A/N:
Usually, I leave the author's notes for the end of the chapter. But this one is a pretty big one, and I'd rather not break the immersion and ruin the many, many zingers I've got coming up, so I'll do the deed up here instead.
I was pretty amused at the reaction to the last chapter. There was an equal division between the minority that actually liked McGraw, praying I actually hadn't done it, the majority that (perhaps rightfully so) hates his guts and was glad I'd capped his ass... And then pretty much everyone who wanted to castrate me for shooting Miranda and leaving it at a cliffhanger.
I love cliffhangers, and the moments where I can totally avoid them if I wanted.
I like to wave as they pass on by.
Now, there's not much else in the news department. I've got clinicals next week, so that'll be fun. Then there's how I quit and unquit my job when they tried to stop honoring my school schedule... But when they figured out I wasn't bluffing, they were a bit more amiable towards working something out.
I'll still end up quitting on principle, once I'm done, but at least I don't have to hunt for another job for at least another few months.
Finally, I'd wager there are less than ten chapters left in the story... With the likely number resting at around five or six. But I don't like putting these kinds of things to numbers, as I typically have an outline and a general idea of what I want to happen and when, and then I just let the story write itself.
But, I've been rambling enough.
Without further ado... We're off!
Chapter 54
"Don't you think we would appear to be gods to a race far more primitive than we are? He's no more than a man. But he's a man from another time with great strengths, great powers, but governed by the same rules we are."
— Commander Adama, Battlestar Galactica (1978)
If there was a more important moment in recent, or even ancient history, Jorban Sal'Naa knew not. The only comparable one could perhaps be when the Hoomanisire had first created the heavens above and the earth below, but even then the argument could be made that right here, at this moment, was even more important, for back then, when the saltorians were but brutes crawling out of the ooze of their heavy home, they could not have appreciated the majesty of what his eyes beheld.
Tearing open the cosmos was a smooth, seamless orb of lustrous gray energy. A portal to the great beyond, the heavens themselves. It appeared nearly as big as a space station, and the way it radiated not light nor energy out into the space around it spoke of an unnatural, god-like quality to its presence. Jorban felt his hearts slow down in sheer awe as, out from the front of the enormous, hovering orb of ethereal energy, emerged an equally massive monolithic construct of Hoomanisirian steel. Long and conical, like a submarine, it was blunted at the nose and widened out further and further as more of it exited the portal, this celestial chariot dwarfed any comparable saltorian vehicle, and a great many buildings seated upon Saltor itself. It had enormous octagonal armor plates on its bow, and even more massive plates of interlocking armor covering its port and starboard sides. It had written upon its right side, in titanic white lettering, lit up by the glare of the chariot's lights, SSV In Shining Darkness.
Jorban had never in his centuries seen something so enormous. Truly, as he saw the monolithic vessel breach the cosmos from the heavens, he found himself turning his gaze downwards to the planet below him, right outside the window of their space vessel, to compare his home with his god's chosen transport. He knew with every fiber of his body that, despite the planet's size clearly superseding the vessel's, it was the vessel that dwarfed the two. All the might on the planet below wouldn't put but a scratch upon the mighty Hoomanisirian chariot. It was in there, that the SIGMA Warriors, the true Vectors for Battle, had said their leaders were. It was in there that the Hoomanisire was. Gods were but a small flight away.
Jorban felt a hand on his shoulder, and it took all of his strength to tear his eyes away from the chariot, as its stern entered the world, and the blinding light of its building-sized engines flared, providing the final pulse of power required to tear the vessel out of the heavens that so desperately not wanted to let them go. Next to Jorban was his leader, Praetorian Jun Mun'Sid, and he had the same light in his eyes that did Jorban, and the two other BattleVectors on the Hoomanisirian shuttle. He nodded once, as the pilots reported they were making way for the ship, silently telling Jorban that this was true, and was not a dream. History, right before their eyes. Providence, right in front of their souls.
If they were worthy, they would be in the light, once again.
The five minutes it took to fly from their small dot in space, to the gigantic, god-like chariot felt like five ceaseless eternities. Jorban felt hours run by in seconds, as he watched the gods' vessel inch closer and closer. Sometimes he even tricked himself, thinking that it was growing further away, before blinking and realizing that it was not it leaving, but he, growing closer.
"In Shining Darkness, this is Alpha One on approach, requesting docking clearance. Report have special cargo." He heard, from the front end of the shuttle. A moment passed, and then, "copy that, In Shining Darkness. Docking bay F-Twelve. Will approach. Alpha One out." And with that, hardly even a minute later, they were inside.
Jorban felt his awe grow as he watched the massive bay doors grind open in the silent vacuum of space. The cold, mechanical precision, of how not a single mote of dust, nor a single erg of energy or motion were wasted, it was the mark of an intelligent design so beyond them that they couldn't hope to replicate it so precisely. Entering the bowels of the chariot felt like entering an entirely different world - the ceilings and air lit by cold white light, the walls, floor, and ceiling a uniform gray and black. It appeared as if the air itself radiated a bluish aura, and it wasn't until they passed through it that Jorban realized it was - the aura formed a wall, that, once passed through, brought actual sound back to his ears and the environment outside of the iron shell of their shuttle.
And outside.
There it was.
Flanked by two soldiers wearing black armor, with red and white stripes flowing down their arms.
He stood more than a meter shorter than even a young saltorian, but the presence he commanded was more than the Praetorian himself could muster. He wore such regal, pristing clothing, without even a single wrinkle or misplaced hair anywhere upon its surface. His face was wrinkled in places, as if he'd seen so much and lived through it all, the stories he could tell could warp the very minds of the children he spoke them to - and they were children! To a man such as this, even the few saltorians that lived to see a milennia go by, were but a child. His round head, and the closely cropped gray hair atop it, inclined upwards and followed their shuttle as it touched down on the floor, the gusts and breezes kicked up by their vessel making his clothes billow. His guards, upon whose chests bore the sigils N7, didn't even flinch.
"In Shining Darkness, precious cargo is secure and ready for departure."
With those words, the bay door for their own vessel ground open with a nearly silent whirring. It touched the metal plating of the floor of the shuttle bay with the lightest of bangs, and Jorban and his gun-brothers followed their leader, who himself could hardly contain his sense of religious terror, as he stood in the presence of a literal god.
The god watched as the four saltorians, who seemed to tower over him whilst simultaneously taking up exponentially less presence, approached him. His tan face was steeled with a warm smile, and his brown eyes trailed up the Praetorian's ceremonial uniform, before locking onto his own blood red eyes. Suddenly, Jorban wished with his very soul that his own eyes had been a more regal shade of gold, praying that they would not upset the god standing below, and yet above, them.
The Praetorian lasted only a few seconds in silence, before he fell to one knee, a hand clenched tightly over his hearts, and his head bowed low. His BattleVectors hardly lasted an instant more, as they fell to their own knees, each with the bang of clothed skin meeting metal, and they all too clenched their hands in front of their chests.
"Amen." Breathed the Praetorian, to be repeated by his guards. "I cannot… Overstate the humility with which I speak, my lord." He dared not even make eye contact with him. "This is… An honor like no other before."
The god was silent for a moment, as he took in Sid's words. "Please." He finally said, in a voice with an accent Jorban had never heard. "Stand." Shakily, the saltorians did so, drawing to their full heights. "My name is Donnel Udina." He said, extending a hand to the Praetorian. "I am the Director for Extraterrestrial Affairs for the Human Systems Alliance, and you, sir, and I, have a great deal to discuss." He said, warmly, as the Praetorian, in such a state of shock Jorban briefly worried he may collapse, gently grasped the god's hand and shook it.
Seated deep in the belly of a celestial bird of prey, with the feeling of acceleration situated firmly in his gut, John S2-15 sat with on a large metal crate, one leg hanging over the edge as he stared aimlessly at the ground below him. Arcturus was but minutes away, and their war against the I's, was but hours after that. McGraw had assured him he would have the 'bigger stick' the II's would need to stand a better chance, with the tactics they wanted to use, but the Sergeant Major, as his eyes burned holes into the metal floor, knew that the chance was more than likely that they could lose this war. Both factions had far more than enough reason to fight with absolutely everything they had: The II's wanted their freedom to choose back, and the I's didn't want the socio-political instability that the II's abandoning ship would bring. They each would fight to the last man to ensure they won and the other lost.
John, however, had no intention of losing. Even if he died, even if they all died, he wanted to inflict a lasting wound upon those that had taken him from his mother, who had stolen the intrinsic right to choose, from him, and who had stolen his name from him.
Shepard… That was his name. John Shepard, S2-15. He was the only II that actually knew his full name. The knowledge of this made him feel strangely human, as if the forced inhumanity of a given name and an ID tag had been washed away by the history his family name carried. The question was, how could he deal lasting damage, in a war in which the I's would dedicate everything they had to ensuring they could do no such thing?
John - no. He tightened his fist. No. Shepard, for that was his name, it was what they had taken from him first and had hidden from him for so long. It was a sign that he knew he was human, and it was an insult perhaps of the highest caliber to all I's who would be fighting this war. So too, was it, a declaration of intent: He wouldn't stop, until the I's were either dead, or amiable to his terms. He wanted their names, he wanted their right to choose, he wanted their lives to be under their control, for the first time since before even they were children.
Shepard. He nodded once. It was his name, and to those who didn't know him, who didn't have the right to speak to him personably, it would be his only name. To the world, he would be Shepard, an insult to the I's and a declaration of his humanity, and to his brothers, to the only people who had the right to know him on an intimate, bond-forged level, he would be John, the SIGMA II. John Shepard. John Shepard S2-15. That was him, and this knowledge filled him with a strange feeling: Pride.
So Shepard, the man, the SIGMA, the II, furrowed his brow. He knew he courted death with this war - in all honesty he welcomed it. He knew that even if he won, he would continue fighting, and that was what the I's wanted, but if he died, it would be one final insult to their decade-long experiment on living people. The problem he faced was finding a way to inflict a lasting wound, despite this potential death. Should he die, he wanted a dead-man's-switch, should he live, he wanted insurance in case his demands went unheeded.
After a moment, he knew exactly what it was he needed, and he pulled up his Smart Watch. There was one squad, buried deep in the memories of the days immediately following him waking up after that first augmentation procedure, one squad he felt he could trust with a mission of this magnitude and undertaking.
"Cassidy… Locate Rabbit squad."
"Done." Came the AI, who snapped the list to the squad in question.
It had had a change in leadership, Shepard saw. The previous squad leader had stepped down, in exchange for a familiar looking name. A SIGMA by the name of Eli, S2-10, had taken command. Shepard remembered him from Delta Company, he knew the man was a good leader and was well versed in experimental tactics. With a tap of a button, Shepard's HUD laid a wireframe across the entire shuttle bay, in which the II's habitated, before it wrapped around and highlighted Rabbit squad.
Upon seeing him move, George and Craig snapped to their feet and followed him over. Rabbit squad knew something was happening even before they consciously processed Shepard's approach, and their muscles stiffened and their heads turned as he grew close. Eli, with his back leaned up against the wall, lifted his masked gaze to Shepard's, the soulless, red plates in their helmets locking onto eachother.
"John." Eli nodded, getting to his feet and firing off a brief salute.
"Eli." John returned the salute. "I need you to go to the Citadel."
Eli nodded, "they'll know we're gone."
"Cassidy can mimic your armor's transponder signal. They'll be none the wiser." Said John, "stow away until you get there, and wait one year. If you don't hear from us by that year's end, I want you to assassinate the Citadel Council and implicate the Alliance."
Eli nodded, "you can consider it done. Once we get off Arcturus, we'll start the timer. Reset it if we ever get news from you."
"Only ones who can update your orders are a surviving Two with the counter phrase, or Miranda S-Two-One Zero Six." He said, his voice echoing out from his helmet.
"And the counter phrase?"
"Doe."
Eli nodded again, "understood." He turned to his squad, "pull up everything we have on the Citadel… Specify the Foundations…"
Shepard and his squad returned to their crate. Craig piped in, "one year?"
"There are six hundred of us and less than five thousand of them." Said 2-15. "Even if we attack sparingly, this war will not last longer than eight months. Twelve at the most. If we do not get into contact with them within that year, they must assume we are dead. If we do not get into contact with them after that year, it is likely we will be losing. In either scenario, they will kill the Council and implicate the Alliance. This will start a war that will kill the rest of the Ones and topple the Alliance."
"And what of the surviving Twos?" Asked George, his deep, accented voice filling Shepard's ears.
"If there are any left alive by the end of those two wars, we will find our own way." Said John, sitting down on his crate, as the feeling of acceleration left his stomach. "Likely in -"
Ping.
Shepard's head snapped down to his Smart Watch, its holographic interface springing to life with the dull red glow and auditory cue of a critically injured SIGMA. For a moment, Shepard doubted the report, before realizing that the only way for SIGMAs to be removed from the roster was through death. Only until then was a number used again, and it was because of this reason that the only technically retired Two, was still on the list, and thus afforded the SIGMA 'Ping'.
Location: Arcturus Station
Time: +5:09
Injury: GSW To Abdominal Region
Vitals: Critical and falling
ID: 2-106
Name: Miranda Lawson
One could have heard a pin drop, the shuttle bay grew so silent. The oppressive silence of every SIGMA II staring in abject shock and calm, tranquil rage, at their wrists, even drowned out the sounds and rumble of the massive carrier's engines. Were a person to enter the bay, they would have found themselves unable to move, the tension grew so high and the atmosphere so thick. No one dared move, no one dared breathe, or even blink, until George snapped his head up to Shepard's.
"They wouldn't." He stated, not as a fact, but the denial of one.
"They did." Shepard wiped away his Smart Watch. "Load up."
The Captain felt a certain sense of satisfaction, watching McGraw's smug head snap back when the bullets slammed into it. This sense lasted all of two seconds, before, in short order, she realized she saw no blood oozing from any of the impact points, and that there were no screams whatsoever from the patrons surrounding McGraw's table. In the time it took for her to blink, these people lunged out of their seats, guns drawn and pointed at her, as one, whose asari skin melted away and revealed a man in black and gold armor, who crossed the distance between the two and had her disarmed in a violent flurry of arms.
"I told you…" Said that damned man, as he slowly lifted his head, a blank frown settling into his face. "You fucked up." He turned to one of the people who had sprang to their feet. "You -" He pointed at the woman, "get her to Kordet Hospital, find Doctor Kavor, tell him it's level zero and if she dies, he loses his license and the custody of his kids." He turned to the armored agent who had somehow taken on the appearance of an asari. "You, put cuffs on her and bring her to the safehouse, I'll be there in an hour." He looked at Shepard, "and make sure she doesn't bite her tongue." He pulled out his phone, "I've got to make a phone call." He said, as the agent he'd specified gingerly picked the woman up in his arms and began sprinting around the building, where a car was waiting, having been fired up the moment everyone began moving.
"How did you survive you bas-" But Shepard was gagged before she could finish.
McGraw flipped her off, "I'm not a Bond villain. Figure it out." His scowling face grew into a smile, "Ed-oh! Just got your message. How's lunch sound?" He said, and after a moment's pause, "oh…" He turned to Shepard, a curious glint in the eyes hidden behind his glasses, watching as she was hauled away. "Really?" He hummed to himself. "I'll keep that in mind. Be there in five?" Another pause, "sweet." He hung up, and his frown returned, he turned to watch as Shepard, desperately trying to break free from her captors to kill him, was dragged away, in some cases literally kicking and screaming.
"Sir?" Asked an agent, as his own skin melted away and revealed his armor.
McGraw shook his head, "doesn't matter." He turned, "take me to Dozer's. A restaurant off Sixth street."
The drive was as silent as it was tense. His guards had their hands gripping their weapons tightly, and he himself simply stared out the window of his vehicle, frowning at the environment that passed them by as he was driven to his selected destination. After five minutes, they arrived, finding the restaurant's parking lot deserted save for one vehicle. McGraw's guards parked on the other end of the lot, and guided him inside.
"Don't worry." He said, lowly, as he noticed one of the armored individuals searching for people in the otherwise empty environment. "He had this planned out. It's not a trap."
One of the guards turned his helmeted head towards the shorter engineer. "Are you sure, sir?"
McGraw nodded, "one of the both of us will be dying… And probably imminently, at that." He said, as they approached the main entrance. "But today… Not so much. You all can wait outside." He said.
They did as they were told, silently standing sentry outside of the restaurant's front door, as The Intuitive Man swung open the door and entered the dining establishment. Through the foyer's second set of doors and into the silent, still, and empty building he went, until, in the back, near the kitchens but not so close that they could smell the food being cooked, or hear the chefs yelling back and forth, he found him. Perhaps the only man in the known universe who could keep up with him in all areas and not falter in any. The man, seated calmly at his table set for two, was as McGraw remembered him, the last time they had had less than half of a galaxy separating the two. A steeled, stoney expression, blank of everything he did not want to escape, hiding the pain and suffering he had, and still, felt, unflinchingly resolute and portraying such an air of confidence and power that he could have entered a room with a thousand guns pointed at him, and still given off an exuberant look of owning said room and not fearing a single of the weapons. His hair slicked back in a formal business cut, his dull green eyes locked onto his Smart Watch, as he read the news that interested or involved him in any way. One of the three most powerful human beings in the known universe, and one of the only three alive who could feasibly clear out an entire restaurant in the capitol of Alliance society. One of McGraw's closest friends, and his peerless, greatest rival; and without a doubt, the single greatest threat to, in as few words as possible, and without a hint of irony or metaphor, literally everything.
For the first time in far too many years, the enigmatic engineer was in the same room as the common man. Christopher McGraw approached his table and sat with his friend, Edward Spokane.
Spokane lifted his gaze and lowered his hand. "Christopher." He said, with an inclined head and a warm smile, one of the few that reached his eyes, yet among the many that didn't even mar his otherwise smooth face. "Far too long."
"Hey, Ed." Said McGraw, reaching across the table with his cybernetic hand and shaking Spokane's own, while his organic one let his cane lean against the table. "Nineteen years, I think. Not since the funeral."
Spokane nodded, "I did then and do now appreciate your assistance in that. So few people had the pull or the funds required to set up a formal, full, funeral, in those trying times. They would have appreciated it."
McGraw nodded, "you been there recently? Hired a guy, he cleans the graves and swaps the flowers once a month."
Spokane shook his head, "I was preoccupied with a meeting with the asari Councillor, I'm afraid." He waved his hand, "was trying to set up that part of the web. Especially considering the Hegemony's inevitable fall and the collapse of said network."
McGraw hummed, "that'll be fun, won't it?" He leaned back, "word through the grapevine says the Council's got something of a plan for that." He chopped his hand through the air, "in the event of Alliance annexation, they're going to try to negotiate… Basically some kind of east/west Germany thing. Split Hegemony territory into Alliance/Citadel Hegemony."
"They intend to use Khar'Shan as the middle grounds. Your analogy was apropos. The Harsa system would be split veritably in half, in regards to lines on maps. As would the planet, though that will be an interesting, and unprecedented situation, considering its orbit begetting the inability for a line to be drawn." Said Spokane, as a mech began walking from the kitchens, towards their table. "Though I wonder who, in this case, would be the east, and who, the west." He said, turning his head to watch the mech approach.
It arrived with little fanfare, depositing the food that Spokane had ordered for the both of them. Two steaks, cooked exactly the same, each with a light aura of steam radiating off of them. They spent a few minutes in silence, carving into their food and eating, before finally, Spokane broke it.
"I did not intend for the young Lawson to get caught up in our game so early."
"I figured." Said McGraw, in a dismissive tone. "That's why I was more pissed at Shepard, than I was at you." He looked up, over the rim of his glasses, and pointed his fork at his friend. "I'll give you props for that one, you know. Should have seen it coming, but I guess in the end I thought you'd opt a bit more subtle." He looked back down. "Poison tastes great."
"Indeed. It had been a choice between cyanide, and teryno - a salarian poison with an oily taste, that creates multiple blood clots throughout the body, powerful enough to kill even krogan. The intent being to clog your arteries to death, old friend." Said Spokane, with a sidewards "but no. I had predicted her assault upon you, but Miss Lawson's reaction was a mistake on my end. I should have only given Shepard one bullet; as I said, a mistake, on my part."
"I notice earlier you said bringing her in so early."
"I am glad you caught that." Said Spokane, as he wiped his chin with a napkin. "Considering the nature of our little game, I predicted it inevitable for the young Lawson to be drawn into it eventually. Considering Jack's nature as a wild card, and the organization Miss Lawson works for, I concluded that eventually he would take a side, and considering your relationship and his implicit trust in you, it would be yours. Thus, she would rise against me, alongside you." He said, taking a drink.
McGraw wiped his mouth with the back of his cybernetic hand, "makes sense." He cracked his neck. "Is there any way I can… Preclude, in a word, her from the proceedings?"
This got Spokane to arc an eyebrow. "An interesting offer, considering what I've just said." He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers just a few inches over his steak, masking the lower half of his face behind them. "I suppose… Considering the nature of my mistake, I can make as many affordances as I can. However I cannot guarantee she will remain untouched forever. Just as long as she does not interfere with my endgame." He said in his rumbly tone, "but I would ask a favor in return."
"Oh?" McGraw pulled on a particularly fatty portion of steak, before it tore from the rest and rebounded on his jaw.
"As you said, you are rather enraged at the good Captain. Would I be correct in assuming you intend to break her?" McGraw gave Spokane a look, the joviality that was so intrinsically etched upon his face briefly falling as a steel that was so infrequently seen entered his eyes, before vanishing just as quickly as it came, replaced with the shine of gaiety, and he nodded, with a sidewards jerk of the head and a shrug of the shoulder. "I would request then that you instead let her go."
McGraw leaned back in his chair, "you know…" He sighed, shaking his head. "Never mind. Why?" Spokane could tell from the twitch of his friend's lip that he'd had a snide remark planned. Likely about his posture, about how, with the way he covered his face, it made him look like some 'idiot spy-movie villain'.
Such is his mask. Thought Spokane, as he straightened up, and carved once again into his steak. "I believe you know why. I need war. I need the major powers destabilized. As they are now, they would be more than ready for the Reaper invasion. It would be a long fought war, but not an conventionally unwinnable one. I cannot have that."
McGraw sighed. "You want Shepard to defect."
"Only long enough to take her evidence to the Council. The televised reports and public releases would inevitably make their way to Earth, and the United Nations, likely under China, or even Russia's, urging, would elect to secede, and civil war would be inevitable. After she makes her statement I intend to have her killed."
McGraw nodded to the side. "Makes sense, I suppose." He leaned back, "pretty good move, actually. I'll lose a lot of support once she comes out."
"That would be a side effect, yes." Said Spokane, digging around the T-Bone. "I would think you are considering attempting to break her anyways, to vent frustrations."
"Well I'll be the Alliance's fall boy so they can at least try to save face. Regardless of the fact that I just gave them the concept, and they chose to act upon it, that fact alone will give them enough cause to say 'But McGraw did it!', even as they're putting the fires out on Earth." He gave Spokane an impressed frown, "give you some points for that. Working like you and Jack do certainly has its benefits."
"You sell yourself short. Building your kind of reputation makes a great many potential enemies underestimate you." He waved his hand, "case in point. Hannah saw you as you show yourself. An arrogant, naive genius who feels safe in his own mind. She thought you wouldn't even consider wearing any kind of protection in public, let alone something that could thwart Beowulf rounds, as I described them to her." A pause, "though I truly do doubt she counted on the fact that you…" He furrowed his brow, thinking. "Had Gladys, I would think, monitoring your surroundings. Was it her? Or a VI? That activated the hardlight capacitors?"
"A VI." Said McGraw, "Gladys could do it, but as much as she won't complain, she much prefers Miranda to be my nanny, so she can focus on other things. A VI, meanwhile, it has no choice, and can specialize." He made a gun with his fingers and pantomimed shooting his head. "Anything approaching me faster than a fist gets blocked by an appropriately sized hardlight plate. Beowulf is good, but it was designed before I made hardlight." He grinned, "can't wait to see how they get around that, though."
Spokane nodded, "indeed. But my point remains: As I and Jack work in the shadows for our own benefit, your reputation and work in the light has benefits of its own. I surmise few outside this room believe you are anything but what you show yourself to be."
McGraw chuckled, "used to be three, but then the prick died." He said, leaning back, sighing. "But I doubt he expected what my snide, spiteful little ass would turn around and do." He sighed through his nose. "You know I have to try." He said, lowering his gaze to meet Spokane's.
Spokane nodded, "and I will always respect you for it."
"I've been thinking about it, you know?" McGraw said, dropping the jovial tone and adopting a deep rumbling bass. "You and me. What we're trying to do. What'll happen, in the end. If we keep going against eachother, either I'll kill you, or you'll kill me. That's how it will happen, because we're too good at this game for anything else. Maybe it'll happen soon, maybe it won't happen until later. But… I just have to try… One more time. I have to try to talk this through. To talk you out of it.
"The only one more hurt than me when they died was you, Ed, and you know this. I didn't leave the grave until you did, and neither did Jack. But what you're trying to do… It will not work." He stressed, "I know this personally." He said, "I tried, once… And you know what happened." He stretched the fingers in his organic hand, brief flashes of pain as he'd spent hours digging glass out of his knuckles that dark night, many years ago, in college. "It did not work. Not as I'd wanted. I live with that every day of my life. I live with her, every day of my life, to remind me that there are some things that are just too… Impossible, even for modern science.
"And I know you, Ed. I know what options you're running through, and I know that all roads lead to Rome. I know your end-goal. I know what you'll do once you run out of all options… And I know it won't work. At the absolute best possible ending, you'll kill yourself, and this entire galaxy, and the universe will just…" He clapped his hands. "Snap back, and that'll be the end of it. But if I got even one thing wrong with those projections… Missed one fact, didn't consider one variable, then the worst outcome wouldn't just be the destruction of this galaxy, but… Literally… Everything." He said. "Our universe, disassembled and rebooted, one light year at a time. And god forbid it hits the Warp and doesn't just vanish. If it impregnates the Warp and changes it, or moves through it like it very well could… It wouldn't just be our little slice of the multiverse that would be wiped out. You could tear apart… Literally - and I mean literally - everything. The kind of energy you'll be playing with, shoved into that small of a space… There's only one possible outcome." McGraw leaned back.
"You speak… Of course." Said Spokane, "of the False Vacuum theory."
McGraw nodded, frowning. "I know - I know that the general consensus these days is that, should something like that happen, since the universe as we know it is resistant to change, that most likely what would happen would be destruction on a galactic scale, before everything just snapped back into place. But we don't know, because that's not something we even have the technological capacity to test, let alone the ability to do so safely, and that's the problem."
"But you fail to consider your Traveller Program, and my Project Everett. You know as well as I the sheer amount of energy it takes just to stabilize a single pair of entries into the Warp, let alone a building, or a piece of land. It would require many exponents higher energy to create a planet, and many even more for a universe. To shunt that energy into the Warp, it would work, period. You've done your math, and I have done mine. It supports both of our conclusions. It is equally likely that I could fail, that I could succeed." He leaned forward, his face settling into a steel scowl. "Allow me to tell you a story I once read. In the early twenty first century, one of the first recorded deaths resulting directly from an autonomously driven vehicle occurred when a vehicle containing a man and his daughter, concluded impact with a vehicle containing an equal number of people, was not just imminent but inevitable.
"It concluded that, in the event of an impact, there was a high percent chance all four occupants of both vehicles would die should the first car attempt to brake. However, it concluded that should it veer off the road in either direction, it would still hit the second car, but here there would be a higher percentage chance they would survive, versus that of the first car. Fifteen percent for the first vehicle. Fifteen percent chance they would survive. In any other conclusion, the percentage chance was higher that all occupants would die.
"The car with the father and his daughter decided, that the chance the other occupants would survive, was the better of two outcomes." He locked onto McGraw's deep blue eyes with his own dark green orbs. "The math checked out. If the car veered out of the road, it was more likely that the other one's occupants would survive than its own. So it made that choice, based upon fifteen percent." He saw McGraw's shoulders slump in a silent sigh, as he knew where Spokane was going. "To any human driver. To any father, that fifteen percent chance would have been enough. He would have sacrificed everything - his own life, the lives of the other two drivers, his car, their car… He would have given everything, on that fifteen percent chance that his child could have walked away from that collision. That her mother could have held her again and told her how much she was loved.
"But instead, he couldn't make that choice. Math made it for him. He and his child died." Spokane straightened up. "Now I understand the fallacies of my argument. I understand where it is weak and where it is strong. I understand more than anyone, because there has quite honestly not been a single day that has gone by that I haven't gone over it, from start to finish. But the strength of the argument is not what I call attention to, but the point." He smoothed his immaculate raven hair against his head. "The point being, Christopher… That there is an equal chance, that I may kill myself… That I may destroy this galaxy. That I may destroy this universe. That I may destroy every universe… But so too does the equal chance exist, that I am right, and you are wrong.
"Now I respect you, Chris. I even love you, as only a friend of our bond and caliber can. I respect you for trying, and I feel honored that you did try… But that chance is one I am going to to take. Fifteen percent is more than enough… And if you try to stop me, I will hold no quarter. I will use everything at my disposal. I. Will. Kill you." He said, with a venom and intensity that, had it had a physical presence, could have turned the environment around them to plasma.
Chris shook his head, "Ed, I have things." He said, "my Traveller works, I can go places! I've seen things people can literally only dream of - and I am not using the metaphorical definition. I mean things that can literally only exist in dreams." He leaned forward, his eyebrows scrunched together and a pleading look in his eyes. "I built a fucking tesseract with my bare hands, Ed. If you give me time I can find you a place where you can have them back! I can find a carbon copy of our universe, right down to the positions and ages of every single atom in it, whose only difference is that you died in their place. I can send you there, you can be with them! No risk! No nothing! Just you and them!" His voice shook, eyes wide and pleading.
"But those people you would send me to. They are not mine, McGraw, and that is your weakness." Spokane shot back. "They are someone else's… But to a man such as you… You lie about so many things. You construct this idea that you have no attachments and yet to those who watch you clearly display the ability to create them… But you still see things in numbers. In cold, hard, facts. You would see those people, those carbon copies right down to the memories they hold and the thoughts they'd had. You would see no problem with sending me to them, without considering that I am not theirs, and they are not mine, McGraw. Eventually, and inevitably, that wedge would separate us, and I would lose them again." He whispered the final word. "I will not accept that. And you know this."
"I can't stand down, Ed. You know I want more than anything for my friend to be happy… But the risks here are just too systemic. If it was just this universe, just this galaxy, fuck - I'd help you! But because we don't know what would happen, you risk actual, literal, everything, doing this… And even I can't just sit back, there, and let you run that risk." McGraw leaned back, his shoulders slumped. "I have to try."
Spokane nodded, silently, with a sigh. "I understand, Christopher. And I respect you for it. More than you could possibly know." He lifted his arm, and with a few buttons, half of a holographic chess board appeared in front of him. "Would you care to make time for one game, before we begin?"
At this, however, McGraw shook his head. "No." He rumbled, "I've got to get to the hospital before the Twos show up and tear the place apart looking for her." The light, jovial tone slowly returned to his voice, as he stood up, and took ahold of his cane. "Once I make sure she'll be okay and convince them to let me deal with it, then I'll go have a talk with Captain Shepard and send her on her way."
Spokane stood with him, "thank you, Chris." He extended his hand.
McGraw extended his own organic hand, and grasped his friend's with it.
They shook.
He'd been warned about this, but any preparations he had taken had absolutely, utterly failed to ready him for the reality of what it was he faced. As Donnel Udina explained to his counterpart, the BattleVector Praetorian, that he believed the saltorians to simply be a victim of a rather large misunderstanding, he found it difficult almost beyond measure to comprehend how thoroughly they believed that it was humanity was their gods, and not simply a sufficiently advanced race, in the right place, at the right time.
Of course, there was the debate over the definition of god when one made the argument of science versus magic, but that debate was for another time, another place, and another person. He tried for the first hour to explain the evolutionary advantages of a humanoid build, and how, historically, there are at least three species in existence with aesthetic similarities to humanity. To Udina, it made perfect sense that there could have been a race during the reign of the protheans, that simply resembled humans remarkably well.
To the saltorian, however, it made no sense at all. His argument was reliant upon the fact that Udina, as did all humans, appeared almost exactly as did the 'hoomanisire' that visited them so long ago, with so few differences that they were functionally the same. He seemed unable to wrap his head around the concept that could humans not be his god. This all caused Udina to wonder just how this zealotry could have survived so long after an age of enlightenment.
Perhaps this could be usable in some way, to utilize them as a tameable krogan and deter future attacks like the ones from the Hegemony. These saltorians did, after all, seem extremely averse to beginning wars or instigating battles, though they were not at all opposed to finishing or fighting them. Both of these due to their religion, centering around this hoomanisire 'bathing' their world in fire due to their violent tendencies, and leaving them.
Udina found himself wondering more than once if perhaps these hoomanisire weren't some kind of enemy of the protheans, and if their disappearance coincided with the vanishment of the protheans. Regardless of his idle and, on the whole, useless musings, Udina pressed on with his goal. As terribly misinformed as these people were, Udina knew it to be a terrible decision to leave them alone and on their own planet, following this kind of contact. Not only would it leave them to their own devices, and potentially anger them, but so too would it deny humanity a powerful and, perhaps just as important, dedicated ally. Even the krogan had not evolved on such a heavy planet, and though it was arguable which species was the deadlier, the end result was that they were both comparable, and having the saltorians on their side would be a boon like no other, to humanity and to the Alliance.
Educating them on the truth… Udina thought, as he leaned forward and the Praetorian finished speaking, is likely to be a long and perhaps even fruitless effort. Not something to be done within the space of just a single meeting in just a few hours. Instead I should focus on the more important matters.
"I see…" He said, as Sid finished explaining to him their history with, though they didn't know it, the rachni. "I ask now what your intentions would be." He said, "I have the authority to bring you and your chosen delegates to Arcturus Station to speak with the rest of our parliament. Should you desire, we would be willing to bring you and your people up with us, to the galactic society." The way Sid put it, his was the first and last word for his entire species, as they all followed the BattleVectors and their way of life. The saltorians had something approaching a 'might is right' mentality, with the BattleVectors' might proving them to be right for many thousands of years, now.
As he predicted, the saltorian stilled in what he was rapidly understanding to be their expression of awe. His diamond-shaped eyes widened, his throat appeared to distend and the scales around his ears paled a few shades. "You would…" He said, with a shocked drawl. "Have us?"
"Of course." Said the Director, "considering both of your contacts with alien races have ended with wars highly detrimental to your people, it would be wrong morally of us to simply expect you to stay put in your system, knowing well and good that there are societies above, watching you. We would instead have you join us on the galactic scale. A member of the Human Systems Alliance." He said, with a nod. "We would not expect you to perform any roles you or your people would be uncomfortable with, of course. Truly, if your people wished to stay in their solar system, with a simple presence in our government as a means of staying connected, we would understand whole-heartedly. It is, after all, your decision." He said, though knowing far too well what the saurian's answer would be.
"To walk amongst the stars is the dream of all saltorians, sire-Udina. If you would deem us worthy to take that walk, to say we would be honored would be the lightest possible way of communing our response." He said, with an enthralled, airy tone, still deeper than any human Udina had ever met.
Udina grinned, "wonderful." He said, "I cannot speak for how long the integration process will take, but we will work with all due haste to set up trade routes and a means of currency exchange, once you have spoken to the Board and finalized your entrance..." He saw the saltorian frown. "Is something the matter?"
"I am just… I did not understand that what you just said, sire."
Udina nodded, "to put it bluntly, our highest priority will be merging your economy with ours, such that the three current member-races of the Alliance can only benefit as your people transition to a galactic phase. Your technology, industry, and inventions, while many may serve no use of yet, may have a role we've yet to learn." The fact that they were the only known race to field infantry-portable battlefield energy weapons was among the few things he knew the saltorians could contribute. To say nothing of the money that could be saved and diverted elsewhere, with the saltorians by and large being able to replace many heavy-lifting mech loaders.
Yet still, the saltorian frowned. "I beg your pardon sire, but what is an economy?"
Udina blinked, but recovered quickly. "Your methods of generating money, goods, and services. We would have to merge them with ours to make any transitions smoother." He explained, "our own people, we were able to integrate with a remarkable fluidity into the galactic trade market once an exchange rate was set between the Alliance dollar and the Citadel credit."
"Sire, I do apologize if I irritate you with these questions, but I do not know what money is."
Once again Udina found a brief stunned silence stretching between the two, before he cleared his throat. "No, please, it is likely my translator. It is defined as a means of exchange, or a store of value." He explained, "a currency system, to eliminate the need for goods-based trade."
The saltorian shook his head, "I do not think we have anything even resembling such a thing, sire."
Udina now let his confusion show, tilting his head. "You have no currency system whatsoever? How do your people conduct trade?"
"If something is needed, it is given." Said the Praetorian. "Excess is frowned upon, as it is having more than one needs. Should a child need sustenance, they would not be denied. Should the sick need medicine, they would be treated. The weak in need of housing, they would be provided for." He said, a fearful tinge to his voice, as he no-doubt worried he had somehow disappointed his 'god'.
He is being serious. Thought Udina, as he swallowed through his dry throat. "Then would I be correct in assuming that… Services provided simply are?" He asked.
To which, the saltorian nodded. "There are things required to continue societal function. Power management, resource mining, good production, farming and food production. There are things required to protect society itself, the BattleVectors and Tyyrahn. Then there are goods and services provided to increase the ease and quality of living." He explained, "I do not understand why these things would be denied… If one wishes to be happy, whose right is it to deny such a thing?" He swallowed down what Udina suspected to be a comment about the Alliance's willingness to do such things, and after a brief pause, said, "I haven't even considered possible a… A means of value storage. Value is subjective to the possessor, is it not?" He asked, "the only true value I would think would lay in that which is scarce, to which it must be focused to where the resource is needed most, until this need is satiated satisfactorily, and then sent down to where it is needed less, and lesser still, and so on."
Udina found himself, now, in a state of awe. Here was a species, capable of flying between planets, having functional, planetary terraforming tech - the likes and power of which even the Alliance didn't have - and colonies on moons and planets, without the concept of currency. They held jobs to perform services to society, and gave goods freely to those who needed it. The only thing keeping them all from being gluttons, the Director realized, was some combination of their religion, social stigma, and what was basically the honor system.
He didn't even think such a thing was possible, and he voiced as such, causing the saltorian to sputter. "I - I do apologize, sire! I am certain given time enough we could create -"
"No, please." Udina said, with a brief hand gesture. "I was merely complimenting you and your kind. I do not truly know what to make of this, as this is as alien a concept to me, as it appears to be to you." He explained, "this will make the process difficult, but not impossible, I assure you." He leaned back, "how about we take a brief break? If you so desire, I can have the ship's AI direct you to the commons area, where you can ask questions and stretch your legs until we are ready again to speak."
"Lord Praetorian?" Jorban, as he, his leader, and the other assembled guards stretched their legs and backs, standing in the center of the 'Commons Area' of the Hoomanisire's starship. "What of the return? Is it true, the words I've heard?"
To which, the Praetorian gave a tentative nod, running a thick, scaly hand over the scars that criss-crossed his emerald face. "I believe it may be…" He said, with a reverent tone. "They… Want us back."
Jorban, however, exchanged looks with another BattleVector when he noticed the strange undertones in his leader's voice. "Sire?"
"I believe…" He said slowly. "The Hoomanisire I spoke to, Udina… He has expressed to me that he and his people are not the Hoomanisire." His eyes were narrow as he thought hard. "And I do not think they are wrong."
The BattleVectors shared gasps, and other such exclamations of shock. "But… Sire, they look exactly as the ancient texts and scribes have depicted them!"
"And I believe I know why." Sid strolled over to the window that separated them from the void outside. "You know of the texts. They spoke of the defiled ones, of a race of iron demons that the Hoomanisire fought since his creation. But nowhere does it say that they won this war, only that they existed. It is believed that their interactions with the defiled ones is what guided their raising us, attempting to turn us from our violent ways.
"I believe, Jorban, that the defiled ones won this war… That the demons usurped God, and the people with whom we interact… The humans… They are not our gods, but they are also not… Not our gods." He said, turning to his men. "Much like how the Hoomanisire cast us aside… So too do I believe that the defiled ones cast the defeated Hoomanisire aside, and the humans are their remnants. No longer deities… I believe it is thusly fate, that they found us." He gave a look to each of his BattleVectors. "I tell you all this because I trust you… Trust you to keep this secret from our brethren. We can say as much, that they are, the gods… Merely ones who are no longer deities. But we cannot let it run rampant why, we cannot let people believe the defiled ones won their war, and we cannot let our people believe that the gods no longer exist.
"Instead I propose a counter theory, one our people can latch onto… Until such a time as the humans do truly realize their heritage… Or we discover something new, that proves that they never even were the hoomanisire." He said, his deep, low voice filling the air between him and his guards, but hardly passing beyond them. "I propose that it be established that this is our next great trial. The next test. A portion of gods elected to be cast down from the heavens, to live as the mortals they created… And it is our destiny, and our fate, to be there as children of the hoomanisire, and brothers to the humans."
Jorban frowned, looking at his gun-brothers, to gauge the room. Everyone else had similar looks of cautious anxiety, where beyond them, he saw humans, watching them through their peripherals, yet not understanding of their words. Was it true? Were these fallen gods, defeated by the iron demons? Was it the destiny of his race to be there, to stand alongside them until such a time as they regained their true status above all? Did they truly have to lie, to everyone alive, to keep their beliefs from being shattered?
"Gods…" He heard a BattleVector whisper in a slithery tone. "I would accept this charge. If it be our destiny to guide those who once guided us, until they rediscovered what they truly were… I would consider it an honor."
Another agreed, "this is a knowledge of such weight that… I fear few have the strength to bear it. If we must sin, for good, then I will take this evil upon my soul, to preserve the innocence and goodness of our people. For the sake of them and our gods, I would be willing to face them with pride."
Jorban finally nodded himself, "they fell, Lord Praetorian, but they still yet exist. They fell, but they did not lose. It is only a matter of time until they rediscover what they once were… And should the defiled ones return, they will face not only gods, but their children." He clenched his hand above his hearts, "amen."
Sid nodded once, "amen."
"Alright Kavor. What've you got?" Said McGraw, as he approached the doctor, fresh out of surgery.
"Sir." The Arab man nodded, "I was able to stabilize her and stitch her back together. We are fortunate that all the wounds inflicted went all the way through, and there was no shrapnel to speak of. However there was the problem of major blood loss, due to the organs that had been damaged."
McGraw frowned, his eyebrows scrunching together as he crossed his arms and peered into the recovery room, whose sole occupant was the unconscious young Lawson, a respirator affixed to her face and assisting her breathing. McGraw frowned at her for a moment, before he sighed. "Her uterus?" He peered over at the doctor, who, his hands clenched together, nodded once, silently. "How bad?"
"Even with modern medical technology, sir, it is not something that can be fixed." Said Kavor, knowing this man's preference for straight, blunt facts. "I don't know what ammunition was used, but as much of the flesh and tissue was torn and damaged by the bullet's penetration, a lot of it showed damage I've never seen before, like it had been melted." He explained. "After we saved her life and stabilized her though, we did some blood tests. To put it simply sir, I don't think she was able to conceive in the first place, but even if there was a chance she could before, she won't ever be able to conceive, now."
McGraw hummed. "You're going to want leave in the next few minutes."
Kavor blinked, "sir?"
But McGraw's guards did the explaining for him, charging down the hall. "Sir - there are SIGMAs charging the hospital, they'll be here in minutes, we need to -"
"Stand down, boys." Mcgraw waved his hand, turning to lean against the wall. "If you don't fire on them they won't fire on you." He had been expecting this.
The guard's head tilted behind his helmet, "sir, they're -"
"They're here because she entered critical condition and the implant she got forever ago picked up on it. They won't do anything unless provoked, at which point they'll stop at nothing to protect her." A pause, "and they're antsy enough as it is, so pissing them off is the last thing you want." He felt the ground shaking, "they're probably almost here." He nodded to the doctor, "Kavor."
"Er… Mister McGraw." He nodded, before beating a hasty retreat.
McGraw leaned his head up against the window peering into Miranda's room, closing his eyes and waiting for the II's to arrive. It took them little more than a minute, and once he heard the sounds of stomping feet, he tightened his chest. A second later, he felt a large hand, encased in metal and synthetic muscle, close around his throat, haul him into the air, and then slam him into the wall opposite Miranda's window.
McGraw croaked, and opened his eyes, staring down the angular, soulless red eye plates of John S2-15's helmet. "Now before you freak out..." He whispered through his partially occluded throat. "Would you kindly let go of me? I think you broke my clavicle."
He could tell from the SIGMA's tense body and light, nearly imperceptible trembles, that he was livid, but he did, after a moment, let McGraw slide down the wall. "Did they shoot her?" Shepard demanded, as SIGMAs streamed through the hall, taking up sentry positions and forcing out anyone they didn't recognize. McGraw knew well and good that no one would even reach this floor of the hospital unless the Twos let them, and considering the numbers he was seeing, he was also confident in saying that no one would be getting into the hospital itself.
"No." Said McGraw. "And she'll be fine. Best doctor on the station patched her up an hour ago."
"Who did?" He demanded, his voice filtered through the speakers on his helmet.
"Your mother." Said McGraw, to receive the glare of all SIGMAs within earshot.
"Why?"
"She thought I was the one who took you and the boys." He said, "thought I'd selected and recruited you all."
John lowered his gaze, turning it from McGraw, to Miranda, and back to him. "You just outlined the program. You didn't even take me."
McGraw arced an eyebrow, "is that why I'm alive?" He asked, with a one-sided grin.
"Yes."
"And here I thought it was because I used to make you laugh when you were kids."
"We didn't know, then."
"To play devil's advocate -"
"Don't."
"Yeah okay." McGraw nodded, before he indicated the window with his cybernetic hand. "Your mother was under the impression that I was far more involved with the decision making process than I really was." He explained. "She figured out about you, and then found my name attached to the program. Came to kill me because she thought I took you from her."
John was silent a few moments, "did you?"
McGraw looked up to the towering SIGMA, "what makes you ask?"
"We know you."
McGraw sighed, nodding, as if conceding his point. "I won't lie to you, Johnny. I promised you kids I never would. So I'll admit that I didn't not have anything to do with it… However I didn't necessarily intend for you to become a Two." He straightened up. "The short version is that your Dad was a SIGMA before first contact. He was of the few that served his time and retired to a different branch. He conceived you, and then Mossman found you while she was out recruiting.
"It's a complicated explanation, but the gist of it is that SIGMAs, Ones and, I assume, Twos, are, as you know, changed on a genetic level. But as time goes on, this change becomes intrinsic. Their bodies get used to it and they, basically, evolve. This means that the children of SIGMAs, known as one-point-fives, gain a sort of 'natural' set of those same bio-chem augments you got when you were fourteen. Natural-born SIGMAs, in other words. Obviously they don't get the advantages from the bio-mechanical augments, but you get the point of what I'm saying. They're natural-bred superhumans… Olympic athletes before they even hit puberty.
"Mossman figured this out after she picked you up, and convinced the Board to take you in, to do what they had to to make sure you worked out." McGraw explained. "A SIGMA Two… One point five."
"Two-Fifteen."
McGraw nodded. "Had it been my way, I would have poked and prodded you as you grew up a civilian. Tried to get you into the N7, and then work some loopholes to make you a One, instead of a Two."
"You didn't."
"Couldn't." Mcgraw shrugged.
"Did you have anything to do with them lying to us?"
"No." He said, "you've got to remember, my word isn't as powerful as most people think it is. The Alliance defunded the program for a while, remember that? I had to pay for you kids out of pocket until I could verbally smack some sense into them, and that was just the Board. The Ones have even less reason to listen to me, what with their charter guiding the way they think." He frowned, "I think I'm actually blacklisted, if memory serves. A buddy of mine shit his pants when he figured that out… And now I don't leave the house without a few assassins following my every step." He smiled, and ran his hand through his hair, watching as Miranda's heavily bandaged chest rose and fall in the room beyond.
"Why are you raising Miranda?"
"She came to me." Said McGraw, "I relocated her sister, keeping her safe. In return, Miranda's working for me." He shook his head, "she's probably raising me more than I am, her." The enigmatic engineer chuckled.
"Why did you stay with us?"
"Because as much as you are meant to be soldiers, you kids still are human, and I don't think even the Ones ever really picked that up." Said The Intuitive Man, "their big fuck-up was keeping you all in the dark so long."
"No it wasn't."
"Oh?" McGraw turned to look up at 2-15.
"It was lying to us when we gave them the chance to come clean." He broke his gaze with Miranda's room. "McGraw. We won't kill you." He said, "but I want to know." McGraw noticed stiffened postures, as everyone present was now pointedly not looking at the two of them. "What are we?"
McGraw sighed. "One time when I was young… After my mother died and my father took me in. He told me, he said, 'Chris… Life is rough. And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough. You're one of the smartest people alive, and I know because I made you that way.'... He told me that I'd make enemies. Said that those enemies would seek to undo me in any way they could… So I could never let them know what I was capable of.
"Since then… I've done what he said. Hidden my strengths behind perceived weaknesses and shortcomings, because what he said made sense." He yawned, "you… Are like me, John. You are a product of your upbringing." He turned from Miranda's room and looked up at the towering II. "You're an adult now. A SIGMA. A Two. You are what you choose to be, now." He reached up and placed his hand on John's armored shoulder. "I tell you this because it's the truth. I don't regret what I did, what I've done, nor what I will do. Only that it has to be done. You and the Twos are no exception.
"You are the product of your upbringing. Meant to be guardians, but taught so well you only care to guard, not for what you do. Meant to be intelligent, but considered not enough such that you could be trusted with the Ones' secrets. Meant to be unstoppable, but trained so good that even the people you fight for are scared of you. Meant to be the best, like no one ever was, but also robbed of the thing that could make you such a thing: Your choice."
John leered down at him, "are you saying, that you would have given us that choice?"
"If you had said no, a decade ago, and refused to serve, we would have sent you back and set you up. All of you, with loving families and peaceful lives. All six hundred and twelve of you. That's why Protocol Sixty Six exists, John. If SIGMAs are robbed of their choice, they cease to be SIGMAs, merely an unparalleled fighting force that exists to service an inevitably corrupt government." He reached into his jacket, and pulled out a single, palm-sized data stick, upon which was a black and gold logo, of a diamond flanked by two shields. "If you win…" A pause, "when, you win. You'll want that choice. I know you all."
John lifted the data stick to view it, McGraw deducing that his AI was likely already telling him what was on it. Despite this, John asked McGraw, "what is this?"
"Call it a blank check, for anything you need. You could call it an apology, if you wanted, or a favor from me. A golden ticket into my own little fifth column." He grew a small smile, "when you win…Be it peace, a more impartial faction, to vanish... Whatever you want. If the Ones or the Alliance won't give it to you…
"Cerberus will."