artifact and decided to study it without telling Cerberus' leadership about it. Or at least so they claim," he paused for a second. "When my brother's unit vanished of the radar as well, Cerberus realized that they made a mistake and banged on HSAIS' door to fix it. And since they offered HSAIS the courtesy of telling them what they were walking into, something they should've already done when they had sent in the marines, HSAIS didn't pull any punches. They immediately dispatched a pair of specialists to fix it and put all of Section 9's available operatives on stand-by, just in case their first attempt wouldn't work," again Hackett paused, this time to adjust his posture. "To cut a long story very short, the two operatives did exactly what you expect Section 13 to do."
Haugen grimaced.
He'd run into a couple of specialists over the years, but he had never worked with Thirteen before. Still, he knew the stories from some ASOC and NSOC operatives who had. To put it mildly, there was a reason why the veterans of the Army's and Navy's Special Operations Command jokingly warned: 'when Thirteen's around, door kickers go into the ground.' Considering the footnote about Hackett's brother, he figured normal marines didn't fare any better.
"They lived up to their reputation?" he guessed.
"Exactly. They landed, figured out what happened, fixed it and stopped a potential disaster from unfolding," that was the other part of those stories. Section 13 – while very unbeneficial for the health of all those involved (including themselves) got the job done; no matter what it was. "But in doing so, they also ended up losing one of their own, killing every Cerberus operative on the ground, destroying the entire alien ruin and the artifact in an orbital strike and sacrificing the last surviving marines in the process," Hackett finished. "Naturally, an event of that scope prompted an internal investigation, doubly because there was a lone survivor. As you're probably about to guess as well, I was granted insight into the findings of said investigation."
Haugen nodded. Yes, he had figured that much since Hackett had started telling him the story.
"To yet again cut a long story short, Arcturus believed Cerberus that they hadn't known what their team was doing and continued to allow them to operate without supervision," Hackett's eyes narrowed. "I didn't. You see. The navy is a small place and I've been in it for a long time. Back when I started in the ODG," that was the navy's Ordnance Delivery Group, otherwise known as the only respectable squid ground-pounders next to N7 "I used to know Chancellor Noé. His squadron used to drop my bombs before he got into politics. And to put it mildly, there's no way he picked someone who follows the rules when he decided who would lead Cerberus. Francis Noé's was a charismatic politician, probably the only person who could've led us out of the Fringe Wars and from what I saw, he was also one hell of a soldier," again Hackett paused.
"But he's also a borderline-paranoid hardliner who was never able to see a solution that didn't involve the barrel of a gun and who loved nothing more than to sneak stuff past parliament and treating them like an obstacle to be overcome instead of an institution to check his ideas against," was this the point where Haugen would mention that the first time he'd voted, he'd voted for Francis Noé? "Hell, the idea that there's nothing a military intervention can't solve and his utter lack of faith and respect in nine out of ten people on Arcturus Station are probably half the reason he kept running for office to begin with. He didn't trust anyone else to keep humanity safe. Well, at least not anyone other than Jack Harper."
From the way Hackett was using that name it was clearly significant, which made it all the more surprising that Haugen had never heard it being used before.
"Who's Jack Harper?"
"Noé's pick for Cerberus' leader," Hackett replied. "Director Jack Harper. Former Section 13. I'm not surprised you never heard of him. He only ever stands in dark office corners and never shows when there are cameras," the captain couldn't help but think that that was a strangely specific description. "I can't tell you much more than that other than I think he's from the Fringe. His service record and resume before the HSA are about the most closely guarded secret in the entirety of the HSA and I only ever personally met him five or six times in the last thirty years that he's run Cerberus," that was a long time to be in charge of something,
"But even from that little exposure I can tell you that he and Noé are basically carbon-copies of one another. They're both paranoid hardliners who no one but they themselves can control and who just happened to be on our side because of a few key moments in their lives. Change any of those and they'd be our enemies," Hackett explained. "Even so, what they've done for humanity can't be argued with. But the fact that they chose the HSA's side and found a controlling instance in each other doesn't make them any less dangerous. Especially now that Noé's living out his retirement somewhere on Terra Nova and leaving Harper by himself."
The more Hackett talked, the more Haugen wondered where all of this was going. He'd just wanted someone to discipline Lawson and here he was… figuring out that the highest-ranking officer in the navy held a deep mistrust for the most well-funded black-op outfit in human history, which up to one hour ago Haugen had considered to be his ally.
He got the idea.
And Hackett's worry.
If Chancellor Noé and this Harper were the kind of people Hackett was saying they were, he had to agree – as if a gun in his back hadn't been convincing enough. Cerberus was dangerous, just like everything else someone without restraint was in charge of.
"With someone like Harper at the head of an agency designed to be Noé's vision of humanity's ideal guardians and Noé no longer around to keep Cerberus on a leash it's no surprise that Cerberus went its own course."
Was that a bad pun?
Out of the mouth of an admiral?
If the situation wasn't shaping up to be as serious as it was currently presenting itself, Haugen might've even snickered… Okay no, he definitely wouldn't have.
One didn't go to Anaru Academy without learning absolute discipline.
While Haugen remained silent and wondered how much of the admiral's image of Cerberus was shaped by his brother's death (respectable personification of the military or not, Hackett was still human and as such susceptible to emotions clouding his judgement) the admiral looked at something behind Haugen – or rather something in whatever room he was transmitting from.
"When the investigation concluded, I told Chancellor Goyle what I just told you. I said that Cerberus couldn't be trusted, said that they needed a reformation. Although Noé liked to pretend that they are just a less-restricted version of HSAIS, they aren't anything like them. HSAIS is just like the rest of the military. They keep themselves in check. They answer to an elected office. They swear an oath to the constitution of the HSA and they fight for the ideas and believes written in it," Hackett said, reminding Haugen of his own swearing-in ceremony. "Cerberus does none of that. They only have one goal, to protect humanity and while that sounds noble at first, the problem is that they only answer to Harper, who in turn decides who he listens to and who he ignores," Hackett sighed. If his stoicism hadn't already cracked earlier, Haugen would've been surprised.
"Needless to say, Goyle didn't listen to me. Either I was wrong and she's more like Noé than I gave her credit for, or Harper somehow got through to her. Or intimidated her. Neither would surprise me," he shook his head. "Whatever her reasons, Cerberus stayed the way it used to be and I accepted it, which has led us to this very moment," he growled. "I'd like to promise you that I'll remove Lawson from your operation, Captain, but the matter of fact is that I can't. I can make waves, and I will try and talk to Director Harper, but ultimately, I can't control Cerberus. No one can. They do what they think is right and while that happens to be in our interest some of the time, you just saw for yourself that their idea of right and wrong is very different from ours. That's what I wanted you to know and while I realize it won't help you, I'm sorry that I didn't warn you earlier. I hoped it wouldn't come to this and yet again, I was wrong."
Haugen considered his next words carefully, partially because he was talking to an admiral and partially because he wasn't certain of what he should take away from this conversation. Hackett's reasons for mistrusting Cerberus were clear – but so was the fact that his brother's death was impacting his views (otherwise why wait for twenty-seven years to complain?).
"I appreciate your warning, Sir," he nodded. "And whatever waves you make."
"It's the least I can do after putting you into the position you were in just now," Hackett went on, taking responsibility without even being there. Was that a trait of a good leader showing through? Or was it just the admiral's happiness over not losing yet another Captain to Cerberus?
… Haugen decided that the train of thought that question would open was way too personal and as such stayed silent and instead opted to live up to the ASOC bravado stereotype for a change. It was being thrown in his face at every turn, so he might as well live it out once.
What came next was boasting, obviously. But ultimately, it would ring through. Lawson was only one biotic operative who had made a bad bluff and between Phantom Squad and himself, they could still handle one (dangerously gifted) biotic, even if her bluffs became reality. They'd fought way worse after all.
"Don't you worry about me, Admiral," he began. "If she tries it again, she'll find out why they kept ASOC around after creating Cerberus. We don't need an unlimited budget, black-op rules of engagements or a special mandate to get the job done. You used to be ODG, so you probably know what they say during Airborne School. The deadliest weapon during planetfall is a diving eagle with a rifle-"
"-a bayonet and a reason to have you dead," Hackett finished before cracking the hint of a smirk. "It's been a long time since I last heard that one, Captain."
"And I see it every time I walk into my battalion's barracks back on Terra Nova, which if the instructors are to be believed makes it an absolute truth," Haugen nodded with a small smirk and chuckle of his own. For a brief moment, they were alike; just two grunts. Then the blonde officer remembered that Hackett had moved on to commanding fleets and returned to full seriousness. "What I'm trying to say is that we can handle Lawson if push comes to shove, so even if your waves hit the cliffs, I'll do what you sent me here to do."
"I never doubted that," Hackett stated before frowning and looking at his feet – or more likely the device he was using to communicate. "Speak of the devil. I'm getting a call from Harper right now," he explained. "If I were to guess, his operative had the same idea as you."
"I would've been surprised if she hadn't."
"Whatever she accused you of, you can rest assured that I'll take care of it," Hackett stated.
"I appreciate that, Sir."
"No need to, Captain," Hackett nodded. "One final word of advice. Even if you hate her, try not to bayonet her unless you absolutely have to," he went on before cracking another small smirk. "But if you do have to, aim for the throat. That's where the amp's at. Happy hunting, Captain."
"Will do, Sir," he obviously knew that. But he'd play along to preserve the mood.
"Good. Hackett out."
With that, the admiral vanished, leaving Haugen free to get out of his armor and address his squad.
Somehow he had a feeling that the conversation he was about to have with Phantom would end on a similar note as 'aim for the throat'.
Ten Minutes Later, 27. April 2417 AD, Mirage of Halegeuse, Barracks of Phantom Squad
The first thing Haugen heard when he entered the room after changing back into his greenish-brown army uniform was the sound of a ball bouncing against the wall. The next was that of Mav complaining for Miller to finally 'sit still'. The third was Hofmann sharply declaring 'attention' at his arrival and causing all three to snap up to their feet.
"At ease," he ordered reflexively. "Since when do we do attention?" Haugen questioned before sitting down on one of the beds, which judging by the small eagle-claw-shaped metal trinket dangling from the bar of the curtain dividing it from the room was Hofmann's. While he didn't wear his allegiance to their home world as openly as Miller or Mav, his second-in-command was still as Terra-Novan born and raised as the rest of Phantom; and a bit superstitious when it came to bringing along his lucky charm to any ship he set foot on. Typical army-dislike for spaceflight and whatnot.
"Since we didn't blow the bitch's head clean off her shoulders for putting a gun in your back. Fucking hell," Miller spat before picking up the ball he had just dropped and throwing it on his bunk. Then he looked at Haugen with an anger that the officer couldn't quite place. Mav silently observed, or rather looked at Haugen like he was anxiously awaiting every word out of his mouth.
"Let me explain. We had a bit of an identity crisis while you were gone, boss," Hofmann began. "If she hadn't bluffed, us hesitating to shoot Lawson would've ended with you in a box and Sam a widow. If this was any of us with a gun pointed at our back, you never would've even thought about negotiating. You would've just shot her, no questions asked," he stated. "Everyone on Phantom owns you his life, boss, and the one time you're about to die, we start taking risks." he said before dropping down into his chair. "We let you down, Tore. Big time. There's just no other way to say it. We fucked up." It was rare for Hofmann to use Haugen's first name, especially in uniform and especially with Miller and Mav around.
It was even rarer for them to feel bad about something they had no reason to feel bad about.
"You didn't fuck up anything and you sure as hell didn't let me down. You did exactly what I expected you to do," he started, strangely informal. They were brothers, no question about that, but as their captain he usually tried to at least keep a small certain degree of professional distance from his team – at least when he wasn't getting hammered on Mindoir alongside them in celebration of beating back the batarians or inviting them over for dinner on Terra Nova on the rare occasion that they had a Unification Day off of work.
Fuck it.
"Let's drop rank for a second and just listen, alright?" he stated before looking at his XO and doing what he loved – an informal after-action report. "Hofmann, you read the situation exactly the right way. You didn't cut her throat because you knew that in that moment, she wasn't about to kill me," he went on, deciding to go the chronological order. "Miller, you knew what Hofmann was thinking, so you decided not to riddle her with gauss rounds. Perfect control and perfect understanding of your teammate" finally he looked at Mav, "and Mav, even after our ally suddenly pulled a gun on me and you had less than a second to come up with a solution, you still considered fucking crossfire in the heat of the moment. Extraordinary situational awareness," he folded his arms. "Don't go around blaming yourself for making this bloodless. This was the best possible outcome."
"She threatened to kill you," Mav stated. "One of us," he reinforced.
"And if she'd given you any sign that she was about to actually do it, I know that all of you would've stopped her," Haugen shrugged. "Seriously. Drop whatever you're thinking about blaming yourself for right this instance. Noe of you failed me. You never could," he stated firmly. "Hell, half the reason I stayed as cool as I did was because I knew you'd have my back no matter what call I made or how Lawson would react," the blonde man cracked a faint smile and opted for a small white-lie. "There wasn't a single second down there where I thought I was actually going to die," that was untrue in that he genuinely figured he'd get shot in the split-second he'd only felt a muzzle in his back. "Alright. Back to rank. Don't make an issue where there's none, is that understood?"
Hofmann, Miller and Mav shared a look.
"Crystal clear, Sir," his second nodded before the door behind Haugen hissed open and all three looked like they were about to go ballistic all over again, telling him who was standing there before she ever opened her mouth.
"Captain, I think we need to talk."
Haugen spun his head and mustered Lawson. She was still in her armor, indicating that she'd talked with her boss much longer than he'd talked with Undrak and Hackett.
"About?" he asked, staring at her without blinking, knowing exactly what she meant and knowing that she wanted to do this in private - a curtesy he wouldn't offer to her on the off chance this Harper had gotten her to see reason and she'd apologize. If she did, Phantom deserved to hear it just as much as him.
"About what happened on the Messina," Lawson responded after a moment of probably realizing that 'I was hoping to do this in private' wouldn't cut it. "I talked to my superiors and after some consideration, I believe that I overreacted," she clearly forced herself to say that. It didn't sound as cold as usual but Haugen could still tell that it wasn't really her speaking. "I know an apology doesn't remove the fact that I put a gun in your back but considering the situation we are in and the stakes we are facing, I hope that you understand what made me decide to take drastic action and hope that you'll let me make it up."
He did know her reason:
A lack of any sort of leadership skills.
Since he was a big believer in being upfront, he wouldn't pull any punches.
"I get why you think you had to do it, but that doesn't make it right," Haugen shrugged, not really caring if Lawson was intending to hand him an olive branch. After what had happened and Hackett's warning, he had lost any interest in mending things. "What happened on the Messina just goes to show you're unfit for the kind of assignment you were given. You're not a good leader and if you're actually sincere about making amends and wanting this mission to succeed, you'll be consequent and do what needs to be done. Easy as that," the dark-haired woman didn't say anything in response and in doing so, she told Haugen everything he needed to know. "Yeah. I figured as much," he said before nodding towards the door, telling Lawson to leave without actually saying it.
Of course someone as arrogant as the operative wouldn't be able to actually admit to their mistakes. He knew her type, had run into plenty of them already over the years. People like Lawson only pretended to be sorry and said that they'd do better in the future because that was what was socially expected of them. They didn't actually mean anything by it. As far as they were concerned, the others were wrong; not them. Because of that, there was only one thing left to say:
"We're done here," at least until the next inevitable disaster. "Do all of us a favor and leave," he ordered before placing himself in front of the door and putting his hand on the (for his human hands) awkwardly formed closing mechanism.
Lawson looked at Haugen with her dark blue eyes and a completely blank expression. If what he was saying had an effect – which he doubted – she wasn't letting it show. It didn't surprise him though. It was what he'd come to expect from her over the last couple of weeks and at this stage, he felt like a broken record.
Honestly, he had no idea why he even bothered anymore. Everything he'd said, everything he'd tried, it just hadn't worked. The Cerberus operative didn't respond to his methods and considering what the admiral had told him, he had the suspicion that she never meant to listen to him to begin with.
"We both know me leaving is not an option," Lawson stated in return, refusing to break eye contact with him.
"All you need to do is to take a step back."
"I'm not talking about your barracks."
… she really thought he was just a stupid grunt, didn't she?
"Neither am I," he retorted before taking a step forward and forcing Lawson out of the room. Then he pushed the door lock on the exterior and stared her down. "Pack your gear, get a shuttle and get back to HAS space before any more people die or before you try to blackmail someone with less restraint than my men."
"People will die one way or another. But with me here, at least someone will be able to make sense of what they're dying for," she countered. "Whether you like it or not, barring Doctor T'Soni, I'm the only person with enough of an understanding of the subject at hand who's also able to tag along a commando unit."
"You see, you keep saying that, but I haven't seen you actually live up to it. From where I'm standing, all you've done is lead us into ambushes, gotten good men killed, put a gun to my back and all you've got to show for it is a pretty firework show."
"And who's to blame for that? I'd have a functional Reaper if you weren't so trigger happy."
"Trigger happy? I stopped you from making a huge mistake. That Reaper could've comprised the only chance we've got at stopping their invasion."
In response to his statement Lawson did something Haugen hadn't thought her capable of.
She laughed.
"Stop their invasion?" she said with snicker. Then her voice turned ice-cold. "Stop lying to yourself, Captain Haugen. The only thing we're doing right now is to buy the galaxy a bit more time. The Reapers are coming. Soon too. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when. And when they're here, you'll regret having destroyed one of the few accessible pieces of observable Reaper tech while we still had the chance to study it in peace. Our best chance of beating them is to turn their own resources against them. What you just did? It'll cost us in the long run. Tens of billions of lives, thrown away simply because you lacked the courage to take a risk," she narrowed her eyes. "For your own sake, I hope that you won't be around to see it when they hit Terra Nova and the rest of the core. It'd break your heart to see them melt through a particular suburb in the greater metropolitan area around Scott, wouldn't it? I mean sure, having the death of your family on your conscience is not as bad as having a hand in dooming all of humanity, but still. It's a lot to carry on your shoulders."
For a second, Lawson's trick worked. Haugen pictured his wife and his home ending up on the bad end of a Reaper and felt the sharp sting of regret that accompanied that image - just like the operative wanted him to.
… it did only last a second though; namely because Haugen knew one thing Lawson didn't seem to know – or rather believe in (knowing really was a strong word in that context): humanity's talent to overcome the odds and the unwavering will to fight for its survival.
"The doom of all of mankind," he mused. "Sounds dramatic. But I'm afraid it won't come to that," he responded. "We'll win. We always have."
"Not if people like you keep lacking the courage to make the hard calls. Eden Prime and the Citadel made one thing abundantly clear. We can't defeat the Reapers in a conventional war. They're overwhelmingly powerful and the only way you beat something like that is if you adapt its methods of fighting. To do that, you need to understand them. Study them."
"Tell me, before you started this speech, did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, your mindset is exactly what the Reapers are aiming for? That it's a part of their plan to make themselves seem invincible so that people like you put themselves into a position where they'll get indoctrinated and soften up a defense that might otherwise actually hold?" Haugen countered. "Come on, Lawson. This is psy-ops 101. Get in your enemy's head and make them think they can't beat you before you ever actually fight. Do that and you'll end up winning before you ever shot your rifle," he folded his arms in front of his chest.
"How can you say that after everything that's happened up to now?" Lawson wondered. "You knew more than half of the ASOC operatives who died on Eden Prime. Any of them could've been you and they were all just as mortal as you," he knew that. "Yet here you are. Looking at a threat unlike anything the galaxy has ever seen and just shrugging it off and saying you think we'll win, even when you know that every civilization who's ever come before us has lost," the dark blue eyes of the operative ever so briefly glanced at the unit insignia on the sleeve of Haugen's uniform; a white triangle with a black lighting striking through it. "It's delusional."
The blonde officer snorted.
"I don't know where your self-acclaimed training comes from and at this stage, I don't care either," he replied. "But I refuse to believe that whoever trained you didn't teach you that you can't win a fight without thinking your gonna win it," he put his hand on the opening mechanism and looked at the tall operative for another moment.
They were nearly eye-to-eye and while the armor was giving her a few centimeters, that still made Lawson a tall woman considering he was scraping on the two-meter mark (or as Hofmann liked to say, presented a very tall target). But despite nearly meeting his eyes, Lawson looked small in that moment and despite everything that had happened up to no and everything she was responsible for, he felt a hint of sympathy for her. Hence, his next, much kinder words.
"You know I think I'm starting to understand your problem," she stopped looking at the unit insignia and met his own blue eyes. "You're scared. And while that in itself isn't an issue because let's face it, so is everyone else, your issue is that you are letting fear rule your decision making. The Reapers are already in your head and just like I said, they're beating you without ever firing a shot," he went on. "I know you're probably going to ignore what I'm about to say just like you're going to ignore my suggestion to leave and everything else I ever said to you. But here's another piece of advice I got way back when I joined up with ASOC," he sighed. "You don't need to be fearless to win a war. Being brave has nothing to do with not being sacred or being delusional. It's about making a conscious decision to keep going and not letting fear stop you from getting the job done the proper way."
Or in the less polite and much louder words of his actual combat instructor as spoken upon entering part two of the ASOC program:
'Listen up you sad bunch of fuckers. You can crap your pants every meter of the way for all I care. As long as you get where you need to go and kill who you're told to kill without fucking things up along the way when they look at you funny, you're golden. Remember, only idiots and fanatics don't get scared when someone's trying to kill them. So I'm not expecting any of you to be born fucking fearless. No one is. Hell, even I wasn't. What I am expecting of you however, or at least from the part of you that'll graduate, is that you know how to stop listening to that instinct. That's what's gonna separate you from all the other babyfaces who came here straight out of academy and who already washed out. The conscious decision to keep going even when you're scared and to not let fear compromise who you are, even when the bullets are flying.'
It spoke volumes that he remembered every word of Staff Sergeant Mendenz's speech. He'd been a tough SOB and just like a whole other tough SOBs from his battalion, he'd gotten wasted on Eden Prime.
"Make of that what you want," he finished before opening the door and closing it behind himself, leaving Lawson alone in the hallway of the Mirage.
Four Hours Later, 28. April 2417 AD, HSASV Scott docked to Cronos Station
Morneau stood in the hallway of the infirmary, the handle of his armor-footlocker in his hand and eyes set on the doors hiding the injured BAR troopers from view.
Ever since they'd departed from Hagalaz, two more soldiers had passed away from their injures, raising the total death toll to thirty-one. Additionally, a pair was still in critical condition – as you tended to be when having fragments of mech-grade armor stuck in your body.
That was kind of his fault, honestly. He'd exploded the mechsuit after all.
Then again, armor fragments beat chaingun rounds the size of your hand so for a change, he wouldn't blame himself.
…mostly.
He would've liked to say that he remembered all of their faces and names and valued their sacrifices, but in reality, he didn't even know how half of these soldiers had gotten injured, let alone what they looked like underneath their hardsuits.
While one could now go on and point out what he was doing in the medbay if he didn't even know the people resting here, Morneau wasn't here by choice.
It just so happened that the quickest way to the airlock from his room led him through the medical wing of the Scott and that he had been … urged … to get back to Cronos as soon as the Scott had docked.
With that in mind, there was no time to waste.
He threw a final glance down the corridor and started to walk, intend on not stopping for anything or anyone. The last thing he needed right now was more faces to feed his guilty conscience – which had already collected enough passengers during the now luckily finished mission as it was.
If he was being really honest with himself, he wasn't really surprised that his intentions failed, and that he got stuck at one door in particular.
After all, Morneau knew exactly how he was wired. Even if he usually did his best to ignore his own nature, he always ended up failing.
Therefor it wasn't a surprise that he was now standing in front of a military-grey door that led to a room where the sole injured member of his squad – Prangley – was healing up.
Objectively speaking, the statistic was on his side. One KIA, one injured, the rest of the team unharmed.
He had nothing to blame himself for, at least not in Prangley's case.
The death of Hussein was a different story altogether, one he wouldn't get into for now.
With that consideration out of the way, he ever so briefly considered saying goodbye and thank you.
It certainly would've been the decent thing to do.
But since he knew that Prangley's squad was currently visiting him and that things weren't looking all that good for the soldier's ability to walk again anytime soon (and that they were still all grieving over the death of Hussein), he quickly dismissed the idea.
No way in hell would they want to see him now. He'd lost one of them and crippled the other. Adding to that, it was easy to blame him for the other thirty troopers who hadn't made it.
While his responsibility in what had happened could be argued about (and he'd gladly do so with himself if it kept the BAR troopers out of the semi-regular nightmares), Morneau figured that most of the BAR troopers saw him as the reason a lot of their buddies had gotten killed.
Sure, they'd all known what they'd signed up for (even if none of them had chosen to be biotics, they'd all chosen to enter military service). But even so, whenever HSAIS was involved and people died, HSAIS ended up getting the blame and catching flak from whichever unfortunate unit had gotten caught in their operation.
… which, to be fair, was justified a lot of the times.
While he liked to think that he was a bit different in that regard, a lot of the people working for the higher tiers of his agency loved arguing scale and statistics and dismissed military casualties as necessary as long as they didn't number at three or four digits or more. They reasoned that the soldiers had after all signed up knowing they may lay down their lives in the name of the HSA, so why cry when it happened?
So with decency set aside, it was better for all involved if he did what spies did best; vanish without making a fuss or making a lasting impression.
Besides, he was already being expected on board of Cronos Station – not by someone he'd been looking forward to seeing - but by someone nonetheless.
As soon as the Scott had entered the Anadius System (which had only been allowed because it had been determined that loading the large quantities of evidence and prisoners seized onboard of the Broker's ship onto an HSAIS vessel cleared to dock Cronos Station was a waste of time) Morneau had gotten a new set of orders; report to Section 10; Internal Affairs.
That order by itself nothing to worry about.
Debriefs such as these were the norm after long term operations or missions with a very sensitive objective – which were pretty much all of Section 13's mission.
However they usually waited with those 'invitations' until the operative had returned his gear and settled back into agent life for a bit. Two or three days after setting foot on Cronos was the norm.
Being 'invited' earlier – or before even boarding – was bad news.
Morneau looked at the door and sighed.
In between causing a scene on Benning alongside Okuda, a fugitive he had reported as dead, making a bit of a mess on the Citadel alongside another Section 13 Operative, which went against operational protocols, and losing thirty-one biotics (and the Broker's body) to the Shadow Broker strangely HK-looking mech, Morneau had a feeling that he might be in for some questions.
… okay that was an understatement.
He was in for a hell of an interrogation and if things went exceptionally bad (as in he didn't come up with a convincing way to explain why he had reported Okuda as dead despite being confident that he was still alive) he could even end up suspended until further review. (although given the current developments -which he had caught up with during the transit back to Cronos-, he had to admit that he was feeling rather confident that Section 13 would do everything in its power to not be down an operative with the Reapers breathing down the galaxy's neck).
"You know they'd probably appreciate it if you said goodbye before you left," Captain Furaha said from beside him. She'd walked up to him without him noticing, something that had become worryingly common ever since he'd said his goodbyes to Wong and hidden away in the ship's shooting ranges and gyms for as long as it had taken HSAIS to pick her up prior to the Scott arriving at Cronos.
While some would read his behavior as him showing regret over some of his decisions and slipping up because of it, Morneau simply considered his avoidance the best way to let go of the last of Solomon Gunn's life and his lack of attention as the natural unwinding reaction after spending seven months being on constant alert.
He'd successfully locked the persona away in one of his boxes. The way he viewed it, there was no need to risk someone opening it again at the last possible moment. Especially not when the galaxy was headed for a cataclysm and Redford had already told him that he'd need his help with Project Group Insight.
Speaking of. The very existence of the group gave him all the more reason to finish up this whole IA business as quickly as possible and not waste another second on thinking about what had been or could have been.
"Maybe," Morneau responded as he turned towards Furaha. Whereas she was wearing the standard marine BDUs in digital grey/black camo, Morneau had dug his actual HSAIS uniform out of the bottom of the gear sent to the Scott in advance of the Hagalaz operation.
Red dagger unit patch, square rank insignia, silver nametag; the full, dress black formal wear. He honestly couldn't recall the last time he'd dressed like this. No wait. He could.
The IA hearing after Akuze.
Bad times.
"So go ahead," the dark-skinned captain said with a nudge of her head.
"I'm terrible at goodbyes. I think I'll spare them the experience," he went on before he and Furaha made way for a pair of medical officers. As expected, his current get-up drew their stares. While everyone on the Scott obviously knew they had a Section 13 operative on board, few people had known who to look for up until now. He'd naturally preferred it when he'd blended into the mass of grunts but with the mission coming to an end any minute now, the consequences of the crew knowing who he was were insignificant.
Although a lot of his colleagues would be particularly critical of him wearing his nametag around a crew of hundreds who knew thousands of people in turn, there were probably tens of thousands of humans with names that sounded like his and millions of guys with faces like his. A beard, a few weeks of growing out his hair into a run-of-the-mill comb-over style, some glasses…and none of these guys would ever recognize him in a crowd.
… adding to that, there was also the fact that wearing a uniform with his literal name on it while stepping onto the space station that had basically been his home for the last ten years was as good of a way to showing that he was truly back to his old life as he could come up with… but that was really more of a conversation for psychotherapy than anything else. And since there were no shrinks with Section 13 clearance, he wouldn't have to worry about that ever being an issue.
"Well you know how it is. A terrible goodbye's better than no goodbye at all," the captain offered.
"Someone famous say that?" Morneau retorted before stuffing his hand into the pockets of the ironed dress-pants.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not you think I'm famous."
Morneau chuckled.
"For human biotics? Yeah. Probably," he offered. "Rest of the world? Not so much."
"Mhm. I can live with that compromise," Furaha retorted before looking at the door. "Come on. Two minutes. It'd mean the world to them to hear a few encouraging words from you. Especially after what happened with Hussein."
"You wouldn't say that if you'd been around to hear what I said to them after it happened," Morneau stressed. He remembered his cold words to Diego (and by extension to the rest of the unit). He'd treated them like he treated himself and while it had worked and gotten them to soldier on, he wasn't nearly naïve enough to believe that they'd like him after he'd told them to forget about their dead friend and just soldier on for the sake of finishing the mission.
"You can't honestly think that they blame you for that, can you?" Furaha asked, a hint of regret in her tone. He didn't need to have a lot of social intelligence to understand the underlying guilt in the Captain's question. He'd lost one team member, she'd lost thirty-one marines. As far as guilty consciences came, she was winning this one.
Morneau frowned in return.
"If you knew me any better, you wouldn't ask that question."
"Ignoring the fact that you were the one who shut down the possibility of me getting to know you," Furaha pointed out before folding her arms. "I know for a fact that they'd never blame you. They watched you charge a Paladin-rip off and take an explosion to the face to save them. That tends to leave a positive impression." Morneau glanced at the floor in response. "Face it," Furaha went on. "Whether I like it or not, all of my marines think you're a bonafied HSA hero. Not despite of what happened on Hagalaz but because of it. And truth be told, I can't disagree. The shit you did since we picked you up on the Citadel? That's the type of stuff us regular folk get a Star of Valor for."
Furaha figured he'd get the highest military honor in the HSA? For the little running and gunning he did on the Broker's ship?
He'd silently and politely disagree. The last time a specialist had gotten that award, it had taken a nuclear explosion and even then, it had been a political play.
"I appreciate the sentiment," Morneau stated with a shake of his head. Then he repeated one of his mantras, which he felt rang true every time he brought it up. "But there's no such thing as heroes in my line of work." And even if there were, he definitely wasn't one of them. He just did his job the best he could and stood up for what he believed in.
Nothing more, nothing less.
The biotic officer chuckled.
"Wow. You really like the whole humble-hero act, don't you?" the older biotic stated before throwing him a look he couldn't quite make sense of it. It had a bit of pity in it. But also amusement and admiration and something else. Like he said, he had no idea what to make of it. "Are all your specialist pals like that?"
He shrugged.
"Pretty much, yeah," he said, content on saying a brief 'see you around' and stepping of the Scott in the hopes of not stumbling over the corpses of this particular BAR unit when the Reapers showed up.
But then Furaha's words got to him.
Not the ones telling him that he was a hero – he still felt convinced of his assessment – but the ones about the BAR troopers waiting behind the door and what a few moments of his time could do for them.
He was bad at goodbyes, and he'd definitely put a terrible coping mechanism into Diego's head… but he'd just gotten an idea.
It wasn't going to make Prangley walk again any time soon or put Hussein's head back together.
But it might just mend a bit of the damage he'd done in his short time with the young marines.
"Alright fine, you're right," he said below his breath. Next, the specialist sat down his footlocker and knelt down to search for what he'd seen in it earlier.
After rummaging through the clothes and the armor pieces stored in the locker, he dug out a plastic bag filled with several welded-in patches depicting Section 13's insignia.
Like just about every other specialist, he never wore the small black shields on his everyday-uniform. But since the red dagger upon a jet-black shield was still Section 13's official icon and HSAIS' code of uniform technically required all of its agents to wear their department insignia on their uniforms, he'd gotten a whole stack of the Velcro patches over the years. Every time he destroyed a set of armor and had Robin repair his old suit instead of just wearing the new one HSAIS sent him a full uniform kit. Probably out of laziness or to intentionally blow its budget so they could ask for raise every couple of years.
As a big believer in resourcefulness, Morneau knew that there was a joke to be made about the HSA's ability to manage resources and finances somewhere in between the several stacks of unopened high-tech armor boxes and various other pieces of expensive gear gathering dust in his room back on Cronos. The same could be said about the literally dozens of uniforms he'd been issued but never worn a minute in his life. But today wasn't the day for those jokes or for criticism of his agency's spending habits.
Today was the day to finally make good use of some of that otherwise useless gear.
He opened the plastic bag and counted how many patches there were to see if his plan would actually work. After determining that he had more than enough for Rodriguez, Prangley, Jorgensen, Diego and Furaha herself, he pulled the first of the black shields out of the bag and, while still kneeling, held it out to the dark-skinned officer. She looked at him with her dark eyes for a second and then took a hold of the other side of the patch.
Over the course of their conversation, he'd gotten a feeling the rank-and-file marines weren't the only one's who could use a few encouraging words. As a specialist (no pun intended) in self-blame, he had just decided that his attempts at mending damage weren't going to be limited to his fireteam.
Hence here he went.
"What you said about me not being to blame for what happened on the ship," he began, still holding the patch. "That goes for you too. Their deaths aren't on you. People die in war, even when we give it all we've got and do everything by the book and right. And whether Arcturus is ready to call what we're doing by its name or not, fact is that we're out here fighting a war against forces looking to take us down," he stated.
He realized it was ironic for him to tell Furaha that she hadn't made any mistakes when in reality, he didn't have the hint of a clue in regards to military leadership. When he claimed that all he did was point and shoot and run, it was naturally a simplification of the highly complicated skillsets he'd been taught to use. But ultimately, it was still true. Fancy titles set aside, he was a simple soldier who only had one life to lose, not a captain who could lose entire platoons.
"Chances are they're gonna say HSAIS stopped the Broker. But that's as far from the truth as it gets. We spooks couldn't have done any of this without you carrying the heavy load. The soldiers who died? Their sacrifice stopped the Shadow Broker from killing and exploiting god knows how many millions of innocent people, not HSAIS, them," he let go of the patch and rose back to his feet.
"Thirty-one are thirty-one too many. I know that just as much as you," then he pushed his hand against the opening mechanism of the door and heard it come open. Despite now being in full view of the people inside, who were probably wondering what was going on, he took another second to extend his hand towards Furaha. "You just said your guys think I'm a bonafied hero and I can't disagree. They do have a certain image of me," he glanced into the room where Rodriguez, Jorgensen and Diego were already looking at him and hoped that what he was about to say would register for them as well. "But as far as I'm concerned, your unit and you are the ones who people should go around calling heroes. You're the ones who stopped the Broker, I only made sure you knew where to look and dodged a few bullets along the way," he stopped looking at Furaha and turned towards the group. "I know it's cliche," he stated before walking into the room and presenting the patches to them. "But it's been a damn honor to put an end to this with the lot of you," he moved down the line of Rodriguez and Jorgensen and finally stopped in front of Diego, who looked the worst out of the bunch.
Time to mend some damage.
Ater a second of getting over himself and his need to distance himself from everything and everyone, Morneau embraced the couple of officer-prep classes he'd taken during his stay in Grissom and gently smacked his hand on the young soldier's shoulder and squeezed it.
Then he went on to do what he did best: wing it.
"What happened on Hagalaz is going to stick with you for the rest of your life. Losing people close to you the way you did, it changes you forever. There's just no other way to put it," he nodded once and then went on. "But even so, it's still up to you to decide what you do with that pain you're feeling right now and your call on where you let that change take you," he let go of the shoulder and looked at the other soldiers on their feet and then Prangley in his bed. "I don't know you, not really at least. But even after one op, I can see that you've all got that special kind of fire inside of you that makes you good soldiers. If you didn't, you wouldn't be standing here now. No matter what happens from here on out," he paused, thinking about all of their imminent and brutal deaths at the hands of the Reapers and subsequently shutting that image out of his head. "Keep that fire burning. For Hussein and for your brothers and sisters who're gonna cover your six from here on out until forever," it was a stupid, old HSAMC saying with neo-monotheistic undertone that he'd picked up years ago during the various post-Blitz funerals.
If he was being honest, he'd always disliked the idea of the dead watching over you, particularly because he already had more than enough ghosts looking over his shoulder already. But right now it felt appropriate to use. "Whatever happens," including a reaper-induced all-out war for humanity's survival "They'll be with you. Downrange or on the other side."
After his small speech, which he was certain had sounded a whole lot better in his head than out loud, he exchanged a series of nods with the BAR troopers, put a patch on the bedside of Prangley and stepped back out of the room again were Furaha was waiting. When the door closed, she cracked a smile.
"One to ten. Give me the truth and nothing but the truth," he joked.
"For someone who says he's shit at goodbyes, that wasn't half bad. Seven."
"You don't have to sugarcoat it," he said before closing up his locker and picking it up again.
"Fine. A four."
"That sounds much more like it," he continued before pointing the way he'd been going and somewhat awkwardly realizing that he now had to do a second goodbye since he'd stupidly picked up the conversation again. "So. Yeah. Like I said. Been an honor and all, but I really gotta get going, soooo," he cringed as soon as the words left his mouth and then chuckled knowingly before once more extending his hand and realizing that they'd just done that.
Furaha looked amused but grabbed it again.
"Wow. Now that was a zero out of ten," she stated before shaking his hand for a second time, probably wondering how someone with such a rapidly shifting degree of social competence could be an elite HSA spy.
He certainly wondered about it now and again.
"Yeah, I had a feeling it would be," he replied before rubbing his neck. "I really do have to get going though. Kind of need to get an IA hearing over with," he said before touching his chest where Yo-yo's necklace was still dangling close to his heart and thinking back to his exchange with Yegor. "And return something I was supposed to give back a week ago already," that had been the bet back then. Two-hundred-days, not two-hundred-eight. IA hearing or not, he wasn't going to delay that return any longer. Even if it got him into trouble with IA.
"Then I won't keep you any longer," Furaha retorted and made a gesture for him to move on, which he did.
He gave her a quick nod and started to walk away with her back turned towards her.
"Oh, and Specialist Morneau," she called, prompting him to turn around and look at the officer for a last time. "For what it's worth, you're better than your reputation. Give yourself some credit for a change. I definitely should've when we first met," she smiled.
He returned the smile and for a change, decided not to argue for the sake of the moment.
"Thanks, I will."
He wouldn't.
Ten Minutes Later, 28. April 2417 AD, Cronos Station, 'Section 13'
It was a the distinctively unpleasant sound of metal being knocked on that interrupted Yo-yo's attempts at sleeping.
The brunette wasn't sure who or what had decided that four in the morning was an acceptable time to show up at the door of her semi-permanent living quarters on Cronos Station, but as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, kicked her feet out of bed and quickly put on a pair of shorts and a plain HSAIS tshirt that had been laying closest to her bed, she knew that she'd let them know that the opposite was true.
She'd already been running low on sleep and been trying to get some shut-eye ever since her meeting with Director Rei yesterday, which had ended on the sour realization that Magic was in enough trouble to get IA involved immediately upon his return – something that had kept her from fully falling asleep during the last six hours.
As such, she was now kind of looking forward to exploding into the face of whoever had woken her at such an ungodly hour, even if doing so would let in the unpleasantly bright ambient lighting of Cronos Station's interior hallways. After a final look at the clock and the decision to not search for a hair tie in the darkness of her room, it was now exactly four-oh-nine in the morning. She hit the opening mechanism and began her rant at the uniformed figure leaning against the wall opposite to her door.
"Have you looked at the god damn tim-" she started before her brain registered who the dark-haired man clad in HSAIS' dress uniform was and decided that this was in fact not a dream. "Magic?" she asked cautiously. In her defense, it was four in the morning, she'd barely slept, it had been two hundred and eight days and he'd suddenly gotten a bit of a tan - probably from not hanging around Cronos Station all the time.
In return to her question about his identity, the man pushed himself off the wall and cracked a smile, his hazel eyes meeting her own blue ones and then travelling down to the ground and back up again.
"Your shirt's on backwards," he observed, his tone dry but his face betraying his amusement.
She glanced down at herself, prepared to sarcastically reply that that tended to happen when you got dressed in the dark, but then, without thinking – and in a complete disregard for HSAIS' rules of professional conduct in the grounds of Cronos Station and fraternization rules as employed in any and all organizations of the HAS – grabbed Daniel (not Morneau or Magic mind you) by the arm. She pulled him towards herself, put her own arms around his neck and then, due to the ever so slight height-difference between them, burrowed her face next to the rank insignia of his right shoulder.
She wasn't sure why she did it, it wasn't like he'd suddenly vanish again if she let go… but in the moment she didn't care and later on, she'd be comfortable with blaming surprise and tiredness for the fuel of outburst and happiness to see her work partner again after over half a year as the catalyst.
Daniel, after an awkward second or so of being stunned by the sudden action (despite knowing each other forever, they didn't exactly get intimate outside of a few selected assignments to keep things professional wherever they could) reciprocated the hug and placed his arms around her back, audibly exhaling. Due to where her head was, she could hear his heart beating rapidly – which considering that this was the same Magic who could casually stroll into a rachni hive or calmly walk into something he knew to be a trap was saying a lot…
They stayed that way for some time and if the wrong person were to cross the hallway in that moment, which seemed to last an eternity from her perspective, and catch sight of them embracing each other like that, they'd both be in for a whole lot of explaining.
But since Yo-yo wasn't quite ready to let go yet and her companion of fourteen years also made no motion to unlock his arms, she figured that neither she nor him cared about that right now.
They just remained there, melting into one another… until the dark-haired man, probably aware of her earlier line of thought in regard to how this would look from the outside, used the hug to lift her up and walk a few steps into the darkness of her room…which would look even worse without the proper context…
"Sorry for being late," Danie-, Magic muttered before withdrawing one of his arms to turn on the light and the other to signal that the hug was over from his perspective. Yo-yo, who didn't want to make things awkward(er) let go immediately. They were now standing just behind the closed door, an arm's reach away but still much further from one another than a second ago.
"Four in the morning's early, not late," she retorted before noticing that he had just pulled out the fishhook necklace she'd given him in October and understanding what he was talking about. It should've been obvious… if it wasn't four. "But yes. You are late in that regard. By eight days, Mister 'Ill bag the Broker in two hundred days'," she went on before trying to return some semblance of order to her hair and subsequently giving up for a lack of a reason. They'd seen each other in much messier states during training and since this was Magic and no one else, there was no need worry about appearances.
"And no bowtie or present either," he added.
"And no bowtie or present either," she repeated with a faked pout. As they talked, any fears of Magic no longer being Magic upon his return were washing away like a leave on a beach. "You're terrible at winning bets, man," Yo-yo went on.
"That's hardly news, is it?" he countered. "In my defense though, there wasn't much left to put a bowtie around," he chuckled before making a move to unhook the necklace. "And I know I said I'd put it in present but unless you wanted a sixty kilogram shard of yahg power-armor-" before he could finish removing the makau nui or explain what he meant when he said yahg power-armor, Yo-yo put a hand on his wrist, shook her head and uttered a line that'd make her mother, who'd carved the necklace herself (a significance she'd neglected to mention when she'd given Magic the necklace) either weep from joy or burst with anger depending on how she'd read the moment if she ever heard about it.
"No, no. You keep that for now. Your times of needing luck aren't over," she stated, remembering the IA hearing in his future.
"That wasn't the deal," Morneau replied, complying nonetheless. When he lowered his hand, she let go of his wrist.
"Back when we made it, you weren't in for a spin with Section 10."
"You already heard about that, huh?" he asked while rubbing his neck.
"Rei told me," she said with a sigh before pulling a key from her nightstand. Now that Magic was back, there'd be no need to hold on to it any longer. "Which makes me wonder why you're here and not there to begin with," she handed him the key. "There you go."
He took it and held it in the air. "Thanks," he nodded before getting back to her question, still looking at her. Had he even broken eye-contact since getting into the room? If he hadn't, she decided not to care. "What can I say, some things are worth getting in trouble with IA for," he went on.
"With things being the key to your stuff?" she half-joked, trying to blend out the sudden rush of questions going through her mind.
Had her impulsiveness just crossed a line better not crossed?
And moving on from there, why should it be an issue if it had…?
She mentally slapped herself.
Not the time of day or state of awake-ness for that line of thought.
"Yeah. Obviously. The key's why I risked pissing off whichever suit-and-tie's waiting for me to show up," he chuckled before adopting a more serious look and a quieter tone. "I think it goes without saying, but I missed you out there- " wha-ha-ha-t? Previous lines of thought resurfaced immediately. He'd always been direct but he was moving that topic a bit faster than she'd expected … "-taking down the Broker, that was always supposed to be our thing." Oh. Right. Of course. That's what he was talking about. Work. Naturally. "Putting it to an end without you felt wrong."
"It better have," Yo-yo replied before plopping down on her bed. Magic kept standing and, as usual, stuffed his hands into his pockets. Her eyes glanced at the clock hanging over her door. Four-fifteen…. just how long had that hug lasted? "When's your date with Section 10 supposed to take place?"
He glanced at his Section 13-issued wristwatch.
"They said I should show up immediately, but I don't think they'll mind ten minutes. Considering what's in the cargo hold of the Scott, I think they'll be glad to have a minute or two to collect their thoughts," he offered.
"What exactly did you bring along?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"A whole bunch of Broker debris, some very suspicious boxes, some Final Wave operatives, one who used to run with Jona Sederis," he listed. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."
"We definitely do," four-sixteen. "But IA aren't the kind of people who you want to keep waiting," she stated. "Get going, Magic," she went on before smiling. "I'll still be here when you get back."
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and gave a brief nod. Then he said something that added a whole lot of confusion to this exchange, even more so than her impulsive line crossing.
"That's what I counted on for the last seven months," he put his hand on the opening mechanism and knocked the wall a couple of times, clearly convincing himself to say something. "When I'm back from IA, we're in for another conversation," – uhm… consider her curiosity peaked… "Something came up while I was undercover" … and lowered again since it was clearly work-related... "I can't say more right now, I wish I could, but I can't," he rubbed his neck again. As he tended to when he struggled with something. Then he stopped the rubbing and pointed at his watch. "Catching up on the firing range? I missed a qualification while being undercover. Gotta rectify that."
There he was again.
Good old uncomplicated Magic.
Yo-yo nodded.
"Just let me know when you're done with IA."
He nodded and got out of the room.
"If you never see me again…" he said, suddenly leaning around the corner of her door. It took her a second to register that he was joking.
"I'll burn your files and avenge you," she replied with a wave of her hand.
"Good partner," he said with a smile. "I can't stress it enough. I missed working with you."
"Like I said. You better have."
Codex: History of the Terra-Novan Hardline (Part 2. An ideology takes the stage)
After Mors Ad Alto created the genre of the Terra-Novan Hardline and conquered the stages of the core worlds like a storm, the floodgates of the same believes that had once fueled the Aquila Invicta movement were reopened.
Starting in 2384 AD, concerts of Mors Ad Alto and the various other offshoot bands its success had spawned soon became a blend of musical entertainment and political rallies. As the years (and the number of armed conflicts with extraterrestrial forces) passed, the musical factor of the TN-Hardline genre moved to the background and its potential as an ideology became more evident.
As such, a clear set of core values emerged; bravery, loyalty, militarism and national pride. Or as parts of the scene like to refer to them and use as a greeting formula to recognize one another; NMLB - No Man Left Behind.
In addition to these core values, the TN-Hardline became distinctively pro-human in wake of the HSA's first conflicts with extraterrestrial threats such as the Blood Pack and Eclipse and adopted shades of human-supremacism and a stance favoring a kind of HSA imperialism in the Attican Traverse after the first clashes with batarian forces.
While not generally xenophobic (and in parts even popular with the small number of turian residents in HSA space), this development has led to the TN-Hardline being placed in the same camp as the originally Fringe-World based 'Terra Firma' Party, a comparison resented by the predominantly pro-SAF hardliners due to Terra Firma's unquestionable ties to the post-IFS mindset of the Fringe and likewise rejected by Terra Firma, which has taken care to distance itself from the 'outright fascist and party-less style of politics practiced in the very core of the core worlds'.
Although localized to Terra Nova and colonies established by Terra-Novan settlers and based around the identity of 'being Terra Novan', the TN-Hardline movement gained traction in the rest of the core worlds in the prelude of the Skyllian Blitz.
After the former Colonial Representative of Terra Nova, Britton Wells, openly voiced his allegiance to the movement, TN-Hardline suddenly turned into the stuff of serious political discussion; not just barracks and bar talk.
Britton Wells, who first served as a Lieutenant-Colonel in the First Armored Regiment and entered the office of CR before the Fringe Wars, representing all the way to First Contact, retired from politics shortly after his son, Cooper Wells, was killed in action during the Battle of Parnack.
Due to his family name being well-established on Terra Nova and liked within the TN-Hardline Scene, it had always been suspected that the Wells family had connections to the movement – even prior to his public admission – and particularly because of his son.
Lieutenant Cooper Wells, a Paladin-Pilot who was posthumously awarded the Star of Valor for his actions during the Battle of Parnack, had always been something of a heroic figure within the ideology of the TN-Hardline.
'Ever since his death, the movement considers him something akin to an example to strive towards. Especially because of who his father was. Cooper Wells became the perfect lost prince if you will, even if everyone who knew him would tell you that he'd be the last person to fall in line with the TN-Hardline. If you ask me, he's probably be spinning in his grave every time they play their tunes. That is, if there would've been anything left to bury that is,', Ichika Takakomi, a political scientist from Terra Nova and rumored paramour of Cooper Wells, once famously said, referring to several of the songs dedicated to the memory of the lieutenant.
Among these are:
- 'Hunter-Elite', a reference to Cooper Wells last callsign of 'Hunter-Lead'
- 'Eighty-Six Seconds And Then Into Eternity', a reference to the duration of Wells' last charge
- 'Eternal Honor Through The Fire of a Thousand Suns', a reference to the explosive, nuclear outcome of Wells' heroic actions.
- 'Axios!', the rumored last words of Cooper Wells
(Note: The 'Axios-myth' has been discredited by veterans of the actual battle who claim to have shared a comm-channel with Wells and insist on his last words being a resigned order to his VI, namely 'blow the core'.)
(Additional Note: Due to the multi-lingual nature of TN-Hardline music, most titles have been translated into uniform English from their predominantly Slavic-Latin original titles)
Similar songs have been dedicated to other famous recipients of the Star of Valor, such as Specialist Jon Grissom (KIA 27.03.2381 AD, Illyira/Elysium) and Commander Emily Shepard (Presumed MIA, recorded alive as of 2417 AD) and other famous figures of the HSA's military history, known and unknown alike such as General Ezra Anaru and the debatably-existing media figure 'Ardat-Torfana'.
- The Unseen Hero
- Red-Haired Angel of War
- For All Mankind
- Bathing in Batarian Blood
A/N: So. This chapter is exceptionally late. Mostly because I got swamped at work due to a lot of sick-calls and worked a ton of nights I should've been sleeping instead.
... I also kind of struggled with writing all the conversations in this chapter, because that's basically what this chapter is. Just people talking.
Okay that's not true.
Without spoiling too much, we are now heading for the final parts of Haugen's and Morneau's ME2 story arcs and going from there, I think it's obvious that we are also not THAT far away from the conclusion of Shepard's ME 2 plot as well.
I won't give you a chapter number, because I always fail when I do that, but there's not a whole lot left to tackle before R-Day. (Anyone who knows the canon timeline and - with the conclusion of the Shadow Broker Arc - also concluded that SV skipped a year out of the three year time-frame between ME 1 and ME 3 probably figured that much already though...)
While we are on the subject of chapter numbers.
I just realised that we finished ME1 FORTY freaking chapters ago, meaning ME 2 is now officially TWICE the size of ME 1 and 4/11s of the entirety of SV.
... I didn't plan for that to happen, honestly, and at this stage, I think it might be time to stop refering to it as ME 2 and instead use the splits I've been using for my personal note keeping; namely Parts 4 and 5.
I don't know if I've outlined it before, so for the sake of future A/Ns I will now, but I've long-since stopped using ME *X* to determine where we're at from a narrative point of view and instead gone on to split it like this: Everything up to Kamarov's death: Part 1, Everything up to Saren turning: Part 2, everything up to Saren Dying : Part 3, everything up to the end of Illium: Part 4, everything up to now, Part 5.
Just wanted to outline that.
For the record we're at 825 reviews, 1304 favorites and 1398 favorites.
I don't know when the next update will drop. As usual by now.
Review and let me know what you think.
See you around next time.
