DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect videogame is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.
A/N: This is the second part of Chapter 11. This time we travel to the Aratoht where the revolution has just started. It's a proper mess, but Dubois has to, as usual, makes the best of the crappy situation.
This update is approximately 8,6k words long.
My Beta is still the one and the only Redentor
Aratoht City
Planet Aratoht; Bahak System;
Viper Nebula
Earth Year: 2173
Each time a fire is started, the insurance investigators and firemen look for the point of origin. It helps to determine the place where the spark struck and what was used as the accelerant to allow the fire to spread. The same rule applied to any revolution – the 'accelerant' was usually the underlying structural problems that the country had and the spark a particular event that caused the violence to break out. In the case of the Ancien Regime in France the accelerant was the debt caused by multiple wars (including, rather ironically, the American Revolution) and an unfair taxation system that favoured the privileged few. The spark that had started the revolution was the king's decision to disband the National Assembly. From that point on it was only a matter of time before violence broke out.
A very similar scenario occurred on Aratoht – and thankfully only on Aratoht and other planets of the Bahak System, since our sleeper cells stationed on other Hegemony planets were quickly ordered to stay put for now. The agitation we stirred up amongst the lower classes turned out to be much more potent than I initially thought. In my defense, very few people actually believed the batarian public to have enough potential to overthrow their own government, no matter how ruthless, hectic and incompetent it became. The solidarist propaganda pointed out the gashing flaws in the Hegemony's system, especially the unfair treatment of the free labourers, who often were no better off than the slaves. The inherent problems with the system, along with the solidarist agitators created a tense situation, which in the last days seemed ready to explode.
The spark that started the revolution was a wages dispute between the chosen worker representatives and the factory manager. The workers did not particularly care that the man had no authority to discuss their salaries and they refused to work. One of the foreman lost his temper and struck one of the disaffected labourers and for that he was promptly beaten to death by an angry mob of workers. From then on the situation escalated rapidly. The solidarist agitators gave rousing speeches, while the sleeper cells of the Civic Militia, seeing a golden opportunity, called up their men and distributed firearms. And the rest, as they say, was history.
The silent war we had been waging against the Hegemony had turned very loud indeed in the span of just a few days.
And I was responsible for it. It frightened me, but I was strangely excited, too.
Night-time in the city was dark, and its jagged skyline was only lit up by the occasional fire which no one could be bothered to put down. The firemen had either long deserted their stations or had been conscripted into the Civic Militia and were now fighting for their lives somewhere in the concrete jungle. One way or the other, fires were running unchecked around the city, but thankfully the city was mostly made of concrete and hard synthetics which did not make for a good fuel source.
I would imagine that Aratoht City had seen better days. At least that's what I thought as we slowly marched through the empty and deceptively silent streets of the megacity. Its concrete warehouses and synthetic megastructures looked dark and ominous, because some genius had shut down the power grid for the entire area. Distant, hollow sound of exploding artillery ordinance, along with the sporadic gunfire in the background only added to the grim atmosphere. The fighting moved to other parts of the city, so it felt like we were entering a tomb.
I was accompanying Balak and his SOC 'flying column' on their way to the Orbital Defence Command, which Balak was determined to capture. We flew into the city aboard the appropriated military transport from, ironically, the Aratoht Gamma base. Enlisted men of the batarian army had been deserting in droves for the past few days, their officers and NCOs powerless to stop them, so any equipment from the few abandoned bases were easy pickings. The 'Krush'pah' transport shuttle was hastily painted over with the blood-red crossed hammers and the Batarian State Arms logo surrounded by the four stars and laurel wreath – a battle flag adopted by the National Revolutionary Army.
We marched in single file. I was in the middle of the formation on Balak's direct order – not because he particularly cared about me, but he understood that the Confederacy would be footing the bill and supplying his men with weapons only as long as I was alive. Not entirely unreasonable. Even if his reasons weren't sound I would not have dared to dispute him – Galtieri had beaten into my head that the chain of command was to be preserved at all times during combat operations. I was still wearing my Interceptor Armour with four eye-pieces just to be on the safe side. I decided to forgo my usual plasma-coilgun and carried the Batarian State Arms Terminator assault rifle instead, deciding that blending in with the National Revolutionary Army soldiers that surrounded me was the way to go. The streets were covered in rubble, as both the loyalists and the revolutionaries had no qualms about calling in their artillery support on the blocks of flats. As such, we could not use any of the captured vehicles and had to traverse the city on foot with some gunships providing air cover and harassing loyalist strongpoints and bunkers. We were slowly moving toward the Orbital Defence Command, which was still in loyalist hands. If we managed to capture it, it would become much easier to repulse any relief force that the Hegemony was sure to send to Aratoht.
But to get there we had to walk which took a damn age to do.
Meanwhile, fighting in the urban areas was raging on and it felt like the end of the world was upon us. The Civic Militia and the National Revolutionary Army regulars (which consisted mostly of former Blue Suns mercenaries) were clashing with the still significant number of loyalist troops and the Batarian Internal Police Force. The State Police Service felt the wind of change coming and threw in their lot with the revolutionaries, mostly to spite the Internals whom they hated with a singular passion. The Internal Police Force commissars, on the other hand, were acutely aware of what was going to happen to them, should the revolutionaries gain the upper hand. So they fought like cornered animals. While the two armies battled on, the angry mobs of dissatisfied labourers and freed slaves rampaged across the city looting and pillaging. They also dispensed the 'Peoples' Justice' on their former managers, foremen, slave drivers or simply on the poor souls who were unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire and weren't quick enough to declare their support for the revolution. I tried not to think of the countless innocent lives lost in the few days that had passed since the fighting started. I already had trouble sleeping at night and a single tumbler of whisky just wasn't cutting it anymore.
Suddenly, the batarian scout leading our platoon raised his fist in warning, rousing me from my grim mood. We immediately took cover behind the large piece of concrete debris, while I noticed some of the batarian soldiers disappearing into the concrete jungle like ghosts. Balak was by my side so I turned to him and asked quietly.
"What is it?"
Batarian didn't responded at first. Each time we met he seemed rather peeved at the fact that he had to report to me, despite his superior rank and experience. But above all he was a professional soldier and he followed orders.
"That building across the street is the Orbital Defence Command. My men are surrounding it as we speak."
I eyed the ugly, non-descript office block. It was made of steel, concrete and glass and to an untrained eye looked similar to the majority of buildings in Aratoht City. But I'd been in this business long enough to immediately notice the reinforced steel plates installed in lieu of windows on the bottom floor. The majority of them surely housed automatic turrets, and other unpleasant surprises. There was a large square in front of the Defence Command building that gave its occupants a clear field of fire. Also, the h-barriers and concrete walls were deployed in a planned manner, and any frontal assault would undoubtedly be funnelled into pre-sighted kill zones, causing numerous casualties to any attacking force. I could see no enemy activity so far, but a quick scan with my omni-tool revealed that there was a huge amount of radio traffic coming and going from this place.
Balak looked at my omni-tool's display.
"It seems like Orbital Defence Command is being used to coordinate loyalist forces in the city. If we capture it intact we not only disrupt their command and control, but we may be able to recover data, radio codes and orders. Maybe even replace their radio operators with our own and trick them into giving up their troop movements and locations."
"What of the intelligence gathered by the Civic Militia and our sleeper agents before the hostilities broke out?" I asked.
Batarian shook his head sharply, which almost made his armour creak.
"We can't bank on that. Batarian State Armed Forces are the galaxies foremost experts in misdirection and misinformation. No gathered intel can be fully trusted."
So we would be dealing with the maskirovka as the Soviets would say. Fair enough – we had to take the Orbital Defence Command either way.
"Then I suggest that you put me on the forefront of the assault, captain. My armour and my shields can take much more punishment than yours, so it would be best if the enemy concentrated their fire on me while your men flank them."
Batarian looked at me for a long while and it made me quite uncomfortable. I couldn't see his eyes through the visors, but I could imagine that he wasn't very happy with that idea. I know I wouldn't be.
"That's a negative, lieutenant. You are our sole liaison to the Blue Suns PMC and the... Confederacy. We can't risk you getting hurt or killed in combat – you are way too valuable."
While I appreciated his argument, the less mature part of my brain still wanted 'in' on the action. There was no argument that fighting gave me a thrill, and I wouldn't be denied. But I was also intensely aware that I was much better equipped to handle close combat than Balak's SOC 'flying column', irrespective of their actual training. There just wasn't enough time to properly supply all of our soldiers, since the revolution on Aratoht caught all of us with our pants down.
"I insist, captain. I am a trained operative and my equipment is far superior to the gear your men were supplied with. This is the best course of action, given the circumstances."
Balak was still conflicted about it. On one hand he knew enough about my technology to see that the danger to my well-being was negligible. On the other hand, his military conditioning screamed at him to 'protect the VIP at all costs'. But I'd been negotiating with the Zaeed Massani for the last four months – convincing Balak was a piece of cake in comparison.
"Captain, if you are uncertain as to the durability of my equipment, that's fair enough," I gestured at the Orbital Command Centre. "But this place is a bloody fortress and it will cost us many men to capture it at all, let alone intact. As such, I suggest to forgo the frontal assault altogether and let me use my cloaking device to infiltrate the building and disable at least some of its defensive measures."
I switched from the command frequency to a private one and I spoke directly into Balak's helmet.
"If necessary, I can call in my team and we are sure to make enough mess to give you the opening you need."
While my idea was rather unorthodox for the former Batarian External Forces officer, he was nothing if not pragmatic. Still, he felt compelled to ask me the obvious question.
"Is this cloaking device of yours any good?"
"You know from personal experience that it lets me get to any place I want to be," I didn't even bother to hide my amusement at this jab.
Balak tilted his head in irritation, which left me smirking even more. The batarian officer flexed his fingers.
"Let's do it your way then, lieutenant. But if anything happens to you, this Confederacy of yours better put you back together. We still need your support."
At his dismissive gesture, I simply nodded my acquiescence and activated my cloak. I left the safety of the fallen debris and moved swiftly towards the building.
After the long and tedious march to our objective it felt exhilarating to run again. I used my HUD and the app installed in my eye to mark any points of interest, as well as possible choke points. They would later be sent to Balak, who would distribute them down his chain of command, to keep them up to date. My cloaking device, in addition to distorting the lighting and making my armour 'transparent' also covered my heat signature by coating my body in a tiny layer of miniscule, interconnected wormholes, which siphoned my natural body heat and vented it all into my surroundings . If anyone used a thermal scan of any kind on me, they would only notice a slight increase in temperature in a rather large area. Had I been going against the Confederacy's soldiers it could be worrying, but the Batarian loyalists would have no idea what that signified.
Of course, for all its high-tech magic my Interceptor armour wouldn't protect me from my own stupidity if I, say, stepped on a tripwire. But it was more than good enough to do its job.
As I jumped quietly over one of the h-barriers that blocked the way to the entrance and approached the wall of the building I felt... right. Why? Because that's what I was trained for. I only had some bare bones competence in managing the funds that were going to the Blue Suns and the Solidarist insurgency from the Confederacy. I was a good enough negotiator if I needed to be. But I was a well-trained and experienced infiltrator and soldier. I felt confident in my combat skills, which were honed first in the months of gruelling training with Security Branch and later in combat against the Hegemony. Whoever the loyalists had in this building would be no match to me – it was as simple as that.
While confident in my abilities, I came to terms with the fact that I would never be as infamous as Zaeed Massani or Shepard. But I was okay with that. It didn't matter anymore. That wasn't my purpose in any case. It would be a more apt statement to say that I had never had aspirations to be anything even remotely comparable to them. Zaeed was a legend and Shepard was an icon. I was no-one. A fake name on a piece of easily shredded paper in a locked and guarded cabinet. A string of ones and zeros on a hard disk, strapped with thermite. My identity was as fragile and malleable as a piece of child's playdough. I couldn't yet say if I regarded that to be a good thing, or a bad thing, but it increased my chances of survival by a significant margin.
The concrete wall of the Command building was slightly jagged and marked with small holes – it seemed like it came under machine gun fire recently. I activated the anti-grav holds on the feet and hands of my armour and used them to stick to the outer wall. Without further delay I started my climb upwards.
Going in through the main entrance would be a rookie mistake. Even if the loyalists didn't have it under constant watch, which they undoubtedly did, they would still booby trap it with explosives. I'd have a much better chance of scaling the outer wall of the building and finding an entry point at a higher level.
It didn't take me long to find a window that had been broken by the recent fighting and after quickly scanning for traps, I used it to enter the building. I reported immediately to Balak and to my team who were on the stand-by aboard the 'Coronado', the subvocal receptors of my armour easily capturing my subdued whisper.
"Infiltration successful. Tell your men to maintain positions, captain. Wildcats, stay frosty for drop if needed, over."
The 'Wildcats' nickname that we used during our training days had stuck and I kept using it throughout our deployment to the Mass Effect universe. I couldn't decide if we had chosen it for sentimental reasons, or because it sounded so unbelievably corny. Or both. Sometimes soldiers needed a bit of sentiment and humour, for obvious reasons.
Swiftly scanning the room, I noticed that it must have been used before as a rec-room. There was a large holo-screen on the wall, a couple of comfortable chairs and two vending machines with drinks and snacks. From now on I had to be very careful how I used my omni-tool, because any interaction with the building's electronic grid would be noticed for certain. I had to keep my radio traffic to a minimum as well. Any transmission could be intercepted. And while they wouldn't be able to decrypt it, they would know right away that a foreign presence was invading their territory.
I left the rec-room and used an extendable fibre optic camera installed in my left arm to check the corners, but the hallway outside was completely deserted. I moved through it quietly, keeping my cloaking device up at all times, mindful of the energy bar at the bottom-right hand corner of my HUD. The PDW and the pistol I carried with me had suppressors installed, but they would be used as a last resort only, because any bodies that I left behind increased the chance of my discovery.
After traversing the deserted corridor I arrived at the door near the end from where my suit's radio could pick up some jumbled communications. Once again the extendable camera came in handy, as I watched the long fibre optic cable uncoil itself from my suit. I obviously couldn't risk opening the door, so I activated my uplink to the 'Coronado' and whispered.
"Specialist Fahri, do you copy?"
The answer from my Moroccan subordinate was instant.
"Yes, el-tee."
"I need a keyhole for the fibre optic cam."
"Roger that el-tee."
The comms went silent. For a heartbeat nothing happened, but then I noticed a very small wormhole opening right in front of the closed door. Trusting Specialist Fahri's skills, I used my fibre optic cable once again and put it into the miniscule wormhole, which I hoped would not be noticed by any loyalist that were behind the door.
No such problem – my cam feed showed four batarian troops sitting in a room. Each of them sat in front of the holographic screen and neither of them wore any armour, nor were they armed. From what I could read on their screens it seemed like they were one of the teams responsible for the automatized defences of the facility. They had to be eliminated.
I made one more sweep with the fibre optic camera, relaying the specifications of the room to my HUD and marked the targets. I withdrew the camera immediately afterward and signaled Fahri again.
"Specialist Fahri?"
"Yes, el-tee?"
"Make the wormhole larger. I'm going inside."
I made sure that my pistol was loaded and ready to fire, double-checking the electronic display on the back and the suppressor. It was a conventional mass accelerated firearm, but against unarmoured targets it would suffice.
What I was about to do was called wormhole-stepping. Basically I used wormholes generated by the 'Coronado' to move about confined spaces, akin to the video game Portal. In normal circumstances it would be a risky move, since TechnoFeds and other enemies of the Confederacy could easily detect the opening wormhole and either close it or, worse, disrupt it during the transit. Getting your body torn into two pieces, especially between two universes, was a sad and painful way to go. Still, here I had nothing to fear, since the batarians had no way of detecting the wormhole.
As the wormhole enlarged enough to accommodate my armoured frame, I stepped through it and landed in the command room. Since my cloak was still active and I took care to be very silent, the batarian operators were caught completely unaware. I rapidly fired four aimed shots at the enemy soldiers and two seconds later they were all dead, slumped over their screens.
I signalled Balak.
"All tangos down. Seems like they were operating the defences for the building."
"I have access to your helmet feed, Dubois," Came the impatient reply from my batarian ally. "Are you sure it's all of them? They could have more than one command centre for the defences."
"Negative. If there are any more in the building I'll deal with them."
"Good. Don't get cocky, lieutenant."
"Roger that," I replied with an unseen eye-roll at the batarian officer. Why don't you see to your own Balak, and I'll see to mine.
I linked my omni-tool to one of the holographic screens, after making sure that I masked its protocols, I accessed the closed network for Orbital Defence Command. Balak was right – there were bound to be more control rooms for the defence systems, if only to provide redundancy in case of hardware failure. I flexed my fingers like a concert pianist. Security Branch training, time to put you to the test.
I had to get Lox and Specialist Trang remote access, and I had to find out where the other control rooms were in the building. The later would be difficult. I had basic Security Branch tech training, but I lacked the finesse possessed by men such as Thomas Binh Trang. So get Trang access, and leave the rest to him I mused silently.
I went to work on the machine, copying the installation files for a utility program onto the control terminal. It was a clever piece of software developed by a Salarian engineer working with the Blue Suns. A cheap and cheerful way to gain access to the servers of a closed network. Simply put, it sent out packets of data to the domain controller of the network, requesting permission to access data on the network. If the systems administrator of the network was worth his or her salt, the request would come back as denied.
But the request itself was a ruse. The sending of the data packets was the point of the exercise. The program tracked the data packets as they passed through switches, routers, ports on their associated firewalls, and eventually to the server itself. Now I had a virtual road map to follow, right to the server itself.
But to exploit that roadmap, I still had to do the tricky part. I used the software I'd installed to monitor other data packets being sent out across the network, looking for very specific packets that were going to be sent to the server by my terminal. Then I brought up an extranet browser. Instantly the software filled with a blooming log of data packets coming back and forth from the server to my terminal. A server controls extranet traffic on a network. Client machines contact the server, which handles their request like an intermediary.
The software pinged happily, having recorded the entire exchange. Specifically what data packets were sent and the size of said packets. I closed the browser, then opened it up again. The packets were once again sent, but this time they didn't arrive at their destination. My software, having recorded the last exchange, knew just what packets to look for. Intercepting them before they were sent out across the network, my software utility replaced the contents of the packets with segments of another, smaller utility making sure to keep the size of the packets the same, down to the exact byte. Only a few characters at the beginning of the packets contents remained unchanged. The header. The header was like a senders address, along with the recipients'. Hopefully, the packets that had been sent to the server and been allowed through the firewall, and then compiled on the other end. At which point the packets would delete their headers, making the server basically believe that the data packets had been lost. The packets would run all the segments of the utility they housed, opening up a port on the servers firewall.
The data packets had to be the same size as the originals, because it even one byte was out of place, the servers firewall wouldn't have let them through.
"Moment of truth," I muttered to myself, before using the roadmap I'd built to send my data through the now opened port on the firewall. Once again, the software pinged happily. We were in.
"Lox, Trang, scramble their comms and send me a map of the facility."
"Roger that, el-tee." Both the android and my technical specialist muttered their confirmation.
The batarians had some very good firewalls guarding their network, but their simple VI's were simply no match for the combined efforts of the Artificial Intelligence and the whiz-kid that was Specialist Thomas Binh Trang. After five minutes or so the latter reported.
"Their communications are offline and I have access to their Orbital Defence grid. Do you want me to direct it in support of the insurgents in the city?"
"Do it, Trang. Keep control of the Orbital Defence network until further notice. Lox, I want you to black out their command centre and start broadcasting the message to surrender on all loyalist frequencies. Make it sound like it's the batarian commander that issued the order. Who's in charge here?"
Lox's answer was as laconic and precise as ever.
"According to the information in the system Brigadier Seymos Got'berhan is in command of the facility, provided he's still alive, lieutenant."
"Good, what about the defences in the building?"
"They have been disabled lieutenant, but the loyalist forces have been alerted to your presence and a fully armed security detail is in your way."
I smiled at the warning. The batarians wanted to kill me? How cute.
"Balak, are you hearing this?" I asked the batarian captain.
"My men are moving in as we speak. Can you handle the security before we come to relieve you?"
"Is the Pope Catholic?" I asked acidly, as I unhooked my PDW from my back.
"What's a 'Pope'?"
"I swear to God, no one here appreciates my rapier wit and biting sarcasm. Don't worry, Balak. I will handle them – no problem."
I walked to the door that led into the previously empty hallway. My HUD displayed the approaching batarian security detail, which numbered at least ten heavily armed soldiers. I could use the cameras of the headquarters, now that I was linked up to the defence network and I did so. The batarians from the way they walked and carried their weapons seemed like conscripts, but their NCO was clearly a veteran. Well, at least I knew who to shoot first.
Before they even had a chance to cross the corridor, my door opened and I opened fire. At the same time I activated my combat stimulants. The heavy cocktail of adrenaline boosters was pumped into my veins by the suit, heightening my senses and slowing the world around me ever so slightly. I used it sparingly. Stimulants such as these could make a human heart pump so quickly it would rupture itself. Not a pleasant way to go. Imagine a heart attack times fifty. The first burst from my PDW caught the batarian NCO squarely in the chest and he fell down onto his back with a whimper.
The rest of the conscripts stood like deer in the headlights, frightened by the ease with which I disposed of their commander, but I didn't give them a chance to gather their bearings. Two more bursts from my gun and two more bodies were sliding down onto the floor. Finally, one of the soldiers yelled in desperation.
"Open fire!"
The index fingers of the frightened soldiers found the triggers of their Terminator assault rifles and the shaved beads impacted my shields and the wall behind me. The conscripts didn't even bother with aiming, relying on the sheer firepower of their rifles. The one who shouted the order wasn't wearing any helmet and his eyes were closed as he sprayed bullets at me. I could see him stuck in a kind of permanent flinching motion, as the combined noise of seven Terminator assault rifles filled his ears in the confined corridor. Scared of his own weapons. Pathetic.
Those poor sods probably weren't even sure what was happening in the city and against whom they were fighting. I doubted that any of them wanted to die for the Hegemony. But I wasn't about to wait until they'd stopped firing and explain to them the error of their ways. They were standing in my way. And at that moment time was move valuable that their lives.
My PDW hadn't stopped firing for even a second. In contrast to the batarian's frantic shooting, which soon left their rifles overheated and venting, my short controlled bursts found their marks each time I pressed the trigger. One by one, batarian conscripts died left and right as I took them down. After thirty seconds, which had felt more like an hour, I was once again the only man standing in the corridor. The batarians were all dead or heavily wounded. I would have said that the threat was neutralised, but they had hardly constituted a valid threat. I turned down the influx of combat stimulants to a slow trickle, which would keep me on my toes for the time being and I contacted Balak once again.
"I've dealt with the security here, Balak. How is it going on your end?"
I heard gunshots in my earpiece, before his response reached me.
"We're in, Dubois! We'll take it from here, so evacuate immediately."
"I can still help..."
"That's an order, lieutenant! Report back to the initial assault positions for a debriefing. Balak, out!"
"Yes, captain," I responded crisply.
I felt like cursing at the order, but the chain of command had to be maintained at all times. Balak did not particularly like me. That much was clear, but I knew better than to take his decisions personally. To him I was much more valuable as an intermediary than as a combatant, no matter how good I was skill-wise. Letting me infiltrate the building was already pushing it, so he wanted me out of the immediate combat zone ASAP.
So I left the mopping up operations to Balak and his SOC, while I used the anti-grav holds to climb down the way I came. As I was hanging upside down I noticed that the previously empty courtyard was now swarming with batarian insurgents. The cavalry had arrived – if the Civic Militia conscripts bolstered by few Blue Suns veterans constituted such. They'd got a couple of Solidarist Party flags from somewhere and were hanging them wherever they could. I slowly descended to the ground and deactivated my cloak – the batarians didn't shoot me since I was marked as a friendly on their HUDs.
One of the batarian insurgents approached me. From the curves of the body armour I would have hazarded a guess that the soldier was female. She saluted and confirmed my guess, "Lieutenant Dubois, I've been ordered to escort you back to our command for a debriefing."
I simply nodded and followed her.
Meanwhile, the batarian insurgents were cleaning up the place. The orders were clear – the Orbital Defence Command was vital to the loyalists, so it had to be reinforced in case of a counterattack. We reached a tent, which was pitched very recently, but the National Revolutionary Army officers had already managed to establish a proper command post. One of the officers recognised me immediately.
"Lieutenant Dubois, please have a seat. We will wait for Captain Balak to conduct a proper debriefing."
I sat down in the proffered seat at the large table and tapped my foot impatiently. The batarian female soldier had been standing slightly behind me all this time, hands clasped behind her back. The picture of a dedicated soldier. Finally fed up with the silence I turned back towards her, "What's your name, soldier?"
"Staff Sergeant Latanya Kran'Torrel, sir."
"And how did you end up in the SOC with Captain Balak?"
"I was with the Blue Suns, sir."
"And how do you like it so far?" I asked, more out of politeness rather than any real interest in the subject.
"Its fine, sir."
It seemed like she wasn't one for conversation, which was fair enough. I shrugged slightly and used the moment of peace to normalize my stimulant intake. It wasn't advisable to turn them off immediately after a large burst of adrenaline, since it could result in my body going into shock and shutting itself down, so I set the suit to switch the trickling doses off after half hour.
Balak returned after an hour. Apparently securing the building and mopping up the last resistance took some time, but I refrained from telling him that he could have used my help in the process. First of all, I didn't particularly care and second of all, I didn't want to sound like a spoiled brat. When Balak sat himself at the table, we began the proper debriefing.
Batarian officers' reports were short and to the point, since they knew that their captain had little patience for long-winded speeches. The assault went as well as one might expect in our situation. My intervention surely saved some lives, but the attack had still done a number on the SOC. When it was my turn to speak I explained briefly what had occurred in the building. When I mentioned hacking into the mainframe of the loyalist network, one of the officers interrupted me.
"So lieutenant, was it your idea to broadcast the message of surrender to the other loyalist units?"
"Correct, sir. I don't have much hope for it to actually work, but I saw no reason to pass up the opportunity."
Another officer nodded in agreement.
"That was quite a clever ruse, lieutenant. We will keep broadcasting the signal, possibly even get Seymos Got'berhan to cooperate with us. We must avoid casualties at all costs. The Hegemony has reserves of manpower that we don't have."
But the first batarian was undaunted.
"I doubt that the Internals will choose to lay down their arms. They know what fate awaits them at the hands of the Civic Militia."
Balak raised his hand and they all fell silent. The first batarian actually lowered his head and looked at the floor, a tremendous show of subservience. This man truly commanded great respect, especially among these veteran soldiers.
"Lieutenant Dubois' idea to broadcast the signal was a very fortunate opportunity. Whether it works or not, it is certain to sow confusion within the loyalist's ranks. Their officers cannot be sure whether their soldiers will follow their orders, now that the doubt that they even have to go on fighting is weighing them down. This broadcast will make their situation even worse."
He turned to one of the junior staff officers who was responsible for communications and asked him, "Did we actually accept any surrenders after the signal was broadcast?"
"Yes, captain. Four regular garrisons have surrendered their weapons and turned over their equipment to the National Revolutionary Army. We accepted their surrender and they were sent off to the temporary prison camps we established in the liberated areas."
Another officer proffered a question that I had just opened my mouth to ask.
"Should we try and recruit them for the army, captain? We are really strapped for manpower, especially for specialists and technical support, even with the men sent by the Blue Suns. It will take time before the militiamen are trained up to our standards."
Balak thought about it for a moment and then with a slight tilt of his head, signified his approval.
"Very well. I believe that the regulars can be trusted enough with support roles. But any Internal that surrenders I want processed and screened."
I decided to point out another issue.
"Captain Balak, while I agree that keeping the Internals separate until the cessation of the hostilities is a good idea, I have to remind you that we will most likely need them in the future. Their expertise in weeding out dissidents is well-known and their reputation well-deserved."
Most of the gathered officers grumbled at that. They certainly weren't happy about including Internals in any facet of the new society that we were building. Even those commanders who found their methods useful, knew better than to voice their opinions these days. Only Balak and, curiously, Staff Sergeant Kran'Torrel (not that anyone asked for her opinion) seemed to consider my proposal seriously.
"We will talk about it at a later date, lieutenant."
The batarian captain stood up from the table and the rest of the officers followed suit.
"Comrades, that will be all for the debriefing, so you may leave. Commander Bras'vekan, Commander Prokkath please stay. Lieutenant Dubois, you too."
Everyone, except for the indicated soldiers and the junior staff left the tent. Staff officers busied themselves with paperwork, while the two Commanders, whom I recognized as Balak's entourage from my previous meeting with the Blue Suns, stood at the table waiting for their captain to speak.
The two batarian officers were a male and a female. Male was quite typical for a batarian. Unlike Balak with his greenish skin colour, Drephil Bras'vekan's skin was more traditional white, with red patches here and there that made him look like a burn victim. Apparently he was quite handsome for a batarian, but I couldn't really tell. Not that all aliens looked the same to me, but... Oh, who am I kidding? They all looked the same to me. My only saving grace was the fact that most batarians couldn't tell one human from another either and they weren't shy about saying it. Drephil himself was an outspoken man and he made it clear that he wasn't very happy about working with the Blue Suns, or humans in general. Still, he remained professional about it and that was all I asked for. He was a freedman though, one of the very few slaves in the Hegemony who was allowed to purchase his own freedom. But his experiences with the slave drivers had left him burning with hatred towards the Hegemony. When he was offered a chance to fight against the system, he took it gladly.
The female officer's name was Edanna Prokkath. She had been a lower-caste labourer, before she's been conscripted to the batarian military eight years ago. She was a soft-spoken and quiet individual, but anyone who thought those traits to be weaknesses was very much mistaken. Edanna could be vicious and deadly when provoked and due to her common birth and gender she had been provoked plenty during her service. Prokkath's experiences with the batarian military (especially the officer corps) where she had to use her body as much as her fists left her a rather disturbed and jagged individual. Still, despite having the proverbial deck stacked against her from day one, Edanna had climbed steadily upward in the ranks of the Batarian Armed Forces, desperate to leave her life of destitution behind.
When Zaeed was about to pounce Balak during our previous meeting it struck me that Edanna had looked for all the world like a cornered animal. I had no doubt that should they be allowed to come to blows, it would get deadly very fast. Zaeed was a legend, true, but in a confrontation with Commander Prokkath the outcome wasn't a foregone conclusion. To be completely honest, if it was up to me, I would have her carted off to see a shrink, but Balak swore that she could do her job efficiently. I considered pointing out to him that serial killers tended towards being very efficient, and it didn't really put me at ease. But I didn't.
I didn't like Balak and I wasn't very fond of his officers either, but that was not to say that I did not respect them.
Meanwhile, the silence was getting quite uncomfortable as we all looked at Balak, who was consulting something on his holographic screen. Just as I was about to ask him what this was all about, he looked up and said, "Please have a seat. There is something I feel you all need to be informed of."
We did as we were told. I sat down on the comfortable chair once more and crossed my arms waiting for my batarian ally to continue.
"I have been contacted through the Shadow Broker's channels by the Alliance's Naval Intelligence. They wish to get in touch with us," Said Balak without any preamble.
That was interesting to say the least. I honestly hadn't expected the Alliance to get involved at all in this war. Sure, I was aware that the Salarians and possibly the Turians would pay close attention to the happenings in batarian space, but the Alliance? It was long before the Skyllian Blitz and the political tension between them and the Hegemony hadn't reached its apex yet. My curiosity peeked, I listened intently to what Balak had to say.
"They have learned of our political agenda," When he said these words, the eyes of his officers turned towards me. I raised my chin in challenge, but nobody said a word. "And they wish to send military observers to assist us."
That was not unheard of, but strange nonetheless. Commander Bras'vekar voiced our concerns.
"That was quick of them, captain. Hostilities broke out when, two weeks ago?"
"That is correct, commander," confirmed Balak with a nod.
"Their reaction time is disturbing. I know that we all but shouted news of the revolution at the galaxy when the fighting started, but seeing that it caught even our own by surprise..." Bras'vekar trailed off meaningfully.
Commander Edanna Prokkath pursed her lips. When she did that, she looked quite attractive, for a batarian. I ceased that train of thought immediately. I was open minded. I don't think I liked the idea of being that open minded.
"Give them some credit, Bras'vekar," She responded testily. "I've done research on human Naval Intelligence and they are competent. We share a common border so they rightly fear that the conflict might spill over into their space. Humans aren't that stupid... no offence lieutenant."
She said that on purpose and she meant to offend, but I let it slide with a barely perceptible nod. Frankly, her opinion mattered very little to me and I wasn't about to get involved in some foolish argument because she was looking for a fight. Thankfully, Balak chose to intervene on my behalf.
"That's enough, Commander Prokkath," He said sharply. "We're here to discuss this new development, not to flaunt our personal animosities. Lieutenant Dubois is an officer of the Blue Suns PMC and our ally. You will show him proper respect, am I understood?"
Edanna Prokkath looked properly chastised.
"Yes, comrade captain," She said formally.
I chose to speak at that moment.
"From what I understand, the Blue Suns' involvement in this conflict is no longer a secret. Anyone with half a brain would have noticed that the new ships from Acheron Shipbuilding rarely join our fleets, yet they mysteriously find themselves all over the Bahak system bearing the Solidarist insignia. If it is alright with you, captain, I request that it be my responsibility to handle these Alliance observers. Of course, I will require someone from your chain of command to assist me."
Balak nodded thoughtfully.
"Very well, lieutenant. That is a very good idea and I'm certain that you are well prepared to interact with the Alliance. When they are here, Commander Prokkath will do everything in her power to help you with handling them."
Oh joy. Edanna Prokkath seemed just as enthused about our unexpected 'partnership' as I was. Well, somebody had to do it after all.
"Are you sure this is wise, captain?" Asked Commander Bras'vekar. "I know that lieutenant Dubois is an experienced negotiator, but he is still a junior officer and it might be perceived as a slight. We all know why Alliance intelligence is sending their representatives – they will be gauging our strength and political agenda. If they don't like what they find then they won't hesitate to strike us when we're weak."
That didn't sound like Systems Alliance modus operandi at all, but then again how could he know that? I decided to clarify.
"I disagree, commander. If the Alliance struck us when it's been broadcasted over the whole galaxy that we are fighting against the oppressive regime of the Hegemony AND the keeping of slaves, then public opinion in human space would go ballistic. Alliance Naval Intelligence is here for a different purpose – they want to determine whether we are viable as future allies."
Commander Prokkath seemed puzzled at my words.
"Why would they do that, lieutenant?"
"The Systems Alliance is standing alone now, a relative newcomer to the galaxy at large. First Contact with the turians got as bad as it is possible to get, so human standing with the Citadel Council is not as high as it could have been. Additionally, border skirmishes with the Hegemony are sapping at the Alliance's manpower and resources, which they can hardly spare given the political unrest. On the other hand, if the Hegemony was to be replaced with a regime more willing to trade and negotiate, then establishing a relationship with such a regime would be mutually beneficial. I can't say it for sure, but they might offer, unofficially of course, their financial and material support for our cause."
Now Balak was intrigued as well. He was savvy enough to see that getting the Alliance on the insurgent side would be a great political boon.
"I can see that it would be most, as you say, beneficial to us, Dubois. But what's in it for the Alliance?"
"I second that question, lieutenant," added Commander Bras'vekar. "They have nothing to gain from supporting an insurgency in the territory of their neighbour."
I raised my hand in a placating gesture and responded.
"Bear in mind that I'm only speculating, but if I were an Alliance politician I'd support our insurgency for three reasons. One, supporting an abolitionist force is a politically sound move if you take into consideration how abhorrent slavery is to the average Alliance citizen. Individuals would rush to declare their support, if only to advance their own careers. Two, as long as the Hegemony is busy fighting the insurgency, they can't risk any forays into Alliance territory, nor would they have the funds to support any slave raids. And finally, three: If our insurgency succeeds in overthrowing the Hegemony with the Alliance's tacit support, then we would be indebted to them and that would guarantee our support in their political negotiations with the Citadel. The Systems Alliance standing alone is merely one of the medium-sized galactic powers. But a Systems Alliance with the support of the batarians AND the Blue Suns is a force to be reckoned with, especially when negotiating a new trade deal, or, in fact, a human Spectre."
Surprisingly, Commander Edanna Prokkath was the first to agree.
"The Lieutenant's deduction is sound, captain. While it's mere speculation, it seems quite clear that the Alliance is unlikely to turn against us in the foreseeable future, given what they have to gain, and the decision they made to get in contact with us. I'm not saying that the humans are trustworthy, but they, like anyone, look out for their own best interests first and foremost."
I said nothing to this quite racist (specie-ist?) statement. It was the truth after all.
Balak nodded once again, still engrossed in his thoughts. After a moment of silence he voiced his opinion.
"So it's settled then. I will contact the Shadow Broker's agent and through him send our response to the Alliance."
"Do we yet know who they're sending, captain?" asked Bras'vekar.
Balak checked the message on his holographic screen once again before responding.
"We aren't sure yet and the details have still to be discussed, commander. Nonetheless, they've been mentioning two ranking officers rather frequently: Rear Admiral Boris Peter Mikhailovich and Commodore Paolo Kahoku, along with their respective security details."
Just barely, I managed to suppress a groan. It didn't seem like either of Balak's subordinates knew these men. Well, it was enough that I knew them.
Of all the people in the Alliance military, they had to send that one guy who'd actually met me in person. That was going to be a fun introduction, for sure.
Shepard, all the things I'm doing for you, you bastard. When all is said and done, you better be fucking grateful.
END OF CHAPTER 11
A/N: That's it for the Chapter 11. In the next updates we'll be dealing with the political fallout of the revolution in the Citadel space, which will be huge and far reaching. The butterfly wings are now flapping to the max and a significant number of the well known characters will find themselves in different places than they were originally.
Thanks for reading and have a good one!
Cheers,
RosoMC