OSaBC BoH II: The Monster with a Hundred Heads
LP's A/N: Bird of Hermes II is more involved with the politics behind the scenes. A lot of this is stuff I wanted to show in the main fic, but there was no really good reason to - and most of the High Lords didn't give a shit about Shepard until TWCD.
A lot of this is obviously crossed over with multiple other forms of media, but they've all been mutated. The rest is again usually things seen in my life, or the experiences of others that I've adapted.
Editing Gang Disclaimer: We didn't get to review any of this, the hack probably messed up and lopped off entire sections. We cannot be blamed for his incompetence!
Act One: From the Heliconian Muses
It had been two days since Malcolm was assigned to form his new group. So far he was waiting for transport back home to Watson. Personnel and equipment were being sent there, his wife and Baron Fordant notified of his return, but Prince Manswell had him staying at the Four Seasons on Arcturus until a 'proper ship' was finished out in the Arcturus shipyards.
As an aside, he'd learned that Vandefar was upset by Holden being poached but confirmed Wilson's promotion and her consideration of new 'low risk' recovery groups patterned off of Sigma. Eric Wilson had also been seen at an upscale restaurant with Sahu, to Malcolm's amusement.
More worryingly, no one had seen or heard anything from Ansgar.
He was going over some of the information he'd been sent in the penthouse suite when his comm panel flashed red, displayed an encryption marker, and notified you that he had a Priority One comm-net call coming in.
Holden let loose a sigh having to end his review and work on founding an entire new department. He had always found it hard, when starting a project, to stop until it was finished. He set it aside anyway and made sure he was presentable before answering the comm.
X-BoH-X
It had been barely a day since Jaime met with Lord Baron Ashland and started the process of moving Omega Response. AO-001, blessedly remained quiet. A funeral had been held for the dead, including a ceremony for Paul and the others who died on Jeremiah. Sloane seemed both jumpy and depressed, avoiding people where she could. Grace buried himself in work and rarely left the lab. The loss of so many NCOs and chiefs left sergeants and even corporals struggling to rebuild squads without all the resources they needed.
Jaime had his own problems and worries – and was still reeling after the death of Paul - and he was too busy to look into all the various issues, or Sloane's malaise. Without command officers for DepAb or OR, he had to do and approve everything, leaving him buried in paperwork. Jaime had just started finally examining the Department records on critical containment measures, such as the mysterious 'Iron Needles' when he got a Priority One comm-net call.
He exhaled tiredly, then stared at the recipient list.
"Establishing keypoint connections, please wait."
"Loading recipient list: OM-M-001, Maxwell. CS-593, Lady Dachman. LOS-112, Lord Slate. LOS-447, Lord Holden. DA/X-001, General Herrero. LOS-181, Lord Ashland."
"Engaging point-to-point encryption. Please ensure you are alone in a secure location before confirmation of readiness to receive."
Holden activated his own private info-war defenses from his omni-tool. There were perks to having major stakes in infowar software development corporations. The Four Seasons security suite recognized his command and engaged its own – fairly impressive – noise scrambling and spy-beam deflection package.
The DepAb Administrator's office was more secure than any other location and Jaime was alone.
"Computer, engage tertiary scramble codes, and ensure I am not interrupted for any reason." Prince Maxwell glanced up. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am gratified you have chosen to accept my communications request."
The Silver Prince was not faking weakness this time. More angry than Malcolm or Jaime had ever seen him, he smoked a cigar, features set into a grimace. The background was his usual office, the green grounds of the Iron House visible behind him, and there was a glass of brandy and a half-empty bottle just inside the range of the camera pickup on the desk.
"...Good afternoon, Your Grace." The first to speak was a very stern looking woman in clear Commissariat attire, who wore a white-edged sash indicating her to be of noble birth. Her features were stunningly beautiful – high cheekbones, dark gray eyes, and a face that would have not looked out of place on a line up of supermodels – but her voice was cold and sharp.
Holden performed a cross between a respectful nod and a bow, but kept his mouth shut. No need to attract any ire from anyone involved until he knew exactly what the nature of this call was.
Jaime nodded his head. Jonah Ashland also merely nodded, eyes flicking down to something on his desk. He looked almost as stressed as Jaime.
Sartorius Slate, Baron and Lord-Governor of Elysium frowned. His face was sallow and craggy with eyes a fitting gray to match his surname. "You indicated it would be some time before we were going to discuss events, Your Grace. I have not even managed to convey myself to Sol to speak with General Herrero or your other liaisons."
"Events have forced my hand. It appears that Ciana Vandefar was not as incompetent as she appeared." Maxwell paused. "She had a dead-man's box setup and it was transmitted this morning to the Celestial Council."
Holden involuntarily winced. Jaime breathed in, preparing for the prospect of another unpleasant meeting with Matriarch Anola.
The other images on the display were mostly still, although Ashland sighed as he reached over and poured himself a drink, downing it briskly. "...Well exactly how bad is this?"
"It could have been worse." Maxwell grimaced. "There was also an attachment sent to the Citadel Council, but that… cretin known as the Shifter was able to block that one, it seems. We are unsure if she sent things to anyone else, but we haven't heard anything yet. Worse, for reasons that utterly and completely escape me, instead of notifying me, or Lord Eldfell, or even General Herrero, CommSec notified Admiral Branson and he was the one to initially respond."
"Branson's worth is we do not have a fool who ignores our needs for stifling his personal demons, but he was not read in on any of this, and his response has been less than… acceptable. There is to be a Board of Inquiry regarding the defection of General Kinnix and reviews of all pertinent data recovered by the Sigma Response Team as well as the OR team."
"In the words of humanity's Councilor, 'political shitstorm' doesn't even begin to cover it, I'm guessing." Malcolm remarked.
Ashland narrowed his gaze. "Perhaps. Why would they have notified Eldfell and not me, Your Grace?"
Maxwell waved a hand. "I am delegating handling events with Omega and the Department to you, events with the group I am having Holden set up to Lord Slate. Eldfell is handling the Kinnix fallout. Some of what Ciana revealed was that apparently Kinnix ran into living members of HERMES and had information the rest of us lack."
He exhaled, dark eyes glittering. "As such, while I had hoped to have more time, it is critical we do not delay moving forward. Baroness, how long will it take to pull down the non-network elements of Research Station Sixteen and relocate them out of the black site? And do we need to remove anything from... CERES?"
Baroness-Commissar Alina Dachman tilted her head. "...Assuming maximum cooperation from certain parties, and no issues with the cost of moving things, three weeks. I need to liaison with General Herrero's Commissar and figure out the needs of her staff and if she's still competent to command, but she should be fine. RSS 16 is already in lockdown -we just need to catalog, isolate, and ship the items under our control."
She glanced aside. "Outside, four weeks at the most. I could cut corners and get things done in two, but we run a risk there of exposure. CERES is better simply left as-is, there is no need to tamper with it."
"Good." Maxwell approved. "Three weeks will do. Lord Slate, you need to have a meeting with Lord Holden ASAP. Turn your ship around and head to Watson. Holden, I am dispatching a GoI cruiser to Arcturus. I had a stealth destroyer in the yards I was going to hand you, but ETA on that is over a month and we don't have time. Get to Watson and start organizing your groups. I've already dispatched two regiments of retired RIU, some mixed As and Ns, and a handful of older knights and warrant officers to serve as combat trainers."
Holden nodded, his face and body language painting a picture of confidence in carrying out his orders with the highest of competence.
The Silver Prince's eyes flicked left. "General, I expect you and your Commissar in my office today, no later than 6 PM. Jonah, I'll need to see you tomorrow. Right now, the CC is 'asking' to assign us a 'cooperative associate' to 'ensure that we are working together' for the 'safety of the greater galaxy.'" The prince actually spat, then puffed on the cigar, apparently so angry he couldn't actually speak.
"Twenty credits says they have a hunting accident with Reginald." Ashland muttered.
Jaime nodded, hiding any displeasure at Maxwell's attitude. The Celestial Council's concerns were perfectly legitimate at this point. "Understood, Your Grace."
"I apologize for the interruption." Dachman broke in. "But the group working with Baron Holden does not have a formal Commissariat presence at the moment. Should I dispatch..."
She trailed off delicately, and Max's scowl only got worse. "He's had two days to get ready. Not a lot of time. The man has an onsite Commissar – he can handle things in the short term, surely."
Dachman frowned. "Containment is not something that is handled by... non-specialists, your Grace."
Maxwell grimaced, and sipped his brandy before nodding. The prince jabbed at something on his desk. "Commlink, Hazzy, highest encryption, highest priority, Code Mandrake."
A moment later, a new face appeared on the commlink screen, very slightly distorted by encryption static. The features were sardonic and cool, the dreadlocks framing the strong face graying and neatly bound. His voice was coolly polite. "Your Grace, I am at your disposal."
A moment passed, and then the Commandant-General's voice dripped with amused malice. "And I see you brought out the entire pack of clowns today. Good eve, Baroness, got any more of your charges killed this week?"
The expression on Commissar Dachman's face could have killed an entire battalion. Oddly enough, Max appeared slightly amused by this. Holden grimaced slightly in response to Hazzy's entrance, but quickly schooled his features. Jaime remained unsmiling.
Prince Ashland cradled his forehead and poured a second, or possibly third, drink. "Can we at least pretend to be functional adults running an interstellar government and not a pack of schoolchildren for, I dunno, five minutes?"
Lord Slate's perfect poker face still failed to conceal the amusement in his eyes. His voice however remained completely composed. "Good evening, Commandant. As you may know, Lord Holden has been assigned to pull together a group of assets to assist in... unconventional recoveries. Milady Dachman pointed out he has no assigned Commissariat assets, but her own position does not, ah, that is she is not in possession of assets beyond a single remaining living Commissar and a handful of green trainees, and so I believe His Grace wished to know if you could assign some."
"That sounds entirely too logical and polite to come from Alina, but yes. I'll pull some people together. We still have some assets not recovered from the operation on Noveria that aren't fit for combat but would be good as oversight and who are already familiar with anomalous bullshit and less concerned with trivialities." Hazred answered.
Dachman's voice was tight and angry. "Your Grace, anomalous oversight is specifically the task of the Hand of Rourke, not the kind of thug kidnap victims of the general corps. What we need is a delay of active service until I can rework and train more Commissars properly vetted for the task. This is not something you cover with... with... Brutes."
Hazred's smile only grew more mocking and his expression utterly malicious, but Max merely shrugged. "As I said at the outset, my hand has been forced. CC wants a contact to 'tour' our groups in a month and a half. That is barely enough time to get Lord Holden's group even working, and from what Ashland and Herrero have said about the Department, that's a very heavy lift as well. As besides yourself there is only your protege even alive among the Hand of Rourke, we must dispatch with regulations in favor of reality. Marcus, dispatch a cadre to Holden's team. I do expect discretion. And please keep it limited to Analysts and Executives."
"But we're training our first asari Seducer cadet, and I figured Watson would be a nice placement for her..." The man laughed at Max's glare, and held up his hands. "I'll get them out to Watson in a week or so, at the outside, Your Grace."
Max nodded sharply. After a long moment, a very slight smirk emerged on Max's face. "Besides, I don't wish to tempt Lord Holden so."
He sniffed. "Slate, I want things to go smoothly. Slap Fordant around if he's not cooperative. I expect you to handle all the diplomatic and legalistic angles for Holden and his group. You both have Sigils, anyone interfering or any intruders are to be executed immediately. I am clear, I trust?"
"Crystal, Your Grace." Slate confirmed. "I am sure Lord Holden and I will get along splendidly, and I have always wanted to visit Watson anyway. Rosta will be cooperative as long as we are polite and don't cause trouble. I'll be along presently once I scare up a handful of volus lawyers and bribe a few spies from the Court of Corporations to run distractions."
"Good. Jonah, you keep working on the reception. Herrero has other duties. I'll have an initial briefing with both Holden and Herrero in two months for a progress report. Are there any questions?"
"What is my timeline on replacing the Hand of Rourke commissars in the Department? And my budget for doing so?" Dachman asked.
Max waved a hand in a vague direction "Work with Herrero. Sloane is your apprentice anyway, and she's the only one alive. Work it out and get back to me with a cost. Anything else?"
"None from me Your Grace." Malcolm said.
"Nor I." Jaime added. "We'll see you at 6 PM, Prince Manswell."
"Good, Herrero. Anything sensitive can be discussed then."
Max's signal dropped, the comm-net background dimming.
"Session ended. Logs purged. Encryption keys removed. Please disconnect when you are done conversing."
Hazred and Ashland instantly disconnected. After a moment, Slate gave a nod. "Looking forward to speaking with you, Milord Holden. Travel safely." He too disconnected.
The Hand of Rourke noblewoman grimaced. "General Herrero. I have sent several messages to Commissar Sloane, but she has not replied. Is she..." A pause. "How is she holding up, if I may ask?"
"Do I need to leave for this discussion?" Malcolm asked, glancing between the images of the two.
"If you need to speak with the General, I am only inquiring as to my student's mental health and then I will disconnect, milord." Dachman clarified.
Jaime sighed. "Before today, angry. Today, wary and upset, for reasons she hasn't explained."
Her expression fell. "I...see. If there is time, perhaps we could talk after your meeting with Prince Maxwell? I will not take up more of your time."
Jaime nodded. "I have no objection."
She disconnected a moment later. That left just the two of them, and Malcolm had something he needed to say.
"I wanted to make some things clear General, we're going to be seeing each other a lot in the future. Despite what you may think of me or my new job, I am not here to take you down. Omega does a lot for the security and safety of humanity of which I am grateful for, and because of this importance it's imperative we find exactly how it was broken into like this. I'm not some pencil pusher looking for someone to blame… I'm a man who gets the job done as perfect as can be, and it would help if I could count on you to work with me on this."
"Thank you for your appreciation, milord." Jaime smiled. "I'm more than willing to cooperate with a fellow Rho Survivors Club member."
Holden smiled back and internally breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for that, I'm sure you are as busy as I am, so I'll leave you to it. Until next time ,General." Holden disconnected, and returned to his work.
Jaime disconnected at last, and typed out a message to Sloane about the impending second in-person meeting with Maxwell Manswell.
X-BoH-X
It was a short trip from the mountains of Europe to the estates of House Manswell, handled by high speed underground trains from Interlaken to Bonn and then across to the Harz Mountains, where the massive estate-city sprawled across the Oberharz near Brocken.
The land was recovering in these areas, but endless work continued – huge fields with earth-working robots and legions of LOKI mechs, water and ground sterilization plants with little shantytowns of temporary buildings around them under field-erected solar shielding. The forests remaining were sickly, composed of a few twisted and gnarled trees over ground cover with an odd and almost repulsive bruised green in places.
By comparison, a narrow strip of beautiful, conditioned grasslands and brush surrounded the high walls of the Landung von Eisen, worked by more mechs in iron-gray jumpsuits.
The train slowed as it passed the ten meter-high outer walls of the estate, atop which could be made out the forms of the Knights Ferrous here and there.
Jaime and Sloane both wore dress uniforms with updated rank hashes for the occasion. As the train stopped fully, the doors slid open silently, revealing a four man squad of knights behind an arrogant looking young woman in extremely expensive and clearly tailored clothing. She flashed a brilliant smile as the pair stepped forward, her voice slightly accented but clear, and disturbingly hard sounding, like an echo of her great-grandfather.
"General Herrero, I believe? Is this your plus one or your Commissar?"
Sloane expressionlessly said nothing.
"My Commissar, Lady Manswell." Jaime replies primly. He had no interest playing along with Emilia, the Sunflower of the Manswells, a known dangerous woman at only nineteen.
"...You're no fun at parties either, I bet." She turned to the knights. "Have the servants scare up two suites in the Südturm, and see what we have for dinner."
Two knights departed, the other two merely stood back some distance as she turned back to Jaime and Sloane. "Well, then, follow me. Grandee is having a terrible day and Aunt Helga is being more of an icy bitch than usual, so you're stuck with me until your meeting."
They followed – Sloane waited until her back was turned to give Emilia a searing hate-glare – out of the slim-designed private train station up top. The grounds were beyond immaculate, the low thrum of a private enviroshield almost undetectable even to Jaime's augmented hearing. Bright grasses flanked carefully laid flagstone paths, past picturesque little cottages. A broad stair of iron under transparent aluminum spiraled around the central mountain, and he saw the Three Towers carved directly out of the mountain side far above.
The path went for about a good four hundred meters, passing several more clusters of cottages and small buildings, a clinic, a garage full of ancient pre-Iron luxury and sports vehicles, and a private, open air soccer field filled with children playing under the watchful eyes of coaches.
The Manswell scion chatted amiably about nothing at all – pointing out features, asking Jaime if he enjoyed the trip, wondering if the hair color of Sloane was natural – and skillfully parried any meaningful questions with variations on "I'm sure Grandee will know all that stuff."
Finally they arrived at a towering arch of steel and glass, with curved tubes splayed out atop it, some kind of elevator transport system. Two more knights in full battle regalia – powered, augmented Silaris armor, asari battle rifles, and what looked like volus mini-missile launchers – flanked a pair of towering JOTUN mechs in Manswell colors, while atop a nearby hill a CUTTER tank squatted menacingly, the weapons pointed vaguely at the entryway.
"Good evening, boys." Emilia beamed. "Is the chelevator clear?"
The leftmost knight bowed and nodded, his hands moving subtly in what Jaime suspected to be some kind of hand language. She made an equally subtle movement and the two mechs moved from the doorway. Emilia glanced over her shoulder, features set into a grin.
"Right this way." She laid her hand on the glassy plate next to one of the entrances marked "Einschränkung des Blutes," and it chimed softly and opened – revealing a circular glass-walled elevator – and she walked in. Sloane shot Jaime a tired look as she followed him in.
"System, security status?"
"All alarm circuits nominal. No intrusion. Full optical and transmission blocking enabled. Warning. Occupant 1, male, has embedded tracking sensors. Warning, Occupant 2, female, has implanted cortex detonation devices. Frequency carve-outs enabled."
The young woman sighed. "I get the tracking, but why does your Commissar have a head-bang?"
Bitterness underlined Sloane's voice, but only an edge of it. "Dependability, Lady Manswell."
Emilia tsked. "I bet Hazzy can fix that mess… Anyway, some ground rules. People will be aiming weapons at you. A lot. Don't take it personally. Grandee is very old and his nurses are the final word, if they say he needs to rest, withdraw. Don't agitate them, they're also his bodyguards and I've seen them take apart an N7 like he was a confectionery."
"You'll be meeting with Grandee in Nordturm: the north tower. Most people don't get personal interviews so I guess you're both kinda important, but we get lots of important guests here. Knights will tell you where to go and the servants – the ones with a red band, not the ones with the white band – will get you whatever you need."
"Alert. Airspace violation detected. Engaging. Alarm system level one."
In the distance, Jaime saw what appeared to be ripple plasma launches and at least nine GARDIAN towers lit up, incinerating something.
"Analysis: spy drone. Scan result: inconclusive. Possible source: unknown. No drone detection in airspace for the past 1,344 days. Escalating security to level Three."
Emilia arched a golden eyebrow. "Either you have a secret admirer or someone was drone-tracking you. Who are you anyway?"
The elevator shuddered to a halt as she said this. The doors slid open, to reveal no less than six snipers already lined up on him and Sloane, and with sour amusement Jaime noticed one aimed at Emilia Manswell. A ground-mounted GARDIAN array was inset into the rock walls facing the elevator platform, and two more battlesuits patrolled a wide square of worked stone in the shape of a massive house Manswell symbol.
Three towers of iron-braced stone and worked steel and wood stretched into the clouds above, as she led them out of the elevator.
"If you have to ask, you're not cleared to know." Jaime answered. It seemed best to avoid unnecessary conversation with the infamous party girl.
Emilia laughed. "I don't hear 'no' much these days, General. I suspect, however, you aren't really used to playing politics." That was true.
She led them past another set of guards, up a set of broad steps with iron railings, towards the nearest tower entrance. It was flanked by fucking plasma artillery pieces in pillboxes and six more GARDIAN towers.
"Paranoid much?" Sloane muttered under her breath.
Emilia walked up to the door, smiling at the knight there "Guten abend, Waltur, ist heute abend alles ruhig? Ich habe gäste für Grandee."
The knight replied in a deep baritone rumble. "Die drohne war seltsam. Die Eishexe ist aus irgendeinem grund sauer. Der alte mann ist fertig mit dem Präsidenten, also geh rauf."
She nodded and placed her hands on a pair of glass panels. They glowed green, and the armored portal opened. She winks at the knight and gestures to Jaime and Sloane to follow. "If I had to guess, and of course I'm just a silly girl, but you're probably here to see whatever has both Hazzy and Liam running around, to do with that dreadful bitch from the Celestial Council."
Jaime promptly reevaluated the girl in light of her sudden comment. In hindsight, Maxwell Manswell wouldn't have let one of his direct descendants be just another Aish Ashland.
The interior made the cruiser they came into the system on a few days ago look plain and bland. The entire hallway – almost twenty meters wide and two stories tall – was hewn iron gray marble inset with floor panels of dark, rich wood and inlaid gold. Expensive rugs of patterned silk accompanied pillars of worked iron set every ten feet, each one flowing into a masterwork forged carving of a Manswell ancestor. The ceiling was pure white marble with gold traceries. Small tables holding up works of art or expensive paintings filled the hall.
The knights here wore formal suits instead of armor, power-blades neatly sheathed in gray scabbards. They were older, some with whitening hair, but every last one of them looked like trouble. Most had the slightly outsized shapes of cybernetics under their tailored suits.
Though the hallway had to go on for a good hundred meters, Emilia led the pair ten meters into an open archway, done in dark wood with filigrees of gold and iron chasing each other. The room beyond was cunningly carved from the very stone of the mountain itself and braces of iron supported its arched roof over a floor of deep pile gray carpet.
A dizzying array of monitors and displays engulfed the far wall, bordered by bookshelves of iron with neatly set books, the old fashioned kind, leather bound and with real paper. A semicircular desk of travatine marble framed in more iron was dominated by the woman behind it.
She was perhaps forty, or maybe younger or older. Her face was no more lined than Emilia's - hair and eyes the same shades as the girl's – but there was an arch maturity to her poise that the Sunflower lacked. Her left arm was a masterwork cybernetic replacement, Silaris, silver, and corded myomer that probably cost more than Jaime made in his entire life, and her white tailored dress managed to be both form-fitting, seductive, professional at the same time.
There was something familiar about her, but Jaime couldn't put his finger on it.
"Ah, the General and the lady Commissar. I'm glad you can walk from point A to point B without fucking the help, Emilia, so that will be all. This is time for adults to talk." Her voice was melodious but hard, with more of an accent than Emilia's.
Emilia gave a brilliant smile. "Auntie, you shouldn't be so bitter, you'll give yourself more wrinkles. Grandee is done with seeing the zombie guy, so whenever you manage to get your shit together, you can take them up yourself."
She paused, then tilted her head at Jaime. "...Oh. Department. That's who you are, I thought you looked familiar. Are you related to Paul?"
Her relative delivered an absolutely withering look. "Did you sleep with him too, Emi? Enough. Leave."
"Ciao, Auntie." Emilia turned on a heel, sashaying out the door with an exaggerated twitch of her hips, and the older woman behind the desk rubbed her temples.
"I'd say 'Welcome to Eisenhaus,' but I'd rather apologize for exposing you to that hellcat. Sit." She gestured to the two plush chairs of leather and iron before the desk.
Jaime and Sloane took seats.
"My name is Helga Manswell. Don't bother with the miladies and all that." Now Jaime recognized her. Something from a past Administrator's recollections. The thing about the Cryptum was that integrating several centuries worth of other people's memories took time.
"For now, I'm filling in for Aloxius until that situation is… resolved. I am fully cleared on the Department of Abnormalities and Omega Response – and I was the one who figured out something you people have was being used to alter or remove memories of the High Lords of Sol."
Helga tapped her head. "I've come up with a specialized graybox function with offsite backups and nanohardening, so please don't try that again. For this to work out, we should be working together, not at cross purposes, and the fact that both the High Lords and the Department have specific coded plans for the other party betraying them is something I'd expect from grays, not human beings."
She glanced at Sloane, then back at Jaime. "...You're probably going to get this question a lot, so I'll ask if you grasp why it's being asked, but is she your paramour or just your Commissar?"
Jaime sighed with a tired edge. "I already have, and no, Sloane is just the Commissar."
"My apologies. Standard operations for critical positions and at-risk personnel is to pair them with Seducers. And no offense, madam Commissar, but you look a little too exotic and beautiful for a stock Executive."
Sloane arched an eyebrow. "I'm aware of the Commissariat assignment doctrine. But I've been working with Omega Response for more than five years, and Jaime was until very recently only a junior officer."
"My family has had a long history with Omega Response and DepAb." Jaime explained to her.
Helga inclined her head with a wryly amused expression. "That is the most staggering understatement I have ever heard uttered, General."
She opened a drawer on her desk and pulled out a selection of flimsiplast images. Most of them looked like either Jaime, his father, or his grand-uncle, but all were clearly from a wide array of dates and times. "I have very little clue what is going on here, and I do not miss my guess, the same is true for you, right?"
"Exactamente." Jaime confirmed. "My predecessor appears to have certain theories, ones that really worry me. Of course, a lot of things my predecessors have done really worry me, because they have turned out to go very wrong."
Helga leaned back in her seat. "And Aloxius's files, and that of Grandfather, are both fascinating and an absolute mess. From what I can figure out, our family had some kind of deal with yours, but when Jacen Manswell killed himself one of the things he did prior to that was wiping the files completely. My grandfather has kept me at a distance from this organization, for reasons that I won't speculate on. A lot of what your predecessors have done is baffling and almost every time they try something it ends up with them dead. Now you are in the role."
"You can of course decide you are here to meet Grandfather, politely tell me to go to hell, and I will take you up there right now. I suspect in short order your Commissar friend here will either die or be relieved of command, a very pretty replacement put in her place and in your bed, your 'replacement staff' will be riddled with Manswell plants, and that that asari-fucking disgrace Holden will be used to corral and contain you. Or you could work with me and we can try to figure out what the fuck is going on, and I can guide you through the politics of this mess but only if we can trust each other. I don't want to end up like Aloxius and Synthia."
Well, that did fit Maxwell's attitude displayed on the Spear of Longinus. Jaime frowned. "I know what happened to Aloxius, but I haven't heard about anything happening to her."
Helga exhaled. "Jason Kinnix used to be her lover. We're fairly sure Synthia let him escape. She's had a few spies inserted into her staff and all of her Red Notes seized. She will have to go through a special functionary to work with anything risky – and I am pretty sure High Command is thinking about spinning several groups off from her direct command to independent control. And her current boy toy is a Seducer, but she doesn't know that the Commissariat can reprogram him to kill her at any time."
Jaime nodded. "Didn't know that about Lord General Kinnix. Fits, I suppose."
She grinned ruefully. "Ah, Kinnix, that was a hell of a man. Dumb as a rock, but the idea he'd betray the SA is so laughable I had to sit down from making myself dizzy giggling at it. Whatever drove him to defect had to be something so fucked up and horrific he'd risk everything just not to obey anymore, and that is another piece of the puzzle."
The cybernetic arm picked up a wine glass languidly and she drained it. "So… what will it be, General?"
The minefield had come to him. Jaime regarded Helga, resorting to the closest thing in his military handbook: gather intel and buy time. "I have Jonah Ashland's backing, but I suspect you're going to say that's not going to be nearly enough."
"Jonah is a good man. Why in hell he accepted the reins instead of Brook, I'll never know. But despite not being the kind of pig that usually heads a major family, he's also in over his head. He wants what you want, I think, in ideal – a Department that keeps people safe. But if it comes down to some kind of clash, I don't think he'd back you against Grandfather directly. I may be wrong."
Helga lifted a bottle of some kind of expensive wine out of a small cooler set into the desk, and poured herself another glass. "The very first rule of playing in this level of the Game is picking your allies based on if they'll drop you when things get hot or not."
"Well, Emilia wasn't wrong when she said I was new to politics." Jaime grimaced.
Helga held a sour expression. "Emilia is much, much nastier and more dangerous than that ditz act she puts on shows." A pause. "Let me lay out a scenario for you, General."
She tapped a control on her desk. "Grandfather, the general is here… should I send him up?"
His voice sounded tired. "In about a quarter of an hour, Helga. Filter trays in my lungs are shot again. The nurses are swapping. I'll comm you when I'm ready."
For some reason her eyes flared with amused malice, but her voice was dutiful and sweet. "Of course, Grandfather. Hope you feel better. I'll keep them entertained."
With a small smile on her features, she leaned back again. "As I was saying… a scenario."
"You have a functionary in control of an extremely powerful asset. The asset's exact limits are not known and it has already proven to be dangerous to you. The functionary in charge of it has no living family, no children, no lover, and is not particularly interested in politics. They live alone, all of their few friends are also military in this asset, and their psychological profile indicates no weaknesses, vulnerabilities or methods to control them. The asset in the right hands and under the right leadership could be useful, but if it is turned against you, you could lose everything."
"Do you leave this man in place or have him replaced with an asset that has handles? Family you can threaten, or a lover. Investments. Involvements."
Put it that way, it almost sounded reasonable.
She glanced at Sloane. "And if I am not mistaken… Hand of Rourke doesn't really do political training, do they?"
Sloane grimaced. "...No, milady."
"I see. There is one wrinkle that your scenario doesn't include." Jaime mentioned, aware of the particular oddities associated with his lineage. "Namely, though this functionary has no known living family, if he dies, more will suddenly pop up."
Helga laughed. "Yes, but they will be just as clueless and lost as you are – and more importantly, they'll not be in charge of the entire thing where they can start trying to find answers. They'll be a secondary. Like your father, and Paul."
"True enough." The angles really were all covered, weren't they?
"I have waited a very long time to figure out what in the absolute fuck is going on with this ridiculous onion-skin bullshit of ever shifting layers of paranoid delusional idiots, and I finally have the chance – if you work with me. Because if you haven't noticed, Grandfather is more concerned about his goddamned plan than the obliteration of all life due to some anomalous fuckup."
"Yeah we noticed." Sloane muttered. She glanced at Jaime, but said nothing.
Jaime looked up at the ceiling. "I trusted uncritically before and it burned us."
Upon discovering the report by Adrien, which assured that yes, DELTA was just the codename for a STG unit, Jaime's reaction had been nothing less than incandescent.
Surprisingly, she nodded. "And I have also been burned, so I do grasp that hesitance. But you are ten minutes away from meeting with Grandfather in person, and the only reason he'd drag you all this way is to have you disposed of quietly if he decides you'll be a problem, otherwise this could have been done via teleconference, no?"
Sloane stiffened. "...He didn't ask us to bring Grace. Just me and you." She cursed softly under her breath.
"He did. When the mother of all ancient dangers is resurfacing, coming for us. Anyway, not like I was enthused by him to begin with." Jaime decided.
He locked gazes with Helga. "Trust for trust then."
She leaned back, and met his gaze. "Name your price. For both of you, since you seem to be a package deal."
Sloane frowned. "I am not–"
Helga smirked. "If you weren't important, you'd not be here. So something about you is, and if you aren't sleeping with him, it's not as leverage."
"Might it have to do with the Baroness-Commissar?" She being Sloane's mentor was the only– "Oh." Things he heard in the comm session earlier clicked together – military strategy and tactics could still apply here if you looked at it the right way…
Sloane looked at Jaime. "Milady Alina? What does she have to do with this?"
"You're her protégé." Jaime explained thoughtfully. "Told me as much in a meeting we had earlier. Also, you and her are apparently the only surviving members of the Hand of Rourke."
Helga glanced at the monitors to one side. "Wow, not even fucking subtle." She tapped a control, and the monitor shifted to show two reinforced platoons of knights in full combat gear – and a trio of JOTUN mechs – stacking up outside what looked like a false wall.
"At least Grandfather respects your combat ability, General." She glanced at Sloane. "And yeah, that tracks, if you're the last of the Hand of Rourke, and the Baroness is already on very thin ice with the High Lords..."
"In that meeting," Jaime specified, "Maxwell requested Hazred to provide replacement Commissars to fill out Holden's group. She was opposed, and wanted a delay to train more to the Hand of Rourke's standards. Something tells me they would be less tractable than the Silver Prince would like."
Helga nodded slowly. "That… wasn't what I was told, at all."
She exhaled. "Dammit, Grandfather. If I'm reading this right, Grandfather gave out a Sigil to both Lord Holden and Lord Slate. Holden is just another Ache Lameo clown, but Slate is very very good at dirty politics and blackmail and was an AIS agent for a decade working for Cruel Blood Dragon setting up Lords to take falls if they upset the High Lords. I'd almost ask why they're even involved, but I suspect he wants a second string to your group, which will be a mess if you and the Commissar here 'have an accident' tonight. A Sigil is a Red Note that authorizes the bearer to act with the complete authority of the High Lords."
"I'm aware. Your grandfather talked about the Sigils during the meeting." Jaime informed her.
Helga stared at him. "And that didn't strike you as strange and alarming?"
She drained her glass, then poured another. "Gotta talk to Rich about an artificial liver at this rate."
"I assumed it was a reminder for Holden's benefit." Jaime explained. "Jonah Ashland gave me an express order that I was to ignore any orders not coming from him."
Helga tapped another control, then frowned. "...That isn't smart. I'm sure he means well but you have to assume Grandfather already has people inside your group."
"Wonderful. Not being able to implicitly trust your people is the last thing you want when rebuilding an organization." Jaime groaned. In his opinion, he'd been less stupid, and more hopeful for the easy answer.
Helga shook her head. "It's not that simple and you know it, but..." She glanced at the clock. "I will put this simply. If you work with me, I can get you out of this mess and we can find out the truth. If not, you'll have to figure out exactly how to convince Grandfather you are trustworthy, and if that means trying to sell me out, good luck. Your choice."
He saw Sloane trigger her subverbal commlink, still synched to his, covering the movement by pushing her hair back. "Orders, sir?"
Jaime answered subvocally. "At this point, I don't think we even have any alternatives."
The Cryptum had more features than just the memory storage and transfer. Suffice to say that even unarmored, unarmed, and with twice the forces ambushing him, Jaime would still survive and win. But Sloane wouldn't, and an open firefight in front of, and likely endangering the head of the High Lords would be just as disastrous.
"But forget orders. What's your honest opinion?"
"We can always say we work with her, and then if she turns out to be untrustworthy, sell her out. But, she sounds a little desperate to me. I think the fact that something is happening and she doesn't know is making her paranoid." Sloane assessed.
"Given the nature of what we deal with, wouldn't you be worried too?" Jaime commented.
Helga drained her wine glass, and then emptied the bottle into the glass and tossed it into the atomizer next to the desk. "I'd offer you some, but it's six thousand credits a bottle.
"Being surrounded by opulence I could never afford has been a running theme of the past couple days." Jaime remarked out loud. Alea iacta est. "Help us out and we'll go from there."
She nodded sharply. "Alright. First, we'll deal with the trust issues."
Helga pulled out an OSD and tossed it to Jaime. "That's proof that the person behind my Grandfather's lung failure in his cybernetics is me."
She smiled viciously. "This is not me being a bitch, he's made some really bad decisions based on anger and pique, and ever since Grandmother passed his judgment is more and more unbalanced. Him mucking about with the Department and, indirectly, the Hand of Rourke, is just more proof he's fucking lost the plot. But even beyond that – his conflicts with Eldfell and Nikoru are getting worse, and he's losing. I have no intentions of standing back and letting either of those idiots ruin everything my family stands for."
Jaime looked at her, then at the OSD, then at the camera image of the knights and JOTUNs, then back to Helga.
"Second, you need a way out of this mess. Here is what you do. In your meet, tell him you're fucking the Commissar there." She shook her head at the slight flush of Sloane, her voice sharpening a bit. "Right now they don't have a handle or control on you, and that makes you a liability that's unacceptable. The minute Grandfather thinks he has something to control you with, you aren't dangerous. So play it up. Say you kept it quiet and denied it because you worried about how it looked, or the Admin taking advantage, or some shit."
Helga delivered a slanted smile. "Grandfather won't live forever. Albert is... damaged and not capable. Cousin Aldrien is in some shallow grave, Aloxius just blew his chance, and little Gregory won't be of age for another twelve years. Emilia will be handled soon enough, or more likely overdose on cocaine. Sooner or later, I will lead the Manswells...and I assure you I will remember who is on my side at that time, and who isn't."
"So I'll help you get past this mess, and then we can figure out just what all this shit is." She pulled out a padd, and on it was written a single phrase: /FAILSTATE/.
Jaime groaned. "Oh, that." That ominous cursed thing cropped up again, and how did Helga learn of it?
Sloane looked uncomfortable, and grimaced. "And just… how do we pass this off? I haven't… I mean..."
"Holding hands?" Jaime offered, if weakly.
"Jesus Christ, you need to get laid, and if I'm the one pointing this out..." Helga sighed. "Play it off as embarrassed. Emi set you up to stay in the South Tower in separate suites. But you shared one on the Cruiser here. Jonah already submitted a report he's not sure he buys you aren't sleeping with him, so this will just play into Grandfather's suspicions. If he doesn't have to remove you that makes things easier for him and he presumes you won't get the political fuckery. Let me guess, he told Jonah to handle all the politics?"
"Yes." Jaime confirmed, past sentences taking on new, darker meanings in hindsight.
Helga laughed, a little drunkenly, he thought. "Goddamned it, gramps, you aren't even fucking trying."
Maxwell's granddaughter tapped her desk. "Bertram, bring me two bottles of the Gruaud Larose 1945, please."
She then tapped the desk again, her voice sweetening. "Grandfather? I'm still entertaining the general and his lady friend… You ready yet?"
Max harshly coughed. "No. Unnütz cybernetics isn't rebooting. Manual" – another hard cough – "filtering." A pause. "Helga, the Commissar. How are they acting?"
Helga grinned slightly. "I got them a bottle of the old GL 1945. I think he's probably sleeping with her. He's trying to cover it up, too many little actions they break off at the last second, that kind of thing. I threw out a bit about maybe replacing the Commissars in his unit and the Black Hat gave me a look fit to kill a dragon."
The Silver Prince hummed softly. "Mmm. Alright. I was planning to maybe take him off the board. Too uncontrollable. Paul had the illegitimate boy and the two lovers, and the Administrator that girlfriend on Mars, but this one… cold. Professional. Too much like his damned father. Dangerous."
Jaime supposed he could take that as a compliment, shoving away the remark about a cousin well away.
Helga snorted. "Dangerous? Grandfather, they both came here in fucking dress uniforms unarmed. I figured out you were going to flatline them the second I saw the order. He doesn't even see it coming, he's probably planning to come up there and tell you off some more."
"IF he's controllable, he may be useful. Holden will have to learn rapidly from Slate and there is no clue what stupidity Fordant may introduce into the process. Having a stable commander in charge would help mitigate that… and keep Jonah calm, given the latest fuckup with Lawson and NOVENSILES."
Helga winced. "So, do I put the nerve-block and reducers in their drinks or not? They're coming back."
A longer silence, as Maxwell Manswell weighed their fate. "...You think he's really blind to this and sleeping with the Seducer?"
"...She said she was an Executor, though?"
"And I am a gingerbread fairy. Alina wiped her memory after she didn't kill her target, then shunted the trauma to a made up partner. The one she got as replacement was supposed to groom her but Alina kept interfering, then he died in the mess with the Ythrongi ship on Corelis. She's not dependable and the only reason I didn't have her wiped and recycled was Alina's whining..."
Jaime watched Sloane tense up.
"...It doesn't matter. Don't bother drugging them. Send them up in five. I have two squads if there are problems, but if the boy is stupid enough to fuck the Commissar, we have what we need for leverage at the moment." He paused again. "Your assessment?"
"He's very handsome." Helga continued laying the groundwork. "And she is very good looking. Maybe Emi can play with them and see how deep the relationship is? Other than that, he's very jumpy and he is really aware he pissed you off when he yelled at you and is worried and apologetic, but trying to stand his ground."
"...Quite. Alright, that will do." A pause. "And Helga? The drone was clever but please remember age and wisdom will always beat youth and treachery."
Helga huffed. "I was just curious, Grandfather. I'll send them up after a few more drinks to soften them up. Damned Commissar is a lush. Later."
She glanced up as a man in a suit stood outside, and she dropped the force barrier that led into her office. "Thank you, Bertram."
She waited for the butler-type to open the bottle and pour three glasses and then depart, leaving the bottle. The dull whump of the force screen going back up a moment later was her cue to laugh softly and drink her wine.
"And thus / the sword that fell / 'pon my life was avert / by the grace of hell."
"You certainly are a clever devil." Jaime agreed.
"...Milady Alina said you were more dangerous than the rest of the High Lords put together. I see why now." Sloane observed.
Helga actually beamed at this. "Thank you." She paused. "But, we both know we're not in control here. I'm no more 'free' than you are, and certainly no more aware of what is driving events."
She swirled the drink in her glass. Jaime sipped from his, and it was very good, almost sweet in a fruit-like way. "So. For this to work, we need secure comms. I'm basically going to be running the AIS for… three months, give or take. I'll set up something and have details delivered to you personally."
"Or we could run things through Loki." Jaime offered, testing to see if Helga knew who that was. And quite frankly, Loki could make the most cutting-edge computers in the Citadel look like stones banging together.
She arched an eyebrow. "Is that thing reliable? Your reporting seems to make it so, but how would you know it's not lying?"
Sloane sighed. "And this confirms you even know who that is… how much do you know?"
Helga grinned. "A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything – including about the odd AI co-opting the body of a marine."
"Loki's behavior was vastly different from the other Curators we saw, which fits with his claim as to why he was shoved into that box. Of course, I know first hand he's capable of deceit. Ultimately, I admit, it requires an extension of trust." Which Jaime already had, given that Loki's desires were rather straightforward. "Though if it helps, I also know that his new body has about a fifth of his original energy capacity and much less durability."
"You spoke of prices, earlier." Sloane took a swig of the drink, a bitter smile crossing her features. "What is yours?"
Helga's expression firmed up. "My price is very affordable. I need someone close to me to have protection and make sure he's not being affected by things he is working on. I need for this person to advance in a position when it becomes available, and your group has certain tools that could be used for that. In return? You need to only ask. Money? Protection? Rank?"
"Money doesn't mean much to me personally. Honestly, I'm not sure I'd want to be a noble." Jaime told her. "What I want is to keep humanity safe, and live long enough to actually be able to retire, unlikely as that is. And I promised Paul I'd make the ones responsible for Rho-19 pay."
"The person most responsible for Rho-19 is most likely the Commandant-General, Marcus Hazred. I'm almost certain it was Hazred who authorized Black Rendition assets to go outside the lines with Ashland/Eldfell assets. That is what started this mess, Hazred doing end-arounds to achieve something. Not sure what. Then, probably Synthia Vandefar. She made everything worse." Helga explained.
"Other than that, I really do recommend you start making noises about wanting to be noble. It reaffirms to Grandfather he has control, that you aren't a wildcard that sneers at such things. Holden at least knows how to play the game inside the military, I'll grant that, while Omega has always been… isolated. Elite."
"Hinting I earned a Star of Terra, perhaps?" Jaime suggested.
Helga shrugged. "That is a good idea. Given what you lost and did on Jeremiah, including your father figure and probably some friends, it's the least we could do. That it wasn't done is just Grandfather being an asshole."
She glanced at Sloane. "And you?"
Sloane clenched her fists. "I want to know who I am. Or was. I want... I want to not have a fucking bomb in my head and limits on who and what I want to be."
"Well, that's more easily handled." Helga replied. "Commissariat Override Code Sigma-Tharchist-Avalanche, restrictions set to minimal conditioning, loyalty enforcement removed."
Sloane emitted both a sharp gasp and a literal full-body twitch. She shuddered and glanced around, eyes wild."...What..how..."
"Let's just say that suborning a Commissar was the very first step in my plan and no, getting the override codes out of goddamned Alcatraz was not fucking easy. I can't fix the bomb, but that we can deal with later. Probably."
Sloane stared at her blankly, then began crying softly, covering her face with her hands. Jaime hugged her with one arm. She stiffened, then slumped and relaxed.
Helga's expression was pitiless but not cruel, only dispassionate. "There's a stateroom two doors down I've opened. You've got about fifteen minutes and then guards will come for you to take you up. I recommend you pretend to be apologetic, nervous. Play off the previous hostility to emotions, to combat and losing Paul and nearly losing Sloane."
"I'll do some digging into Sloane's history and see what I can come up with. And yours as well, General." She stood, and Jaime realized she was taller than him, and extremely strongly built.
Sloane visibly rallied herself, wiping her eyes. "Thank you...isn't enough. If you..." She paused. "...Whatever you ask, I'll do."
Helga's smile was like morning ice, but her eyes glittered with – for a second – what Jaime thought to be a mix of pity and horror. "Unlike my relatives and peers I'll keep my requests morally upright and non-suicidal." She picked up the other bottle of wine and handed it to Jaime. "Might need it. Good luck, Mr. Herrero."
The field dropped behind them, and Helga turned away to stare at the security monitors in a clear sign of dismissal.
The 'stateroom' Helga mentioned turned out to be a salon-style room the size of a fucking system patrol boat, with restrooms, a stocked bar, and two servants who fluttered around nervously asking if 'you need anything?' Sloane had recomposed herself, mostly, but Jaime noticed she was still a little shaky looking.
"It's all right. We can do this, Amelia." Jaime said reassuringly.
"I don't know what to think right now, honestly." Sloane gave a wan smile. "My entire… memory... life, everything, is a lie. I mourn a person who didn't exist and apparently I'm a trampy slut sent out to entice and get people killed in the name of 'justice.' I'm sure Grace will just be overjoyed to find that out."
She glanced down at her hands, laughed a little, brittle and hard. "On the plus side, I can drink when I want now, so I guess I'll be an alcoholic in six months or so." She sighed. "Lady Alina is going to be disappointed with me."
"No, she won't. She's worried about you, and I scheduled a meeting with her after this." Jaime told her.
Sloane looked astonished at that, then pensive and nervous, and with an effort tried to still herself. "...I've gotten so used to the lash in my head I don't know what to do without it. It would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic."
She exhaled sharply and stood. "I won't be any more ready if I am drunk..."
She suddenly gave him a sharp, almost appraising look. "Some of my conditioning remains, but I have no urge or feeling to bring you in or turn Helga in. Odd. Either what you are doing is the most lawful and correct option, or she sabotaged the ethics controls and it's reacting to what I personally think is wrong."
"Victor Manswell and the Department's agreement was clear. The Department worked with, but was independent from the High Lords' control, save for the Hand of Rourke's involvement." Jaime remarked.
"It's pretty clear the Silver Prince completely ignored that understanding. I suspect Victor wasn't the only one to have their vision distorted."
Past Administrators had met the founder of the Commissariat, so from the Cryptum-provided memories Jaime could be reasonably sure that Amelia Sloane's 'minimal conditioning' was the only kind Mickey Rourke intended or approved.
Sloane opened her mouth to say something, but the door chimed. Acting quickly, Jaime slipped his hand onto Sloane's, as it slid open.
A knight in heavy combat gear stood there for a moment, then removed his helm, revealing the grizzled features of a thirty year vet with graying hair and a Solguard tattoo barely visible. "General, sir. The Lord of the manor sends his compliments and requests the grace of your presence along with your Commissariat liaison at your earliest convenience."
Jaime turned, still holding Sloane's hand. "Understood, Sir." He suddenly 'realized' he was still holding hands with Sloane and moved it away jerkily. "We shouldn't keep our host waiting."
Behind the man were four more knights, all with sheathed swords. They neatly fell into formation as Jaime and Sloane followed the first knight out of the salon. Jaime noted absently the hallway outside, which previously had some foot traffic earlier, was now empty.
The four knights and the commander led them to another elevator, this one guarded by the complete insanity of a trio of Agamemnon MK II battlesuits with plasma throwers and oversized flechette shotguns.
At this point, one could count at least six ceiling turrets and enough defenses to see off entire battalions and they weren't even close to Max yet.
The ride upwards was very smooth. While the four knights were all turned to face the wall, the commander spoke in a quiet voice.
"General, while I am of course assured of your loyalty and service to the SA and the High Lords, there are a few ground rules when visiting the Prince in person. I note you are unarmed, very good. The lady commissar will have to turn her bioamp over once we exit, and there is a suppression field in any case on the entire floor as well as auto targeting turrets. The Prince's nurse assistants have the final say on if he is too tired to speak – including over him. Do not yell or raise your voices or make any threatening gestures. Do not approach within two arm spans of the Prince."
He met their gazes squarely. "We will instantly kill you if you are a threat, and we give this same speech to everyone from Lords of Sol and the President to asari nobles and the Pope."
With that said he inclined his head to the Commissar. "Lady Commissar, we ask that you also refrain from engaging in the recording functions of any graybox you may or may not have. And like I said, we'll need your bioamp."
Sloane reached to the back of her neck and unslotted it. "I appreciate your courtesy, Knight-Captain."
She handed it over to him, who pulled out a containment pouch and dropped it in, hooking it on his belt.
"I will return it to you personally once you are done, madame." As he replied, the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open.
It staggered the two of them to see the sheer opulence of the hallway beyond, even more ridiculous than the entry hall. The entire floor had been done in wood panels edged with silver, while iron carved decorative vines covered the walls for dozens of meters. The ceiling was a viewscreen of the open sky, with haptic overlays here and there of birds. The wide hall ended in a massive looking vault-like door of pitted iron, and guarded by two gigantic cyborgs in partial powered armor, each one holding giant power swords.
Famous paintings decorated the walls – Rembrandt, Picassos, others Jaime didn't recognize. An ancient pre-iron piano sat on one corner, delicately played by a man in a tailored suit, and two blond women seated in a lavish looking couch listened with eyes closed. A trio of small girls – no older than eight or nine – ran out, and seeing the group, stopped. A moment later a stern older man with the build of a professional bodybuilder stepped out, barking a sharp command in German to get back in the room.
Jaime recognized him as Count Liam Manswell, the house's supposed weapon master. The man eyed Jaime sharply, then shook his head.
As the knights led them past, Jaime's enhanced hearing picked up a mutter from the Count. "God in Heaven, he looks just like Fredrick thirty years ago."
The massive vault door split and opened, revealing a massive office he realized was built on the edge of the mountain, with huge floor to ceiling transparent aluminum windows behind force shields showing the countryside and the expanse of the entire Manswell estate, stretching seemingly on to the horizon.
Bookcases covered one of the walls. Another held displays of a dozen news stations. A third, more haptics – social media, gossip rags, stock markets, and chocolate futures. The entire fourth wall was a gigantic comms screen. The iron and obsidian desk in the middle of the room, on a circular carpet of black wool, seemed small, and the man in the lift chair smaller.
Maxwell in person was not big. Maybe 5'8 at the most, his body wizened and hunched. His hair was neatly combed as his sideburns, and the glittering gray eyes even harder in person than over a screen. Two willowy women in flat-black form fitting uniforms with belts of medical equipment stood behind him, unfriendly black eyes Jaime realized were cybernetic scanning systems meeting his gaze with expressionless faces.
Max glanced at the knights. "Leave us. Put up shielding packet seven."
After a moment he spoke more gently to his nurses. "You will also need to leave the room, Elanie, Rosa. I will leave the telemetry on and I assure you that Mr. Herrero isn't going to run my blood pressure up."
He turns to Jaime, his voice hardening. "Or is this going to be like our conversation after Jeremiah, Herrero?"
Jaime bowed. "Your Grace, I was distraught, having lost many comrades and my grand-uncle on top of the events on Rho-19. I promise you it won't happen again."
The Silver Prince snapped his fingers, and the others departed – the nurses reluctantly – and then the massive doors sealed shut.
"Sit." There were two comfortable leather chairs in front of his desk as his lift chair came around it, both probably costing more than an air-car.
Jaime gestured towards the chair on the right for Sloane, while he took the one on the left.
Maxwell fussed with the black woolen blanket over his legs. His feet wore black velvet slippers embroidered with his house crest, Jaime noticed.
His eyes met Jaime's, his voice cool. "Before we even start… humor me. Why do you think you are here?"
Sloane looked at Jaime in confusion.
Jaime mentally reviewed Helga's guidelines and tried to apply his own analysis to the situation.
"I have a couple guesses. A personal attempt at allowing us to mend ties and work together more going forward as you wished at our meeting in Jeremiah? Maybe discussing how things will work between Holden's organization and mine in a sufficiently secured location to your liking?"
It was a test, and the correct answer was 'no, I have no idea you're planning on murdering us.'
Maxwell grunted, and Jaime could tell he was concealing a smirk. His voice, however, remained calm.
"Good." He paused. "Can you understand how messy this situation is? The last Administrator told us that this DELTA and ARGENT thing was... alien intelligence groups. And we still are not clear on what the hell Synthia was doing, or what your own boss was doing."
Max flatly smiled. "A lot of people are somewhat nervous about me turning this role over to someone like you, given you have no..."
He paused. "It's unclear what your reasons for putting up with it all are, outside of the standard speech about 'duty'."
Max's glance moved to Sloane. "And as for you, there are questions about your stability given your past, Commissar. Against my better judgment I'm expected to trust both of you to perform at maximal levels and not cause larger issues, and that requires me to be sure of your suitability."
So, how to put this right? Jaime paused, then smiled. Taking a risk, but if he could get Prince Maxwell to provide the right setup…
"If you may forgive me, Your Grace, I would like to ask you a question in turn. What are your reasons for putting up with it all? You've led humanity through so much. It cost you your wife, we can see what it did to your health. It's, to quote Udina for the second time today, a constant political shitstorm."
The younger man looks around. "I don't even think you enjoy the luxury around here, which is a damn shame. So why?"
The old man arched an eyebrow. "I put up with it because if I left it to others they'd fuck everything up. Half of the lower Lords don't even understand how narrowly humanity has made it this far. I certainly won't claim idiot excuses like 'duty' despite being raised and trained from age four to do this. Rather, I put up with it all because all others are less competent than me."
He smiles. "I'm sure that may sound arrogant. You have not had the pleasure of conversing with a salarian Dalatrass or that evil witch Thana T'Armal, however."
"As to the cost..." He grimaced. "Costs are irrelevant when the alternative is extinction."
"But you are not happy." Sloane emphasized, following along.
Maxwell snorted. "One hardly needs the two years of psychology we put your kind through to grasp that, Commissar. Happiness, however, is not a state of being. It is a temporary sensation. My own ancestor, Victor, felt he was going to Hell by thwarting God in saving humanity from its own stupidity, short-sighted destruction of the environment, random cruelty to entire nations and so forth. I do not care about what it costs. Fourteen billion or so souls are mine, and I am far too proud to submit to kneeling to some trampy alien slut reeking of drugs and their own egos to give it up."
He tilted his head, examining the two closely. His eyes flicked over the strain on Sloane's features, and the too-calm Jaime, and then he chuckled.
Whatever about, Jaime didn't know, but he'd gotten what he wanted. "Ah. Unlike you, one day I would like to be happy. Perhaps one day you or your successor will hand me a Star of Terra and a cover story and I can have a Noble House of my own."
The High Lord gave him a somewhat surprised look. "Your family is usually spouting lines about the 'freedom of the human spirit' and how they'd never defile themselves by being a noble."
He tilted his head. "Then again, your father had more sense than older... members of your family."
As a comparison, that wasn't exactly uplifting. Still, alpha strike successful.
Maxwell sat up straighter, his voice softer. "For the moment, General, we need to redefine your security protocols, and get things moving on transitioning Omega Response to a new unit. As well as unifying the command structure under you, and filling out Ms. Sloane's complement."
Jaime noted this was the first time he hadn't been called 'Herrero' or 'boy.' Whether a facade or genuine, it was still a positive shift achieved. "To business then, Prince Manswell."
"First, you are not precisely politically trained, are you? From all reports, that is."
"No, I am not." Jaime conceded.
"Then perhaps a more well-trained Commissar in matters political would be expedient, allowing Commissar Sloane to focus her own efforts on maintaining security."
Sloane looked jolted and upset, but compressed her lips and said nothing.
Jaime frowned. It was time to reinforce the image Helga presented. "I have a well-established working rapport with Ame- Commissar Sloane. I know she has the experience to handle the job. Surely I can take supplementary training from an appropriate Commissar without removing her from her position."
The Prince arched an eyebrow. "I am not questioning her... talents." His smile was almost mocking. "Only that you would probably be better served with a Commissariat aide focused on politics, while she focused on said job. Unless there is some other reason..."
Jaime flickers his gaze around before answering. "We are... very close, Your Grace. I would take it as a personal favor if you do not replace her."
See, the ember of defiance your granddaughter mentioned to you. Too proud to admit it outright, so take the gap in the armor I'm offering and move on.
Maxwell leaned back, silent for almost thirty seconds. "...I see."
He gave the smallest of frowns. "If you wish, then we can do that. Make sure nothing suffers as a result of..." He glanced at Sloane, "distractions, General."
Maxwell turned to his desk, picking up a leather-bound folio. "I will not lie. The events of this entire mess – and now the fallout of Ciana's 'fuck you' from beyond the gates of Hell where you flung her – have raised more than a few questions among the High Lords as a group. Some of that failure can be laid at the feet of the Task Committee – they were specifically supposed to avoid this kind of mess. There were various options put forth. Frankly, the kind of ... accord Victor established at the outset was focused more on the containment of things we found on Earth that in the wrong hands could lead to disaster. Imagine if, for example, Ardiente had found the Alchemist."
He held up a hand as Sloane opened her mouth. "I'm not going to disband or nullify the Hand of Rourke, Commissar. But to be blunt, as I said in our call, the Department is a very large line item. We could build four arcologies for the cost of your group. The days of unlimited lack of oversight and relying entirely on the strength of devotion to duty is ending."
Maxwell tapped the portfolio and opened it, pulling out a flimsiplast image, showing a non-descript marine engineer. "Recognize her?"
Brown hair, petite build... Jaime only noted the subtle Mekhane tattoo on her wrist after a long second. Sloane looked puzzled, but the Cryptum gave Jaime the memories. This person was a high ranked Mehkane priestess known as Hespera. The same person who Bumaro had secretly planted in Holden's group. Who'd survived and headed out with Sigma.
Maxwell's smile was entirely too amused. "Supposedly a Marine engineer, Carol Daniels, nine years of service, Fifty Fourth Field Infowar Group."
Jaime closed his eyes and sighed. "Did Holden tell you, or was it too much to hope Hespera avoided detection?"
Because either Paul's read on Holden and Paig had been wrong, or of course the Cog worshiper got careless, and clearly the Silver Prince knew enough that denial would be pointless.
Maxwell burst into laughter. "The lady was picked up on evac. But I wanted to see if I could trust Holden… and if you would try to bullshit me. You do grasp why the existence of these… fake copies stuck in some pre-iron tech levels are a disgraceful threat and my concern, yes? This woman, or whatever she calls herself, is dangerous. Holden brought recorded video of her and another like her fighting Ciana Vandefar in melee and they were beating her like she was a quadriplegic cripple. She only 'won' through this Singing business."
"Unless you forgot something, we don't have anyone who can do this singing, so a small army of these things of brass sneaking into my Systems Alliance is alarming. And I am absolutely sure there are even more infuriating things being hidden."
His voice softened. "I am not blaming either of you for this mess. But I either know I can depend on you and that I can make sure you follow my orders even if you disagree or you are… a liability in some regards if we aren't on the same page. This isn't, despite what Jonah thinks, about the damned artifacts. Helga and my cousin Richard may obsess over that, but frankly a vault full of things that kill people by driving them crazy or worse isn't my concern."
"Who controls the release and what interference is being wrought by this ARGENT thing is my concern. Paul seemingly could not grasp that and neither could the old Commander and Task Committee."
"I'm glad to hear that, milord." Which was technically true. Jaime just knew the Lord of House Manswell didn't mean it.
"Then I'll allow you to air your concerns and see if any are actually going to be a problem. And you can state what you need to get Omega Response transitioned to a new incarnation, and a new name. For the moment, though, what are your baseline requirements? Secure facility, a battalion strength armed force, dedicated transport options… what else?"
Maxwell pulled a digitized map of the Earth on filmiplast and laid it on the desk. "The Atlas Mountains, or perhaps part of the Andes, are cleared. Or the ruined wreckage of the lower Appalachans but very high rad levels there. Base would need to be completely subterranean."
"Lord Baron Ashland has already arranged for the construction of a new facility in the Atlas." Jaime explained. "We need to replace our losses. Particularly the battlesuit and DACT forces. All assigned to Hyperion Company died on Rho-19."
Maxwell grimaced. "Including Paul and his suit, correct?"
Jaime didn't have to feign the somberly nod. "Correct."
Maxwell took a padd from the folio and started tapping in notes. "Hmmm. How many Commissars?"
"At least ten, Your Grace." Sloane supplied. "Assistance from Lady Alina would be useful."
He glanced up. "You two are close, yes? Hmmm..."
A flicker of malevolence and a gentle smile. Most people wouldn't have seen the latter, but Jaime suspected Maxwell's guard had loosened a fraction – and even many in Omega didn't know the cyber-assassins, Jaime included, had been trained to recognize micro-expressions.
"Very well. We will provide new material for training. Their success will reflect on you… and the baroness."
He glanced at Jaime. "I got a very garbled explanation of the vault where you store all these at is somehow mobile, or the way there is, or something. Short and to the point, how secure is this thing and how much space is needed to move it?"
"That's news to me, Your Grace." Sloane interjected. "But much was kept concealed even from us."
"Sorry, Sloane. But as far as the leadership was concerned, you didn't have the full clearance." Jaime apologized. "As for your questions, milord, utterly secure, and none. The connecting 'tunnel' will be re-linked from the old location to the new one."
"Interesting." Max wryly smiled. "Perhaps I should just have you installed in some corner of the Iron House here."
He tapped something else into the padd. "I'm assuming you'll need techs, and that sort of thing, even though I'm told your group does not really research much unless it is totally 100% harmless and static."
Jaime smiled politely. "Yes. Although in light of the Reapers, there are certain things I intend to have Dr. Nateesa research. He would appreciate more funding and support staff."
"Hmm. I'd like a precis of all such research, including field work. You can send it to Jonah." Maxwell tapped a few more things.
"As an aside… tell me. The previous Administrator seemed very stable. But it turns out he was lying about a great deal, and concealing more. Do you think this was done by him alone, or also previous admins, and was there any evidence of what his plans were? As he died suddenly and of violence, I suspect he didn't have time to clean up any notes or what not..."
"I found a bug-out bag in his office." Jaime informed him. "It looks like he was preparing to cut and run."
Maxwell visibly paused at that. "...Fascinating. I presume there was a woman in some photos, or ID? Martian lady in her late thirties?"
How much did he even know?
"Relenda Cross, yes. Six sets of IDs for the two of them."
The Prince smiled and tapped a haptic panel set into his chair. "Commandant Verity. There is a citizen in Howell City, on Mars. Relenda Cross. File, locate, detain and execute on grand treason. She was implicated in connection with a verified secured asset that was planning defection with critical information."
An icy voice responded. "At once, Your Grace. Standard interrogation or field expedient?"
"Field execution will suffice, Commandant. Thank you." He clicked off, and made a motion of dusting his hands off. There was something vile and mocking in that smile for a long moment, and Jaime sensed he took a great deal of satisfaction in this act. Sloane glanced away, but Jaime could tell she was tense.
"I appreciate the candor, General." He tapped a few more things, then tapped the padd itself against his desk. An omni-printer set into the desk with several heavy security bolts shuddered to life.
The printer shuddered again, and Maxwell sighed, moving his lift chair to behind the desk and pressed his thumb down on some kind of security system. The thing ejected a sheaf of hard, red tinted card-stock with small kanji printed on it and a still wet blot of wax, which Max stamped his signet ring into.
"For now, the damage taken to the Spear of Longinus and the Repensum make both unavailable for use. Repair time on the Repensum is six months, and the Titan Yards are still trying to figure out what in the Gottverdammte höllen the Spear is even made of, so… it will be a while."
The Spear would repair itself, Jaime knew, and wouldn't that be a surprise to the Alliance engineers?
"I am issuing orders field commandeering the Gambier Bay, a Guard of Iron light cruiser, for your use in the interim. The ship's crew are conditioned Penals from the Navy and the officers are all Black Rendition and Guard of Iron, so once you get the ship you'll need to staff and crew it from your own people you pick up. On the other hand, the loan is permanent, or at least, until I rescind it, so you have mobility under your own control, which was a sore point for previous leaders."
"Thank you, Your Grace." Jaime graciously responded.
"The note authorizes a replenishment pull and recruit from BuPers for a reinforced regiment, although you're only going to be battalion strength. Be selective, send back anyone you aren't sure of. For the moment, we're funding this out of the same pot we're using for Holden, and I am killing the line item budget item for the Department. Senator Adkins has been disturbingly good at picking apart such things and I can't deal with that jackass now."
"Other than that – I'm cutting some assets to help your engineers and scientists, although again – Holden will need some of the same assets. His job is different from yours in some ways. Like HERMES it will be a tripwire for situations and anomalous items not picked up by your magic crystal."
"Good, I can work with that." Holden seemed to have more sense than all of HERMES put together, so Jaime figured this time the tripped wire would actually respond, even if it was Maxwell's new counterpart to end-round Omega Response and the Department.
"Holden is a glory-hound lunatic who thinks 'tactical' is a melee headlong charge, his overseeing noble Fordant is a vapid socialite, and his wife is some clan commando trash or something, but the man has two points that make him recommended: he does not fail missions, ever, and he is extremely difficult to kill. He is reasonably loyal and has enough family and loved ones that if he becomes an issue he can be controlled."
The eyes narrowed, the ancient features twisting in subtle amusement. "A useful component of anyone I tend to utilize directly. A man who has nothing to lose has no reason not to throw it all away, after all."
Helga was right, Maxwell wasn't even trying. His gaze traced over the form of Sloane before he examined the Red Note in his hand with a critical eye. "We used to have a scribe from Osaka do all these by hand. That woman was an artist. Bah, omniprinters." He hands it to you. "For the moment, your goals are difficult, but simple."
"First, identify what the actual fuck the Admin was doing. Second, execute any leaks and figures that don't fit. Third, classify and typify all objects in your collection – Jonah can review that. Fourth, identify an officer corps of two unit MCPOs and four first lieutenants and an XO for each of your function groups."
"After that we'll review what direction to take this new iteration. I am going to allow you time to sort through this mess, but I want this connection to alternative Earths or whatever it is under the direct control of our military forces, and that includes the Guard of Iron as a security backstop. That isn't negotiable. What you do with the talking fruit or swords that turn people to fire or whatever the hell else you have locked up I could care less about unless it is useful against these Reapers."
"Our counterparts won't like it, but they'll live with it. Your other point leads to one concern though." Jaime cautioned.
This was going to be extra tricky. Retaining the apparent willingness to take the injunction on conciliation to heart, while still addressing the concerns flying overhead. "Yes, generally what you say there is good – but as I understood you felt the Ythrongi would be useful against the Reapers."
Maxwell interlaced his fingers. "I'm going off the information presented to us by the previous Admin. I admit I am now unsure if that information was actually valid."
"He indicated this Singing ability could possibly be weaponized if we could capture one and use several devices in your vaults to alter its thinking. I have no way of verifying that is correct or even feasible." The older man sourly added, "It appears Ciana had the same idea, if her unhinged rant she sent to the Celestials was any indication."
Jaime opened his mouth, and then shut it hard before he made the mistake of yelling at Prince Maxwell. Ciana being completely deluded by Kidun was one thing, but Adrien had delved completely into defying his basic duty. "No. Just no."
"I'm listening, General."
"We don't have the time for me to go into all the ways that claim's wrong." Jaime shook his head.
Max frowned. "No one has yet explained exactly what Ciana was attempting to do, Jaime."
A first name basis now. Would miracles never cease?
Jaime sucked in a breath. "She made a pitch to us before the final fight. She knew about the Reapers. She knew about DELTA, knew it was playing her. Knew about DELTA's species, the ones that fought and imprisoned the Ythrongi."
Maxwell kept quiet, but leaned back into his lift chair with a frown.
"The so-called Ascended are still around apparently." Jaime went on. "What Loki told me about them confirms Ciana was right to be afraid of them. As far as she was concerned, it wouldn't matter whether the Reapers or the Ascended would win the fight, we lose. Her exact words were: 'Your choices are we side with the Ythrongi and humanity ends but our personalities remain and we live on, and the rest of the fucking galaxies are not farmed like crops. Or we don't, and there is literally nothing else out there than can stop the Reapers or the Ascended.'"
Maxwell nodded to himself. "So, not exactly stupid, but clearly crazy and cowardly. And the danger of these Ythrongi things? What does it mean by 'humanity ends'?"
Jaime grimly smiled. "She was approaching complete... what our scientists translated as 'Attunement'. When that happened, all of humanity would be converted into Ythrongi thralls. In theory, our minds would remain, at least, she promised she could guarantee that if we cooperated with her."
The Silver Prince was silent for almost twenty seconds, before he erupted into harsh German in a tone deeper and harder than they had heard before. "Blinde feige ausländerschlampe! Why not fellate them as well? And people ask why I despise godless trash born on colonial worlds with no tie to Mother Earth."
He muttered again, heedless of his observers. "Ein haufen dreckiger hundevergewaltiger, ich sollte der dummen tante des mädchens in den kopf schießen, weil sie diese unerträgliche schande verursacht hat!"
Jaime noted with some interest that during the rant, his legs moved.
Maxwell sharply exhaled as his chair beeped, and spent several seconds visibly calming himself. A moment later he speared Jaime with his gaze.
"I want you to follow up on this. Investigate who started this… this… disgrace and have them flung into an active volcano. If you trace this back to Synthia, or that clown of a Fleet Master who thinks he can outsmart me, or God help us all cretins like Jack Harper or Ryan Vaught – I want them localized, found, killed and atomized!"
His gaze sharpened, then moved on to Sloane. "Your intransigence in our initial meeting makes much more sense in light of this."
"...Your Grace, I was under the belief that Jack Harper and the assassin were dead." Sloane frowned deeply.
Maxwell snorted. "Sadly, no. No Kage's fucking betrayal soured them both and this is the fallout, I had to put Synthia in command of the R&D since… my initial pick was unavailable."
He shook his head. "No matter. You may not like or agree with me but we are both firmly convinced that dalliance with godless perverted things from the dark hell of space in return for survival as some alien fucktoy is never acceptable, correct?"
Jaime smirked. "You have to ask, milord?"
Max's lift chair chimed, the voice of one of the nurses coming out. "Your Grace, your blood pressure is 195 over 144, and your vitals are in high yellow. Do you need assistance?"
"No, thank you, Rosa." He exhaled and nodded grimly. "Then you have your tasking. For the moment, as long as you can see if you have any useful tools against the Reapers and can contain this mess with these… Foundations or whatever, and get me a working anomalous recovery group, I don't care what you get up to."
Maxwell glanced pointedly at Sloane, then muttered, "At least you have better taste than Holden."
In a louder tone: "Baroness Alina will be routed to your location in a week. We have just over a month until this agent from the CC is due to visit. I expect no issues and as long as there are none and you deliver me the spine and skull of whatever fool set this mess into motion... then we have no reason to disagree."
His smile was cold. "If we do..." He tilts his head. "Keep in mind that personnel who have no use and are... difficult are the first ones to encounter... difficulties. Conversely, those who are agreeable and – when we disagree, can take the time out of their precious day to clearly explain why – will encounter only good luck."
The smile widened. "I trust that, even with a lack of political training, my meaning is clear, General Herrero?"
"Threats are unnecessary, Your Grace." Sloane responded.
"My dear, that wasn't a threat. Threats are made by the powerless to attempt to equalize power. You were summoned here today to see if you could be worked with. I believe you can, and that our disagreement was mostly due to a lack of information on my part. If Jaime here can provide me with a clear report on exactly what the fuck DELTA, ARGENT, and all the other elements in play are, we will have no troubles."
The Silver Prince leaned forward. "But if I wanted you dead, Amelia, you'd both already be so.'
"Crystal clear." Jaime said more coolly now.
Maxwell leans back. "For the moment, I am satisfied. Your Red Note should remove any obstructive persons in your path, and if not, then you may refer them to me directly. Jonah's orders in terms of direct commands stand – I will comm him shortly and relay our conversation, and you can confirm such and obtain his agreement forthwith upon your return. The trains have stopped and there is a Class III armada storm coming in, so you will stay the night."
"...And General? My great-granddaughter is getting restive and provoking. Given you don't have a dedicated political officer and the need for the clearance on this project is very high, Emilia will be sent your way in a week or so, to provide support."
"I see." Helga's warning about Ashland being sidelined had been spot on.
"I find it curious that she was unable to pick up on some things, but she is still learning. Perhaps you can educate her further." Maxwell mused. "A liaison to the Department once Jonah is occupied with other events will be useful."
The old man's lift chair moved away, back behind his desk, and his smile was pleasant now. "The Game, young ones, is more important than the cause, or outcome. That may seem insane to you, but it is deliberate, because it prevents a single mad lunatic from amassing enough power to end the world – or sell us out to alien tarts, or monsters from beyond. You have your orders and your mission, and a host of questions to answer. Given our last communication, and the revelation of Ciana's absolute hellish betrayal, consider your situation secure as long as you remember why it is so."
And that right there was why true cooperation with Maxwell Manswell in the long term wasn't possible. Jaime could read it, unfeigned and utterly unhidden for once beyond question. This man, who ruled humanity, really believed it in spite of all the evidence. And regardless, that belief was antithetical to the ethos of Omega Response, of the Department of Abnormalities, Jaime himself.
The vast doors behind the duo opened, and the nurses entered at a fast walk, followed by…
It must have been a man once, Jaime thought, but now almost entirely replaced now by cybernetics, bionetic muscle, and grafted kinetic shielding generators. The person towered well over seven feet tall, the graying scalplock of hair atop his otherwise metallic skull nearly brushing the high doorframe. His voice is modulated and electronic. "The tower is secure, Your Grace. Security cordons have been set."
Maxwell smiled. "Thank you, Carl. My guests are fatigued from a long trip and hours of conversation. Please convey them to the Südturm and have the transport coordinator prepare a shuttle for the morning. Security level blue only."
The giant cybernetic thing nodded, its oddly small head turning with audible clicks as it regarded them. "Follow me, General Herrero, Commissar-Colonel Sloane." It led Jaime and Sloane out, the knights nearby not following but instead guarding the door, which was already shutting behind them.
The giant figure touched a control on its omni-tool. "Two to South, blue level security. Have the lift ready." It turned to face them. "The South Tower is for visiting dignitaries and guests. The servants will provide a meal and any entertainment needs. The Prince has declared you as non-threats so you have the complete run of the tower facilities, spa, theater, the rest. Do not cause any problems or there will be... trouble."
"I never thought I'd see someone bigger than Jotunn." Sloane whispered.
X-BoH-X
Emilia walked into the office of the Silver Prince, a spring in her step, as he sat at his desk. "Sooooo?"
He speared her with a look. "Cut out the stupid ditz act, be serious."
She rolled her eyes. "Grandeeee..." She giggled and flopped down into the chair. "You love me too much to have me killed."
"Keep pushing and find out. Cut your cocaine, or reassign you to some base in the Poland Swamps with no men under 60." He muttered.
"Monster!" She laughed again. "So, President Zombie looked pissed. Anything to handle?"
Max rolled his eyes. "No, the fool is too brain-rotted to see the floor collapsing beneath his feet. The election will be a farce. Richard could promise the masses free cotton candy and he'd win." He fixed her with a look. "You said the general and the Commissar weren't an item. Helga says they are, and the video shows them holding hands. Your gut feeling?"
She nibbled absently on her fingernail. "I dunno. She is definitely not a fucking Executor, no one puts an ass like that in stupid frumpy Executor pants. But she looked… tired. Scared."
Emilia shrugged. "They seemed clueless, Grandee. Thought you were going to have them wiped. She had a cortex bomb, could have had a 'malfunction.'"
He shook his head. "Either he really is fucking her, in which case that's a good handle on both...or they're slick enough to trick me, Helga, and you at different times in different ways. If he's that good a player, then he probably has a dead man's switch with God only knows what's in place already."
She gave him a frown. "He looks like he hasn't gotten laid since I was in kindergarten and she's got two sticks up her ass." Her expression turned impish. "...Maybe they are and are ashamed? I mean, the Hand isn't supposed to be doing the whole love and kill thing, right?
He stared at her aghast. "How many secure databases have you broken into, girl?"
She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Just saying I'm better at it than Auntie Helga. Speaking of which, she had them sealed up with her for a looong time. You sure she didn't turn them or some shit?"
Max snorted. "Helga is too busy putting daggers into Kevin, Liam and Aloxius and sleeping with Richard to do anything like that, and she has nothing to gain. The Herreros are an anomaly, and Sloane saw something we need to find out about but can't just crack her head open."
He smiled. "Either way, they are now... compliant. If they are clueless, then once they are of no use then we can dispose of them."
She smiled. A cruel, mocking match for her ancestor. "And if they are playing the Game?"
His own smile matched her. "Then we can have that fool and Holden eliminate each other, solving several problems with one nice move." He glanced at his desk. "Enough. Go out and try not to OD on cocaine, be back in three days, you're headed to where Herrero is setting up his new unit. Keep them nervous, let them 'convince you' and be friendly and... and..." He made a motion, and she giggled.
"Be a ray of sunshine, got it." She slipped around the desk to kiss his cheek. "Love you, Grandee. I'll be back in a day or two. Gonna see if I can't get Minsta's daughter expelled."
"Brat," he growled, watching her leave before shaking his head.
