Local Cluster
Earth, Unknown Location
Lunch break was hours ago. A meal that Langdon would not be sitting down to. All he had time for was a mug of broth the steward shoved hastily at him when news broke of a major TI offensive. It was the strongest assault from the TI ever since they were pushed back to the northern zones several months ago. It could be a bid to retake territories or perhaps an attempt to break into the ICS (immigration and checkpoint sector) that was ten miles from the TI held border. Thousands of former Citadel residents were currently being processed at ICS, easy targets for the TI. Fortunately the defense fortifications along the perimeter held. He hoped the TI wouldn't try another sortie. Not until they moved those people to the enclaves.
The holo image of the globe spun slowly. The CAO (collation and analysis officer) tapped busily on his board before bringing up a new screen. A geographic map of the northern TI territories appeared. Dozens of red, green and yellow icons overlay the map.
"That's it, sir," he said without looking over his shoulder at Langdon standing behind him. "Latest dispatch from Taskforce 187 indicate HZ1 (hot zone 1) holding steady, ADS (advanced drone scouts) are in place, no further incursions or air traffic detected."
"Status on HZ2 (hot zone 2)?"
"SU (situation normal), sir."
"Show me the BC (battle consecution) for HZ1," said Langdon.
The officer cleared away all the icons except for the green symbols that represented the Alliance defense line. Langdon listened as the officer related the sequence of exchanges between the Alliance forces and the TI units. The icons that were cleared away reappeared as each event was related. Langdon had read the reports but reviewing through words and visualisation were two different concepts. This was by far a better way to absorb the chain of events occurring across the topography. It allowed a better grasp of enemy approaches and intentions. Right then, the TI intentions seemed obvious.
Despite evidence pointing at a strategy of attrition through the years, he could never put aside the suspicion that the TI were merely employing defense in depth. Waiting for reinforcements. It was a gut feeling, no more. There was no substantial corroboration to confirm a galactic wide TI network. It was a logical basis to work on given they were all Reaper thralls, programmed with one objective in mind. With his Allied counterparts drawing the same conjecture, every effort was made to sieve out any clue that supported the hypothesis. So far they did not encounter any concrete evidence. Nor would they since they could not break the encryption in local TI communications.
According to the geth, the signal was a metamorphosing program that defied computation. With that kind of interpretation, many wondered if the TI were hardwired like the Reapers. Not a comforting thought. The geth insisted otherwise however. It was simply a program that required more time to decipher. Five years into the TI conflict and still no joy. Langdon wondered if the TI comm channels would ever be successfully broken into. Lost in his musings, it was some time before he realised the officer had finished his report and was waiting for further orders.
"Carry on." He turned and headed for his office.
Pouring himself a cup of coffee from the flask in the small galley, he sat down at his desk and sipped the hot beverage. With the Citadel undergoing shut down, ANI (Alliance Navy Intelligence) operations was permanently consolidated down on Earth. It was where he should have been in the first place but with engagements raging across the globe after the war and the lack of reliable security on the ground, the Citadel was the better choice to lodge for a time. Looking about his new office, he pursed his lips. The only good thing he could say of it was it was large and came with a small well-stocked galley.
The other was that he now had a earthy address opposed to the resplendent abode on the Citadel. Getting to and fro from work was a mere few minutes ride. What he would miss at his old office was the freedom he enjoyed during lunch hour. Mingling with the crowd and strolling about the Presidium before deciding on the choice of grub at selected restaurants and cafes. Yes, he would definitely miss resting his eyes on the myriad of peaceful colours and beauty that roamed the station. Down here, his meals would be sent in. The other thing he did not mourn was the re-assignment of his pale fish of a secretary. With all his staff assembled, he didn't need a gofer.
As he perused the latest report, the bell of his door chimed. The marine sentry outside his office door announced Vice Admiral Briggs of BoR (bureau of resolution).
"Come."
When he saw the scowl on the face of the swarthy man who stepped in, he said, "Trouble?" Things were obviously not going well with the relocation operation.
"The usual." At Langdon's gesture, Briggs dropped into one of the seats before the desk with a sigh. He shook his head at the invitation to help himself at the small galley. "Just had a late lunch with the staff."
"How's the salmon run?"
"Not as bad as what we got after the war but we're getting slammed left and right. No one has resorted to brawling yet but the soup is definitely boiling." Absently slapping the armrest of his chair, Briggs scowled more fiercely. "They don't appreciate the enormous operation we are undertaking. Prising them from their bucolic existence on the station couldn't have come at a better time. They don't seem to realise their tenure is temporary. Give them another few more years up there and they'll start to think the place is theirs to hold. That'll raise a bigger stink then."
"Iced out the malcontents."
"Oh, we're doing that," Briggs said dryly. "They know what we're doing and just give us back double, triple and it's getting more ugly. There's a lot of resentment simmering on the ground." His face turned grim. "I have a bad feeling about this. It's a powder keg that could blow up on us. Sometimes I wish we could switch places with the Quarians."
"Considering that they were wanderers and pariahs for over three centuries, they deserved to enjoy the peace and prosperity we took for granted before the war."
"Oh, I'm not begrudging them that but I certainly do wish our own would realise that sacrifices and dry pickings are here to stay for quite some time." Briggs straightened. "We caught several runners trying to whisk contraband past the checkpoints."
Langdon sighed. "Any particular enclave they're targeting?"
Briggs shook his head. "Broad dissemination, no specific centralization. We're still collating the reports but I'm not sure we would find anything of relevance to the TI."
"Smugglers are narcissistic and smart. General dispersal is expected. Those items will eventually end up at their intended destination. Keep working on those runners," Langdon said firmly, "no matter how high it goes, we need to sort out whoever's behind the fraudulent operations."
Briggs's face darkened. "I don't really like how deep you're going."
"If I have to, I would go as deep as the pits of hell," Langdon said coldly. "Right now, every enclave is jockeying for dominance in Parliament. Politicos tend to run the razor's edge when they play their games. If they are clean, all the better but we cannot depend on the slippery path of human ambitions. The TI at HZ1 and HZ2 are boxed in now but the tide can change at any moment. With the chaos generated by the populace shift from the Citadel, this is the best time to slip essential supplies in to them."
Brows furrowed, Briggs nodded. Much as he did not want to believe it, people could sink to unsavory depths if they thought they could reap immense benefits. "What're the chances of deploying the Prothean device?" he asked.
"No determined results as yet." Langdon turned back to his console, hiding a smile. Two weeks since the latest update from Sur'Kesh. Briggs was the only officer who dared to ask him outright. The rest had chosen to hold on tight to their speculations than risked disappointment.
"Do you think the Old Man is right?" Briggs drummed his fingers nervously on the back of his hand. "He didn't right out to say it but he's referring to the possibility of the TI going berserk and engaging in a rampage in the last stages of the atrophy, right?"
"That is a possibility. The scientific department think their physiology would be too critically impaired. Their mental processes could get become more psychotic." He eyed his colleague darkly. "They can either turn their madness among themselves or against us. Either way, we can not afford to slip up. Neither can we pin all our hopes on an ancient device that may not work," he added, knowing how much stock was invested in the outcome of the experiment.
A buzz cut through the air sharply. A corner of the desk lit up, a small red holographic icon flashed. At the sight of it, Langdon's lips thinned. Without a word, he got up and headed for the door, Briggs at his heels. They made a beeline for the officer overseeing LPC (localized planetary control) in the war room. It was the division overseeing security in the civilian sectors, usually the local regional administrations' job but the Reaper War changed everything.
There was no longer any local regional control. With the majority of the surface of the Earth contaminated in the war, the survivors were settled in hastily reclaimed residential blocks within the former European League. Half were chafing to have their autonomy and living the old way. The other half were more than happy to stay where they were. With the influx of populace from the Citadel, the simmering level of political and social disaffection was growing more vitriolic.
Much of it would abate if there had been more territories to reclaim but even with the geth and their human counterparts working continuously, no more zones could be opened up due to the diffusion of eezo contaminants and various unknown elements left behind by the invaders in the environment. The problem was further compounded by the current campaign to stamp out the TI who indiscriminately used whatever arsenal they had. It would take several more years of cleansing and revitalising the soil before any one could safely reside any where on Earth. A fact that the malcontents were unwilling to accept or too blind and stubborn to accept.
"Report, Commodore Brigham," Langdon said to the officer in charge of LPC.
"We have a S3 alert at checkpoint RF14," Brigham said crisply, highlighting the area on the screen before them.
RF14, Langdon saw, was along the old border that cut between Norway and Finland. One of several checkpoints set up to process part of the populace from the Citadel to be relocated to the Scandi Enclave.
"Party of three, purporting to be transporting supplies to Clearing Station 28, exchanged fire with security when attempts were made to screen their cargo. Security was unable to contain the situation due to numerous civilian elements that reacted to the gunfire. We have confirmed reports of indiscriminate weapons discharge from the latter parties. Current estimated casualties stand at 30 civilians and six Marines. Civilian transit is locked down."
"The three suspects?"
Brigham shook her head, eyes grim. "Security is unable to determine their location once the situation was under control. All three are not among the casualties. However, a security shuttle is missing. Vid records are currently under examination but it would take some time to identify it from the amount of traffic moving at that time. Attempts to track it via local and emergency transponders have failed. IS-129 (Interceptor squadron) and IS-133 are already scrambled but current satellite scans are not picking up any UFV (unidentified flying vehicle) in the vicinity. A few witnesses claimed to have seen the shuttle taking off and heading towards the mountain ranges."
Langdon nodded. "They are probably lying doggo nearby. Establish a GAS (ground and airspace) search, extend..," he paused for a moment as he regarded the topography of the zone, "to D3 from point RF14."
"Yes, sir," Brigham nodded and added. "Security reported no suspicious devices were found in the syspects' cargo. They are currently undergoing further scanning."
"The cargo was abandoned from the onset?" Langdon felt a streak of chill at Brigham's confirmation but kept his gaze impassive. "Very well. Until we can determine their intention, file a notification with the Scandi governor that level one AOS martial law is in effect."
That was not going to go down well with the enclave factions and the populace. There would be another slew of furious protests and debates in Parliament but that was not Langdon's concern. This latest incident could be a sign of a bigger onset of hostility from the TI.
"Suspend the supply company and all employees. Which was it?"
"Taiga Provisioners," Brigham said after a quick low consultation with her assistant.
"Carry on." Langdon turned away, jerking his head at Briggs as he headed back to his office in stiff silence. "What do you think?" he asked when they were seated.
"They could be diverting our attention," Briggs said thoughtfully. "They could have ditched the shuttle at the first opportunity and used the populace as cover to hide and bide their time to carry out whatever they have in mind. If it's not a diversion, they're going to lie low until most of the heat has slackened off before proceeding to their intended destination. Scandi Enclave is the closest springboard to HZ2."
"Drawing our focus and resources away from whatever they're trying to do elsewhere." Frustration welled up in Langdon. He smacked his right fist into the palm of his left hand. "Is it the TI or something else? Right now, we're trying to cover all possibilities, scrabbling half-blind, pushing the most obvious target and reacting defensively. We have no idea if anyone has a handle on the TI here or if they're just acting in their own interests. Our ignorance isn't going to help us in this conflict." Unpleasant visions passed before his eyes. "I'm afraid it's going to cost us dearly."
Unknown Location, Systems Alliance Medical Ship
The messhall was empty except for two groups seated at two tables. The vorcha took up one table. The other was taken up by humans, krogans and an asari. There was much growlings and hisses among the vorcha as they ate. At the less raucous table, a young girl eyed one of the diners. She lowered her eyes to the fork beside her plate. The tines of the fork gleamed brightly under the lights of the canteen as it spun in the air, flying higher and higher. It abruptly halted before it reached the apex of its flight, twirling in place before slamming down beside a greasy sauce covered platter next to a krogan. The glow that enveloped the fork faded.
The krogan grunted mildly. His teeth snapped and tore at a thick hunk of meat, oozing sauce and purplish-red blood, held in his hands. He swallowed a chunk. His eyes looked steadily at the human seated across from him before moving to the fork. It worked its way out of the metal table before floating across to the human. It halted, trembling ever so slightly as an opposing force took hold of it. Frozen in midair, it hung, as if undecided on the path it should take.
At this, the others seated at the long table picked a fruit from their dessert bowls and floated their tokens to the one they thought was going to win the struggle. Two piles of fruit began to form before the competitors. Down at the head of the table, Miona chewed on her mouthful of thick stew of meat and greens, contemplating the contest between the human and krogan placidly. It was nothing more than a friendly sparring between compatriots who suffered and fought together against Cerberus. To outsiders, it may seem more serious for the two were hardly looking affable; snarling and hissing. The vorcha grew more raucous as they screamed encouragement. The krogan put the meat down, leaned forward, his lips lifting to reveal rows of sharp teeth.
She moved her gaze from the spectacle to the spy eyes in the messhall. What would the watchers put down in their logs? Another dispute today at lunch? Perhaps they were rating the level of biotic prowess on display? Marked down new behaviour patterns and assess the mental condition of the group. But then what could one expect from a medical group? What she was more concerned with however, was their intention with all of them. Although she reached an agreement with the Alliance Admiral, there was no guarantee that the deal would be honored. The situation she and her compatriots were in could hardly be solved with a routine trade off.
A soft rumble beside her drew her attention to the man beside her. Though his cybernetic blue eyes could not convey much, the crinkles around his eyes, the gentle gestures he made clearly defined his meaning; she should finish her food before it grew cold. She never knew what was done to him but it eroded his ability to talk. As with most of the others. When the group was first formed, there were many discussions on what they should do to escape. How they could fight and survive. Such discourses dwindled into nothing over the months until she was the only one left with any capability to speak. Despite the animal like noises they were reduced to, the intellect of her companions were not impaired. By then, they knew they had to stay together or die. Discussion was ineffectual under the circumstances they were in so they had elected to let her choose the course of actions they would take.
Survived they did and now they were sitting onboard an Alliance medical vessel. Waiting to see what would be done. Waiting to be unleashed. If the agreement was honored, they would all have the peace and the life they craved. In the mean time, they were given comfortable quarters and fed well. The evidence of it was in the ruddy cheeks of her companion despite the dark streaks creeping past the collar of his clean suit. His wild dirty hair was now neatly cropped and there was fewer shadows beneath his eyes. Syrios, she called him though he had told her his name. Syrios because he watched her back and saved her more than once, at risks to himself. They all did, for one another, but he seemed to make it a point on keeping track of her and he was a comfort to her in the times when she needed it.
Another nudge on the arm brought her back from her musings. She smiled when he mimed eating. The food they were given was good. Fresh, varied and suitably catering to the different species in the group. Like the meat the krogan was eating. Having worked for a time in a restaurant on Omega, she knew it for a fact it wasn't varren but kaejak, a native species from one of several krogan colonies. The Alliance could have just fed them EH-rations and paste but they had taken the trouble to acquire staples that fit their dietary needs. It was gratifying though it also smacked of a form of bribe and pacification. Looking at Syrios's enjoyment of his steak, however, she was pleased that they had. She wished however, he had made use of the cutlery they were given but none of them, other than herself, paid much attention to dining etiquette and used their hands to grab meat, greens and bread, slurping soup or mush noisily from bowls.
A chorus of howls and jubilant snarls sounded from the middle of the table. She looked back there. The krogan had won. He growled happily as he swept up the piles of fruit while his human opponent only looked mildly disappointed at her failure to hold on to the fork. Her hand whipped out to snatch a pear from the fruit pile. She sent an impish grin his way when he grunted in annoyance. Snorting at her impudence, the krogan showed his teeth before settling down to finish his meal. Laughing gravelly, Syrios turned to Miona. His fingers tapped quickly on his omni-tool to send her a message. The omni-tools they were allowed were simplistic. More for communications and keyed to monitor their bio lifesigns, it eased the difficulty of conversing with their minders.
She nodded at the question he sent her. A walk in the hydroponic gardens after lunch sounded good. After years trapped on a barren death soaked space station, all of them desired to seek the living. It also made her heart sick for Thessia. It had not been so when she left her homeworld. Then she was eager to taste what the universe could offer. Now she had enough. Now she only wanted to go home. To nestle in the bosom of her family, her clan and breathe the life of her world. And perhaps. She hesitated as she looked at Syrios who sensed her disquiet. He grunted questioningly. She shook her head and quickly finished the remnants of her stew. Members of the group began to leave the tables once they finished their meal. The next two hours were theirs to spend as they like before they returned to various tasks and classes the Alliance medical personnel had set up for them.
Just as she was about leave, the far door of the messhall open to reveal an asari. One look was enough. Her brow crinkled. What was Aria doing here? Did that mean they would not all go home? Someone recognised the newcomer too and marched over to intercept her. A growl resounded, a flare of biotics before Aria spoke softly. With Patriarch's back to her, Miona did not hear what was said but the krogan paused. His head tilted to one side and he rumbled. A happy rumble, she realised, and then he was ambling over to the exit leading to the gardens, holding something up to his eyes. A bottle. Syrios hovered protectively behind her as Aria approached. By then, the messhall was empty.
"Never thought I'd see the day you would back down from a fight," Miona said archly when the pirate queen reached her.
Aria smiled mirthlessly. "Why fight when you can drink?" She eyed Syrios for a moment before examining Miona carefully. "You're doing well," she said, observing that the young one before her was fit and trim instead of lean and hungry. Dressed in a clean suit, she looked almost like any other asari. Until you looked at her eyes.
"They treat us very well but you did not come here to talk about that."
Aria flicked another glance at Syrios before looking meaningfully at Miona who stared back at her steadily, ignoring the hint to send the human away. Nose wrinkling slightly at the messy cluttered tables, Aria cast her eyes over the room. No doubt it was bugged and the humans were watching and listening. No matter. They wouldn't understand a single word of what she was going to say.
"Have you given thought of where you want to go?" Aria eyed the security eye in the corner, the lens blatantly directed at her.
Miona frowned, turning over the question. She followed suit, switching to the archaic language that the asari never entered into the galactic translator. The humans could analyse all they want but they wouldn't be able to get a single letter of the language. "Home. To Thessia. I have no where else."
"Then you are aware that you will return as an outlander." Aria turned when Miona made no reply. "You are no fool," she said sharply when she saw the shuttered look on Miona's face. "Surely you know what you will face in your choice. Your clan would deny you their embrace."
It was what Miona feared and yet, she had hoped it might not turn out that way. To hear Aria speak of it so frankly, it swept away the wispy dreams she was harboring. "That is not the only choice," she said stiffly.
"No," Aria agreed. "You can choose to go with the others-," she glanced at the human male, "but it is doubtful a foreign government will extend the same consideration to you. Despite the proposal to the Alliance that you will join them in their fight against Cerberus, it will take months to track them down. Where will you go in the mean time? Would you accept hospitality of the humans?"
"I have the same right to go home as they all do," Miona said heatedly.
"You can return but you cannot expect the same reception as a returning maiden would receive."
"You're saying they will cage me? Is that what you're saying?" Miona's voice rose in fury. "No! I did not fight to live just to return to a cage. If I cannot return, then neither will they!"
Aria shook her head. "Is that what you truly want? To drag your friends down with you? Does that change anything about you? You were slaves. You were Cerberus experiments," she said brutally. "Enhanced biotics that would have been unleashed upon the populace in the war. All of you bear the marks of Reaper enhancements, none of you can return to what you once were. None of you will be accepted by your own once they see you. They will turn away in fear and regard you as an enemy. If the Council allowed all of you to remain together and hide you on a remote colony, none of you would ever leave. You will be abandoned to your fate. Nor would you be allowed to perpetuate the next generation."
"No!" Miona shouted in denial.
Snarling, Syrios leaped for Aria who flashed out a biotic throw so fast he couldn't avoid it. All her strength and power were behind it for she knew she had to put him down at once. A protracted fight was not in her favor. It threw him high up against the wall, slamming him into it with such force that the wall was vaguely imprinted with his shape. As he slide down and slumped in a pile on the floor, Aria dodged the strike Miona directed at her and retreated quickly.
No one would be coming to check on the disruption in the canteen, no one would be coming to her aid. That was the agreement with Admiral Hackett. It was a risk she was willing to take in light of what he told her. She barely dodged out of the way when Miona biotically charged at her. The speed in which the changeling came at her was totally unlike anything she had ever encountered. Miona would have her down and out forever if she failed to evade her. She risked casting her mental net wide, seeking for the telltales signs of weakness.
"Killing me, killing everyone here will not change anything!" she shouted, skipping out of the way of a knife thrown at her and was nearly trapped under a bench thrown at the same time. "I came to offer you a chance at life!"
"To be caged alone forever?!" Miona shouted, hands glowing as she gathered her energy.
"You will always be alone!" Aria tensed, preparing to throw up the strongest shield she could manage. "Miona..they're dying..."
"What are you talking about?" Mona demanded angrily.
"Have you never thought about why they lost their ability to speak? The enhancements they were given is slowly killing them, encroaching into their brains."
Miona stared at Aria in horrified denial but she felt the truth in the other's aura. She looked down at her trembling hands. All that struggle to survive, it was all for nothing. "Then I am dying too..."
"You are not grunting, are you?"
Miona shook her head. "What are you saying? I'm different?"
"Perhaps. Miona, you can return to Thessia but you must be prepared to have your freedom constrained. For your own and for our people's protection." Aria shifted slightly, mellowing her tone. "The others will go home too. They will be allowed to live the remaining phase of their lives in peace. Would you not choose that for them than to have them eked out a miserable existence on some remote colony?"
"You lie," Miona hissed. "Even if they go home, they will be nothing more than living specimens for the scientists to play with."
"I trust Admiral Hackett," Aria said. "I will tell you this, he will push for a signed treaty from all concerned parties before he will release any of you. There will be no surgical intrusion, no experiments. Only observation."
"Why would he do that?" Miona said suspiciously, unwilling to believe any one would go out that far to protect what could be potentially, his enemies.
"Everyone who has survived the Reaper War can empathise with your situation but not all of them will give you that much trust. He is sympathetic to your friends' predicament. What he promised, he will deliver." Aria watched Miona carefully. The glow around her hands died down but she was wary about letting down her defenses. "To live in peace. That is what you, what your companions want, isn't it? No more fighting. To pick up the threads of your lives again. For the time they have left. It can be done. It will be done. Let them go, Miona. Return to Thessia as you desire."
"And do what?" Miona laughed bitterly. "I will be an outlander as you said."
"But protected. If you must know, there are a few choices that are available to you."
"What are they?" Miona asked suspiciously.
"I am not the one to speak to you about that."
Miona shifted indecisively. What was she to do? Someone groaned. She turned at the sound and bit her lips at the sight of Syrios. "What about..," she began tremulously. If they were all to return to their respective homeworld, what about Syrios?
Discerning her question, Aria readied herself. "He cannot go with you. Like the rest of them, he has very little time left. He may seem fine. He isn't. Do you really want to bring him with you only to watch him die?"
"He will not allow me to..."
"Then you have to find a way to persuade him. Miona..," Aria waited for the other to match her gaze. "He will die, one way or another. Violently or peacefully. You have to choose."
Eyes blinking rapidly, Miona looked away as tears threatened to fall. Images ran riot as she remembered what they had gone through. She fought to contain them. With a shriek of anguish, she leaped at the table where she had sat and smashed down into it. It broke in half as bowls, plates and cutlery flew into the air to scatter every which way.