PNYX GOVERNMENT DISTRICT
JEFFERSON
SAMOTHRACE, INVICTUS SYSTEM
EXODUS CLUSTER
MAY 3, 2004
Jefferson's new administrative district – named for the hill that was ancient Athens' official meeting place for their democratic assembly – was nearly completed. It was a relatively compact area of unassuming buildings compared to the old United States' Federal Capital District, but beneath the buildings were a series of hardened bunkers that extended far down into Samothrace's crust. When complete, they were designed to be able to withstand orbital bombardment by a dreadnought's main gun, as well as direct hits from high-energy release weapons such as nuclear or antimatter bombs, while keeping the Samothracian government operational. Security procedures for access involved both authorization and physical screening, with the latest technology to detect impostors, as well as biological and technological contagions.
Frederick Lefarge sat at a table in a room three stories underground that was almost severely plain, with institutional white walls and dark green synthetic fiber carpeting. The table was plain metal with the individuals attending the meeting seated in basic office chairs. Not very homey, he thought sardonically. Finishing touches were still a ways away, while expansion of the settlements and infrastructure had been aided greatly by the recent access to the galactic markets of Council Space.
The flipside is that the Snakes are recovering faster than I'd like. The Domination had had a lot more ready resources to offer to the intergalactic economy, and so a good amount of purchasing power in rebuilding the Sol System. Which means they'll be building up their Fleet a lot sooner than we thought. The one advantage of the original New America Project is that we would have had a gulf of interstellar space shielding us, giving us time to build. But with the mass relays... The Citadel was humanity's greatest chance of providing a shield against a Draka attack that, as things stood, they couldn't survive.
Which is why we're here. Lefarge looked around the table at the others as they set notes down in front of themselves and settled in their seats. Aides sat unobtrusively in chairs against the far walls, briefcases at hand to be ready to access any information their principals might need.
"I don't see why we're here," Patricia Hayato said, fiddling with a folder. "Shouldn't any major policy decisions wait for the formation of a civilian government?" Hayato, the former lifesystems specialist on the New America Project, had taken on an unofficial role as leader of the opposition, representing those of the 'cultural mosaic' line of colonization that represented a large minority of the outlying settlements on Samothrace, California and the smaller settlements on other worlds in the Attican Traverse. The dense settlement that was expanding outwards from Jefferson and New Jerusalem, the initial settlements on Samothrace and California respectively, largely followed the 'melting pot' line but possessed small minorities who supported Hayato's line as well.
Some of the more extreme 'melting pot' supporters believed Hayato and her people were of the same sort of thinking that caused India to secede from the Alliance for Democracy in the mid '70s, which had gotten the subcontinent conquered by the opportunistic Draka and caused the whole Alliance to take a major morale hit. Their Hindi Raj Party had hoped to remain neutral between the Domination and the Alliance, preserving their own culture behind tariff barriers while industrializing with unacknowledged help from the Alliance.
Hayato and her people lashed back by calling them cultural imperialists on par with the Draka, looking to replace every human culture with that of 'General North American' that had dominated the old United States. American English, and the culture that had gone with it, had been expanding and wearing away at the cultural boundaries between the Alliance member states by the end of the 20th Century through market forces. With the Fall and the overwhelming sense of loss that had come with it, they wished to resurrect the old cultures that had been in danger of extinction and felt that they had numbers sufficient to do so, as opposed to the 100,000 that would have made a sublight journey to Alpha Centauri. The waves of refugees being expelled from the Sol System, they said, only strengthened their argument, giving humanity the numbers to allow the disparate cultures to be preserved and thus enrich the species as a whole.
Hayato had been one of the ones who had pushed hardest for the establishment of a constitution to bring the issue to the people as a whole, instead of closed door arguments among the officials of the military-dominated emergency administration. Lefarge, who felt like he had aged a decade in the past four years, had been only too happy to comply. The United Systems of Samothrace, he mused. Does have a certain ring to it. The name of their new homeworld had grown on a majority of the people, though some wondered why they hadn't simply named their government for their species as the Council races seemed prone to do. Frederick had blocked that measure personally.
"Some things have to be taken care of now," Lefarge replied to Hayato. "The elections are still several months away, and some things... have to be done for the sake of our new country, even if they may be unpopular."
That produced some murmuring around the table. "What do you mean by that, Fred?" That was Colin McKenzie, the heavy-construction man from the old Project. He was overseeing the dismantling of the old modular buildings and the construction of new ones out of resources harvested from Samothrace, a sure sign that they were really starting to put down roots here.
Lefarge set his hands on the table. "It should come as no surprise that we have SSI people overseeing the transfer of the refugees from Earth when the Snakes turn them over to the turian and hanar aid organizations." Nods around the table. The last thing they wanted was for the Draka to slip them another version of their Stone Dogs through them.
"What they have learned is that the hanar discovered a pre-mass effect technology world some years ago," he continued. "A planet called Rakhana. Post-industrial technology, but arid and scarce resources. The species there has reached an overpopulation crisis – around eleven billion people." Shocked exclamations from some; Earth had never reached more than two billion before the Fall. "The hanar have been evacuating as many of them as they can – they call themselves drell – but they estimate they won't be able to move more than a few hundred thousand to their homeworld, Kahje, before a fatal collapse of their society."
A stretch of silence as everyone around the table considered the implications of those words. Break down of social order, global war over remaining resources devolving into desperate bands clawing at each other for crumbs of food. Some of the faces had gone pale, while others with even more imagination swallowed thickly.
"That's... horrible," Anson MacDonald said. "But we have limited resources ourselves, and few enough colonization prospects out there that we could settle them on."
Lefarge shook his head. "I don't plan on settling them on some world we've discovered. I plan on bringing them here, to Samothrace."
Another silence fell, this one shocked. Then it broke as everyone began talking at once. "You can't be serious," McKenzie exclaimed, breaking through the noise. "You want to bring aliens here?"
The Quebec-Scots man fell silent as Lefarge turned a cold look on him. "That's it exactly," he replied. "And all of your reactions are one reason why we should do this." His frown deepened at their confusion. "Ever since we encountered the batarians for the first time I've seen a disturbing trend. How many slurs have we come up with for the batarians? 'Four-eyes'? 'Pencil necks'?
"But it goes beyond that," he continued. "It's spread beyond the batarians. Ever since those pirate bands attacked us, we've grown this feeling that the galaxy is out to get us. All of you know what I'm talking about." They did; there was a palpable sense of a 'siege mentality' among the people, especially since the refugees – and former serfs – had started to be released, living examples of what could happen to them, the worst case scenario. Surrounded by pirate and slaver bands in the Traverse and further out in the Terminus Systems; by the Batarian Hegemony active in the Skyllian Verge, thumping their chests and snarling every time Samothrace solidified their presence in the Traverse a little more; and by the Snakes, the age old enemy that they knew only too well.
"There have been incidents against members of the Council races that have visited our territory too. Turians, salarians, asari, volus. We're like an animal that's been mistreated and hit too often, and we're snapping at anyone who gets too close to us." Lefarge shook his head. "We have to stop it now, before it sets in. The drell haven't done anything to us, and they're in trouble." A smile. "They're the huddled masses that the old Alliance stood for, and welcomed into their lands for a better life.
"And it isn't as if they were very alien." Photographs were passed around the table. "The drell are a reptile-like species, but bipedal and look remarkably similar to us in some respects. They're native to an arid world, and Samothrace has that band of desert around the equator that we've done barely anything with. We also have those modular buildings we've been disassembling here, that can be easily reassembled down there. Then there's the fact that, even with all the refugees we've been taking in, we're still not that numerous. We need more people." A raised eyebrow. "Even if they're not 'people' in the typical sense of the word."
The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the general's words. They could see the arguments in favor of the proposal, but they still had misgivings that they couldn't quite put into words. Eventually attention focused on Hayato who was Lefarge's most vocal opponent in so many matters.
She met their regard, then looked across the table at Frederick. "My people have believed that the kami, or spirits of nature, exist in everything from deities to animals and natural objects, like suns, mountains, trees and rivers." An ironic smile. "Not too dissimilar from what I've been hearing of the asari philosophies, actually." A sigh. "You're right, General. We've been so caught up with our own arguments that we've barely noticed the rot that's been setting in, the same sort that caused the rise of the Militarist caste in Japan. The drell need our help and, in a way, we need their help. What are you planning?"
An inaudible sigh as everyone realized – subliminally at least – that they were going ahead with the proposal. Frederick nodded across the table to Hayato in thanks, returned by a slight rise of an eyebrow. Remember this, it said. I will, Patricia, he thought. I will.
"We've still got the New America in orbit," he replied. "It's long been planned to convert her into a dedicated warship, but we've been so caught up in expanding the Naval Forces with cruisers and frigates that it hasn't progressed very far. I plan on sending it, along with a few other ships, to Rakhana to evacuate as many drell as we can."
"You want to send the New America?" MacDonald looked quite humanly shocked for a moment, his expression slack with surprise, as opposed to his usual gruff self-control. "She's our heavy-hitter. What if the Snakes decide to attack while she's gone?"
"I've arranged for a... deterrent you might say. We all know the Snakes got into a small shooting war with the turians last year. The Hierarchy has been extremely interested in forging close relations with us, and have agreed to send some ships to escort the New America to Rakhana, as well as some 'peacekeeping' patrols by others to the Invictus and Demos systems while it's gone."
MacDonald frowned slightly in thought, then nodded slowly. "I can see how that would give the Snakes pause. I'm just surprised the turians would be willing to risk a war over a few human colonies."
"They really don't like the Snakes," Lefarge replied. "Something I believe we can relate to." A general chuckle around the table. "They offered to extend us protectorate status about on par with what they've done with the volus, which would make us a client state of the Turian Hierarchy. I respectfully declined, of course. They are willing to sell us weapons while we get our own manufacturies up and running. They'll also send patrols through our territory in the Traverse to deter any attacks from the Domination and the Hegemony, and we're going to allow California to be a port of call for their ships. But we will remain a sovereign state."
"That's... better than I would have hoped," McKenzie replied slowly, sounding surprised.
Lefarge smiled. "Their envoy told me that they can see the potential in our species, and felt that we would have won during the Fall if the Domination hadn't resorted to a weapon that would have been forbidden under the Citadel Conventions had we been in contact with the greater galaxy. We both have a lot in common, as well. They have a strong tradition of civic duty as we do, and strict discipline and work ethic." He spread his hands. "Not as entrepreneurial as we are, and their entire culture seems to revolve around their military instead of being mobilized by necessity as we do, but we still have more common ground with them than they do with the Draka."
Silence fell for a time as everyone around the table dealt with a feeling almost unfamiliar, one they hadn't allowed themselves to feel for years: Hope.
"Are we agreed then? Good, then let's move on..."
TAYSERI WARD
CITADEL
WIDOW SYSTEM
SERPENT NEBULA
JULY 10, 2008
Though she had resided there for years Helene Renston held no official position on the Citadel. The Domination, as of yet, had no embassy there, though both they and the Samothracians were making strong pushes for them. Only reason neither side has gotten one yet is prob'ly 'cause the Council don' want to look like they preferrin' one over the othah, she thought.
She mainly acted as an unofficial envoy for the Domination of the Draka, helping to negotiate trade treaties on behalf of the Combines with the other races of Council Space and negotiating other outstanding issues on a one-on-one basis. The ambassadors were free to ignore her if they wished though, just as they could ignore Miguel Hiero, the human envoy. As for a meeting with the Council itself... Might as well wish fo' an apartment on the Presidium, she thought sourly.
Just as ambassadors mostly had access to the Council, so did members of the races who possessed embassies have easier access to the Presidium. She had been there only occasionally since that first summit nearly five years ago. She made do with most of a floor in an apartment building in the Wards. The Domination, at the very least, recognized that a Citizen shouldn't have to put up with the cramped spaces most of the Council races seemed content with. Serfish so't of attitude.
Right then, however, Helene was pursuing her own affairs. She was striding briskly through the Gaeron Botanical Gardens, draped in a classical-style silk gown that left one shoulder bare and wearing gilt-edged sandals that strapped up the calf. She had a gold and ruby fibula that fastened the gown and diamond eardrops, and there was a servus a few paces behind her struggling to keep up.
"Gods damned shuttle," she muttered under her breath. It had coasted right past her stop near the Dilinaga Concert Hall and eventually dropped her off a ways away. Enduring the cramped confines of a shuttle with aliens who didn't leave her enough personal space was intolerable enough without the indignity of having to walk to the Concert Hall for the latest asari opera. The Foreign Affairs Directorate hadn't responded to her requests for a proper aircar yet, and she hardly had enough credits on her own to afford a proper asari version. The Trevithick Combine was trying to get a foothold onto the Citadel market, but their luxury versions were having problems finding buyers, competing against cheaper asari shuttles which had reigned supreme for centuries.
They prob'ly distracted by the extranet debate like everyone else back to home. The State and the War Directorate had high priority communications access like all governments and militaries in Council Space. The galactic computer network had proven to be a thorny issue, however, when the Extranet Access Combine was set up to purchase bandwidth and blocks of high priority access to the FTL comm buoy network, to be resold to Citizens who purchased subscriptions for access to the extranet through perscomps. The Security Directorate had immediately stepped in and declared a project to censor and monitor extranet access between Domination space and Council Space at large.
There had been an uproar among a large wing of the Conservatives, as well as the fringe Rationalists who had seen a surprising resurrection after their demise near the end of the Eurasian War and the beginning of the Protracted Struggle. The Militants, sufficed it to say, backed the project, arguing that the serfs could end up gaining access over time. Their opponents argued that Citizens of the State shouldn't be monitored as if they were serfs themselves, but fully backed the censorship aspects of the project. It wouldn't do for some Yankee anti-slavery propaganda to make it onto a perscomp that might be seen by a serf in Apollonaris after all. The more savvy salarian techs familiar with Earth history called the project the 'Great Firewall of Draka', a name that had spread rapidly.
Bunch o' damn foolishness, she thought wearily. The last thing the Race needed was arguments among themselves when it seemed most of the rest of the galaxy seemed determined to keep them down.
"Watch where you're going, Draka."
Helene looked up sharply to see an armored krogan glaring down at a drakensis in a black War Directorate uniform who had bumped into him while admiring a selection of flowers from Thessia. The reptilian species infamous for their Rebellions over a thousand years ago always reminded her of dinosaurs standing on their hind legs. Like all krogan, the top of this one's spine was slightly curved, giving him a hunchbacked appearance. The effect was further enhanced by the heavy frill of bone and scaled flesh growing from his upper back, collar, and shoulders like a thick shell, from which his blunt head protruded. Rough, leathery plates covered the crown of his skull and nape of his neck. His features were flat and brutish, almost prehistoric. He had no visible nose or ears and his eyes were small and set wide on either side of his head, though they gleamed with a cruel cunning.
The young drakensis blinked up at the krogan, then his mouth curled in a sneer. "Maybeso you should watch where yo' goin', T-Rex." His hand drifted near the Jamieson knife sheathed on his leg.
The krogan's eyes narrowed in both confusion and suspicion, and they flicked down towards the blade before going back to the Draka's face. A grim smile tugged the corners of his mouth up. "I like your attitude, boy, but don't be stupid."
Helene took a sharp intake of breath, and her eyes flicked to the drakensis to see his face contorting with rage. 'Boy' was not a word you casually threw in a Citizen's face, a name reserved for use with serfs. His hand clasped firmly around the handle of the knife. "Yo' goin' apologize fo' that right now, dinosaur, or ah'm goin' t' make yo' regret it."
The krogan's eyes narrowed further, obviously unsure of what had just deepened the confrontation even further, but equally obviously unwilling to back down and lose face. "Think hard about your next move, Draka, and get your hand away from the blade."
"Or what?" the drakensis jeered, sliding the blade partly out of its sheath. Helene herself kept unobtrusively in the background, her hand ready to reach for the Tolgren pistol strapped to her thigh beneath the gown, while the servus cowered behind her. She noticed peripherally that others had also stopped to watch the confrontation, keeping themselves a good distance away.
Helene blinked, then squinted slightly to sharpen her vision as she noticed a faint aura around the krogan. What in Freya's name is that?
The krogan suddenly thrust a clenched fist in the drakensis' direction, and the air rippled as an invisible wave of energy surged out and over his adversary. The unsuspecting Draka was picked up off his feet and thrown backward several meters. By the bug-eyed expression on his face, he had no idea what had just happened to him. He landed heavily on the floor with a grunt.
He's a biotic! Helene had heard of individuals capable of manipulating dark energy, the imperceptible quantum force that pervaded all the so-called empty space of the universe, but had never seen the talent in action before. Normally too weak to have any noticeable effects on the physical world, dark energy could be concentrated into extremely dense fields by biotics through mental conditioning. With their natural talents augmented by thousands of microscopic amplifiers surgically implanted throughout their nervous system, biotic individuals could use biofeedback to release the accumulated power in a single directed burst.
The drakensis was stunned only for a second—plenty of time for the krogan to cross the distance between them and wrap his three-fingered hand around the drakensis' throat. He raised the Draka into the air, easily holding him with one arm as he slowly began to exert pressure on his windpipe.
The young drakensis clamped his hands onto the krogan's arm, and his lips peeled back to reveal clenched teeth as he brought his knees up to his chest, then punched his heels outward into the alien's armored chest. Startled by the raw strength behind the blow, the krogan was forced to release his hold and stumbled back several steps as the Draka shoulder rolled to his feet and pulled the Jamieson, crouching into a knife-fighting stance.
The krogan let out a rumbling chuckle as he pulled a long, jagged blade from his boot. "Not bad, not bad," he commented. "I think I'm starting to like you, kid." He began to crouch into his own fighting stance when shouts suddenly rang out.
"Citadel Security! Drop your weapons now!"
Helene followed the gaze of the drakensis and the krogan as several turians, two asari and a salarian, all in the blue and black uniform of C-Sec, suddenly hurried over with mostly pistols and a couple of assault rifles drawn.
The krogan sized up the officers, then shrugged his shoulders and dropped the blade. "Just having a bit of fun," he remarked.
The Draka soldier carefully set his knife on the floor in front of him. "Jus' a misunderstandin', officers." He was eyeing the reptilian alien with new respect in his eyes.
So was Helene. Them biotics are somethin' else! she thought. I wonder if we got people lookin' into 'em.
She glanced at her watch and grimaced as she saw the time. "Ignacy, come on now. Ah'm goin' t' be late fo' the show." She hurried on towards the Concert Hall as the C-Sec officers began their questioning behind her.