Chapter 11: We Go Where We Wilt
"Either find a location for my Brothers and I to strike back at, or we shall do so on our own," the Captain gritted out testily.
"You claim to be our ally in this struggle, but then continually refuse our pleas for aid!" the Asari Councilor shot back.
"That is very ironic coming from you, of all people, xeno," Nemros spat out. "You cower in your own systems while passing judgment upon the rest of us, upon humanity. Stay your yammering tongue xeno, lest I remove it."
"How dare you!"
Sparatus sighed despairingly from where he stood in the Council's recently-declared war room. To his left, Valern shot him a look filled with sympathy before turning back to the escalating conflict that was filling the room. For his part, Sparatus simply hoped that everyone walked out of the room alive, unlike the last time a Councilor had attempted to convince the Space Marine Captain of something.
It had been a few days, but the majority of the fighting had since died out across the station. The Cerberus forces had stood no real shot against the combined forces striking back against them, especially once C-Sec had managed to rally and regroup. Thanks to his efforts in helping push back the attack, the Council and the newly-arrived Admiral Hackett had invited the Astartes, as he had called himself, Captain to help them strategize their next move against the Reapers. Joining him had been the black and skull adorned figure that had been with him at the first meeting, Xeras if he remembered correctly, who now hovered near the exit.
Which had led directly to their current situation.
"Enough!" shouted Hackett over the din created by the two Councilors and one Astartes. "We have enough problems to deal with right now without all of you acting like children!"
Despite the neutral expression Hackett had adopted, Sparatus could still see the man flinch slightly as the others turned to look at him, one of which was a positively piqued Asari and another was a giant in power armor. Still, he remained calm, and Sparatus felt his respect for the Admiral rise by several notches. The man had some serious plates to do something like that.
"Captain Nemros, you are certain that you wish for you and your men to act independently then?" Hackett asked.
"Indeed," came the monotone reply.
"You are adamant in your decision to not support us on Palaven then?" Sparatus asked.
"I had hoped I had made that clear the first half a dozen times."
Sparatus felt his mandibles flare at that remark, but forced himself to remain calm. Perhaps it had been too much to hope for after all. Still, the idea of both the Krogans and these Astartes working together to save his homeworld had been far too tempting for him to simply pass up.
Hackett, for his part, merely sighed in resigned defeat. Sparatus had a feeling that it was an expression that the human was receiving plenty of experience in these days. "Very well, then perhaps you have some idea as to where you intend to strike?"
Nemros made a noise behind his helmet, a curious mixture of disgust and capitulation. "Unfortunately not," he practically snarled. "It would be simple to merely strike at the first occupied world we came across, but that would ultimately mean nothing beyond simply venting our anger impotently at those abominable constructs."
"You could always-" Sparatus cut off as the Captain's head swiveled back towards him, eye slits winking menacingly as it did. Oh well. It had been worth a shot he supposed.
"There is one thing, perhaps," said Hackett after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Bringing up his arm, he began to input commands into his omni-tool. Sparatus felt one his plates shifting upwards involuntarily in response to the image that sprang to life from the holo-projector.
"Terra Nova," Hackett explained for the benefit of the massive figure that was now staring intently at the rotating blue and green orb that was orbited by a number of red blips. "Before the invasion, this planet was one of the Alliance's largest colonies, with projections placing it at overtaking Earth's population around a century from now. Even after suffering Reaper occupation for over a month now, it most likely still boasts a significant number of inhabitants."
"Most likely?" the giant queried. Sparatus could easily imagine the scowl that had settled on the man's face, despite the presence of his helmet.
"We've been unable to make any contact with any survivors on the planet," Hackett sighed. "The planet didn't have any of the new QEC devices like Earth did, and until recently the Reapers maintained a significant orbital presence, preventing any ships from getting too close."
"Something happened, then."
"Yes. Tuchanka happened," Hackett explained, most of the red dots on the holoscreen vanishing as he did. "With the Krogans entering the fight, we've been able to divert a large amount of the Reaper presence in the galaxy, although not all of it. Reports from the initial invasion force put their numbers at nearly two dozen, while the latest report from one of our scout ships puts them at a quarter of that."
"Which is where you want us to come in," Nemros finished for him, still staring at the projection of the planet while he spoke. His helmet swiveled towards the man who, Sparatus realized belatedly, practically ruled humanity now through process of elimination. "We will do this, but there are not enough of us to do this on our own."
"You certainly seemed to have no issue on Benning," Valern noted from beside Sparatus.
"Cerberus has nowhere near the same numbers that the Reapers possess," Nemros shot back. "Where there were a few hundred of them on Benning, we will possibly be facing millions on Terra Nova if what you've told me about the Reapers to be true."
"Do you still not trust us?" Tevos asked irately from her spot.
"You are xenos," the man answered back, as if the simple statement answered everything.
Perhaps, in a way, it did, Sparatus mused even as he watched Valern move to stop Mount Tevos from erupting. He remembered back when his race had first made contact with the humans, and how deeply it had scarred some of them even to this day. He had no idea where Nemros and the rest of his Brothers had come from, but clearly something far worse had happened to them. The constant xenophobia was disconcerting, yes, but perhaps some sense could be derived from it.
"I am aware that there aren't as many of you as we wish there were," conceded Hackett, who was obviously attempting to desperately push the strategizing along before any intergalactic incidents occurred. The Brother-Captain turned back to face him, so Sparatus assumed that he was succeeding. "The Alliance can spare you what's left of the 27th Marine Regiment and the 43rd Combat Engineer Battalion, along with their space assets but that's as far as we can go. All of our other units are either deployed or wiped out."
"And that equals?" Nemros asked.
"I don't have the exact numbers currently, but around a few thousand trained soldiers from what I recall."
"It will have to do. We will be attempting to evacuate all that we can, not trying to retake the planet after all," Nemros grunted before turning back to the rest of them.
"We are agreed then?" he asked, his helmet swiveling as he took in the sight of crowd. When no one spoke up, he nodded, though whether in satisfaction at their silence or out of simple acknowledgement of his newly-given objective Sparatus knew not. "Very well then, my Brothers and I will depart shortly. Admiral, the Shadow's Shipmaster will be in contact with you regarding a rendezvous point for your men." With that, he turned and walked out of the room, followed by his fellow, silence filling the void that he had left behind.
"I do not approve of the direction in which you are taking the Company, Brother-Captain," Xeras' voice grated out of his helmet's vox grill as he stomped alongside Nemros.
The pair of Astartes made their way out of the elevator to the Citadel Tower and began making their way towards the lower levels, where they would find the next elevator to take them to their docking bay.
"I believe you have made that clear on numerous occasions Xeras," Nemros stated simply, taking in the sights as he did. This so-called Citadel was vastly different from the space stations maintained by the Imperium. Yet another difference that left him uncomfortable with where the Emperor had led him and his brothers. "And I am sure you will continue to tell me as well."
"Because it bears repeating."
"Indeed. And I appreciate your efforts to keep us pure in the sight of the Emperor. Truly you do the Chapter great honor with your deeds."
Silence was the only response he received for his words.
"Tell me Xeras, do you think that what we are doing is right?" Nemros gestured towards the milling crowd of xenos and humans alike that struggled to catch an awed glimpse of the strange transhumans clad in huge armor that had helped push back the Cerberus onslaught, more rushing to join them by the moment. A few even cheered aloud at the sight of them, though most remained blessedly quiet. "Do you think that these people are worth saving, that we should trade our lives for theirs?"
An unnecessary question, to be sure, but he knew that the Chaplain needed to speak his mind. It would not do to have his anger and righteous fury eat away at him, not when Nemros desperately needed it directed at their enemies.
"No," came the immediate response. "No I do not. Neither do our Brothers, and neither do you. They may not be traitors like Cerberus, or those that have fallen under the sway of the Reapers, but they still debase themselves with xenos, an act that has been a crime worthy only of death since the days when the Emperor Himself led the Crusade. Were the decision up to me, I would never have involved us in this in the first place, rather focusing instead on finding a way back to the Chapter. I would have punished them for their transgressions, rather than bowed the knee to them," Xeras spat out, disdain thick in his voice.
Nemros simply nodded minutely at that, knowing that the Chaplain was saying nothing more than what he himself often found himself wishing that he could do.
"But…" here Xeras hesitated before continuing, "Perhaps you are correct to lead us as you are." The admission came out pained, as if his tongue rebelled against the very words he was speaking. "These people, these humans, they are not our humanity. They are naïve children, fumbling about, blind to the harsh truths that the universe so eagerly imparts upon its inhabitants. They have not suffered as we have, and so do not understand why we act as we do." After a brief moment, the Chaplain grudgingly added, "Their foolishness can be corrected in time. All we need do is ensure that they survive until then."
"The Emperor did not turn his back upon humanity because of its actions during the Dark Age, Xeras," Nemros muttered concurringly, keeping his voice low as they passed a pair of patrolling C-Sec troopers. He sneered in disgust as the pair, Turians both, nodded at him in respect. "Despite the sins of mankind in that age being far greater than the sins of this humanity now. As His agents here, we must strive to emulate Him as best we may, as we always have."
"Indeed."
The flash of light that flared into existence in front of them left the pair confused for a moment, jolting them rudely from their conversation, before their eyes came to rest upon a quartet of humans that smiled uneasily back at them. A trio of drones hovered near them, each one bearing a different insignia on their sides.
Nemros huffed in aggravation as the humans approached them nervously, drones following. It was only when the drones came to a halt and began projecting more light that
"Remembrancers," Xeras grounded out over the vox as he was approached by a young woman, his hand dropping towards his waist.
"Refrain from killing them," Nemros said sternly, even as he balled his own wayward hand into a fist.
"That was never my intention, although intimidation was not out of the question."
"That is more than acceptable."
"Excuse me?" said the woman that had approached Xeras. "My name is Emily Wong, part of the Citadel News Network. Can I please have a moment of your time?"
"No." The monosyllabic word had barely left Nemros' lips before the other remembrancers pushed forward, each one trying to speak over the others.
"Please, I just want a quick statement from the so-called Saviors of the Citadel," Wong stated with an obviously fake smile plastered on her face.
"Excuse me?" Any pretense at indifference dissolved at that. What had she just called them?
"That's what they're calling you in the streets. Apparently you made quite the impression on the inhabitants of the Citadel." Wong's smile shifted into a vaguely predatory one. "Any comment on that?"
"No," Nemros said one last time, barely keeping himself from spitting out the word. Instead, he simply shouldered past the persistent woman and her peers, ignoring their shouted indignities and questions as Xeras moved to follow. Out of the corner of his gene-hanced eye, he could see them moving to follow them, so he quickly turned, one hand on the hilt of Defiance. That seemed to finally send a clear enough message as they stopped in their tracks.
"If there was one thing that I could choose to leave to its fate, it would be remembrancers," Xeras growled in annoyance as the pair turned away from the now-thoroughly cowed individuals. "They were bad enough back in the Imperium, where they were subject to regulation, but that? Pict-captures of Astartes, so we can no doubt be dissected on their nightly news, with our every word used against us?"
"Even they are servants of the Throne, no matter how much we may sometimes wish otherwise," Nemros chuckled lightly in response to the Chaplain's irate comments, even though he agreed completely with Xeras.
Xeras simply snorted in response, keeping his eyes fixed firmly forward.
"I never took you to be recorder shy," Nemros said lightly as they turned the corner to the elevator that would take them to the docking bay that the Thunderhawk was at.
"There was a remembrancer on Halcys Epsilon, when our Company was doing a sweep for suspected Chaos cults," Xeras began after a moment, voice low. Clearly it was not a memory he was keen on spreading around.
"I remember that," Nemros confirmed. It had taken place nearly a century ago, when an Inquisitor of the Emperor's holy Ordos had called in a debt that the Chapter owed, and had helped preserve the stability of Halcys sub-sector when a Death Guard warband had burst from the Warp months later. "A remembrancer you say?"
Xeras nodded. "She was determined to spread the news about what the Angels of Death were doing on her planet, and Throne damn all else. Halcys Epsilon was rather lax in their information-sharing regulations."
"You explained to her that you were performing a classified duty, did you not?"
"Of course. But apparently the word 'no' did not exist in her vocabulary. Or rather, it did, but only when it was exiting her mouth. She dogged me and our Brothers for weeks on end before finally giving up. It was…" Here Xeras took a moment, no doubt searching for a term capable of expressing his sheer frustration while still remaining respectful in a manner concerning a fellow servant of the Throne. Eventually he seemed to give up. "It was an experience that I hope I never go through again," he finished simply.
Nemros snorted in amusement as they entered the elevator, pressing the button denoting their docking bay while ignoring the Chaplain's betrayed look as he did. "And there are many in the Chapter who call me stubborn."
"You would have met your match in her. Tiny thing, but more stubborn than an adamantium-sheathed grox."
Nemros laughed, the sound echoing within the enclosed space. Idly, he wondered when he had last done so. Certainly before they had arrived here, and everything had changed. Before Arathen Prime, and the death of a world. An Astartes' memory was eidetic, true, but that did not mean that something as trivial as laughter could be recalled on command.
Xeras huffed in annoyance next to him. "When you are finished," he interjected, "I was going to say that this situation, no matter my personal distaste, could be used to our advantage."
"How so?" he asked, pushing away the lingering aftereffects of his amusement as he did so.
"The Council does not trust us. The meeting, and their constant attempts to control our every action, just now revealed that much," the Chaplain extrapolated.
"They are wise not to do so."
"Indeed, yet we still have need of the xenos until these Reapers lay shattered before us. It would not do for them to isolate us from all potential support out of fear of us. We need the inhabitants of this galaxy to desire our aid."
"And you connect this to the remembrancers how?" Nemros asked, curiosity rising.
"Simple, we use one of them to display our deeds to those that would see. The Council cannot deny our effectiveness to the masses then."
"Curious," Nemros said, the elevator coming to a halt as the doors hissed open before them, revealing the hangar bay that contained their transport back to the battle-barge. He eyed the figure clad in black ceramite next to him as they moved to the Thunderhawk's open ramp. "You are seemingly possessed by a shrewd political mind Xeras. Dangerous indeed."
"Not all of us can be bloodthirsty brutes like you Captain," came the wry response as they entered the bowels of the war machine. Nemros replied with laughter once more as they took their positions.
The Thunderhawk's engines roared, its machine spirit sounding its delight at finally leaving the xenos station behind. In his hearts, Nemros joined in. It was off to war once more for him and his Brothers, and after his brief brush with politics just now, he could not wait.
The ride back to the Shadow was brief, albeit fraught with annoyances. The Chapter serfs responsible for piloting the massive war machine found themselves being forced more than once to dodge the path of an errant craft that attempted to fly beside them. No doubt the remembrancers that they had ignored on the station were only the vanguard of a large amount of unwanted attention.
Soon, however, the Thunderhawk touched down inside the Shadow's hangar bay, landing gear hissing as the machine spirit groaned in delight at finally having returned home.
"I will think on your proposal," Nemros said as he disengaged himself from his harness before standing up. "There is merit in it, and you are not wrong about the Council possibly working to sideline us."
"That is all I can ask for," Xeras said, before standing up as well.
"There is one more matter, Xeras," Nemros said, turning to face the Chaplain before they disembarked down the ramp.
"Yes?" Xeras asked, turning to look at him.
"I am worried about Vargus," Nemros confessed. "He seemed unwell before our excursion on Tuchanka, and he seemed even worse after the attack here."
"With all due respect, Slenarr would be the one to approach in regards to this matter, Brother-Captain. My duties lay with the soul, not the body."
"I already have. Slenarr assures me that physically, Vargus is fine. He has suffered no outstanding wounds since arriving here, which leads me to believe that our sojourn in the Warp affected him more greatly than he lets on."
"Then what would you have me do?"
"Just speak with him. Perhaps he will respond to someone not an Apothecary or his commander. I'm sure that it is most likely nothing, but his behavior troubles me regardless. We need everyone at their absolute best if we are to succeed in our task."
"Very well, Brother-Captain," Xeras assented as they turned to exit the cavernous hangar bay. "I will do my best to root out the cause of his disturbance."
On a secretive station that orbited a distant red and blue star, the Illusive Man scowled in his seat, his choler rising as reports streamed in from all across the galaxy to be displayed in front of him. Casualty numbers were rising, recruiting worlds were being overrun by Reaper forces, shell companies were being shut down by Citadel officials, the list went on. Everything that he had spent years upon years building up for this moment was all crashing down around him, and he was seemingly powerless to do anything about it.
His hand curled around the glass of bourbon, the glass whining slightly in protest at the amount of force that was being applied to it. All of this, because of those damned fools that had thwarted him time and again! And for what?!
The Illusive Man seethed impotently as his mind struggled to comprehend the enormity of the implications behind his defeat at the Citadel. A significant portion of Cerberus' fleet assets destroyed. Experienced operatives and invaluable sleeper agents wasted on a mission that returned nothing despite all the assets invested in it. Over two thousand troopers, either dead or captured, including veterans and irreplaceable officers. All for nothing.
His eyes narrowed hatefully as he glared at a picture of the figures primarily responsible for his organization's humiliation on the Citadel, and previously on Benning. These so-called Space Marines. They had appeared out of nowhere, consistently destroying all that stood before them, including his own forces. And the only explanation he had received was a half-coherent rant from their Captain moments before he impaled the damned Councilor of humanity himself! What exactly was a 'heretek' supposed to be anyways?
Such wondrous technology, such half-hidden secrets that could have reshaped the way mankind looked at the universe itself, all denied to him for reasons that were unknown. Rage boiled through his veins as the thought pounded in his mind, taunting him.
Such a shame, is it not? To be defied time and again, by such obstinate creatures. An experience I am unfortunately all too aware of.
The Illusive Man jolted upwards, hand moving toward the mechanisms built into his chair that would trigger security systems as he scanned for the intruder behind the sudden voice. To his disbelief, he found nothing, not even after he trigged the thermal scan to detect any cloaked assassins.
You seek mastery over this galaxy, over its pathetic inhabitants. I can help you do so, and far more. All that you desire shall be yours.
"Where are you?" he demanded, cybernetic eyes still scanning the room despite the holoscreen projected from his chair assuring him that he was alone.
I am here, yet I am elsewhere. You will not find me, no matter how hard you look. Or rather, you will, but you will not realize it.
"Enough with the riddles. Who or what exactly are you?" he asked, before shaking his head in disbelief. Truly he had gone insane. Voices in his head? And he was listening to them? All of the pressure that came with a galactic invasion must have finally caught up with him. What an ignominious end for someone such as him. "Are you some sort of telepath?" he queried, internally groaning at such a ludicrous notion even as the words left his lips. He had always prided himself on how far he had come in life through reason and rationality, now he was using terms found only in fantasy novels. Then again, power armor and plasma weaponry had been little more than science fiction concepts only a few weeks ago as well…
Clever, are you not? I am the Herald of the End and the Voice of the Gods. I am the Breaker of Empires, and the Progenitor of Ruin.
"Meaningless titles that explain absolutely nothing. Are you one of the Reapers then, come to taunt me over my failure?" he demanded. Had they caught on to his plan to use the device from the Mars Archive to control them? Did they realize he was not the good little pawn that he had been pretending to be? If so, then this could end very badly indeed.
The voice in his head growled, and the Illusive Man caught the impression that it was a mixture of indignation and…amusement? Do not confuse me with those pretenders. There are being far older and more powerful than those creatures of metal that style themselves as the determiners of destiny in this galaxy. You are simply unversed in them.
"I ask again: what are you? Do you have a name?"
A laugh echoed through his mind, cruel and condescending, reveling in his disbelief. My name is not for you, lest it drive you mad with its horrific glory. As for what I truly am…
With a flash of light, the Illusive Man's right hand burst into flame, illuminating the darkened room with its intensity and causing him to jump upwards in shock. Yet despite the sweltering heat that he could feel emanating from his hand, he was completely unscathed, even as the arm of his chair began to warp and twist from where his hand had rested. Furthermore, he could feel the power in that flame, flowing through every fiber of his being and calling for him to embrace it, to use it, to worship it.
I am the answer to all your problems.
"And how do you make that claim?" he demanded, voice thick with disbelief as his mind struggled to make sense of everything that was happening. His heart was pounding in his chest, feeling like it might burst if one more galaxy-shattering revelation were to occur.
Like this, the voice replied before plunging him into a series of images. He saw humanity ascending to its rightful place in the galaxy through the power of new technology that was a fusion of terrible energies and strange metals. He saw Space Marines of his own ensuring the safety of mankind's empire, patrolling the void between the stars in mighty warships that no other race in the galaxy could defeat. And above all, he saw himself, enshrined upon a golden throne that writhed with invisible power, made immortal by the power of science while all of humanity knelt before him. It was everything he ever wanted, shown in sequence. It was beautiful.
Then the visions subsided, and he knew for certain that all that he had just been shown would come to pass. If pressed, he would have been unable to truly articulate just how he was certain, but he knew within his heart that he could not, would not, let this opportunity slip by him.
I can give you all this and more. You only need to do one simple thing for me.
"What do you require of me?" he asked, voice raspy as he forced the words through a suddenly dry throat. Whatever this voice was, it obviously was not human, that much had been clear from the beginning of their conversation, but it was very powerful. And was power not something that he had just admitted to needing? Right now, he would accept anything, no matter how otherworldly.
Obey.
The Illusive Man glanced at his still-blazing hand, before looking back at the massive screen that continued to project the casualty lists from the Citadel operation, as well as the crippling supply shortages that threatened to ruin him in numerous other locations. "Very well," he said, taking a deep breath. He had no choice in the matter, it seemed. Besides, he had not gotten as far as he had by not taking advantage of every possibility granted to him, and this presented many new possibilities.
Another laugh, this time predatory and exultant, one that sent shivers down his spine with its sheer malevolence. Excellent.
A/N: Once again, thank you for putting up with my lazy ass and reading this as I finally get around to finishing it up. This chapter underwent a few versions, so I'll use that as my excuse if anyone asks. Also, this chapter marks the beginning of a new arc, so yey.
Same deal as last time, anything that you're liking in particular so far?