Chapter 21

Wonders are many, and none is more wonderful than man.

— Sophocles, Antigone

April 22nd , 2216

Jillian Sampson couldn't hold back an ear-to-ear grin at the look of sheer awe on her blue friend's face, as they two and her father exited Warp, and their ship made way for the New York Spaceport. It had taken no-end of trouble and pulled strings for Bill to get the Asari a ticket to earth, as opposed to Tirven-Alpha, the moon the liberated slaves were being sent to, and though Jillian couldn't see it on Bill's face, he questioned his decision every moment the Asari spent talking. In his own opinion, the alien had spent too much time as a slave and if it was possible for her to recover, it would take a lot more than one Human lifetime for it to happen. Try as he might, though, he couldn't convince his daughter of the same thing, and though she had only been through it for a few days, her days in Batarian space had taken their toll on her psyche as well, and as such he was willing to do anything it took to make sure she healed as best as she could; he simply prayed he wouldn't have to do something drastic if and when the Asari finally cracked.

With that in mind, the veteran Death Dealer ran a hand through his shaggy crew-cut, contemplating retirement from a long and sordid military career, as he simply watched Jillian and the alien interact. Almost the entire trip, Saira had been coming to terms with the very concept of freedom, and was asking Jillian everything under the sun when it came to contemporary life, be it in Citadel space or in Alliance territory. Before they had broken warp and entered the Sol System, the two had been in a deep discussion about the Alliance's standards for education and how it compared to the Asari's. Now, however, the Asari - and some other returning servicemen and women - was pressed up against the open view-ports, marveling at the view of Earth from orbit, as the ship's pilots coordinated with New York Space Control so as to get a clear path for landing. To put it lightly, Bill noted that the alien was acting as if she had never, in her several centuries of life, seen anything quite like what she was witnessing here, and he assumed some of the other soldiers had gotten the same idea, given the hushed voices and odd looks she was getting.

"Goddess!" He heard the alien breathe, as she pointed out something Bill couldn't see from where he was seated, the wonder of entering a planet had long lost its luster for the man, appropriately so, as the view for him typically meant he would be putting his life at risk imminently. OD3's were notorious for their indifference to space-tourism and orbital views of the various planets, be they Alliance or Alien. "What is that?"

It took Jillian a moment, but she was able to deduce what it was the alien was referring to as the ship began its final retro-burn so as to bleed off the momentum that had been created to leave the Warp, and began angling itself for a descent. "That's the Space Scraper." She said, "it's the biggest man-made building on Earth... Seconded in sheer size only by the Beijing Space Elevator." She explained slowly, not even bothering to mention how tall it was, because Saira had a very rotten concept of size. "It essentially serves as the center for Earth's economic trade, there's a reason people call it the 'Galaxy's Office-Building'." She explained, "it's probably the only building in all of Alliance space that regularly employs Humans, Quarians, and Citadel aliens as well." She mentioned, as the two gazed at the enormous building, with its spire-top and its obelisk base, as they flew past it and to the space port.

"Space elevator?" Saira blinked confusedly, Bill could see the rusted gears that were her mind trying to process Jillian's explanation beyond the simplicity that was 'The Masters said it was so'. That alien thought Batarians walked on water, Bill was certain of it.

Jillian faltered here, but she remembered enough from college to give her a decent enough explanation. "A space elevator is a machine designed to bring materials into space without the need for a space vessel." She looked like she wanted to mention what she did know specifically - the details she had learned in Economics class - but she could tell the simple differences between the Alliance Dollar and the United States dollar would boggle the Asari's mind, let alone the difference between the Alliance Dollar and the Galactic Credit.

"Do you people really live in those... Those... Obelisks?" Saira asked, as the ship lurched and turned itself about to correct its orientation for Earth's gravity.

"Yeah." Said Jillian, taking Saira's outstretched hand. "Are Asari buildings different?" She asked gently.

"I... Do not remember." Saira struggled to say, looking like she physically had to force the words out. "I only remember... Beauty, unmatched." She said, "not like the Masters' buildings." She slipped back in to the automated speech that Bill had been exposed to earlier. "They are spires that stick out of the ground... Like massive needles of steel and cyrothane."

"I see..." Jillian didn't have a response, so the two simply lapsed in to a silence, as the ship made its final descents.

"So... Jillian, what will we see when we land? Will the new masters be waiting for us?" Saira asked, as they neared the New York Spaceport.

The New York Spaceport was the second largest spaceport on Earth. It was located a dozen miles east of the American Statue of Liberty, and every day there were at least a half dozen ships settling down, unloading their passengers, and being towed out. Currently, the NYSP had essentially been rented out by the Alliance, as its maximum ship-capacity was going to be filled to the brim within the next three hours, as dozens of Alliance ships came in to deposit the dutiful Human warriors to the homeworld.

"That's... A question for Dad... Actually." Jillian looked back at her father with a knowing, if slightly pleading smile.

Pushing the thought that his daughter might be realizing the mistake the both of them had made, Bill cleared his throat and answered honestly. "No, no new Masters." He said, "but what will be waiting for us is what always waits for the landers: Pandemonium." He said, "especially during Wartime." He received a few knowing smiles from the soldiers who were listening, and chuckled. "You are going to see Humanity at its best and worst here, Saira."

"Oh?" Saira looked curious, as she turned to look at the veteran, dressed in his OD3 Fatigues.

"You'll see families, friends, husbands, wives, and children, all lined up nut to butt." His daughter looked outraged, but the Asari didn't recognize his idiom at all. "All waving signs and all cheering as they see the Alliance's warriors step down from their ship." He explained, "you'll see hugging, you'll see kissing, you'll see crying and you'll see emotions flying. But most of all, you'll see one thing on the faces of the Human and Quarian soldiers and Marines, that you'll never catch on the Battlefield."

"What is that?" Saira asked, captivated by the veteran's storytelling prowess.

"Hope. Contentedness. Joy." He said, "when they come home, the first thing a Warrior does is embrace his family... Because coming home means he survived, means he's won. He did his duty, and even if it's temporary, he can now find solace in the arms of those he loves."

"Do you have a bondmate, mister Sampson?" Saira asked, out of the blue and almost completely out of character.

Bill blinked, a bit taken aback by her suddenness, but recovered soon and gave a laugh, "no... No my wife passed a long time ago. Right before I Leaped on to the Citadel, actually." He said, looking at Jillian with a proud look in his eyes. "Got something good from her, though." He said with a smile, as the ship shuddered to a halt.

"Are we landing?" Saira looked around nervously, not at all comfortable with all of the movement that came with the soldiers and marines excitedly gathering their things and anxiously waiting to disembark.

All around them, the dozens of rows of seats were all filled to the brim with the Alliance's servicemen. All of them were dressed in their fatigues, with their dress-uniforms being at home, serving no use on the battlefield. Ruling the ship were the Black and Green fatigues of the Army and the Black and the Marines' Black and Grey. There were a dozen or so OD3's in their similarly Black and Gray uniforms, and a half dozen N7 sporting their Black and Brown. The color schemes of the Alliance Military's fatigues were designed to intentionally revolve around the color black, it was meant to symbolize that, unlike the Earth Militaries, who used multiple colors, the Alliance was primarily a space-military, and the dark void was jet black, save for the starlight, thus, the dark colors of the Alliance Military Fatigues.

Saira, however, wasn't captivated by the uniforms, not like Bill was and the civilians outside soon would be. She was captivated, and still trying to find a way to cope with, the simple fact that this shuttle ride wouldn't end with her becoming indebted to a single home for centuries; rather the opposite, this ship ride would end with her becoming a free being for the first time in centuries. It was a concept that was almost completely foreign to her mind, she had been in Batarian space for so long that she had forgotten Thessian Standard, it was more efficient to speak Batarian Common, after all, though something in the back of her mind, a place that hadn't even been considered for many centuries, told her that it may be more prudent to learn English instead of Thessian Standard.

Exiting the ship was a simple, and relatively orderly process. When the Alliancemen exited the ship, they were greeting with a beautiful sight: the docking bay was quite literally packed to the bursting point with civilians; men, women, children, husbands, wives, parents, they all were in attendance. Humans, and even the few odd Qurians that had migrated to Earth, were all in attendance, and when they saw the Alliance's finest exiting the ramp leading outside, they all burst into cheers. Many threw up their signs and waved them, some saying 'welcome home', some saying 'thanks for your service', others having similar messages, but more personalized for specific servicemen.

Bill smiled broadly as he stepped down from the cold metal transport machine, and stepped down on Terra-Firma. He could smell the fresh scent of Earth's atmosphere, and when he turned around to see his daughter leading the Asari through the crowds, he knew he wouldn't give up any of it for the galaxy. He chuckled lightly and followed his child, thoughts of retirement, dishonorable discharges and the like all pushed from his mind as he simple enjoyed the moment.

Where one ceremony on Earth was a time of celebration and happiness, many light years away, on an all-around warmer planet with a much smaller population, the atmosphere was the exact opposite. John-S2-15 stood at attention, it seemed that all of Sparta was silent and dreary upon this day, as the six hundred and six SIGMA II's, and all of the Commanders of the SIGMA Companies - be they I or II - stood in their dress-blues, as the memorial service for the fallen II's was conducted and carried out.

Burial services for SIGMAs were somber affairs; not unlike the burial services of the former Migrant Fleet, fallen SIGMAs were interred for a total of forty eight hours, to allow their brothers time for mourning and respect. After the forty eight hours ran up, the bodies were encased in marble coffins, and launched through the Warp, to Sol. This was so, after they were burned to atoms in the atmosphere of the sun, their bodies would add fuel to the eternal fires that had brought the light and the life to the Human Race. The bodies of the SIGMA Operatives would be incinerated in Sol, to watch over the Sol System, and Earth, for eternity, blessing it and protecting it.

One thing very few people knew about the SIGMAs was their spirituality. The words 'Warrior Cult' could very easily describe them correctly, as they could incorrectly; it was often said that the SIGMAs worshiped their own god, and burned their enemies' bodies to pay homage. Other grape-vines told tales of how each SIGMA's suit of armor had a crucifix welded inside of it and they were given the holy protection of God himself, though the most popular theory was that the SIGMAs had met God in person, decided he was weak, and killed him themselves so they could take his power and use it to protect Humanity. All of the stories, hearsay and tales revolved simply around the actual fact that SIGMAs were dedicated to everything, themselves included, almost to a religious degree. Case in point, the death of a SIGMA - any SIGMA - was an intensely personal affair, felt by any and all SIGMAs, be they active duty or retired, and they had very specific ways of how their dead were treated. The SIGMAs were the greatest warriors in Human History, and they were religious in their dedication to protecting the Human Race. Many confused the SIGMAs' goals as to being the protectors of the Alliance, but that assumption was dead wrong, as they protected Humanity, not its government. It was with this in mind that they were cremated in the ashes of Sol, the giver of life for the Human Race.

No SIGMA corpse was ever allowed to stay within enemy lines, many SIGMAs believed that the soul of the Operative would spoil and thus would haunt the battlefield forever, constantly searching for his body, constantly searching for a place to rest. During the entire existence of the SIGMA Program, not a single SIGMA Operative that had been KIA, had their corpse stay behind enemy lines for more than two days, though the longest recorded missing SIGMA body had been during the Second Contact War, when one body had been declared unrecovered during the Second Contact War. Due to the fact that all SIGMAs had at least some kind of identifying themselves after death - even if their bodies were blown to pieces and only small bits of gore remained - it had been unanimously decided on Sparta that they had done the unthinkable and missed one of their dead during the cleanup operations on Palaven. John Doe and the Alpha Squad had nearly started a war when they had mounted an unsanctioned rescue operation so they could recover the body after it had been in Turian hands for a month, though they had covered their tracks well, and to this day no one knew how the base that held the body had been burned to the ground.

Another commonality in SIGMA Deaths was their helmet. The Gas Mask/Helmet combo, while having been the design of Jason McGraw, the man who made Titan Armor possible, was as much a part of a SIGMA as his augmentations were. The Helmets of the SIGMA, upon his death, were kept with the body until it was sent for solar cremation, afterwords, the SIGMA's ID Tag was carved into the helmet, which was hung in the Hall of the Dead, the only exceptions being those unfortunate few who had had their heads blown completely apart. Sparta's Hall of the Dead was, quite literally, the largest building on the planet, and it was dedicated to one thing, and one thing only: Storing the helmets of the dead SIGMAs.

To that effect, when the funeral services were held, everyone in attendance wore their helmets, as opposed to the head-wear of their dress uniforms. To SIGMAs, there was no differentiation between one another, not in Death, so at the funerals, everyone's face was covered. Everyone was anonymous. Everyone was equal.

Ducard and the eight other Commanders of the SIGMA II Trainees stepped forth. There were no words spoken at SIGMA Funerals, words were precious resources, they could be the difference between life and death on the battlefield. One miscommunication could get an entire battalion killed in an instant. When a SIGMA died, no words were spoken in his memory, because no amount of of the precious resource that was language, could bring back the dead. Speaking in their memory was, in essence, highlighting their failures by using that which they lost first, in death: the ability to communicate.

The Commanders unfolded eight flags, over eight coffins, one by one. With a solemn silence they laid the flag of the Alliance down upon the coffin. Without a word, they saluted the dead, the II's returned the salute, and for five seconds they held it. Ducard nodded, and the Commander dropped the salute. The eight Commanders stepped over to the podium, and firmly pressed the lone silver button upon it.

To SIGMAs, the Warp was a weapon, not a means of travel. The SIGMAs would spend their lives alongside their weapon, and the Warp was no exception. SIGMAs used the Warp to attack their enemies and defend their people. No other species utilized the Warp, but that simply meant they had to defend it all the more ferociously. In spite of the fact that utilizing Warp Drives in-atmosphere was damaging to a planet's ecosystem, the SIGMAs used it anyways, it was all they could do to honor their dead, by sending them to eternity, alongside such a perfect weapon as the Warp.

Still maintaining a silence that even Sparta's environment didn't dare shatter, lest it invite the never-ending ire of the perfect warriors, the eight Commanders strode forward. The six coffins, each weighing many hundreds of pounds, were all pushed by the helmeted Commanders without any assistance. Due to the fact that there were six coffins and eight Commanders, the leftover Commanders sprang to a salute, becoming still as a statue as the Augmented Elite sent their dead to their eternal resting place.

The last coffin was pushed into the Warp, and the entry point was sustained for twenty one seconds before they closed shut. The silence was maintained for fifty seconds, as all present held up a salute. Finally, the Commanders dropped their hands, as did the II's. The Commander of Alpha Company, Salvador Delszin S1-6 stepped up and activated his smart watch, his voice was amplified as he spoke into it.

"This will not be the last time you experience the death and burial of your own." Delszin stated, "you can not change their deaths... But take every action to avenge them, for tomorrow, you go to war." He cut the watch and the eight Commanders saluted the six hundred six recently augmented Child Soldiers.

The Teenagers returned the salute, and now, with the burial over, they made their ways back to their respective companies' barracks, to prepare for their first war the next day.

After the funeral, however, came two separate events for two separate groups of people. The teenaged Twos would recover from the shock of losing their own and their first taste of battle - though certainly not their last - and would mourn their fallen. The Ones, however, would all gather in the building they'd had built a half decade ago, when the Twos had finally started showing a universal improvement: Their Officers' Quarters. Unfortunately for the Ones, they wouldn't be discussing ranks or anything of the sort, much the opposite, they would be discussing their own reaction to what had happened above Earth. Things had largely gone according to plan, but the Human element did - as it often proved to do - turn things closer to their head than the Ones would have liked.

They all sat down around a round table, the eight Company Commanders silently waiting for them all to be ready as the bright, sterile lighting beat down on their bare heads. Once they all sat, Commander Yancy of Charlie Company began. "First order of business should be you, Ducard. I heard you took quite a few hits... Finally getting old?" He grinned.

"Up yours." Ducard responded, flipping Yancy the Bird. "I'll only retire once John takes the stick out of his ass and finally gives me his name." And everyone knew what that meant: Over his dead body.

"Quaint." Said the Commander of Bravo Company, his voice the lightest of the bunch and his frame just a bit skinnier, but despite this he managed to be one of the most imposing of the group, which said something, given that they all were superhumans who had individually seen more death and destruction than most generations had put together. "Now that that's out of the way, I want to hear about what happened to Two-Fifteen. How was he punished?"

Ducard sighed deeply, but he didn't resolve to lie. The SIGMAs had enough problems on their plate, adding in doubt amongst their ranks would not help things at all. "Who here knows the name Edward Spokane?" No one spoke up, he shook his pale, shaven head. "I thought so. We need to speak to the General and put him on the Blacklist." He stated.

The air in the room turned serious in an instant, the Blacklist was something of a legend even amongst the SIGMAs. It was, quite literally, the list of the largest threats to Mankind that the SIGMAs knew about. To date, less than twenty names and organizations had been put on that list, with the top two threats being a resounding Extra-Terrestrials in first place, and the Turian Ghosts in second. The only Human being to ever have his name put on that list was Christopher McGraw, and everyone present knew it.

"A blacklist doesn't get removed, Ducard." Alpha Commander warned, with a serious look set in his dark features. "What makes you suggest this? How can one man be as dangerous as Christopher McGraw?" Just because he was a genius didn't mean he was peaceful - he had been inducted because he'd created the Twos, after all, and their decision had been proven when the Twos had proven to be so effective during the war scenarios. Worse still was that he was so enigmatic and loose with his alliances, had he been loyal to his race specifically, they may have more heavily considered their decision, but he wasn't, so they hadn't.

"When I brought Two-Fifteen in and detained him, Spokane appeared without any warning and hijacked the entire ordeal. I somehow managed to convince him that John was a One, and he never saw him so he had no reason to doubt me, but that man has power and technology and he's not afraid to use it."

"How can you tell?" Asked Yancy, "what scale?"

"McGraw scale." McGraw was one step under 'Sufficiently Advanced', he was literally beyond the point of modern Human capability, and SA was anything alien that couldn't be explained without someone from the AATF, the people whose job was literally to explain unexplainable alien technology. "He had a device that successfully went in to Two-Fifteen's mind and rewrote it. Anything and everything to do with SIGMA Two-One Oh Six was either hidden from him or erased entirely, replaced with memories of a phantom SIGMA designated Two- Six-Thirteen." Ducard explained.

"You just said you convinced this Spokane that the kids were Ones. If he was able to replace Two-Fifteen's memories so thoroughly there is no way he didn't know." Yancy pointed out.

"And if this Spokane wiped his memory, how the hell do we know Two-Fifteen is still viable as a soldier? What training did he do when Two-One Oh Six arrived? For how long was it? A month? That's a month of his life gone, what influence did she have on him?" Alpha Commander asked in rapid fire, "how is it even possible to wipe memories? What effects would it have on the kid?"

"I don't know." Ducard admitted truthfully, "it was an extremely poor lapse in judgement that led me to let this man do what he did, but that is exactly why he needs to be on the blacklist, a man who is as capable as that and has technology that may very well be sufficiently advanced, we can't let him run around unchecked." Ducard said firmly, but he waved his hand after a moment's silence. "Where that tech from and how he knows what he knows is an investigation for another day, we can get one of the retired Ones' kids to look in to it for us. What we need to discuss is how the Rebels got so many men in to the Solar System without us being ready for it." He stated, "I am well aware that the entire battle was Doe's idea, to plant the leak within their ranks so we could test damn near everything we've taught the Twos, but how did fourteen hundred rebels get in-system? We can't hide that from the Alliance, worse, the Alliance can't hide that from the UN. Tensions are already high thanks to what Two-Fifteen did in Australia, but when word of this gets out, the UN may very well have grounds to suspect that the Alliance can't properly defend them."

"The Twos took them down with only six casualties. We can use that." Said Echo Company's commander, Berrough. "Spin a few stories, it was SIGMAs who were waiting augmentation who took 'em down. No augments, just out of training, that can do a lot for morale."

"Morale isn't what matters right now, you want to boost morale you shoot a planet a few dozen times." Alpha Commander waved it aside, "Ducard has a good point. We need to go forward to the Alliance before they start suspecting us of foul play."

"We're goddamn SIGMAs, and they don't trust us." Yancy leaned back and sighed deeply, "I should've retired after Palaven." He muttered.

"You were on Palaven?" Echo asked.

"Got out of augment recovery the damn day after Earth got cleared out." He said, with mirth hidden inside his voice.

"Off topic." Ducard reminded the two, "they Alliance is worried every day that we'll call Sixty Six. The ones who know about it, that is." He shrugged, "they've been trying to enull that since the day the Council reared its head and we had to fight the Turian Ghosts. They want an army of supersoldiers, not vigilant warriors." Ducard then groaned, and shook his head. "I remember back in the first war... Things were a lot simpler then. Go here, kill them, but don't kill these ones. No politics, no in-fighting between Humans, no exposition, just... War."

"Off topic." Foxtrot's Commander said firmly, "The Twos. We lost six of them."

"Half of those three weren't even awake, and we were expecting to lose ten. That says something." Bravo's Commander said pointedly.

"So. They passed?"

"I'd say so." Said Alpha's commander, and everyone soon agreed. The tension soon began dispersing, everyone was glad that it was more or less over. "Good... So, anyone here watch football?"

April 23rd, 2014

God damn... This cafe has grown in the last decade... I never noticed it until now. McGraw, like clockwork, had found an excuse to go to the 'Bire and Bur' cafe at least once per month ever since he had fallen in love with the place in the aftermath of the Second Contact War. The first time he had visited the cafe he'd had his first taste of alien food in the form of an Asari steak that, he'd later learned, had come from an animal that, like Asari themselves, was born with element zero integral in their DNA. The result hadn't been a red-sand level of biotic display, but he had noticed a distinct difference in his visual perception for a few hours.

As it turned out, though McGraw was oblivious to the fact, this cafe had been the very first alien eatery that had ever catered to a Human being in all of recorded history. That fact alone had brought the once struggling cafe to one of the most visited restaurants on the Citadel, and given McGraw's continued presence in the place, many scientists and engineers the galaxy over often stopped by at least once, hoping to meet the enigmatic engineer and confirm the rumors and hearsay about his personality.

Today, however, McGraw was largely ignoring everyone present as he contemplated the previous stop on his sojourn across space. He had made an unscheduled and unannounced visit to an old friend, one of the few from the Second Contact War that he kept in contact with. While he would have loved to show up and bother the former Director, Jason Whyte, who was apparently enjoying retirement on one of Eden's moons, Jason hadn't been the one to have lost a family member to war. No, McGraw - and, by request and through lack of choice in the matter, Miranda - had visited the former Admiral, Talo'Sahn. Though, given the circumstances, he had correctly assumed that her name would have been changed to Talo'Zorn vil Sahn, as she was a widow, now.

Talo had been understandably shocked that McGraw had shown up so unannounced, but being the person she was, she hadn't been able to deny him at least a few hours of her time. She was still in a state of shock over her husband's death, according to her - and backed up by the reports he'd pilfered from Alliance Intelligence - he had died honorably, on the field of battle, though she had had a horrible time of dealing with his death, and had been hopelessly befuddled by how Humans handled their burials. McGraw understood it, of course, burials on the former Migrant Fleet weren't times of mourning and grief, but of celebration. Humans mourned their dead, Quarians celebrated the new ancestor and remembered who he or she was, so Talo had understandably been at a loss for words when she had seen the mourners arrive in dark clothing and saw the stage get set for a somber affair.

The visit had ended up having a thoroughly planned-for bonus, however, and it was said bonus that had McGraw's mind working in overdrive because, in short, her son had fascinated him. Jorell - who McGraw had mercilessly teased because of his name, though no one in attendance had understood the joke - was, by all accounts, just a marine's son and an Admiral's child, but McGraw knew that there was far more than simply met the eye in this situation. Unfortunately, he hadn't had any time to attempt to discern in detail what made Jorell seem special in the same way John was, as it had been made quickly and readily apparent that the aspiring-Marine did not like him.

I need to look through the AATF darklist again... I swear I saw The Lines on Jorell's face. Thought McGraw, as his waitress came by and deposited his and Miranda's food. The question is, does He know? If he does, what will he do about it? If I show interest in this kid, will he try and remove him from play? But if I don't do anything and he is one of them, that means he could end up wasting his potential. This is all assuming QGF 1-B even made it out out of the lab. But if it did, why the hell would the AATF choose an Admiral's kid to test it on? Refuge in Audacity? Or maybe they didn't know when the little thirteen year old alien came waltzing in and demanding his shots... I have to assume He knows better than I, so what do I do? Gamble and leave him alone, or put him at risk by moving the pieces? An untouched bishop could be as much of a strength as it could be a hindrance... Damn it. It was when he made that final thought that he noticed that the teenager he'd unofficially adopted was all but glaring at him, though he ignored her for a moment to begin stuffing his face. Play it safe. Don't get involved directly, but that damn kid's a patriot and his mom's trying to get him to do something to make him stop... His comment on getting 'Vas' tacked on to his name might be the key... I think I need to call up Joran again, see if I can't spark up the Pilgrimage debates again... At least it'd shut them up about the Geth for a few years. He shook his head.

Now with his mouth furposefully filled to the bursting point, so as to hide the serious air that had gathered around him, McGraw's words were muffled by the delectable steak. "Whutchoolookinat?" He asked, "fumfinonmuhfathe?" He reached up and dragged a thumb across his cheek, it came way clean.

Largely nonplussed by his absolute lack of table manners, Miranda spoke her mind. "McGraw, we've been here for two days and I still don't know why." The raven-haired teen complained as the engineer carnivorously tore into his Asari steak.

"Lady, one thing you'll learn from this conversation." Said Christopher McGraw, wiping away some grease that had collected on his chin thanks to his earlier display, "is that it is not one you'll want to miss." He was tempted to to make a joke about how everyone was waiting for this meeting to happen, even if they didn't know it yet, but he doubted Miranda would have gotten it at all.

"But who are you meeting here that's two days late?"

"Probably the only living alien I respect intellectually." Said McGraw, "he's got one hell of a speech impediment, though..." He shuddered for effect, "I've known space-rabbits who couldn't fuck as fast as this guy talked."

"What?!" Miranda looked revolted, and McGraw grinned, he very much enjoyed getting under the teen's skin.

"In other words -" McGraw cleared his throat and took a sip of water, "- the extremely light heavyweight match-up of the smartest members for their respective species."

"He's so smart... And he's two days late?"

"A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to." McGraw grinned, causing Miranda to groan as she began eating her own meal, flipping through a book on her Smart-Watch as she did.

However, her progress was halted just a moment later when a new patron arrived and made straight for their table, speaking the moment he came within earshot of the two. "Excellent point. However, prefer term, two days early." Said the new patron, his tone light and fast in speed.

McGraw grinned maliciously, but stood gleefully. "And it's the gecko of the hour!" He extended his cybernetic hand.

Casually strolling in from the wide entrance of the cafe one of the most recognizable Humans in the frequented was a Salarian. He was as tall as McGraw, if not only a few inches higher. He wore a white Salarian scientist's uniform, with red decals stretching about in seemingly random places, including his torso, his arms, and his boots. His skin was a dark orange shade, save for the dark mole-like spots on his forehead and cheeks, and the pale yellow stretch of skin on his lower face. His two bug-like eyes were wide open in the characteristic Salarian 'glare', though the slight smile on his face dashed all thoughts of ill-will.

"Salarians are amphibian, mister McGraw." The Salarian noted lightly, as he extended a three-fingered gloved hand to shake McGraw's cybernetic extremity. "How is the new limb?" The Salarian wondered.

"If I do say so myself, the damn thing's working like it did on day damn one. I would've appreciated some kind of metallic shell to act as a sort of 'skin', so it could appear less skeletal, but you can't win 'em all." Said McGraw with a shrug, after the two released each other.

Intrigued, Miranda took a good, hard look at McGraw's metallic limb. From what she'd read on the internet, and gleaned from the man himself, McGraw's need for a cybernetic replacement had come from the car accident which had claimed his mother, many decades ago. He had made the limb from scratch when he was a teenager, and from what she'd heard on the MSS, every other month he could be found tinkering with it. The current 'model', for lack of a better term, that adorned McGraw's shoulder socket did, indeed, have a slight alien air to it; it was still distinctly Human, with its skeletal appearance, but something about its finer details seemed non-human. Miranda had no way of knowing that this particular Salarian had met with McGraw before, and when they came to the discussion about the Council's archaic limb-prosthetic technology, or lack thereof, the two had spent weeks working together to create a sort of omni-limb, a cybernetic limb that could be universal for any species. During the creation of said technology – which McGraw had given the Salarian total credit for – the two had also spent thirty six hours straight completely redesigning McGraw's own limb, the secrets of the arm were known only to the two scientists.

The Salarian blinked and inclined his head, his eyes whipping back and forth as they went over details, files and data that only the Salarian could see. "Skin? Simple." He said, as the two sat down at opposite ends of the table. "Considering previous design flaws... Nanites, collectively capable of recreating the texture of Human skin and extending the pressure-sensors of your limb. Also, capable of dispersing, so as to use other features." He nodded, "also, legal to use, given status as Alliance citizen." He smiled, "should take half standard day to create."

McGraw laughed boisterously, "oh Jesus Christ, Solus, I was kidding, I don't actually want cyber skin. God forbid, that'd make me seem Human!" Chris continued laughing, and the Salarian simply kept his smile up.

"Wait..." Miranda looked at the Salarian, "Solus? Where have I heard that name before?" She looked from the Salarian to the Human, back to the Salarian.

Solus, however, disregarded Miranda's question the moment his bug-eyes were lain upon her. They widened to an impossibly larger size as he took her in. "Hm..." He looked intently at Miranda.

Oh, this'll be good. "Now, listen closely, kiddies." McGraw grinned.

Solus scooted his chair closer to the teen, who backed up an inch in response. "Human, female, young... Definitely within required age... Daughter? No." Solus spoke at speeds that would have made Miranda do a double take had she not been staring directly at him; she was amazed that his mind was moving so fast, and even more so that his mouth could keep up. Was this how McGraw thought, all the time? If so, how on earth was he able to slow himself down to talk the way he did? "No. McGraw pursuing asexual existence, no desire for children. Genetic differences, too, raven hair, deep blue eyes, smooth skin of different tone and color with direct lack of freckles and other such blemishes." He leaned in closer, causing Miranda to lean back as far as she could, his eyes were scanning every visible inch of her body without shame, taking in every detail and memorizing it. "Eyes deep blue, like Earthen ocean. Hair dark, not black, not gray. Skin flawless, defying pubescent Human consistencies. Lips full, bust developed, almost romanticized appearance – yes!" A pause as he inhaled deeply, "must ask – are you daughter of Lawson?"

Miranda blinked, "how -?"

"He's STG, Miranda." Chris said quietly, so no one would hear, he knew how finicky the STG was about operational security. "He knew about you before Jackie did. He just had to fill in the dots."

"Interesting... Had heard of violent intervention of Lawson household, Alliance military garrison had intervened to quell with PMC forces chasing fleeing children. Unprecedented given Alliance normal areas of operation on Earth. Tensions increased between Earth and Alliance as result." Solus looked to McGraw, as he leaned back and returned to his previous position at the table. "Did not leave her for adoption. Took her in. Genetic superiority - perhaps, kindred spirit?" Once she translated what he'd said, Miranda's gaze too went to McGraw, as this was a subject she'd never truly gotten an answer for.

"That one took a few leaps of logic, Solus" McGraw grinned, "the way you weren't at all surprised when you saw her and started analyzing her, you already knew she was accompanying me, which means that the Special Tasks Group knows as well, by proxy. And if you and the STG know, it's not at all hard to think that they've already got a half dozen theories as to why I'm keeping her and what the possible outcomes could be of the Mind of Humanity taking on a student." He noted how Solus hadn't even twitched as he'd spoken; McGraw leaned in close, "why don't you tell me what you really want to ask? Drop the pretense for a minute."

Solus responded instantly, "possible that she may obtain your intelligence without your weaknesses?" He rested his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. "Many possibilities. Advancing Human genetics, perhaps attempting to reverse damage done to mind, maybe - yes!" Solus perked up, "successor?"

McGraw chuckled, "she reminds me of me when I was her age..." But a thought occurred to him and McGraw looked at Miranda for a moment, his gaze drifting south as he considered her. "Well, minus the boobies. Mine weren't as developed when I was her age." Miranda's eyes widened as she felt her face heat up, causing the immature Human adult to laugh.

"Interesting..." Solus noted that McGraw hadn't actually answered any of his questions, but nonetheless looked at Miranda for another moment. "Must ask personal question." His tone said it was a request, rather than an order with no choice.

"Err... Go ahead?"

"Why choose to leave pampered life? Could have had anything - fame, fortune, power, men, women, perhaps a seat on the Board of Directors if dedicated. Yet decided to run away with a..." Solus looked at McGraw, trying to come up with a good designation.

"Dumbass?" McGraw suggested, his wit as fast as the Warp.

"Scientist." Solus nodded.

"Better." The Scientist grinned and cut a bite off of his steak.

Miranda pondered her answer for a moment, before she decided that partial truth was better than no truth. "I decided that living with a... Dumbass scientist -" McGraw nearly choked on his steak, "- was far better than living with my father."

Solus seemed satisfied, "would love to get a blood sample, some day."

"Not now, Mordin." McGraw advised, gulping down a large glass of water to wash down the last of his steak. "Now we talk shop."

"Right." Mordin flagged down an Asari waitress and placed his order, before he looked to McGraw. "Continuing off of discussion of antimatter fusion reactions."

"No! Fuck that noise, my brain still hurts!" Said McGraw, acting as if the conversation the two had had over a year ago had only ended a few moments previously. "Sure, it'd look cool in a sci-fi book, but I'm somewhat terrified to try it. Regular annihilation produces energy just fucking fine, imagine if we made a god damn nuke out of fused antimatter. That's the kind of B-S that breaks universes."

"Makes them, too." Said Solus, "as well, reliable production of antimaterials would make for good catalyst for Fusion reactions."

"Yeah, if this were twenty-twenty and we barely had any idea of what we were doing." McGraw challenged, "this isn't the twentieth, or the twenty first centuries. We don't need big explosions to make Fusion, we've had the technology to make 'cheap' fusion ever since the twenty-one thirties." He paused, and then acted on a particularly annoying thought came to mind, "and don't get me started on how many people have bet me to jump-start our progress on cold fusion. I had that shit down in college, so the entire AATF should be able to do it in half the time."

"You have had the technology." Solus pointed out. "Our fusion reactions still cost a decent amount of money. Last great breakthrough was fission battery, which Alliance outdid with fusion batteries."

"Good point." McGraw waited a moment as the Asari waitress brought Solus his food, and then brought up a new point. "I thought the Council had Fusion tech, though? Not as cheap as the Alliance's, mind, but I thought it was pretty easily accessible. Antimatter, on the other hand."

"Ill-informed." Said Solus quickly, "do possess ability to achieve fusion. Have possess ability to manufacture antimatter since discovery Citadel. Just -" He inhaled deeply, "- never nearly as cheaply as Alliance. Use of antimatter propulsion seen on Frigate through dreadnought. Citadel lost great deals of money when Alliance standardized cheap Antimatter." He mentioned offhandedly, without even a pause for breath.

"Ergh, stop talking about poopy energy." McGraw groaned, "I figured that crap out after First Contact. Hell, I could build a Dyson Shell if I wanted, let's talk about something interesting... Challenging... what about..." He considered the countless ideas that banged around in his head, "AI Starships?"

Solus didn't miss a beat, "technology already exists in Alliance territory. Many ships meant for stealth are AI-only so as to cut down on space needed." Mordin commented, "looking for something else... Related to Geth? Have heard of Quarian attempts to make Alliance take stance on Persius Veil. STG very interested in Human-Geth war scenarios." He monologued, cutting into the Salarian meal he'd ordered.

"Nah, I already know what'll happen when we've got to talk to the Terminators. I'm thinking something... A whole hell of a lot larger than the Geth." Said McGraw, "I'm not talking ships with AI's integrated into them... I'm talking sentient starships, FTL Super-Dreadnoughts that can think, pilot, and act for themselves."

"Heard of Arcturus Incident." Said Solus, "possible relation. Suggesting aged AI uprising?" He wondered.

"Yeah, let's go with that." Miranda, eating her own food, was barely keeping up with the conversation, though she was intensely interested in what McGraw was digging for. "The AI's have access to the most advanced technology in the galaxy, so they've obviously got to have some sort of adamantine... Or maybe even Tuning armor. Coupled with advanced Mass Accelerator, or maybe even Particle Beam weaponry, they'd be a force to be reckoned with... The only problem I'm having is figuring out just how a Sentient Starship would work." He said slowly.

"Specify." The Salarian's interest had too been piqued.

"Well, for starters, what would the ships look like?" McGraw wondered, "AI's would need to rule the naval front to rule the terrestrial front, so they'd have to take the battle to the one and only place Navy Ships aren't used to fighting: Point fraggin' blank." He explained, "but the problem with that is the law of conservation of momentum. They just pop up next to a ship and they'll keep going, but strapping engines on all sides of the thing would be wasteful, and doing what the Alliance does – Warp Cancelling – would be too predictable." Miranda couldn't help but think McGraw was leading the Salarian.

"Simple." Said Solus, "would need semi-organic form to regulate point-blank travel." A pause, "perhaps similar to insectoid or oceanic creatures, AI ships land directly upon organic ships. Momentum Conservation Law... More or less... Circumvented."

"I thought about that... But MAG Guns and MAC Guns would be more or less self-destructive at those ranges. If they were designed after insects – the ships had legs, with gravity tethers in other words – they would need devastating weapons that wouldn't destroy when firing point-blank, but also be useful at longer ranges." McGraw said, leaning back in his chair. "I thought about particle beams, but outside of my AMPB, there aren't any energy-weapons in existence with the required range."

Solus was silent for several consistent seconds, "mass-accelerated water? No, too bulky, would be inefficient for interstellar travel." The Salarian thought aloud, "MAC and MAG weaponry too dangerous for point-blank, unshielded strikes. Energy weapons lack required range, plasma generation possible but would take energy away from more useful functions -" The Salarian inhaled deeply, "what of slag weaponry?"

"Say that again?"

"Molten metal weaponized." Solus said, "using Element Zero, could feasibly fire molten metal at great speeds. Powerful enough to be formidable for a naval engagement, contained enough to be used in close-quarters, but solid enough to be used at range. Kilotons of precision damage, tear through Alliance Dreadnoughts with ease."

"Oh, Slag guns." Said McGraw, "must've been an error with the translator." He shook his head, "where'd you get the idea?"

"The need for close-quarters safe but long-range capable weaponry eliminated, as discussed, MAC, MAG, and Energy Weaponry. Explosive weaponry is possible, but many similar reasons exist why they cannot work." Solus explained, "but thought of experimental Turian weaponry – centuries in the making, centuries still until viable as naval weapon -" The Salarian cut himself off.

"Jesus Christ you talk fast!" McGraw couldn't help but exclaim, he stuck a finger in his ear, pantomiming that he was hard for hearing.

"Sorry... Will, try, to, slow, down... No no no, no time, good subject." Solus shook his head, he took another bite of his food and continued speaking, "as was saying, the 'Hydro Cannon' – so to speak – could be utilized using Mass Accelerator technology. Combined with warp travel, weaponry can be accelerated far faster than would normally, thus, hundreds of kilotons of contained damage, little threat to self, maximum threat to enemy." He said, "with correct ship design, could be used as close range devestator, long range naval engagement, and perhaps even anti-aircraft defense and ground support. Given autonomous nature of ship, massive stores of metal could be stored with little regard for crew - or lack thereof."

McGraw nodded, "such a weapon would be as much of a weakness, as it would be a strength." He noted. "It'd need a hell of a lot of energy to work. That'd present a problem."

"As do many main weapons." Solus retorted, "would protect with armor. Precise fire would be needed to destroy the weapon, ship could follow soon after."

"But that'd end up being a really small target... And given since we're assuming that they've got the same metal that protects Tuning Gates, protecting them, how would you beat them in a slug fest?" McGraw pressed.

Miranda looked at McGraw funnily, the answer was clear to her, so why didn't he see it? Was he trying to lead the Salarian? It would make sense, the Salarian looked as excited as she was confused.

"As previously stated, would need semi-organic design similar to that of an insectoid or oceanic creature." Said Solus, "once shields pierced, limbs would be biggest weakness. But, antimatter weaponry, instant victory."

"But the only ships with engines big enough to use the AMPB are Dreadnoughts and Flagships..." McGraw scratched his chin, "that'd have to change. Maybe we could fill rail-slugs with antimatter cores? Those'd do damage."

"But would be very difficult to control and contain. Would have to be wired in to specialty ships, likely Frigates, for hit-and-run attacks." Said Solus, "but with Warp, could negate the need for such a risk of close range." He said, before he changed subjects abruptly. "Must ask... Where did topic come from?" Solus wondered, "very specific questions for a mere academic discussion... Hidden motives? Personal goals? Know something I do not?" He said quickly, "AI situation worse than expected? Fear revolt? Foreign threat, perhaps?"

McGraw grinned, but chose his words carefully. "Mordin, when I know more about what we were just discussing, you'll know more." McGraw said slowly, "trust me."

Long after the dinner had concluded, the two Humans were back inside McGraw's ship.

Miranda finally broke the silence, "McGraw -" but was interrupted by the lightning-witted Human.

"You know, we've known each other for months now and you still call me McGraw... Talo barely knows me and she calls me Chris... What the hell?"

Miranda Lawson stared at her unofficial foster father as they got situated in the latter's ship. It would still be several minutes before the Sky-Way would clear up so McGraw's ship could find space enough to take off and hit Warp, and as such the two were sitting in the small area that was the mess hall, with a television broadcasting the news to the wall to their right. Miranda, not yet having changed out of the dress she'd worn for the Lunch, wore a slight scowl on her face as she digested McGraw's question.

"The same reason you don't call your father 'Jason', McGraw."

"Oh please, I called my Dad an 'Asshole' on my eighteenth birthday, and moved the fuck out." Chuckled the elder Human.

Miranda waited a few moments before she pursued her original question, "so... We waited forty eight hours – and countless hour-long elevator rides – for a two hour lunch?"

"Well, let me tell you something, dates that last longer than three hours tend to end one of two ways, someone crashing at someone else's house, or a bad movie that's within a budget."

"What?"

"We were just talking to one of the smartest minds in Citadel Space. Some things are worth it."

"All you did was present a half dozen hypothetical situations, and then get into a five minute long discussion on the topic of Eezo FTL through the Warp... How is that worth it?" She demanded, "and I could tell you were leading that Salarian! There is no way you don't know the answers to those questions yourself, you're too smart for that."

At this, McGraw smiled, "awe, you do pay attention. Tell me, anyone on the Moose tell you about Project VANGUARD?" Miranda shook her head, "well, without spoiling too many details which would be better left for a later date, Cerberus has to implant ideas." McGraw explained, "on all factions we've got missions running to plant our ideas. Not 'Humanity First', but something a bit more... Global. For example, you hear about that incident on Thessia? Where the proposed Omni-Tool Alpha malfunctioned like crazy and burned the circulatory systems of anyone using it? That was VANGUARD."

"Wait, what?! That was Cerberus?!"

"Of course it was. Only real effective way to implant an idea is to create tension."

"And speaking to a Salarian about Sentient Starships is supposed to implant an idea, and make tension?"

"Actually, that one was the more blunt of the missions. My cell and Timmy's are both dealing with the direct influence, while the other cells are dealing with the subtle, long-term. The Alpha is an example of the long-term."

"What's the difference?" Miranda asked, as the ship rocked, Gladys successfully getting them into a gap in the Human traffic lanes, large enough to conduct a Warp.

"One might result in warfare we'll recognize... One will result in warfare we won't recognize."

Miranda stared at the grinning Human for several moments, "you can be very cryptic when you want to be... McGraw."

Chris grinned, "please, lady, I can talk for an entire chapter, and not have anyone learn anything interesting unless they think about it hard, afterwards." He left her with that as a feeling of acceleration hit both of their stomachs, though Chris did manage to receive a message just before his ship hit the warp.

Chris got entered the elevator, and read the message as he was lifted into his room. The grin very quickly fell off of his face.

TIM,

I have just intercepted Alliance Communications, and felt that the subject matter was relevant to you.

~The Illusive Man

Classified: Eyes Only

Report is as follows:

As of 0347, MST, All Radio/Communications Signals from SIGMA II Designate: 2-15 have ceased, following his disappearance on-mission.

Until further notice, S2-15 is hereby declared: Missing In Action.