Chapter 111. Persona Non Grata
06:15 Station Time, 28. April 2417 AD, Cronos Station, 'Section 10'
"Start of Internal Affairs Review 393-2417, 06:15 local time," the man hunched opposite to Morneau said dryly and somewhat bored. He was a darker skinned, somewhat stocky figure in a dark, washed-out HSAIS uniform that had turned more grey than black over the years. He looked tired and distinctively unhappy about the early hour that this review was taking place and everything about him very much in contrast to the actual Section 10 operative sitting perfectly straight to his left. "For the record, state your name, occupation, year of birth and current age," he went on, looking at his terminal instead of Morneau.
"Specialist Daniel Morneau, 2385 AD, thirty-one," the specialist responded before meeting the eyes of the Section 10 operative. He was a tall, pale man with the same sandy hair color as Redford. With how large the human gene pool was, there was no way to say that that hinted at him also being Arcadian-born, though. Sure, the bit of extra height could be blamed on Arcadias slightly-less than average gravity, but even so he wouldn't make any assumptions based on that.
What he would make assumptions based on however were the four golden Deputy-Director stripes on his shoulders. This guy was the head of at least one of Section 10's four Operational Detachments (or short, OD). It was the type of career which saw agents climb all the way to holding a Director chair eventually and it was certainly a far cry removed from Morneau's own eternally silver Senior Field Agent squares in terms of HSAIS' hierarchy.
… not in terms of age though.
The man looked like he could've been anywhere between twenty-five and forty, definitely not any older than that and maybe even around Morneau's age. There were no wrinkles on his face and not the hint of a beard – not even a light stubble. His eyes, while covered with a metal-framed rectangular glasses which to Morneau looked like they didn't actually serve any purpose other than appearances, were still youthful but at the same time dull and a bit hollow.
Their staring contest seemed to last for as long as it took the bored agent in the washed-out uniform to read Morneau his 'duties' as a government employee in service of the HSAIS. Said duties basically amounted to 'tell us everything or we'll fire you' and could safely be ignored once you entered a certain degree of usefulness; sort of like by being a Section 13 operative. The contest ended when Morneau's eyes slipped down to the man's nametag, which read 'Moravek', and then began again when the specialist realized that the Section 10 agent's blue-gray eyes had never stopped looking at him.
"Do you understand your obligations, Specialist?" the one HSAIS agent not caught in the staring contest asked, prompting both Morneau and Moravek to cease… whatever kind of competition they'd just engaged in.
"Naturally," he said with a shrug. It wasn't exactly his first review, so he could afford to pretend like he had just listened to everything the man had said instead of wondering what exactly was off about the Section 10 operative.
Sure, he looked like an exemplary agent on the surface – down to the perfectly ironed uniform and well-maintained haircut – but in Morneau's line of work, one developed a certain sixth sense; one that let you know when the person facing you was trying to appear as something they were not…
Right about now, that sense was kicking in.
"Splendid," the sandy-haired man said before producing a stylus and twirling it between his thumb and index finger. "Now, I know it's not exactly protocol, but before we get down to the why you're here, please allow me to introduce myself," he went on before extending his other hand without ceasing the spinning. "Radoslav Moravek. Section 10," he greeted politely. Morneau, who had folded his arms in front of his chest, threw the hand a cautious glance for a moment. He recalled the last time he'd shook hands with someone who'd given him the creeps and that had been a bad idea.
…although to be fair, that person had been an asari who'd turned out to essentially be a biotic-sex-vampire, which he would assume Moravek was not.
Probably.
After a second more, he shook his hand and expected the other man to make introductions as well.
… he did not.
Moravek and him shook hands and after what felt like a precisely counted time-limit, Moravek let go and pulled back like Morneau's palm was a hot stove. His expression remained unchanged though, still vaguely friendly but also distinctively creepy.
"I'll be frank with you, Specialist, which is a courtesy neither you nor I usually extend to the people we work with," Moravek began before looking at his colleague and gesturing at him with an open hand. "He is here because your report raised some questions regarding your mission," then he placed his hand on top of his chest. "I'm here because your actions raised some unwarranted attention, and worse, drew eyes from a public better left blind," he said with a somewhat hostile tone. The friendliness was still there, but so was something smug and dismissive. Kind of like a teacher talking to a misbehaving child. Or a high-ranking HSAIS operative talking to a member of his OD, or worse, a low-ranking field operative slash triggerman from a different section altogether.
As he listened to Moravek speak, Morneau picked up on the distinct lack of an accent on this guy.
It was weird.
Just about every major population group in the HSA spoke with a bit of a unique twist and while he wasn't a linguist, the fact that he had faked being part of just about every major population group had given him a bit of an ear for that sort of thing.
To name some examples for the biggest demographics: Earthers sounded all over the place depending on where they happened to have been born on Earth and what their native tongue was.
Arcadians spoke with soft vowels and a faster cadence. Horizoners had a bold, heavy tone to their words and stressed the wrong letters at times and Terra Novans mixed their fairly basic version of English with words from Slavic, Latin or at times south-asian languages – depending on who they talked to and which part of Terra Nova they hailed form.
Fringers, finally, had stayed true to their rebellious nature and created their own version of HSA-English using words and terms that modern-day English hadn't used in centuries. There were some differences between the different planets, but overall it was easy to say whether someone was from the original colonies, the core, the Fringe or the current frontier. Every part of space had its own indicators.
…and Moravek lacked all of them.
Morneau looked at the terminal and then back at Moravek.
"What parts exactly?"
He already had an idea, naturally, but he still wanted to hear him say it.
For a split-second, there was a thin smile on the man's lips, like he was amused by the prospect of Morneau not being aware of why he was sitting here and him therefore having the pleasure of revealing it to him. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, presumably because Moravek knew that no specialist would ever be unaware of what parts of their mission could be deemed problematic.
"Before we get to the specifics, I think we should start at the beginning. If only for the sake of a full, conclusive record," Moravek stated. "I know you'll think I'm reaching too far into the past, but please, bear with me," he went on before suddenly producing a tablet from somewhere underneath the desk that separated them. Had he placed it here prior to entering the room again just for the dramatic event? "Specialist Morneau, what can you tell me about the 19th of June 2414?" he asked while looking at the tablet, probably unaware of the fact that the lack of a light reflection on in his glasses let Morneau know that the thing was still turned off.
… small mistakes set aside, the desired effect was achieved.
Morneau, despite years of training, pulled in a sharp breath at the mention of that date.
… that was the day of Akuze; Alec's date of death.
"Only that the records are sealed," he responded reflexively.
"Not to the person who had to explain away the deaths of nearly two hundred HSA citizens," Moravek said before snapping his finger and pointing at him. Instantly, a realization dawned on Morneau and immediately afterwards, Moravek confirmed it. "You see, this might be the first time you and I meet, but from my point of view, we're far from strangers. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I've had to straighten out a few of the messes you and your colleagues left behind over the last years. Akuze was the first time your name crossed my desk. And what a start that was mind you. But it certainly wasn't the only time," he tilted his head to the right ever so slightly. "I don't want you to go into this thinking that you're the first Specialist for whom I've had to do this," he went on. "I just want you to know that we're more familiar than you think."
That was one of the tasks people usually didn't associate with Section 10. When they heard Internal Affairs, they just imagined situations like this. Internal reviews of HSAIS field operations and other internal matters of related departments.
The reality was different though.
As far as the Bureau of Field Work was concerned, 'internal affairs' not only concerned the entirety of the internal HSA apparatus, but also related to cleaning things up whenever Thirteen or Nine or another one of the more hands-on departments left a bit of a mess behind, within and outside of HSA territory.
"Now with that out of the way, I don't claim to understand what it's like to work for Section 13. We might both work for HSAIS but our jobs couldn't be more different. You use the best guns and rifles money can buy, my weapons of choice are carefully chosen words and selective framing," the sandy-haired man continued. "But while I won't claim to know what your work is like, I do understand what your operations leave behind and, more importantly, how to frame the at times literal piles of rubbles in a way that doesn't raise too many questions," he let his words sink in for a second and then suddenly clapped his hands. "Okay, now that I've properly introduced myself to you," so that was what that was? "I think we really should start from the beginning. For real this time," he gestured at Morneau and turned on his tablet for real this time. "You went undercover in October of last year, correct?"
"Correct."
"Can you walk me through that process?"
"You read my report, didn't you?"
"Of course I did," he sounded offended, almost like the notion of not being prepared was an insult to his personal honor. "I'd still like to hear you explain it if you don't mind, though."
Morneau sighed, but he complied nonetheless.
"Like you said, I left Cronos Station at the start of October and took on the identity of Solomon Gunn, a former intel marine who scored a job with the Final Wave's headquarters on the Citadel."
"Something you achieved thanks to prior small-time joined-operations with Sections 11 and 12 in the time leading up to October."
"They were job interviews. But yes, that's how we did it," he obviously had to show up prior to getting the job. The Wave would be idiots if they hired someone they'd never met face-to-face. Come to think of it, most of what he'd done last year had been building up to that undercover operation.
"Okay, so now you're on the Citadel posing as Solomon Gunn. What happened next?"
"After some settling in, I got to work using my position to gather intel on the Shadow Broker. Got close to my colleagues, my boss, laid the usual groundwork, you know," he listed, consciously brushing over a name.
It didn't get unnoticed.
"And you met one Miss Emily Wong."
"And I met one Miss Emily Wong," he confirmed.
"What made you take an interest in Miss Wong?"
"A romantic attachment on the Citadel made the cover of Solomon Gunn more realistic. It wasn't personal interest that gave me the idea to start a relationship with her. I did it to make Gunn feel more alive to the people around me. Add to the ruse, you know?"
"I see. And were you aware of the fact that she was an investigative journalist before committing to the… ruse?" his last word sounded hollow, sort of like Moravek didn't exactly believe Morneau. He wouldn't fault him for that, though, like he told Wong. He wasn't sure if it hadn't been real after all and if he couldn't be sure, who could?
"She mentioned it a couple of meetings in."
"And you weren't worried that being with someone with that kind of profession would jeopardize your mission?"
"Jeopardize as in?" he retorted.
"As in her learning what you're actually doing and spreading the word."
"I'm an elite intelligence officer with nearly fourteen years of continuous training focused on undercover work and other types of clandestine operations," he shrugged. He normally wasn't one to brag, but this time it felt appropriate to boast a little. "Do you think that qualifies me enough to lie to a journalist with a bit of an extranet following?"
Moravek tilted his head forward in a single nod.
"Either way, after I got settled in-"
"-before you go on, I do actually have one more question about Miss Wong, if you don't mind."
Not like he had much a choice.
"What is it?"
"Were you at any point made aware of the fact that Miss Wong's father is currently employed by the Navy Research and Development's Division?"
"Since I did a proper background check on her, I knew that going in, yes," he replied
"And did you ever consider that you could potentially compromise a high-ranking NRD officer by handing his daughter over to the Shadow Broker?"
"Implying that the Broker couldn't have bagged Wong if I hadn't been around?" he countered. "She's a person of public interest, if the Broker wanted her, he would've gotten her earlier."
"Which in turn suggests it was only your relation to her that put her into danger," Moravek responded, probably trying to dig him a hole.
He didn't really care though. He had his answers ready in this regard.
"That's not just what that suggests, that's a fact. Wong got kidnapped because I used her to improve my cover. She was a useful tool, easy as that."
"I'm sure her father wouldn't appreciate you hearing him say that," the Section 10 operative stated before folding his hands in front of his mouth.
"And I'm sure her father is never going to hear me say that. Unless of course you want to tell him and violate HSAIS protocols. When you do, make sure not to leave out the part where HSAIS considered her an expendable secondary objective though. I'm sure he'd just about love that and he definitely wouldn't quit his job over it," when Morneau had finished the sentence, Moravek's eyes twitched ever so slightly. Maybe he was slowly realizing that two could play the game he'd been trying to play ever since entering the room… or maybe he was just pissed off that Morneau could be quippy as well.
"Moving on from the subject of Miss Wong. You were just telling me how you laid the groundwork for your operation. How long did that take you?"
"I'd say three or four months," he caught Moravek's questioning look. "Building rapport takes time and it's sort of hard to pinpoint the date when people started to trust Solomon Gunn."
"But it definitely happened before you got involved with the situation on Kosh?"
"Way before then, yes. I never would've gotten those jobs if they hadn't trusted me by then."
"As I understand, the assignments on Kosh were your first lead towards the Shadow Broker."
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"No one actually name-dropped the Broker while I was working that situation. I obviously suspected it, but it was only after we made the hand-off and after I met Hock that I was sure the person who we were working for on Kosh was the Shadow Broker," he remembered.
"While we are on that topic, I'd like to talk about Kosh more, actually," Moravek typed on his tablet and showed him an image of a blue-skinned asari. It was clearly taken from the gun-cam of the Vulture that had chased them across Kosh and despite the bit of motion blur, he still recognized the asari. Irna. "You met this person, this," he paused for a moment, "Ardat-Yakshi," he pronounced the word strangely musical, almost like he actually spoke Thessian. "She was on Kosh as well, wasn't she? Working for the Wave?"
"Yes, she was the team leader actually. Went by the name Irna."
"How would you describe your encounter with her?"
"Creepy," he stated plainly. "Like I wrote in my report, something about her was off and she had a strange influence on the people around her."
"Including you?"
"I like to think that I snapped out of it when I noticed it."
"But if affected you briefly?"
"Yes, briefly. But like I said, I managed to snap out of it pretty quickly."
"Mhm," Moravek muttered. "Did you know that Ardat-Yakshi are capable of manipulating just about every person they meet? And that powerful biotics are especially vulnerable to them due to the way their condition functions?" Moravek asked, sounding a tad disgusted – or maybe impressed.
"I sort of figured it had something to do with biotics," Morneau replied, recalling the electric sensation of shaking hands with the Adrat-Yakshi.
"Barring asari with the same genetic disorder, the number of people who can actively resist an Ardat-Yakshi without outside influence is fairly small. You must have quite a lot of willpower to be able to resist someone who literally hijacks your body to use your own instincts and pheromones against you. Members of the Justicar Order, the asari warrior-nuns trained to hunt Ardat-Yakshi, they train for decades to resist their influences. Yet you did it on the fly. Without even knowing what an Ardat-Yakshi. That's beyond impressive, Specialist."
"Maybe she wasn't trying to hard. And besides, asari aren't really my type either, so that probably helped as well," he replied casually and truthfully. He'd never been one for scales or skin colors resembling oxygen deprived humans. "Besides, you said powerful biotics are especially vulnerable. I'm not one of those, especially not when compared to an asari justicar. If the amount of willpower needed to combat an Ardat-Yakshi sort of scales with biotic powers, I probably had an easier time than most," he pointed at his neck where the old L1 amp was located, which unlike the newer amps was a fixed implant that couldn't be removed or disarmed. "Low-end of the human power-spectrum. Most Cabals have more output than me. A little less eezo and I probably wouldn't even be biotic."
"Yet your combat instructors at Grissom-Academy were thoroughly impressed with your performance."
"Because I made up for it with shooting. Trust me, I'm not that impressive."
"Since I lack any experience with that matter, I'll just take your word for it," Moravek pulled back the tablet and looked at the table for a moment. Then he jumped from his chair and started walking to the opposite end of the room, behind Morneau.
"You had an altercation with HSA security forces on Kosh. They were deployed there as part of Operation Sentinel. Some people are calling that operation an unlawful occupation. Personally, I consider it a necessity to maintain our foothold in the region," Moravek commented. "Tell me, Specialist, what would you have done if they'd caught up with you? How would you have acted if you had to decide between your mission and the safety of HSA personal?"
Morneau turned around in his chair.
"What's the point of that question? I made sure they didn't."
"Humor me."
"Section 13 operatives can take just about any measure necessary to complete their mission. Even if we don't like to make a big deal of it, shooting our own guys is sort of covered by that."
"I know about the legal position and freedoms your Section enjoys, Specialist," Moravek responded before turning his head and looking at him with one eye. "But I asked you how you would have acted."
"I'm not gonna kill HSA soldiers doing their job."
"So you would've risked your mission for their lives?"
"I made sure that I didn't have to make that decision."
"Compared to your fellow specialists, do you think you're in the minority with that kind of caring mindset? A lot of Section 13 operatives were sent to infiltrate the IFS during the Fringe Wars. Despite HSAIS' best attempts, some of them ended up on the frontlines of the war, facing HSA troops in battle. While we don't like to advertise it to the rest of the HSA, both of us can assume that some of your colleagues probably ended up killing HSA troops to maintain their cover," Moravek said. "What do you think, would you have shot an HSA soldier if it had been you back then?"
"I think that I don't know how this is related to the Shadow Broker op."
"Your loyalty to the HSA and our people, it's important to you, isn't it?" Moravek went on, seemingly out of the blue.
"About the most important thing in the world," Morneau responded immediately, sort of like he'd been programmed to give that answer… which - after a little bit of critical self-reflection - was probably true.
In between Grissom Academy and Section 13, he probably was programmed to give that answer…
… not that it bothered him, mind you.
"Interesting answer," Moravek waved his hand over his watch and the tablet he had left lying on the table suddenly produced a familiar, red-haired man. It was clearly an older image, the man was still wearing a military uniform.
"That's Kyle Mitchell. Formerly Sergeant Kyle Mitchell of the 26th Airborne Regiment. Born-and-raised on Terra Nova, went to Zhang-Academy, then straight to the airborne. Tried out for ASOC after tasting a bit of blood in the Verge. He got accepted but washed out after breaking all of his left ribs in Selection-Course 1. That pissed him off, so he sat out his contract and exchanged the red-white and gold for a Final Wave star." Moravek said while rotating his hands around each other. "You know him as Sixteen. Or rather, as the man who you allowed to walk away twice despite the threat of him destroying your cover," Moravek turned around and leaned on the table next to Morneau, inspecting the image of the man. "Was it your aversion to killing human soldiers and your loyalty to the HSA and its people that made you spare him? Would you have shot him if he weren't human?"
"Nope."
"Then what did?" Moravek said while turning to look at Morneau.
"Pragmatism and circumstances," the specialist responded before meeting his eyes. "I considered icing him after he approached me in the wake of Kosh. But I decided against it because a body raises questions a terrified merc deserter doesn't."
"And the second time? You ran into him again at the mansion, didn't you?"
"The second time I had no reason to kill him either," Morneau retorted. "I know this might surprise you, considering how people tend to view us Specialists and what not, but we usually don't go around killing people unless we absolutely have to."
"And you wouldn't say that it had anything to do with you feeling some sort of loyalty with another Terra Novan? One that goes beyond your commitment to the mission?"
What was this guy on about?
"I'm not Terra-Novan," Morneau clarified.
"Not by birth, but considering that you went to Grissom Academy, you might as well be. I've been to the academies by the Sithian Sea, I know how things work there, what they teach you," Moravek said.
"I didn't kill Sixteen because I didn't have a reason to. That's all there is to that and frankly, I don't get why you're reading into it that much," Morneau went on, deciding that he had enough of Moravek's habit to go off the rails. "You said that he was here because my report raised questions," he nudged his head towards the mute operative. "And that you were here because you're the guy who fixes Thirteen's messes," he leaned back in his chair. "Yet the only thing you've been doing the last ten minutes is recapping stuff I clearly outlined in my report and putting up some kind of rehearsed performance to get a rise out of me," he summarized. "I know I'm not a Deputy-Director like you who gets to see the whole big picture, but I've still been doing this long enough to know that HSAIS certainly doesn't have a problem with me not killing someone. And I also know that they don't care about Wong being put into danger. Even if her dad's a big shot, taking down the Shadow Broker mattered way more than one life," he listed. "Why don't you get to the point already? What did you have to fix? What's the point of this and what do you want from me?"
Moravek smiled the same thin, predatory smile again.
Only this time around, it looked like he'd just been invited to a welcome challenge.
"Setting fire to a multi-million credit estate on one of the richest colonies in the Core is hardly subtle, Specialist," Moravek stated as he sat back down. "Neither is staring down a hunter-killer team in the heart of galactic politics and exposing an entire company of soldiers to a highly sensitive HSAIS operation before going on to raid the headquarters of a security company knowing galaxy-wide for the quality of its work alongside another undercover operative, who I'm sure I don't need to tell you has had a significant impact on the HSA's position on the Citadel," Mroavek stopped spinning his pen. "And then there's of course the little matter of Keiji Okuda's unexpected return from the dead only to have him die in the same multi-million credit estate right next to the wealthy owner of said estate, who by the way was a respected member of Bekenstein's community."
Fucking finally.
Cards on the table.
"That's a weird way of saying 'gunrunner working for the Shadow Broker who's better off six feet under'," Morneau countered.
"I don't disagree with that assessment, but as I'm sure you're well aware appearances matter more than facts in the eye of the public," Moravek responded. "Donovan Hock might've been a gunrunner working in direct opposition to the HSA but to some of his wealthier neighbors, he was just an easygoing playboy who threw pretty good parties that people liked to attend. He was well-liked in his neighborhood. If you can call a private island chain housing the wealthiest people in the HSA a neighborhood that is. Either way, people fancied him and now that he's dead, people are asking questions. Questions I was tasked with silencing."
"Since you're here and not on Bekenstein, I can assume you already sorted that out?"
"Let's just say that the neighbors quieted down after I showed them some of the acquaintances Mister Hock had made during his lifetime. They were the kind of people you really don't want to be associated with, especially not if you're running for a colonial office," Moravek said before folding his hands on the table. The gesture was distinctively slow, as if he needed to make sure that all fingers interlaced at the exact same moment and ensure that they also touched the opposing hand in perfect unison. "Now as you can imagine, HSAIS and I were a bit confused when we found Okuda's body and read the part where you outlined how he blackmailed you into working with him. Not just because it's rare for a specialist to get caught in the open like that but also because you were the one to report Okuda dead in 2415."
He'd been waiting for that question.
"Last I saw him, he was sitting in a restaurant and had a bunch of Final Wave mercs headed for his table with no way out to speak of. Considering he just told me that the Broker wanted to off him, I think you can see why I figured he was dead."
"And if you had written your mission statement back then just like that, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Yet you specifically listed him as dead, why?" Moravek asked, sort of like a lawyer at court would - probably. Morneau had never been in front of court, let alone spoken to a lawyer. So he was just sort of basing that assessment on that weird show about the HSA JAG-Corps his bunkmate back at Grissom had watched religiously before getting sent of to BAR and dying on Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz.
"Because I honestly didn't see a way someone like Okuda could make it out of there alive," he lied before opting to play on a bit of a stereotype. "I mean the guy's basically a glorified thief just like the rest of his Section 4 buddies. If he'd been from Section 6 or a Niner or someone from Thirteen, then yeah, sure, I would've given him a shot at getting out. But Section 4? Nah. No way someone with their training is making it out alive against a bunch of Final Wave mercs."
"You say that now, yet the threat assessment you wrote for Okuda prior to facing him clearly shows that you considered him far more competent than that," Moravek countered. Instantly, Morneau remembered his wording. "Due to his past relation to Section 4, Keiji Okuda has to be considered exceptionally well-trained, experienced and prepared for all circumstances; in short, a high-level threat to mission success," Moravek quoted.
"To be fair, I wrote that before I made contact with him. If I'd known that he was the type of guy who enjoys a glass of wine while he knows the Wave's hunting him, I probably wouldn't have considered him problematic." That was another lie, he would've considered him even more dangerous. It took a special kind of calm and confidence to relax while a well-known merc outfit was hunting for your head.
"And again, I agree with what you're saying but also have to point out that appearances matter. The man you reported as dead blackmailed you into working for him and by the end of it, he, Hock and a whole bunch of HSA citizens working with Hock's private security detail were found dead by Bekenstein police who then got chased off by the local garrison. That's not a good look, I don't have to tell you that," Moravek responded before adjusting his fake-glasses. "It's really lucky that all of this ended with Okuda dying as well, and for real this time too. That way we at least had someone to blame for the entire mess on Bekenstein. The unsanctioned killing of HSA citizens at the hands of one of our own covert operatives is bad, but its slightly less bad when it's a disavowed rogue agent who did it."
For a moment Morneau wanted to disagree and say that the only one to blame was Hock and that Okuda had died for what he believed in and loved. But then he noticed the thin smile on Moravek's lips all over again and decided that now wasn't the time to save the honor of the not-so-bad rogue operative.
"Yeah. Really lucky," the specialist responded with a shrug.
"I know your report says you didn't, but I still need to ask. For the record" Moravek continued. "Did you cross off Okuda during your stay on Bekenstein?"
"Reports are part of the record," Morneau corrected while looking at the dark-skinned agent, who threw him a brief glance. "Why do you insist on me repeating stuff you should already know?"
Moravek blinked and stayed silent for a moment, almost like Morneau's question had thrown him off-balance.
He quickly recovered though.
"Because reports are boring. Bland words without context or emotion. Like I said, I like to hear people say things, that way I can judge whether they're speaking the truth," he replied.
"So you're saying you think I lied on my report."
"I'm saying that I think that I don't know you, Specialist. Not outside of your reports at least," Moravek waved his hand through the air and his entire behavior suddenly did a one-eighty. "Listen. I know that this looks like I'm trying to tie you a noose here," yup. "But you have to believe me when I say that I'm not. You and I? We're on the same side. We might fill different roles, but we all work for the same people, for the HSA. And to that end, we need to figure this out quickly and together."
Morneau shrugged.
"From where I'm sitting, it looks like you already figured it out yourself," he sat up a little straighter in his chair. "I'm here for a reason, but I'm guessing it isn't that you want to review my mission or tell me how you fixed all of my mistakes. You already did that," he leaned on the desk and consciously looked Moravek in the eye before doing one of his favorite moves – mirroring the other person's words. "It's about time you tell me what that is that you want from me, Mister Moravek. What is it that we need to figure out quickly and together?"
The thin, predatory smile on the man's lips was replaced by a genuine one. He closed his eyes and removed his glasses. Next, he folded them together carefully and placed them so that they perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. Then he pushed the off button on the terminal the other operative had been using and made a gesture for him to quickly leave the room, entirely dismissive of the man. Despite being treated like an insignificant sidenote, the man in the washed-out suit complied without complaint and stepped out of the door. As he turned he lifted his right sleeve and scratched his arm.
In the process, Morneau saw the fresh scar hidden by the sleeve. Judging by where he was wearing his watch, that was his non-dominant arm side. And judging by the way the scar looked, it came from the kind of gunshot injury you got when you were shot in the arm while slicing a corner – hardly the injury you got when working with Internal Affairs and certainly not something you'd find on a guy silently typing away on a terminal.
Morneau threw the man a look and the man quickly glanced to the floor and rolled his sleeve back up. While doing that, he moved his dress-uniform in a way that showed the outline of a concealed handgun tugged into his waistband on the left side of his hip.
Morneau cracked a knowing smirk.
Not a secretary.
"Hey man," he called cheerfully, "when did Niners start writing reports for IA?"
The man, clearly aware of his mistake by now, looked at Moravek, who simply repeated his gesture from earlier.
"The answer to your question is simple. Project Group Insight," Moravek stated as soon as the 'secretary' had left the room, letting the three words sink in. "Few things are as dangerous as an enemy within and even fewer things can cause as much as harm as an enemy within that you're not even aware of," he went on. "Since Insight's nature makes it an internal threat, Sections 10 and 13 have been tasked with an investigation ever since you first reported on them. 13 to figure out who they are and how to stop them and 10 to do damage control when that happens. It pains me to say that we've drawn a blank up to now outside of what little you were able to provide."
"Seriously?" Moravek nodded. "I'm sure there's plenty of intel on the stuff we pulled from the Broker's ship," Morneau figured in return.
"That's the thing, there probably isn't," Moravek responded. He sounded like an entirely different person now, like he'd flicked a switch the moment Morneau had seen through his act. "We already have people looking over what you secured and right now, there's a whole lot of stuff unsurprisingly connecting the Broker to all kinds of criminal activity and political shenanigans but not a sliver of information regarding PGI. They scrubbed everything. Or maybe they never gave the Broker anything to begin with."
"What about the prisoners?"
"They're brutes, paid to kill and not ask questions. They'll be interrogated but I'm certain that they'll know nothing useful," Moravek retorted. "Our only hint to PGI's nature is the connection to Hahne-Kedar that you outlined and as you can imagine, it's sort of hard to convince Arcturus that we need to turn the biggest military-contractor in the HSA on its head. Even for HSAIS."
"What about the people I ran into when learning about PGI? The two humans and the turian?" This time, he was the one asking for the record. If they'd been able to provide anything, they wouldn't be having this conversation.
"Amanda Bryer, Christian Singh and Kletax Signus?" Moravek named casually. "I'm afraid they've all met their untimely demise a few days after the incident on Bekenstein. Bryer died of sudden heart failure in her hotel room despite being a hobby-marathon runner, Singh apparently became suicidal and jumped off of New-Nakatomi Plaza's roof a couple of hours before catching his flight and Signus got caught on the bad end of a skycar crash which looked suspiciously like he was running away from someone. In his case it was so obvious that Bekenstein's colonial police department opened a murder investigation and trust me when I say this, barring a few exceptions CPD detectives usually don't do well on the clandestine playing field people like us move on."
"All three in one day?"
"Yes."
"Now that's some obvious house cleaning."
"Exactly," Moravek sighed before swiping his watch again, "observe," he instructed before letting a brief clip play. It looked to be taken from a helmet-camera and while the hands in view and weapons being used suggested that this was the point of view of a human soldier, the speed and violence of the movements and the strange power armor he was wearing made Morneau question that assessment.
To briefly summarize what was being viewed; there was a firefight between the impossibly fast-moving soldier and a bunch of bad guys (he'd assume they were the bad guys since the human was shooting at them).
It ended with the soldier literally slamming a black-armored figure – which looked strangely like the mercs they'd run into on the Broker's ship - into the metal floor of the ship with enough force to dent said floor into a small crater. A second later, a blinding explosion erupted from the creature and the soldier stared at his scorched (but unharmed) arms. Then he moved on like nothing had just happened and turned his gun on a salarian.
"This was taken two days ago by a Cerberus field operative acting in the Eagle Nebula, Codename Machai-3," Moravek said before swiping his hand and producing another clip.
Just from the invisible human shape outlined by green lines Morneau already knew that he was looking at an ASOC operation.
The soldiers were fighting on what appeared to be a spaceship's bridge and the footage stopped right as the gun of the soldier who's point of view he was seeing aligned itself on another black armored figure. This one resembled the guys he'd seen escort Hock and lacked the obvious incendiary pack. "This was yesterday, onboard of the MMC- Messina, a merchant vessel boarded in the Hawking Eta. Callsign Phantom-Lead," Moravek explained before once more swiping.
The next chunk of footage showed the perspective of a familiar N7 fighting for her life in a police station and battling an asari and yet again, figures in familiar black armor. "Judging from your expression, I don't have to say anything in regard to Shepard's perspective," Morneau nodded and Moravek went on, this time ending up on a piece of footage dated on the first of April.
Unlike the other two, this one didn't show a firefight per say, but rather another ASOC soldier bursting into what looked like a colonial shelter.
The first thing the soldier did was double tap a man lying on the ground. He already had a wound on his chest and a dead, older man was lying opposite to him, presumably shot with the handgun in the younger man's grasp.
"This was taken during the attack on New Canton by an ASOC squad going by the callsign Prizrak. It lacks the obvious black-armored bad-guys, so allow me to explain. That man you see lying on the ground right there?" Moravek said before jabbing his finger into the projection, right at the younger man who'd just gotten double-tapped, "that's Derek Hadley, who just shot," his finger moved on to the older man, "Doctor Garret Bryson. Both of them were members of Task Force Aurora, which as I'm sure you've been told is the HSA's contribution to the anti-reaper task force of the Council. Before working for us, Hadley worked for the same division as Bryer and Singh and Signus," Moravek sighed.
"Including your run-in, that makes five locations separated by half a galaxy each with five entirely different contexts and five very different HSA operations… all unified by the same enemy working against us all the while displaying a clear connection to the Reapers," when the last word rolled of his tongue, Moravek looked behind him at the door and cleared his throat, as if he was waiting for someone. A few seconds later the door pulled open and a familiar blonde man stepped inside.
"Hey," he greeted briefly.
"I prepare this entire thing, play the whole bad-cop routine and agree to be the villain of your little story and you go ahead and miss your que," Moravek stated plainly while picking up his glasses. "How typical of you, Lal Qila," he added before spotting a small dust-flake on his glasses and cleaning it off immediately.
"I was off by a second, Tobias," Redford said, clearly addressing Moravek but using an entire wrong name. "Don't get your knickers in a twist over a second, mate," the older specialist rested his hands on his hips. "Morneau."
"Redford."
"I see you already met Section 10's Deputy Director Tobias Walsh."
"I did," Morneau said before looking at the other blonde man. "Although he introduced himself as Radoslav Moravek."
"Yeah, he likes changing names every couple of years. Don't ask me why, though."
"Radoslav Moravek, Tobias Walsh, Timothy Masters. Given names are overrated in our profession anyways, so does it really matter what people call me?" the Section 10 offered before gesturing for the seat next to him. "Sit down, Grant. It's been such a long time since we've had the pleasure."
"Yeah. Wouldn't exactly call it a pleasure. Nor a long time," Redford said, sitting down nonetheless. "Before I get into this, I need you to understand something, Morneau. I tried to find another way to do this. I really did. But there just isn't one. I played out every scenario and it all comes down to this. So I'm sorry for what I'm about to ask of you."
Morneau raised his eyebrow and thought back to their exchange from a week ago.
"This is about what you need my help with, isn't it?" he figured
Redford sighed.
"Let's start from the beginning, alright?"
"I won't like this, will I?"
"No, I don't think you will."
Two Days Ago, 26. April 2417 AD, Cronos Station, Section 10
There weren't a lot of people in the galaxy that gave Redford the genuine creeps.
The sandy-haired man sitting in front of him inside of the perfectly furnished office was one of these people. And not just because he used to work as a JAG lawyer, which was arguably an even more soulless job than what he was doing these days.
If one wanted to get technical, it was strange that most people on board of Cronos Station didn't know Redford's current opposite.
Deputy Director Walsh had done a lot of things over the years – including but not limited to convincing the bloody Citadel Council to lie about the truth behind Sovereign's attack on the station two years ago.
The impact he had had on galactic politics was measurable, which given the scale of galactic politics was impressive in its own right.
But what made it even more surprising that people didn't know Walsh was the fact that Walsh was still actively showing his face around the entirety of the HSA.
While his last big stunt had earned him his promotion to Deputy Director of Section 10, Walsh for some godforsaken reason still hadn't stopped doing what he did best; selling lies to the general public and scrubbing off the blood left behind by HSAIS operations. As such, he still regularly went out of office to lie his ass off, which was exactly what was being needed right now.
Although his job had involved a lot of shooting over the years, Redford was first and foremost a spy, someone who engineered social situations in a way to produce a favorable outcomes. He was a master manipulator, or at least he liked to think that much.
The Section 10 operative however was on an entirely different level.
Walsh, or as his nametag read these days, Moravek (he really wondered what was up with that and would simply assume that it had been a mood-driven change, sort of like the switch from 'Walsh' to 'Masters' and then back to 'Walsh' five years ago), basically did the same thing Redford did.
He engineered social situations into favorable outcomes. The only difference was on what kind of scale he did it.
Walsh, Moravek, Masters, or whatever his actual name was (Redford honestly wasn't sure), had made his name(s) lying to entire colonies, at times large chunks of the human population and - like previously mentioned - once, to the entire galaxy.
Lying to a lot of people wans't what made him special though.
It was the fact that he was convincing. Extraordinarily so.
Most of the things Walsh had told people over the years had made it into the history books, or on the Extranet, which was arguably even better int his day and age.
He was a master of deception, and more importantly, probably the only person onboard Cronos Station who could (and probably had) convincingly lied to HSAIS itself.
For that reason, Director Rei had helped arrange this little meeting.
Walsh was the pivotal piece of Redford's idea, even if he didn't trust him further than he could throw him, a distance that had probably declined over the last ten years or so. He was getting old, after all and Walsh, despite being an office worker, still maintained a rigorous schedule that gave him a sturdy physique like you'd find in the more active Field Work sections.
"Fascinating," Walsh muttered after reading over Redford's entire report on PGI and listening to his idea. "How absolutely enticing," he complimented further, strangely excited.
It was something Rei had told him to expect years ago, right before their first meeting. Walsh loved a challenge more than anything and the few interactions they'd had over the years the Section 10 operative had been on Cronos Station (or at least the years during which Redford had been aware of Walsh being on the station) had confirmed that assessment.
"I have to say, Grant," Walsh began, using the weirdly friendly hostile tone he always used when talking to someone, "your idea is brilliant. A bit on the cruel side, considering what you told me about how Specialist Morneau views himself and how we'll sent him off with nothing immediately after he arrived, but brilliant nonetheless."
In response, Redford sighed.
"I don't need you to rub in that it's a messed-up thing to ask from someone like Morneau."
Walsh immediately shook his head and started spinning his stupid stylus. Redford had hated that thing since the first time he'd seen it and it took every bit of restraint within him to not immediately throw the thing out of the next available airlock. The longer he was in here, the more he remembered why he'd taken every possible measure to not cross Walsh's path whenever possible.
Everything about him made you be on edge all the time. From the annoying habits all the way to the fact that he could realistically ruin just about every life he came across with nothing but slander as his weapon.
"No, you're misunderstanding. I'm not rubbing it in, Lal Qila. I'm admiring your creativity! I didn't think a brick-headed door kicker like yourself would be able to formulate such an idea. Age clearly made you wiser," he stood up and folded his hands behind like this. "Rei and you are right. With an enemy like Insight, the only way to win is to get someone on the inside and the only way to get some insight inside Insight," was he making those puns intentionally? Redford had no idea since he'd never actually heard Walsh tell a joke, let alone laugh, "is if we can convince them that the person we're sending really is disillusioned with the HAS and ready to change sides. And who better to pick for that than the former idealist who got kicked out of the only life he's ever known after having to take the fall for an assignment gone bad?" Walsh paced around the room like a hungry Arcadian Panther-Eagle on the prowl. "If we leave out the part where we inform Specialist Morneau of the deceptive nature of his discharge until he's actually made his escape, this could be a true masterpiece of deception. Just consider this. What if you approached him with this mission only after I revealed his discharge to him and he already ran away?"
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Tobias, but we're not doing that. It's already bad enough that we'll have to burn him without anyone but us knowing. If we don't tell him right away, we can't guide him. Besides, what part of what I told you about Morneau makes you think he'd run away from his mistakes?" His one-and-only student was the last person Redford could ever imagine doing something like that… which was exactly why they needed Walsh to sell it. Only he could make people believe others acted against their nature.
"Regrettable but true," Walsh replied before turning around again. "I do have one question though."
"What is it?"
"Why start off with putting him into the TN-Hardline instead of Hahne-Kedar proper? It seems… needlessly complicated. You got him into the Final Wave, I'm sure you could get him into the relevant division. Or are you worried that the Broker showed his face to PGI? You know there is plastic surgery for that."
"His face isn't the problem."
"Yes, he does look rather boring, I'll give you that," Walsh agreed. "So. Why not send him in directly?"
Redford remembered the files of the security detail of Hock and the past history of Singh, who for all intents and purposes had just been a glorified bodyguard for the turian and Bryer. "Because they need to think that they actually picked him and because he already knows someone from the relevant parts of the Hardline who could come in handy to make it seem natural," he was talking about the former Wave operative Morneau had spared twice already, Kyle Mitchell.
Redford didn't know how he did it, but Mitchell apparently made a habit out of finding bad employers. After the Wave and Hock, he was now running with the same ultranationalist group that Singh had been a part of for years prior to joining Hahne-Kedar Security and word on the street was that HKS was hiring due to some recent vacancies.
… it wasn't lost on Redford how strangely convenient that was, but then again… the airborne sergeant already been running close to PGI for the last few years, so it probably was just a matter of time before he ended up on their radar again.
"I'm not part of Special Logistics or Special Insertions, so correct me if I'm wrong," he would, "but isn't your plan leaving a lot of things to chance? I mean what if they don't pick him? Or what if Mitchell just straight up shoots him as soon as he approaches? He already knows Morneau is Section 13, so what's stopping him?"
Redford cracked the hint of a smile.
"You might've scrubbed a few of his ops, but you clearly haven't met Morneau," he countered. "He's got a knack for stuff like this."
"I wonder what that's supposed to mean?"
"You'll see," he muttered, wondering how he'd ever gotten to the point where he was asking Tobias Walsh, a snake in human form, to turn Daniel Morneau, one of the most loyal people he knew, into a bad guy and tear him away from the one thing in life he'd ever fully believed in…
… this would suck.
Ten Minutes Later, 28. April 2417 AD, Cronos Station, Section 10
He usually had an easy time reading Morneau, it sort of came with having known him for fourteen years.
But now after explaining his plan, he didn't have a hint of a clue what the younger man was thinking.
"Like I said, it's the only way," Redford stated before looking at the agent he'd trained, trying to make sense of the blank expression on his face. With a lack of an answer on his part, Redford's mind started racing in an attempt to justify his own plan to himself.
He wouldn't ask Morneau to do this if there was another way and he definitely wouldn't consider it unless he was absolutely sure that Morneau was the only kind of person who could handle something like this.
This was the right thing to do. No question about it.
"And this happens immediately?" the specialist asked, breaking his silence.
"It has to," he could figure why Morneau was asking this or rather, because of whom. He didn't have a lot of contacts on Cronos Station but the few friends he had made over the years mattered to him. They were the only family he had, Afterall. "No time for goodbyes or room for explanations, I'm afraid."
The specialist nodded his head ever so slightly. He hadn't seen him this passive, at least not since Akuze.
"Well, goodbyes or explanations aren't my forte anyways," Morneau suddenly chuckled, passivity gone. "So just that we're all on the same page. He's really good enough to sell it to everyone?" Morneau asked, looking at Walsh. It was rare for him to seem so reluctant, but then again, it wasn't everyday someone was asking him to throw away his entire life instead of just putting it on halt. "You know who I'm having doubts about believing this, don't you?"
"Yeah, I got a solid idea," Redford replied. He and Rei had had those doubts as well, which is why Rei had laid some groundwork and doubt as well. Convincing Morneau's non-13 friends was one thing. With enough reinforcement, they'd crack and accept the reality they were presented with. But convincing Yo-yo and the rest of Morneau's remaining training class was an entirely different beast… They'd take a lot of work, especially Yo-yo and Lancelot. "Half the reason we made sure the people closest to you already know about the hearing is so that they won't be entirely surprised when they hear about what officially happened here. There'll be questions here and there, but they'll have to accept the official story. Even if they won't believe it."
"With the official story being that I'm a traitor who was in cahoots with Okuda and all-round fuck-up who only got lucky when the time came to stop the Broker and then ran away the first chance he got to avoid facing the music?"
"Exactly."
"I don't like to toot my own horn, but you're gonna have to be one hell of a liar to make everyone buy that," Morneau said towards Walsh.
"I already made the galaxy believe one of its biggest heroes is a villain. I think I can sell HSAIS on the idea that a damaged Specialist with no social-life to speak of went haywire when confronted with the possibility of losing his one anchor in life."
Again, Morneau chuckled. This time sadder.
"Alright. Start with convincing me. How'd I even escape?"
"After I told you that you'd be detained and stripped of your rank," Walsh began before unclipping his wristwatch, "you, who is widely known to have in-depth knowledge of Cronos Station layout due to his walking habits, overwhelmed me, the defenseless Section 10 operative who arrogantly dismissed his security. If you want even more details, you used my clearance to escape from Cronos with a long-range interceptor prototype that you happened to see while walking out of the Scott and which you could pilot because some technician left the VI on after the last trial."
"Okay. Good so far," Morneau went on. "Why'd I leave you unharmed though?"
"Oh you didn't," Walsh replied before removing his glasses again and suddenly slamming his head into the desk hard enough to cause blood to spurt from his now opened temple. Then he took his hand, wiped of some of the blood and flicked it into Morneau's face, who made a disgusted expression in return. "You overpowered me the only way you know how. Violence," he shrugged. "Your escape will of course be seen as an admission of guilt on your part. As will the fact that the only witness who could attest to you not working with Okuda happens to be the deceased Okuda himself."
… one of the other reasons Walsh gave Redford the creeps, displayed for all to see.
"What about the security footage?"
"You naturally deleted that to disguise your escape route. Please, this is beginner-level stuff," the Section 10 operative stated before tilting his head back to stop the blood from running into his eyes. "By my count, we should've cleared the layer by now, so it's time that you get going," he muttered next.
"No chance for me to say no, huh?" Morneau asked, this time turning to Redford.
"Oh no, you can still say no and leave Walsh with a useless scar," Redford shrugged in return before adopting a more serious expression. "I just think that you and I both know that that's not what you're going to do."
Meanwhile, 28. April 2417 AD, Cronos Station, Section 10
"Or is it?" Moravek added to Redford's statement a few seconds after.
Morneau looked at his hand and noticed the way his thumb was trembling ever so slightly. Adrenaline. Nervousness. He usually didn't get the shakes but now that he was being asked to give up everything he had for the one thing he had always believed in, he suddenly was.
… he didn't think anyone would hold that reaction against him, other than himself of course.
The comparison going through his head right now was faulty, he knew that… but to him, it was the bridge on Akuze all over again.
What Redford was asking of him was a question of whether he was truly ready to intentionally sacrifice himself for the sake of the greater good or if he was just another adrenaline junky who didn't care about dying in the heat of the moment but came in short whenever it actually mattered.
The only difference to back then was that this time around the ground under his feet wouldn't give in before he could make a decision and show his true face and that way more people than Alec would die if he failed to have the guts to take the fall again - metaphorically this time.
Rationally, the choice was easy, especially for a self-declared pragmatist like himself.
But emotionally there was hesitation. Sure, it was only a hint of it, but it was still there.
He knew what – who - was holding him back right now and there was only one appropriate resolution to the conflict inside of his head.
For a split-second, he played out the scenario where he said no and went up against PGI the traditional way – with Yo-yo – and had the time to sort out… what he'd been starting to think about ever since setting foot back on Cronos and talking to Wong.
He was curious where that might take him and how it could change him and his outlook on life in the long run, maybe even for the better.
It was a nice fantasy to picture.
But it was just that: a fantasy.
The HSA needed him.
What he wanted to do and how he would like to live his life didn't matter compared to that.
Just like he'd told Wong; he was right where he was supposed to be and that was all he'd ever need.
Besides, he wasn't the type of guy who got 'that' in life, not with Emily Wong or with anyone else. He was a fighter, always had been, always would be, and as such, the heart of the fight was right where he was supposed to be.
He felt a brief sting.
Regret about his line of thought, maybe. Or just nervousness about Moravek's lying abilities and the success of his mission.
Whatever it was, he realized it was holding him back and thus, he ignored it.
The only thing that counted was what he was needed to do; what his duty and his oath required of him and what humanity needed from him.
He pictured the nice fantasy one final time and then he let go of it, just like he had let go of Alec back on Akuze and everything else that could have slowed him down or stopped him in the last thirteen years.
'Put it in a box and don't let it rule you'.
He breathed in and the shaking stopped. A familiar calm came over him; a sense of purpose given by a new mission he could dedicate himself to.
He embraced the familiar feeling gratefully, albeit with a singular reservation he still needed to get sorted out. This one wasn't of the emotional nature though. It was one rooted in duty and in the promise he'd made after Akuze.
"Assuming this lead doesn't pan out until the Reapers roll around," Morneau asked, his hand hovering over Moravek's watch.
… what exactly did it say about him that this was only one question left in his mind before giving a yes or no answer?
"I'll personally bring you your kit to fight 'em," Redford responded.
Good.
That's all he needed to here.
"Well in that case," he grabbed the watch and got up. "The hangar you said?"
"Try not to be seen."
"I'd be a sorry fugitive if I was," Morneau replied before putting on the watch all the while stripping himself off his old one like it was just another piece of equipment and not a quintessential part of his identity. It'd hard to sell this lie if he kept the one thing that could track him on his wrist.
"Like I said, Morneau. I'm sorry. This really was the only way I could think of."
He didn't know how to reply to that.
He had already accepted what needed to be done, so anger was misplaced. As was sadness or reluctance. He didn't ask for this, but that didn't mean that it wasn't his battle to fight. No one in history had ever asked to be put into a tight spot. So why would he suddenly get that luxury of picking his battles?
Simple answer, he shouldn't. And because of that, there was nothing to apologize for and nothing to add.
With that consideration done, he did only have one more thing to say, for the sake of his old mentor.
"Nothing to be sorry about, Redford," he responded with a smile. The look Redford gave him told him that his men tor wasn't seeing it that way. "Can I ask you for a favor?"
"Anythign," the older man nodded.
"I sort of had a shooting-range date after this. Can you take care of that for me?"
"Of course."
"I'd say leave some room for the big reveal or call it a rain-check, but we both know that's not possible… so just make it convincing, alright? I'll sort the rest out when I get back," because he would do just that. Or at least try.
"I'll handle it."
Four Hours Later, 28. April 2417 AD, Cronos Station, Section 13 Shooting Range
She had no idea how long she had looked at the burn-notice on her tablet now. Maybe an hour, maybe two. Either way, it felt unreal. Like something out of a bad dream (she'd already tried the whole pinching herself awake part).
Magic was supposed to work with Okuda? And he had betrayed the HSA? Fled Cronos Station after assaulting IA's Deputy Director to avoid trial?
She didn't believe it.
She just didn't.
It was literally an unbelievable scenario; straight up incomprehensible and all-around bullshit.
Her partner had just gotten back from stopping the Shadow Broker – an act that should've gotten him galactic recognition - and a few hours later, he was disavowed? Just like that? No proper trial, no other hearings, just the word of some little snake called Deputy Director Moravek who she'd never heard of before today?
What the hell?
It didn't make sense because it just wasn't something Magic would do.
Before leaving he had said he was worried about changing… and maybe a part of him had changed.
But not like this.
Yo-yo wasn't one for anger or spontaneous reactions.
Additionally, she also lacked the necessary security clearance to enter IA, which was a good thing because right now she had half a mind to drag the aforementioned little snake from his office and use him for target practice…
As the door to the range hissed open, she got ready to dismiss whoever had just arrived the same way she'd just kicked out poor-old Scarecrow, who had just been looking to squeeze in some target practice and had had the misfortunate role of being the first person to run into her ever since the burn notice had arrived.
She opened her mouth and considered throwing the tablet, but then she realized that the new arrival was Redford, who had a somber expression on his face. If she was feeling like shit already, she didn't want to know how Grant was feeling. Morneau and her were partners and friends… but he was Morneau's mentor. He'd made him into the Specialist who'd taken down the Shadow Broker and now, just like that, the man he had helped create was on the run and disavowed. Redford didn't have children of his own and while he'd never said something along those lines, Yo-yo had always sort of assumed that he viewed Morneau as more than just a student.
The fact that Morneau was an orphan certainly helped to feed that idea in her head…
Without saying a word, Redford leaned against the wall of the shooting range next to Yo-yo and then sank down to the ground she'd been sitting on.
They stayed like that for minutes.
Then she opened her mouth again, even if she didn't want to hear the answer.
"Is it true?"
"Afraid so. 10's going to go after him. And the Moravek guy's at the helm," she noticed the disdain with which Redford said that name and she immediately shared it.
Yo-yo glanced at the older specialist and narrowed her eyes.
A million thoughts crossed her mind but only one managed to stick.
14 years had taught her one thing. Whatever they said Morneau had done, he hadn't done it. There was a logical explanation for him running, but it wasn't treason.
Morneau would literally spontaneously combust before betraying the HSA.
There was something out of place here; something missing for this story to make sense… and she'd find out what it was.
Then and there, Yo-yo made a decision she wouldn't see herself making under any other circumstances.
She chose something over her loyalty to HSA.
She chose her faith in Morneau.
As Redford looked sideways, her eyes snapped to the ground and she slipped into the same role she'd slipped in when Rei had called her in yesterday.
She'd picked her side, now it was time to start fighting for it.
"If it's true… if he really did go rogue…" she began. "You know some IA guys won't stop Morneau. Hell, most of Section 13 won't stop him. If push comes to shove," she went on, about to suggest something that'd put her in the perfect place to clear her partner's name.
Redford interrupted her before she could voice it though.
"Stop it, Rachel," he said, using her first name, "What you're about to suggest? It won't end well, neither for you or for Morneau. Let IA handle it. For both your sake's," Redford finishes before drifting into silence.
"...okay."
That was all that was said between the two elite spies on that day. And even if both knew that she wouldn't listen to him, they'd leave it at that.
28. April 2417 AD, Uncharted Regions, 'June'
Night had fallen in the IFS outpost, which had grown to the size of a respectable military installation ever since the incident at the caves. Unlike the nights leading up to that fateful day, guard rotations were now something that happened regularly. As were perimeter patrols. While he had complained about the discipline of the militia before and probably would've been happy with the increase in military bearing some time ago, right now he hated it.
Ever since the IFS had used the NTX nerve agent to kill the mutilated birds and their own scientists, Vega had been looking for a way out. Patrols and rotations weren't helpful for him to complete his second deserting, especially not when it came to the plan he had formed in his mind.
He'd stow away on one of the Lystheni ships that were still arriving on the regular to pick up weird stuff from the caves and drop of supplies.
While he realized that jumping in the ship of a notoriously xenophobic race of semi-salarian nomads was probably a stupid idea, Vega hated the notion of sticking around with another HSA disguising itself as rebels a lot more than the possibility of getting spaced or ending up as Lystheni lunch. He'd already thrown away everything he had for his principles once and the second time around, it really wasn't that big of a shadow to step over.
As the familiar sound of engines approached, Vega decided that it was now or never.
'Fuck it,' Vega thought. "I gotta take a leak, man, be right back," he told his companion, the older militiaman with the funny hat.
"Mhm," the man grumbled, half asleep. He was probably the only guard doing that these days. Not that he'd complain about his lack of alertness.
Vega maneuvered through the camp, passing the large prefab building the Iffys had dropped in anticipation of the arrival of some Doctor Kenson, who would supposedly handle the disposal of something inside the caves. Or maybe she was supposed to study it. He'd honestly stopped listening to the briefings the moment he'd barely avoided a nerve-gas induced death.
After passing the prefab and narrowing avoiding the pair of distinctively alert guards standing at the ready near the landing pad, Vega crawled over some crates, tossed his rifle into the first corner he could find and observed the usual process of the Lystheni trading in some basic supplies for dusty rock samples. Now that he was actually sitting here and attempting to figure out a way he could get on board of the ship, it occurred to him how utterly stupid it was for him to try and escape onboard of a ship of the IFS allies with only one way to enter.
They'd discover him eventually … and when they did, they'd just hand him over...
Suddenly the idea of throwing everything away didn't seem like such a small shadow to step over for a second time.
And even more suddenly… Vega heard something he hadn't heard since Eden Prime.
The sound of human-made bombers whistling through the air.
He looked up just in time to see a black streak shooting above them. It was nearly dark enough to melt into the night… but only nearly.
"Incoming!" a voice declared over the base's speaker system before the dark night was suddenly bathed in fiery orange. On instinct alone, Vega made a move to rush towards the Lystheni ship… which was swallowed in an explosion alongside the majority of the landing platform moments before he could reach its ramp. He was thrown back by the force of the blast and felt someone drag him to cover – probably one of the IFS guards who'd mistaken his attempt at deserting as an attempt at rescuing the soldier making the exchange with the Lystheni.
As he looked down at himself, Vega noticed the large piece of metal embedded in his leg… and the streak of crimson flowing from it. Somewhere ahead of them figures in black armor marked by blue, seemingly randomly placed lights, were moving just outside of the camp's perimeter, firing weapons with purplish-blue muzzle flashes at the defenders. They were moving all over the place, charging suicidally into the disciplined bursts of gauss-LMGs and mass accelerator fire the freshly-deployed IFSDF defenders were throwing in their faces. As he was dragged, he saw one leap on top of a three-story guard tower and throw a militiaman twenty meters into the air.
- not good.
He was still being moved and after some more meters, he lost consciousness for some time. Well, either that or he had teleported to the barracks he knew to be at the other end of the camp.
"-say again, we need immediate reinforcements! Deploy the Paladins!" a loud voice yelled before someone kneeled over him. He was wearing IFSDF armor and the name 'PETROVSKY' was imprinted in the middle of his chest, right below the IFS rank insignia of a colonel, which was basically the HSA insignia in white. Ironic. "You just hang in there, son, we'll get you out of here-" the man said before everything around Vega turned black for the foreseeable future with the last thing reaching his ears being a monstrous howl and the screeching of metal.
… so much for escaping June.
Ten Hours Later, 29. April 2417 AD, HSASV Normandy, Conference Room
"You're probably wondering why I called you all here," Shepard began, looking at the assembled crew. They weren't all here. Thane and Mordin were missing, the former of whom was being treated for a pretty bad sunburn by the latter. Legion was missing as well, but that was for another reason… "To keep things short and simple, we're about to reach the Migrant Fleet and before we go ahead and drop of our guests and talk to the admirals," she said towards the quarians assembled around Tali, who were the aforementioned reason, "I just wanted to briefly bring everyone up to speed on the fact that we'll be going into this as part of a diplomatic mission and that we'll have to act a bit differently from our usual approach," she looked at her individual team members, "To put it simply, no long-guns, no explosives and no biotics," she looked at the present biotics, Lieutenant Callius, Lieutenant Nader and the justicar Samara. "You'll have to sit this one out, I'm afraid. The quarians' terms are clear on that. Just armor to keep sterile and sidearms in the event that something unforeseeable happens"
"Which it won't unless you act stupid and give Fleet Security a reason," Lieutenant Reegar injected. "We already called ahead, they're expecting us. They know that you're friendly."
Emily nodded in return. She'd spoken to Reegar and Tali prior to this briefing and the results of that conversation were the reasons he was having this briefing to begin with. As Reegar had put it oh so charmingly… 'your crew aren't the type of people you bring to a diplomatic meeting… unless you want to kill the diplomats and ransack the place'.
"I don't wanna be that guy, Commander, but what if the quarians start acting stupid?" Leng asked from his seat at the edge of the room next to Nader. It wasn't lost on Shepard how he'd abandoned the chair to Callius' left in the wake of Illium. "Without long-guns, biotics or explosives, we'll be caught with our pants down if they get any funny ideas."
"We won't act stupid," Tali injected, insulted.
"Easy for you to say. You're not the ones walking into uncharted territory with nothing but a pistol to your name," Despite several days having passed since his little altercation with he quarian marines, Emily hadn't heard of Leng making amends or the quarians reaching out to her fellow N7, which suggested that the issue was still unresolved and currently resurfacing.
"If you're uncomfortable with the rules of engagements, you're welcome to sit this one out, Petty Officer. I'll be fine with just Garrus accompanying me."
She normally wasn't one to turn her back on old friends (that's at least how that had just felt) but considering what she needed to achieve, namely convincing the quarians to help them in the upcoming fight with the Reapers, Emily figured she could make an exception.
"I'm not letting you walk in there by yourself. I'll manage, even if I only have a handgun."
She nodded her head.
"Any questions?"
"Uhm, yes. But not for you," Garrus said before turning towards Reegar. "Define long-gun, please? I'd hate to cause an incident."
"Anything that's not a handgun."
"Okay, okay," the turian mumbled. "So what about submachine guns? They can be seen as handguns."
"SMGs are not handguns."
"A one-handed shotgun?"
"Not a handgun either."
"What if I claim it's a religious artifact sacred to my people?" Garrus asked, dead-serious.
"No," Reegar shook his head. "And before you ask, no ceremonial weapons allowed either."
"Damn, there go my next two ideas," the turian muttered before leaning back and whispering something to Callius, who only shook her head. "One more question, Lieutenant."
"What is it, Detective?"
"Does a Phaeston count as a handgun if I can shoot it one-handed?" Reegar shook his head "No? Alright. What about a long-barrel Carnifex with an extended magazine collapsible stock and a scope? Turian children can buy those when they turn twelve. Weapons for children can't be long-guns, can they?"
"Are you trying to mess with me, turian?" Reegar retorted dryly.
"- Keelah," Tali sighed. "Just let him bring his rifles, I'll sign off on it," Emily could pin-point the moment Garrus' face lit up with joy. "The marines can handle one armed turian."
"Ma'am, protocol dictates-"
"- that foreigners can't even enter the Fleet. I understand that you're just trying to keep us safe, but realistically, what damage could one bosh'tet possibly do with one rifle while surrounded by armed guards?" If Tali had known Garrus the way Emily knew him…she probably wouldn't have said that. Archangel had after all buried several street gangs with nothing but a rifle to his name.
But since a part of her agreed with Leng's assessment that it was naïve to agree to these terms when the quarians and the HSA had had armed altercations in the past, she wouldn't interrupt what was happening right now – even if she wasn't sure if Garrus was doing this intentionally to leverage them a better position or if he really just wanted to annoy Reegar.
Both were equally likely.
Meanwhile, 29. April 2417 AD, Terra Nova, Colonial Capital Scott
Due to the nature of his profession and his life's goals, Henry Lawson fulfilled many roles.
His most popular and longest-reigning one was Henry Lawson, entrepreneur and philanthropist.
His currently most important one was Henry Lawson, leader of Project Group.
His least appreciated one was Henry Lawson, husband and father of two.
And then there was the one he was about to get into; his favorite one by a longshot.
Henry Lawson; media darling.
"And joining us now all the way from his corporate headquarters in Engram-City Arcadia, is someone who I don't think needs any more introduction than that," the host of the program, Late Night Scott, Terra Nova's most viewed evening show, said, queuing him off to start walking into the spotlight of the studio and the view of the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, Mister! Henry! Lawson!"
As soon as the crowd spotted him, the dark-haired, middle-aged man strode into the studio like he owned the place and made an instantly recognizable hand gesture.
He faced the back of his hands towards the audience, pressed his thumbs together and spread apart his remaining fingers. To the rest of the galaxy, this meant nothing. To the majority of the HAS folk watching, it was a poor hand-depiction of a bird… but to the people he came here to impress? The group he and PGI had slowly but steadily been funding and building up for their future goals?
To them it was the rising eagle; the unofficial official greeting of the Terra Novan Hardline.
He held the gesture for as long as it took him to walk towards the cushioned red chair sitting opposite to the host of Late Night Scott, Ramesh Kaur.
In the crowd, it was repeated by at least a dozen men who still maintained their military-school haircuts well into their forties. From Kaur, it drew a bright smile, followed up by the host jumping from his chair just as intended and expected and engaging in standing ovations.
Kaur was a well-known supporter of the movement after all.
After some clapping, the Indian-man moved in to greet him with a firm handshake, which Henry of course immediately shifted into a brotherly hug – just like his new PR guy had told him.
Him and Kaur hugged it out for a few seconds and Henry added in a few manly back-claps – also just like his new PR guy had told him – before separating and waving at the audience.
"Good evening, Terra Nova!" Henry declared, spreading his arms apart and bathing in the cheering for a decent ten seconds before gesturing for the crowd to quiet down. They complied. All the while, he made a mental note to give the new PR guy a major raise. He'd been right on the money with his ideas. "And good evening to you too, Ramesh! Boy is it good to be back on your show!"
Kaur smiled like a late-night-show would and gestured for the chairs. "It is even better to have you back, Mister Lawson."
Henry sat down straight and folded his legs together. Then he rested his hands on top of his knee.
"Please Ramesh," he said, raising his hands and grinning a humble grin. "I've been here so often, you and I are practically on first-name basis by now. Just call me Henry."
"Your wish is my command," the late-night-show host said with a comedic bow. "So. Henry. You obviously already made quite the impact and probably stole the evening away from the other guests on the line-up," just like he had planned, "but we didn't fly you out here all the way from Arcadia just to show people watching from all around the HSA what a good entrance looks like."
"No, you did not," he replied before looking at the camera. "But for the record, I would've still come if you had," then he winked and smiled, melting hearts on every holo-screen.
"Charming," Ramesh observed before looking at the teleprompter set up between them and the audience and then jabbing his thumb at him and leaning forward. "For all you single-ladies watching, last I heard, he's still a bachelor," he whispered jokingly, to which Henry fake-laughed. A few seconds of audience laughter later, Ramesh straightened up. "And considering your latest project, a philanthrope too. There. I managed the transition back to our actual subject. Didn't think I'd get that one of the ice, did you?" Kaur asked jokingly.
"You certainly had me wondering there for a second," he replied while waving his finger.
"Henry, before I make any more jokes, tell us about what your company's doing right now. What is it that's keeping Lawson-Future-Tech's employees in their med-labs these days? What are you here to talk about today?"
Henry adopted a more serious expression, just like the script intended.
"A dream," he said firmly. "And a debt."
"What dream? What debt?" Kaur asked, equally serious. Right now they were still on script. That would change soon enough though.
"A dream that those who fight for us deserve to have people fighting for them. And a debt to the men and women who spent every waking minute every day, risking everything and then some in the defense of humanity."
Time to go off-script.
Henry got up, brough up his omni-tool and dimmed the lights of the studio until only he was illuminated in a dim, red light. As Kaur's expression revealed, this part hadn't been rehearsed with him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Ramesh, I don't mean to darken the mood, but as we're speaking, there are six point one billion humans alive who've worn the red-white and gold on a uniform. Six billion men and women who are either still serving the HSA or who've spent parts of their lives fighting. Be it the Fringe Wars, the Merc-Intervention, the anti-slavery operations before and after the Skyllian Blitz, the actual Blitz or the Eden-Prime War and Operation Sentinel," he quoted from memory, not the teleprompter. That one was only telling Kaur to 'listen', just like Henry had instructed the directors of the show to do.
"These brave men and women have lost friends. They've lost limbs. They've lost their sanity, all while defending our right to sit here and laugh the night away," he went on. "Everyone watching right now knows that the HSA is doing everything in its power and more to help the ones hurt in their service recover. But even so, and believe me it pains me to say, what they are doing isn't enough. Government-aid just isn't coming fast enough," he snapped his finger and a holographic depiction of the number 327 showed itself.
"This right here is the average number of days it currently takes for a soldier who's lost his leg to batarian slavers to receive a permanent prosthetic that's useful outside of combat and doesn't look like something out of a cyberpunk-nightmare," he snapped his finger again and the numbers witched into a 222.
"Those are the days it takes to grow a full skin graft after a slaver fire-bombing," another snap, 487.
"If you want a cloned lung after you breathed in that poisonous stuff on Eden Prime while digging through the rubble, you're going to have to wait well over a year," snap - 722, "and if you need to get your eyes fixed properly because you happened to look at an in-atmosphere explosion of a batarian warship without your helmet during the Blitz, which sort of happened a lot considering it was a surprise attack and whatnot, you're going to have to rely on ugly cybernetics for nearly two years," he clapped his hands together and the figure 6 023 812 showed up.
"I know it might not feel like it, but the ones who have to wait years to permanently have their service-related injuries fixed are still the lucky ones," he folded his hands in a praying gesture commonly found in Neo-Monotheism. "Ever since the dawn of this century, a third of all killed serviceman have come from the world we're standing on right now. Millions of Terra-Novans have given their lives for our nation and every day, the number you're seeing grows," he explained, watching as the number shifted to 6 023 814 for dramatic effects.
"Let's be honest here. I'm a big-old arcadian corpo-softie who's never held a rifle in his hand outside of a fun day on the shooting range. Totally not qualified to tell anyone serving our country how to do their job and definitely not the kind of guy you'd want in the ditch next to you when the batarians come knocking for round three," he heard a few laughs here and there, just as planned, "But even so, I have nothing but respect for the sacrifices your planet and your people have made in the name of the HSA. Epecially the sacrifices that have gone unappreciated," he snapped his finger one final time and the number 572 appeared behind him.
He turned around, shook his head and then looked at the ground, doing his best to keep himself from smirking considering his own involvement in the number. He succeeded, naturally, "572," he stressed sadly. "The number you're looking at now is the number of ASOC and N7 operatives whose bodies were not recovered after the geth assault on Eden Prime. As all of you know, the recovery operations were stopped by Chancellor Goyle's decree on this day exactly one year ago and despite the best efforts of all service personal involved, these 572 men and women were never found. They never made it home because Arcturus abandoned them. They got left behind," he said, preparing the punchline of this speech and ignoring the fact that PGI's recovery operations had indeed found most of them pretty quickly and made use of the living and dead ones alike. The living ones hurt badly enough to not fight back were now his loyal soldiers and the dead ones had made for good spare parts. "I say no more," he clapped again and the lights turned back on.
"You asked me what I came here to talk about, Ramesh," the late-night-show host nodded, probably trying to figure out why his directors were telling him to just let Henry continue to go off-script like this (the answer was easy, money). "And this is it," he said before the holographic screen behind him showed the letters 'NMLB' in red and white front, encircled by a golden globe and guarded by an ever-vigilant eagle. It already drew a few cheers from the same people as earlier and like before, Lawson gestured for them to quiet down.
"Please," he commanded and the obliged. Just like he liked it."In exactly six days, right when the clock here on Scott strikes midnight and we celebrate our 266th Unification Day, my company, Lawson-Future-Tech is launching a new service. We will add to our current support for the armed forces because they deserve that we go beyond fund-raisers and joint-operations with the Sirta-Foundation. LFT will make a difference. I will make a difference," he promised. "As we're speaking, my employees at LFT are hard at work and because of their effort we will soon be capable of extending free treatment to any and all injured veterans who reach out to us. Additionally, we've teamed up the charity Missing-Voyage, true experts in the field of finding people," he went on. "Thanks to their help, I can also announce that in addition to helping our injured heroes, NMLB will also render assistance to any family members of HSA military personal who have not yet returned home from their final mission. Just give us a call and we will do our hardest to bring them back to you, wherever it may be that they laid down their lives for us," he looked at the host and exhaled audibly. "Sorry for going a bit off-script there," he apologized.
Kaur, like any well-paid entertainment professional, collected himself quickly. His director's pleads to do so were probably helping too.
"I- wow-" he began before getting up and realizing that the teleprompter was back on, this time showing Henry's script. "Henry, this is an amazing announcement," he read. "What are you calling this new program?"
The dark-haired man smiled the most plastic smile he could produce and uttered a phrase he knew would melt all the right kinds of hearts all over again.
"Why the only thing I could possibly call it, Ramesh," he began before looking directly at the millions of intended recipients of his message, knowing that the next scene would blow up the extranet in no time and piggy-back off of the 'Henry Lawson – Entrepreneur, or maybe the next Chancellor of the HSA?' articles several PGI-affiliated media outlets across the galaxy release in the next few hours. He straightened himself, exhaled and revealed the name of PGI's newest recruitment strategy.
"No man left behind."
Immediately, the cheering began again. The studio audience rose to standing ovations and the group of men from earlier with the military-school haircuts repeated the Rising Eagle gesture at him, showing him that his message was received and that PGI would soon have itself all kinds of willing recruits –enough to pick an elite cadre and certainly more than enough to … further improve the interrupted operation on the Messina.
As he returned the gesture and waved at the crowd and camera, Henry Lawson had only one thought, one far removed from what was happening right now and didn't at all mirror his friendly, patriotic demeanour.
'God I hope that Ardat-Yakshi bitch finally takes care of Shepard when they reach the fleet….'
Codex: Lawson-Future-Tech
Lawson-Future-Tech, an Engram-City based Arcadian medicine company which has seen rapid growth since First Contact, was funded by Henry I Lawson in 2287 AD and has since remained one of the few family-run businesses in human space.
While famous for its advances in gene-therapy and cloning of human tissue (LFT is one of the few HSA-based corporations with the license to study, research, replicate and alter the genome of sentient beings and the cloning of human tissue) LFT is neither the largest, nor the wealthiest corporation in HSA-space.
In addition to only filling a niche-market by actively choosing to only supply human tissue, its expertise in cloning and gene-manipulation and the legal restrictions hailing from this field prevents Lawson-Future-Tech from achieving the most economically advantageous legal status a human company can currently achieve; becoming an official supplier of the HSA-AF, the human military.
Even so, LFT is Arcadia's third-largest corporation, rivaled only by the nearly three century-old Engram-Naval-Armor, the current supplier of the HSA's warship-armor and namesake of Arcadia's Engram-City and significantly surpassed by Sato Colonial Railway, the producer of the mono-rail network that has formed an integral part of the HSA's settlement planning ever since the colonialization of Eden Prime.
LFT is currently led in the third generation by Henry III Lawson, who took over the company at the young age of twenty after his father's untimely and regrettable death in 2373, shortly before the Fringe Wars.
It has always maintained close ties to the Arcadian Colonial Administration since its founding and has enjoyed only positive PR on both Arcadia and in larger human space. (Source, LFT Public Relation Department)
In addition to raising record-sums for disabled veterans and being a large doner of the Sirta-Foundation, LFT has also helped research outside of the medicinal field; such as helping with the recovery of the ecological system of Amaterasu in the wake of the HSA's first, failed attempt at colonialization. (See Codex Entry 'Amaterasu'.)
While previously unpolitical, Lawson-Future-Tech saw a shift when its leadership fell to the current CEO, Henry III Lawson.
Lawson, who entered the Systems Alliance Foundation at age 18, has been an outspoken and public supporter of the HSA. Because of this long involvement and a set of recent appearances and the revelation of a campaigning team, rumors about his involvement in the next election in late 2418 AD have recently surfaced..
While not a formal application at the date of this writing (29. June 2417 AD) Chancellor Goyle's own admission of not intending to run for another term and the lack of another strong SAF candidate combined with an increase in Lawson's public appearances at SAF rallies suggest that Henry Lawson will be named an official SAF candidate in November when parties are required to reveal their political line-up for the upcoming elections.
Based on these appearances and several other interviews held in evening programs, political analysts and various news outlets have placed Lawson as an ideological successor of Francis Noé. He's been placed firmly in the 'militaristic' wing of the SAF, the part of the SAF bordering on the TN-Hardline, and far removed from the more moderate parts of the SAF. This happened despite Lawson's lacking the military background almost always found within this part of the SAF.
In response to the question of whether he intends to run for a political office and why he has a campaigning team, Henry Lawson told an interviewer from Engram-Courier this:
'I always believe that the best leaders are the ones who are asked to lead instead of telling the world that they want to lead. I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it these last couple of months, I mean you all read the news, but I'd also be lying if I said it's something I'll definitely do. November's still a far-way out, so I still have some time to wait and see if that's something people want form me.' (Interview Question: And if they do?) Let's just say I never shied away from responsibility, alright? That's what the team's for, by the way. I just want to be prepared in case I get the call.'
A/N:
So, we're back. A few days sooner than I expected, tbh.
This is one of those chapters where a lot of significant stuff happens... which is owned largely to the fact that we are making BIG steps towards the conclusion of ME2's plotline.
Now, all who who thought Morneau would actually get a happy-note and a break, please raise their hands. Now look at the ground and shake your head in shame because you clearly, like Morneau, assumed that the universe would somehow stop kickign him just because he defeated the Shadow Broker :P
In all seriousness though. I realise this development might be a bit... devisive for some of you. But please give me the benefit of doubt here. I am taking him to a certain place and to get there, this needs to happen.
Besides, every good spy has to go through the whole 'we fake your treason and now you're really on your own' operation at least once in their life-time, right?
Moving on from Morneau, this chapter also sets the course for several other significant developments in the near future.
You'll have to wait and see what those are :)
With that out of the way I just want to say that I strangely enjoyed writing Henry... he's just such a magnificent piece of shit and everytime I finish one of his scenes, I immediately want to write the next one, even if its not on schedule yet.
On another note... Vega still exists. You might remember him, sort of like you'll remember that Valern and Kirrahee and Liara and Desolas and Bau and Kaidan also have a storyline.
Either way. Just leaving that there for no reason. Move along.
For the record we're at 832 reviews, 1322 follows and 1409 favorites.
Review and let me know what you think and if you feel like it, tell a friend about SV as well. It'd certainly help my completely unreasonable goal of making it to the first page of ME fanfics when you sort after favorites and followers. (Given its size, I sort of assume its way too intimidating a story to make it there, though)
See you around next time.
