Tetrarch – Councilor David Anderson
–
If there was one thing his first year as councilor had given him (and there were many), it was a newfound respect for the importance of clothes. Anderson had never put much stock in clothing before. His time in the Alliance had instilled him with a certain diligence about appearing professional, but the color of the buttons on his cuffs? He was pretty sure he hadn't considered it even once – even fleetingly – in his entire life. But as councilor (he now knew) he had to think of these things. He was the new face of humanity. Every facet of his public image had to be calculated out to the nth degree, every little detail was worth arguing over. Wearing it this way might offend this group, wearing it that way projected confidence, wearing it this way was right out. It sometimes took hours, hours that could be used productively, hours gone forever.
It was meticulous, systematic manipulation and Anderson hated every moment of it.
And so Councilor David Anderson, decorated hero of the Alliance and perhaps the highest human authority in the galaxy, sat slumped in the back of his government hovercar like a child, idly picking at the seams on his newest suit. His face was drawn in the grim frown that had accompanied him for some time now. Two years of fighting the political sharks had taken its toll on him, and he missed the old days, when enemies were enemies and battles were fought with guns and kinetic barriers, not lies and PR departments.
The subterfuge was suffocating him. But he had to keep going. His fingers shifted nervously around the cheap datapad he'd found on his desk yesterday evening. Big things were happening.
Anderson looked up as the vehicle's intercom crackled with his driver-bodyguard's voice. "Mr. Councilor, we're approaching the tower," Lucius said in clipped tones. Outside, the silhouette of the Council Tower loomed. "We'll be locking in here shortly. You know the drill. When you're ready to dock, input your clearance code."
"Thanks Lucius," Anderson said, hiding his current storm of thoughts behind the confident face that was one of the holdouts from his military past. At least that part had never changed. His hand reached for the console built into the door – its holographic interface bloomed to life at his touch as he tapped in this week's clearance code. The computer gave a few quiet clicks as a thin blue beam scanned his palm for verification, before it beeped its satisfaction.
"Welcome back, Councilor," a turian voice came from the speaker. "Please proceed to bay four."
"Docking at bay four," Lucius repeated, and Anderson felt a subtle lurch as the car dipped. He sighed, dismissing the security panel with a wave of his hand. In the wake of Saren's attack, security around the councilors had increased tenfold. Everywhere identities were checked and rechecked under the watchful eyes of C-Sec snipers, and the tower itself – not to mention the vehicles, offices, even clothing the councilors wore – had been armored and teched up in every way imaginable. No expense was being spared to avoid another embarrassing assault.
And yet with all the millions spent to protect them, spent to 'revitalize the system', it was still as dangerous and inefficient as ever, and Anderson and his staff were paying the price. His office's now well-publicized internal security leak from a few months back had continued to hound his every action in office, made all the worse by the fact that they still hadn't found the culprit. Udina had been having a fit for weeks, running his own Spanish Inquisition to find out how surveillance bugs had been inserted into their (supposedly hack-proof) databases without tripping some kind of alarm, but despite dozens of firings and the help of C-Sec, they were still no closer to the truth. The whole situation had become a public relations fiasco and an unsightly black mark that he did not need so soon after his rise to the Council. And through all of it, all of C-Sec's shiny new toys had shown how useless they really were.
Anderson grimaced as he looked out the window onto the raised tarmac of bay four, six hundred feet above the Presidium grounds. A massive cluster of people huddled on the artificial lawn, and the councilor groaned. Another thing the enhanced security did nothing to stop.
"I see we have a welcoming committee," Lucius observed as the hovercar descended, offering Anderson a clear view of a great host of camera equipment scattered amongst the crowd. Paparazzi, then. He wished he knew how they always knew where and when to find him.
"Don't we always?" he asked. "I swear, if one more sorry son of a bitch asks me for a job I don't know what I'll do."
"Order him thrown out the airlock," Lucius suggested evenly, a shrug obvious in his voice even through the intercom. "You can still do that, can't you?"
Anderson managed a smile. "Yeah, but I have to fill out a bunch of forms first. Don't have the time, Lucius," he joked, shaking his head. "Do you have the status of the other councilors?"
There was a brief pause while Lucius consulted his dashboard console. "All three have already checked in," he said. He chuckled. "I suppose it was too much to hope Velarn'd take a sick day, huh?"
"He never takes sick days," Anderson said, allowing himself a grimace at the thought of his always-acerbic turian counterpart. Velarn had made no secret of how little he expected from the humans and had been an armor-plated thorn in Anderson's side for months. Still, Anderson hadn't taken this job because he thought it would be easy – he had to prove to the galaxy that humanity was ready to do its part, and if that meant starting with the Primarch of Primarchs, then so be it. He shook his head again, staring down at the datapad in his hands. "He needs to see this, Lucius," he added, "He'd never let me live it down."
"Something wrong, sir?"
Anderson frowned. "You know I can't tell you that."
"I apologize, sir," Lucius said. "Just a concerned citizen."
Anderson sighed. "You have a right to your concerns," he said, brushing his own aside. "But believe me when I say I have the situation under control." The half-truth felt bitter on his tongue. He knew he didn't have any control whatsoever, but pretending he did was what politics was all about. Maybe things would be a disaster – maybe Shepard had turned against the Council (heaven knew they'd given him enough reasons) – but he had to keep it quiet for now. He had to give Shepard a chance.
If the datapad even really was from Shepard.
"Of course sir," Lucius said, and the intercom fell silent, leaving Anderson alone with his thoughts. He flicked the datapad's on switch yet again. He still didn't know how it had reached him – especially since the leak had been discovered, all of his mail was filtered through a small army of secretaries that would never let an unmarked datapad reach him without calling in the bomb squad – and yet here it was, smuggled right under his security's noses. Strike three.
Anderson stared yet again at the single message that was the only file on its drive.
Too many dogs watching to go through normal channels, it said. I don't know what Alenko told you but I need help. Get me in to see the Council ASAP. They owe me that much. Will be at your office tomorrow. -John
Anderson stared at the glowing letters and tried with all his might to force them into reality. He'd heard the rumors, and so he couldn't really say he was surprised per se, but his old XO was dead. He'd delivered the eulogy himself. He'd read the reports, seen satellite images of the vast swathe of fire on Alchera's surface where his old ship had come to rest. He'd seen the hopelessness – the uncharacteristic defeat – in Moreau's eyes when the pilot had hobbled out of the last escape pod. Shepard was dead. That was all there was to it.
And yet somehow Shepard was alive. An imposter, a clone, or maybe even Shepard himself – one way or another, the hero of the Citadel had resurfaced on the far side of death. As bizarre as it was, it seemed strangely fitting. Shepard had been a stubborn man – perhaps he'd simply bludgeoned his way past the Grim Reaper.
Anderson remembered the day he'd first met Shepard, remembered the man's obvious competence, his easy likeability. Shepard had been a hero by any definition, but without all the entitlement bullshit that most heroes came to adopt, and Anderson had instantly liked him. He'd staked his career on Shepard and if Shepard was somehow still alive, he would do it again. Anderson believed then and now that Shepard was the best humanity had to offer.
But he was working with the Illusive Man. If there was anyone capable of corrupting John Shepard it was he. Shepard had never been privy to everything the Alliance knew about Cerberus' enigmatic leader, but Anderson had, and the thought of the two of them together was almost terrifying. Shepard was well-meaning but rash, and the Illusive Man was quite possibly the most intelligent, most resourceful man in the galaxy. Who knew what he could twist the Hero of the Citadel into?
Anderson rubbed the weariness from his temples as the hovercar came to a graceful stop on the council tower loading docks and Lucius opened his door for him. He did not relish the idea of reopening discussion about Shepard and the Reapers yet again, but he was determined. As much as some people would like to forget it, Shepard had saved them all.
It was time to repay the favor.
–
Anderson stepped out onto the tarmac and was immediately assailed from all directions. Well-wishers, reporters, advisors, everybody wanted a piece of the newest councilmember. His ascendance had created a vast power vacuum beneath him, and for years now so-called 'experts' in every field had been coming out of the woodwork hoping for a cushy advising position.
"Mr Councilor!" one mustached man shouted, waving a piece of paper in his face, "Dr. Jack Torrasque, Leader of the Gemini Facility for Weaponization of Cryptobiological Agents! If I could have a moment of your time!" Lucius shoved him aside without pause.
"Anderson!" another shouted.
"Councilman Anderson!" was another (this one had splurged on a lab coat to look more official).
"Sir? Sir?"
Anderson was silent as he worked his way through the crowd of asskissers. Anderson had long since stopped bothering to memorize the faces, and left that particular snake nest to his staff to sort through. Luckily Udina, bless his curmudgeonly heart, had a knack for knowing who was valuable to him and who wasn't (believe it or not, he'd been the one to single out Shepard as a Spectre candidate in the first place) and the foul demeanor to keep all but the most foolhardy scoundrels away.
As if bidden by his thoughts, Udina materialized from the crowd, his face grim and his ambassador's outfit gleaming and neatly pressed. "Councilor," he said, nodding curtly. His manners were on full display, his carefully-cultivated image out for the public to see, but Anderson could see from the way his upper lip quivered that his chief advisor was just itching to vent some rage at the situation, and would give him an earful as soon as they were out of view.
"Ambassador," Anderson said, returning the nod.
Udina's voice was an urgent whisper, buried under the tumult of the crowd as he leaned in. "I do hope you have a good reason for this," he said. "I've been in meetings with the EU ministers all morning. You can't imagine the shitstorm we'll stir up if we don't get their concerns before the council soon."
"It's important, Ambassador. Trust me."
Udina scowled. "Very well." He turned to the crowd, his dark little eyes glittering with characteristic anger. "The councilor will not be entertaining any propositions at this time!" he shouted, voice carrying. "If you will direct your concerns to the lower courts where they belong, they will ensure they are considered by the proper authorities." There was a chorus of disappointed rebuttal, but Udina ignored it, and the two of them started for the doors, Anderson's bodyguards parting the crowd before them.
Anderson batted microphones out of his face as he walked, trying his best to ignore questions being shouted from every direction. Most of the demands were about the security leak at his offices, or about his opinion on the asari guild strikes that had been dominating the council's attention of late, and Anderson didn't care to elaborate on either point. A sudden voice, however, stopped him in his tracks.
"Councilor Anderson!" the shrill, feminine voice demanded, "has Commander Shepard turned against the council?"
Anderson stopped and turned to see a short, brightly-dressed woman being held at bay by his guards. Her eyes held a predatory as she thrust her microphone forward. A camera droid floated casually behind her shoulder. She took his hesitance as a good sign and tried to step forward. "Do you think the recent reports of Commander Shepard's reappearance herald the beginning of another incident like Saren?" she asked, speakers sewed into the front of her suit amplifying her voice above the scrambling reporters all around her.
Anderson frowned.
"Councilor…" Udina growled warningly from behind him. Anderson ignored him. There was something very familiar about this woman.
"Let her through," he ordered, and his bodyguards parted to let the woman pass.
"This is a mistake," Udina said, rubbing his temples in frustration.
The woman paid him no more mind than Anderson had, casually smoothing out the front of her outfit. "Khalisah al-Jilani, Westerlund News," she said, holding out a hand. Anderson didn't take it. He nodded solemnly in recognition. This was the harpy who'd blindsided Shepard a few years ago. And now she saw fit to tarnish his reputation again.
"Miss Jilani," he said, eyeing her suspiciously, "where do you get your information?"
"My sources met with me on the condition of anonymity," she said. "I cannot reveal their identities."
Anderson shook his head, sighing. This was a mistake, dignifying vultures like her with a response. "No," he said after a moment, his tone firm. "This is not a repeat of the Saren incident." He turned to leave.
"But you believe that Shepard is indeed alive, as some reports suggest?"
"The Councilor's office has no comment on that at this time," Udina interrupted, ushering Anderson towards the door.
"One final question!" the reporter screeched, practically leaning on the bodyguards moving to intercept her in her rush to keep pace with Anderson, "Your former protégé's connection to an alleged terrorist group casts some doubt on where your own loyalties lie, especially in light of your office's recent security leak. Do you have any response to claims that you are secretly funneling information to Shepard and his new masters?"
Anderson stopped again, turning to stare severely at the reporter, who stared back, unflinching. His fingers twitched, and for a fleeting moment he imagined the feel of her smug face under his knuckles. One glance at the reporter's ever-watchful droid, however, was enough to convince him otherwise. The urge passed quickly. He was a diplomat now, not a soldier. He had to remember that. "I've had enough of your specious intimations," he said instead, right into the camera. He looked to Lucius. "Get her out of here."
"You heard it here first!" the woman was shouting as his guards dragged her away, her droid following loyally behind. "Councilor Anderson suspected a traitor, evasive when pressed!"
–
Aogus Velarn, Primarch of Primarchs, Hierarchy Citizen of the Twenty-Seventh Tier, Envoy of the Clans, Former Decorated Commander of the Most Exalted Trenturia Forward Division, was not a happy turian.
He bristled, his bony scales ruffling up like an angry parrot, his beady eyes locking on Anderson from across the new reinforced Council chamber. Turians were fearsome aliens whether they were soldier or politician – and the fact that Velarn kept a well-maintained assault rifle in his podium at all times made it clear how little difference there was between the two. This was all the more true when you interrupted them in the middle of a lengthy speech about striking asari craft guilds to tell them their least favorite person in the galaxy had come back to life, and yet Anderson held his ground, staring back without flinching. "When?" the turian finally asked, making no effort to veil his dislike.
"Yesterday. It was addressed to me personally." Anderson looked to Tevos and Adlin, who bore twin looks of concern, the guild strikes instantly forgotten.
Velarn's mandibles twitched in anger. "If you've been in contact with a known-"
"Calm yourself, Aogus," Tevos interrupted, her blue hands raised, as they often were, in the act of arbitrating between her rasher companions. She tossed Anderson a sympathetic look – of the councilors, she'd always been the friendliest to him personally, though arguably the most opposed politically. Her species' longevity and conservative nature often put her at odds with Anderson and the rest of humanity's rapid-fire determination. She commanded Velarn's respect, however, and so Anderson was thankful for her help. Tevos' deep eyes seemed to stare right through him. "You've heard from Shepard?" she asked, her tattooed brows raised.
"I believed it was worth discussing before I act on anything," he continued, nodding. He took a deep breath to steel himself. "He's asking to meet with the Council immediately. Today." Anderson did not miss the sudden wave of discomfort that passed through the aliens at this notion. It was the same discomfort he saw in them every time he brought up the Reapers. He grimaced. "It's confirmation of the rumors, if nothing else," he said, rubbing his temples in a vain effort to push back his inevitable headache. "Shepard is alive."
Adlin shook his head. "Not confirmation at all," he insisted. "We have excellent reason to believe Commander Shepard is dead. His resurrection would be extraordinary – nothing less than extraordinary evidence will confirm. More likely your contact is an imposter, capitalizing off of the commander's reputation. Almost certainly a trap." The salarian cocked his head innocently to one side, causing his robes to ripple around him. His fingers tapped at his console with blazing speed, no doubt – as usual – consulting with his imprinted dalatresses at the Commune. "Perhaps even related to your office's recent security leaks, hmm?"
"Or it could be the real thing," Anderson said defensively, eyes narrowing at the slender alien. "Can we risk ignoring it if it is?" Of the councilors, he found he respected Adlin the most. The salarian managed to be utterly passionless about his duties, his formidable mind always solely focused on the logic behind the situation, instead of on petty personal squabbles. Even so, he was as crafty as they came when he chose to be, and on more than one occasion had bartered his support for Anderson's causes in exchange for Anderson's cooperation on his. As little as the aliens seemed to respect his opinion, Anderson had a power they were unused to – he could deadlock the vote, requiring the slow intervention of the lower courts to break. So far only Adlin was willing to incorporate this threat into his strategy.
Tevos' pretty face drew into a contemplative frown. "You'll forgive us, Councilor, if we are cautious on this point. You must admit the rumors are disturbing. Shepard is a powerful figure, even dead. If Cerberus has found a way to use his memory against us, it could have grave consequences for the galaxy's stability. We stand at a fragile point, David, the first council reorganization in centuries. There are a great many eyes watching," she said. "Related or not, your compromised security is evidence enough of this. It is highly possible that someone is using false information to take advantage of your office's inexperience. We must proceed carefully."
"And even if it is Shepard, we cannot trust him." Velarn sneered. "You humans are well known for your plastic allegiances. Shepard has joined Cerberus – what is to stop him from gunning us down where we stand?"
Anderson felt a flash of anger in his head as he whirled on the turian. "You've given him more reason to kill you than anything Cerberus could tell him!" he spat, waving a hand at the surprised aliens. "All of you! How many times do you need to piss on the man's grave? He believed in this Council enough to save your lives, despite all the nonsense you pulled on him, and now you think he's going to kill you?" He pointed at Velarn. "What is your problem with Shepard?"
"I have no 'problem'," Velarn insisted, beady eyes narrowing.
"Bull. Shepard was practically a saint to the turians. He was your ally. Fell all over himself defending you. That was a man who refused to look down at anybody, who only ever did what he thought was right, and yet you think so little of him? Did you think it was an act?"
Velarn was quiet for a moment. "I believe Shepard was genuine," he said at length, waving a talon. "Genuinely noble as few are. But he was stupid, easily manipulated by less honorable men. I remember his reputation as an 'alien-lover'," he said, snorting. "And I remember the Alliance exploiting it. If Shepard was his own man, he wouldn't take orders from the likes of Ambassador Udina. He is a dangerous weapon, genuine or not." Anderson opened his mouth to protest but Velarn cut him off. "I note you haven't mentioned your mission on Horizon," he said. "How many humans were lost there, Anderson? I'd say Commander Alenko's testimony was fairly damning, wouldn't you? And if even Shepard Jr. doesn't trust him, how can we?" He loomed to his full height, his barrel chest puffing. "As long as he is with Cerberus he poses a grave danger to us all."
"I know Shepard," Anderson insisted. "He isn't a traitor."
Velarn rolled his eyes – a strikingly human gesture, and no doubt one of the many he'd taught himself in his earnest efforts to be well informed about Anderson's species. "As I recall you 'knew' Saren attacked Eden Prime as the first wave of a campaign to eradicate all of humanity. Remind me, how did that turn out?"
Anderson felt his argument die a little. Damnit. "I… was wrong on that point," he admitted. "I let my history with Saren cloud my judgment."
"And your history with Shepard may be no less biasing," Tevos pointed out. "Please, David, do not misread us. We owe Shepard a great personal and professional debt. But as far as we know Shepard is dead and any claims to the contrary must be considered very thoroughly."
"So you refuse to see him?" Anderson asked, glaring at the asari. She met his eyes without blinking. There was a long pause.
"We shall vote." There was a bleep as Tevos pressed a key and the VI's in their consoles awoke. The enormous screens above them flickered to life as the matter of whether or not to risk a meeting with Shepard was put to an official vote. A light indicating Anderson's approval blinked into existence.
Adlin was the first to respond. "Dalatress Madrassa wishes me to meet him, and so I vote in favor," he said, drawing surprised looks from the other councilors. His enormous eyes blinked obliviously. "She believes he is dead, but the rumors of his return have only grown. Whatever their origin, they must be addressed. We must learn what truth there is in them." A second light joined Anderson's overhead as the salarian focused his big eyes on Anderson. Anderson held back a grateful nod – this was not the place – but he knew the salarians would be extracting payment for this particular favor, one way or another.
"I vote not to meet him, no matter what Dalatress Madrassa wishes," Velarn snapped angrily. Adlin, long passed used to the turian's complaints about his near-slavish devotion to his dalatresses, ignored him.
All eyes turned to Tevos (as they so often did). She thought for a moment, the tattoos on her face glowing under the light of the voting screen. Her eyes continued to bore into Anderson's, as if she were trying to look at the truth somewhere behind him. Anderson had always heard asari had to touch you to connect, and yet somehow, looking at Tevos he'd always felt he could feel the calm undertow of her gentle, ancient mind underneath his. At length she spoke. "I must also vote in favor," she said at last. "If for no other reason than a need to have faith. I shall place my faith in Shepard, Councilor. I pray to the goddess I do not misplace it." The voting screen flickered as the motion passed.
"This is ridiculous," Velarn growled.
Tevos' eyes – previously calm – suddenly flared. "The Council has voted, Aogus," she said, glaring at him. "Do you dare disobey?"
All of Velarn's wind seemed to disappear in an instant. "Of course not," he said quietly. "But we must not risk ourselves. We are too important. If this body is to trust a known terrorist, I insist we do it remotely."
Anderson nodded. "Thank you, Councilors. I can make the arrangements to set up a proxy audience through the terminals in my office."
"It is decided, then," Tevos said, and that was that.
–
Since becoming councilor Anderson had gained a new respect for Kaidan Alenko. He didn't know how L2-induced headaches compared to Velarn-induced headaches, but if they were anything alike the young commander had Anderson's sympathy in spades for having put up with them for so long.
Anderson had been on the Council little more than a year and he already found himself personifying his headaches, talking to them like they were real opponents. He imagined this particular headache leaning next to him on his office's balcony, staring out into the Presidium without a care in the world. The headache-man's face looked alternately like Velarn, like Udina, like any of the throngs of people that kept flooding in wanting a handshake, a sound byte, a little piece of the action.
But behind the pulsing in his head, his heart pulsed even harder. He trusted Shepard, he really did, but as the appointed hour neared he couldn't help but worry for what he might learn. Velarn's warnings seemed to dance in his ears.
Anderson was spared the opportunity to dwell any longer by Kaidan's voice. "Did they really call me Shepard Junior?" the young commander asked from across the room, where he was busy setting up the terminals for the Council's meeting.
Anderson left his imaginary headache friend behind, turning to face his young co-conspirator. "Velarn did. He's big on name-calling," he said.
Kaidan's head popped out from beneath one of the terminals. His face was covered in an impressive bruise that curled around his right eye and darkened his cheeks – a souvenir from Horizon – but it was nothing compared to the exhausted shadow that hung over his expression. He stared at Anderson. "It's not true, sir," he said seriously.
Anderson thought about this. Obviously comparisons between Kaidan and his former commander were inevitable, but he was all too aware that there was more to it than that. Shepard's death had cost the Alliance their star celebrity, and Kaidan's promotion (while of course richly deserved) had had more to do with salvaging what was left of Shepard's reputation than any trait of Kaidan's. Of course, Kaidan was exactly the sort of man who shouldn't be told this sort of thing, and so Anderson said nothing.
Kaidan's face was grim as he set back to work on the consoles, and Anderson couldn't help a wan smile at the man's obstinance. He might not want to admit it, but Kaidan shared more than a little with the formerly-deceased Spectre. He was more cerebral than Shepard, shyer and more reserved, and yet both of them were selfless, driven, and ceaselessly hard on themselves. They were good traits for leaders to have, and Anderson was proud of both of them.
Kaidan seemed to intuit his thoughts, however, and continued. "I'm not him," he insisted, hands still fast at work on the terminal control panels. "Maybe some people want me to be, but I'm not." He grimaced, distracted for a moment muttering a few quiet expletives about proxy-something (Anderson couldn't quite catch it). "Do you know what, sir?" he asked after a moment, slamming down one panel lid with a satisfied nod. "When I first heard I'd been promoted I made a list of all of Shepard's talents and all of mine. All the differences. I wrote them down so I wouldn't forget them." He met Anderson's eyes again. "I mean it, I can show you the lists."
"I know you aren't Shepard," Anderson said, grinning in disbelief. Kaidan and Shepard might have shared many of the same insecurities, but Kaidan was the only man he knew who so fervently embraced the idea that he could think his way through them. It was a wonder he could get through the day at all. "Still, would it be so bad? Shepard was a great man."
"He was," Kaidan admitted, frowning to himself. "He was my friend, and I won't forget that." He stared darkly at Anderson. "But he isn't my friend anymore, and I won't forget that either."
Anderson sighed and settled into his chair to stare grimly at the datapads spread out over his desk. Whatever the reasons behind Kaidan's promotion, it had been an enormous stroke of luck as far as Anderson was concerned. He'd ceded his official position in the Alliance when he'd ascended to the Council, and while he retained a great deal of pull among them, he hadn't failed to notice how they'd shut him out of the decision making process. It seemed now that he was a politician they'd all forgotten that he had been a soldier first, and his repeated insistences on the importance of preparing for the Reapers were condescended to and ignored as the tabloid-worthy eccentricities of a celebrity. They took him no more seriously than his fellow councilors, and had practically black-walled him. Now everything was about them telling him what they needed to do their jobs.
Everything about Shepard's former mission was classified, hard to get to without Hackett's reluctant help, and so having Alenko on the inside – a man he could trust – was a godsend. Ever since it had become clear that the Council and the Alliance intended to let the Reaper threat slide, Anderson and Kaidan had been working at the problem on their own with what influence and information they had. The arrangement had been Kaidan's idea, a rare glimpse of the normally-decorous man's shrewdness. Even if they were found out, he'd said, would the Alliance really risk the public relations disaster of prosecuting them at such a critical time? Udina (as usual) did not approve – he had tried for months to prove that Kaidan was the mole in their office, spying on Anderson, not for him – but Anderson knew all too well the difference between a soldier's loyalty and a politician's loyalty and knew that was nonsense.
Today, Kaidan had brought him the real report on Horizon. More even than what he'd reported to Alliance command. Ever since Vigil had turned up deactivated with no corroborating evidence of his revealing conversation with Shepard's team on Ilos, Kaidan had taken to keeping three or four high definition cameras on his person at all times, and his preparation had served him well on Horizon. He'd brought back hundreds of detailed photographs of bizarre alien technology and weapons, scans of every sort on the abductors' colossal vessel, even what intel he'd managed to gather on Cerberus from Shepard's arrival.
Anderson fingered one picture of a blackened corpse. Its torso was riddled with bullet wounds, one of its arms missing, and yet he recognized its blue-black wiring and empty eyes immediately. A husk. Much like the ones on Eden Prime. Other pictures showed the collectors – the previously mythical collectors – their insectoid arms brimming with advanced weapons, their eyes filled with angry ambivalence.
Anderson sighed. "Nightmare stuff," he said. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"
Kaidan stood and followed his gaze to the pictures. "Hopefully not anymore, with all the data we took," he said, shaking his head. "There were hundreds of these things, sir. Eventually someone's going to have to take us seriously."
"I'm not holding my breath," Anderson said, grimacing. "My colleagues will just call it an isolated incident again." He picked up one of the photos to look closer. Anderson wished that he agreed with the Council. What a great load off his shoulders it would be if Sovereign truly was an isolated event, and not the harbinger of an overwhelming invasion! But seeing Kaidan's photos made it clear that was wishful thinking. Every picture reinforced the terrible truth. The Reapers were back.
Kaidan shook his head hopelessly. "Ever wonder if maybe the Council is in on the Reaper thing?"
Anderson raised one eyebrow. "Indoctrinated?"
Kaidan shrugged. "Maybe. But I meant more, what if they know more than they say they know? There has to be a reason why they're so uncooperative about this. Maybe they have it under control." Under Anderson's skeptical glance, he shrugged again, smiling awkwardly. "I don't know. They're thousands of years older than us. What do we know?"
Anderson smiled. It was nice to see that some people still had some faith in the system. "Maybe," he said (though he didn't believe it for an instant). "I can tell you those three are craftier than we thought they were. They've shown me things… The picture isn't always clear. If they've got cards they haven't played yet, it wouldn't surprise me in the least." He paused for a moment, thinking. "But they're scared, Kaidan. They're old and they're stagnant. Humanity comes in stirs things up and they don't like it. But that's our job."
Kaidan nodded solemnly. "Even if they hate us for it."
They were silent for a time.
"I'll have this data sent to the right people," Anderson said eventually, turning back to the datapads. "I have some old contacts that'd be willing to take a look. See what they can learn about it. But without the political momentum, it's a long shot." He clicked to a new photo, this one of Shepard's landing craft descending toward the planet. It was grainy, but if he squinted he could just see the Cerberus logo plastered on the side. It was amazingly bold for a black-ops organization to have a logo at all, and yet there it was. "We may just have to accept that Shepard is our best hope right now."
Kaidan frowned. "Shepard is with Cerberus."
"And yet it looks like they were right," Anderson reminded him. "The Reapers are behind the abductions, not Cerberus."
"How can we be sure? With all due respect, sir, you read the reports but you didn't get to see the Cerberus labs where we found Kohoku. Some of the experiments they were running..." He shuddered. "I wouldn't put it past them, sir."
"Shepard's the last person that would join Cerberus, Commander," Anderson said, still staring at the photo. "He likes aliens more than humans as it is. If he's working with them, then he must have a damn good reason."
Kaidan shook his head. "There's no reason good enough. He took an oath. If he-" Kaidan's anger was cut off as the door gave a displeased beep and slid open.
There was a pregnant moment where time seemed to crystallize. All eyes in the room turned to the door in time to see a familiar blue-armored turian – armed to the teeth – step smoothly into the room.
The moment ended. Lucius – who'd been quietly seated at the opposite end of the room – was on his feet in a flash, his weapon drawn. "Councilor! Down!" he shouted, but it was too late. Lucius was a well-trained fighter, and fast, but the turian was faster, and before he could so much as aim the alien's omni-tool gave a blinding flash. Spots danced in front of Anderson's eyes as the room lights flickered and died. In the gloom he could hear the urgent beeping of Lucius' overheated pistol, the guard swearing as he fumbled with a heatsink, but it was already over. In an instant the turian had cleared the distance between them, yanked the sizzling gun from his hands, and slammed him to the floor.
"At least some of the security has improved on this stupid station," the turian drawled, standing over the downed guard like a raptor over its kill. His bony head cocked to one side. "Though considering my old C-Sec override codes still worked on the doors I don't see much point."
Anderson wasn't, in general, good at telling turians apart, but he knew this one. "Stand down, Lucius," he said, even as Kaidan slipped into a defensive posture, his biotics causing the hairs on the back of Anderson's neck to prickle.
Garrus stared at Kaidan as the biotic reluctantly stepped back. His beaked face was blank as he turned his gaze to Anderson. "My apologies, Councilman," he said, eyes flitting about the room as he extended a hand to help Lucius (the spanked guard shunned his aid, scrambling unevenly to his feet on his own). "I couldn't come through regular channels. You understand."
The anger in Kaidan's glower was palpable. "Garrus. You here to hit me again?"
Garrus just cocked his head as he began to pace the room. "No," he said simply. Anderson stared again at the bruise on Kaidan's furious face. It was easy enough to put two and two together – apparently Shepard had not been the only former crewmate to confront Kaidan on Horizon. Still, what little he'd heard about Vakarian hadn't painted him as the sort to assault someone. Back when Anderson had first started frequenting the Citadel Garrus had been known as something of a cowboy cop, but as driven and brave as his father ever was. After the Normandy's destruction the Hierarchy had even bestowed him with a Nova Cluster medal for his role in defeating Saren.
And then he'd disappeared. Anderson frowned as he traced his gaze across Garrus' scars, the stained bandages wrapped around his neck, the shrapnel marks that pocked his heavy armor. He couldn't help but notice the dangerous intensity in Garrus' marble eyes, a new darkness that hadn't been there before. Wherever Garrus had disappeared to, it hadn't been good to him.
"I'm here for Anderson," the turian continued neutrally, carefully examining the balcony. He ran his talons under the railing edge, feeling for concealed bugs. "You two get out," he added, gesturing loosely at Kaidan and Lucius.
Anderson stepped forward. "I don't know what you're after, Vakarian, coming back after all this time to rough up a councilor in his own office, but both of these men have proven themselves to me. Whatever Shepard has to say to me he can say to them. I trust them with my life."
Garrus stared blankly at him. "I don't trust them with Shepard's," he said, no trace of malice in his voice. "And don't call me that."
"What should I call you then?"
Garrus seemed to consider this for a moment. "Call me… Archangel."
"How about you stop screwing me around and I just call you by your name?"
Garrus' mandibles flickered, faintly amused. "Fair enough." He stared pointedly at Kaidan and Lucius again, his talons clenching reflexively. "Send them away."
Anderson was about to protest when Kaidan cut him off. "It's fine, sir," he grunted, grabbing his bag and heading for the door. "The terminals are ready for you, just press the initialize button and it should start up on its own." He hurried out of the office without waiting for further argument, a reluctant Lucius following in his wake.
The door slid closed with a click, leaving Anderson and Garrus alone. The turian paid him little mind, still calmly inspecting every inch of the room for hidden threats or listening devices. Anderson watched him in silence. He liked to think his experiences with Saren had not biased him against the turians as a whole, and yet he couldn't deny he found the armored aliens unnerving. Garrus' mannerisms were undeniably carnivorous, elegant and focused like a stalking predator, and stirred up something primal and mammalian in Anderson, something that made him want to scurry under a log until the danger passed.
"You struck Alenko?" he asked instead, eyes never leaving the alien.
"He didn't tell you?" Garrus asked by way of answer. "Interesting." He ducked down to peer under Anderson's desk. "I wonder what that means?" he asked idly. "Perhaps he thinks he deserved it." He rose from under the desk, giving a satisfied nod and turning his eyes back on Anderson. "Yes, I struck him. He's lucky I stopped there."
Anderson frowned. "Is that how it works now? Alenko calls Shepard out on switching sides and so he sends you to beat him up? And now he sent you to intimidate me into cooperating, is that it?"
Garrus' mandibles flickered. "He doesn't know about this either. I'm not here on his orders."
"Why are you here, then?"
"Because I'm his friend," Garrus said. "And I know what betrayal looks like. I didn't want him to come here, but my loyalty is his, no matter what happens. If he is going to walk right back to the people who abandoned him, then I'm going to be at his back."
Anderson was momentarily struck dumb by that. Garrus thought he was going to kill Shepard? "We didn't abandon him!" he shouted, exasperated. "He was dead!"
Garrus ignored him, heading for the door. "I'm going to be at his back," he repeated. "And if you move against him, I'm going to be ready to do what he won't." He hefted his rifle for emphasis, letting the threat hang in the air, and then he was gone.
–
"I've changed my mind."
Anderson looked away from the false sky of the Presidium. "Oh?"
Shepard nodded. "All this time I kinda wanted the Reapers to wait until after I'm dead to invade." He smiled sheepishly at his former captain. "You know. Advanced robots and all. Incomprehensible time scales. It'd just be convenient."
Anderson forced a chuckle. "If only."
"But now I think I need to be alive to see Velarn call me up for help." He struck an arrogant pose, fingers raised up in the air. "Ahh yes, 'save your ass'?" he asked dramatically, drawing stares from a pair of nearby salarians.
This time Anderson's laugh was genuine. "Will you do it?"
Shepard scratched at the neckline of his brand new civilian clothes. "I guess. If I can."
Anderson shook his head and increased his pace. Shepard looked like crap, injured and exhausted (not to mention entirely unnatural out of armor). He'd kept conversation light ever since the meeting with the Council, but his strained grimace made it clear just how stressed out he was. Anderson's suggestion that they take a walk on the newly-restored Presidium grounds seemed to have helped a little, but Shepard kept his teeth gritted like he might fall apart were it not for sheer force of will.
"Good to know," Anderson said, returning his gaze to the scenery. He rarely had the time to take it in, but the Citadel truly was beautiful. Most of the repairs in the Presidium were complete and the brand new parks were so flawless it was as if they'd never been burnt to the ground. Still, a handful of keepers scurried about the grounds, focused on flaws too subtle for Anderson's eyes to even detect.
"So. Elephant in the room," Shepard said suddenly as they rounded the corner of a massive fountain. "Siccing Alenko on me wasn't cool."
Anderson turned, frowning. "I'm sorry," he said, coming to a stop on the fountain's wall. "At the time I didn't really think it was you."
Shepard looked at his toes. He looked uncomfortable, unsure of himself. "He really hates me now, doesn't he?"
"You made a tough decision. Tough decisions come with costs."
Shepard nodded reluctantly. "And when you're staying up all night wondering if you made the right decision? How do you deal with that?"
Anderson fixed Shepard with a serious gaze. He'd been there (last night, in fact), he knew how it felt to doubt yourself. It was striking to him, suddenly, just how young the commander was. All good leaders went through the same self-doubt, but it was easy to forget that the First Human Spectre was still little more than a kid, two decades Anderson's junior. "You don't," he said finally. "You lose that sleep and you never get it back." Shepard frowned, disappointed, and Anderson couldn't help but grin. "If it's any consolation, it is a relief to me that you do stay up worrying about this. If you joined Cerberus without qualm I would have to side with Alenko." He squeezed Shepard's shoulder. "You worry because you are a good man, Shepard. I have faith in you."
"Hell if I know why, sir," Shepard said, squeezing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Here I thought being in the Alliance was hard. I've got a shipload of civilians and aliens and Cerberus agents and they all want a piece of everybody else, and I seem to be wanted by every criminal organization in the galaxy, and nobody wants to help me at all except for a cadre of bigots and renegade terrorists." He sat heavily on the wall, grimacing. "And then I find out Illusive Man has been using me and my friends as bait without telling me."
"Well what did you expect?"
Shepard's shoulders sagged. "I know, I know. He wears a suit, he smokes. Spitting image of a bad guy. Knew he was going to bite me in the ass and yet I still didn't see it coming."
"Wait. You've seen the Illusive Man?"
Shepard looked at him, confused. "Yeah. Never in person, but via hologram, sure. Several times."
Anderson's mind reeled. The Illusive Man had been a thorn in the Alliance's side for more than a decade, and even after years of searching, they were no closer to knowing who he was. It was clear he – or someone calling themselves Illusive Man, at least – had been active as early as First Contact, but it seemed like anyone of his intellect and ambition would be the sort who would have attracted attention on Earth. Try as they might, however, no one could find any record of a potential super genius disappearing. They didn't even know if he was a man. But Shepard had seen him. Anderson couldn't help but ask. "What's he like?"
Shepard screwed up his eyes in thought. "Maybe sixty or seventy. Tall. Chain smoker. Cyborg eyes like mine. Nice suit. He's got style, I'll give him that."
"This is information the Alliance could use, Shepard," Anderson said. "Something to let us finally put a stop to Cerberus."
Shepard crossed his arms. "Well I have reams of it. But I can't help but wonder if it might be used to put a stop to me. How do I know you won't use it to hunt me down the next time Velarn's feeling ornery?"
"I..." Anderson caught himself about to say 'I would stop it' before he realized how absurd that would sound, given his success so far with the Reaper issue.
"Exactly, sir," Shepard said. "I don't like Cerberus, but right now I need them." Anderson frowned, disappointed. The chance to bring down Cerberus was a delicious possibility, but he realized he couldn't fault Shepard for it. The Alliance had utterly failed the commander. He had to start looking out for himself. For a fleeting moment, Anderson realized Velarn had been more right and more wrong than he could have ever guessed. "I appreciate your faith in me," Shepard continued, "but I know it only goes so far. Just like I know your bodyguard is tailing us." He pointed across the artificial lake to where Anderson could just make out Lucius sitting on a bench and pretending to read. Shepard stared seriously at Anderson, mechanical eyes demanding explanation.
"I am a councilor, Shepard," he said, shrugging. He hadn't known Lucius had followed them (he was impressed with Shepard's keen senses) but he wasn't surprised. "If Udina knew I was out walking with you unescorted he'd have a conniption." Shepard grinned at this. "Besides," he said, staring solemnly at Shepard, "your guard is following us too." Anderson didn't see Garrus, it was true – the turian was stealthier than Lucius by a long shot – but it was easy enough to guess that he had a sniper rifle trained on him right now. Garrus had all but admitted as much that afternoon.
"Garrus?" Shepard asked. "Yeah, he's around here somewhere. Tali too. I told them to back off but they didn't feel safe leaving me alone." Shepard stretched his arms and leaned back. "To tell you the truth, I think Garrus might even be a little more zealous than usual today. I got pickpocketed in the wards on the way here and none of us even noticed. He's probably still beating himself up over it, kicking into overdrive."
Anderson chuckled. "More than you know, Shepard. I'm glad he's with you."
"Me too. Wish you'd come too."
Anderson sighed. Shepard's offer was tempting, it was true. Ever since being tossed to the political wolves, into this world of subterfuge and appearances, he had often dreamed of going back to the military. He wanted to see the stars slide by his windows, wanted to feel the thrum of the engines under his feet. And heaven knew that he wasn't defeating the Reapers where he was – he might as well lend talents he actually possessed to the cause.
And yet he couldn't. How could he dare complain when he was entrusted to be the human seat on the Council? It was an incomparable honor and an incomparable responsibility, whatever costs it came with, and Anderson reminded himself as much every day. He might be miserable from time to time, but he was in a position to do some real good, and he couldn't live with himself if he abandoned that. Eventually his persistence would pay off, he just had to keep with it.
"You know I can't," he said, reaching into his pocket. "But I do have something else for you." Shepard looked on, curious, as he pulled out a cloth wallet and opened it, revealing a gleaming set of captain's stripes. Anderson held them out to Shepard, who accepted them with reverent caution. "It's a little late if you ask me, but the Admirals figured saving the galaxy was proof enough you deserved a promotion."
Shepard's eyes widened as he pulled the stripes out and watched them glint in the artificial sunlight. He frowned at them, mind clearly elsewhere. Pondering what if's. Anderson knew the look.
In a moment his melancholy passed, however, and Shepard grinned. "Save the galaxy, huh? Is that all you have to do to become captain?"
"Yup. All of us have saved the galaxy at some point or another. Time honored tradition, only the best men, and all that," Anderson joked, grinning back.
Shepard looked at him. "Thanks, Anderson. You'll always be Captain to me."
"You earned it, and I'm proud of you. I'm on your side, Shepard. Always have been, always will be. I can't stay at your side and rough up councilors like Vakarian can, but I'm here for you. I need you to believe it." He extended a hand.
Shepard shook it. "I believe it, sir." He looked at the stripes again. "So, uhh... is this an official promotion?"
Anderson shook his head. "I'm afraid not. They were going to let me promote you as soon as you finished off the last of the geth but then it all got bogged down in politics. Some jackass decided your reputation as Commander Shepard was too important to interfere with. Promoting you would ruin your name recognition, you know. Alienate your fans. Something like that."
Shepard just shook his head in amused disbelief, still staring at the stripes. "That is just the saddest thing I've heard all day," he said, "and I saw one of my own commercials."
–
Across the lake, Lucius Bartels grimaced as he watched Shepard and Anderson. He was far away – how Shepard had spotted him from this distance he did not know – and yet their conversation rang with perfect clarity in his earpiece, broadcast from the hacked microphones in Anderson's omnitool.
"Incidentally," Anderson's voice asked in his ear, "There is something else I wanted to ask you."
"Shoot," Shepard responded, a little quieter, and Lucius had to strain to hear.
"My office had a security leak a few weeks ago. About New Year's. About the time I heard the first rumors of your return. Very professional job, maybe from inside my staff itself. Nothing destroyed as far as we can tell, just observation bugs." Anderson sighed. "I hate to ask, but as long as we're being honest, you wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?"
From a distance, Lucius couldn't see Shepard's expression, but he imagined it to be shocked. "Why would I come to you in person if I had you bugged already?"
"Never mind, forget I asked. I just thought your quarian might..."
"No. You want my trust, I need yours. I wouldn't do that to you."
"Fair enough."
Lucius felt a pang of guilt at the implicit trust in Anderson's voice. David Anderson was a good man, loyal to his friends. He didn't deserve this, not from anyone.
But he was a councilor. It wasn't about what he deserved. It was about what humanity deserved, and friends or not, Lucius' first loyalty was to humanity. He'd fought under Anderson against the turians in the First Contact War. They'd risked their lives to get much needed supplies to Shanxi before the general's surrender. They'd seen humans – their brothers and sisters – scorched in the streets by turian orbital bombs. They were images that'd never leave him, that should never leave him.
But they'd left Anderson. The man and his various protégés continued to pander to the turians, even after all that had happened. Even after Saren. It was unforgivable.
Anderson was a great man – of this Lucius was sure – but he was making a mistake. Too flexible, too forgiving. Too unwilling to grasp what humanity needed when it neared. Lucius hated to betray the councilor's confidence, but when Cerberus had requested his help to keep an eye on the councilor, to make sure humanity's interests remained foremost, he'd jumped. Could Lucius truly call himself a soldier if he had said no?
Shepard was talking again. "I suppose it might still have come from my ship," he admitted. "Without me knowing. Cerberus would probably guess I'd come to you eventually. I wouldn't put it past them to be watching you. Maybe even try to kill you."
Lucius couldn't help but smirk at that. As if the Illusive Man would kill David Anderson. The Man knew talent. The Man appraised men and women like fine works of art. He'd never let harm befall the first human councilor.
Lucius' omni-tool beeped. After a brief check for eavesdroppers, he accepted the incoming call with a click. The voice was quiet, disguised under a vocoder. "Are you alone?" it asked.
"I am. I wasn't able to witness the meeting in person but I have an audio feed."
"Send it and delete your copy." Lucius nodded (to no one in particular) and tapped out the commands on his omni-tool. "Do you have anything else to report?"
"No," Lucius said, to his great relief. "Shepard doesn't want to give him anything. Thinks the Alliance will use it to bring him down."
"Good. Send the data through the usual chann-" there was a limp-sounding note as his omni-tool died, its glow receding away to nothing. Lucius frowned and batted it against the bench a few times.
"Piece of junk," he grumbled, tapping against the tiny hard-box interface around his wrist. It was only when he heard footsteps that he looked up and found himself face to face with the blue-armored turian, who stared down at him with cold anger in his eyes.
"Oh shit."
–
Udina was waiting for him when he got back to his office, but for once Anderson didn't mind. He'd patted his former XO on the back and wished him luck, and Shepard had set off back to work fighting the Reapers with all he had. The universe looked brighter than it had in a long time. Even if Shepard wasn't willing to part with any intel on Cerberus, it was a great day for them all.
Hell, even if Shepard did join Cerberus, it was a great day. There was something to be said for having friends on the other side.
Of course, Udina didn't see it this way. He didn't look up as Anderson entered his office. "Done gallivanting with fugitives, are we?" he asked snidely.
"For today, Donnel," Anderson replied with a thin smile.
Udina didn't appreciate the joke and turned to frown disapprovingly at the councilor. "Pardon me if I don't see the humor, 'sir'," he said. "The fallout from this could take weeks to clean up. Who knows who might have seen you?"
"I hope they did," Anderson said simply, shedding his coat and draping it over his chair. "The galaxy needs to know he's alive. It'll give them hope."
"Hope? I hope he never rears his head on this station again! The man is a disaster! And must I remind you that we are still in the middle of a security investigation? You can't just let every bad connection from our past just waltz into our offices!"
"My offices," Anderson corrected, shaking his head. For a moment he considered sitting down to get some work done – heaven knew he had plenty – but somehow the thought just didn't appeal. Glancing again at his red-faced adviser, he made up his mind and calmly gestured for the door. "Come on, Donnel. Let's go have a drink at Flux. My treat."
Udina's mouth hung open in surprise for a minute. Anderson could see his lips fighting to come up with a retort, some new avenue of attack, but in a moment his diplomatic side took over. The ambassador gave a curt nod and followed Anderson's lead, automatically smoothing the front of his coat.
They got only two steps out the door before coming to a stop. Now both of their mouths hung open in shock.
There, hanging upside down in front of the door like a puppet, was a thoroughly-tied-up and bruised Lucius, who stared up at the men with terrified eyes. Affixed to the front of his uniform were his gun and another simple datapad, identical to the one Shepard had left on Anderson's desk last night. Anderson's brow raised as he met the guard's gaze. Lucius seemed to shrink a little as Anderson calmly unpinned the datapad and flicked it on.
Anderson,
Look what Garrus found skulking around after us. I think you'll find the contents of his omni-tool very interesting. If not, maybe something Tali put on this datapad will be more to your liking. It isn't much – turns out dogs are good at covering their trails – but I think it'll get you started.
-John
Anderson's eyes widened as he flicked through the other files, gigabytes upon gigabytes of data of every kind. Most of it was clearly junk – instrument readouts and thousands of inconclusive scanner sweep results – but hidden amongst the refuse were requisitions, security footage, even lifted communications. A veritable goldmine of stolen Cerberus intelligence. Shepard's little quarian had outdone herself.
"You can't be serious," Udina said, staring grimly down at Lucius with a face that would surely haunt the bodyguard's dreams for the rest of his days.
Anderson just laughed. "Oh ye of little faith."
–
Codex Entry: Transcript Excerpt from Emily Wong's 'The Inner Workings of the Council' Investigative Report, first aired 04-24-2184 by the Future Content Corporation
Emily Wong: This is Citadel NewsNet with Emily Wong. Welcome back to my investigative report on the inner workings of the Citadel Council. We've just finished speaking to Alliance ambassador Donnel Udina and his predecessor Anita Goyle on the state of Councilor Anderson's seat on the oldest and most powerful government power in the galaxy. But while humanity's new position might be foremost in many people's minds, Anderson makes up only one part of a larger machine.
Each Council race has a different way of choosing their representatives. Our station was immensely fortune to gain an audience with the turian councilor himself, Aogus Velarn, to talk with us about the turian council seat.
–
*Velarn and Emily Wong sit on opposite sides of a small, circular table.*
Emily Wong: Let me just begin by saying how much of an honor it is to speak with you, sir. I know our races haven't always gotten along, but I know I speak for everyone at the FCC when I say we're humbled by your visit.
Velarn: Hmm.
Emily Wong: How are you today?
Velarn: I was under the impression you had substantive questions for me, Miss Wong.
Emily Wong: Er… yes. Well, I guess I was hoping you would tell our viewers something about yourself.
Velarn: My professional history is and always has been a matter of public record, Miss Wong. Surely you don't intend me to outline information you could find in a twenty-second extranet search.
Emily Wong: Okay… just the basics? For those of us with no access to the extranet?
Velarn: *sighing* Very well. I am Aogus Velarn, hierarchy citizen of the twenty-seventh tier, individual eight four four one four one two two six. I completed my military service under the Trenturia Forward Division. I served as the Primarch for my home colony world of Baetika for fourteen years from 2152 to 2166 before being selected to serve on the Citadel Council.
Emily Wong: Interesting. And how were you chosen for this position?
Velarn: Again, a matter for the extranet. Or a child's history class. You said you were a professional reporter, did you?
Emily Wong: Umm…
Velarn: *whispered* Imbeciles. *he sighs* The Hierarchy is ruled by a hierarchical meritocracy. Turians of each citizenship tier exercise power and responsibility over those below them. Promotions are decided by panels of those above. In the case of the councilor, I was nominated as most qualified by my fellow Primarchs, ratified by my immediate subordinates, and sworn in by the previous councilor. I maintain the post until I am asked to step down.
*Velarn stares at Emily Wong*
Shall I explain the salarian and asari processes as well, Miss Wong? I would hate for you to have to read.
*Emily Wong is silent*
Of course. Councilor Adlin was raised from birth for his position, hatched in the presence of every dalatress on the Dalatressi Commune on Mannovai as part of a multi-imprintation tradition. He consults the Commune and defers to their decisions on all matters, necessary or not. He keeps his position until the Commune accepts a new clan dalatress, thus requiring a newly-imprinted public servant.
Councilor Tevos was elected by the citizens of the Thessian Assembly for a four hundred year term, of which she has served two hundred thirteen years. She will be replaced by an elected representative from one of the lower courts. Good enough, Miss Wong? Any other basic schooling I can provide? Perhaps you'd appreciate a quick walkthrough of how to operate your microphone, or how to make molting less painful?
Emily Wong: Humans don't molt.
Velarn: Pity.
Emily Wong: …Right. Well. You've been a noted critic of human political influence for years, though you seemed to have a change of heart after the attack on the Citadel. Now that you've had a few months to work with David Anderson, how have your opinions changed?
Velarn: My opinion of Councilor Anderson is of little importance, Miss Wong, but since you asked I believe he is a devoted public servant and I've no doubt he will perform his duties admirably. Of humanity's readiness as a whole I remain unconvinced, but I acknowledge the… value your species has to offer the galactic community. I only hope your civilization is mature enough to handle the repercussions of its actions.
Emily Wong: Like what actions, specifically?
Velarn: *pauses* Like any action you could name, Miss Wong. The decisions of one species affect all the others. If you need proof, I must again direct you to a youngling's grade-school history text.
Emily Wong: I'd get right on that, Councilor, but I'm afraid that's all the time we have right now. Thank you again for joining us. It appears I have some research to do.
*Velarn stands and leaves*
When we return, we'll be interviewing Hemi Got, chairsalarian of the Lower Court for Interspecies Trade. It's easy to forget the lower courts in the shadow of the Council, but most proposals never make it to the likes of Anderson or Velarn. We investigate where they do go after these commercial messages.
–
Station Announcer: You're watching Citadel NewsNet with Emily Wong. Up next, Westerlund News Nightly with Khalisah al-Jilani. Tonight, Khalisah enters the dangerous underground world of news reporting to investigate the meteoric rise to power of one of the extranet's brightest stars, and asks the question other programs are too scared to ask: Emily Wong, up-and-coming journalist or talentless mob-boss mistress? Tune in to find out.
–
A/N: So. Umm... I'm back! *dodges thrown fruit*
Yeah. Sorry for the long delay. I'd intended to write a lot more this summer, but my living arrangement is simply not conducive for it right now. Not near enough time alone to get it done. (Also, I admit, I maybe have been obsessing on Starcraft 2 just a teensy bit. Maybe. A bit. Macrochelys is my name, if you're up for a game).
Anywho, found some time, belted out a chapter. As always I've spent enough time on this by now to have lost perspective on it. I hope it's not too boring. Personally, I really love Anderson, Udina, and the Council. I think the five of them did so much to establish the unique tone of the first game, and was real upset to see how minor they were in the sequel. I hope they return in a bigger capacity for ME3. I also count myself as the rare fan who thinks that the Council were totally reasonable in ME1 and that Anderson and Shepard were the ones acting foolishly. In ME2... not so much, but come on. Who here can honestly say that the 'Ahh yes Reapers' thing was not one of their favorite lines in the series?
Next update should (hopefully) be faster. The chapter I'm working on now is one I've been really excited for for a long time, so I hope I just breeze through it this week. But we'll see.
Chapter 14 splits perspectives five ways, but the bulk of it goes to the Queen of Mean, the Psychotic Biotic, the Jack of Smack, the crazier, shavier savior (I don't know, I'm running out of rhymes). Whatever.
Thanks again to all my readers, reviewers, and my beta. Yeehaw!