Dawn of Titans

by F13D

There is nothing fair, just, or honorable about war. There is only winning and losing, the living and the dead. Humanity has learned this truth and has ascended to the stars. What effect will this have on the rest of the galaxy, one that has experienced millennia of peace? Will it be able to maintain the peace or will it be ushered into a new age of war? Let the end begin. A/U

18. Chapter 18 - Aftermath

1–10–2157 0434 hours (Alliance standard calendar)

SSV Tesla

Super Carrier

Command Deck

Admiral Michal Spencer stood like a man made of iron on the Tesla's bridge. The position allowed him a perfect view of Shanxi, sitting perfectly along its axis while his ship hovered near the destroyed defense satellites. Hundreds of shuttles and auxiliary ships descended towards the planet, carrying an abundance of resources like ants returning home. Some, decorated with the Red Cross symbol demonstrating their fealty, were descending from hospital ships, transporting medical supplies to treat the wounded.

Surrounding the brilliant sphere, the darkness of space was filled with the unmistakable sparks of welding and repairs surrounding many battle-worn and beaten vessels. Yet more sparks spread even further from the planet like miniature stars, revealing where a secondary comm. buoy system was in the process of being constructed.

But such activity paled in comparison to the new fleet standing motionless across the system. Initially these new ships had been believed to be enemy reinforcements, but the Alliance had quickly learned that these beings too opposed the batarians. The question was, of course, what happens next?

The admiral looked through a different window into the vastness of space, wondering how events from the past few weeks had cultivated in this scenario.

His mind was consumed by the thoughts of the battle for Shanxi and its outcomes. The countless losses it had taken to recapture it and how many more would be needed to secure humanity's future? Being an admiral, he was well aware sacrifices were a fact of war, that some died so that others could live in peace. The best course of action right now was to heavily reinforce his fleet with anything available. Earth was a priority of course, but out here, so far away …

Perhaps the greatest tragedy was the morbid graveyard that left the horrific impression that nobody had truly won, for all sides had lost something. Among the preserved corpses of once mighty ships lay the dead, those fortunate enough to be preserved while others continued to roam freely among the debris. Countless lives, hundreds of ships, and an entire planet had been destroyed by war. The death count was in the millions, civilian and soldier alike. No funeral, no memorial was large enough – could be large enough - to honor the fallen. The heroic defenders not only faced death innumerable times, but embraced it in the hopes that their sacrifice would buy enough time for help to arrive… a hope that had finally achieved fruition two weeks later.

Now once again for possibly the third time in a month, humanity bore witness to yet another alien race arriving at its doorsteps. Strangely enough, for Spencer at least, it seemed humanity was becoming increasingly accustomed to greeting aliens at Shanxi.

Still, he eyed the alien fleet suspiciously, noting their predatory appearance. Both his and the new fleet had suffered losses whilst combating the batarians, but fortunately the Alliance had lost only 40 ships. The aliens had lost over twice as many, with a significant portion being heavily damaged. Yet despite maintaining the numerical advantage, Spencer was no idiot. These new arrivals were clearly far better trained and equipped than the batarians, based on recorded combat footage; redundant information after witnessing the battle with his own eyes. The fact that the new fleet had a hundred less ships than the batarians, yet were able to avoid being annihilated merely cemented that belief.

In his head, Spencer ran through all possible scenarios. If the worst came to pass he was prepared to extract possible VIPs from Shanxi and have the Fifth Fleet engage. With a combined effort, it was entirely possible that the Alliance could effectively secure the system. Further reinforcements were already in the middle stages of being prepared and all Spencer had to do was have Arcturus authorize their deployment. His ship's AI had already delivered a detailed report on the situation, which meant a worst-case scenario left him needing to only concern himself with bogging the enemy down. But part of him knew that such actions would lead to an even larger intersystem war, one that would make WWII look like a sideshow by comparison. If the odds ensured no chance of survival, then Spencer was fully prepared to die fighting to the bitter end. He just hoped that those odds wouldn't become reality.

"Sir, unknown's capital ship is advancing!" Yeol exclaimed.

"Mikhailovich, I want a full check on all weapon systems; rearm and fresh crews as necessary. Dewa, divert auxiliary power to the shields." The ship's captain ordered, before giving Spencer a questioning look.

Spencer nodded approvingly. "Relay the same orders to the fleet and have them pick out targets, but make it clear no one fires until I give the order." The bridge became a swarm of activity as the colossal ship underwent preparations.

"In bound ship tracked: dreadnought class," Yeol reported, confirming his worst fears.

Spencer felt the pit of his stomach grow deeper the closer the enemy's capital ship got. He was reluctant to fire upon the vessel, since it was the only one to have moved. The rest of its alien kindred remained far back, stationed near the Relay.

'What is that commander doing? No sane naval commander would risk a fleet's capital ship.' Spencer became highly disturbed at what he considered to be insane, the alien commander putting his ship in jeopardy.

The tactical performance demonstrated by the alien commander indicated he was anything but crazy. Still, Spencer hoped there was more to the situation than what it appeared to be. Despite being heavily damaged, the alien's dreadnought was capable of unleashing magnitudes of firepower. The fact that said dreadnought was the only one Spencer had ever seen sporting secondary cannon made him even more uneasy.

Initially, he believed it could have been the alien's version of a battleship, but quickly dismissed it when his ship ran its first scans. The thrusters were far too large, armor not thick enough, and the range too great for it to be such a thing.

"Weapons ready, sir!" Mikhailovich reported. The admiral nodded, looking to his left and right, finding the legion of ships under his command also preparing their weaponry.

The admiral held up an open palm, reminding everyone to hold fire. "Stratus, is our ship's software algorithms compatible with the aliens?"

"Yes admiral. Based on the scans, this species utilizes Prothean communication systems as a base firmware, or a more primitive version like the raloi or batarians. While not advance as ours, they should not have any trouble detecting any hails."

"Excellent. Prepare to send a message." Spencer was not a man of elegant words, but he knew the best way to get his point across.

"Comm. system ready admiral."

Clearing his throat, Spencer recited the more formal version of telling someone to leave; the version he felt like giving would possibly incite another war. "This is Admiral Spencer of the Systems Alliance. You are entering sovereign space under military jurisdiction. Identify yourself or you will be treated as hostile invaders." Spencer knew of course the last part was a major bluff, but there was no way in hell would he appear weak in the face of another possible invasion.

Seconds ticked by, the crews filling the section visibly cringing by each passing moment. The dreadnought continued advancing with no sign of slowing down. Everyone mentally kept track of the closing distance, almost nearing weapons range for any mid-weight ship.

'May god help us all,' Spencer thought, preparing to give his gravest order yet.. If the ship failed to stop, he would have no choice but to do his duty to uphold humanity's security. He looked forward, staring at the eyes of the giants. "All ships, prepare to fire on my mark."

The atmosphere in the bridge became increasingly tense. Everyone held their breath, hoping that the worst wouldn't come to pass.

The allied fleet had a total of a hundred twenty five combat capable ships, weapons aimed straight at the enemy and prepared to fire. Spencer tuned out all voices and shouts of command, and for a few more seconds contemplated on his whole life, whether it had been worthwhile at the end. He decided to enjoy the possible last few seconds of silence he would have before committing to another battle, one that would surely be his last.

It had been a good life; very little to regret. In the end, what more could a man ask? Well, other than a different ending … but no one chose when they met their Maker. Best to ensure as many of his foes met theirs. He opened his previously wielded shut jaw, intending for commands to follow, but at the last possible second, Dewa shouted at the top of his lungs.

"SIR! The aliens are transmitting a message on all frequencies! I think they're trying to communicate with us!"

The admiral released a huge – but silent – sigh of relief. He remained outwardly composed, ensuring his stance failed to give the slightest indication of anxiety. To the crew, it seemed he took the news in an utter calm. He gave the crewman a beatific smile, "How so?"

"By using the same signals as the batarians, sir." It was ironic, but Dewa may not have realized he had just reduced stress levels by an exponential level … with a mere sentence.

"Patch it through and clean up the transmission as best you can. Stratus, you know the usual, scan for viruses or hacking attempts." Spencer ordered.

"Affirmative, admiral." The AI was indeed an amazing tool when utilizing communications. While not fool-proof it offered an increased layer of protection for any of the ship's systems.

The machine went to work, reducing its performance in other areas, such was the priority. After the AI had given the all clear, the communication specialists all went to work, attempting to decipher the message. As minutes slowly passed, Stratus soon joined them once again, agitated at their pace.

While the laborious work was going on, the admiral noticed the alien dreadnought had stopped; spurring him to briefly wonder if it might be some final act of humiliation on the alien's part. His cynical side assumed the aliens were going to proclaim themselves victors of the battle and attack, or perhaps ask him to surrender for violating some intergalactic law. Anything could be a potentially illegal move really, ranging from using illegal weaponry to wearing the color red on a Thursday; they were aliens after all.

"Admiral, there is a secondary transmission." Stratus's cool voice spoke up.

"Yes?"

"It appears to be a simple binary sequence, similar to early coding behaviors. Both appear to be carrying similar messages."

Spencer lifted an eyebrow, surprising news, yet not as alien as expected. "Is there a difference between the two versions?"

The hologram gave a digital equivalent of a shrug. "The binary version can be considered akin to a primitive parlance. It is somewhat insulting, actually."

"Let's go with the other version then," Spencer growled. "No need to burn bridges until after we used them."

"Transmitting now."

The message spooled onto his screen as he watched, showing a simple video. Spencer received his first glimpse of the new aliens.

The broadcast began by showing an alien with a semi-oval shaped head with three small crests protruding from the back of the skull. The mandibles at the side of the face were clearly visible and its skin appeared chitinous. Unlike the batarians, who held an aura of arrogance, this one stood strong, determination it its eyes without any apparent bloodlust. Overall, they resembled humanoid birds or sharp-eyed hawks with incredibly thick armor. Clearly avian, with a height similar to humans.

"Greeting, aliens. I am Admiral Adras Servius of the Turian Hierarchy and I come under the flag of peace." The alien had a calm delivery, a modest trait, if not completely expected given their numerical disparity.

Spencer easily recognized the alien as a turian thanks to the codex Dain had retrieved from the batarians. He gained a new thankfulness for the peaceful nature of their meeting thus far, but was still skeptical of the turian's intentions. No one brings a fully-armed combat ready fleet for simple diplomatic proceedings. Aliens, however, were titled so for a reason; their thought processes were literally inhuman. That in mind, he dismissed any preemptive conclusions until after the video ended.

"While you may not understand me, I wish for nothing but cooperation and peaceful co-existence with your kind. We have detected an energy build up in your ships and while I admire your courage, I must warn you we will not hesitate to defend ourselves. While I cannot condemn you for being cautious – Spirits knows what those batarians have done to your kind – I must still ask for you to lay down your arms. We are not your enemies!"

Spencer could hardly believe what he had just heard. His entire fleet had been prepared for combat the moment the turian ship had entered weapons range, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The last thing he'd expected was for the aliens to want to peace, openly requesting it no less. He didn't know if the turians were fully trustworthy, but at the same time what choice was there? The aliens certainly had enough ships to wage another immense naval battle. At worst they might be able to steamroll through Shanxi and a few other lightly defended colonies before being stopped.

He leaned back, thinking. Considering they haven't fired on his fleet, a small part of Spencer was inclined to believe them. So far he accepted what the turian was saying, but remained skeptical.

"Stratus, order all ships of cruiser size and below to shut down weapons, but to keep their barriers at full power," Spencer ordered.

"Affirmative, admiral."

Most of the ships within the fleet slowly powered down their weapons, diverting the now superfluous flow of power to shields. It took a few minutes for the Tesla's sensors to detect the reduction in energy, apparently the same for the turians. Within seconds, Spencer received another transmission from them.

"Well, I must say I am impressed. I do not know how you are able to understand me, though I imagine the batarians may have had something to do with that."

Spencer folded his arms, keeping his face impassive for the crew. 'You have no idea.'

The turian continued. "I am thankful we have avoided more bloodshed, regardless. While these are not the ideal of circumstances, on behalf of the Hierarchy and the Council, I welcome you to the galactic stage. Normally the asari would be in charge of the welcoming ceremony, but I think we can all agree the situation we find ourselves in is anything, but normal." The fashion in which the turian spoke was as graceful as it was assertive; almost as if he were trained in public speaking as well as military tactics. The mention of another race did not fail to catch Spencer's attention either, but all he could do was wait and listen until Servius finished.

"If you are willing to conduct negotiations, my ship is opened to whoever is in charge of the fleet before me. A security team for your diplomats or commanders is acceptable as an added measure of safety. As you come to a conclusion I will begin my report to the Council. I am certain they will be eager for your arrival at the Citadel – our center of government – and to greet you in person."

The moment the transmission ended, Spencer's mind once again raced over all possible scenarios. It was a unique trait of his to ponder all possibilities before committing to one, such was the responsibilities of any leader.

'I could refuse them, despite the potential for their being powerful allies – that is if they aren't waiting for the right moment to strike. Then again, after seeing and hearing everything in the past few hours, I am inclined to believe them anyways.'

"Admiral Servius, this is Fleet Admiral Michael Spencer of the Systems Alliance speaking. It is a relief to hear your goals of peace aligns with ours. If your words are true, then I shall depart for your dreadnought via shuttle." He paused, giving the camera his best forbidding look; although for all he knew it was a marriage proposal in some alien tradition. "Be aware: if this is a ruse, my fleet will not hesitate to fire upon you."

Spencer gave the ship's AI a nod, prompting it to deliver the message. Once done, he turned his attention to the rest of the crew. "Dewa, send word to Admiral Dresher to prepare her battleship and a destroyer squadron in case this is a trap. I want the Tesla and the McKinley to be covered at all times."

"Understood, admiral. Do you want the fleet to hold position?"

"Absolutely. Stratus, prep a Kodiak for departure and have an escort meet me at the hangar, preferably N7s."

"I've already made the necessary arrangements admiral. An ICT team is already en route to the hangar bays, none below N5 rank."

Spencer gave an approving nod. He turned to address the First Officer, but pitched his voice to carry over the rest of the crew present. "I do not know what the results of this encounter may be, but I want all of you prepared for the worst. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir!" The man's attitude was one of trust, reinforced by the trusting eyes of the crew on deck. The news would spread throughout the ship via the fastest entity known to man: gossip. Perhaps they didn't know what was going on, but they obviously trusted him to make the right decision ... a responsibility that he prayed would never seem too light.

Soon, he could see the Alliance fleet beginning to reform, heavy vessels moving forward; more exposed in that way, but better positioned to cover the Fifth Fleet's dreadnought and carriers. The lighter ships followed in synchronized harmony, shuffling aside to make room for the massive guns. The overall effect was similar to that of an insect swarm, protecting its home ... but over the course of cubic kilometers.

Spencer waited, timing their advance across the stars, and then signaled the halt. In order to facilitate the ostensibly peaceful intents of the turians, the warships need to be out of range … but for the sake of safety; it was prudent to ensure it would not take much effort to clear a path should relations turn sour. The Tesla's titanic bulk loomed behind the collective cover of Dresher's battleship and four destroyers, each vessel packing two Mass Accelerators. It felt a bit dirty, deliberately placing them in harm's way, but the Tesla had to be protected, at any cost.

Spencer leaned on the support rail, taking a moment to ponder the significance. Internally, he grimaced. Speeches really weren't his thing, but the effort had to be made. Straightening, he tugged on his cuffs, pulling the lines straight across his shoulders. "Stratus, give me a fleet-wide channel. I want to speak to the fleet."

"Done, admiral," the machine responded. A red light blinked at him from the comm panel.

"Soldiers of the Alliance," Spencer looked directly at where the tiny recessed camera was hidden, "We have done great work today; we have freed Shanxi from alien oppression and driven the barbarians back. I look to all of you as equals, as champions of humanity willing to give their lives for the greater good. That is why," he swallowed, "That is why my last directive to you will not be easy, but nonetheless necessary. In a few minutes, we will be meeting with the apparent leaders of this new fleet. I pray they will be allies, not enemies. But I would be a terrible leader if I did not plan for the future. In the event that this is all a hoax, I hereby order the Tesla to immediately depart to a safe distance, without waiting for our return. Whatever nuclear weapons our escorts have remaining, they are hereby ordered to fire upon the turians as soon as their hostile intent is known."

Silence spread on the ship, as he bowed his head. "If all goes well, we will have friends. If not, I know I can count on you; all of you. Do the right thing. Protect our people. Admiral Spencer, signing off."

He paused, taking in the bridge. Everyone stared at him silently, fire in their eyes. As a good crew should, he knew they understood what he was leaving unsaid; they understood the risk he was taking on their own behalf. The pressure he was placing on the Fifth fleet was immense, but so too was the importance of this meeting. In later years there would be many debates over the beginning of his legend; but those serving under him would never argue. Sending himself into danger, to preserve the rest, was the hallmark of leadership in their eyes.

It took time for Spencer to reach the super carrier's hangar bays. The Telsa was so large that multiple internal trams were needed for rapid transit, passing horizontally through numerous halls, walkways, and even vertically through floors to reach the appropriate chamber. He used it well, however, donning the somewhat bulky vacuum-proof body armor typically used by hangar maintenance before the final stop.

The suit carried minimal enhancement technology, but even within the vast hangars, Spencer's keen eyes were able to spot a blue painted Kodiak with a squad of elite soldiers nearby. Likewise they were able to spot him as well and both groups headed for one another until the distance between was close enough for the lead N7 marine to give a salute.

"Admiral, Staff Sergeant Melisa Tanaka. My squad and I are one of the two teams that will be escorting you aboard the turian dreadnought."

'Short and to the point. Blunt, but pragmatic,' Spencer thought. The woman appeared to be a mixed of Japanese and Hispanic heritage. She seemed to command her squad with immense confidence, an excellent trait in a leader.

"Very well, sergeant. I want you and your squad to capture everything that you see or hear. Everything from internal structures, to weaponry and armor design; anything that would give us insight into their combat capabilities. Any information we can get will be worth ten times its weight in gold … metaphorically speaking." He glanced upwards at the sensors placed for the AI. "Transmit it if you think the conference is going FUBAR. The Defense Committee will need to see it, whatever happens to us."

"Of course admiral. Perfectly understandable. My team and I will keep an eye out for anything that can be of use." Tanaka replied.

"Let's go, then." The Alliance entourage, following the admiral, stepped inside the Kodiak and prepared for departure. After all pre-flight procedures were taken care of; the Tesla's hangar doors began to open, slowly exposing the ship to the vacuums of space. The hanger workers stood at attention, magnetic clamps in their sealed uniforms holding them to the floor, despite the rushing wind. Soon the Kodiak flew out of the hangar and into space, slowly approaching the dreadnought hundreds of kilometers away.

---

HWS Peace Keeper

Dreadnought

Command Deck

"Admiral, we're being hailed; it's a video and audio message." Victus reported.

"Bring it on screen."

A moment later, an image appeared on the ship's main vid-screen, it depicted some sort of asari-like creature with pale skin and fur around his face and body. If it wasn't for the masculine appearance or lack of tentacles, the alien could very well have passed off as an asari.

"Admiral Servius, this is Fleet Admiral Michael Spencer of the Systems Alliance speaking," The alien said in a strange, slightly threatening, but also calm language. "I am glad your goals of peace align with ours. If your words are true, then I shall depart for your dreadnought via shuttle. Be aware: if this is a ruse, my fleet will not hesitate to fire upon you." The transmission ended quickly as it began, concise and direct.

The bridge became silent, not out of shock, but out of thought. Servius could see the curiosity on his officer's faces. How were these beings able to create a translation with just a single message? On his own part, he could come up with multiple theories, ranging from improved VIs to the aliens stealing knowledge of the turian language from the batarians, but in all honesty, none could be validated.

He shook his head, sighing. His patience was rewarded with another message soon after, giving a brief account on the alien's history, biology, and government.

Servius was able to learn of their name: human, apparently a title derived from a dead language known as Latin.

Unlike the asari – but like turians and practically every other species in the galaxy – they were dual-gendered. Their home-world greatly interested him, since it was stated as being 75% covered in water. Naturally, the admiral had no intention of ever visiting their planet; few turians could actually swim. Still, it was a fascinating development. Only the asari and salarians had arisen from a water-filled planet – the hanar didn't count – and they claimed such beginning circumstances created a perfect environment for a race to emerge with expansive knowledge in naval warfare.

He leaned back, looking away from the data file for a moment. If properly utilized, the two-dimensional strategies the humans learned from their home-world could easily be applied to the three dimension of space. Servius believed this to be the reason why they possessed such a large vessel that was as long as the Destiny Ascension was tall. While he would never admit it, deep down he was genuinely afraid the power such a vessel could produce. Mentally, he prayed to every single spirit that he knew of, hoping that the colossal vessel wasn't a dreadnought and that they didn't have an over-abundance.

If that was the case, he was very interested in learning this species' military capabilities, and more importantly, if they posed a serious threat to the Hierarchy. "Victus, prepare to send a response." Servius said, clearing his throat.

'Spirits, what giant have the batarians awakened?' Servius was a true turian as anyone could get, however even he wouldn't allow his race to die in the defense of batarians. Whatever omen they had cursed themselves with; they would just have to bear it.

"Communication systems ready, sir."

"Fleet Admiral Michael Spencer, I am glad to see your intentions are pure. I welcome you onto my ship and will send some of my men to guide you through it." Servius looked to Victus, and the message was sent.

"Have the fleet remain in position and send that message to all other admirals and captains, tell them we have a tentative First Contact scenario here and no one is to look threatening," the admiral ordered.

He finished the thought in his mind. 'At least not until we know of their military might.'

There was no actual way of knowing if these people were peaceful like the asari, or war-mongers like the krogan – records could be faked after all. If these humans were peaceful, they could very well have a small-standing army, but if they were war-like then they would need to be intimidated in order to induce docile behavior. Of course that strategy backfired on the krogan, instead making them overly excited. Servius merely hoped the human's message was indeed genuine; this encounter was beyond a lucky opportunity. Getting up, Servius motioned to his bodyguard squad of Blackwatch soldiers, and made his way to the war-room. Negotiations would be difficult as it was; best to start early.

---

HWS Peace Keeper

Dreadnought

Airlock

After the Kodiak shuttle had docked with the turian ship, Spencer and his escort waited patiently for a guide to greet them. After all, it would not be wise to just walk onto an alien ship without authorization, even if he'd been invited. Behind him, the marines passed the time with small talk about the alien ship or the condition Shanxi was in, and if the reinforcements already landing were needed in a combat role. One of the N5's had been slated for joining a squad under a lower-ranking officer, but the turian request had delayed his deployment substantially.

Minutes later, they fell silent as the airlock door opened to reveal a six foot tall turian in matte black armor, packing heavy gear. Spencer noticed the facial markings on the turian's face; were they for cosmetics value or did they indicate branch or rank? The codex entries were vague on many points.

To his approval, Spencer noted how the N7 group had immediately stopped what they were doing and became still. While they had their weapons holstered, they still had their shields to full power. He gave their leader an approving glance before turning his full attention to the alien.

The turian gave a bow, "Ambassadors, I am Major Corinthus. I will be escorting all of you to the meeting room. Please follow me."

Moving with a little hesitation at first, but gaining resolve, the group followed this 'Corinthus' into the airlock. Based on his observations, Spencer assumed the turian to be a male; unless their women possessed a deep voice and wide shoulders – entirely possible – at least the codex had been helpful in that regard.

After going through the airlock, they walked through a relatively short hall into what looked to be a small room with sliding doors. Unless the turians required a moment of meditation in small boxes, it had to be an elevator. Spencer felt pleased at his guess when after a few seconds of the turian pressing holographic buttons, the elevator moved downwards. After another waiting period which was not surprising given they were on a dreadnought, the doors opened to reveal a rather large hangar, only to be met with a terrific sight.

Hundreds of figures in thick blue armor stood in parade-ground formation, lethal looking objects strapped to their sides. If their stance was any indication it was that these men, and by extension their entire military arm, was discipline and well-trained. Spencer kept the impassive face he'd worked so hard to attain in place, inspecting the display analytically. A tiny vibration-alert from his omni-tool pressed his resolve to remain stoic; one of the N7 at his back had just switched to a high-definition recording mode.

Corinthus snarled a subvocal tone, sending shivers down Spencer's backbone. "Attention on deck!"

In unison, the turians saluted, standing even more alert if possible. Spencer felt surprised at the show of respect; if the Hierarchy was anything similar to the Alliance, this was indeed an honor, reserved for visiting dignitaries of significant standing. He had too many years of experience to show his surprise however, and maintained a passive face. One minor adjustment – a minor relaxing of his back and a slight upturn to one side of his mouth – changed his expression from an aloof position to satisfied approval, and continued following Corinthus.

Logically, Spencer knew the turians would be studying both himself and his retainers on as deep a level as possible. From their perspective, he and his people were an unknown threat, possibly capable of erupting in Dark Matter chaos … a possible state some of the more … esoteric intellectuals back on Arcturus had theorized fueled non-human biotics. Although the tension was thick, all of the aliens in the room had the decency to return to what they were doing as the group passed them.

At the halfway point through the room, he discovered a sudden realization: each soldier seemed to carry rectangular prism-pods. The way each turian carried the object made it obvious they contained weapons of various shapes and sizes. Several were reminiscent of the weapons used by the Batarians … which in turn suggested a central production facility used by more than one species.

Looking around the room he also saw vehicles, ranging from aerodynamic creations built for speed to bulky, massive constructs, clearly meant for heavy fighting. The abundant armor plating on the larger machines was both reassuring and intimidating; these soldiers obviously valued their soldiers' lives, but that suggested a highly trained military. The longer a soldier lived, the more valuable his expertise became after all.

The group continued to walk forward, making their way to yet another elevator, this one much darker in color. The interior made Spencer feel a bit uneasy; if not for the lights, he would have thought the floor to be the bottom of a very deep pit. The elevator started moving upwards, then sideways, and even diagonally as the strange construction carried them towards their next checkpoint.

Corinthus, apparently more confident in the confined chamber turned to Spencer. "Admiral, does your kind believe in any great deity or deities and a life beyond death?"

The question seemed rather odd for Spencer, inspired by an unknown thought process. Still he gave a response. "More or less. The majority of humanity believes in certain religions while others completely doubt the existence of a deity."

"Interesting. So your kind has never held a single universal belief?"

"No, never. Each person is free to practice their own beliefs so long as it doesn't conflict with the law. Although there have been times when certain religions have been changed in order to conform to secular laws, we have by and large been able to make it work."

"Still, I imagine this division must've been a great source of conflict for your kind."

"Unfortunately yes." Spencer fell silent. Almost every human regretted that portion of their history; all of the past conflicts waged on religious grounds, the loss of lives suffered simply because some people dared to have different beliefs – or a lack thereof.

"I see. Well I presume you would like to know more of the race that attacked you?" Corinthus asked.

The simple response and sudden change of topics caused Spencer to become suspicious but had the effect of bringing his focus to laser point intensity. Any free information on the batarians was not something he would pass up. "What do you know of them?"

"Regrettably more than I like." Corinthus grunted. It was evident he did not have a positive view on the race. "The batarians are one of many races that are part of the Citadel, a massive station left behind by the Protheans. Unfortunately, they have a horrific reputation for violating many of our laws, laws that my people fight and die to uphold. As I suspect you have become aware of, they are capable of horrific atrocities."

The turian drew a deep breath, shaking his head. His dark eyes came to rest on Spencer's own. "Rest assured, their actions here do not reflect those of the Citadel or the Council and we will do everything in our power to ensure justice is sought for the innocent lost."

Corinthus words seemed authentic and Spencer was greatly pleased to learn the turians shared a great dislike for the batarians. It hadn't escaped his notice how the major had mentioned many races being unified. While their numbers or military strength was still unknown, Spencer was relieved he hadn't started a war with these turians, especially considering that they were apparently a galactic policing agency.

Soon all talk had ended as the strange elevator came to a halt and the door opened to reveal another small hall with a door at its end. "We are here." Corinthus stated.

---

HWS Peace Keeper

Dreadnought

War Room

The chosen room to house the proceedings was quite large and perfectly circular. At the exact center was yet another circle, this one seeming to be encompassed by a holo-table that projected all ship positions. A shiver down Spencer's spine; it was an elegantly sophisticated maneuver – the turians could observe any hostile movements while at the same time granting him an honest look at their own deployments.

Looking at the display more closely, he could see that the holo-table, other than being round and placed in the center of the room, was not terribly different from the ones used by the Alliance. It had blue metallic railings, so that people could lean on it and examine what was being depicted in the center. The hologram itself was multi-colored, with a rather accurate representation of the local space cluster and the ships surrounding it. The sight wasn't a shining example of advanced technology, but the very detailed coloring was easy on the eyes.

The circular room held only nine turians, although the size clearly indicated it could hold many more. As Spencer entered, his peripheral noticed how the turian guards silently looked up at the humans, their black armor scheme nearly identical to those of the N7 marines. The similarities ended there, the oddly shaped helmets and other biological features, highlighting them as anything but human.

The combined group, including the turians, stayed in place rather obviously uncomfortable. Corinthus stepped in, facing Spencer. "Ambassador, this is Admiral Servius. For him to meet with you in person is a sign of upmost trust, to expose himself in such a delicate situation. Like all of us, he wants to resolve this situation a peaceful resolution for both of our races."

"Thank you, Corinthus, but I do not need any formal introduction." One of the turians in more brightly colored armor turned to the human entourage. Spencer watched his eyes, noting how they flitted between the human and turian guard's similar armor. "It's a pleasures to finally meet you in person Admiral Spencer and it does me great honor that you've accepted my invitation; please do not worry about my men. As long as you are on my ship, you will be treated with the upmost respect."

Spencer gave a short bow in return; "And my people will demonstrate the same courtesy. However, I cannot say with true honesty that I'll completely trust any of you yet, even if this works out to benefit the both of us."

Servius nodded slowly, almost sorrowfully. "I understand admiral. I would not be so foolish as to ask for the trust of a race that has suffered under the batarians. I have already informed the Hierarchy of the situation, and they will relay the message to the Citadel Council. After this fiasco it's most likely the batarian representatives will be asked to leave the Citadel."

Spencer allowed a tight smile to grow. Punishment of any type for the batarians was welcome news, but the conversation gave him the perfect opening. "You've mentioned this 'Council' before, what can you tell us about them?"

"The Council's representatives are housed on the Citadel; its members consist of three races, the asari, salarians, and my own." Servius gestured at the holographic projection causing it to change focus to a massive space station. "Each race is primarily dedicated to a specific task whether it be diplomacy, espionage, or enforcement of the Citadel laws." The view changed to images of strange life forms, flickering between the various forms as he spoke. "Then there are the associate races, those of a lower tier membership than the Three; the volus, hanar, elcor, and finally the … batarians.

Spencer heard one of the N7 at his back gasp at the number of races under the Citadel's banner. The feeling was understandable; he suddenly felt like a small fish surrounded by sharks. One other fact was in how Servius practically spat out the last word. Without asking the obvious question, the probable cause for such animosity would be the result of the turian race being in charge of enforcing the law, while the batarians routinely broke it. The sincerity in such words couldn't be faked, unless of course the turian admiral was an accomplished actor.

"Of course at one point, the quarians were also part of the Citadel, but that was over three hundred years ago before they got banished from the station." Servius shook his head, as if in disbelief.

"What did they do that warranted such measures?" Spencer asked. If possible, it would be good to know what infarctions lead to such a punishment.

Servius visibly tensed, the spiked mandibles clamping close to his face. Spencer could feel something was off, and immediately became wary of it. From the corner of his eye, he could see Tanaka taking a step forwards, presumably to press more on the matter; he sent her a glance that said 'drop it.'

Tanaka nodded once and retreated back into anonymity.

Servius appeared to finally locate his voice, "I am not the best authority to explain that period of our history. If you do not mind, we should focus on our current problem."

"Very well." Spencer responded coolly. He kept his body language neutral, but inflected the tone to a less patient timbre. Being passed off was not a good way to treat an ambassador – although allowances had to be made. At least the turian hadn't ignored the question outright.

"As it stands the situation is very delicate. The batarians have not only broken Council law and opened a dormant Mass Relay, but they have also waged war upon an undeclared race, as well as commenced orbital bombardment of a Garden class world," Servius said. "These charges are very grave and I have no doubt that the Council would offer to pay reparations and issue a public apology."

"I have no doubt that would sooth any contempt my race may have, but if I may ask you something admiral?"

Servius responded with a nod; a move apparently similar enough between the two races that required no interpretation.

"Why is opening a dormant Mass Relay such an offense?"

"Doing so was what unleashed the Rachni on the galaxy," Servius answered darkly. His mood shift caused some unease among the human entourage, but Spencer kept a stoic expression. It lasted for only a moment, before the turian admiral shook off the temperament. "But that is a different matter; you'll find more information on the codex we are preparing for you. Until you have it, I would assume you have many questions; feel free to ask whatever you may want or need to know.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Spencer gestured in a more relaxed fashion, subtly checking that the recording was still operating. "I'm very interested in knowing a few things before we can continue further discussion. How did you manage to track the batarians all the way here to our colony? I'd imagine if they were willing to break so many laws, then they'd be cautious enough to at least cover their trail."

"That would be thanks to the salarian's STG, their intelligence network is unrivaled in the galaxy." The turian admiral replied.

Spencer felt as if freezing glacier had dropped on his back. If this was true, then the AIs of this 'STG' must be truly spectacular. "Admiral, in this 'codex,' could you include a detailed history of the Council and the races therein?"

Servius gave an amused laugh. "I've only seen such curiosity among the salarians. Yes, I will tell my people to do so." He gave Spencer a long look. "In fact, perhaps it would be better if I were to give you more information now; that way you could make a better informed decision when we finish our talks."

What happened next was hours of explaining, giving a detailed version of the theorized construction of the Citadel and its subsequent finding. The talk segued into the massive wars the Council faced; one by the Rachni and the other from the Krogan Rebellions. Spencer was impressed how Servius made a point-out of mentioning how it was partly the Council's fault for not properly managing the krogan population, and that it was equally well to blame for creating a fertility virus that would pacify them, breaking one of their own laws in doing so.

The end of the long list of events ended with their current situation, the relative newcomer batarians and the different crimes upon their hands, both committed and suspected.

No human in the room spoke for what felt like an eternity to Spencer; processing the information in their own ways. For the admiral, it seemed practically unbelievable. The number of species alone, much less the events that they had experienced, was an astounding burst of knowledge. Humanity was indeed a small fish in an ocean of sharks, but thankfully said sharks were not hostile to them – at the moment.

Spencer looked at Tanaka, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

She nodded, and tapped her omni-tool. Spencer's own omni-tool vibrated once, and settled, then chirped once. He smiled; the entire conversation had been sent to the Tesla, who would take care to send it on to Arcturus.

"I hope now you understand our motives in helping your kind?" Servius asked from the opposite side of the holo-table, apparently missing their exchange.

"To a certain extent," Spencer admitted cautiously. "While I realize you are a single representative of your Council, you have done much to mollify my concerns. Admiral, I cannot thank you enough for what you are doing for us."

Servius exhaled, possibly in relief. "Worry not. It is the duty of every turian to uphold the law, and the batarians have broken this sacred trust. I can only mourn how many your people have lost." He cleared his throat, glancing at one of his bodyguards. The turian nodded once, and retreated to a door on the opposite side of the room. Servius watched him go, and then returned his focus to Spencer.

"Now as for how the individual species are going to view you, I cannot say. Each have their own unique traits so their opinion may be hard to gauge, but I predict that they will be at least mildly shocked to learn of a race that managed to force the batarians to retreat. If I may, I would also like to offer the assistance of the Hierarchy in rebuilding your colony. My own fleet can trade supplies in exchange for repairs, if you can see your way clear to releasing the facilities for us. I would also be happy to take responsibility for any batarians you have captured and keep my fleet stationed here until your forces are able to fully secure your world."

Spencer sighed; actually allowing alien forces to stay in-system would be a paradigm shift for his people, not counting an alien galactic union. Yet their brief encounter could also be described as a powder-keg waiting to explode – one wrong move, and an intergalactic war could be waged, and on a scale Spencer could arguably say he knew. Nevertheless, the turian was willing to offer much needed supplies and logistics in exchange for repairs. This could be a great opportunity to learn more about their ships, but that cut both ways. In the end it came down to trusting that the turians were a fully cooperative race that was willing to aid them, and possibly making contact with many more.

Unknowingly, Spencer furrowed his brow, spurring talk amongst the turians. It was astonishing, really, just how well this had gone. He had shifted from having expected to blow a hole in the turian fleet's defenses with the destruction of his own ship if necessary to considering welcoming them to his repair ships.

"Well, these are much better news than we expected." Spencer stated. He kept his smile up, slightly exaggerating it in case the turians were incapable of reading the action through his beard. "Right now we should be returning to our ships and explain the situation to High Command. As it stands, an idea of an alliance or partnership is potentially feasible. If it is acceptable to your Hierarchy, we could make a second, more official assembly so that we may discuss further details. For the moment, however, we will be occupied in securing our colony as well as the Raloi homeworld."

The last word seemed to capture the turian's attention. "Raloi? Is this another race?"

Spencer nodded his head. "Prior to contact with the batarians, humanity first discovered the raloi and our First Contact ended peacefully. In fact they were instrumental in helping defend the colony, both on the ground and in space. I fear that without their help, Shanxi would have looked much worse." Spencer didn't need to shade the truth; everything he said was true. However, the tiny fact that their contact with the raloi had been mere hours prior to meeting the batarians, and the mutual defense arising from the shared danger, didn't need to be brought up. The lack of a formal in-person meeting between their respective governments was likewise unnecessary.

One of the turian's advisors chattered something; it took a moment for Spencer's translator to process, but the translation came through, quietly."Ah, that makes sense. Their government name is literal. Systems Alliance, an alliance between different species from different systems, makes absolute sense."

Spencer gave no outward indication of having understood the exchange, but smiled inwardly. No lies had been told, but the details had been present for the turians to observe, if they were careful enough. No doubt these 'salarians' would see it in time, but deciding who knew what was beyond his pay grade.

The turian smiled briefly. "I must admit it's not common for us to stumble across a space-faring race, much less two, but to meet them as part of an alliance is truly breath-taking. The associate races will be shocked indeed. If I may ask though, why didn't they appear before us?" The turian admiral asked.

"Considering the circumstances, they're a bit wary of meeting another race so soon. You do not need to worry; the Raloi are peaceful people, and in time I believe they will be willing to meet with your Council. For now their concern lies with the security of their people."

Servius gave a nod. "I can expect nothing less from a worthy government. In any event it is settled then. I'll contact Primarch Fedorian, directly and ask him to send an envoy as soon as possible. When you reach the hanger, one of my men will give you a data storage device with the information you requested. He left a few minutes ago. Spirits be with you."

Spencer gave another bow, held longer this time, and watched Servius make a gesture to some of the turian guards around the room. They bowed their heads and soon walked towards the group of visitors, with Corinthus leading the way. "Come, admiral. We shall escort you to your ships."

"Very well." Spencer replied. Soon the human entourage made their way back through they length trek once more before arriving at their shuttle. The return flight was much more relaxed than the outward-bound trip; and he nearly caused a riot when it was announced the success of their mission.

---

New Denver

Shanxi

N7 Strike Force

"Humanity can now breathe again. The batarians have finally been driven back from our colony. The cost in lives – our troops and our citizens – has been enormous. But freedom never comes cheaply, and now, we rebuild. I promise this to every man, woman, and child on Shanxi. While we will continue to strive for a peaceful coexistence with other species, we will never become their slaves. This is the moment we start to reclaim our rightful place in the universe."

Hower listened to the inaugural speech of New Denver's new mayor, the city's former Comptroller, while looking over the darkening night sky. The small emerald lights, spread around the city twinkled like the stars hovering over the planet. A cool breeze blew inland, refreshing yet mournful; had the ruined city been intact, the marine would have never been able to feel it's cool caress through the skyscrapers.

Hospital ships flooded the planet, bringing desperately needed medical supplies and manpower to assist with the humanitarian crisis that now engulfed Shanxi. Rescue workers were working around the clock to dig out survivors buried beneath debris. Hundreds of shuttles had already landed across numerous cities, unloading massive amounts of reinforcements.

Hower had already been made aware of still another alien species' arrival in the system and whatever was left of the defenses were being salvaged in case another attack was imminent. General Williams had placed all remaining military forces on high alert, but thus far no word of attack had been received.

Regardless, Hower felt nothing but exhaustion. He was tired of the fighting, the loss, the death, and simply needed time to gather himself. He knew a great many soldiers felt the same, seeing and experiencing the brutal fighting over the past weeks. Despite being perhaps one of the shortest campaigns humanity had ever fought, it was no less vicious than any other.

He stared out at the scenery, taking in the images of the immediate aftermath. Across the distance was a single flagpole, left intact on the shattered New Denver Harbor waterfront. A workman in a hard hat and orange overalls was clambering up a maintenance gantry to reach it.

'It's a damn long way to fall,' Hower thought. The marine wandered out onto a stump of a girder that had once been part of a pedestrian overpass, trying to get a better view. A piece of dark blue fabric dangled from the workman's back pocket. Hower couldn't see a safety harness, but then again there wasn't much left of the crumbing building to secure it to.

'And they say N7s are crazy,' he thought, watching the man with renewed curiosity. Behind him, Hower heard the sounds of footsteps. Frost caught up with him and leaned on what was left of the overpass safety rail. It creaked as he put his weight on it.

"Come on, we've only got an hour." Frost gestured irritably with his wrist, brandishing his watch, and then frowned at something on his sleeve. "Damn it, I'm covered in shit already. We can't rock in our number threes looking like this. It's the general."

"You can brush it off," Hower said, distracted by the reckless workman again. He held up a warning finger. "Wait. I have to see what this guy does."

He knew Frost wasn't being disrespectful. He was just nervous about the unexplained summons from military command. Hower understood that, but they had another mission to complete.

A visit to New Denver's harbor was rare.

'And we made a promise. General or no general.'

A small crowd watched from the shore, a mix of construction workers, firefighters, and sappers who were still digging bodies out of the rubble two weeks after the initial bombardment. The workman, now teetering on the end of the gantry, lunged at the flagpole and managed to haul in the halyard. He clipped bit of cloth to it and wobbled for a moment before tugging on the line to reveal the white stars of the Southern Cross on a deep blue ground in the canton. The crowd cheered, and a wet navy ship tender in the harbor sounded its klaxon.

Frost seemed to be working something out, lips moving as if he was counting. "Well done, Oz. Twenty not out." He nudged Hower in the back and strode off. "Come on, we've got to find the bar. If we don't do it now, we won't get another chance for years."

Hower watched the workman edge back down the gantry to relative safety before he felt able to turn away and catch up with his fellow marine.

"Okay, why twenty?" He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Twenty years since the first migrants landed here." They walked across a temporary walkway that spanned a crater the full width of the road. It vibrated under their boots like a sprung floor. "You understand not out, don't you? Don't make me explain cricket to you again."

"I understand cricket just fine." Hower bristled. "What's your problem?"

"Sorry mate. I am just paranoid." Frost replied.

Both of them had done more than a hundred missions behind enemy lines and easily accepted they might not survive the next battle. What was terrifying now was the prospect of being hauled before a very accomplished aged man.

"What do you think he'll want?" Hower asked.

"Don't know, but we will soon enough. But, I doubt he invited us for tea and medals." Frost picked more specks off his sleeve, frowning. "You want N7 marines to do a job for you, you ask for a fire-team. Or a company. A battalion even, but just two soldiers?"

"Well you know how paranoid Alliance command has become lately. Now everything is top secret and will probably be for a few more months at least … considering what has happened. Besides it's just a meeting, it's not like we're storming a beachhead."

'But why us?' Frost checked the tourist map again. "This thing's useless. I can't see any landmarks."

Hower fumbled in his pockets and took out the ancient button compass that he always carried. "Field-craft, Frost. Back to basics. If we can't find a bar, we're not worthy of the uniform."

There wasn't a living soul in sight, not even a rescue or construction worker to ask for directions. The hum of activity – bulldozers, trip hammers, drills – was receding at every street they crossed. The financial institution that should have been standing on the next corner was a tangle of metal joists and collapsed masonry.

There was no sign of live in the plaza, once full of pavement cafes. The shopping center that was supposed to be on Hower's left looked like a slab of honeycomb with the wax layer ripped off. All he could see was the procession of composite block walls, now just a few courses high. Red and white cordon tape fluttered between steel poles. The smell of raw sewage suddenly hit him in the face.

"You lads look lost." A civil defense warden pooped up liked a range target behind a barrier fifty meters away, and Frost had almost reached for his rifle he was carrying.

Hower couldn't blame the man after what both had endured. It was hard to adjust from a place where threats could come from anywhere, back to a calm civilization. There were still pockets of scattered enemy resistance all over the globe. The majority that had been left behind were more or less secured after surrendering.

"Yeah I believe we are," Hower said.

"You are trying to find Bravo-Six?" The warden jerked a casual thumb towards Alliance headquarters. "Wrong direction, son."

"No, we're trying to find a bar," Frost explained. "The Parthenon."

"It's gone." The warden glanced at her watch as if she thought it was a bit early for a drink, then studied Frost's armor, peering at the N7 insignia with a baffled frown. Perhaps the Corps had taken the low-profile special forces thing a bit too far. "What are you then, marines?"

"N7s." Frost paused. The woman apparently didn't seem to be catching on. "Alliance N7 Special Forces. Yeah, marines."

"Oh. Them."

"So how do we get to the Parthenon Bar?" Hower asked.

"I told you. It's just rubble now. They're clearing the site."

"We don't want a drink. We've got something else we need to do."

The warden gave Hower a sideways look. He'd seen similar looks from the civil law enforcement officers on a dozen colonies; the familiarity was comforting, in a way.

"Just keep going that way," she said, indicating forty-five degrees and slowing her speech down. "You'll see a bust station. Its two streets north of there."

"Thanks." Hower was starting to sweat as he walked away. Even though it was barely winter, the humid conditions in the southern half of the continent artificially raised temperatures. His armor was hot as well, the onboard body regulation VI having been destroyed in heavy fighting. Since the armor covered the majority of his body, Hower didn't have the option of rolling up his sleeves.

Frost, despite experiencing the same problem, somehow still looked pristine despite the concrete dust on his elbows and boots. "What are we going to use for a drink?"

"I don't know. Maybe we just say what we have to say and leave it at that."

Since its inception, every N7 squad had created their own traditions for honoring the fallen. Hower's squad had promised to always find a bar closest to the area their lost fell, and raise a toast to their memories. It had been a very matter-of-fact conversation. For N7s, death wasn't a matter of if but a matter of when.

'Doesn't make it any easier, though. Doesn't mean we miss them any less.' Hower thought. It wasn't just his own team he was honoring, but all members of the ICT who had perished in the fighting. Never had so many of them been killed in any one conflict.

"Ah," Frost said from just ahead. As soon as they turned the corner and looked up the road, they could see bulldozers at work. "Ripe for development."

Some of the clearance crew stopped to watch them walking along the center line of the road. Hower counted the stumps of internal walls and decided that 21 Strathclyde Street had stood where there was now a ragged crater fringed by the remains of four bright turquoise Doric columns. Frost looked them over, uncharacteristically grim.

"Remind me who decided on this bar?" He asked quietly.

"Stenzke, after viciously tearing anyone apart who disagreed." Hower replied. It was an unfortunate circumstance that the rest of the squad was still recovering from their minor injuries, leaving only the two of them to conduct the ceremony.

One of the construction workers took off her hid gloves and picked her way over the rubble toward them, head down and eyes shielded from the peak of her hard hat. The woman was a nice-looking red-head for all accounts. Hower sometimes tried to imagine how alien he must have looked to a civilian these days, but he could guess from the slight frowns he'd been getting this morning that he didn't come across as the nice friendly boy next door. He decided to let Frost do the talking and stood back to look down into the crater. A pool of stagnant water lay at the bottom like a mirror, busy with mosquitoes.

"What can we do for you, gents?" The redhead asked.

Frost pointed at the complete absence of a bar. "Was that the Parthenon?"

"Yeah. Better stay clear of the edge. You can see it's not Happy Hour."

"We've got a promise to keep to a few of our mates who didn't make it back."

The redhead cocked her head on one side. "We're supposed to keep people out of this road. Safety regs. You know what the city's council is like. But what they don't know won't hurt 'em I guess."

Hower pitched in. They had just half an hour to do this and then make themselves presentable to Bravo-6. "We just want to raise a glass to them, ma'am. Then we'll go."

The redhead stood with her hands on her hips, inspecting Hower. "Did you bring a bottle?"

It was a good question. They'd expected the bar to be open, not demolished, and they'd run out of time to find a bottle shop, as the locals called it. Frost shrugged, doing his lovable rouge look that usually worked on woman. It was a stark contrast to his stoic nature, but perhaps that was his greatest trait as a sniper; able to swap faces and personalities.

The redhead gave him a sad smile and turned to her crew with her hand held out like she was asking for a tool. One of the men picked up a lunchbox from the seat of a dump truck and tossed her a plastic bottle. She handed it over to Frost with due reverence.

"Best we can do, marine," she said. "Go ahead, but don't fall in and break your neck."

After some of the mission Hower had pulled, that would have been an embarrassing way to go. Frost read the label and smiled. "Fruit juice. I am sure they'd see the humor to that. Thank you, we appreciate it."

The clearance crew moved back a little, but they were still watching. Hower squirmed. It felt like taking a leak in public. So what did they do now? All the vague plans to get hammered and reminisce about their squad members had gone out the window, and General Williams would still be waiting.

Frost unscrewed the cap and handed it to Hower. He took a swig – passion fruit or something, warm and fizzy – and handed it back. Frost took a pull and held up the bottle like a glass of vintage champagne.

"To those lost," he said. "The N7. Brothers. Sisters. Saviors and defenders. We will all miss you."

Hower entirely forgot about the audience of hard hats. All he could see was the water trickling form a broken main into the pool at the bottom of the crater. "Yeah, we miss you all. Rest in peace boys, we'll take it from here."

The two watched the pit in silence for a moment, remembering past battles and lives. If Hower pushed it, he could almost hear the laughter from companions long since gone. He shook his head, stepping back; one hand dashed the humidity from his face. If some of the water was salty, no one would notice.

Frost handed what was left of the bottle back to the redhead. "Thanks again, we'll get out of your hair now."

"No worries. I'm sorry about your loss." She paused. "Is it true then? Is the war really over?"

"I don't know." Frost turned and started to walk away, Hower following. "Buts it's pretty quiet out there for the first time since I can remember."

They were a few paces down the road before the clapping started. It was the strangest thing. Hower turned around, and there they were, a dozen men and women in high-viz tabards and rigger's boots, just clapping and looking at them. And it wasn't a general reaction to Frost's comment on the war, either. The workers were applauding them.

Nobody said a word. Hower couldn't have managed one even if he'd known what to say. They'd reached the end of the road before Frost spoke.

"That was decent of them."

Hower wasn't sure if he meant the fruit juice or the applause. But maybe the war was finally over. Everywhere they'd stopped off in the last few days, at every shop and transit point, the atmosphere was a strange blend of dread, bewilderment, and elation. Civvies were still getting used to the idea. He'd expected it to be like the newsreels from the end of the Second World War, with people dancing in the streets and climbing lampposts to hoist flags, but that war had only lasted six years, however bloody the battles. The siege of Shanxi had lasted barely a little over two weeks. Not to mention that the batarians haven't signed any surrender or cease-fire yet, so Hower wasn't taking anything for granted.

Frost quickened his pace and Hower matched it, deciding not to tell him he had a splash of mud drying on his pants leg. He'd sort it out later. They headed back to the nearest intact main road to hail a cab. Even in a city smashed to rubble, there was still a decent living to be made from ferrying Alliance personal around, and one of the few places largely untouched by the attack was the massive complex of underground roads and metro tunnels.

The driver who picked them up just glanced at them in the rear-view mirror and said nothing for a while. When he caught Hower's eye, he looked away.

"Were you here when the batarians attacked?" Hower asked, trying to be sociable.

"Yeah." The driver nodded. "Hid in the sewers. Didn't even know where I was when I came out." He licked his lips. "Is it all over, like the news keeps saying? I mean, you'd know better than anybody, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know," Hower said. "But the batarians appear to have fallen apart. Maybe that's the same thing."

It wasn't and he knew it. It just meant the certainties of us and them would be replaced by a ragbag of trouble from unpredictable quarters, just as it always had on Earth. Aliens were a lot more like humans than anyone would like to admit. But, like humans, they could all be dropped with the right ordnance too. That wasn't going to change. Hower was glad there were still some things he could rely on.

After traveling for a few minutes the cab came to a stop right in front of a make shift Alliance headquarters, really one of the few buildings not destroyed and large enough to house all the necessary communication systems. Frost and Hower got out of the cab and paid the driver.

"Come on," Hower said as they showed their IDs to the duty sergeant at a checkpoint. "Let's see what General Williams has in store for us."

---

New Denver

Shanxi

Refugee Camp

The pain was too much to stay awake. It was too painful to fall asleep, too painful to merely be alive. Every nerve seemed to be on fire, pulsating as if it were a burning liquid, running through his veins. His memories were still intact though; not everything, but enough to know he was fortunate enough to survive.

The man's head spun when he attempted to open his eyes, so he immediately screwed them shut again. His next breath became a coughing fit until he retched, every spasm punishing him with further intense pain. As if it weren't enough, various other injuries made themselves known, chiming into a chorus of misery.

There had been a sharp pain and then blackness. A possibility of help, of something – anything – that could siphon away the pain. The man forced his eyes to open. His eyelids responded reluctantly, and it took an incredible amount of willpower to force them open, despite the intense pain. Time crawled in the terrible twilight between exhaustion and sleep, so he couldn't be sure for exactly how long he had remained unconscious.

The first thing he saw was a blain, beige ceiling. Tiles of fire-retardant material lined its surface, in a simple but effective pattern. His blue, glowing eyes blinked, now that the initial effort had been made. What had once been the envy of his fellows; thick hair, a strong jaw and smooth skin … now looked more similar to the after-effects of a drug addict.

As he lay on a mattress, he examined his body, noting his uniform was torn, burned, and bloodstained. A sharp pain punished both his back and chest; apparently forcing his body just to keep himself conscious took a great effort. He suddenly became dizzy, the world spinning around him. Automatically, he clutched at his stomach, forcing its contents to stay down. He won the battle, barely.

Slowly the dizziness subsided, and the man tried to force his body off the mattress, the springs squeaking upon every movement. He choked back a curse, his injured body rebelling against the sudden movement. Hunched over, breathe hissing through his teeth, he cautiously began to straighten himself upward. Raising his torso to a seated position took effort but actually standing nearly made him fall face first onto the floor. A deep burning sensation roared through his feet, wreaking havoc on his stability; he had to press a hand against a nearby counter to stay balanced.

He looked down at his right leg, noticing for the first time that he couldn't feel it. Reaching down with one hand revealed that his right shin was damp and felt warm; wrapped loosely with a crude bandage made from the sleeve of his uniform.

Nervously, he stretched forward and pulled back on the legging. His entire leg was covered in a dark layer of hardened blood, now dried and black as the night sky. Fresh blood spilled across it a deep wound, caused by some sharp object placed diagonally on his shin, which was now puckering and swollen with a sickly yellow color. Through the blood, the poor man could see yellow-white muscle tissue beneath and even the hardened bone in the center. He suddenly felt more sick than ever and frantically slid the legging back down, tightening the sleeve being used as a makeshift bandage around his leg as best as he could. Bleeding to death after surviving this long was just an ignoble demise.

"Sir!" Someone yelled.

The man looked up to see a nurse at the entrance of the tent, staring at him with an unflinching gaze. She immediately rushed towards him.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" She demanded, pausing at a counter before striding over. Medical instruments glittered in her hand.

"I need to find my family," he answered, wiping the heavy sweat on his face.

"What you need to do is stay put until you are properly healed. Do you know how much medi-gel I had to use just to stabilize you?" Despite the nurse's authoritative words, her gaze exposed her true emotions. He'd always been good at reading those; it came like the body that responded to exercise easily, and laughed at the thought of illness.

He understood well; he was just one of many that had managed to survive the massacre that had devastated the colony. How many bodies had the nurse seen? He didn't know and felt horrible that he simply didn't care; he just needed to make sure his family had survived as well.

"I presume quite a lot."

The nurse scoffed. "More than you would think." Reaching down she undid the makeshift bandage, applying what he recognized as a disinfectant spray, along with a vial of anti-biotics before wrapping it in a new bandage. She graciously said nothing of his refusal to watch; merely making sure she did her job properly.

"There, that'll hopefully take care of it for now." She said, satisfied with her work.

"Thank you," the man said.

"No problem, sir. Just try not to make it worse." She picked up the bandage, taking the tainted materials to be disposed.

"Wait!" The man tried to take a step, only to stumble and nearly fall before once again using the nearby mattress for support.

The nurse rushed towards him once again. "Didn't I say to be careful?"

The man ignored her. "My family, I need to know; did they make it?"

The nurse picked up her tablet, an eager look on her face now. "What were their names? Perhaps I or one of my colleagues have already treated them."

"Eva and Eric Harper."

The eager expression froze, sliding into an ice-like mask of stoic regret. It was ironic, how removing as much emotion as possible could instill such terror in the man.

"I am sorry," the nurse murmured. Her formerly cheerful voice dropped into a melancholy timbre, familiar to medical specialists the world over.

"What? Why!? What happened – are they alright?" The man demanded. Without permission, his heart began racing at extreme speeds, terror gripping the organ more surely than when he'd been fighting.

"I – just came from treating a woman with that name. She … didn't make it." The nurse flinched as his face fell. "As for the boy … he died assisting the defenders. From what I've been told, he was a true hero."

"What!? No … no … my son, he was only…"

Her hand came down gently, touching his shoulder with all the grace of a feather. "Eleven years old, I know."

The man fell backwards, hitting the mattress far harder than he should have. Rushing emotions jostled for supremacy; anger, no fear. Heartrending sorrow … the light of his life and the balm to his heart … gone ….

"I am truly sorry for your loss." The nurse stepped back, studying the man carefully. Suicide watch was becoming almost a daily rule in the days following the invasion. "If there is anything I can do, write a letter, lend an ear … please … just let me know."

"No, it alright," the man murmured, still numb. "I took them to a military base evacuating civilians … thought they'd be safe. His birthday was just a couple of weeks before the invasion began."

The nurse walked away, as quietly as she could, mostly likely in search of other patients to treat. He would survive, or he would not. The great curse of healers was never more obvious to her: sometimes, you couldn't help.

As for the man, he continued to sit on the mattress, mentally trying to take in the news. It wasn't long before tears started rolling down his face. He covered his mouth with a fist, to avoid being heard; others had suffered as much as he, possibly more. But no man could withstand the loss on such a personal level and remain whole. The wounds of his body could never match those of the soul.

The tears slowed, but never stopped flowing. He angrily swept them away with his sleeve, then noticed a necklace lying against the counter. Its edges were bent, the metal twisted by war … like himself. Its former pristine appearance was damaged beyond repair; it even still bore the deep indentation of a mass-accelerated round that had failed to fully penetrate the metal.

His fingers, trembling slightly, picked it up as gently as if it were a newborn. The jewelry rolled in his hand, tipping from side to side under his gaze. A long scar, running from edge to edge bisected the emblem neatly, almost an exact comparison for his own heart. He blinked, memories rising from beneath the black cloud. It was a gift he'd given to his son for his eleventh birthday just a few short weeks earlier. Once the light in his life, now his eternal tormentor – as long as he drew breath.

'No.' His fist tightened on the metal. The pain helped, distracting from the agony nothing could really dull, wounds that were deeper than any knife could reach. It wasn't … he couldn't … his son.

Images flashed before his eyes; gunfire, the bravery of a young man and inability of an entire government system to defend him. Uncaring monsters, laughing as they took yet another prize, no matter how much it begged.

Rage boiled, driving away the pain. Standing was easy now, the leg injury almost forgotten.

'I'll make them pay,' the thought burned deep into his mind as new found strength filled his body. 'No matter how much it takes, no matter the cost, I will have vengeance. By the hand of humanity, or my own. The batarians will pay! Maybe then … I'll have some peace.'

The man tugged at the name tag stitched to his uniform. It resisted, as if trying to hold him back. He took a firmer grip, and heaved, ripping it free, pulling until it lay in his palm, next to where the medallion had rested. The letters, once so familiar seemed so alien now; no wife or child to call him by those words again: Jack Harper. He began ripping it, shredding the material.

The man known as Jack had died with his family. He was no loyal husband, caring father; they had taken such things away. Many had died on Shanxi, and one more joined them, leaving behind … nothing. A ghost dedicated to seeking vengeance. There was nothing else left to do.

---

A/N: What now! What now! I've got you all again! I got you so good, so good! My one regret is that I can see all of your ridiculous expressions right now! I bet some of you can't even type! And the delivery, I bet some of you have a WTF expression while others are probably crying because this chapter has emotionally ruined you!

For all those readers that thought the E.F chapters were pointless and added nothing to the plot, who's laughing now!? Whose getting the last laugh!? What it is the score of surprises I've pulled one you? Three? Four? I've literally lost track!

But in all seriousness, hell of a way to kick of the new arch and for those of you that wanted a break for the action how is this? Here we evaluate the aftermath of the attack and see how some characters deal with it and what routes they will take later in life. Also do you think that I've done a certain particular character justice? Hmmmmm? Who knows what will happen now?

Anyway, my partners and I am indeed back and hope the wait hasn't been too long for you guys. I also hope both old and new fans love the direction we are taking the story or greatly enjoy the material presented in this chapter alone. Remember we care about your feedback.

Trivia:

1. I bet some of you weren't expecting, even as you were reading, that first contact with the turians would be peaceful, eh? Another surprise, even if a minor one filled with increasing tension.

2. Hower's and Jack's POV were made due to review requests to see the civilian side of the war and we get to see just that. So lesson here? Always review, you may never know when it will affect the story. Also, I got you all so good, so good! I am never going to get tired of this game!

3. Hower's POV was inspired by a chapter in Halo Grasslands, which yes I've bought. Regarding the book itself, I think a few things should have been altered and it would have made the story great, for those of you that are curious about my opinion just PM if you want to know more.

4. Also the decision to have Eric, who we see in the E.F chapters during the Shanxi War arc, to be related to our favorite Illusive character was made as we were writing the war arc. Plus we have an actual and justified reasons, character development, and sympathetic nature to Jack's transformation to another loved and hated character that we see in the main games. (Eh? Anyone catch the reference? ;) Seriously though, it's painfully obvious so if none of you catch that, I honestly worry about you)

5. Originally the Tesla had QEC communications, but was later changed to the tight-beam communication system that is found in the final copy of the chapter. This was done to show how rare QEC systems are and why they are found primarily on stealth or capital ships. (Yes I know I wrote the Tesla as a capital ship and its exactly that, but QEC go from one point to another and the Tesla would need to communicate with entire fleets, so I hope that makes sense for the change) Plus as we already know from Dain's suffering, the Alliance is very stingy when it comes to coffee so chances are they would also be in other areas.

6. For those with keen eyes, you will catch how Corinthus pretty much tricked Spencer into giving some info on how well united humanity is. It's not much, but it shows that the turians here are a force to be reckoned with, while also being incredibly polite. Much like the British who once brought entire empires crumbling down, while also offering well-made tea. XD.

7. Originally there was supposed to be a short little aftermath arch dedicated to just two chapters, but we figured we can squeeze all of that in one nice long chapter. The title is a nod to the idea and we hope this chapter has been enough to quench your thirst after a long wait.

8. As of now, I've purchased 14 books, ranging from non-fiction and fictional military, in order to bring you guys the best I have to offer. So seeing as I how invested about $100 dollars on books, the least thing you guys can do is write as many reviews as possible. (Disclaimer: In no way am I profiting off of reviews. They are the work of independent writers.) Yeah I couldn't resist making fun of that, I just had to.