Chapter 17: I Believe in the Prince of Peace

A/N: Long time no see. Hope you enjoy reading! Leave reviews, they keep the pencil sharp!

P.S. At some point in the next couple hours the final music poll will be going up to determine the anthem of the UHG, make sure to check it out!

John

There was a certain amount of celebrity that had come with being a Spartan, before the Dawn. Morale always spiked when Spartans were confirmed on the field, soldiers on the ground fought with superhuman effort, civilians would flock to the armored beasts like sheep to the shepherd, sometimes to their extreme detriment. John had gotten used to that over the years of struggle against the Covenant. It wasn't the same now. Of course, that was rather obvious. Time had passed, and the reality of his efforts on the ground had become muddled by myth and legend. Perhaps that was why he hadn't made it much farther than the second hallway out of the hangar. A throng of sailors, technicians, and marines had filled the corridor, clogging up one of the many arteryways of the ship with humans that, by all accounts, had seen a living God.

Despite decades of experience killing the toughest the galaxy had to offer, he simply had no frame of reference with which to counter the crowd. If this were a hallway full of infection forms, or grunt suicide bombers, or even entirely full of rampaging hunters, he'd have been able to come up with solutions. An attempt at sneaking, brushing, or eliminating any enemy in his path, with extreme prejudice. But these people were allies. More than that, they cared about him. One could even say loved. So, John had decided to just shake hands. He'd fallen back on the second bit of advice Johnson ever told him, way back on Cairo Station. 'Smile and wave, or, if you're wearing the suit, shake hands and move. Ain't nobody getting in the way of your big green ass.' It was one of the few times Johnson had gotten a laugh out of him. Just a few hours before the Battle for Earth. He tried to recall the memory, and it came easy enough, but he couldn't… picture Johnson's face. Not all the way. The face came easily enough, but the smile wouldn't. He couldn't remember the shape of his mustache, or whether he'd managed to shave that day, or even if he'd been in dress or not. It was all fuzzy…

And John was still shaking hands. One face after another. Smiling. Whooping. One man had tears in his eyes. A woman stood utterly agape. Despite the layers of dust and blood and rot that still clung to his suit, some of it older than the people around him, they came to stare in awe. He wished Cortana was with him, for a brief moment. The old phantom was almost certainly still on board, Cortana certainly not far behind. He wanted her guidance. Needed it, in a moment like this.

Luckily, someone else intervened.

"Admiral on deck!" At once, the human wave bubbled and stood to attention. John included, deftly weaving his hand out of its grip with a star struck corpsman. "Alright everyone! Make way! Stop smothering the poor bastard!" The sailors parted with haste, the dull greys and blues of their uniforms parting before a woman in dress whites. The din of voices quieted to nothing as John used his visor to make out the aiguillette hanging loosely from her shoulders, along with the epaulettes at her shoulders. Oh. So this was Admiral Drescher. He confirmed his assumption with a scan of her lace, which popped up her rank and name near instantly.

As she passes the swathes of saluting soldiers, she waves away their attention, giving them the chance to scurry off, sufficiently warded off by the head of the task force. John tried not to feel an overwhelming sense of relief at her appearance as he watched the sea part before him, standing perfectly still before her. Until finally, they were face to face. The suit's sensors told him there were still gawkers hanging about at the perimeter of the Admiral's direct eyeline, but beyond that, it felt as though the woman took up his whole view. The first thing he could glean was her near exhaustion. Though she returned his salute impeccably, he could see the strain in her posture. The bags under her eyes were heavy, accentuating the crows feet that served as telltale signs of a human long in their years, even through modern anti-aging. Though perhaps even that had progressed in his time away? Before his long nap he would have pegged the Admiral at late forties, but now? His eye for that was gone.

"Master Chief Petty Officer John 117, it is my pleasure to welcome you onboard the Indomitable. At ease, soldier. Walk with me."

John obliged with grace, his own tired movements obscured by the power of his suit. The Admiral made ample space for them to walk abreast, her sheer presence discouraged anyone from approaching, which John was thankful for. He could get used to stares. It only took a minute or so of walking to find themselves at a turbolift, which was waiting for them as they arrived. It was only as the doors closed that the Admiral broke her silence. "You're taller than I expected."

"I hear that a lot, Ma'am."

She cracked a smile, giving a little exhale of amusement. "We're going to Spartan Ops right now. They'll probably be able to get that suit off of you, though they might need to go hunting through some manuals. Oh, and that kid you brought with?"

"Kaiden?"

"Kaiden Alenko, yeah. He's… there's something strange about him, isn't there?"

John turned his head. "Ma'am?"

"He could do things, right? Like the Turian's Wizards?" So the name stuck?

John thought carefully before he spoke. "There have been some inconsistencies in his behavior. When I recovered him, he was covered in fine purple shards, the whole city was."

"The Raptors call it 'Element Zero.' A direct translation on the linguistics team's part. It's what powers their ships' faster than light capabilities. A number of recovered civilians have been poisoned with the stuff, so we're setting up a containment ward on this ship. In kids, it acts strangely."

"Will he be alright?"

Drescher's gaze softened. "We hope so. It hasn't reached a toxic level in his blood, far as we can tell. You'll be able to see him after we get you cleaned up."

"Thank you, Ma'am." The lift was a remarkable silence. The motors propelled the metal box with terrible speed, the low friction atmosphere within the shaft barely making a whoosh as they cut through it. John eyed the pad near the entrance, and was surprised to see they'd traversed perhaps only a third the length of their trip.

"It's bigger on the inside, huh? To think that we built this thing. Humans, I mean. It'd take a year just to walk through all these corridors…"

John thought back to the Autumn, and the fact that several of that particular vessel's class could with ease fit within this one hull. Keyes would have loved this ship. Both of them, most likely. Or, at least what it represented. Human ingenuity, now powerful enough to go toe to toe against a Covenant supercarrier. Not that there was much need for that anymore, according to Cortana. That reminded him…

"Ma'am? Has Cortana entered the ship's systems yet?"

The satisfied expression on the admiral's face lessened. "It's true then? She's still kicking after all this time? I heard rumors from the aid stations but…Dr. Halsey really knew how to make 'em…"

John didn't really know how to respond to that particular statement, so he butted ahead with his questions. "Cortana has been exhibiting signs of early rampancy, now that so much has changed, I hoped…"

"That we could fix her? Chief, I don't know shit about AI, if I'm honest, but if there's anything that could be done? You bet your ass we'll try." There was a chime from the front of the room, and subtly the lift began to slow its hurtling, as they neared their destination. "I tried to hide your coming here from the crew, but uh, hard to hide stuff from Spartans. Be ready for anything."

John nodded, thankful for the warning. In truth, he'd dreaded meeting them. The newest batch of Spartans, that is. Mostly because it would remind him of Blue Team, and the rest of his cohort of brothers and sisters in the S-II program. It'd been months since he'd last seen a member of anyone he could have called his family; for them, well, decades. If any were even alive anymore, he wasn't sure how he'd go up and meet them again. If he analyzed it logically, he could see that the circumstances behind his disappearance were far from his control, but that changed little about feeling like, in some small yet irretrievable way, he'd failed his team. That somehow those Spartans behind that door would know it too. But the doors rang, and John shoved that niggling discomfort into a box, as he was trained.

Unlike the corridors outside the hangar, 'Spartan Ops,' as the Admiral called it, was at the very least devoid of starstruck crowds. A massive corridor stretched out before the pair, the ceiling hanging at least three or so stories above the main walkway, which was thronged with all manner of technicians clothed in Navy jumps, lab coats and scrubs. Most were busy, hustling plates of armor on carts, running down checklists on tablets, or, indeed, tending to their Spartans. Placed against the walls were their cradles of specialized robotic arms, at once taking apart or encasing undersuited super soldiers in layers of modern Mjolnir, plates of advanced alloy and super-hardened glass that could stop plasma and break steel, hundreds of kilos in weight. These Spartans bore that heft with grace. Thudding about on the multi-leveled deck, or running on treadmills as they were examined by techs. Calling from one level to another, conversing or jawing, and not solely with each other. Though they often stood a good half meter or so over their attendants, those giants were not aloof from their mere human counterparts. One Spartan, luxuriating on an (assumedly) appropriated couch, was absently disassembling a standard assault rifle as she discussed with an animated sailor in navy reg. Another was spotting for a crowd of techs, laboring away at a weight bench in apparent competition. These weren't his Spartans. The ones so insular and emotionless some mistook them for machines. They were human, through and through. And John suddenly felt another compartment in his mind begin to leak into his conscious thought.

But John had just a bit more luck left in him. Instead of stewing in his helmet, a tech carrying a pile of damaged visors glanced in the pair's direction, and dropped them, wide eyed. The visors didn't exactly shatter (they stop bullets after all), but they did scatter in a hundred directions in an epitome of loudness. The Spartans snapped to the noise, the techs soon after, in a domino effect of drawing attention that soon enveloped the whole room. All eyes were on the two.

The Admiral directed her attention to the soldier who'd alerted the hall. "Petty Officer Bobani? I'm assigning you as the Master Chief's Mjolnir Technician. I trust you're up to date on First Generation Mk VII Mjolnir Armor sets?" Drescher already knew the answer, as John himself could see Bobani's accreditations popping up on his visor.

"I'll manage ma'am." He snapped belatedly into a salute, which Drescher dismissed graciously.

The Admiral turned to John, and gave a nod, "Try not to blow anything up. I hear you're pretty good at it."

There was an awkward moment, as both of them were still in the elevator the Admiral planned to leave in, but John leaned into the 'Silent And Imposing' part of himself, and simply walked out, his own nod nearly lost in the fluid motion of his body. This particular technician was tall for the average human, though still barely coming to the bottom of John's breastplate. There was a terror in the man's face that the Spartan had seen numerous times in the ranks of the enlisted. Awe, mixed with a perilous call to duty, and the overwhelming weight of meeting one's hero. Except, John wasn't an actor or a politician or some other brand of famous and admirable. He'd saved the human race. Drescher had the ability to see through that, at least to John's eye. But Bobani? "Petty Officer Bobani? Ready to go?"

The Tech tried to hide the terror with another salute, before realizing belatedly that such an attempt was absurd, and returning to something halfway between parade rest and starting a marathon. "Absolutely Master Chief sir! We have an available cradle ready for you now, if you'll follow me, sir?"

Chief nodded bruskly, taking in the loose crowd that was beginning to form. Bobani bounced on his feet, and weaved his way through the crowd of enhanced soldiers and their attendants. As Chief made to follow, the crowd parted entirely. Heads turning to watch him go. Even the Spartans, made obvious by their towering height.

These were not the Spartans he knew. Then again, this was not the time he knew either. Bobani stumbled over himself as he continuously checked and rechecked his slate, making eyes at a series of smartly dressed crew seemingly entirely unprepared for breathing, much less doing the jobs they'd been drafted into. In this expansive room, the extreme quiet wasn't suited. It was made to echo with voices and work. And yet, it had become a wake for a living man. The viewing of a dead machine. Chief had been studied many times before, more eyes had crossed over his bare skin than perhaps any other human in history. Any of the Spartan IIs knew that feeling well. Judging by the stares from this new breed, he imagined they didn't.

Suddenly, he was alone again.

Aulgar

The crippled vessel was enormous, up close. Like standing next to a mountain, though this was taller than anything on Khar'shan. Anything he had ever seen. Though perhaps the coming trip would teach him otherwise. The ship was scarred in half a hundred places. Gashes were rent from its metal flesh like a blade against a loaf of milk bread. Burns criss-crossed the hull, and coolant sapped like blood from the wounds. Fresh globules of milky white floating serenely in the interstellar dark.

A flotilla erupted from the hull, as the Shade of Ablution emptied. Aulgar drank in the sight, as hundreds of craft spilled from hangars, headed for the wreckage of the battle. The Fleetmaster, Gors' Dazmee, had asked to search for survivors from his lifeless vessels, and Aulgar had accepted, so long as his ships remained to guard them as they scavenged.
It troubled the newly appointed Senior Captain how… lackadaisical it all seemed. Dazmee had accepted one humiliation after another. His fleet, his people, his… sacred relic station, ominous in its beauty. He hadn't told the… Pilgrims? Pirates? Covenant? That he had already scanned the ships. They were as lifeless as they looked, but he saw no need to reveal his fleet's capabilities. Let them search. It gave him more time to think. Time to analyze what his own commanders could glean from the wrecks. No eezo, for one. Their vessels lacked any sort of eezo core, that much was certain. Hell, moving one of those gargantuan ships faster than light with an eezo core would have bankrupted the Volus as a species, much less the mothership itself. There was no residue, no evidence, and no way in hell any sane sapient species would create these sophisticated ships without access to FTL. Then again, how had these pirates traveled so quickly in so little time, relatively speaking. In the last year there had been a dozen raids working their way here. The mystery should have been solved, and yet it felt as though these aliens had confounded the plot. Could these aliens truly be using some sort of esoteric FTL?

It was blood beneath the corpse anyway. Aulgar was doing his rounds about the bridge, listening in on conversation as he watched the view screen, and the show of these alien's search parties disgorging. Most of his officers were in rapt attention, and Aulgar couldn't blame them for it. A discovery like this would make their careers, probably get them book deals and medals and all the shit young Batarians join the Navy for. He'd won them to his side with those dreams only hours before, but the tentative hold he had on command ebbed and flowed with each minute, with every word he said and action he took. On Batarian pirate ships most captains wore anti-kinetics at all times, just to make sure their under-officers didn't take the easy way out of following orders. And contrary to what the State News said, the Batarian Navy was little better.

Aulgar was quiet, as he contemplated his next move. With a thought he lit up his omnitool, and a cool blue glove of light encased his arm. He searched through hundreds of reports and updates, complaints from one of the uppity Captains unhappy with his battlefield promotion. It was busy work, unbecoming of his new rank, but it allowed him to keep tabs on those within his fleet that might wish to see him dispossessed of his new power. Shuffling around promotions within the Ellerika to best suit him. The newly promoted Senior Comms Officer Bifarki, his former bunkmate, being one of them. But there were others too. A hundred openings had been created by deaths and debilitating wounds, and putting men in those seats who would be loyal was far more useful than simply those who were effective. Case in point, a gunnery captain was killed in action on the lower decks, and he'd overlooked a slimy (in the literal sense, this particular NCO was a fan of leaving mucus in the shower) if effective Over-Sergeant for a suck-up Junior-Officer who had previously been beneath him on comms. It wasn't exactly a wonder why he wanted to get out of his job, gunnery tended to have far less to do on a given day, and for more pay. It paid to keep friends in high places, even if this Junior-Officer had scored poorly in the sims.

Speaking of the on-high. The ring had grown. The alien remnants called it Halo, that much was obvious from the data sweeps his InfoSec had done on the wrecks. Most data was scant on these ships, though the remnants of the religious texts these aliens must have blaring at all hours of the day was still there. Aulgar had only skimmed what was retrieved. But the fact that a full text was recovered in two Batarian dialects had sent shivers down his spine. As if they'd been preaching to his fellow sapients before they'd executed them to a man. As the search parties left empty handed, he felt a relief that some justice had been doled out.

The validity of their beliefs was evident, though. Their reverence for these Halo. The seriousness of their Great Journey, and their flight from their homes from false prophets and demon spawn. It was like nothing he had ever read before. As every Batarian, Aulgar had read the Twelve Pillars, the inscribed columns which set out the rights of Batarians over his fellow Batarian, and indeed the females of his race. He had found Harz's prose to be lacking in imagination, or indeed any remote sort of interest. But the lurid, haunting words of these Covenant texts sent a shiver up and down his spine. It was no wonder these Covenant were so ready to throw down their lives to arrive. This Great Journey promised glory and tranquility like nothing he had before heard. And seeing the Rings they venerated, the deities they so beloved certainly had power that Harz could not have imagined.

"Sir, Sensor boat is in range for a deep scan." They'd been on approach for what felt like hours, crossing the distance between the divine object and the fleet.

"Go ahead, find what secrets this thing has."Aulgar sighed, dismissing his omnitool and fiddling with his new chair, before sitting back in it. At their distance, the thin, inner strip of the ring, fuzzy blotches of greens and browns and blues, had captured the imagination of the boarding parties on his ships. Now, with high resolution the alien landscapes could be truly identified as land. Mountains and rivers and oceans, calmly existing in this empty interstellar void. Whispers started among the crew, as data flowed from Sensor boat to the Fleet at large. Oxygen rich atmosphere, bio-organic scans positive, perhaps 10 million square kilometers of virgin soil.

Over the din, someone's conversation rang through. "-Paradise-" It was a loaded phrase, to a Batarian. What was said to await them all in the afterlife. A virgin, unspoilt world for their family and descendants. Where want and plenty both were alien concepts. These ancient beliefs were later successfully hijacked during the rise of the Hegemony, to send pioneers to the stars in search of their very own Paradise in the here and now. It gave Aulgar an idea.

"Decorum on deck!" Aulgar only had to raise his voice a little for the announcer guards to take up the shout. Silence quickly permeated the cabin. "Comms Officer, open a channel to all ships in this fleet. I have an announcement."

The order was carried out in silence, a red blinking light signaling that he was live to all his men. "This is your Senior Captain speaking. By now, all of you have heard of the sensor reports. It is another thing to read them yourself. To see the Ring yourself. Soon, we will all be able to look out of portholes and see it with our own eyes. An honest Paradise, that you have all fought and died for. This Ring is the prize for all our work. All that remains is to get down there and claim it. For yourselves, and your families." He hoped the cheering ringing from the bulkheads below hadn't interfered with the audio.

Jessa

During today's endurance test, the walls of her room were repaired. The panels had been buffed out, and the drawings on them preserved somehow. She wondered how much effort such consideration had required. It was hard to focus on that too long though. Her muscles ached. Bruises darkened her pale skin. The red dye in her hair was washing out, leaving the ordinary brown to poke through.

Yesterday, they pushed her hard. Five kilometers on the track, then power stress testing, then combat training. Well, she likened it to combat. Officially it was the 'Vision and Reflex Stress Test.' That wasn't what she'd call dodging tennis balls at high speed launched from every direction, but she wasn't the boss. At least it was more fun than running. Her powers were starting to mature. That was most of what Smiles would talk about. Instead of the lame 'fire' shows she used to put on, she could reach out and touch things now. Glove her special energies around her body to give her support when running, or to add force. So far it allowed for nothing more than forcing her fist through the wooden planks she was provided. It didn't exactly make her feel superhuman, but she kept up the effort. Smiles insisted that she was the best at it in her cohort, and that offered its own encouragement. That there were others like her, maybe even nearby.

She was laying on her bed, her lungs still burning from the exhaustion she'd suffered. Working them like bellows, as she examined a Skyhopper she'd painted (with considerable effort on her part) on the ceiling. Its 'wings,' more accurately described as atmospheric stabilizers, had been clipped off on both sides by the buffing process. While Jessa knew that in such a state the craft would be fine to fly, that didn't shake the impression that the old boat had been grounded, just like her.

Time passed differently in this place. She was certain of it. There were no clocks or timers, for the most part, just the schedule. After her training in the 'morning,' when Freckles and Smooth would rouse her from fitful sleep, it would be 'lunch' delivered by Smooth, and then a check-in from Smiles, some indeterminate amount of freetime where she'd usually just nap or paint, 'dinner,' and then lights out. Smiles said that his hands were tied when it came to providing her a clock, and that the schedule was set by Director Sarama and that the lack of access to timekeeping might help in their experimentation and yadda yadda. The only reason they were doing this was to keep her guessing about everything. To make it harder to escape. Or maybe half a million other things that Jessa could only guess at.

By her reckoning, she'd spent at least 21 of these cycles here. That wasn't counting her time spent unconscious in recovery, or the time she'd lost after the panic attack. The scars on her chest, where she'd been nearly ripped asunder by an alien, felt almost natural at this point. Looking at them in the shower, it was hard to understand how she'd even survived. How the only imprint left was an admittedly ugly scar. Well, that and her powers. She wondered if all those aliens had powers like that. That surviving one of their attacks really made you superpowered. Seems like a shitty power in that regard, but she didn't make the rules. Or, really know what happened for that matter. For all she knew she'd had magic cancer for the last few years and had only found out now. Eh, getting your heart (almost) ripped out by purple space magic and then developing purple space magic of your own was probably too big a coincidence to not be related. Wow, she was bored.

That particular revelation hit her like a truck. In the last few weeks(?) she had usually either been too exhausted or busy to be bored, or had been in her designated free time hours. She looked around her cell (all offense intended Smiles) to make sure she wasn't suddenly floating in space or ripping the walls apart inadvertently. It looked… normal. What, had they forgotten her? She got up from the singular chair she usually collapsed into after exercise, and raced over to the pillow on her bed that 'hid' the markers Smiles had given her, well, however long ago that was. She was still sweaty and sorta gross from the endurance test, and she was supposed to have another two or so tests before her rest period. So, as much as she wanted to lay in bed and just enjoy the moment, she also knew they didn't do the laundry often enough for such a thing to be enjoyable that night.

Markers in tow, she started touching up her old work: the pair of Marathon-class cruisers that had been mangled beyond recognition, Rapier fighters, a Mu shuttle zooming off into the stars, she even had time to work on the FIT-109 freighter that took up her back wall. Repairing the old drawings was a somber affair, but Jessa was the type to jump on busy work the second she had a chance to. She even cleared a path to work on the Skyhopper on the ceiling, dragging over a chair so she didn't wobble and bounce on the mattress (she might have done it anyway, but the damn bed was too low.)

As she was gripping under the seat. That's when she felt a tiny little prick at the corner of her index finger. There were few surprises in this room of hers, but the sharp feeling of pain, and the quick reversal of her movement to see a bead of blood starting to roll down her fingers? Was it wrong to say that it titillated her? A little act of rebellion, just by being hurt in some unanticipated way? She quickly flipped the chair over, discovering the sliver of tile inexpertly wedged into the bottom of the chair. A secret she could keep. The jagged edge couldn't have been longer than her thumb. Her mind went wild with a thousand ideas on hiding this little bit of scrap.

She took a breath.

For now, she flipped the chair back over. Her little secret had been hidden long enough as is, for now she'd wait for someone to remember she was alive. So, she sucked on her bloody finger, and got back to work fixing those clipped wings.

It was at least another hour before someone showed up. Jessa had taken to a corner space, where she was adding tiny Unggoy working on a ship of their own. Smiles knocked, as he always did, before opening the door a few seconds later. Jessa only made a furtive glance at the secret chair, before continuing with her drawings.

"Jess, sorry for being late, we've been reviewing some of your previous scans and… well, we think we've found a method." Smiles sat at the foot of the bed, as always more or less, and waited for Jessa to meet his eyes. Jessa, for her own part, was slow to take focus from the Unggoy dock worker she was finishing. Smiles said things like this all the time, to keep her motivated and excited about the continuing research. Jessa did not show the same enthusiasm, as a rule. Though she was excited that this might mean a delay in the physical training she'd expected.

"For?" Jessa kept her voice level, as she capped the marker she was using.

"A way to modulate your abilities. I've been speaking with the neurologists on staff, we think there's a method for deep stimulation that should activate neural pathways connected to your element zero biotics."
"You have a name for it now?"

That particular observation threw Smiles off his train of thought. He stammered for a moment, before acquiescing to the change in topic. "I… yes. Your element zero has integrated itself into biology, and the ecosystem in total. An ecologist on staff called it biotic element zero, and, well. It stuck."

"I guess it sounds better than space magic." Jessa felt like laughing. Despite the month or so of sitting around in this place, her new life still felt enormously surreal. Every time those thoughts danced in the back of her mind, she felt the urge to bring her powers to life, if only to assure herself she was not in some overly complex dream. She tried not to do such things when Smiles was present, of course. No reason to freak him out, he was her only real bit of company most of the time. "You were talking about neural pathways or some shit?" Smiles' signature trait waned slightly, maybe he took offense on behalf of his neurologist friends. Jessa didn't much care.

"I was, yes. We're going to fit you with a deep brain stimulator, non-invasively of course, which may serve to amplify your biotics, to a certain extent."

"You still think I'm getting superpowers out of this?" Jessa shrugged, bracing herself on the wall as her sore joints protested. They were working her harder than she'd ever experienced, and the toll was starting to pile up. She didn't show it, of course.

"I think it'd be fair to say you've already gotten them. What we're concerned with now is utilizing them to their full extent."

Jessa kept her pessimism on the subject to herself. It wasn't that she thought it was impossible, the last few weeks had proven that it was. It… well, it felt like she was being turned into a weapon. It terrified her. Her brief experience with 'combat' had ended in her receiving what ought to have been a fatal wound. Those things that killed her family, her crew, her in the eyes of her father. She hated them, yes, but she feared them so much more.

Evidently her thoughts played out on her face. Smiles wasn't close enough to put his hand on her shoulder, or whatever other shrink tactics he tended to use, but he was able to do the verbal equivalent.
"Hey, look, we're in no rush here, progress has been made at record pace already, Jessa. If you need a couple days extra to prepare-"

"I'm fine, Smiles. For real, no need to do any of your bullshit." Jessa huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against a drawing of a FIT-7 Freighter zipping past a comet. Or an asteroid. Jessa wasn't really sure of the difference.

"Well you've made up my mind. You're on reduced training now." Unfortunately eye-rolling wasn't sound enough to interrupt him. "This was going to be after your testing, but I suppose it can be now. You recall that you're a part of a cohort of Shanxi survivors?"

Jessa hated how her head popped up. It took conscious effort to not stumble over her words. "I- yes. You've told me. Why, am I going on a playdate now?" The impetuous teenager couldn't help but feel proud of that little quip.

Smiles, for his part, kept his smile up. You'd think he'd had it stitched on. "You're not exactly right. At the moment you're the oldest in our cohort, and by far our most advanced biotics user. The kids- the other subjects could use some guidance, after their PT is done for the day anyway."

Kids? Jessa was a teenager, which meant she was still a gangly child to Smiles at heart, but he never made a slip up like that when talking about her (something about her powers and her eardrums made hearing at a distance easy, don't ask her why). Was this just some naked ploy to get her sympathy? Jessa wanted to interrogate that thought a little more, but it changed nothing about her wanting to speak to someone even vaguely her age. "How many are there?" She worked as a tutor for the elementary school kids back home. She had a soft spot for it, even if it paid in decimals. Did they know about that? A yawing pit opened up in her stomach.

"Five or so? Oldest is 12, youngest is 7. They survived the fighting on the ground, and they've acquired the same powers as you." Smiles patted his legs, before rising from her bed. "If we leave now we should catch them as they're coming back. Up for an excursion?"

"Wait! Wait, uh, can I take a shower first, at least?"

Smiles laughed. "If you want, I'll grab an escort. Be back here in thirty, alright?"

Sarria

Fuck. She had spoken with the Sangheili for 30 minutes or so, and that was all she could think. Fuck. The second first contact she had made today. She wasn't sure whether to even believe it all. If this alien was even real. The things she was being told, it was like the galaxy had been revealed to her. An empire of many thousands of systems, hidden from the greater galaxy by… luck. Warfare on a scale she had thought unseen for thousands of years. The Rachni Wars had an equal, in brutality at least. At the moment, she was staring out the window, into the field of stars outside. She could pick out some of the arriving Sangheili vessels, the progeny of the Covenant, an empire that had risen and fallen entirely under the Council's nose. And theirs. That was probably the ideal outcome for both. Their 'Orion Arm,' seen as a backwater unsuitable for exploration due to its remarkably low eezo content, had been the sight of warfare and disaster on scales scarcely imagined.

And they all spoke of this like it was history! She remembered 70 years ago like it was yesterday, well, not exactly. Asari memory was complex, to describe and to sift through. But the timescales seemed all wrong. Two short lived races, then? Good at burying the hatchet, perhaps? She wanted to ask more questions, interrupting the story this… ambassador(?) was telling. Ambassadors didn't usually wear armor, of course, but aliens were aliens, who could say what was normal for their sort of dignitary. She turned back to the hologram. Life sized, and sitting calmly, like this was all normal business. And then these Halos. They called them the Forerunners, rather similar to the Prometheans, of course, though the time scales seemed all wrong. And the general eradication of civilized life? This explained much about the Promethian's sudden disappearance, even if the architecture simply didn't match. Even if this sounded more like scripture than history. That one human saved the galaxy, and nobody else realized it? The asari simply didn't know what to believe. So much about this seemed like folk tale. Worse yet, so much had been edited. This story was rehearsed. It was the story they told themselves. Who knew what the truth was?

"It's difficult to imagine, yes? The enormity of this galaxy, that your people and mine could exist within it simultaneously."

Sarria wasn't sure what to say to that. As the peoples of the galaxy left their cradles, the wonder of the universe seemed to take a backseat to, well, everything else. Sarria was no astronomer, but she could easily speak on the truth of exploration now, given that it was most of her work with the Council. The rights to stars unvisited, of relays unopened. Of the endless billions of stars in the sky, she could feel pressing at her back. Some days she felt more like a lawyer than a diplomat, though she supposed what made the difference were the warships each side could wield.

The Sangheili, she had introduced herself as Taunus 'Dinial, continued in the face of the asari's silence. "Humanity and my people have shed too much of each other's blood. Burned too much of [creation]. Those sins cling to our backs. That is why we are here, to wash ourselves of them in any way we can. Fortunately, the fighting has ceased, but our 'Humanitarian' missions have just begun. A curious concept for our warriors, but one that I respect."

Sarria sparred a moment to look at her translator tech, who mostly shrugged. Even the latest translators had issues translating cultural context (that was why she had a translator on standby), but she'd expected a more refined lexicon at least. It was as if these Turians hadn't bothered to try speaking their native tongue at all. "Forgive me for my ignorance, Ambassador 'Dinial, you speak of ['creation']. What does this mean? Is this a religious concept? My translator is uncertain." Sarria had needed to do this often, though that was mostly for the nouns. Concepts often held more sway, and far more context for a newly met species.

"Ah…" The alien ambassador clicked her jaws, as she thought. "I was born after the war, after the Covenant as well, in a time where human culture flowed through our ruptured society and gave us our own… I would call it a dose of free expression. My parents took up a human religion, I believe some of its scripture has rubbed off on my vocabulary in English."

Sarria suppressed a sigh. These beings could be remarkably long winded about things. They seemed wise, in the way Hanar could be, and yet their history seems to the contrary. Or was Sarria simply seeing an extraordinary example? In the short term, though, more information to compile. "A human religion? Are humans rather religious?" Such a thing was a rarity in Council Space, depending on how you asked a Turian to define the spirits.

"Do the stars shine? Humans are perhaps more pious than my species, and far more superstitious. It is strange to have such a variety of choice in spiritual guidance, and my people struggle with that concept. I suppose the humans have as well, though the fact that they are the progenitors of the problem dulls the pity I feel."

"A variety?"

The alien chuckled, according to the translator in her ear. "I have heard no other term that describes humans best. But, yes, a long list of systems of belief, many derived from whole cloth. A creative bunch, those humans and their gods."

Sarria was glad this meeting was being discreetly recorded. Her mind was filled to bursting, and she could feel her memory shoving out old details to fit new ones in. She grasped for a thread to keep this conversation from stalling. "I assume you follow one of the primary religions supported by the UHG then, if it was acquired by your parents? What did your parents-"

"-Forgive my interruption dear ambassador, but I must clarify when I say that there is no primary religion."

"In terms of religious freedom?"

"That is a protected right, yes, but you misunderstand. The humans as a whole have no primary religion at all. There are perhaps 40 billion humans now, give or take those who do not wish to be counted by a government, and there is no majority of belief in any single god or precept or idea, except perhaps Atheist thought, though I discount such ideals as religion."

A few crumbs of information along with a whole loaf. Sarria kept her face still, as she started running through the cultural history classes she'd languished through in university. The Turians and their spiritual beliefs could vary, but most of the time these were considered more cultural beliefs that differed between the colonies rather than distinct religious beliefs. Krogan fit this bill as well, with rites and ideas of honor that changed per culture, though often meant little in terms of religious thought. The Salarians were atheists through and through, and the primordial religions that had existed on Sur'Kesh were long dead, and had usually captured a particular civilization totally. The Asari were more complex, of course. Several gods existed and were worshiped in the long past of her species, Athame included, though these were often pantheons wherein one particular god was favored over the others by whomever it concerned. The Batarians were similar in this respect, though their religions were forcefully consolidated by the time the Hierarchy had become space faring. All of this to say, "How many such religions do these humans follow?"

"Oh? At least ten or so, if I'm skimming off the surface. Though humans are rather particular about sects and denominations, so if you're looking for organized religious bodies, perhaps thousands, if they are organized at all."

Sarria kept her face neutral. "Are they similar to cults, these 'sects?'"

The Sangheili just smiled, in that oddly off-putting way they manage. "That depends on the human you ask! Ask 10 humans to define a cult and you'll get 21 definitions. Truly a delightfully diverse species-"

There was a short, sharp hiss as the door behind the ambassador depressurized, again there were the hulking armored suits, but more curiously there was a human. A male of the species, with a richly brown hue to his skin and hair that was thinning to a widow's peak. Unlike the majority of humans she'd met, this one was not dressed in military fatigues, dress uniforms, or some variation of armor. This looked civilian; a flowing, cream colored outer layer adorned with brown sashes and bands that seemed to stitch the clothing together. Ambassador 'Dinial seemed to perk up as the man came into view. "Chancellor Udina? An… unexpected pleasure?"

Udina gave a thin smile, his teeth almost distractingly white where his lips let them be seen. "'Dinial, I was told to expect a Sangheli representative, a delight that it should be you." Perhaps it shouldn't be read into, given her unfamiliarity with the species, but the way his smile never reached his eyes told her that such platitudes were not meant in truth. Udina's gaze finally fell on Sarria, and his eyes widened in a restrained shock. "Ah, and you must be our Asari representative. I am *Ambassador* Donnel Udina, representing the United Human Government in these negotiations, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Sarria moved to speak, though 'Dinial caught her tongue. "A promotion! My congratulations, Donnel, but I must inquire why you did not tell me? You must know that I am wonderful at throwing celebrations."

Udina's smile strained at the edges. "It is a recent thing. Believe it or not, the Diplomatic Corps does not in fact have a nearby office. I was rushed on a ship but a few days ago… where are our manners? I have not yet asked your name, honorable Asari?"

Sarria was enjoying whatever juicy tension was broiling between these two so much that she was taken off guard by the question. "...Ambassador Sarria T'Josa, representing the Citadel Council. I wish the circumstances of our meeting could have been less martial, Ambassador Udina."

"As do I." He took the opportunity to sit, about as far as he could from his Sangheili counterpart. "There is much our species could learn from each other, I am certain. Though, I'm afraid I misspeak. There are more than just the two species we have encountered, yes? The Asari and Turians only make up a part of this Council?"

"Indeed! Of the founding races we are but two, the third are the Salarians… ah, if you wouldn't mind some visual aids?" She looked in the direction of her techs manning the translators, who were quick to pull a small silver plate from their bags, placing it on the floor where it quickly began to hum, then project an image of an adult Salarian mating pair, quickly adding a pair of Turians, and a singular Asari to the effect. "The Council, though, is not simply a tyranny of its founders. We have also integrated several species into Galactic affairs successfully," She took a moment to remember the somewhat inflated list they were told to use for first contacts. "The Volus, Quarians, Drell, Hanar and Batarians are all participating members in our democratic federation as junior, associate members, where they enjoy the benefits of our galactic peacekeeping and chartered trade laws."

The Asari paid close attention to the reaction of her human counterpart, trying with all her might to develop some amount of intuition for their facial expressions and finding it easy to be trapped imagining a brown Asari, rather than an alien with a unique set of expressions. Still, the easy smile Udina wore felt so familiar to some part of her hind brain hardwired for Asari expression. It was uncanny, in a way, but it also told her that Udina believed not a single word she said. Her words barely penetrated his ears, behind the warm and grinning mask he wore as naturally as his skin. Evidently this promotion was a natural move for the man. He was born to be a diplomat.

As was Sarria. This information did not even give her pause. "I am sure that you believe you have learned much about our galaxy, through this conflict. That we are savages and brutes, undeserving of trust. That is an assessment that I cannot fault you for making. But you must understand that this is simply the gravest of misunderstandings. That the Turians who committed these crimes can and will be brought to justice, and that there is no possibility that they will go unpunished. The history of my people is fraught with misunderstandings and mistakes. The Council I represent is no stranger to them either. It is my belief that as one, we can atone for our mistakes and build a galaxy that is safe and prosperous for all species."

The human across from her pinched his nose, rubbing at some mundane irritant before sighing and finding a more comfortable position in the chair. "Well. I was expecting this meeting to be about prisoners of war, given the discussion you had with Admiral Drescher. I suppose getting to the heart of the discussion is the efficient thing to do, though. Thus, I shall follow the example set by you, and level the field. I am sure my colleague has told you of our history with the Covenant?" These humans and their analogies. Her translators were still attempting to piece out what it meant when the human race's boogie-man was brought back up. She nodded (another shared trait between the two species) solemnly. "My colleague can tell the story better than I, I must admit. Your organization sounds reasonably impressive, I must admit. But my people at large are…weary of such ideas. They will see the trauma that was caused, and remark on the similarities between this, and our own first contact. That your 'political integrations' grant little true power within your council, and that we would be subservient to Turian masters in all but name until some arbitrary time far into the future where we were deemed ready."

Sarria wanted to protest, but it wasn't as though he was wrong. She was surprised by the knowledge he had, though. Apparently the Turians were just as lax in secure information protocols as her Salarian contacts said. Silently, she conceded the point, "Associate members of the Council have a say, Ambassador Udina. Their embassies are as influential as the species is. With your impressive technology and military prowess, it is certain that your people will be heard in the halls of the galaxy."
Udina's demeanor tightened, almost imperceptibly. "Is it equal power to that of the Asari, then? As an example."

Sarria had hoped he'd continue the thought, if only so it would give her time to think. "Well… no, but I am sure even your race has a concept of seniority? The senior members are shepherds in this galaxy, we have thousands of years of experience in statecraft, in leading the trillions of people that call this galaxy home, it would be unwise to not have this division."

Udina smirks. "I fear, then, that the structure of your Council is flawed. There can be no deal for integration in such circumstances, not with the prerogatives I have been given by my superiors."

Sarria tried not to hold her shock. No one, not even the Batarians, had been so bold. "Ambassador, while I know you do not speak for your species or government on the whole, I do urge you to reconsider such flippant disregard for… the galaxy as a whole! It would be unprecedented in our history!"
'Dinial made a sound that much approximated a cough, flexing her many jaws before speaking, which Sarria's translators interpreted as an apology for interruption. "You must note, Ambassador T'Josa, that humans act unprecedentedly on every occasion."

Udina, in a heel turn, seemed to agree. "I couldn't have said it better myself, 'Dinial."

Sarria's head felt like it was spinning on a top. She felt nauseous. In Athame's name, how had this already derailed. This was the whole point in her arrival. Interaction within the Citadel's embassy system is what maintained order in the galaxy in its galactic proportions. Most other actors, where there were any in the first place, were so small as to be unnoticed. Pirate gangs, primitives who had not breached their atmospheres. There were rumblings out of Batarian space, of other primitives held in bondage by the Hegemony, but the policy of the Council was to speak no evil, if they couldn't see any. Negotiations had to continue, if she was going to save even a scrap of this. Having a technologically advanced empire on the borders of Citadel space, behind an active relay? Unthinkable.

A light lit up on the big conference table, which Udina smiled at. "Ah, my colleague is now available. My diplomatic party is not yet complete, my good friend Virgil, who represents the Created Assembly, was taking their time integrating with the Indomitable's network."

Oh Gods, another one? "I was not aware you would have a political representative as well? Is there a problem they have with mobility?"

Udina seemed amused, but it wasn't him that answered. A voice, disembodied, came from somewhere above her. "It is not so much an issue of mobility, as it is with form. I was told to leave my artificial body back home for the journey, which continues to upset me even now."

"Virgil, we are working at the moment, if you hadn't noticed. It's rude to pull your Hal 9000 routine."

Sarria felt completely stripped of context. While the being that was speaking spoke english, there were no features to analyze or motives to uncover. She felt utterly helpless. Why did she take this assignment?

"My apologies, Ambassador Udina." The conference table flickered to life, displaying a… yellow orange… box? The rest of its form, robotic and humanoid in appearance, slowly generated itself out of the ether, until the form was fully generated. "Hello, Asari Ambassador! My name is Virgil, Ambassador for the Assembly of Created Beings. It is my pleasure to meet you!"

Sarria fainted.