Here we go again! This chapter we have more interactions. No fighting, though. While there is some 'fluff' here, most everything is what you guys usually like to see, so you should probably like what I have in store here! Another question I want to ask of you: would you like to see the war on Rannoch next chapter, or the war on Earth and Palaven? tell me what you think. I must once more thank you for all your reviews. I asked about what Kevral should talk about, and I don't think I got two same answers. That's fine. We can actually make that work in the story. As far as Kevral goes, for all you nitpickers anything he says incorrect is in-character. He either doesn't know or won't say. I also find the disparity in what you pay attention to hilarious. I don't mean to disparage anyone's reviews. I welcome anyone talking about anything, but I have so many reviews throughout that go, "I don't mean to nitpick but you missed this one tiny detail in this one specific vehicle or person in this one throw-away sentence," mixed in with "Wait, when did Garrus's sister get here? And where's the rest of the Normandy crew?" Apparently, you don't like the Normandy fluff. Understood. We'll go more for battle scenes after this chapter. Like I said before, I thank you for any and all reviews, and I don't mean to put anyone down. Thank you for all of your inputs.
BonesofSmite: Thank you! Titans are always fun to write, and very underutilized in actual 40k stories. Guardsmen are coming next chapter no matter what people decide they want to see.
Guest: Thank you.
Colossus Bridger: Lots of Marine and Imperial interaction both in this chapter and in the future. I have a particular sub-plot coming up that I think you'll like. I'm glad you liked the Turian with his bolter. I decided to keep him going in this chapter. Hope you like that, too.
themadnimrod: I actually thought about this. It would be cool if you could play as a Titan marching through Palaven with Hawk Lord air support. Helped me to write the chapter.
LezGo35: Didn't quite get to that here, but it will come up in the future. Especially with the Consecrators and some other groups. Big plans for them.
joshuamuller08: Very good point. Thanks for your input.
Cringyusername SBSVQQ: We'll see as we go. More Guardsmen opinions on the subject coming up.
187: We have some talks about the Deathwatch! Thanks for the input.
PaladinSans: We have more of that coming up.
Guest who talked about Cusotdes: We talk about Cusotdes. Thanks for the input.
Guest who asked about Solana: Not a fan of the Normandy fluff I take it. She joined in chapter 15 of Technophiles, and was in several other chapters of this story.
Guest who talked about Turians: Indeed. I have several sub-plots I think you'll like.
Anatheras: That's classified, unfortunately. He doesn't want Chaos to gain any sort of foothold in this reality. He will talk about a lot of other interesting subjects, though, so I hope you like that.
valhalan guardsman: Information about Titans varies wildly in 40k. I got all information from the book Titanicus by Dan Abnett, where it implies all princeps above Warhounds are in amniotic caskets. Like I said, info about Titans is different depending on where you get it, so if anything in there was wrong, sorry about that. As for the Terminators, that's probably a good point, but I just decided to give them a standard loadout. More flamers is always a good idea.
Hunter 19941: We have some info on both. Thanks for your input.
Clown2107: The Council would throw a fit. Actually... that might be a good reason to do it.
gods-own: Thank you!
Guest: Shepard was never imprisoned, so I Vega never had the chance to hop aboard. Maybe we'll meet him back on Earth.
Imhappy0126: I meant on a large-scale basis without the Imperium planning to purge them later. Good point, though.
Guest: Good point about the Thunderhawk. I meant to type "frontal" and said "rear". Good catch. It has been fixed.
ProfessorZooms: Thank you for reading! I hope you like this chapter, even without the battle scenes. I simply like to add the sweet scenes in because they're fun to write, give contrast to the battle scenes and the 40k universe as a whole, and help with character development.
Cowmangler9000: More interactions it is, then!
Ghostly: Since when have they been smart enough to do that? They'll go whining to the Imeprials soon enough. We have the Inquisitors in this chapter, and we will see what's going on in the Tikkun system either this chapter or next.
oOo
Calm in the Storm
"'Cause I got a peaceful easy feelin'
And I know you won't let me down
'Cause I'm already standing
On the ground." -Peaceful Easy Feeling, Eagles
"We fight not only in the Emperor's name, but also for the Emperor's people. Never forget that. Only the damned fight for glory." -Kayvaan Shrike
oOo
The Citadel was crammed with refugees these days. People throughout space fled to the center of galactic power, seeking some semblance of safety to ride out the storm that was the Reapers. From Earth, from Palaven, from Omega, Thessia, and Eden Prime, from the greatest untouched capitals of galactic powers to the smallest of unknown colonies, people fled to the Citadel. While many colonies and homeworlds had yet to come under attack, people had seen vids from Earth and Palaven. They came for the power and security the Citadel offered. Beneath the might of the Citadel Fleet and the Imperial armada, there was a sense of safety.
With such a weight of people, things were getting overcrowded. Supplies were tenuous, both due to the war and the sheer numbers of those that came to the Citadel. C-Sec had their own problems with such a sheer influx. Overworked, plus with all the tensions so many groups in such a small space in such a time made for a very volatile climate.
However, due to whatever strange magic was at work, the Imperial presence on the station actually helped. C-Sec was somewhat baffled by it. They had scant regard for the Imperial methods, as effective as they were.
In truth, though inexplicable as it might have been, the Imperial soldiers on the Citadel made for a perfect good cop, bad cop relationship with C-Sec, and were thus able to prevent quite a few problems with their powers combined.
The Imperium had insisted on having a presence on the station, and with the full might of Battlefleet Galactica hanging overhead, the Council couldn't refuse them. The beginnings of an Imperial embassy were being set up in the Presidium in a no longer used office building. With all the problems happening on the station, Imperial soldiers were allowed to patrol freely as keepers of the peace alongside C-Sec.
Originally, the black armored Inquisitorial Stormtroopers, gasmasked Steel Legionnaires, and intimidating Cadians were a source of great fear. There were literally xenophobic jackbooted legions walking down the streets of the Wards, rifles at the ready. Many people, even humans, fled in fear before them.
However, eventually the people of the Citadel (or, at least the non-criminal elements) grew to respect the Imperials as protectors. Their method was completely no nonsense and fair in every regard: while one might have thought they were biased towards humans and would let them get away with whatever they were doing, it was not the case. If an alien was committing a crime, they were a foul xenos and deserved whatever punishment they got. If a human was commiting a crime, they were a heretic and sullying the name of Holy Humanity in front of the xenos. Perhaps odd logic, but it worked.
The reason everything worked so well was because of the difference in style of the Imperials and C-Sec. C-Sec were the friendly policemen, the hometown people who those on the Citadel understood. The Imperials were indiscriminate dispensers of justice, the hammer that one really did not want to fall upon their head.
When there was a food riot in one of the Wards and C-Sec was called in, they calmed everyone down and dealt with it diplomatically. There were casualties, but words retained their power and C-Sec was able to get them to stand down. When there was a food riot in another Wards, a frightened man grabbed a nearby patrol of Steel Legionaries for help. Wordlessly, they waded into the fray and began cracking skulls. The niceties of C-Sec meshed extremely well with the brute power and unlimited authority of the Imperial patrols. It also certainly helped the Imperial cause that their soldiers never really interacted with the populace. The patrols were professional; if soldiers were sent on leave, things would get personal and the infamous ingrained Imperial biases would show through.
As time went on, the people of the Citadel began to learn more and more about the distant empire of a million worlds. At the present moment, watched over by the vigilant eyes of C-Sec in case there was any trouble, a man in white and red robes stood above an enraptured audience in one of the Wards.
"The Emperor is the salvation of Mankind, you see." His face was friendly, hair blonde and cut short to his head. His robes were that of a man with authority, but nothing too grand: his look and face were that of someone easy to approach. "I have seen the history of this galaxy. Your history. My history. Our history, all as human beings. I have seen the strife, the division, what we have done to each other in the past and what others have done to us." He paced on a slight platform above the crowd. They were mostly humans, many sitting, others standing on the sides. Strangely enough, there were a few aliens to the sides, drawn by their curiosity of the Imperial religion. The preacher let them be. They were not his intended audience. They mattered not.
"This galaxy is one of discord and disunity. Others may judge you based upon what you are: trivial differences upon which planet you were born, your family's history, or even more superficial means like the color of your hair, skin, or eyes." The preacher gave an endearing, hearty laugh. "Nonsense, all of it." He looked down, clear eyes alight with warmth as they swept the crowd. "The Emperor accepts all. You are all His children, perfect in mind, perfect in body. This galaxy, your culture, teaches you shame and dishonor. They say you should submit, that you must kneel to others and obey them." Another smile as the preacher swept his hand up for emphasis. "But would we be here today if we kneeled? The human spirit, pure and uncorrupted, drove us to the stars. If not for our ingenuity, our will to conquer, we would not have gotten to our moon. We would not have gotten to Mars. We would not have activated our first Mass Relay and gotten to know the galaxy."
"They ask you to kneel before your inferiors! They sell the soul of our species for meager reward! They say that you are weak, wrong, sinful! I point you to the wonders of Man, how together we can create miracles! I teach you strength and honor instead of shame. Look at the wonders of Mankind: your great cities, our great soldiers. Look at how you created medi-gel, the greatest medical invention of either of our universes! No one else could do that but the ingenious of humanity." The preacher paused for a moment, his robes swishing around his form. Some of the aliens in the back were looking slightly apprehensive. He hid a smile. Good.
"I know the state of religion in your culture. I know you do not believe." He smiled again as he regarded his listeners. "But who can blame you? Look at these paltry religions of the past! They teach you that you were born in sin, through no fault of your own. They tell you to subdued yourself. The Emperor says no!" He looked down at the crowd, sweeping his hand over them and making sure he looked each of them in the eyes. "You are human, perfect in all regards, created in the image of the Immortal God-Emperor. Your pain, your desires, yes, even your rage are to be human! None are sin: all are to be human, and all humans are divine." A slight pause before continuing.
"And this is our creed! Come join us, under the protecting light of the Emperor! You have seen our soldiers, our fleets! They protect you all as we speak. So too will the Emperor protect your lives and souls. He asks only that you be human; he only asks for your loyalty to His Creed." The preacher looked down. Some were convinced, he could tell. For others, it would take more time. Ah, well. He had time.
"Now, my brothers and sisters, let us pray." There were booklets of Imperial prayers and religious information available throughout the Citadel. Whoever wished to do so could follow along. "Have faith in the Emperor, for he will protect us. Adore the Emperor, for he is humanity's savior. O might Emperor, we pray that you lend us strength. O mighty Emperor, we pray that you give us protection. O mighty Emperor, we place our faith in you. We pray that you would open the divine gates when we should fall. For lust cannot persuade me, the wretched blood cannot taint me; our faith is iron-clad and our devotion to you is unwavering. In His Majesty's name. Adore the Emperor for He is caring. Adore the Emperor for He is kind. Adore the Emperor, for he welcomes us. Adore the Emperor, for He is willing. Adore the Emperor for He is holy. In His Majesty's name we pray." The preacher looked around once more. "Ave Imperator, and remember: the Emperor protects. Always."
Deep in the shadows behind the pulpit, Inquisitor Matthias Doric of the Ordo Hereticus stroked his black beard thoughtfully. Allowing himself a small smile, he glanced at the departing congregation. Oh, yes Yuric was an excellent choice for a priest to preach the Imperial faith to these unbelievers. Everything was going according to plan. Now all he needed to do was get to Holy Terra and touch its sacred ground for himself. Then the Imperial religion could truly begin spreading with its most holy world retaken.
oOo
The hold of Sanguinius's Wrath was filled with a constant noisy chatter, a far cry from its usual solemn serenity. It was not due to the Marines; far from it. The Emperor's Angels of Death were far too composed and profesional to be making such a racket. Neither were their servants: servitors were always silent, and the chapter serfs of the Blood Angels were always solemn in their duty to their masters. No, the seemingly endless noise, the likes of which had never graced the interior of the Sanguinius's Wrath was being made by normal humans.
Such a thing was to be expected when mortals were gathered together in large groups, especially if they had just been pulled from a terrible situation into an uncertain one. By the orders of Lord Dante, all human civilians were to be evacuated from Earth wherever found. That made perfect sense: the entire planet was a war zone under siege. There was no place for non-combatants. However, the only trouble was said civilians had to be put somewhere. Unfortunately for the Blood Angels of Sixth Company, one of those somewheres was aboard the Sanguinius's Wrath.
The Wrath was not the only ship with civilians: many Alliance ships, Imperial Guard troop transports, and other such vessels were packed to the brim. However, there were still millions of survivors rescued from Earth, and so more space was needed. Thus, the Marine vessels of the Blood Angels and Raven Guard were pressed into service on the orders of Lords Dante and Shrike.
It was not that the Angels didn't like the civilians. It wasn't even that they found the mortals annoying. It was simply the fact that they were a complete change of scenery; something none of the Marines were used to dealing with.
It was a rather comical picture, all in all. Scarlet-clad Marines simply stared dumbly at the hordes of civilians that invaded their ship like parents with multitudes of wild children as houseguests. Most still wore their helmets and were still clutching their weapons: some semblance of normalcy in the utter chaos that was this new situation. The Marines towered over the multitudes of men, women and children beneath them, watching them like someone might watch a particularly strange creature in a zoo.
Members of the Adeptus Astartes were no longer fully human. Their species was Adeptus Astartes, not homo sapiens. They knew how to kill thousands of different creatures in nearly limitless ways. They knew Imperial history inside and out. Their mental fortitude was unmatched. However, it was not really covered in Astartes training how to deal with normal humans. Marines were beyond mortals, and were taught so. Both intrinsically and realistically, they knew they were more valuable and for all purposes superior to normal humans. While many chapters, the Blood Angels and Raven Guard among them, tried their utmost to protect the normal citizens of the Imperium (indeed, this situation wouldn't be happening if their ideals were otherwise), normal Marines still had no clue how to deal with normal humans. It was like someone with no experience being handed a baby and being told to take care of it. Of course they wished the child the best, and wouldn't harm it, but it was still awkward and they still had no idea what they were doing.
So the Marines simply stood in the hold, clustering in groups, helmets and weapons in place, speaking in muted conversations over their interior comms. A few chapter serfs, dressed in the crimson livery of the Blood Angels, moved crates of food and other supplies to the civilians. They too were unused to the mannerisms of the mortals. The brothers of the Blood Angels were always curt and politely distant; the serfs knew what the Marines wanted, and the Marines expected them to carry out their duties. The Angels respected them, but that was the extent of their interactions.
In contrast, the civilians were always asking questions, and either giving their profound thanks or clambering for new things. They were all so very different, not only from the Blood Angels but from each other. Some were excited over being aboard a Marine ship, some were practical and settled into routines, and some were simply weary from their ordeal and uncaring of the world around them, so long as they got food, rest, and peace.
There were all sorts of mortals, too: old ones, young ones, strong ones, weak ones, tall ones, short ones, men, women, and children with a breathtaking variety in appearance. The brothers of the Blood Angels might have looked somewhat different from each other, but they were all still brothers in the literal sense. Even though they might not have shared the same mortal parents, they all shared the genes of their immortal father Sanguinius. The sons of the Great Angel all shared the same general complexions, no matter what they looked like originally.
Now the Angels stood guard over the mortals, unsure of what precisely they should be doing. To an outsider, the scene would have been deliciously sweet in its awkwardness- to see the vaunted Space Marines uncertain on how to simply interact with normal humans.
Brother Nilico shared the same sentiment as the rest of his brothers. He was happy that the sons and daughters of the Immortal Emperor were safe, yes, and no, he didn't particularly mind them being here, but he just had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. They were Marines, for Throne's sake! They were supposed to be down on the planet fighting, not watching over mortals!
Yes, chapter forces of the Raven Guard and Blood Angels were still securing Imperial positions and the Guard and Mechanicus forces were still landing, but still! The campaign might not have started just yet, but it was the place of Nilico and his fellow squadmates to be on the surface. He knew they would get their chance soon enough; all of the Angels's companies would be deploying. But for the foreseeable future (at least the next day or two), they were stuck aboard the Wrath with the mortals.
"At least they're not with the Mechanicus." The voice of Brother Pyti broke the silence. His helmet tilted down at the mortals as if to indicate who he was talking about. As if he would be talking about anyone else. "They wouldn't last an hour before clamoring to get off."
"That's true," replied Brother Coryan over the squad's private vox link. He cleared his throat and did his best imitation of a Tech-Priest's metallic voice. "Why is all of the meat bothering me today? Oooh, you look interesting. May I take apart your brain?" A series of snickers greeted the admittedly rather good impression. Nilico rolled his eyes beneath his helm. The clockboys were an odd bunch indeed. Sometimes he wondered why they tolerated the Mechanicus's eccentricities… then remembered exactly who made his armor and weapons.
The squad turned as a new sound rose to greet their augmented ears. Sometimes such alterations were a curse more than a blessing: the Marines could hear everything the mortals were saying. However, this was a completely new noise ringing through the hold of the Sanguinius's Wrath. High-pitched in frequency, it was specifically designed to carry, evolutionarily wired to human brains to make them notice: the sound of a child crying.
The squad turned their armored heads to look over to a corner near a stack of crates. Such was the power of a child's cries that even the beyond-human Marines were concerned over it. In some ways, they still retained their humanity.
It was a male child, noted Nilico absently. From the unpracticed eyes of the Marine, it looked to be very small. Nicilo placed it around five or six years old, though truly he didn't know for certain. What was more important was the fact that the boy was sitting in the corner, all alone, bawling his eyes out. The squad looked at each other, then back to the child, then back to each other, completely unsure of how to react. Only their heads moved; torsos, arms, and legs remained stock-still, locked in place, frozen as if statues.
Surely one of the other mortals would take care of this? However, no one else moved. The mortals didn't seem to notice, all caught up in their own problems. There were many children crying throughout the hold. Everyone had their own problems to deal with, their own children to comfort. This child was simply by himself, alone and away from the crowds. It so happened that the place he was sitting was closer to the Marines.
"What is this?" came a new voice, sharp and frightfully intense. It was a Marine's voice, that much was unmistakable, but instead of the easy, deep tones of the squad, it was cold and snake-like. Nilico and his brothers spun around. Behind them was Codicier Astio, one of the chapter's librarians often attached to Sixth Company. Nilico and his squadmates saluted sharply. Not only did Astio outrank them, but it was always good practice to salute a librarian.
Astio's face was gaunt and sharp, with sickly blonde hair and a high forehead and cheekbones. Everything about him was intense: his glaring blue eyes, crackling with faint wisps of Warp-power, his thin lips set in a perpetual slight scowl, and his striding walk. Nilico didn't think he'd ever seen the man smile before. Though Astio was a psyker, so such things might have been expected.
Still, the man didn't always have to be so intense. He took after Mephiston; not a bad thing, but still unnerving to everyone around him.
"Uhh… the child is… crying, sir," replied Coryan. Astio rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I can see that. Thank you for that absolutely astute observation, Brother Coryan," replied the librarian. "Why is he crying?" The squad stared at each other dumbly for a moment.
"Uh… checking, my lord," said Pyti. Nilico shot a glance at his squadmate. How in the name of the Great Angel were they supposed to know or care why the child was crying? He suspected Pyti was just trying to pacify the Codicier. Glancing towards Astio, Nilico had to admit it seemed to be working. He was astounded when Pyti actually replied to the inquiry. "Uh, Mauricio Inis, age six. Apparently his parents were killed, and one of the serfs informed him of the fact."
"Hmm," replied Astio non-committedly. Suddenly he was in motion, crossing the deck of the hold in his lengthy strides. Nilico simply stared. Did he want to scare the child to death?
For his part, the child seemed to not even notice Astio's huge form towering over him. He simply sobbed in the corner, curling up, trying to hide behind a crate. Nilico felt something stir in his heart. Pity. An emotion Marines rarely felt and often abhorred, yet Nilico felt it was appropriate for the situation.
The child, Mauricio, continued to cry even as Astio's crimson gauntlets picked him up and moved him to the crook of the librarian's arm. Truth be told, he barely felt a thing, blinded by his grief as he was. Astio held him up, cradling him with one arm between his pauldron and chest. His other hand reached out and touched Mauricio's head with his forefinger.
"Peace," whispered the Marine. Gradually, Mauricio's crying ceased, devolving into chest-heaving sniffles as he curled closer to Astio's chestplate. Exhausted, he fell asleep in the Codicier's arms.
Nilico was utterly astounded as the librarian continued to hold the child. The feeling only became more astute as Astio turned around. Nilico's jaw nearly dropped open in shock.
Upon Astio's face was a small smile.
oOo
Mila Bakker spun in place, crystal blue eyes searching the black metal plates of the starship's interior hold. Everything here was black with silver or white ornamentation: the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the machines, the people. It was an odd color scheme, reminding her of evil villains' lairs from movies more than anything else. However, the feel, the general atmosphere aboard the Raven's Wings was far from malevolent. It was clean, utilitarian and somber instead of dark and foreboding. Everything here was perfectly normal aboard a warship, except instead of the bulkheads painted silvery gray they were black. Such was the preference of Mila's hosts.
The Raven Guard were, as a whole, politely distant. They never demanded, they didn't attempt to control the large numbers of survivors that were aboard their ship, but in turn it seemed as if they simply wanted to be left alone. Mila never saw any of them besides the few guards that were placed in the hold to watch over the survivors.
Said guards, all six of them, were standing in groups of two, faces hidden by inscrutable black helmets. They never moved, always standing statue-still, hands clutching their bolters. Occasionally, one would turn to his comrade and fire off a series of muted clicks, but that was the extent of their interactions with anyone. Mila got the feeling they were here less as guards, as 'we're here to make sure you do as we say and don't escape' and more as watchers, as 'we're here to make sure you don't do anything stupid or mess with our ship'. She could respect that.
However, there were no thoughts on the Raven Guard at the present moment. Mila turned again in panic, scouring the crowd for Zoe. She wasn't anywhere to be found. Oh, Zoe was going to be in so much trouble once Mila found her. Her daughter was always the inquisitive sort, always looking around and seeking new situations. She was friendly to everyone; everyone always seemed to be friendly to her. But aboard this strange ship, belonging to these strange soldiers was no place to be getting up to mischief.
The trick would be finding her. She'd told Zoe to stay close, but no, why listen to your mother? Now Mila couldn't find her, and Zoe was God-only-knew-where aboard this massive and completely unfamiliar ship.
She slipped through the crowds, head always turning, always searching. There was no response to her calls for her daughter. No one paid her any mind. They all had their own problems. But Zoe was not in the crowds. She was not talking to some new comrade or silently playing by herself.
In frustration, Mila turned and combed the rest of the hold. The Raven Guard Marines stationed there didn't even turn her way. They didn't particularly mind what the civilians did. In this case, Mila was exceptionally grateful for that.
However, there was nothing. Not one trace of her daughter in the hold. Nothing behind the crates, nothing near a weapons station with a black-armored guard in front of it, nothing where the black-robed individuals who seemed to work as servants aboard the ship came and went. Mila spun around once more desperately. She was beginning to panic. Where was Zoe? Where could she possibly be? Her mother's instincts were kicking in, demanding she find her daughter and harm anyone that might possibly be responsible for her abduction.
Looking once more at the robed servants, she had a sudden epiphany. They knew the ship, inside and out. So far, the Raven Guard chapter had been nothing but helpful to the survivors of Earth. The servants had brought them food and medical supplies. If anyone needed assistance, it was provided. Perhaps… they would help her. They might know where Zoe was.
Crossing the room to one of the halls that led outside the hold, she approached one of the servants. He did not react until she was almost right next to him, and only then minutely. He turned, black robe swishing softly. His face was extraordinarily pale and marred by a series of old scars along his chin and cheeks. He made no sound, only tilting his head as if to ask for her inquiry.
"Have you seen my daughter?" asked Mila immediately. She had no time for processing the man's oddness, only for finding Zoe. There was also the vague inkling that both the Marines and their servants didn't really care for social niceties, only efficiency. It probably came with the territory. "She's about-"
"Down the hall, past the first intersection, first door on the left. It's unlocked," replied the black-robed man before Mila could even finish. She didn't question it. There were only so many small girls aboard the ship, and the man must have seen Zoe go off through the hallways.
"Thank you!" yelled Mila as she jogged forward, not even bothering to glance back at the man, who went about his duties as if she didn't exist in the first place.
The servant was already out of her mind as Mila raced towards the place the man said Zoe was. Why was she there? For how long? Mila had been getting food from the Raven Guard supply, and when she came back to their customary spot in the hangar, Zoe was gone. Why had she left? Why? Mila told her daughter to specifically remain put. But… children would be children she supposed. She only hoped that Zoe was alright.
What was Zoe doing here? Did the Marines take her? Had someone hurt her? Lured her away? The servant knew where Zoe was; maybe not. But Mila's mind still would not stop churning out worst possible scenarios as she passed the intersection and finally made her way to the first door on the left.
It was a huge thing, a double door made of black metal and with the white raven of the Raven Guard painted proudly across it. Mila put her arms forward and pushed. It took some strength, some give, but eventually the door gave way and Mila stepped forward. Where was Zoe? Was she hurt? What…
Mila's thoughts trailed off as she took in the strange scene before her. She blinked. Hard. That didn't seem to do anything. Instead, she simply stood still and stared.
Zoe was sitting on a large stone bench, far too large for any normal human's form, legs swinging happily. A few other children sat next to her, all looking up at the massive form of a Raven Guard Marine sitting next to them. His helmet was off, revealing extremely pale, almost albino skin and short-cut black hair. The rest of him was still covered in massive, bulky black power armor. More children were clustered around his feet, leaning against his greaves and sitting cross-legged as they looked up, enchanted by him. A few more were leaning against his side, and a very small child, barely a toddler, was curled up, asleep, on the Marine's massive shoulder pauldron.
In the Raven Guard's hand was a heavy book bound in black leather, sized to fit his massive hands. It had no distinguishing features other than the fact that it must have been his book, not one taken from Earth. Mila was just in time to catch the beginnings of what he was reading.
"Lo! Death has reared himself a throne, In a strange city lying alone, Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best, Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers, Time-eaten towers and tremble not! Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky, The melancholy waters lie." The Marine's voice was (of course) unnaturally deep, but it still managed to carry softly through the room. The children around him simply stared, completely enraptured, as he read to them.
Somehow Mila managed to snap out of her utter shock at the scene and look around the room. She did another double take. There were even more Marines in the room, hugging the shadows and the walls, simply sitting. She barely even noticed them at first glance, so unobtrusive they were. A few were cleaning their weapons. Some seemed to be praying, sitting quietly with their eyes closed, lips moving indistinctly, while a few were actually sitting and listening to the story being read.
As Mila processed the scene, Zoe slipped down from her perch on the bench and silently walked over to her mother.
Mila glanced down at her daughter, the beginnings of her earlier worry catching up to her shock.
"Zoe, where were you?" she whispered harshly. Even though she was mad at her daughter, she didn't want to interrupt the solemnity of the room. It was just somehow… wrong.
"I got bored and I followed some others here…" replied Zoe shyly, wary of her mother's wrath. Mila shook her head, exasperated.
"Zoe, how many times have I told you to stay next to me? How many? You scared me half to death. Do you even listen to what I say?" she demanded. Zoe looked at her feet.
"I'm sorry, Mama, but…" She looked up, a hopeful expression on her face. "Can I stay? Just for a bit?" Mila looked back to the children and the Marines. The one reading the story seemed to notice her, but continued with his story that sounded more like a poem the more Mila listened to it. He was wise enough not to come between a mother and her child. Smart man. Mila sighed.
"Fine. But next time tell me where you're going." Zoe beamed back at her.
"Okay! I will. I'll be good. Thanks Mama!" She trotted back to the Marine and took her seat once again as Mila simply sighed and shook her head. She looked around the room absently.
As the Marine read on in his soothing voice, she decided to walk over to several of the others and take a seat next to them. They did not respond to her presence, leaving her in peace so long as she left them alone. Leaning back in the shadows, Mila closed her eyes and allowed the poem to wash over her.
oOo
Camivia Strasis winced as she stepped aboard the Normandy proper. She tried not to show it, but her step stumbled and her mandibles pulled tighter together in pain. By her side, Garrus flashed her a worried look as his sub-vocals rumbled in concern. He held out a hand to steady her; she held up her own in response to decline his help. As much as she enjoyed his company and touch, she could walk on her own.
She definitely, definitely overdid it on the ground. Her muscles were sore and cramped. Her entire body was filled with a dull ache as her head throbbed. If there were any extremely sharp, stabbing pains in the back of her head… well, that would be a major problem. But so far, just incredible soreness. Yes, she definitely overdid it.
It wasn't like she had much choice. If she didn't go all out with everything she had, if she didn't use the full extent of her admittedly rather impressive biotic potential, then they would all probably be dead by now. Yes, there wasn't a choice, but that wasn't much of a consolation now when every fiber of her nervous system was screaming at her.
There were ups and downs to being a biotic. Camivia took perhaps slightly too much relish in being able to throw people around with her mind. Why wouldn't you? Despite their distrust of her, it was always good to see the normal soldiers cheer or react in awe when she showed up on the battlefield like a force of nature. Indeed, she wouldn't have her position if she wasn't a biotic. She was the commander of all Hierarchy Cabals, or Turian biotic special units. It was a position of high honor, despite the Hierarchy's relative distrust for her kind.
Still, there were many moments, like the present, where sometimes it wasn't such a good thing. If you overdid your powers, your body paid the price. Everything hurt, everything ached, and Camivia was unbelievably hungry, her body crying out for nutrients her powers had sapped.
"Are you alright?" came Garrus's quiet voice next to her.
"Yeah. Fine," she replied, trying to stifle another wince. "Overdid it a bit. Just need some food and rest." Garrus frowned, but let it go. He was, of course, concerned for her, but knew she could take care of it. The unspoken thought lingered that if she needed any help, he would be there. She appreciated it.
"How's Protucus?" asked Camivia, trying to change the subject as they walked (well, Garrus walked. She limped.) through the Normandy's halls.
"He's fine. Still has that heavy bolter," replied Garrus, voice singing with amusement. Camivia quirked her mandibles in surprise.
"He… still has it? Did he lug that thing on the shuttle with you?"
"Yep," replied Garrus smugly. "He's obsessing over that thing. The Imperials told him to take good care of it, and he did. I think he's going to keep it." Camivia shook her head in resigned amusement. Protucus had always been one for the heaviest weapons and was currently obsessing over Imperial technology in the Normandy's hangar.
After being rescued from Palaven, Primarch Fedorian and most of his high command were aboard the Normandy and would be staying there for the foreseeable future. Alongside General Strasis (herself), commander of all biotic Cabals, there was Praetor Vakarian, the Reaper expert and emergency second-in-command to the Primarch, and General Protucus Adelpuinis the strategist and his heavy bolter. Generals Dardus and Tinea had been dropped back off on Palaven to a new, much safer central command zone near Steel Legion high command.
So Camivia was aboard the Normandy, Garrus's old ship. It was rather nice, and the Commander made them seem perfectly welcome. The crew had picked up extra dextro rations to keep their new guests supplied for their stay, and thus everything was going along well.
As Camivia and Garrus stepped through another door leading to the mess hall and crew cabins, Garrus was suddenly thrown back as his sister suddenly appeared and engulfed him in a massive bear hug.
"Garrus!" she grinned. Camivia smiled as Garrus returned the hug. Solana stepped back. "It's… ah… good that you're here," she said. There was a slight awkwardness borne of putting words to genuine, heartfelt compliments to a sibling, but Garrus only smiled in return. No teases.
"I'm glad to be back. Garrus and Solana against the world?" he replied. Solana gave a wry laugh.
"Something like that." For the first time, she took notice of Camivia. Stepping forward, she nodded in a cheerful greeting. "You must be Camivia, right? I've heard a lot about you," she said, a sudden wicked tone in her voice as she glanced over to her brother, who blushed. For her part, Camivia only smiled in response.
"Yes," she replied. "I've heard a lot about you as well."
"Only good things, I hope," said Solana, shooting a dirty glare at her brother. Garrus spread out his hands defensively.
"Hey, I-"
"Only the best," replied Camivia, shooting an amused glance at Praetor Vakarian, her doting and occasionally awkward boyfriend. Solana glanced at her, then back at Garrus, then back at her, then once more at Garrus.
"I'm sure Dad was happy when you said you were dating a biotic," grinned Solana. Camivia took no offense. There was no malice, only a sibling tease in the tone.
For his part, Garrus flared his mandibles into a 'gotcha' grin and smugly crossed his arms.
"Yeah, well, General Strasis is part of the Primarch's high command and a very respectable Turian, despite being a biotic." The last words were thrown out sarcastically. "He was actually rather okay with it. Unlike… some people." This was accompanied by a devious grin at his sister, whose mandibles tightened. It was now her turn to go on the defensive.
"Well, I think Dad was just relieved that you aren't with a human. Always said you would be."
"And look where we are now," replied Garrus smugly. His sister threw up her hands in defeat.
"Fine. You win, Garrus." The cheerful sibling rivalry out of the way, Solana once more resumed her casual posture, crossing her arms. "So, you guy's hungry?"
"Definitely. I need food after what I did on the ground," replied Camivia. Solana nodded.
"Well, dinner's soon. I'll show you to your cabins, then make your way to the mess hall." The three Turians turned and made their way through the hallway, Solana cheerful and Garrus happy to be back aboard the Normandy. Their attitude was infectious, and Camivia couldn't help but smile.
"It'll be good to see everyone again," said Garrus as they walked. He shot another grin at Solana. "And I'll get to see my sister-in-law again."
"When she's not busy," replied Solana. Camivia simply limped along, enjoying hearing the two talk as they made their way through the ship.
oOo
The mess hall was the same as ever. The food was noticeably better. Even the dextro stuff had improved, though whether that was because Gardner had become a better cook (doubtful) or because Shepard simply purchased better food for the Primarch was unknown. Still, all the Turians were appreciative of it. They'd been eating freeze-dried rations for the past few days, and a hot meal, as much as you could eat, was certainly welcome.
The Primarch took his meal in his newly-acquired cabin; as much as he'd wanted to come and eat with the crew, he had far too much work to do supporting the war effort. The rest of the Turians ate together, diggin into their specialized dextro rations with great gusto. Shepard and Tali sat next to them, playing good hosts, while the rest of the crew spread out through their places in the mess hall.
As they ate, the last few members of the crew not on duty came into the mess hall to get their food. Among them was a very tall man wearing a strange uniform. It was not the typical tight-fitting jumpsuit common among human starship crews, but instead a black tunic, black pants, and knee-high black jackboots. Garrus's mandibles tightened upon seeing him. His bearing, his face, simply the way he carried himself absolutely screamed Imperial.
Garrus shot the rest of the crew a glance. Why was there an Imperial on board? They were xenophobic, belicose… why would he be here?
However, to Garrus's shock, the rest of the crew seemed positively excited to see the black-clothed man here. A few glanced at each other gleefully, like children in a candy store being informed they could pick whatever they liked.
"Oh, boy. Story time," grinned Shepard. Tali was already fidgeting in her seat in a way that Garrus remembered meant she had a flurry of questions ready.
"Kevral!"
"Good to see you!"
"Over here!"
"No, over here! Sit with us!"
A flurry of voices greeted the Imperial as he got his food and made his way to the tables. Garrus fluttered his mandibles, pondering. Well, if the crew trusted him…
"Alright, alright, I get it. Everyone wants to hear Kevral," said Shepard, standing and taking command of the situation. He gestured for a few of the crew to scoot closer. "Move the tables. We'll all sit in one big table, I guess." The crew complied enthusiastically. Garrus scanned his old friends. Kasumi seemed incredibly excited, and Zaeed was even mildly interested. If Zaeed was interested, then this Kevral must be very fascinating. Though for what reason he couldn't guess. Across the table, sitting next to Kelly, Solana grinned at her brother. Oh, no. This was going to be a very interesting experience.
The black-clothed man, Kevral, took a seat in the center of the now massive mutant table and set his tray down with a grin. Everyone seemed to scoot closer. The Turians looked at each other, confused but intrigued. Strangely, he looked at them first.
"Garrus Vakarian, Camivia Strasis, and Protucus Adelpuinis." He gave a friendly nod and extended his hand for the typical human greeting. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm Carnius Kevral, Inquisitorial Stormtrooper and liaison to the Normandy and any questions anyone aboard might have on the Imperium of Man." The Turians shook his hand gingerly. So far, despite working for the Imperium's secret police, Kevral seemed nice enough.
Everyone went back to eating for a few brief moments. The crew still stared longingly at Kevral. Garrus and the other Turians waited. Finally, the Stormtrooper's voice broke the silence.
"Alright, then. What'll it be tonight?" he asked with a smile. The room erupted.
"Tell us more about Space Marines!"
"Titans! The biggest, baddest war machines in existence!"
"Nah, we don't care about them. Talk about the Guard! The normal humans, just like us grunts."
"What about Imperial history? What about the Dark Age? How did the Imperium come about?"
"Why do you guys hate aliens so much? Doesn't make much sense to me."
"I know they're really powerful and special forces by themselves, but do the Space Marines have special forces?"
"What about your guys' FTL? How does that work? Why is it so weird?"
"What are the aliens in your galaxy like?"
"Who are the biggest, baddest fighting forces in the Imperium? What group? Any particular chapter of Marines or Titan Legion?"
Kevral held up his hands for calm. He'd only taken a few bites of his food and looked somewhat overwhelmed. Garrus had some sympathy. So, that's what this was. A Q and A session. He had plenty of inquisitive humans asking him all sorts of questions about Turians on both Normandys. But he still couldn't deny his own curiosity. What was the Imperium like? He wanted to know, and judging by their expressions, the other Turians were just as curious.
"Whoa, whoa, one at a time!" He looked around, food forgotten. Even Garrus and the two Turian generals were leaning in now, eager for information on the Imperium. "Alright… first off, the biggest, baddest fighting force in the Imperium of Man is not a Marine chapter or Titan Legion." A few eyebrows went up at that statement. What could possibly be more powerful than the Marines or Titans? Garrus was hoping they could get whoever they were on Palaven. "They're called the Adeptus Custodes, or Custodian Guard, and they're the personal bodyguard of the God-Emperor Himself." There were a few whistles, a few intrigued looks at this information. It made sense, though. The supreme leader of the Imperium was likely to have the best fighters at His direct disposal.
"So… what are they like? Are they mech pilots? Are they like the Marines?" asked someone. Kevral swallowed a bite of something before replying.
"Excellent question. So, you know the Marines, right?" Everyone nodded. Kevral opened his mouth, then thought better. "Actually, some Marine lectures here for you, too. For the curious," he said with a grin. "The Marines, you see, are implanted with special organs and genes to become what they are. The candidate must be a male between ages ten and twenty. Or, as far as I know, ten and twenty. Ish."
"Why only men?" asked someone. Kevral shot an annoyed look at the questioner.
"I don't know. I'm not a Tech-Priest or the Emperor. But, anyway, getting back to what I was saying, the Custodes, on the other hand, are taken as babies and enhanced through a secret process known only to the Imperial Household."
"Babies?" asked someone incredulously. Kevral nodded reassuringly.
"Oh, it's a great honor to be chosen. Anyone within the Imperium would want to join the Custodes. They are all about a foot taller than the Marines, all much bulkier, and, much like the Marines, functionally immortal. They wear golden power armor made of auromite with refractor fields and have the best weapons and equipment within the Imperium." More incredulous eyebrows and mandibles. "How exactly should I get across just how deadly these guys are…" Kevral stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Every single deployment of the Custodes is prematurely recorded as a victory because it always is. Fighting them is not merely a bad idea, it is literally assisted suicide. You will lose. You will die. It's just that simple." Everyone looked shocked as Kevral took advantage of their silence to shovel a few more bites of food in his mouth.
"Okay. Custodes. Very deadly. Do not mess with them," said Shepard. "I'm assuming they only protect the Emperor? That's why they're not here." Kevral nodded.
"Correct. I am not privy to their decisions, though," shrugged the Stormtrooper. He looked around once more. "Alright, what else, what else? Aliens in our galaxy are all very different from each other. We have bugs that want to eat everything, dumb brutes that want to kill everything, and a race of ancient psykers that thinks it's their destiny to rule the galaxy. Point is, everything from my home reality either thinks it's their divine right to rule everything or just wants to kill. That's why we hate aliens," he explained simply. More nods. Garrus settled back. Well, that made sense, actually. Their xenophobia wasn't just ignorance, pride, or bigotry. It was for a real, tangible, and quite good reason.
"I understand that it's very different here," continued Kevral. He nodded to Tali and the various Turians. "Here the xenos are perfectly nice, as I have learned so far. Though…" He flashed an unreadable look at the aliens present. "If you do turn against humanity and His Majesty I will take consummate pleasure in personally putting you down," he said with a shrug. Garrus frowned, but accepted it. There was no malice in Kevral's words. It was simple: the Imperium was going out on a limb to trust them. If they broke that trust, the Imperials would break them. Garrus had no plans on breaking the trust, not only because it was self-serving but because it was just wrong.
"Understood," he said. Kevral nodded appreciatively.
"Glad we understand each other, then," he replied. There was a somewhat tense moment before Kevral lightened the mood again. "Now, as for our FTL, it's weird because we travel through an alternate dimension to reach places faster." He held up a hand to stall the incoming questions. "I can't tell you more than that because it is both above my pay grade and classified. Sorry." The tables were full of disappointed murmurs. Tali in particular looked very put out. Oh, well. "Let me see… what else did we have… Ah! Yes. To answer another question, the Space Marines do have special forces." Garrus and the Turians, along with Shepard and most of the crew, leaned in. Now this would be interesting. "They're called the Deathwatch. They serve the Ordo Xenos, my branch, directly as its chamber militant. The Deathwatch is made up of the best Marine candidates from all Marine chapters throughout the Imperium."
"So... the chapters just allow the Inquisition to take their Marines?" asked Shepard.
"Most chapters and Marines consider it a high honor to serve in the Deathwatch. In addition, any Marine may individually approach a Watch Commander with his heraldry obscured and ask to join. If a Marine has a problem with his chapter, or his chapter is wiped out, or any other reason, he can individually join the Deathwatch as what we call a blackshield."
"What does the Deathwatch do?" asked Camivia, intrigued. Kevral nodded.
"Interesting point, especially made by you. No offense intended," he added hurriedly. "It's just ironic. The Deathwatch, you see, are the Imperium's anti-xenos special forces. That is their sole goal, and why they serve the Ordo Xenos. They train to fight any alien threat to the Imperium and are experts at combating even the worst xenos horrors of our galaxy. If an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos comes across something that's a particular problem, they can call in the Deathwatch to get rid of it." More nods. Garrus sat back, intrigued. Well, he'd certainly learned something tonight.
oOo
Much later, Garrus was half-asleep in his old bunk near the main guns. Shepard assigned it to him with a smile, and he'd taken it with an even larger one. Even though he had a luxury condominium on Palaven to befit his newfound status, his old, rough bunk aboard the Normandy was like coming back to a childhood home.
Hell, it was pretty much coming back home. The Normandy was where he'd learned everything he now knew; where he matured and grew into the man he was today. His best friends in the galaxy were here, along with his sister. Camivia was safe, and here. He couldn't think of any place better to call home. Even if he did have to deal with the calibrations jokes.
The familiar hum of the terminals within the room was a comfort; even the thin mattress felt cozy. He turned over, feeling a familiar sense of comfortable numbness as his body shut down. Today had been a long day. A very long, very arduous, very dangerous and very tiring day. The only mission he'd ever been on longer was his suicide stint against mercenaries on Omega as Archangel. Garrus smiled to himself. He'd been saved there by Shepard as well.
After fighting all day, after the terror and the coming utter exastion, there was nothing sweeter than a good meal, a long, hot shower, and rest. He had all three. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. The Imperials would help on Palaven, and Garrus was home once again.
A faint noise, a slight rustle against the background hum, made Garrus instantly alert. His combat senses were honed after years of experience, and all the time spent in this room made it so he was able to pick up anything out of the ordinary. It sounded like… a person. Someone walking into the room. Garrus glanced to his side where he stored a pistol. Just in case. Old habits.
The whisper of feet got closer. Who was it? One of the crew? No, they wouldn't want to disturb him. Shepard? Tali? Possibly, though Garrus had no idea why either of them would be here. Kevral, come to murder or interrogate him? Possibly. His hand twitched towards the pistol.
No. It sounded like… Turian footsteps. The Primarch? Did Fedorian have need of him? Garrus groaned. Probably. And he was just getting to sleep, too…
Garrus looked up as the footsteps stopped, then approached hesitantly, then stopped again. It wasn't Fedorian. It was Camivia.
She stood above him awkwardly, looking shy and frightened, rubbing her arms as her head drooped down. Garrus crooned softly at the sight of her, seeking to bring some comfort through his sub-vocals.
"I, uh… Garrus?" she asked softly. She was wearing typical Turian sleeping attire, a far contrast from her glorious armor on the battlefield.
What is it? replied Garrus comfortingly through his sub-vocals. Turian sub-vocals were very expressive things. Too bad other species couldn't really detect them, or their full meanings.
"I… uh… couldn't sleep," she admitted. Looking away, Camivia rubbed her arms once again. "I… I…" she trailed off, unable to continue.
In response, Garrus simply shifted over on his bed and opened the blanket covering him. He understood.
Camivia took the offered invitation gratefully. She slipped beside him, and with sudden force, wrapped her arms around his tall form. He held her close, body fitting on top of him and slightly to his side. Burying her face against his chest, she began to cry.
Turians did not cry like humans. They had no tear ducts. Instead, they made a heart wrenching sobbing, keening noise. Garrus held Camivia close as she cried against his chest, humming out every ounce of soothing comfort he could coax from his sub-vocals.
Eventually, she calmed down somewhat, keening degenerating into stifled, hiccuping sobs. For his part, Garrus murmured soothing nothings in her ears, hugging her tight and stroking the back of her head with his talons. She pressed her face further into his chest plates and sighed.
Camivia had been born to two lower-level dockworkers on Yyrius, one of Palaven's major cities. That was most likely the reason she was a biotic, and such a powerful one at that. Somewhere along the line, her mother had been exposed to a very large dose of element zero. Whether it was from a starship core or supplies being shipped on the docks, Camivia did not know. Her parents never told her.
Her parents never really did tell her much of anything. They were… distant. Wary. Afraid of their own daughter. When she was born a biotic, they were heartbroken. When the doctors informed them that Camivia, their newborn daughter, had probably one of the largest biotic potentials within the Hierarchy, perhaps one of the largest Turian biotic potentials of all time, they became scared. Enraged.
Camivia was never close with her parents. They always seemed afraid of her, like she was some weird, dangerous stranger living in their house. She had been sent to a normal Hierarchy school for a while. It didn't last long. The children hated her, the teachers were wary around her. Eventually, after but a few years, she was put into a special training program for young Turian biotics. Alone. Unwept. Unloved.
It was no secret that Turians did not really trust nor like biotics. There was a stigma associated with being one that Turians hadn't managed to break over countless centuries being exposed to element zero and being a part of the wider galactic community. They were viewed with suspicion by the military, and regulated to specialized units called Cabals. Socialization with outsiders or each other was not encouraged.
Like most sapients, Turians were a social species. They talked, they touched, they enjoyed each others' presences. Camivia did not. It was not that she didn't want to; in fact, she very much wanted to. It was simply that no one would ever be around her.
Her parents never touched her. Her mother never held her, her father never picked her up and put her on his shoulders. While learning to be a biotic, everyone was strenuously encouraged to be by themselves; to always act as an individual. It was a lonely, lonely life.
When she got out, when she became of age and graduated to military service for the Hierarchy, she was assigned to a Cabal that was in turn assigned to an army unit. While the soldiers laughed and talked, went out and partied with each other, drank together, ate together, and sometimes relieved stress together (as the Turian saying went), not so for Camivia or the other biotics. They simply all sat in their rooms, so alone as if they were the only people in existence. They didn't team up together as a unit: many didn't even know each other's full names. That was how they had been taught, how it had been their entire lives. Such was life as a biotic in service to the Hierarchy.
Eventually, Camivia's extraordinary talent caught the eye of the higher ups. The Hierarchy was a meritocracy after all, and if someone was good at what they did, they were moved up. Camivia rose extraordinarily quickly in the ranks, her raw talent coupled with a strong tactical mind, and eventually became the general in command of all biotic units.
That was where she met General Vakarian. The rest of the Hierarchy's high command were all nice to her; they all treated her as an equal, not a biotic outsider. But Vakarian, Garrus, was different. He was always the kindest, always the most willing to talk to her. He made her laugh with witty comments for every occasion. She was somewhat off-put by his scars at first, for while Turians were a warrior culture they had a strange distaste for scars. But she got over it quickly. Indeed, eventually the scars grew on her.
As time went on, they realized there was some chemistry there, something more than a typical co-worker relationship. Such things were fine in the Hierarchy, for it was typical to find a mate of equal status, and if both parties served in the military as most Turians did, service shouldn't be an obstacle to the future of the Hierarchy.
So Garrus had invited her over to his home, and they spent a very enjoyable evening there. He was kind, funny, and ever the proper gentleman a man of his station and reputation should be. She had a wonderful time. As the date ended and she stood before him to go, Camivia did something she had never done before. She did not know what possessed her to do so (though in retrospect she thought she understood), but she leapt forward to give Garrus a massive, crushing hug.
For her entire life, Camivia had been completely alone. She was also horrifically touch-starved; while Turians were not a cuddly species persay, the total extent of every single time anyone had ever touched her in a positive way was a few of her instructors clapping her on the back to congratulate her for a job well done. That was it. Her parents never held nor hugged her. She never touched any other children in friendly play. She never could join in on stress relief with the soldiers of the group she was attached to, and never sat comfortably side-by-side with them after a particularly hard mission.
But Garrus had actually put his hand on her shoulder, punched her lightly, teasingly, when she made some terrible attempt at jokes, and all around been perfectly fine around her. She didn't know what made her hug him like she did. Perhaps it was because she wanted him to know that he was actually one of the few people that treated her with kindness and love. Perhaps it was because for once she wanted to feel another warm body near hers. In the end though, it was probably because all she wanted was to be held.
After a brief moment in which Garrus seemed surprised by her actions, she pulled back and stared at him. Her arms were still around him, unwilling to let go, but there was no strength in her grip. He could leave, if he wanted.
"I'm… sorry," she had whispered. "I can let go now, if you want." In response, Garrus had only wrapped his own arms around her and held her close. That was when she knew: he was the one for her.
And so now Camivia slept in his arms, grateful that there was someone who finally loved her. The day had been hard, she had seen too much, fought too hard, used up too much of her biotic power, but at least she had Garrus. Come hell or high water tomorrow, it would all be alright.
oOo
Trooper Carnius Kevral of the Ordo Xenos of His Majesty's Most Holy Inquisition sat in a chair in his borrowed cabin aboard the Normandy. The light on his desk was on as he pored over dozens of documents and his many, many notes pertaining to all of them.
This galaxy was so very interesting. So much to see and do. There was so much information, so much incredible and vibrant culture. Most of it Kevral found ridiculous, of course, but such things couldn't be helped. This was another reality, after all. Things would be different here than back home.
For as much as he shared everything he was able about his home galaxy and the Imperium of Man, Shepard and the rest of the Normandy's crew were extremely eager to share with him their culture and history. While he didn't have a lot of time for it, they had made a list of things they thought he should try and/or learn about. In the evenings, he went through the list methodically.
Watch Star Wars. Check. Rooted for the Empire. Check. Was bitterly disappointed when the death star was destroyed. Check. Kevral didn't understand how they could make a film where the so-called 'good guys' were the ones rebelling against the rightful authority in the galaxy. The Empire in the movie brought peace, security, and justice to the galaxy. They also had the proper view on xenos. Why would they be the villains? Oh, well. Didn't matter.
Their super-weapon, the death star, wasn't actually that bad of an idea. He'd already passed it along to the Inquisitor.
Listen to human music. Check. The crew all had their own recommendations, plus the ones they all thought he would like. They were right: Kevral liked the classical masters, especially Mozart and Tchaikovsky. However, he had a particular fondness for the Eagles, from the mid-late 20th century. Good melodies, great harmonies, even better name.
There was more music, more movies, sports, video games, history, geography, inter-species relations, and half a dozen other things to study, but Kevral simply didn't have the time. Oh, well. He was caught up in his work as it was. It was his job to keep the Commander updated on the war and all Imperial politics and forces participating. He had his work cut out for him.
Right now he was reading the Codex Astartes, going over Marine tactics and force dispositions. Shepard had actually asked him for a copy, something he was more than willing to give. Introducing the greatest human Commander of this galaxy to the thoughts and strategies of Lord Commander Guilliman would only be a boon.
He was also going over Tenets of Strategy and Supremacy by the other Primarch strategic genius: Lion El'Jonson. Perhaps it would give him a better insight to the mystery of the Consecrators. Though lesser known, it was also a work on par with the Codex, so there was an element of tactics to it as well.
Carnius Kevral was a careful, patient man. He was also much more observant than met the eye for all concerned cases, both in this galaxy and his home.
oOo
Inquisitor Morias Vell of the Ordo Machinum frowned as he went over every available scrap of information on the new forge world of Adas. By the power of the Inquisitorial Mandate, he could unlock even sequestered Mechanicus data. But (there was always a but) the Mechanicus was a notoriously secret and prickly organization. Coupled with their mastery of technology, the Mechanicus would only allow outsiders to see what they wanted to be seen. Even an Inquisitor. Especially an Inquisitor.
It was the purpose of the Ordo Machinum to monitor the Adeptus Mechanicus and make sure they followed Imperial decree and to make certain everything went smoothly. Oh, yes, their supposed main purpose was to reintegrate lost STC's and important xenos designs into the Imperium, and to make sure no technology was being withheld from His Majesty's forces by greedy Magoses, but that was not Vell's purpose. He was here to oversee the Mechanicus. By the ancient Treaty of Mars anything they did was purvey to Imperial Law, and thus the Inquisition had to be certain there were no heretics within.
The problem was, as stated, the Mechanicus was notoriously aloof, prickly, and powerful. They were an empire apart. Always had been. It was extraordinarily hard to get any information from them; they hoarded knowledge like misers. The wider Imperium didn't even understand binary. That was one of the Ordo Machinum's missions: to figure out the Mechanicus's language. So far all their attempts met with failure.
Therefore, it was no surprise that what information Vell could find on Adas was either from the Citadel (terribly sloppy and loose with their information) or from what Mechanicus reports had been sanctioned to give to the High Lords or Inquisition. None of it was helpful. None of it was the truth.
It was Vell's duty to discover the truth. Yes, he knew the High Lords and even the God-Emperor Himself had sanctioned working with xenos. Yes, he knew the xenos were not like those of his own galaxy; Inquisitor Vell was an intelligent man, after all. However, xenos were subservient to Man. As it should be.
Rumors from Adas whispered otherwise. Vell had a suspicion- check that, he knew- there was heresy afoot on Adas. Xenos could be tolerated, but there were still limits. Vell knew Adas and its fabricator general had far surpassed those limits. It was only a matter of finding them, reporting them, and taking the necessary steps to curb heresy.
If it resulted in the death of the fabricator general of Adas and many of the Quarian scum there, so be it. It was nothing short of an Inquisitor's duty.
oOo
Archmagos Belisarius Cawl hummed as he worked. He wasn't working on anything in particular, just working to work. It helped him focus. Such was a Tech-Priest's life, a Tech-Priest's mentality.
He fiddled with some design ideas, tinkering on upgrade ideas for the Primaris program or for new and improved plasma weapons. But these were not what was truly on Cawl's brilliant mind. No. Far from it.
He remembered the old days. When he still had his flesh. When he believed in the superiority of the Human Form as the Emperor taught it. While Mars and the Mechanicum were still peaceful under the reign of Lord Kelbor-Hal. Before his mistress defected to the Warmaster. Before Friedisch died. Before he began to absorb the minds and souls of others.
Why? What made you lose your way, Horus? Hal? Sigma-Sigma? Sedayne? Why?
Oh, it didn't really matter. They were secluded by the power of Chaos. Tech-Priests were masters of knowledge. All of them went too far in their pursuit in some places. Even Cawl himself. But, unlike his fallen brethren, Cawl had a line he refused to cross. There was a clear difference between good and bad, between things that were merely misunderstood and things that would corrupt your immortal soul forever. Too bad Hal and the others never understood that.
The only question that remained was what to do. The end of Hal would come about eventually, for Cawl had faith in Dante, Shrike, Shepard, and the other leaders of the crusade. The ex-Fabricator General was a tricky one, yes, so he might escape, but his forces would still lose. Cawl had faith in the Imperium. Even if the Dark Mechanicum weren't fully defeated, then the galaxy would still belong to the Imperium and Citadel. To humanity.
The important question was what then? He couldn't let the Imperium take this galaxy and mold it to their own image. Then he would lose his freedom; that which he craved. No.
Step one was getting rid of the Inquisitors. Doric of Hereticus wasn't a problem. That was easy. The Archmagos already had a plan for him. Morris of Malleus wouldn't interfere. Cawl and the Ordo Malleus operated in different areas. Not his issue.
Valorn of Xenos could potentially pose a threat. He'd monitor her as time went on. The only true problem was Vell of the Ordo Machinum. He had to go. Vell could threaten everything. The only question was how to do so.
Cawl gave a smile. He'd come up with something eventually. So far, everything was going according to plan.
oOo
There we have it! I hope you liked it. Bonus points to anyone who knows what the Raven Guard Marine was reading to the children. Also, thank you to That Farkn Guy09 for the Imperial prayer used in this chapter. Again, sorry for the kinda fluff here. I know everyone who reads aren't the biggest fans of it. However, I have given you quite a lot of awesome Imperial scenes. This provides an important contrast to those. In addition, those will start up again next chapter. The war shall continue on Rannoch or Earth/Palaven! Tell me what you think, and I hope you liked the chapter. I thank you for any comments, criticisms, questions, concerns, or reviews!