Chapter 28

"Today we may say aloud before an awe-struck world: "We are still masters of our fate. We are still captain of our souls." Winston Churchill

July 2216:

With the successful invasion and besieging of Torfan, all known former-Alliance Civilians, have been successfully removed from Hegemony territory. With the unplanned addition of each and every single other slave, the Human Systems Alliance is put under pressure as it must now deal simultaneously with traumatized Mindoir survivors, and life-bred slaves from within the Hegemony's borders.

If she had to use one word to describe her daily schedule at the Recovery Clinic on the moon-colony of Mandal, Debora Vanice would use the word 'grinding'. A major in psychology, a doctorate in medicinal practices, and all the veteran-assistance in the galaxy couldn't have prepared her for the grinding experience that was rehabilitating slaves, who had spent varying degrees of their entire lives being force-fed the idea that they were beneath the scum of the earth.

The worst part was, with literally billions of patients, the moon-based colony had almost overnight become a moon-sized mental health clinic. Worse still, was that there weren't enough doctors and psychologists willing to uproot their lives to run off to a suffering moon to help aliens who most likely had no chance of recovering in the first place, even AI's who specialized in psycho-therapy couldn't stem the tide, so there were ten civilian volunteers for every one licensed doctor, and not even half of the volunteers had the patience required for what would be a lifelong uphill battle for these poor people's sanity.

Vanice brushed a stray lock of dark brown hair out from her face, as her assistant called in, saying her nine o' clock was on her way. Vanice nodded and thanked him, before she pulled out the file for the patient she'd been tasked with, for the next hour and a half.

Saira... Nel... Vanice thought, giving the picture of the Asari a once over. Adopted her master's name as her own... Doesn't even remember her original surname... Slave for three hundred years... She had already read the file twice at this point, she knew more about the Asari than the Asari most likely knew about herself. What interested Vanice - and subsequently provided the reason for why she, specifically, had been called in for this case - was exactly how the Asari found herself here. According to the file, the Humans who had rescued her hadn't had any reason to believe she would 'act' as she had on the streets of New York. From personal accounts, Vanice had learned that it would have simply taken one pebble to crack the fragile glass that was Saira's mental state, and the sudden introduction to modern city-life had acted like an anvil. The Asari was a resiliant one, though, it had taken an hour and one particularly xenophobic Human for her to crack completely.

The resultant 'incident' had resulted in ten people hospitalized, two more in life-threatening condition, an entire city block blasted apart by wild biotic force, thousands of US dollars in property damage, and her being sent here under military guard. From what Vanice had heard, the soldier who had essentially sneaked her past the slave-screenings had been placed in front of a court martial, though the information on whether or not he had been discharged hadn't been given to her, she didn't need it, yet. She would say, however, that she hoped the man lost a lot more than his job, it took a very specific kind of fool to take a mentally unstable three-hundred year old woman with the ability to manipulate gravity itself, and stick her in the center of the universe.

A timid knock came from the door, and the doctor closed the file. "It's open." She said kindly, her voice light and friendly, but also low and womanly, with a professional air surrounding her and emanating from it.

In came the Asari, who wore the hospital's standard patient-garb: gray sweat-pants, a white T-Shirt, and a pair of one-size-fits-all shoes. Though the Asari had no idea, Vanice knew that the clothes had been specifically selected to create a sort of uniformity, both for 'regular' Human/Quarian patients, and now the 'irregular' Slaves hailing from the Hegemony. This uniformity was meant to make everyone in the hospital feel equal, and even the doctors wore the get-ups, the only thing differentiating the Patients from the Doctors being the light gray overcoats and name-tags the doctors wore.

The Asari stood awkwardly in front of the door, Vanice only needed a second to figure out what the alien was looking for. "You don't need my permission to sit, Saira." She said calmly, "unless you would rather stand." Vanice knew that the most important thing about this rehabilitation clinic was re-introducing the concept of free will to the former slaves, so even if it was small things, like whether or not they wanted to sit, or in what size drink they would like to consume, they had to introduce choice and freedom slowly, in small things first, and then gradually larger. Vanice hadn't seen it herself, but rumor had it that on the moon's southern pole, a Turian had actually chosen his own dinner.

Saira thought for a moment, before she slowly crept forward to sit down in the chair in front of Vanice's desk. "I am... Afraid I do not understand the purpose of my being here... Doctor… Jillian said… The masters..." She was struggling with the information overload the soldier and the daughter had thrown upon her, and her newfound home and the circumstances surrounding it.

Damn fools… Did they really think it was a good idea to drop so many bombs on her in such a short amount of time, and not expect her to react the way she did? It was almost literally like throwing a cave-man in the middle of New York City. "Vanice." The Human kindly supplied, "and, to answer your question, you're here so we can make sure your time in the Hegemony hasn't harmed your mental well-being." She explained, "as well as providing a sort of 'border' between Hegemony laws and Human ideals... When you find your way back into Human society, you will very quickly find that the Batarians and ourselves are two separate societies entirely."

"I see..." The Asari lowered her head.

Vanice repressed a highly unprofessional sigh, "tell me about yourself, Saira... Do you remember your parents? What were they like?" Vanice knew from experience – both pre-war and post – that good memories were ideal for psychological repair, several former migrant-fleet Quarians under her care had been able to recover quickly enough by being guided towards the better parts of their lives, as opposed to the parts filled with failing ships, constant decontamination and, for the formerly Migrant Fleet Marines, warfare alongside Humans.

"I... Remember little about my parents." Saira admitted, folding her blue, scarred hands in her lap, "my father was a Drell... I think." Vanice knew from research that Drell had incredible short and long term memories, she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the woman in front of her that had forced the picture-perfect memories of her parents out the door. There was the argument that she shouldn't have gotten her father's cognitive abilities due to her genes, but she knew enough about Asari reproduction to know that the Asari Mother took the preferred, 'good' genes from the father and used them to create the child, a damn good memory was a gift to have - Christopher McGraw had an eidetic memory thanks to the machines in his mind, and look at him. Perhaps it was a bad example, but it was the only one Vanice could think of. "My mother an Asari."

Vanice thought she saw the beginnings of an explanation, perhaps even a slight joke, in the Asari's facial features, but when the Asari didn't make any indication of doing so, the doctor pressed gently. "Do you remember what your mother did, for a living?" She asked, "what was her name?"

Saira thought a moment, "she was of the politician caste, in the Regius... The last time I spoke to her, she said she had been considered to run for Citadel Council."

August 2216

After the Alliance pulled out all forces from Hegemony borders, the furious – and in their own words, dishonored – Hegemony demanded an armistice talk aboard the Citadel. The Alliance agreed, on the condition that the Citadel Council act as impartial mediators between the two parties.

September 2216

After narrowly avoiding having the peace talks break down entirely when an affronted Batarian high-chancellor took offense to the presence of SIGMA Operatives guarding the Alliance Director for Foreign Affairs, the Citadel Council puts forth a ceasefire treaty that both parties are able to agree to, and isn't partial to either side. Among the specifics of the ceasefire are that the Human Systems Alliance will not make any occupation attempts in conquered Hegemony worlds, and will donate – at minimum – one billion tons of raw resources to assist in the Hegemony's rebuilding, due to their usage of various weapons of mass destruction - and the lack of any true proof that the multiple nuclear weapons used throughout the war couldn't be tied to any single faction - while the Council would too donate a billion, and the Hegemony would have to procure the rest. Additionally, the Alliance was to return any and all prisoners of war to the Hegemony, with the same condition going for the Hegemony. Furthermore, the Alliance was made to donate as many terraforming devices as required to bring back the Hegemony worlds' ecosystems to how they were before the numerous nuclear attacks, with the concession that an Alliance official, accompanied by a Marine detachment, must be present for any and all usages of the device, so as to protect Alliance secrets. Finally, the Alliance must willingly allow any and all slaves to return to their respective governments, Hegemony included, should they wish to.

Conversely, the Hegemony was forced to make a formal surrender to the Alliance, and a public apology for their attempts to enslave Human and Quarian civilians. The Hegemony also was required to accept that any further strikes into Human territory will violate the ceasefire, invalidate their surrender, and forfeit any foreign military aid in the resultant war. Furthermore, aside from the billion tons donated by the Alliance and the billion by the Citadel Council, any and all materials needed to rebuild their worlds must be procured through legal means, up until the very limit of the Hegemony's economy. Finally, Slavery is still to be considered legal within Hegemony borders, however resultant of the Human-Batarian War, any slave-run incursions onto government recognized planets of either the Citadel Council or the Human Systems Alliance will be met with the full force of their respective species' militaries.

Finally, while the Citadel Council's involvement with the war was primarily through the covert funding of the Hegemony and the involvement of Turian Special Operatives, the Council agreed to remove the previously imposed sanctions against the Alliance that had been formed in the wake of the war. Furthermore, the Council agreed to recognize the Alliance's validity of pursuing the Human-Batarian war.

August 2216

With the ceasefire signed, the Human-Batarian war is officially finished, with total victory going to the Human Systems Alliance.

October 2216

A riot in one of the Rehabilitation centers on Mandal brings attention to the moderate strain the rehabilitation of 9.3 billion slaves is having on the Alliance Economy, as Military resources are utilized to restore order on the moon and annex it, bringing the formerly independent colony completely under Alliance Jurisdiction.

November 2216

In response to the Alliance's 'unlawful' takeover of the independent moon colony, Mandal, Rebel attacks pick up, with swift retribution by a tired and haggard Alliance Armed Forces.

November 2216

Following a much-debated break to recover from their first war and to heal their injuries, the SIGMA II Recruits begin training again in earnest, on and off-Sparta training deployments become commonplace as the once-augmented trainees learn to adapt to varied and numerous environments.

January 2217

In spite of much backlash against the decision, the High Chancellor of the Batarian Hegemony forces the move for new colonial developments forward, reaching out into uncharted space in the hopes of finding an eezo or precious-metal rich environment.

The classification of the discoveries therein were documented and sealed, never to be known by those who didn't have the need.

Where some developed species would call it 'Celestial nowhere', the constellation within view of Planet Earth, the 'Orion's Belt' constellation, was of great cultural significance to the Humans of Earth. Unknown to all species but the denizens of Earth, however, was that one of the planets of the constellation was of even more importance to them, perhaps of extreme importance, because in the binary star system was located a planet, third from its sun, much like Earth in composition and atmospheric pressure, the biggest differences being the planet's size and its gravitational pull, being twice of the Human Homeworld. Most unique about this world, however, was what it contained, this planet held upon it a species, more ancient than all known yet underdeveloped all the same.

The 'Saltorians', as their watchers would learn they were called, were a species of bipedal lizards, of technological capability largely similar to Humanity in the early twenty second century. The eight foot tall bipeds were held under a warrior society, where he who held power held control. All of this could be seen in the current Praetorian of the Saltorian BattleVectors, Jun Mun'Sid, as he walked down the spiraling dirt pathways of the digsite. The Praetorian was, is, and always will be the leader for the BattleVectors, the chosen warriors of the Saltorian race that kept peace when there otherwise could be none. The honorable-beyond-honor warriors were stronger than ten of Tyrrahn, and stronger still than those who trained themselves on the two-times gravity environments of Hoomanisire. The Praetorian himself had spend centuries of his life fighting to get to where he was now, leading the BattleVectors, and leading his race in its newest golden age, over three months had gone without a war under his incumbency, breaking a record set several dozen centuries ago where six weeks and twelve days had gone by with no conflict. As he walked, the Praetorian looked over the dig site, the place of great activity these last hectic few years.

For over a decade now, they had been slowly digging the ancient temple of their gods up and out of the ground. The Praetorian had been debriefed during the shuttle trip to the planet, this temple was, according to their preliminary reports, vastly larger than the one on Saltor, the capital of Innsua and the single most protected, secure point in all of the two-planet and many moon Saltorian Empire, truly, it was the most secure point in the entire universe; every man woman and child in the solar system would give their life if it meant their enemies would never desecrate its sacred grounds. This new temple, however, had been buried long before the planet bearing the name of the gods, Hoomanisire, had been given life by the native denizens of its sister planet. Thousands – if not, tens, the Praetorian did not remember entirely – of years ago, the planet he was walking upon was cold and barren, the ancient images had depicted it as a dark brown planet, plagued constantly with massive dust storms and electrostatic occurrences. In the tens of millennia since the Hoomanisire walked his creations' lands, the temple had been buried ten times over, thus explaining why so much work over such a long time was required to properly excavate it.

Walking down the spiraling dirt pathways, designed for vehicles and feet alike, the Praetorian looked closely at the dig site. The temple's massive size could be seen clear from the Praetorian's slowly descending position. It stretched far, its Hoomanisirian Steel shell shined brightly, even after the thousands upon thousands of years of burial. It was general knowledge: Hoomanisirian Steel was a creation of the Gods, it could not be pierced except by Godly Wrath, or a gift from the gods, such as Thermite. The very Thermite they had used to enter the sacred temple had been forged within the Temple of the Hoomanisire upon Saltor, blessed by the most sacred of Priests. Legend had it that the flash of thermite on that day had outshined the sun, that the Hoomanisire Himself had granted them entry by use of his Thermite. The decision to use the Thermite had been a very scandalous, controversial one made by the Praetorian preceding Mun'Sid, but the decision had been made because they had been excavating for months at that point, and had found nothing close to an entrance.

It was this thermite-burned hole in the Temple's shell, widened in the following years to allow creation of an elevator, that the Praetorian walked towards. With a nod to the soldier standing guard next to the elevator, he and his two BattleVector guardsmen stood in the center and descended. They entered the 'nexus room', as the scientists working on breaking further into the temple called it, where he saw a Studier waiting dutiously for his arrival.

"Ah! Lord, Sir Praetorian, I am most grateful for your arrival!" Said the Studier, with a deep bow.

The Praetorian, who stood taller than most Saltorians at two and three quarters meters, stepped off of the elevator and looked down at the Studier, Selaan was his name. The Praetorian's deep, dark red eyes bored deep into the Studier as he took him in, the powerful man's jet black sclera seeming to mix with the red irises and exude an aura of raw dominance. His aged, dark green scales carried many scars, each one telling a story of the battle he had gotten it in, though none told a story as well as the man's uniform. The uniform, shredded, torn, cut and burnt by energy-lances in many places as it was, was a testament to its sturdiness. The jacket, sporting the dark gray of the sky above, and the dark green of the ground below, in curvy, leafy patterns, had seen its wearer through every battle he had been through, and the armored vest beneath it had seen all of that and much more. It was this uniform that helped to seal the image of the 'unbeatable Praetorian', that Jun had so meticulously carved, over his centuries of service and decades of rule.

"I deeply apologize for the short notice of your trip." Selaan added, with another bow.

"It is of no problem." Said Praetorian Hel, his voice - deeper than that of Selaan - cutting through the silence of the room.

"It is just, I did not expect that the Praetorian would have traveled all the way from Saltor to -" Stuttered Selaan, before he was silenced by the Praetorian's raised hand.

"I said it is of no problem." The Praetorian said kindly, "what is it that you wish to show me?" He asked.

"Well... This!" Selaan gestured around the room. It was no where near as lit up as the Temple of the Hoomanisire, but the structural similarities, the architectural designs, and, of course, the pristinely preserved technology, it all wreaked of the divinity of the Hoomanisire. "We found this under Mounthire, buried deep within it. It was only because of the Heavenly Watchers, that we were able to discover it." He explained.

"Is it what I think it is?" The Praetorian asked, as he walked forward. In the center of the room, which was lit by sun-simulating lights, was an enormous metal discus. Dozens of Saltorian engineers were fretting around it, looking at its designs, searching for a power source, while four of them were at a terminal to the discus' front right. They had obviously given the machine power, but it looked like they were having some difficulty cracking the millennia-old defense encryptions their Gods had placed upon the machinery, to protect their children, the Saltorians, no doubt.

"It is sir, a second divine temple... Not on Saltor, but that is inconsequential! The Hoomanisire left this for us, because they knew we would find it!" Selaan said gleefully.

"Not the temple." Said Sid, "I've known what this is since I took power. Do we know what this device is?" Asked the Praetorian, as he gazed at the awesome discus with barely contained awe, but his voice still had its rough, tough edge.

"We think it is some kind of..." Selaan sounded giddy, "... Of..."

"Shout it out, man!" The Praetorian ordered, sharply.

"Radio!" Selaan sounded nearly hysterical as he forced out the words, "a communicator with the gods! Just think of it sir!" He said, as quickly as he could, "if it is what we think it is, we could finally show the Hoomanisire that we are worthy of their return! We could have a new Hoomanisirian age! We could... We could..." He struggled to put the awesome idea of once again being in the eye of their gods to words.

"Explore the heavens with those who paved the way." The Praetorian muttered in nearly mute awe, his dark red eyes opened wide, as he thought of the possibilities of having a literal phone to the Gods could entail. "I want it activated. As soon as possible."

"Erm... Lord Praetorian... We don't know if we can -"

"I said I want it activated! Get to it NOW!" He snarled, his razor-sharp teeth barred and a blood-lustful look in his eye. "You have everything - everything we have learned from the alien void-watcher! Use it and turn this damned thing on, or I will gut the lot of you!" He was approaching a high with the idea of being the Praetorian who reunited his race with the gods. He wanted not the glory or the memory, he simply wanted to get his people back to where they once were, so many millennia ago.

Selaan knew that this was the look that Praetorian Jun's enemies had received in their death throes, and knew much better than to deny him his orders. With a frightened yelp, he rushed over to the engineers, nearly tripping over his scientist's fatigues as he did so. The Praetorian slowly strode forward, his BattleVector guards followed him closely, each carrying their energy-lances at an alert-carry position, ready to take aim and fire at an instant's notice. The Praetorian heard the engineers squabbling about in their native tongues, nothing like Common Tongue, or simply, Common, that was spoken as a means of an inter-planetary language. The Praetorian ignored the engineers, as he gazed in pure awe at the machinery around them.

Hoomanisire machinery was eons more advanced than anything the educated caste of the planets Saltor and Hoomanisire could even dream of. The Saltorians could split atoms and make bombs of such lethal and devastating design, as well as provide limitless 'clean' energy to their cities, but they knew not how to refine such technologies as the Hoomanisire did. The Hoomansire machinery worked on such energy systems that even now, hundreds of millennia after they had been crafted, all it took was a 'jump start', and it all would work as if it had never been turned off. Even Hoomanisire weaponry was more advanced than Saltorian weapons, they had once attempted to reverse-engineer a Hoomanisire Fluid Cannon, and while they had succeeded in creating a deadly weapon, unrivaled by all except nuclear munitions, they hadn't created the Hoomanisirian cannon, and thus, could not risk disassembling the eleven they had left. But, the cannon and other technology had paved the road for Saltorian Energy Lances, but even they could barely do the levels of damage the Fluid Cannons could wreak. For every single thing the Saltorians learned about their gods, the less they realized they actually knew. For instance, they had thought their fission-based flight had been the epitome of interplanetary travel, until they realized that the Hoomanisire ruled all of the heavens, and could - no doubt - travel through it all in a timely manner. The Praetorian prayed, as he stared at the giant metal discus, that it was a communicator, or perhaps a tele-transporter, that could either speak with or allow them to travel to, Hoomanisire itself.

"Sir, sir! SIR, LORD! LORD PRAETORIAN! WE HAVE IT!" Gleefully roared Selaan, just before he pressed the button that would activate the machine.

Aboard a Batarian space station, at the edge of Hegemony space, several kiloparsecs from the Viper Nebula and in the middle of celestial nowhere, the Commander of the station was having a meltdown. The ancient satellite which his engineers and scientists had told him, was supposed to have predated the Protheans, and around which their station was built, was suddenly activating. The satellite's VI had all but rotted away mere hours after they had discovered it, but it had been able to impart a single data packet, which the Batarians - amazingly - had been able to translate; but not in a way that pleased them.

For whatever reason, the data packet's language had similarities with a Human language on public record, they called it 'Latin'. The similarities between the two languages, and the translations they were able to make to the putrid Human language, 'English', were enough to set up a translation software to decipher the data they had been given. But only just, and the data had obviously been heavily eroded over the no doubt dozens of thousands of years it had spent floating through space. It had mentioned warnings about something that was apparently incredibly big and twice as important, but the data was so corrupted that they couldn't decipher past that. They had been able to recover some data about 'the successors', but they had no possible way of knowing who that could be, who they were successors to, and if they even existed.

But all the confusion was wiped away, and replaced with panic, when the machinery in the satellite suddenly activated and started running, shrugging off tens of thousands of years of neglect and inoperation. Hegemony Engineers were frantically trying to find a way to shut it off, but before they could, a small port on the satellite - held in Eezo suspension in the center of the station - opened up, and suddenly broadcasted a holographic image into the middle of the suddenly silent room.

It depicted a Salarian-like, bipedal lizard, who stood taller than an Asari, at over eight feet tall. It wore some sort of shredded, but uniform-like clothes, and its arms looked so densely packed with muscles that some of the engineers thought it could punch through plate-glass. It carried itself, however, with the respect and dignity of someone who leads, and that was why the station's commander stepped forward.

"Is this a recording?" The Commander asked the nearest engineer, who furiously shook his head. The Commander straightened his back, and said loudly, and with a deep, commanding tone, "who... Are... You?"

The being stared at him for a moment, its eyes squinting, as if it couldn't see him properly, or didn't like what it saw. It then spoke in an equally deep voice, "Salutayem." Its voice, though synthesized, was at least twice as deep, but much more slithery and snake-like, than the Batarian commander's. "Meim nomana est Praetoriya Jun Mun'Sid, De Imperioni Saltorian." It spoke. "Loquior ad desciples de Hoomanisire?"

"What did it just -" The Commander was interrupted by a sudden bustle of activity.

"Commander!" He heard a voice call, "something's happening! Another projection is appearing, it's a galaxy map!" The Commander looked and indeed saw a galaxy map several meters away from him, already a dozen engineers were scanning it with their Omni-tools and making copies.

Interestingly, commotion seemed to be happening on the other end of the transmission as well, the lizard-man was momentarily distracted, but he managed to hold his gaze with the Batarian.

"I..." The Batarian stammered, "am... Jutae Sif. Commander of the Batarian Star Station upon which you are communicating with me." He said, "do you speak to me with peaceful intentions?" He asked.

The being looked befuddled, "Nescion qua linguana loquor." It said.

"The galaxy map is showing us where they are!" Shouted an Engineer, pointing to a pulsating point on the map.

"But what are these other points?" Another engineer pointed to one of hundreds of other small red dots on the map, none of which were pulsating.

"Commander! This thing is speaking with that Human language!" Reported an engineer. "Well... Almost. There are similarities, just like with this satellite's language. I am sending your translator the software we created now - you should be able to communicate with it.

"Interesting..." The Commander said, before he programmed his translator to work with the Human language, he hoped it would work as he cleared his throat. "Meliusanir est hok? Potestan te intelligeren me?"He asked.

A moment's pause, "Yes." Came the synthesized voice, which only sounded intelligible by Sif's auditory canals.

Sif sneered, as the possibilities came to mind. If the Humans came to power by taking in the Quarians, they could, if these people were anything like the Humans, come to greater power. This being carried itself like a warrior, and just by the sheer size of his frame, of his muscular arms, of his legs and torso, he looked like he could do enough damage without a proper weapon.

"One moment, please." Said Sif, in the putrid, dead, Human language, before he turned to his engineers. "Where are they?" He demanded, simply.

They refused to speak for a few moments, before they guiltily answered with, "less than half of a kilo-parsec from the Sol System."

Sif scowled, "Humans." He spat, before he looked back to the being. "Tell me everything." He said, ideas forming in his mind; perhaps, with guidance, they could 'remotely uplift' these people, and turn them against the System Alliance. The Commander sneered, knowing that a great promotion and an enormous pay-raise were soon to come, with what he was about to present to the Hegemony: A way to remove the Human threat, with one hundred percent deniability.

February 2217

Being the first known alien species to speak with the Denizens of Saltor and Hoomanisire, the Batarian Hegemony sees great potential in the species as the two learn more about each other, mutually. Soon the Batarian High Chancellor decides that the best possible course of action for the Hegemony would be to remotely uplift the species, who were placed almost perfectly within Alliance Territory for a surprise attack. They begin planning 'The Vengeful War'.

March 2217

As per protocols written by Christopher McGraw, at the onset of the program, the SIGMA II's, now one year past their first round augmentations and barely three years away from their Primary augments, are tested in battle against veteran Ones. The results were astounding for all present, save for Christopher McGraw. The SIGMA II's suffer a narrow defeat, the battle coming down to the very last man for each side, McGraw commented anecdotally that, had John-S2-15 been able to bring the battle into melee range, it would have been his to win.

July 2218

The first televised interview with a former Hegemony Slave, turned Alliance Citizen, occurs. The stories told by the slave raise massive support for the Alliance's work, and as a token of appreciation and support, the Citadel Council formally sends support, in the form of resources and psychological professionals, helping greatly to lessen the economic burden on the Alliance.

February 2219

Tensions increase between the Alliance and the Council as the newly elected Salarian Councilor makes insinuations that, ceasefire agreemants aside, all former slaves should be returned to their societies regardless of personal decision. Tensions very nearly boil over as the Alliance threatens economic sanctions should they discover any slaves moved against their will, but war between Superpowers is avoided when the Salarian Councilor backs down, as the result of actions and debates taken by the other member races.

March 2219

After cutting his support from the Cerberus Organization, Henry Lawson's Cerberus-provided diplomatic immunity from many probing Alliancemen is similarly cut. Following suite, the Alliance prepares a raid on Lawson's home, on the grounds of a suspected Rebel Staging point underneath it.

Stress was not something Henry Lawson was used to. Whenever Lawson experienced stress of this magnitude, he did everything he possibly could to stop it and relieve it. But here in this situation, the stress was something that could not be halted. The Alliance had frozen his assets, he couldn't get into his bank accounts, any and all of his passwords to his corporate offices had been changed, and he had effectively been placed under private house arrest. The news had picked up on his isolation, but they had assumed it was because this was the anniversary of his daughter's 'death'. He knew far better, though, those bastards at Cerberus had seduced her during her stay on Sparta, and as such she had escaped from him and stolen Oriana right out from under him.

But, two could play at the game of Political Warfare, and Henry happened to know one player who even Cerberus wouldn't dare to act against. He was set to arrive at any moment, and if things went well, he would most likely be far better off now than he had ever been. He didn't think about what would happen if things boiled over.

While waiting for the guest of 'honor' to arrive, Henry thought of the night he had discovered Miranda's disappearance. He'd been hard pressed not to fire all of his private security officers, the best he'd been able to do was arrange a coup within the Blue Suns, to force the 'Unbeatable Massani' to taste defeat and, ultimately, his death.

Serves him – A chill went down the natural-bred Lawson's spine, with a start, his head whipped up. Since when had he turned off the lights?

The moonlight cast in through a window, casting a pale white light over a small section of his office, everything else was in darkness, everything save for the single square space in the center of the admittedly spacious room, and its lone occupant.

He stood tall, at six feet exactly. He had jet black hair, closely cut to a meticulate business-trim, with no part. His skin was pale, made ever the paler in the white light of the Earth's only natural satellite. His eyes, two dark green orbs that seemed to exhume power in its simplest form: This man knew people, extremely important people, the man himself was an important person, perhaps one of the most important in modern Human society, Board of Directors be damned - this man, on word alone, could turn the galaxy on his head. But also within the pale man's eyes was something else, they held a promise of a living, waking, breathing hell for anyone who crossed him. Though Henry wasn't weak in any sense of the word, the connections he had and the various forms of power they earned him absolutely paled in comparison to his guest. He stood tall in his dark gray suit, with a blood red tie resting over a paper white under shirt, and all of his world-shaking attention was focused on the other man in the room.

"I'd welcome you in... But it seems you have already done so..." Said Henry, slowly. "Sit down."

"I would rather stand." Said the man, who crossed his hands behind his back in a refined fashion.

"I insist."

"I insist, Henry Lawson." Said the man, his deep voice seeming to silence everything, even the environment outside. "Remember that it was you who came to me. And I only did come because I gave you what you needed to fail three times. My investment has been burned three times." The man's voice took command of the entire room, the lack of any rage in his tone managed to terrify Lawson more than if he'd actually been actively yelling, or threatening him. "This meeting will end either one of two ways: you convince me to support you, give me something I do not have, to get the Alliance off of your back and out of your backyard... Or you fail to convince me, and you'll be the among first to meet the next generation of the Alliance's Augmented Elite."

Henry couldn't hold back a chuckle, "what, you've got yourself a Two?" Were they even fit for duty yet? They couldn't be more than, what, sixteen? Seventeen?

The man in front of him blinked.

Henry blinked too, but he in shock, did he just trip up Edward Spokane?

The Galaxy's most powerful, most well connected Human being, and he, a multi-billionaire businessman from Australia, knew something he didn't.

He had to press this, he realized, if he knew something Spokane didn't, this could be his ticket to further support. Cerberus be damned, if someone wanted to enter an all-win Alliance, they went for this man, all they had to do was make sure they never scorned him.

"Certainly you know of the brainchild of Christopher McGraw, mister Spokane." Henry pressed.

Spokane hummed, "You have caught my attention." Henry's advantage had lasted all of six and a half seconds, now even though he knew he had information Spokane wanted, Spokane still spoke as if he had control over the entire conversation.

In his later years, the senior Lawson would wonder if Spokane had led him to reveal this because he, in fact, was controlling the conversation. "SIGMA Twos." He said, "mind you, the only reason I know what I do is that I had some... Very skilled investigators look into things after I was approached by the Alliance for some... Discreet funding. It is likely this reason and my facility that they are so desperately gunning for me - assets they can sieze, and a loose end they can tie -"

"I am not interested in conclusions and assumptions, only facts. I want what you know." Spokane rumbled.

Lawson raised his hands in a surrendering motion, and inclined his head in submissive gesture. "After the Second Contact War, Christopher McGraw went to Jason Whyte with an idea. He said the Ones were good, but not good enough. He said that if we wanted unbeatable soldiers, we had to look at our own history in order to do so, and he came up with the SIGMA Twos, based primarily off of the Spartans of ancient Greece, though he did eventually cite Mamluks of Egypt, the Jannisaries of the Ottoman Empire, other such examples, but he focused on the Spartans - most everyone alive at least knows who and what they were. McGraw gave the Alliance guidelines for what he called unbeatable soldiers." He explained, "taking children ranging from ages six to seven, McGraw has had the Alliance train them for over a decade, now, and who better to train the best, than the best?" Lawson asked rhetorically, "

"You are telling me that Christopher McGraw convinced the Human Systems Alliance to create child... super soldiers." Spokane stated, disbelief just barely etching its way into his flat tone.

Henry nodded, and was unable to repress a gulp, the silence coming from Spokane was unbearable, somehow it was worse than when he talked. The silence said that the man was thinking, and that was either good or bad - he could conclude that the Lawson was lying, and then kill him, he could conclude the Lawson's information wasn't worth it, and let the Alliance do with him what they wanted. He could decide or conclude anything in that enigmatic mind of his, and with his impassive, emotionless mask, Henry had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. He could read anyone else - anyone else - even, to some extent, Christopher McGraw, but when faced with Edward Spokane, he felt like a child trying to read Shakespeare.

"This is what I shall do." Spokane said suddenly, breaking the silence and almost startling Henry, "I shall provide you with the means to create one last Dynasty Child. I shall guarantee you the same level of protection as was guaranteed to you by Cerberus. I can provide to you at most two of my own personal guards for twenty four hour, around-the-clock protection. Finally, I can provide you with the data you so desperately require to make your final Dynasty the perfect child you so desperately wish for her to be."

"Thank -" Henry was interrupted remorselessly.

"However. In return, I require four things. One: Complete cooperation, whenever I ask for something, you will provide it. Two: Singular Alliance unless I say otherwise. Three: Any and all resources you have or can acquire. And finally, I shall require any and all of your funds at any given moment. None of these are negotiable, and failure to adhere to any of these requirements will result in your death." The man said simply, before he extended his gloved hand, "do you accept?"

April 2220

After learning of the Alliance's planned raid on an Australian citizen's home, multiple Australian Army squads are sent to protect the home while the UN demands explanations and threatens economic sanctions should the Alliance conduct a second unsanctioned raid on United Nations territory in less than a decade.

The Systems Alliance attempts to show the UN their 'proof' of Henry Lawson's guilt, but UN inspectors find nothing on the property and conclude, through leaked documents, that the Alliance was fabricating the evidence and was attempting to seize Lawson's assets illegally.

The Alliance begrudgingly backs down after the UN's threats escalate from simple sanctions to full-scale military action, should a single Alliance soldier be seen anywhere within thirty kilometers of Henry Lawson's home.

June 2220

With each member of Delta Company having turned Eighteen, the SIGMA II Augmentation Procedure looms near.

A/N:

So, after much debate (read: I spent ten minutes thinking about it with the eventual conclusion being: why not?) I've decided to enter the Social Media sphere.

Why? Well, the way I was thinking, if something ever happened - say, my profile here got shut down, or it was stolen, or some other catastrophe happened - there would be a central place for everyone to flock to for news and updates.

So, for now at least, you can all find me on Twitter ProfFartBurger.
I'll be working the bugs out and getting a feel for it (I hardly ever used my personal twitter account, so I know next to nothing about how to use it), but news will still be posted.

Now, that doesn't mean I'll stop updating my FFN Profile (Much the opposite, actually), just that I'll have a central, non-FFN avenue of spreading news.
And (allow me a moment of self indulgence), you know, if I ever get famous from writing, I'd pretty much need some way of communicating.

'Till next time!

-PFB