3-15-2157 0900 hours (Alliance standard time)
Arcturus Station
Arcturus Stream
Parliament Chambers
"… and as we rebuild the scars that have been inflicted on us, let's us not forget the heroes of humanity that paid the highest price to ensure our freedom, that have upheld our values to their dying breath. Were we to have decades, it would not be enough to recount all of their heroic stories. But at the least, we may honor their sacrifices as they have fought: with honor and deep respect," Bonaventura finished, the crowd erupting in applause. Emotions and anxiety long withheld finally being released.
The great structure, reminiscent of an ancient coliseum was decorated in the signature banners of the Alliances mightiest soldiers. Red, white and black symbols of the N7 hung proudly in the chamber. Such a décor in such extensive use was an almost unheard-of occurrence, but then rarely were circumstances this momentous.
Commander Hower and the fifty other N7 senior marines stood strong, their armor turning flesh and blood into impassive statues crafted from the finest of stones. None of the fifty-one officers made a visible reaction as the prime minister of the Alliance finished congratulating them; at least, none visible to their subordinates seated in the expansive chamber. Others sat near them, politicians and journalists in the main. Dozens of holo-cameras and vid-bots flashed each second, intent on capturing the historic moment for all time and to preserve it for future generations.
'If they keep this up, we'll end up going blind,' He thought, his vision becoming increasingly blurred.
After the mission on Torfan had been completed, safety and rehabilitation of the rescued prisoners was given top priority. With the difference in amino-acids and the JSF's lack of immediate medical expertise, the rescued turian refugees were the first to see their kin, dropped off the nearest Hierarchy affiliated station to receive proper care. It also served as a drop off point for the volus refugees as well, dealing with two birds with one stone.
Captain Murray had issued clear, unambiguous orders that the refugees were to be treated based upon the severity of their condition. Much to the surprise of the rescuers, the condition of the captured prisoners were greatly above expected projections. The marines and JSF naval crew had been prepared for the worst, a grotesque parade of mutilated living corpses and amputees, prisoners with missing limbs or appendages. But the opposite became true. Prisoners showed signs of being well-fed and receiving tentatively fair living conditions – with the exception to those who were defiant. While there were extensive signs of beatings and electrocutions, the freed prisoners had been relatively well-maintained. At least physically.
Mentally, the prisoners were the polar opposite. Displaying warning signs of mental disorders such as sleeping too little, a great many pulling away from social interaction, others being greatly numb, and finally the vast majority having a sense of helplessness and/or hopelessness.
An asari had taken the time to explain the reasoning: 'Slavers cannot make much profit if the product is in poor condition. Attractive products gather the best prices – that's why quarians make terrible slaves.'
Obviously, this only extended to their physical condition. Their mentality being as broken as possible to strip away any sense of individuality, defiance, and identity to make them completely submissive.
A much younger Hower would have been unnerved by how pragmatic the slavers were, when it came to the treatment of prisoners. Now a battle-hardened soldier, one numb to the shocks of warfare, he could see the logic. Money after all was an expression of greed, one of the seven deadliest sins. A statement that rang more truly for Torfan than any other location – for now.
Hower was brought out of his thoughts as the Prime Minister declared them recipients of the Systems Alliance's most significant awards, several he was certain had been made up for the situation by people that didn't have enough to do. The blue colored, gold trimmed ribbons attached to the medal displayed the Alliances signature logo, the depiction of Earth in front. As rehearsed, Bonaventura had each officer individually step forward to receive their Star of Terra. The medal pinned onto each of their uniform was meant to distinguish their courage above and beyond the call of duty and was the highest award one could possibly hope to attain, and one of the rarest as well. It was the Alliance's equivalent of the UNAS' Medal of Honor, or Russia's Hero of the Russian Federation.
The entire 800-man strong N7 marine battalion, the first and only thus far, had received various decorations ranging from the humble Purple Heart to Hower's very own coveted Star of Terra. His squad had been in the very forefront of the spotlight, receiving the most decorations than any other.
Their JSF and Spetsnaz counter-parts had also received decorations in separate ceremonies, Captain Murray having received the Distinguished Service Medal and Captain Izotov the Order of Kutuzov, and a promotion to Major. He presumed that the Spectres and Cabals would be receiving awards of similar importance if they hadn't already done so. At the moment, they were in the background, or watching through televised broadcasts.
With the last proceedings of the ceremony finished, the marines were allowed to disperse, continuing with their activities. Some chose to remain in the hall to hold interviews with prestigious media outlets, while others preferred to get back into training with one of Arcturus' training simulations, a few even decided to valiantly 'liberate' the station's bars from its oppressors. This afforded Hower an opportunity to meet up with his squad once more, unconsciously leading them through the hall and out of the grand chamber. Soon the voices of the massive crowds were left behind, their loud and violent cheers replaced with silence and tranquility.
"We've certainly drew a crowd," Stenzke remarked, looking back at the massive crowd through a narrow view provided by the hall door. Though she tried to hide it, her own glee leaked into her voice.
"I don't care much for crowds," Frost muttered, focusing his gaze straight, as far from the hall as possible. "So, what happens next?"
"Ha! I don't know about you, but I'm thinking about scanning the bar to root out any slaver sympathizers, who's with me?" The vanguard asked.
"I think the last thing we need is you filled with alcohol," Bellec retorted.
"Yeah, we just got done fighting one enemy. We sure as hell don't need you finding any more." Velasquez added.
"Pfft, you two are just jealous I can outdrink you both. Of course, it's to be expected by the squad's best talented biotic."
"That's one way of putting it." Frost said, earning him a glare from Stenzke to which he paid no mind.
"You know, after all we've been through I'd say we all deserved some shore leave," Hower said. He knew it. He'd ridden his team hard, and after so many firefights, both the body and mind needed time to relax. His eyes could just peer through the protective facades of his team, seeing the fatigue his team held. The dark circles and glossy haze in the eyes of Bellec, the more reserved behavior of Velasquez, Stenzke's higher than usual enthusiasm, and of course Frost's unflinching gaze that had become all too common for him to spot.
"If that's what the boss wants who am I to argue?" Stenzke said, swinging her arms around the neck of Bellec and Velasquez. "C'mon guys, let's see who can hold the most liquor in their bladder."
"Commander Hower, sir!" A voice rang through the hall.
Hower quickly located the source of it and the edges of his lips curled slightly upwards. Advancing, albeit in a wheel-chair, was Lieutenant Anderson, dressed in formal military attire, face undaunted by his circumstance. "Good to see you in one piece, all of you."
"Right back at you Anderson," Velasquez said. "Its nice to see your injuries haven't kept you down."
Anderson gave a quick nod. "Wouldn't be much of an N7 if I quit, now would I?"
"Well I'd say you've found us at a perfect time. Me and the mates here are about to scope out the bar. Could always use more competition." Stenzke added, eager to haul the injured marine with her.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I may be crazy, but I'm not suicidal."
"Your loss," the biotic retorted, hauling off the two marines along with her.
"I'd better make sure Stenzke doesn't start anything; you both know how she gets," Frost commented. His departure was as quiet as Stenzke's was loud.
Anderson waited until the group had exceeded earshot. "So, how's the squad holding up?"
"As steel is strong, probably more so considering recent events." The commander answered.
"Hmph, I can tell. Bit upset I had to miss the action but didn't have much of a choice trapped in this." Anderson waved at his automated wheelchair.
"Your luckily that's the severity of it. I'd caution you not press your luck too much."
"It looks worse than it is. I've regain some mobility in my legs but the doctors want me confined to this thing until my legs and lower back are fully healed."
"How long till your back into action?"
"A few more months, probably less at this rate."
"We'll be waiting for you, Anderson."
"Wouldn't expect less. But enough about that. I'd say we need to catch up on a lot of things and I know the best way how."
"Oh, is that right?" Hower questioned, seeing the gleam in his lieutenant's eyes.
"The station has some of the finest shooting ranges and it'd be a shame if all that taxpayer money went unused."
"You sure you can handle a rifle?"
"Commander, is that fear I'm detecting?"
A smile stitched itself on Hower's face, "Alright Anderson, you're on. But don't expect me to take it easy on you, just because you're in a wheel chair."
"Ha! Commander with all due respect, I'd say you have a fair chance with me being in a wheel chair."
"Talk is cheap."
"I couldn't agree more."
"So, what are we going to do about it?" Hower asked, mock-glaring at his junior lieutenant's smile.
Hildebrand Magnifique Royal Hall
Joughin
Benning
A fine wine, like good company, was best when shared. Chess, the ancient game of rules and sacrifice, held similar values – it became an art, when practiced by the best.
Securing a table for more than an hour; that took connections, and intelligence. Hildebrand Magnifique, a four-star hotel, commanded respect from even the most jaded of travelers. Vaulted ceilings, thick carpets, paintings from obscure artists that somehow all followed the same theme – the owners built their reputation on hard work and exquisite taste. Even the musicians were hand-selected, masters of their chosen instruments. String quartets, recessed in sequestered chambers that displayed as much as concealed, performed works considered ancient two centuries earlier. A full orchestra occupied the central meeting place, perfection their hallmark.
At least so far as Jack could tell. He appreciated a good piece as much as any other, but once the extremely wealthy began debating the intrinsic differences between Handel and Bach, his interest waned.
Jack swirled the vintage beverage, watching such – colleagues. Parties such as these were massive affairs, filled with the sort of life rarely gathered together in one place. He, a major combatant in the Battle of Shanxi had been invited purely on reflex he knew. Through him, his companions had been invited: Eva Coré, and Benjamin Hislop. Their invitations, while pleasing, had hinged less on their participation than on old traditions built over centuries.
Not that he was ungrateful. They'd sacrificed much to get where they were. They'd simply not sacrificed as much as he.
The great dining hall, somewhat tacky for a victory celebration, held many other such individuals. Oleg Glavnyy Petrovsky, for example, had been granted access through an old family name. His tactical brilliance was overshadowed by a lineage more powerful than many nations.
Jack shifted his focus to study the man, watching his every movement, while seeming to admire the décor. The man was his next target. Like the game pieces on his table, care would need to be exercised.
As predicted, the man approached Jack's table, arm in arm with a comely wench. To Jack's eye, the man looked bored with the flirtatious woman, albeit resigned to her presence.
"Lovely evening," Jack's companion gestured a champagne glass at the mass of humanity. "Victory celebration, a chance for people to hobnob. What more could one want?"
Petrovsky stopped, well within hearing distance. His eyes flickered over the chess board set between Harper and Hislop, noting the positions of every piece. "Beautiful indeed. My greetings, Officer. Enjoying yourself?"
Taking a sip, Jack let the alcohol roll over the back of his tongue, enjoying the burning sensation. "Tonight, is a night full of opportunity, Mister Petrovsky. I would be foolish to not take advantage of it."
An interested light came into the younger man's eyes. "Indeed. Opportunity grants everyone a chance, should they be intelligent enough to find it."
For a moment, both men shifted focus, watching an inebriated guest weave a stumbling path across the nearby floor. Already, a burly waiter approached; ready to intercede. Harper nodded thoughtfully. "Opportunities can be misread. Mistaken for an advantage, if not gauged in care. A knight in position to strike does not require the attack to occur."
The Russian man's smile widened. "Well said. You play, I take?"
Perfect. "I dabble," Jack waved a hand at the board. "A few games here and there. Amateur attempts, really."
"Aha," the smile turned carnivorous. "Yet I detect modesty. Perhaps you would do me the honor of a match?"
Almost before he was finished speaking, Ben started resetting the board. Too soon, too soon! Jack mentally slapped his eager friend; for all his loyalty, the man couldn't act. Honesty ruled his actions far too much. "I would. White, or black?"
Petrovsky slid into place. "Hmm, both have their advantages, yet white is seen as holding the greatest starting strength. I choose black."
The unsaid message caused Jack to pause, before nodding acceptance. "Excellent. Constantinople rules?"
"And timed. Ten minutes shall suffice?"
Jack accepted the implicit challenge. Technically speaking, their places on the social ladder were astronomical units apart; lightyears in the eyes of some. Yet he held full confidence in himself. Ten minutes to convince an elite member of a rarified society, would be more than enough.
Without a word of complaint, Hislop began resetting the board. He was a good man at one's back in a fight or gala event, ready with a quick blade or quip. Already there were a number of interested ladies, drawn to his luxurious hair and roguish good looks. Jack had to shake his head, mentally. His friend had never lacked for companionship, wanted or no. That was the benefit – and bane – of their association. Witnesses aplenty would see everything that happened this evening.
Eva, on the other side, performed her role equally well. Her slender form concealed one of the deadliest assassins he'd ever encountered. Were she not former JSF, her talents would have been in high demand on Earth. As it was, her contacts ensured high-quality sources at the party, targets they'd already approached.
Jack flashed a wide smile at the Russian. He may have been the latest in a long line of approached individuals, but the man's skills would be a welcome addition to the core group he already wielded. The thought would have widened his smile had he let it; everything was coming together more smoothly than he'd hoped.
Citadel
Presidium
Council Chamber
Deep within the heart of the Citadel, in chambers secured beyond all but the highest clearance levels, Tevos scowled into her drink, expression hidden behind the object. It had taken nearly a century to master the necessary muscle control, but it had been worth it.
Across the table, a massive work of oolin wood imported from a tiny colony that produced only one such masterpiece every decade, Sparatus read through his report. Youth made him cautious, chary of erring in such a lofty position. Meritocracies did that to a society, she knew. Poor performance reflected poorly on the nominator – cultural upbringing at its finest. Still, she appreciated the turian's attention to detail. Many of his predecessors failed to truly appreciate the thought processes necessary for galaxy-spanning decisions. Even if they did not take the time to admire their surroundings.
Soliris, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying a dish of unique properties. Years of training kept her shuddering reaction to unnoticeable levels. The asari were famed for their multi-cultural appreciativeness; yet one had to draw the line somewhere.
Distracting herself, Tevos surveyed her domain. While her colleagues could successfully argue it their domain as well, their participation existed for a mere eye blink, as an asari thought. Such spans of time were crucial, protecting the ocular organ from grains of sand or a devastating flash of lightning. Mere insects, on the ocean of existence, beautiful though they could be. For a moment, she mentally slapped herself, chastising the unworthy thought. She was no Maiden to make such a mistake! The Ancient Writings addressed that failing, something every asari had to learn: Lightning came and went in an instant, the fire it spawned could last far longer.
Calm once more, she rededicated herself to the business at hand.
"Soliris," Tevos delicately touched the edge of her report, sending the digital file back to its earliest state. "What are your thoughts?"
The improbably portly salarian paused, eyeing his snack longingly. With a sigh, she pushed the dish to one side. The smell emanating from its surface made her nose twitch despite herself. "Madam Councilor, this situation does indeed possess many fine points. If we're to take advantage, we must tread carefully, very carefully indeed."
Tevos tapped one of the chapter headings. "Torfan – according to the last mapping expedition, its official name was Tertiary Adjunct in Unimatrix Zero One. Tauzo, am I right?"
Something crunched on the salarian's plate. "Depending on the interpretation, yes. I believe the older designation would implement a numeric designation. With the nine moons present, I would daresay its orbital position would bear weight."
"Torfan," her fingers tapped on the file once more. "Old Batarian for Seventh. An auspicious number, among their people I recall."
"The number of perfection. Ninety-five percent of the pre-Hegemonic monarchs were required to retain seven concubines, and three wives." Soliris wiped her tridactyl fingers on a small napkin. "Nine is the secondary number of perfection, following seven. Obvious in hindsight; Torfan occupies a remote point opposite of civilized space, and includes both numeric designations of superlative fortune. Further investigation will be necessary."
A low growl interrupted the thought. Both Councilors looked over at Sparatus. The turian ignored them, scratching another note on the haptic surface. Rigid protrusions on the ruff of his neck seemed to bristle in rage.
Putting their colleague aside, Tevos turned back to Soliris. "The moon was destroyed. No one has done this before, even the krogan at their height knew better than to deprive the galaxy of a garden world. Was it the Batarians, or the humans?"
Flexible fingertips tapped each other. "Theoretically, the batarians have rendered no less than three garden worlds to barely habitable planetoids. The krogan reduced five habitable moons to radioactive gardens – fascinating evolution is proceeding apace. Records also indicate the turians have managed to eliminate a Class Two garden world into a lifeless husk – but nothing in the records suggests any race actually cracking a planet into separate pieces."
Tevos hummed agreement. "I too have researched the Archives. There are suggestions that the Protheans managed the feat. The Zelene system, over in the Crescent Nebula shows many signs. Helyne is a fire-blasted husk, and several of the moons around the gas giant are – blasted. I know the rings are not supposed to be planetary debris, but as I look at this …."
The report hung between them. Silent images, a world rendered back to the raw materials from which it arose, spinning in a stately dance. Tevos shared a look with Soliris, glancing once more at the furiously scribbling turian councilor. The rules of The Game were changing. What would it take to keep up? How was their turian compatriot dealing with this insanity?
"Do you have any thoughts, Sparatus?" She pitched the question gently; provocation of a harried turian had caused at least one scar on the antique table's surface.
His scribbling ceased, the rasping sound replaced by a heavy punctuation as the stylus slammed home. "Plenty. The Batarians had this coming; I've said it before, my predecessor said it before. Spirits, five generations of turian Councilors have said it: The Hegemony must be sheared of their arrogance!"
Tevos took a sip from her glass. "You believe the humans did this?"
Sparatus gave her a measuring look. "Don't play the fool with me, Councilor. You read the reports. Saren and his team gave every indication that the humans thirsted for blood. The humans brought an entire fleet – a small one, but fully equipped. Observations showed several very large, highly radioactive containers brought to Torfan's surface. Military grade radiation, not the garbage you'd see the Hegemony try to pass off. That same signature was in the explosion readings – didn't you notice the energy signatures?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I did, thank you. But radiation from such a detonation did not absolutely need to be from the humans. The batarians are highly possessive. You might recall the Theris incident? Rather than lose a prize, the batarians destroyed an asari passenger liner. We lost three Matriarchs in that incident, and half of their remaining descendants."
"I know," Sparatus growled back. He really did look intimidating when his crest darkened as it did now. "But the radiation comes solely from highly refined radioactive materials. Half-lives of less than a decade do not exist naturally. They just so happen to match the same readings from the cargo brought from a human freighter."
A slurping sound cut in. Soliris daintily wiped his lips with a silken cloth, dabbing in officious motions, waiting until he held both of their attention. "I believe it is impingent upon us to expand on the situation beyond: 'who did it.'"
Tevos quashed a mild sense of irritation. Salarians tended to verbalize thoughts; she wouldn't take umbrage.
"It is evident through Spectre and STG sources that the humans are responsible for Torfan. The matter is therefore clear. Punish, or praise?"
"What?" Tevos drew her back straight. "Why is this even a question? Destruction of a garden world of any class breaks three separate –"
Sparatus interrupted her. "And what exactly would we do? The Alliance is not a signatory to the Council. We respect the power they've demonstrated, for the safety of our constituents, if nothing else."
Her anger grew behind ancient shields. A quick mental exercise calmed the rage; righteous though it may have been. Decisions made in anger led to tears. "If this is allowed to be unchecked, it sets a dangerous precedent. The very reason this situation came about is a result of our lax behavior with the Hegemony."
Another crunching sound interrupted her. "Ahem. Please explain?"
Tevos debated resuming her seat. Comfort would be important for the day, but maintaining her height advantage would help, subconsciously. In the end, comfort won out, eliciting a tired sigh as she sat. "My predecessor of almost a thousand years ago, Councilor Eyla, oversaw the induction of the Batarians to galactic society. Her reasoning was based on a comparison with the krogan; batarians were not considered a similar threat, and she desired allies for safety. For that same reason, the Councilors agreed with her."
A flanged voice cleared its throat; Sparatus covered his mandibles. "As I recall, the krogan had been – neutralized – as a threat by then."
She responded with an elegant shrug. "Nearly. Warlord Shiagur leveraged her status into a strong political position roughly a century before. Her last stand at Canrum cost over fifteen cruisers and two dreadnoughts from the turians, and two asari destroyers. Before the krogan, the Rachni nearly destroyed society as you know, and Batarians by comparison …."
Sparatus gave a short, quick nod. "Understood."
Tevos massaged the thin tissue between her eyes, relishing the sensation. The Chambers were designed with calming thoughts in mind. Cool hues of blue and green covered the walls for asari comfort, while the floor retained a rough texture for the turians. Salarians did not have such needs, except for the constant desire to know everything they could, hence one of the few direct info-links on the Citadel. From the Chambers, the Council could theoretically direct galactic-wide warfare, conduct meetings, and even withstand sieges; something that had not happened since the Rachni Wars. Dropping her hands, Tevos assumed a more formal posture.
"The batarians were allowed membership, and an embassy. We've categorically denied a full Seat due to their – proclivities. But their admission to the Council at all was due to my predecessor." Tevos permitted herself the pleasure of a scowl. "Had my opinion been taken, the Council would have granted a simple trade agreement with sanctions. Fortunately, I successfully made my case in the Yahg incident afterwards."
A full-body shiver ran over Soliris's slight frame. "Indeed. Reports indicate adaptation to sabotage. Primitive hardware, but improving – incredible."
Tevos gave her a thankful nod. "Exactly. Unlike the Yahg, our admittance of the batarians held few restrictions. Since then, the Hegemony has expressed no desire to comply with Council Law in regards to slavery."
"We should have fixed that problem centuries ago," Sparatus growled.
Soliris put his implement down. It made a clinking sound against his plate. "Perhaps, albeit examining decisions in retrospect will not help. The Terminus systems are pacified, and order has been maintained throughout Council space, a great feat. The Volus and Elcor are growing well – we should consider inviting potential candidates from the minor races for full Council status."
"Possible," Tevos conceded. "They have done well so far. But what shall we do about the humans?"
Sparatus's mandibles fluttered. "Standard procedure requires investigation. We'll recall the Spectres, get their perspective. If the Alliance did this, we must censure them. More than that, we are required to do nothing."
"But an entire planet?" Tevos protested weakly.
Soliris nodded agreement. "When introducing trade relations, we must employ caution. We have no precedent for chastising a fully-developed non-Council entity. At least, one with whom we are currently not at war."
Silence filled the room for a moment, before Tevos felt she had to break it.
"The batarians will want revenge."
Soliris exchanged glances with Sparatus, before looking back at her. "Very few would even consider destroying a garden world. If the humans take responsibility, we will not shield the Hegemony from future repercussions."
"And if the humans do not take responsibility," Sparatus continued. "It was a moon far from civilized space, held by slavers. Suspicious. We would need to send observers to make sure no more such – radical – behavior is allowed."
Tevos felt the beginnings of a smile curl at her lips. The humans were not subtle, but perhaps that was better, in this case. "And the information gathering efforts? What do we know thus far?"
Soliris pursed her lips. "Very little. The Jaay-esss-eff group and the Uhn-Ass groups have very formidable defenses. Peripheral data collection is proceeding, but pointless data other than aiding psychological analysis. Important, but not what we wished."
"You mean to say that a primitive species is stymying the legendary Special Tasks Group?" Sparatus asked, surprise in his voice. Tevos thought she could also detect a note of humor, slanting his crest a little.
"A society that managed to crack a planet," she interjected before the mock-argument could go further. "I am certain we could do the same, but we have never – lowered – ourselves to such tactics."
"Yet." Soliris head sank. "I am certain there was a time our predecessors were equally adamant they would not stoop to such terrors as the Genophage."
The three pondered the sobering point.
Hildebrand Magnifique Royal Hall
Joughin
Benning
"Checkmate."
Jack sighed, tipping over his king. "Close."
The other man folded his hands before his lower jaw. "Hardly. Your Prussian Defense was admirable, but ignored two separate opportunities to break my Spanish Opening."
A raised eyebrow was all Jack provided in response, plus one look at the clock. "Yet, you had to sacrifice both a bishop and a rook. Two minutes."
"The gift of the game," Petrovsky held out a hand, receiving his drink. "Strategically speaking, it teaches nothing of war. But it does grant knowledge of sacrifice, perception, and timing."
Jack raised his own glass in a toast. "To the game."
Silently they drank. Neither looked away from the other, until the crystal glasses rang on the tabletop again. Petrovsky leaned back slightly, touching the power setting on his omni-tool. "Now tell me, what is your true purpose for this charade? A good game is not something to take lightly, but your companions have been circulating the entire evening. I see Lawson and Banes did not escape their attention, nor the holdings of CDR and Terra Nova Bankings. You … are planning something."
The weight of his custom-design sidearm felt heavy in Jack's pocket. Silencing the man would serve his purposes – even possible by the auditory-inhibitor field the Russian had set in place. But that didn't maximize his goals.
"I have a few friends," he began. "We are – concerned. Shanxi was just the beginning, Torfan showed the galaxy what our people can do. What will they do in return?"
Intelligent eyes peered back at him, like a scientist discovering a new species. "Presumably, they will respect our power, or declare war because of it."
Jack raised his glass a hair, acknowledging the point. "Logical. Very logical. But these are aliens. We don't know if their logic follows ours. We need to be ready in case of your second point, and any other."
Eyebrows lifted. "I'd say the Alliance did an excellent job returning the favor. Destroying Torfan sent a deliberate message. And an invitation, if viewed properly."
"Possible, possibly," Jack acknowledged. "But how much effort did it take to bring the Alliance together? There are many players on the field. Russian, Chinese, European, American – Raloi now, aliens that are also allies by their appearance. Shanxi displayed what happens when our major super-powers are brought together, but it was too little, too late for far too many people. We need to have a united force, something that's willing to do the hard things."
"And make the difficult decisions?" Petrovsky added, question in his voice.
Jack shrugged. "The Alliance wouldn't have removed Torfan. I suspect the Russians. But the Russians can't solve every problem with explosions, and the Alliance won't allow another such event. The Powers hold each other apart as much as they support each other."
"Some would call that a strength," the other man offered. "Balance of powers."
Jack scoffed as the music started playing on the dance floor, piped to their table through an intercom system. "That balance allowed hundreds of thousands of lives to be lost on Shanxi. It set back the colony's dreams by decades and centuries. Who's to say the next Shanxi won't be just as bad, or worse? No. We need to be ready. To help guide decisions, prepare our people for what is to come."
"Ah." Petrovsky's glass settled on the table. "Now we come to the heart of the matter. What do you believe?"
Jack settled himself, boring his gaze deep into the Petrovsky's own. "Peace is an admirable goal. But it can be best defined as a waiting period between wars. We must prepare for war, if we want peace to occur. It must be protected. Watched. Defended."
He paused, inhaling a deep breath as much for drawing out the tension as to fill his lungs. "A few concerned citizens and I have put together a little project for that very purpose. We're calling it: Cerberus. Would you like to hear more?"
The Russian's aristocratic features sharpened. "Please, tell me more."
A wide grin spread across Jack Harper's face. "I was hoping you'd ask."
A/N: Sorry it took so long to finish this arch, however as I've said before I was busy with college courses. In any case I hope this chapter is to everyone's liking as it focuses more on a bit of extra world-building and seems like a nice change of pace from the usual war centric fic. However, there is some bad news as well. As with every arch, the writing staff undergoes a hiatus in order to write the next story-arch. Rest assured, the next one will kick off the main events of ME.
Trivia
1. Izotov was first meant to receive the Order of Zhukov, but we felt the Order of Kutuzov was more applicable due to the operation not involving any further offensive action.
2. Bonaventura's speech was inspired from Halo's Heroes Never Die series.
3. The interaction between Hower and Anderson is another Red vs Blue reference, where in Sarge's backstory he convinced another soldier to commit suicide and ended up getting the position for squad leader.
4. Speaking of which, we get to see the return of Anderson! Aren't you excited.
5. Party
6. Well we get to see the ramifications of the Council realizing the destruction of Torfan as well as the STG hitting a roadblock in their spying on the Alliance.
7. We also get to see additional world-building batarian culture.
8. Torfan's designation is a nod to Star Trek Voyager