1-25-2157 0500 hours (Alliance standard time)

HSS Superiority

Dreadnought

Command Deck

It was a rather distressing aspect in the state naval warfare, to bear witness to such momentous successes, and also agonizing loss. Especially if such losses couldn't be returned home, forsaken to the positions where they fell. It was a terrible vision to behold, the stoic hulls of war vessels, composed of varying tonnages … ranging from the nimble corvette to the almighty dreadnought that once encompassed the crown jewel of the Hegemony Fleet … now resembling nothing more than mere flotsam. Each ship bore the normal signs of space combat, armor warped and twisted by mass accelerator weapons while hulls blurred into smears from high intensity lasers.

That was the cost of the supposed Great Raid. Toren's now proven incompetence, a miserable display.

'One hundred and ninety nine ships, all that survived.' Ban took the losses with a cold, hard gaze, condemning the status and crew of each ship with a single swipe of a finger. The casualties were severe, reducing the fleet to just under half strength. The cost to replace them … astronomical.

'Even in death I still feel your sting, Toren.' While the miserable slaver had perished in a fitting end, Ban regretted not being able to abuse the batarian with his own hands. 'If only your death was that much more painful, perhaps I would have been satisfied.'

From the command deck, he watched his ship circle the planet alone, silent in the vacuum. Stealth was a catchphrase, a buzzword used by less intellectually inclined people. The word suggested subterfuge, a cunning mind that circumvented defenses without being seen. What it really meant was to be seen, but ignored; flaunting your presence while your foe was helpless to do anything about it. Taunting, in other words.

Ban shifted in his chair, checking the readouts. No, the better option was to be invisible.

Contrary to popular beliefs, the best defense was not an attack. Attacking to defend meant you failed to properly anticipate an enemy action, in turn throwing lives away to cover for your mistake.

The best defense was to not be present where the enemy attacked. Know the enemy so well that you could anticipate his attacks, and force them to be wasted on nothing. Empty blows, swung at shadows. Men, who struck wildly overbalanced, became weak because of their supposed strengths.

'Stealth. Hah.'

Over the course of his long career, he had learned that tactic well, especially while maneuvering the political channels amongst the upper levels of the Hegemony. Warfare of another form, an old general had called it.

Snorting, Ban checked his sensors again. If politics were war by other means, it was obvious why some cultures had eliminated slavery; they were far too unskilled to avoid being enslaved. To remove slavery meant to also remove the incentive to avoid being enslaved, where only the strong would succeed as free men. Those who never feel the wrath of oppression will never know the value of true freedom.

A light flickered on his panel, highlighting the communication icon. Ban tapped the switch, arranging his face into a pleasant look that didn't hold a single hint of threats. Oddly, it seemed to intimidate more people than he'd have thought.

Debriefings had always seemed like an odd spectacle for him. Missions deemed important enough or suicidal for the Sixteenth Fleet were not typically the kinds of situations that held a middle ground between absolute failure and overwhelming success. Therefore, the meetings tended to be two types of emotions: encouraging praise or barely contained anger. Given how the Raid turned out, Ban suspected what particular sentiment this meeting would have. Fortunately, he'd taken precautions. After being sure of having escaped both the human and turian fleets, and traveling to a border region in the Traverse, obligatory contact with his superiors had been made. No matter how ugly the probable result.

"Admiral. I have news."

He nodded, gesturing for the unknown batarian to continue.

"The Council has ruled on the debacle. The results were less than promising; they have decided to allow the Hegemony to maintain its embassy on the Citadel, but are extending a demand that every human taken on Shanxi be returned. They are also demanding we pay reparations as they turn around and slap more sanctions on our proud people, the hypocrites." The voice was flat, unemotional. Obviously a professional. Ban respected that.

"That is poor hearing," he replied, "but not exactly something that concerns me. What else?"

The other batarian smirked. "With the evidence you have procured displaying the Na'hesit gross incompetence and great betrayal, the Hegemony feels you have performed admirably and praises you for your excellent foresight. The loss of the slaver forces are considered negligible. With that in mind it seems that you will receive their payment, compensation for their reprehensible performance."

"I thank you for the immense generosity."

"I must ask," the unknown head tilted forwards, "Did we lose a considerable amount of the product aboard the destroyed ships?"

"To an extent, but the quality was less than our described parameters. I am also highly skeptical on the likely hood of it being used by the slavers; they exhibited a critical lack of discipline."

"That would certainly undercut our profits, but onto other business. Unfortunately, the resources you have requested to restore your fleet have been denied." A note of regret entered the distant speaker's voice.

Ban growled; he'd served his people well, for over sixteen long years and this was his reward? The growing frustration inside him threaten to erupt, seeking any excuse to blow a fuse. But … there had to be more. "And?"

"The Council has decreed you and your men stand trial for the raid conducted on the humans. Lucky for you, the Hegemony is unwilling to waste your talents and has re-assigned you to Lorek in the Fathar System. In addition, the Eleventh Raiding Fleet has been placed under your command." A sardonic smile flickered around the edges of the distant face, "Congratulations."

"Absolutely not." Ban folded his arms across his broad chest. "I asked for trained soldiers, not undisciplined children. This is an insult to me and my men."

Now the unknown batarian facial expression underwent a transformation, tightening jaw, narrowing eyes, and rigid posture all indicating Ban had crossed a line. "Like it or not, absorption of the Eleventh Fleet remains the best option for your own fleet to return to full strength."

Ban responded in kind. He was the foremost naval admiral in the Hegemony. No one gave insult lightly. "How is handing me some of the laziest, most unskilled, and unmotivated recruits the Hegemony has ever produced conceivably a solution to my problem? They lack sufficient combat experience, and their vessels are ancient even by quarian standards! You know as well as I that they're named a raiding fleet only because they attack backwater colonies, just to scavenge enough material to keep their ships from imploding!"

"If I recall correctly, there was a time when the Sixteenth Fleet was no more special than any other fleet, and yet you've managed to transform it into our greatest weapon." The face sighed, and nodded slowly. "The Hegemony feels you can do the same for the Eleventh, and forge them into greatness as you've previously done. Now as for the product itself, how many did you manage collect?"

"A total of about seven hundred fifty thousand slaves remain under my control. With the few pieces of intelligence my troops managed to collect during the raid, we can properly estimate when a youngling should reach adolescence for clients with more … particular interests."

Neither mentioned names. Asari were proud of their independent heritage, and highly articulate in their disapproval of slaving tactics. They were also hypocritical; members of their species were considered highly favored customers. Off the records, of course. A species so similar to the asari would be worth their weight in element zero – gold-plated element zero.

"Have you decided on a proper retail price?"

"Yes. As always, there will be a bit of variance. For a race that displays such ferocity and intelligence, I believe anything less than eighty thousand credits for a proper adult of either gender would be a crime. For those captured under the age of proper adolescence the price should remain around two hundred fifty thousand - blood relations will cost double on both age levels of course. Twins triple. I will also be offering multiple bundles for clients seeking slaves with specific skills."

While a master of war, Ban had not risen to his position by remaining unaware of the nature of business. And no one double-crossed him.

"That is good to hear, admiral good to hear. This news may do some justice for you; your fleet has been granted five percent of the profits to rebuild. There is a small trading post a few Relays from your current location. As of now, your orders are to go there to resupply and rearm, unload some of the product if you have to. An approved banker will be there to monitor the transaction and give you your cut. Then once you are ready, send the rest of the product to Torfan. The holding cells there are better suited for quarantine. You should be able to sell the majority of your captured product there as well."

"I see." Ban kept his face even, a stoic mask from behind which he observed the world. "Inform the Joint Chiefs that I hear and obey."

The face smiled at him. "I hope the next time we communicate; the circumstances will be far more pleasurable."

Ban waited until the channel closed. Only then did he begin to laugh. His vid-com had been considerably more obligatory than expected, but the potential alternatives could have been so much worse. So much worse.

The mission had been an unprecedented disaster. Never before had any of his assignments gone so terribly wrong. Even with the large pool of slaves acquired, he'd been left with hardly any tangible fruits to show for his labor … and yet the Hegemony gifted him with a second chance.

Ban glanced wearily at the sensor read connected to the galaxy map for easy access, idly inserting the new coordinates. His crew began the procedures necessary for contact with the Mass Relay. He waited patiently, staring deep into the void as his pummeled ship moved towards the system's Relay, accompanied by the remnants of his fleet. Plan after plan flashed through his mind – altering, changing as variables floated to the surface of his mind. The future was uncertain, beyond anyone's control, how could anyone prepare?

HSS Will Breaker

Troop Transport

Slave Barge (1138A)

"Keep moving, slaves!" Balak barked harshly. Other guards did the same from atop supply crates, a few even using whips to encourage obedience. Each was armed with a collection of appropriate tools; hard cuffs, shock batons, stunner weapons – and in case they were needed – a few lethal weapons. As if that were not enough, a guard stood nearby, restraining a trusty varren, the beast snarling at slow moving slaves.

Balak gritted his teeth at the pain jolting through his body. He tried to resist howling like a weakling, focusing past the intense throbbing sores of his now treated wounds. Onboard medical staff had taken out bits of shrapnel embedded across his body, slash marks indicating their former resting places.

Panting slightly, he held his ribs with his left arm, the area where he had taken the most damage. The memories of battle still brought chills to his spine, those monstrous humans and their behemoth vehicles. They resembled krogan more than anything else. And the way they had massacred his men …

Balak scowled. The raid had gone better than he'd feared, but more poorly than he'd hoped. They had capture enough slaves from the unique race to live like kings, but like royalty, their lavish life-style had come at a great cost.

"What are you looking at? Keep moving." Balak's gravely, dual-toned voice dripped from his tongue like harsh sand paper. He flicked his wrist, letting the shock baton in his hand ignite, throwing sparks at random. Several bits fell on less attentive beasts, making them bleat in pain. The look of fear on the slave faces ignited a sadistic fire in his own four, beady black eyes.

He swatted another slow moving slave with the shock baton, blasting 40 milliamps of mind numbing pain. It took multiple hits before the slave got moving, the pained cries largely ignored by the many others being escorted to available pens. Like the cattle they were, fear brought obedience. He watched with glee as the human failed silently in agony while his naked body spasm in torment on the floor.

Balak stared at the slave, watching him pant and wheezing through clenched teeth. The results of a shock baton, mostly used to prod varren and other undomesticated animals, were severe, causing every muscle to feel like being set on fire.

"Please stop." The slave begged, "Mercy!"

"Slaves don't decide when their suffering ends. I do," Balak retorted and struck the slave once more. Instantly, the slave's body contorted again, his head thrashing against the floor. His forehead gained another cut, leaking blood onto the floor.

The slave shook at his feet. His eyes expressed a desire to yell, to scream, but Balak knew he was paralyzed by the pain. Anyone subject to this level of torment was powerless, only able to hope for the pain to end. His eyes rolled backwards, trying but failing to lose consciousness as Balak continued electrocuting him.

That was the benefit of the shock baton; it induced pain, but circumvented the segment allowing unconsciousness. Sufficient exposure would deaden the neuro-receptors, but only after years of it.

For the slave it had to have felt like an eternity, but for Balak it was only a few moments of pleasant revenge. Revenge for the humiliation he had suffered, revenge for the gross arrogance the mongrels held, and most of all, revenge for the massacre of his unit.

Yet, Balak showed some measure of restraint. Damaged slaves meant less profit, and owners tended to enjoy breaking their slaves themselves. Pulling the baton away, he hissed in the human's ear. "I hope you enjoy your new life."

The slave's head lolled against the bars pathetically, blood dripping over his limited number of eyes, blurring his vision.

"Your species is new to the galaxy and I know many people will be curious to see what entertainment your kind will be able to provide." Balak crouched, waving the shock baton in front of the human's face, waiting until a panicked expression started growing. "Do you humans know how to fight for entertainment? Your kin demonstrated strength … can you show the same mettle in the battle-sands of Kar'shan?"

The human's eyes widened, breathing increased. Balak smiled again. Slaves talked amongst themselves; it was a fact. The more this one feared his master, the more terror would spread among the others. "Perhaps that isn't your strength. A different task, possibly?"

Nodding, the human lurched forwards, hands clasped. "Anything," he whispered. "Please …."

"Anything?" Balak threw his head back laughing, a release from the darkest part of his soul. "The mines then? Or perhaps," he focused two eyes on the paling face, "warming a bed? The women of my race prefer a strong opponent; we kill the weak you know, in most … interesting fashions."

He stood, chuckling still. "The mines always need new slaves. Or the doctors; we still know so little of your kind. Your mate would be a good substitute, I think. Or maybe she will find her way to me, while you take to the mines?"

The human fell on his face, pleading. Balak ignored the pathetic mewling, and brushed his stun baton's tip across the back of the human's hands. The human screamed, reeling backwards.

Balak shrugged away the blood that had gathered on his boot tops. One of the more comely wenches could be forced to clean them. Or not. Work had to be done.

A/N: Credit to V-cringetorix, who was incredibly instrumental in writing this chapter. The concept was my idea, but it was he who brought it to him and I think you guys should thank him by either leaving a review in his story Unwelcomed Discovery or Early discovery.

Also I have an important announcement to make: much like for the last arch we will once again be undergoing a hiatus, however this one will be much longer because of the amount of work my partners and I are experiencing. Both me and V are close to obtaining degrees and I myself am looking to getting a job, which prospects are looking good. Anyways thank all you guys for your support and feedback.

Trivia:

1. Originally there was supposed to be four chapters for this arch, but V-cringetorix and I figured it was best to show what became of Ban both present and in the near future. This was done to highlight the repercussions he will have to face.

2. Batarians are described as shrewd businessmen, and here we get to see that with Ban discussing selling slaves like we do with burgers. (And I am now going to Burger King, don't judge me!)

3. V-cringetorix and I actually had a lengthy conversation regarding the price of slaves based on age, skill, gender, etc. The final result was decided that a slave with skills would be sold on par what a yearly salary would be for a worker with those same skills. Its up to you to decide if our numbers are correct or a bit low, but when dealing with these things we honestly don't know how the batarians can maintain slavery if it won't be a ludicrous business.

4. Likewise, Balak is trying to suppress his demons. The SGB truly scared him shit-less and he tries to suppress his insecurity by beating a powerless human.

5. For those of my reviewers who wished to know what the losses were for the batarians, well here it is. Ban has lost a total of 203 ships. That are some really crippling losses, and here we see him trying desperately to rebuild it quickly. Much like China trying to industrialize, you know there is going to be a big mess involved.

6. If you are an avid ME canon fan then you will know Lorek, the planet that Ban is ordered to go is the batarian annexed asari colony. Apparently they never gave it back.