A/N:
I was working on this chapter in conjunction with the other chapter. I finished up last night when I couldn't get to sleep to due to pain.
This chapter jumps around to cover some different players. As AlwaysKnownAsMatt has grumped about, some of it is infodumpy - when my head is not so foggy with painkillers I can try to clean it up. Originally I'd hoped to include some of this into ATTWN but the changed structure of that didn't allow for it.
Reviews are always welcome.
'The only truly limited commodity is time, for it can only spent, never purchased.'
- volus Book of Plenix
"Still playing the silent routine, huh?"
David Anderson sat quietly in the padded room, reading a copy of the Bible, unaware of the observers watching him through the ceiling of his cell.
"Yes, sir. No changes today. Woke up, ate, an hour of isometric exercises, read the Bible for two hours, took a nap. Woke up for lunch, more isometrics, and is now reading the Bible again."
The AIS agent on the haptic screen on the wall of the observation room frowned, his dark brown eyes narrowing in thought. "I suppose I should be thankful of that. Another four months, and we'll have had him long enough to get the Commissars to sign off on memory readjustment."
The man in the observation room merely gave a shrug. "Given his exposure to the information in question, I'm not sure why we went this route. When Admiral Chu learned from Kyle about the project we didn't go through this rigmarole, Mr. Parker. I know I've asked this before, but I'm afraid at this point I'd really like to know WHY we've kept him locked up like this when he clearly isn't crazy."
Parker tilted his head. "Ethics at this late hour, Doctor Barnes? After your long participation in other, more unsavory things?" His voice was amused, but had an edge of irritation to it.
Barnes snorted. "Not at all. Ass-covering and curiosity. I have a Red Note from the Lords of Sol authorizing me to do whatever the AIS tells me, but I still would like to know so that I can have my own story straight if this blows up. I've been involved in some very dicey elements of certain projects and I am not about to walk blindly into whatever you people have planned."
Parker smiled coldly. "Very well, Doctor. To answer your concerns, Admiral Chu did not manage to contact anyone else before he was apprehended, instead attempting to verify what he'd been told. We went in and did the mind wipe before the idiot in charge even bothered to try and find out who had told Chu about NOVENSILES in the first place, and thus we had no clue about Kyle's knowledge until much later. We're not making the same mistake twice."
Parker leaned back slightly in the chair barely visible in the small haptic screen. "It took us a good six months to monitor everyone Anderson could have told and see if we picked up anything. After that, we could have altered his memories, but the call was made on high to avoid doing that. They spent three months trying to break the man with truth serum and got nothing out of it, but the cover story we gave – complete mental breakdown – isn't something people get over in a few months."
Barnes arched an eyebrow. "So we're keeping him locked up to fit a cover story?"
Parker smiled. "We've genned up recordings of him ranting and raving, claiming Shepard was assassinated by the asari, or other such nonsense. Faked up brain readings of severe mental imbalance. Suggested that his alcoholism of earlier years may have played a part. The best part was that his fiance had been away, busy with her new job on Grissom, for the past couple of months – she ended up blaming herself for 'not seeing the signs'."
Parker leaned back a bit further. "The man demolished a good portion of his house and broke two fingers in his hand when Shepard died, then drank enough to give himself alcohol poisoning. A bit of careful poking around in his history shows he had a similar drinking fit when Shepard had her little incident on Torfan."
Barnes compressed his lips. "Hence why you wanted the reports I was giving on his mental state and the signs of liver failure. Interesting. And since Alliance law requires two years of monitoring and conventional therapy before we try neurochemical adjustment – "
Parker nodded. "Exactly. When he comes out of it, he'll have lost his memories of anything much past Shepard's death. In case he left himself some kind of notes or hints at what he found on the omni-tool, we have left it in his possessions at his home – but removed all the incriminating things except oblique references to the already discredited L2 project. The alterations will also include a subconscious mental command to report to the AIS anyone who contacts him and mentions certain keywords – such as NOVENSILES."
Barnes gave a brief, cool smile. "I wish you'd told me about this aspect of things earlier. I could have been of some assistance."
Parker shook his head. "We couldn't risk it – there was every chance there may have been some infiltration of the Institute by outside parties, and the security review took longer than expected. Even so, the only reason I'm telling you all this now is that you'll have to change up the next few weeks of mental reports to show he's getting worse, not better."
Barnes nodded. "I understand. Assuming he makes no alterations in his activity, should I go ahead and prepare the alteration programming now … or wait for a court date?"
Parker hesitated. "Go ahead and have everything ready to go, but we may want to get a court order and talk with his fiance first. The appearance of doing things by the numbers, after all, is the best way to avoid suspicion. I trust that, if they wanted to see him in person, you could administer something to unbalance him?"
Barnes snorted. "I could make the poor man foam at the mouth and try to kill anything he sees with the drugs and techniques I have on hand, but they might actually cause real damage to his mind if used for extended periods of time. I can guarantee, though, that he won't appear sane to anyone who sees him for a span of at least two hours."
Parker nodded. "Good enough. Get that ready and I will contact you again in a week."
The comm-link faded to silence, and Barnes shook his head, glancing one last time at the image of Anderson, quietly reading the Bible. Out of curiosity, he had the monitoring system zoom in, and saw that he was reading the Book of Job.
Barnes gave a slow smile at that.
O-TWCD-O
Donnel Udina sat in his luxurious office, rubbing the small of his back and wishing very much he could be anywhere else at the moment.
With a grunt, he sat back squarely in his chair, staring with undisguised distaste at the two people in expensive suits sitting across from him. His voice, when he spoke, was cool and distant.
"Senators, I assure you I have a full understanding of what the Addison Administration thinks it wants. Thankfully, I don't answer to said administration. What I very strongly doubt is if said administration understands the larger costs of following through with the stated ideas you've put forward, or the consequences they will produce. I am not going to undo the work I've done in the past few years on short-sighted political stunts."
Senator Jelia Stephens quirked her perfect lips, her dark green eyes gazing at him almost in amusement. "Then who exactly do you answer to, Councilor Udina? Do you think you are somehow above the lawfully elected representatives of the Systems Alliance? The woman who gave you that position is dead, and the President who affirmed it is a disgrace. The party you once championed holds less than five percent of the vote – and falling. Your job is to represent humanity, not push your own agendas."
Udina smiled thinly at her. "Your words, Senator, only drive home my point. Allow me to explain why you are so very wrong and ill-informed. First, I answer to no one but the President of the Systems Alliance. That much is Council mandate. You can have the President relieve me of my job at his leisure, but I suspect you have already tried and failed to win over President Huerta with your errant stupidity. He has, no doubt to your chagrin, upheld most of the policies President Windsor started – and dislikes the concept that the representative of humanity to the Council is beholden to the whims of the electorate."
His voice rose in pitch. "Second, your 'economic plan' is political suicide. Raising tariffs at this juncture would violate the agreements we reached when we were given additional allotments under the Treaty of Faraxen to expand our ships. Violating those would induce claw-backs in our fleet size, which would not only cripple our shipbuilding industry and military industry – throwing millions out of work – but would generate counter-tariffs from the other races. I can assure you they would place these tariffs on goods we cannot produce ourselves, causing additional economic decline that would far outstrip any gains from tariffs."
The second senator snorted. "Udina, haven't you been paying attention? We don't want a big fleet. And we don't want the big military companies wasting on tax dollars. If that means we have to choke the beast using extreme methods, we will."
Udina gave the man a narrow smile. "Which lets me know, Senator Dawkins, that you have not the slightest idea why there has been such a run-up in military spending. You two may have had the intellectual capacity to note that every other Council race, even the volus, has increased military buildups in the past two years."
Senator Stephens nodded warily. "Yes, we have. But the core platform we champion still calls for reductions in useless military spending. The geth are almost broken, Councilor, and still we are burning GDP on the fleet when our own colonies suffer. What other races do is hardly our concern."
Udina rolled his eyes. "Senators, you do not possess the security clearances required to understand why a military buildup is continuing – by all races. The Prime Minister does. If you insist on pushing through these packages in the Senate, I suspect you will find that many other parties will band together to stop such a push because they are not as short-sighted, and that the Prime Minister himself will oppose your packages."
They both frowned, and Udina continued. "But perhaps most importantly, the reason I'm going to dismiss everything you say or want is simple. You people, if you are lucky, will hold your offices for ten years. If you make a bollocks of the economy and enrage our fellow Council races, you will simply retire from public service, and make vast fees selling your so-called 'experience' to gullible PICs and selling memoirs and speeches on the extranet. I, on the other hand, will be expected to clean up your messes. Sadly for you, demanding that I accede to your demands without offering me either a compelling reason to do so nor having the power to enforce your demands lets me know that you are basically desperate."
He smiled narrowly. "So unless you have anything to offer to convince me, the door is that way."
Senator Dawkins folded his arms. "You are making a big mistake. Huerta's numbers are down, and he won't be re-elected, that much is certain. And Terra Firma will not forget your intransigence in the future."
Senator Stephens, on the other hand, was giving Udina a speculative look. "You are far too canny a politicians to dig your heels in like this without a reason. You know something."
Udina's smile flickered into something almost gloating. "Suffice it to say, Senators, that one advantage of being in the position I am in is that I have a more unrestricted level of access to the High Lords of Sol." He leaned back. "Your party will attempt to force a procedural vote on the budget adjustments for the Systems Alliance military next month – everyone knows this. You have the votes to win, the Secretary of Defense is in political trouble and the Addison Administration feels it can do a cabinet reorganization, come out stronger in the polls, and move its agenda."
Udina shook his head slowly, and withdrew a piece of paper from his own suit jacket. It was thick card stock, elegant and a dark, feral red, with finely scrawled calligraphy upon its surface, along with a heavy wax seal. He laid it on his desk and inclined his head. "You will find, however, that your agenda has failed to take into account one source of disruption."
Stephens paled. "A Red Note from the High Lords?"
Udina folded his hands together. "Understand, Senators – I did not have to divulge this information. I could have happily let you build your little coalition, make your edits, push your package – and watch you get humiliated on live broadcast. The main reason I'm letting you know this is because I do not want the other Council members to even hear of this … idiocy your political backers have pushed."
He tapped the note. "The second reason is that we don't necessarily have to be at total loggerheads. Some of the Alliance Blue members want the existing funding for the Navy and Marines re-purposed to provide protection for wildcat colonies. If you focus on slashing that ridiculous concept, you will still achieve significant savings – and in a way that does not trigger a tariff war, endanger our security, or irritate the Lords."
Dawkins frowned. "That will alienate some of our own voting base. There's a lot of concern about these missing wildcat colonies."
Udina scoffed. "We know what happened – pirates. The entire Traverse is now full of more of them than ever. I've long mandated the wildcats were going to be a drain with no return, and if they are now paying the price for demanding 'independence', then good riddance." His voice hardened. "More to the point, I would suspect the majority of your constituents are more concerned about reducing the budget than where such reductions happen, given they live on Sol and pay the highest taxes."
Dawkins opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Stephens touched his hand gently. She inclined her head to Udina. "We'll have to consider all of this very carefully, Councilor. We will be in touch once we have decided upon a course of action and conferred with our colleagues."
She stood, and Dawkins did as well, departing after a few more empty pleasantries. Once they were gone, Udina cleared his desktop before savagely tapping a button on his commlink panel.
"Amanda, no more visitors today. If anyone asks, I'm occupied on a fact-finding mission and out of the office until tomorrow morning."
His public relations secretary's perky voice was apologetic. "Understood sir – but you have a call on line five. The secure line."
Udina frowned. "Alright. I'll take it." He tapped the comm panel. "Udina here."
The voice that sounded out of the panel was smooth, an almost exotic feminine vibrato. "I trust our information was timely and useful, and our gift had the intended effect?"
Udina scowled, and tapped a control to trigger his security fields in the room. "Yes, although the idea of forging a Red Note remains utterly insane. And I still don't know who exactly you represent, Ms. Brooks."
The woman known as Ms. Brooks gave a gentle laugh. "As I said in our first communication, we're simply concerned citizens who are a bit more savvy in our grasp of how galactic politics works. Derailing that package was critical to maintaining good relations and continuing the military buildup. And as we both know, the day that build up will be needed for more than geth is always getting closer."
His eyes narrowed. "I agree. But most 'concerned citizens' are not capable of knowing what the opposition parties are planning, or being able to forge a Red Note so well that my own detector thought it was authentic. Nor do they have access to the level of security required to know why the buildup is occurring. I am not ungrateful for your assistance, but the fact that you will not identify who you represent is very concerning."
Brooks gave an amused sigh. "Councilor Udina, I ask you to simply have a little more patience. In a few weeks, we will need a favor from you. It will not require you to compromise your position, utter any public statements, or commit any direct actions – merely to listen to someone for a few minutes. At that time we will be willing to explain who exactly we are."
Udina frowned. "Which is all well and good, up until the point this may turn out to be some kind of stunt pulled to frame me for corruption."
Brooks sighed, this time in a less amused fashion. "Councilor, all we've asked you to do so far is turn down bills attempting to reduce the SA military and acts that would alienate – no pun intended – the other Council species. In return we've provided you with a great deal of useful information already, information that you've used to bolster your position and win favor from the asari Councilor, the quarians, and several powerful Senators. There is nothing illegal in what you've done or said – you were careful not to actually say the note we gave you was an actual Red Note, after all."
Udina pursed his lips. "So, in other words, I should trust you blindly." His voice was sarcastic. "That is not exactly something most experienced political operators at this level of the game we play tend to indulge in, Ms. Brooks."
Brooks gave a trill of laughter. "No, I don't suppose it is. I can lay your fears to rest in one regard, however – you'll have a visitor in a few minutes. He happened to be in the area on other business, but I thought seeing him in person could lay rest most of your fears. He can answer a few questions. For now, we'll contact you when we have more information."
As usual, the commlink cut out on her end, and a moment later he got another message in his inbox, giving him a new TTG number to call the next time he needed to talk. Whoever he was talking to had excellent operational security – his one attempt to trace the given TTG number had revealed it was out of service, and when the C-SEC agent he'd asked to look over the number tried to run a trace on who had used it or what had connected to it in the last thirty days, the fact that the number had been used by Udina didn't show up.
Given that the TTG system was routed through powerful computers on the Citadel itself that supposedly protected even Spectre-class communications, that worried Udina more than a little. He
sighed.
A quick glance over the news boards revealed nothing was happening that was out of the norm. More riots in turian space by batarians. Outbreaks of some kind of plague on Omega. Another idiotic stunt by Aish Ashland.
For the most part, the past two years had calmed a great deal from the chaos at the time of Shepard's death. He recalled that with a pang. He found himself often wishing Shepard had not died, if only to hear her irreverent and Neanderthal take on politics. The fact that she'd so studiously been researching the courses on politics he'd suggested to her before her death had often lead him to wonder what she could have become if not for the tragedy that claimed her life.
The geth had paid for what they had done – although conspiracy theories still abounded that it had been Aria, or P., or the asari, or the volus, or even bitter Alliance soldiers, who had really destroyed the Normandy. The fact that most of Shepard's people were now missing or refused to serve the Alliance had raised more than a few eyebrows over the years, and the fact that von Grath would go to such lengths to recover her body had started a truly ridiculous rumor that the two had an affair.
Udina hated the media sometimes. He was thinking about how to deal with his next unhappy meeting with Westerlund News when his secretary lit up his comm-panel.
"Ah...Councilor? I know you said no more visitors...but...there's a Commandant here, requesting to speak with you. He says it has to do with …. a Ms. Brooks?"
Udina paled, but sat up straight in his seat. "Send him in, Amanda." He blanked his desk, and exhaled to steady himself, hoping he didn't look nervous. Commissars made anyone with a brain nervous, and a Commandant was even worse than a regular Commissar.
It was times like this he truly understood why Anderson had become an alcoholic.
A few moments later the door opened, and the heavyset form of a Commandant strode through. Udina recognized him instantly as he stood to greet him.
"Commandant Chisholm. How may I be of service?"
Chisholm's scarred face twisted into a smile, as he glanced around the office. "We've both moved up in the world, I see. I'm here because a mutual friend wished to assure you that your recent communications and actions with them were on the level and that this whole thing wasn't some kind of setup."
Udina nodded slowly. "The … information I've been given is very high level and not available to most groups outside of the Ministry or the very upper echelons of Alliance Military command – neither who have any reason to support me. And some of what I've been given is … unorthodox in nature. You can understand my concern, I'm sure."
Chisholm laughed. "Then let me put you at ease. The elements you are dealing with are well known to me, and this is in no way, shape or form some kind of operation designed to frame you for corruption or drive you from office. Ms. Brooks happens to be affiliated with the Alliance Military, and the information you've been provided has in some cases come from Commissariat or AIS sources."
Udina's eyes narrowed. "And why am I being fed this information?"
Chisholm walked across the room. "Councilor, the past few years have been extremely disturbing in some ways to certain elements of the Commissariat. A President was nearly killed , two cabinet administrations have fallen. A major political party was found to be corrupt. Some of this could have been prevented if the Commissariat had a freer hand, but our powers and actions are sharply limited by the Court of Lords."
Chisholm paused, looking over his shoulder at Udina. "And frankly, some of the actions we've been told not to act on in the past few years are troubling. If we have to employ unorthodox or irregular channels to counter these … shall we call them problems … then we will. You are one such channel."
Udina folded his arms. "I see. You suspect the High Lords do not wish to continue the military build up?"
Chisholm's smile turned wintry. "Let us say instead that we've found evidence – evidence we can't act on – that some of the Lords may be taking a stand the Commissariat feels is unwise. We can't directly oppose them due to our own conditioning, but the nature of that conditioning will not let us merely fall silent and do nothing in the face of a clear and present danger to the Alliance. Hence..."
He gestured at Udina, who nodded slowly. "A curious – and frustrating – situation to be forced to deal with." The sharp gray eyes snapped up towards the Commandant. "And who else is involved in this little action of yours?"
Chisholm chuckled. "For now, Councilor, we prefer if you only know the barest amount of information. Like Ms. Brooks said, in a short amount of time someone will be in contact with you, someone who will explain a great deal more – and show you something that will change the entire political equation. But until that point we merely ask you help us maintain a positive status quo."
Udina nodded slowly, and the Commandant smiled widely. "In that case, Counselor, I will take up no more of your time. Go with the Grace of our Father." He stepped out of the office with a brisk pace, and Udina leaned back and exhaled.
"...another shit-storm. Wonderful."
O-TWCD-O
In a different, more elegant part of the Citadel Presidium, Barla Von considered the numbers before him carefully, his mind working hard.
People often assumed the Shadow Broker's true power was the network of spies, informers and assassins he wielded, operating all across known space. And, to the brutish sort of valuations practiced by those not volus, there was probably a certain truth to that. But that was only part of the Broker's power. The other half of the equation was the Broker's skillful influence, manipulation and understanding of economic markets.
No military construction would happen without a flow of resources and capital. A new project to gather intelligence would need expenditures of cash and bases set up to operate from. Expanding trade routes, colonization plans, new merchandise coming to market – all of these had subtle but noticeable effects on the galactic trade system.
By watching certain companies, by monitoring trade lanes, by keeping an ear to the merchants and free traders, the Broker had often gathered intelligence missed by more conventional intelligence agencies. It was not as if these agencies ignored such things – merely that they rarely had specialists who had the sort of penetration and resources the Broker did.
Barla Von had long ago learned the two halves of the operation fed one another, providing useful information that the other side could build on. It gave the Broker not only unmatched insight, but powerful amounts of income and capital to work with and expend on various projects.
And to Barla Von, it really all came down to money.
There were those who sneered at capitalism and commercialism. It was, of course, never those who profited from such, nor those who could take advantage of what capitalism offered. Ultimately, it was criticized by those unwilling or unable to improve their own lot in life, and who demanded someone do so for them.
Among the many differing reactions of alien species, that impulse among the underclass to hate their more successful betters was almost universal. Only the turians could be said to be free of it, and that was more due to their bizarre outlook on 'values'.
To Barla Von, every thing – skills, abilities, materials, land, people, information – all of these things had a value. And anything with a value had those who would value it more highly, or less highly, leaving the possibility of a profit.
To rail against the inequality of the system as empowering those with the most money was pointless. History – of all races – was filled with stories of those who'd come from nothing to build up vast fortunes and power. While it was certainly true that power tended to flow to the hands of those most capable of wielding it, that didn't exclude it from anyone with the will to succeed.
From what little he understood, Matriarch Lidanya had come from nothing and was now rumored to be the choice for the heir of the most powerful of the Houses of the Thirty. While some societies were less egalitarian – the salarians and batarians in many ways, and humans in some – no race barred the chance to advance, to be successful with one's own skills, to anyone.
Therein lay what so infuriated those who had no power. It required both hard work and the ability to improve one's own self. Barla Von remained convinced many of the so-called 'unfortunates' of the galaxy lacked such an impulse.
Some argued they had no chance to gain useful skills – with no money and no opportunities, how could they? Others argued the old saying of 'the rich get richer' as if that were some kind of bad thing. Ultimately, no one wanted to face the ugly reality of life – some people were successful, others weren't.
Expecting some sort of divine hand to lift a person who was unsuccessful up to where they could be was the worst sort of indulgence. There were a large number of out of work batarians now, shuffling about the Traverse. They wanted 'living assistance' from the Citadel, because they'd been driven from their homes and had nothing.
Did these fools think that handing them cash would solve anything? They would expend it all and ask for more. A few batarians had banded together to start various companies – mercenary bands, manual labor groups, repair teams – and had already begun to prosper. Those who simply sat in refugee camps and demanded someone fix their problems for them never would ascend to power or wealth.
They did not have the proper mindset.
The quarians were an excellent example of this kind of crippled thinking. Their communal ownership of everything of limited availability rendered the very concept of an economy into a mockery, more controlled by tradition, by posturing and popularity, than by talent or even need. This left them completely inept when it came to suddenly being forced to deal with galactic economics and produce a functional economy that relied on more than barter and 'the needs of the many'.
Pagh. Useless eaters. Barla Von could admire a hard-working manual laborer, after all – they were quite often the foundation of the wealth the worker's betters would build. One could not sneer at the working classes, because without them the rich would have no tools to build wealth. But there was a long walk in the cloudbanks from that and pandering to the incapacity of some to see that not everyone could be on top.
He tapped another series of spreadsheets, making minute adjustments to an equity package, and refocused his thoughts.
He understood, on a purely intellectual level, why some felt this way. It wasn't a particularly volus way to look at the universe, of course, but he could do it. The volus placed value on everything, and never formed a real government of any kind. Everything was for sale, and laws were mutual agreements that everyone found worth supporting. Early volus history had its share of conflicts and troubles, but the volus had never undergone the kind of convoluted gymnastics other races had to justify why they acted as they did.
Above all else, Barla Von prided himself on being an excellent judge of both innate and potential value. Something that was seemingly worthless now might have future value, or value in the eyes of parties not yet aware it was for sale. Those who rejected such a world view could never hope to compete meaningfully with those who embraced it.
The turians had dominated the volus for centuries by dint of pure military power and force, by having greater technology and a wider market of goods, and by being critical to the stability of the Citadel governance scam. The asari were the economic and cultural muscle. The salarians provided science and intelligence. The turians were the manpower and firepower. The system was balanced, albeit precariously, as each could do significant harm to the other.
The humans and quarians threw that equation out of balance. The quarians were inept traders and hopeless at managing money, but they were fiendishly spartan and had a long acquaintance with making do and stretching value. Their technology was often radical or even unorthodox, but it worked. And the communal nature of their culture, for all its drawbacks, had one keen advantage – they saw themselves as apart, and took no sides.
The humans were less predictable. More than once they'd surprised him with innovative ideas in science, trade, or even military tactics. Their grasp of economics was beyond laughable and their government was the most curiously twisted mix of central planning and free-market he'd ever seen, but it worked – for what the humans wanted it to do.
The re-balance of the Council had a curious effect on the volus – they had a chance to finally wiggle out from under the thumb of the turians. Pulling out of the turian markets entirely and throwing cash into the quarian markets had, of course, destabilized the Hierarchy. The asari had stepped into help, albeit with caveats and loans rather than actual assistance, but the net effect was the turians were unable to bother with trying to control the volus due to internal conflicts and economic issues.
The drawback was simple: the volus still didn't have the muscle to impress other races. And no matter how much Barla Von hated the idea, the galaxy was only going to be impressed with military power, not monetary power. The addition of the vorcha to the Vol Protectorate had paid off, but that still left the volus with a need for a command-tier of soldiers.
Mercenaries were not a dependable option. They could be bought, true – but that only meant they could be bought again by someone else. They needed an option for flexible, innovative soldiers who owed the Volus something and would be loyal when trouble came. And VDF was simply too small – most volus did not have the interest or aptitude for combat, especially ground combat.
To obtain such, Barla Von was going to have to give away perfectly good money on a black hole of an investment.
Given his beliefs, it was with a great deal of innate distaste that Barla Von viewed the proposal in front of him, an offer from an non-Alliance human banking concern. The various wildcat colonies that seemed to always flow out of human space were being pressured by many things : rampant piracy, a hostile Alliance, stricter enforcement of Citadel regulations on unlicensed trading, and of course, the handful of colonies that had been mysteriously vanished.
The financial supporters behind these wildcat colonies were mostly extremist groups. Outre religious systems, intra-racial elitists, cults and worse. Few if any of the wildcat colonies existed on anything but a bare subsistence level, their so-called capital of Horizon only having any development because it had once been a real Alliance colony.
As a result, their finances were less than stellar. However, the latest batch had, through some convoluted swindles and less than reputable elements in organized crime, managed to set up a banking concern. The so-called Freedom Frontier Bank was designed to allow wildcat colonies to pool resource and leverage investment income into their fledgling colonies.
Barla Von was going to dump a great deal of money into this money pit, against his better judgment, because both the Vol Protectorate and the Shadow Broker wanted him to.
The volus reasoning was clear. If they could convince these humans to join the Vol Protectorate, it would extend Vol space by a fair amount – and give them unrestricted trade lanes into the Traverse. While some volus merchants were wary of Aria, she'd stabilized her power in recent months to an impressive degree, aided by the actions of both the Sisters of Vengeance and the strange vigilante known as the Archangel.
The Broker network had been nearly decimated both on Ilium and on Omega itself, and attempts to rebuild it had only wasted time and money. And lives, he supposed, although that wasn't as bad as losing money. The long and short of it was that it looked as if Aria's empire was gaining permanency, and the volus weren't about to ignore an untapped market. If they could even obtain slight discounts on Aria's eezo, reselling it to the quarians at a markup would generate enormous profits.
But in order to complete such things, they needed secure trade lanes. Hence, supporting the wildcats. The volus lack of government oversight – and their hatred of the kind of arcane tax thievery the Alliance practiced – would allow the volus to hopefully convince the wildcats that throwing in with the Protectorate could only benefit them and not cost them their precious personal liberty.
If the wildcat colonies could also provide an officer tier for the volus-vorcha forces, humanity had proven quite formidable when it came to war. Such an added value would offset almost any cost. Barla Von disliked it but could understanding the reason. Risk mitigated reward.
The Broker's reasons for wanting the investments made were more … difficult to grasp.
Barla Von did not know much of what the Network did. He found it both unwise and frankly disturbing to be involved in most of the operations the Shadow Broker conducted, and after dealing with crazies like Tetrimus, Wrex, Tazzik or his old security Chief, Shields, had long ago decided the majority of the Broker's agents were all extremely terrifying and rarely if ever asked them questions about where exactly the money he made for them went to.
The less he knew, the less value he had in the eyes of those who might wish him harm, or to capture him. His security was elaborate, multi-layered and vicious – but as the saying went, the unseen pit is the one that kills you. He preferred to keep his interests firmly on the financial sides of things.
But even he knew the Broker had some kind of knowledge about the strange vanishings of human wildcat colonies. Six had vanished – and each time, the Broker had pulled agents out just days before the vanishing. Barla knew this because he'd paid for the transports and lodging of such agents.
So, if the Broker knew who was behind the colonies vanishing, why invest in them? The property rights were murky enough as it was, and all six of the empty colonies were under heavy Alliance lockdown. Already there were murmurs that the Alliance would auction the worlds off, but none of them were worth much. They all required heavy terraforming, weren't that mineral rich, and the only value most of them really offered was that no one else wanted the places.
Still, speculating wouldn't change anything. He finished his adjustments to the package and sent it off to the human bankers. It was a large financial assistance package, with multiple riders attached of various economic and financial incentives for responding in a certain fashion.
The most basic was just a few million credits, as a 'goodwill and charity' gesture. If the bank would agree to convince wildcat worlds to accept diplomats and observers from the Vol Protectorate, though, more credits would be added, as well as a line of low-interest credit good towards purchasing survival equipment, foodstuffs, and bulk materials.
If the worlds actually fell inline with and accepted Protectorate rule, a rider of fifty million credits for 'colonial development and defense' was attached. The Vol Protectorate would dispatch ships to protect wildcat worlds – both from conventional pirates and 'unwanted Alliance tax piracy'. They would use their financial clout to attempt to influence Alliance policy.
The biggest part of the package, though, was contingent on the Freedom Frontier Bank actually joining the Vol Court of Corporations, and to allow volus investment on the worlds as formal colonies of the Vol Protectorate. In that case, Barla Von had been instructed to push out interest free loans and grants, as well as materials 'offerings' and shipments of security mechs, defense infrastructure, and terraforming equipment.
Final value? Half a billion credits.
The Broker had put up a third of the money – through intermediaries and front-companies, of course, operating on the Vol Court of Corporations. Elkoss Combine had put up half, seeing a large market for selling all manner of survival gear, weapons, ships, and more.
But Barla Von remained troubled by small details deep within the package. Unlike most volus contracts, which featured heavy claw-back penalties for breaking the agreements, and risk-mitigation features designed to pad and break bad investments, this one had no investor protections.
There were also large insurance packages taken out on the loan balances, but not for the material goods. In essence, it was nothing more than a huge, unlimited, no-strings-attached handout – something that flew in the face of every volus concept.
Never give away anything without a return in value.
It troubled the volus banker for two reasons. First and more dire, it suggested someone either had some information he did not about the situation, or that someone had been given bad information. Either way, he was dealing with a situation where he couldn't accurately access risks. If the situation was somehow a net benefit, he would miss out if he didn't also invest right along with everyone else – but then again, if it was designed to fail, he would lose money short and long term.
Both were intolerable, but the second thing that bothered him was not just the Broker's involvement, but his mystifying statements about why he was doing it. When he'd been given the assignment, he'd questioned both its necessity and value, and the Broker had answered in a short phrase.
"Risk is only an issue for those who fail to know what they are doing."
That implied that – as usual – the Broker expected to profit no matter the outcome. But it didn't mean Barla Von could profit as well.
He supposed, as he finalized the transmission, that in this instance, not knowing meant he couldn't be sure of what would happen. Adding his own investments to the mix might pay off, or they might not – but if the Broker was gambling that the colonies would be destroyed, then the Broker was attempting to weaken the Vol Protectorate.
Barla Von understood very well the dangerous position that put him in. As one of the High Proctors of the Vol Banking System and a chair on the Vol Court of Corporations, he had a fiduciary and even patriotic duty to inform the Vol Protectorate that they might be playing into a trap. On the other hand, he had no proof – and betraying the Broker would only end in extremely rapid death.
With a sigh, he leaned his stout form back into his chair, musing quietly. The idea of missing out on a lucrative investment opportunity irked him badly, but so did blind risk. He would wait and see, gambling on the outcomes that made the most sense, even if that boded ill for his people.
O-TWCD-O
In the storm-racked night of Ilium, Tazzik stood over the twisted, broken corpse of yet another Broker operative, grimacing at the mess her corpse had made of the expensive carpet.
Behind him, a Broker ops team was spreading out, looking for clues. Waste of time, in Tazzik's opinion – the Sisters hadn't fucked up so far, they were hardly about to start now. Their latest kill, that of a critical information broker and investment mogul, Tynasa Eresil, was pretty much the death knell to the Ilium operation.
Tynasa was a clanless asari who'd built up a fortune in junk bonds, quack science, and convincing foolish humans she could give them 'biotic oneness' with some crazy mix of siari, red sand, and mind-altering substances. One part cult leader, one part salesperson, she'd built up a media empire and a brand that was sold across asari and human space.
Her investments and business cunning were legendary, and she'd long ago seen the profit in joining forces with the Broker. Below Tetrimus, Tazzik, and Barla Von, Tynasa was possibly the most powerful of the many Broker agents in the entire network.
Now she was a twisted wreck, dead – along with her human lover and most of her security team. Tazzik lit a fresh cigar and glanced over at where the techs were scanning the melted hole in one wall.
"Anything?"
The lead tech, a male quarian, spread his hands. "Nothing of note, Master Tazzik. As usual, software shows no penetrations, but physical examination of the hardware reveals it was definitely hacked. Someone breached her security systems and wiped all the data before deactivating the cameras – and the killed the backup generator before cutting the main power."
Tazzik walked around the ruined corpse gingerly, gazing at the wall. "And this?"
The asari next to the quarian tech sighed. "Warpfire. Whoever is doing this is incredibly powerful, there's vaporization patter on the corpses. They struck hard and fast with a paralyzing nerve agent – it wasn't effective on the two turians outside, both were killed at close range with some kind of very high-powered shotgun blasts. From the constriction, I'd say they were hit with a stasis effect first, then basically executed point blank."
The asari gestured to the bodies. "The two guards, Cina Tynasa, and her paramour were probably unable to move. The attackers melted the wall, shot the two guards – heavy pistol, clean kills. The human female looks like she was an unintended casualty – she must have been leaning against the wall when they vaped it."
Tazzik took in the nearly bisected and hacked corpse. "And a warp sword for Tynasa. They don't usually butcher their targets this way."
The quarian nodded. "Bruising on the arm where Mistress Tynasa's omni-tool bracelet would have been here – they took it. It's possible they interrogated her and something she said infuriated the killers. Other than that, again, nothing. No traces of any kind of biological matter. No camera pickups. No one saw anything. Nothing on the traffic net. They boosted an abandoned car and drove it nearby, then drove it to a deserted area of Westside. The car was doused with some kind of mix of oxidants, hydrogen peroxide, and home-brew black nano – by the time our people got to it there was no telling what had been in the car."
Tazzik nodded , blowing out a cloud of smoke. "That means the only remaining high-level agent on this world … is me." He gave a small, amused smile at that, while the team looked around nervously. "Very well. Set a fire. Bribe the police, call it an electrical fire and that everyone was overcome by smoke inhalation. Suppress any kind of rumor that the Sisters were behind this."
He turned away, stepping through the luxurious rooms of the palatial estate Tynasa had built for herself, absently wondering if he should stick around Ilium or pull up stakes. Without any other agents on world, managing data traffic and reports alone would take up all his time – and he was never good at that sort of thing anyway.
The weakness of the Broker Network was the need to maintain absolute communications security. The LINK, by its nature, couldn't be hacked or traced. It was a vast system of various point-to-point laser communications links, connected at various points with FTL drones using one-time pads and a complex algorithm for what messages routed where. The LINK itself scrambled all routing information and relied on possession of specialized hardware linked with carefully protected orbital satellites and deep space beacons to confirm a valid user.
The bottleneck was at some point, the LINK had to have a direct connection to HQ. For years, that had been routed through Ilium, given the masses of data traffic and comms signals to bury any Broker traffic in. When the Broker had made the decision to being moving out of the galaxy, the world the Broker Flagship orbited had changed, and the hub of communications now actually routed through Irune.
That move had occurred less than twelve hours before Old Silver had died. Tazzik could not help but think that couldn't be coincidence. He'd tried several times to point this out to both Tetrimus and the Broker himself, but had been ignored.
A common trend, since the debacle at Omega. Tazzik rubbed his replacement shoulder as he walked out the front door of the richly decorated mansion towards his waiting aircar.
Tazzik's mind was agile and clever, but he'd never been like most salarians. Bred as part of a special program to create super-soldiers, Tazzik was the only survivor of an egg clutch of six hundred. Seen as a fundamental failure, he'd been slated to be converted to Shieldbreaker fodder when the Broker had expressed an interest in the project, and had ended up sold into his service.
The long conversion into the killing machine he'd become had taken years, but Tazzik didn't mind. He wasn't raised as a salarian. He didn't share their viewpoints, their outlook on life, or their love of sneakery and spying – although he, like most of his people, was not a bad hand at such. Tazzik had been raised under the tutelage of a being that gloried in power, combat, and superiority, and he took those lessons to heart.
Along the way, he'd come to enjoy the challenge of killing the unkillable, stopping the unstoppable, and all of that. Fear and terror were his tools – that and the sheer brutality of his kills. For years, the Broker had approved of his bloodlust, and given him marks and targets to engage in it.
In recent years, though, he'd seemed to lose the Broker's favor – even before Omega. Tazzik was best in situations where he had a single, straightforward goal and no complicated side factors or elements to deal with. Capturing Okeer had gone poorly from the get-go, and going after Cerberus data caches had nearly gotten him killed fighting the Odd Couple. And then the stupid fucks had shown up again on Omega, this time with a party of Dancers and Shepard's entire fighting force, plus the Black Blade of the Vasir.
He loved a good fight, but he wasn't ever going to be able to fight off that kind of bullshit by himself. Of course, Tetrimus had – and made it look easy. The only reason the stupid old bird had gotten hurt at all was in explosion near his ship when he was getting away.
Tetrimus, for all his power, was still a crippled old freak. He was mocking and dismissive, so secure in his own power that he tended to see everyone except the Broker himself as a lesser being. Maybe the experiments and cyberware had driven him crazy at some point.
Bottom line, though, Tazzik wasn't going to pretend he was invincible or immortal. And he was not ashamed to admit when it came to running around in the shadows, there were others better suited to the task.
With that though firmly in place, he commed the Broker once he was secure in his aircar, headed back to the central facility he tended to operate from on Ilium. The transmission was baffled through half a dozen cutouts before being tight-beamed to an orbiting FTL booster, and then flung across the comm nets towards Irune, and from there to the system the Broker's flagship was in now, hiding in yet another storm-racked gas giant.
"Report."
Tazzik squared his augmented shoulders and gave the Broker the rundown, including what the forensic techs had said. When he was done, the Broker was quiet for several seconds before speaking.
"Ilium is now a complete loss. There are still forty seven mid-level and almost a hundred information level contacts, but these are useless without coordination and oversight. Inserting new level 4 and 5 contacts has been stymied at every turn."
Tazzik nodded. "The way I see it, boss, the only target left, really, is me."
The Broker's basso rumble was even deeper than usual. "That is not an acceptable outcome. These Sisters have proven to be extremely competent. You are not especially protected against biotic attacks, as you learned on Omega. If you were overpowered and captured, the results would be unoptimal."
Tazzik puffed on his cigar. "I was actually pretty much thinking the same thing. If this was that Archangel nut, I'd stick around and take my chances. But these two don't fight straight up."
His voice turned sly. "But I got a good idea on ow to make this whole messy egg pile into something that will let us break even."
The Broker said nothing for a second. "I am surprised you are not protesting. Proceed with your idea."
Tazzik glanced out a window at the purple-tinted skyline of Ilium, then cleared his speaking passage. "The Sisters are out to kill you, boss. That's been what's on the notes the whole time. The only chance we ever had to take them out was either trace who they were working for or set a trap. And every time we set a trap, they knew."
The Broker's growl was impatient. "This is obvious."
Tazzik's smile grew. "But here's the funny thing, boss, something I think you and the old bird overlooked. You've been assuming the whole time there had to be a leaker, or a traitor. Then why the fuck are they on Ilium and not Irune? They can't trace you from here unless they capture me and take me alive, then make me talk. And I'm not stupid enough to know somewhere in all this fancy crap you've installed in me is a killswitch if that happens."
The Broker's voice rumbled more softly. "Is there a point to this conjecture?"
Tazzik puffed again. "I don't think they're trying to trace you from here at all, boss. I think they're trying to draw someone out. They take out everyone supporting me till it's just me. What's my most likely move, facing a pair of biotic broads who like to strike from stealth?"
The Broker was silent, then spoke. "You would withdraw off world. You would not be fool to move to anywhere secure...and I would dispatch Tetrimus to deal with the situation. I was already planning to do so."
Tazzik's smile turned into a full blown grin. "Yes. And doing that is just what they want. Taking me out is hard. I don't doubt they could get the drop on me, but in a one-on-one fight I can handle just about anything. But like Omega taught me, biotics don't play by my kind of rules. I've got enough anti-biotic toys that I might ruin their day, but a pull at the wrong time or some kinda freaky barrier shit that knocks me off a tall tower and I'm fucked."
He put his cigar down. "So I bail, the old bird comes in. He's his usual self – walking around all badass, banging his cane, basically calling them out. What the shit is HE gonna do if they have some way to nullify his biotics?"
The Broker was silent for several seconds. "Then what do you advise?"
Tazzik exhaled. "Like you said, this location isn't salvageable short term. With the Network so torn up, the Thirty are making inroads every day. They're already pitting the factions of the clanless against each other, and buying up properties like crazy. STG and AIS too. Given what we know, it's not worth trying to rebuild here."
He inhaled. "But if we could figure out some way to make 'em think Tetrimus was coming, set it up as a trap, then we'd have a shot at taking them out. And I don't mean a conventional trap, I mean something big and ugly, like a fusion plant explosion or 'accidental' kinetic bombardment."
The Broker mused on this for several seconds. "The drawbacks are considerable and lengthy, and if my original surmise is correct, and they have an agent in the Network – or are part of it themselves – then they will no doubt find out."
Tazzik's smile didn't fade. "That's why we can't be the ones to set up the trap. I'm thinking someone like the Shifter should do it, move people in under the cover of setting up shop. Don't put any details on the Network at all, just that we're going to be 'reorganizing' and that I'll be pulling up stakes to oversee bullshit on … " He paused, thinking, then shrugged "...Bekenstein or some shit. Let Tetrimus drop a few hints to the lower-levels here he's gonna try and run down the Sisters."
The Broker's voice was the low grinding sound that was amusement. "And when they go after him, a massive attack to destroy the entire area. That has all the trademarks of your tactics. I can think of improvements, but the basic concept is sound. How long will you need to extract from Ilium?"
Tazzik thought about that. "The Sisters usually spend time researching each hit, it looks like – and I don't follow a pattern of where I move. I'll upload all my files tonight and be ready to move in the morning. If you gen up a flash clone of me and slot it with a walkabout chip, slap it in a set of bulky armor, and get it here in a few days, they may not even realize I'm gone."
"A very expensive decoy."
Tazzik leaned back. "It keeps them here. I really don't want these bitches running to some other op we have and shredding that like they did here, or worse, linking up with that nut gutting people on Omega."
The Broker rumbled. "We may have a potential solution to the Archangel problem shortly, due to the plans of our allies. I'll speak of it more when you return to the ship. For now, implement closeout procedures and do a completely level nine purge. Also, how many female asari do you have on your personal staff?"
Tazzik blinked. "Four. Why?"
"Execute them all, tonight. Just in case." With that the Broker disconnected, and Tazzik sighed.
O-TWCD-O
"The situation has stabilized in the past six months, although there are still issues to be worked out to provide a more final closure to this distasteful incident."
The voice of Thana T'Armal echoed across the Temple of Athame, as she stood in the middle of the Council of Matriarchs. Dressed in shimmering blue and black silks cinched tightly at the waist, draped in a heavy black shawl, she looked more drawn and tired that Uressa T'Shora remembered from the last meeting of the Council.
Even so, her voice was still strong. "The economic hardships suffered by the Alliance, the pullback of their government into more staid isolationism, and the recent xenophobia demonstrated by their Ministers, has meshed well with our demands for tighter immigration controls. Last year, almost seven hundred thousand clanless ventured into the Systems Alliance. This year, only fifty four thousand have done so, and the so-called 'Alliance asari' are not as open minded to the idea of continued immigration after that pack of Triune cultists was found on Watson."
The various matriarchs murmured, a few gentle touches of hands on wrists or subtle motions of siari rustling the quiet of the chamber before it fell to silence again. Thana's eyes narrowed as she gazed upon them. "The resultant trade concessions and reduced flow of humans from the Alliance to our own borders is but a short term effect, one we can reverse in the fullness of time. The Exodus movement is over, the … unstable elements of society removed from our harmony."
Matriarch Wesha T'Cathus, one of the youngest of the Council, stood to speak, and Thana inclined her head regally. "Our thanks to you, Highest, for your leadership and council in this dark period. But I am reluctant to dismiss the storm as over merely at the calming of the tides. The core reason the clanless fled from our unity into the morass of ever-shifting values and the fractured culture of the humans cannot be chalked up to mere economic distress."
Thana folded her arms. "I am aware of this. However, at this time, I see no better course of action than what we have planned, which is incorporation of human populations in our own worlds in the short term, slowly weakening the Alliance in the long term to become a vassal state."
Wesha bowed, but made a sign of siari disagreement. "While this strategy was decided in the fullness of council, the problem with such a plan is that it requires the humans not to leverage the asari who have joined them and taken up their ways."
Matriarch T'Vurth gave a low snicker. "That shouldn't be a problem. Humans are fascinated with us."
Wesha smiled. "This is true. But my sisters, the case can also be made that the Alliance has proven it can defy our expectations in large ways. We expected they would buckle after gracious Matriarch T'Shora saved them from the turians, but they recovered their footing. We expected them to merely become technological vassals, but they have instead made great leaps in technology on their own and in combination with the turians and salarians. We expected them to be powerless pawns, yet they are now on the Council. It seems … unwise … to assume our current plans will follow our expectations."
Matriarch Yulsanis T'Purice, ancient and older than any of them, stood slowly. "We have seen many things we did not expect in the long dance of years under sun and moon. Yet as always, tides end up upon the shore – where else are they to go? The humans are unpredictable – but only in the short term. In longer spans, they are very easily predicted. Their masses want security, the obliviation of responsibility, comfort and entertainment. Their rich want status, influence and admiration, their leaders want to remain such and to safeguard their own elevation. They are not like us. They do not sublimate their needs for the good of all like the turians, or even the harmony of all as we do."
The old matriarch coughed, then continued in a slightly stronger voice. "Thana's plan relies on the greed and short-sighted fixation of humanity. In time, they will want to come here – especially as their government tightens its grip in the face of problems. In time, the asari there will become less mysterious because they are familiar. Humans are creatures of adventure, of sensation, and of belief in their own destiny – the idea they are being steered is nothing that occurs to the masses."
Thana smiled. "Precisely, wise Yulsanis. It may take fifty years or a century, but eventually they will cling to us all the tighter for the short separation. They cannot trust the salarian. The volus have already delivered the turians into our hands and are now probably going to economically backstab the quarians, who are divided and powerless in any event."
Wesha shrugged and sat back down. Swallowing, Uressa stood, politely waiting for Thana to acknowledge her before speaking. "Beloved sisters, the plans and wisdom flowing from this Council is, as usual, deft and sinuous. But I fear it ultimately steers us to a path that is destructive to our unity. Humans should be beloved cousins that we nurture and provide protection to, not utilize for their value at stabilizing the clanless."
Thana sighed in irritation, but this time it was Matriarch Iasela T'Vaan who spoke. "Again with this argument? Matriarch Uressa, again I remind you – it was your personal decision to take the Second Fleet and stop the turians. To defy both this Council and the Citadel Council in that action. Your compassion does you great credit, but you are deliberately ignoring the truths that lay bare to the rest of us."
The old matron folded her arms. "Humans are lead by a corrupted mirror of the Thirty, who haven already proven willing to inflict almost turian levels of self-destructiveness in the name of 'stability' and 'justice'. Their Commissars are even more dysfunctional than the most twisted Justicar, and their system of governance locks most of their people into paying taxes for benefits they can't even use. They are going to eventually do something stupid and the Council will have no choice but to sanction them as we did the krogan, or even the rachni – and then it will be too late to save them."
T'Vaan huffed. "Better that we take them under our caress now, even if that robs them of their own choices and paths, than let them take the wrong ones. I did not let my daughters choose their own way because they lacked the wisdom to do so. Why is this any different?"
Uressa folded her own arms. "Because we are planning to subsume them, to make them into little more than a caste of sexual pets and military fodder? Because we are willing to risk them turning against us and becoming the spear-tip of the salarians or even the turians if the humans figure out our intentions? I will not belabor the point that the humans deserve better after proving their valor and bravery at the battle of the Citadel, or bleeding alongside the turians to stop the geth while we observe."
Thana held up a hand in a sign of siari calm. "Your points are taken, and heard, Matriarch Uressa. We did not come to this decision without a great deal of discussion, and your objections have not changed. And if the humans had been content to follow along the path we wished, such an accommodation would very well be possible."
Her voice hardened. "But I do not forget for a moment that that Trellani is still out there, still in possession of knowledge that could turn the entirety of our own race against us. The Broker is convinced she is now allied with Cerberus – and may have been for some time even before its alleged destruction. The convolution of certain economic markets, not to mention the actions of Hades, prove well enough it is not dead ."
Thana lowered her hand. "I make our reasons plain and bring this up only to restate the course we have already set. The Exodus has stopped. Our task – to stabilize the clanless, to rebuild the power of the Clans, to widen our own numbers – is the next step. Increasing human numbers in our own worlds is a part of that step."
She smiled. "There is always time to reconsider longer term actions and plans for the Alliance as a whole. No one is suggesting that we disenfranchise our cousins. Their inventiveness and drive may be a boon to us in the long term once we make adjustments to their culture and outlook. But to suggest that we simply stand away and let them flail about without our guidance is cruelty, no matter how kind the intent may be."
Uressa nodded, but still stood. "Your words are taken at face value, Sea Lily, but one question still remains, one you yourself just implied – what if Trellani tells them what we plan? Will we then turn aside from this ideal?"
Thana gave a serene smile. "You, of all people, should pray that never happens. If it does and the humans become a liability, they will have to go the way of the krogan. Our job – the holy task of the Thirty – is to guide and protect the asari, and ensure we are supreme – not other races, not even our cousins."
Thana's voice was hard. "As the Writings say, if there is that which taints the waters, it must be cast upon the shore, lest all be poisoned."
