So I got real hung up on this bit for whatever reason. Initially it was about twice the length and a vast rambling mess. It's still a rambling mess but now it's slightly smaller because I cut it in half.
Tone is still terrible, but I figured whatever, right? Just got to keep going. Eventually we'll look back on all this and laugh.
And we've got to get through this to get to the other bits. So! Onward!
And so to dinner.
The tables, being exceedingly modular, had been setup in such a way so that all present and attending could talk across at one another as easily as possible. Which is to say a circle, more or less. After all, free and casual dialogue and the opening up of lines of communication was rather the point of the whole affair.
Or the main point, at least.
The Imperials were all arranged in a neat row, starting with Pak, then Thale, Jarrion and ending with Loghain. All the others filled in the spaces of the circle. The human contingent - Anderson and Shepard and no-one else - was sat across and opposite, meaning that the Imperials were flanked on both sides by aliens, Salarians on Pak-side, Asari by Loghain and then Turians until Shepard and Anderson, lopping around through the Salarians and so on and so forth.
Thrilling stuff.
This was not an arrangement that any of the Council-affiliated persons had really put a lot of thought into, beyond each of them thinking that whatever position the other one wanted was some sort of veiled jab or ploy which had led to a bit of jockeying, the only thing the non-humans had been able to agree on (silently) being that Anderson and Shepard should be sat away from the other humans, to avoid whispering and collusion.
For the Imperials the whole thing was monstrously uncomfortable.
Or should have been. Loghain was brushing it off like it was nothing, Pak was as inscrutable and as silent as ever, Thale could look comfortable while lit on fire (and had in the past) and Jarrion was lucky enough and important enough to be bracketed safely on either side, and yet he was the one feeling the most surrounded.
Such was life.
Jarrion did at least recognise those aliens present. Not personally, obviously, but he was familiar with these species by now mostly from his time on Illium and also from his readings and investigatings. The Council was said to be made up of Turians, Salarians, Asari and now humans these were indeed the demographics represented, and all three of which he'd bumped into at least once by this point.
The aliens all remained utterly loathsome in their own unique ways, of course, but at least none of those ways were surprising to Jarrion. He knew what to expect.
The actual, proper officials of each species were fairly easy to spot, being the ones carrying themselves as though they were the most important. Around them flocked and jabbered functionaries of unclear purpose though a couple of them Jarrion could tell at a glance were military. Although looking at the weird, quasi-birdy ones - Turians, he hadn't dealt with many - Jarrion felt that they could easily all have been military, going by the way they acted.
The human - Anderson, Jarrion thought he'd caught the name - was the only one to have come on his own and not to have anyone else with him at all, barring Shepard, though she was only here as kind of a special guest. Why Anderson was so lonely was less obvious.
In actuality the reasons for Anderson not having an entourage were a combination of petty and political.
Petty, because Udina just hadn't sprung for anyone else to come with him quite on purpose. Political, because one of the few things that had been reliably confirmed about the unidentified vessel was that was it was supposedly crewed by humans. Ergo, having the human delegation show up mob-handed might look suspicious somehow, so Anderson had come on his own to avoid this.
Naturally, him showing up on his own was in itself seen as suspicious.
Some days you just couldn't win.
To really round off Jarrion's quietly-concealed misery it quickly became apparent that the waiting staff too was, sadly, not entirely human, but Jarrion did well to hide his disappointment and discomfort at noticing this. In all likelihood the food had been prepared by aliens too, somewhere along the line.
The things he had to do for the Imperium…
And speaking of the food, within a minute or two of the final seat being taken the very first course arrived.
Some sort of appetizer. Some sort of mousse.
Jarrion did not trust mousse at the best of times, and a mousse prepared by alien hands was at least three times worse. He eyed it warily and made no moves to actually try any.
The aliens had no such reservations and had got started on theirs (the Turian, Jarrion noted, appeared to have different food to all the others, but honestly Jarrion didn't really care a whole lot) and took the opportunity to get started on some dinner conversation.
"I'm surprised Cerberus allowed you to take time out of your schedule to attend this, Shepard," the Turian said, tartly.
Rather more aggressive dinner conversation than might normally be expected, but Jarrion had been in worse dinners and Shepard plainly didn't care, already wolfing down alien mousse.
"I had some annual leave outstanding," she said around a mouthful.
"And I trust you have all got your stories straight for how the Systems Alliance neglected to mention any of this to the Council? I don't think classifying a dreadnought-sized vessel as a light cruiser is likely to work, you know," the Salarian said, giving Anderson a pointed look.
This appeared to be some sort of veiled insult or something else equally irrelevant to Jarrion but it did offer an excellent excuse to both speechify and also avoid touching the appetiser. Immediately he cut across whatever anyone else might have felt like saying (Anderson had been poised to snap back) and spoke in a loud, clear, Rogue Trader voice:
"Let us cut to business, hmm? To the heart of the matter. You are all here and have organised this fine dinner - many thanks again, by the way - because I am an unknown quantity, am something unusual! You wish to get the measure of me! To see what I'm about. Possibly to influence me - ah! It's true, let's not deny. Certainly, I myself am looking for much the same. While I represent a mystery to you, you represent opportunity to me, a doorway into fresh markets, you see? New vistas! New possibilities for growth and enlightened self-interest! So let's be open with one another, shall we? Open and, well, as honest as is practical, let's say. We'll gain nothing by pussyfooting about. So let's be open!"
None of them had expected this. None of them really knew what to do with it, either. More than one person looked to Shepard, who just shrugged.
"I keep telling you guys, he's nothing to do with us," she said.
"We're really not. Apart from sharing a species, me and mine are entirely unaffiliated with the, ah, Systems Alliance, I assure you," Jarrion said, waving his fork around, having just been about to stab the mousse just so it didn't look like he was deliberately ignoring it.
"Then who are you affiliated with?" The important Turian asked, bluntly. Working this out was one of the few things the important council representatives had been able to agree on, though how to get at an answer had generated a variety of suggested approaches. The Turian had just run out of patience. Jarrion's fork whipped around to point in his direction.
"Ah! That's the question, isn't it? And what an answer it has! I'd scarcely believe it myself, had it not happened to me! You see, through some means as yet undetermined myself, my ship and my crew went from the time and place that we are familiar with to here, to this time and place to which we are quite, ah, ill-fitting, shall we say? A time and place we do not quite belong. You ask where I have acquired my ship, who I am affiliated with, thinking that perhaps I will name some place or some organisation with which you are familiar, but that is sadly not the case. My ship - while eminently fine! - is hardly exceptional where I am from, and the 'organisation' - far too mild a word - to which I owe my allegiance is the Imperium of Man, for which I am honoured to serve as a Rogue Trader."
Son of a Rogue Trader, technically, but Jarrion felt that splitting hairs at this point would just be causing more problems for himself. Besides, the distinction hardly mattered anyway…
No-one said anything to this because there wasn't a whole lot any of them could think to say in the time they had available. The table was smothered in uncomfortable silence because it wasn't every day someone said something like this to you with a straight face.
Jarrion took a sip of water and waved a hand, oblivious to the vacuum his speech had created or otherwise just unconcerned about it.
"I must say I would have imagined that the Commander here, as your hardworking employee, would have already filled you in on most of these details," he said.
"Actually, her report was somewhat light when it came to details," the Turian said, glaring daggers at Shepard who just aggressively ate her appetizer at him. Shepard could, if she wanted to, make just about anything seem aggressive. She had one of those faces.
"I don't believe you were even mentioned by name, in fact, ah - is there a particular form of address that we should be using or…?" The important Salarian asked. Working as a group now, it seemed, or at least working in stages.
Seemed a reasonable question, too, at least to those present who hadn't met Jarrion before. It would hardly do to make an etiquette-based blunder at this delicate early stage, and this also served to further undermine Shepard and her detail-light report. That had been the intention at least. Shepard had done what she'd done for a reason however, and could not have given less of a shit for vague insinuations.
For his part Jarrion barely noticed, one moment a little wounded that the Commander hadn't put his name into whatever report she'd put together before being distracted by the question he'd been asked.
"Oh, well, strictly speaking I suppose it should be Lord Captain but, please, we're all, ah, peers here and we're all looking to achieve something mutually beneficial so Jarrion will do just fine," he said, smiling politely.
As much as Jarrion would have preferred on insisting for formality - especially with xenos - he had a feeling that the better play here was to be casual and friendly, or at the least breezy and polite. Coming across as haughty might give the wrong impression. Less cowing the natives, more just annoying them. No good to him at all. Anything for an easy life, a smoother ride.
"Can I call you Jarrion, Lord Captain?" Loghain asked, sweetly, leaning in towards him.
"No," Jarrion said quickly and under his breath and without looking at her.
"I'll get back at you for this eventually, you know," she said, still sweetly. Jarrion ignored her and continued the other, more important conversation as though nothing had happened:
"So that would most definitely make us all something of a mystery, I'd suppose? Us and our outlandish appearance, ship, language, etcetera? Hmm, I can see why you'd want to organise something like this, then! Get things off on the right foot, eh? Clear things up."
Mention of the ship sent a minor thrill of excitement through those gathered, given as it was more-or-less the crux of all their interest. In-system sensor logs had been pored over at this point at the Assertive's arrival had been examined in some detail, but answers had been conspicuous in their absence. One moment it hadn't been there, the next - pop! - there it was just outside, appearing as though from thin-vacuum in nothing but a surge of anomalous readings that no-one had been able to make any sense of yet.
And no record of it passing any relays, either. This had been touched upon in Shepard's report, of course, that these strange interlopers had some other way of crossing the vaster distances of space that did not require the relays, but no-one had believed it. They did now, and they salivated for an explanation they could take apart and use. Think of the possibilities! That Reaper - uh, unusual Geth ship, rather - had been something, this could be the new something!
But this excitement was kept in check. There was time to unpick that knot, and there were ways to do it politely. Just be nice to lunatic, treat him kindly. We're all friends here, after all, etcetera.
"You're certainly...unexpected," said the Asari in tones of perfect diplomacy, looking from Loghain to Jarrion, ignoring Thale (Thale had that effect on people) and letting her eyes linger especially on Pak.
Pak was cutting quite the enigmatic figure, even sitting down. Their being perfectly still, almost entirely hidden in robes and mask, not saying anything and generally being very odd and mysterious was presenting something of an obstacle to those from the Council sat next to them.
A literal obstacle, as Pak was literally blocking them from talking to those members of the Imperial contingent who might actually answer questions. So far the best solution was just to lean forward and talk around the Magos.
Rude, yes, but needs must.
"So, let's demystify! Ask me anything, ask away! I am an open book. I am not here with hostile intent so let's be friendly. Whatever you wish to know, ask it I shall do my best to furnish you with an answer," Jarrion said, smiling broadly, holding his hands out open, palms up.
The important Council-persons exchanged looks, all wondering who should go first and whether going first at all was the clever play. The Turian eventually decided to just bite the bullet.
"When you say time and place, I am not wholly clear on what it is you mean," he said.
Again Jarrion flourished his fork. Always helpful to have prop while expositing, he'd found.
"Ah, well, that's something of an embarrassing sore point to this whole affair, I'm afraid. Near as we can make out we appear to have travelled through time - I know, I know, it's as ludicrous to me as it is to you, but honestly what else do we have? Some amongst us have even wilder theories…" He said, casting an eye towards Loghain who sighed.
"I'm just saying, if we'd only travelled in time we'd be seeing some things that we're not seeing right now. You see any Eldar? I don't..." she said in the tone of someone who knows that no-one is going to listen to her. In this she was entirely correct.
The Salarian was rubbing her face, the Turian sat leaning forward with his mouth slightly open. The Asari pushed forward:
"Time travel?" She asked, making those two words sound at once perfectly reasonable but also something like an accusation. Jarrion cringed.
"I know. As I say it hardly bears thinking about. The exact details of how or why it works are still something of a - heh, that word again - mystery but it hardly seems to matter given that it is what it is. Let's not mention it again, eh? Let's instead deal with undeniables. I am here, my ship is here, my crew is here, I was not here before I was here. If you follow," he said.
They didn't follow, but then again neither did Jarrion really. It remained something of an embarrassing sort spot and the longer attention lingered on it the more embarrassing it got.
This was a universal feeling and so, in the interests of keeping things moving and keeping awkwardness and discomfort to a minimum, the Salarian member piped up:
"So how did you get from wherever - whenever - you were to here? What led to it happening, I mean? If it wasn't intentional."
She didn't actually really care or even really believe it was a legitimate question but, again, it was the sensible thing to play along for now, it was judged. Baby steps, baby steps - they were still on starters, after all.
Now this was a question that Jarrion could actually answer and so he immediately pounced on it.
"Ah yes, quite the event! We arrived here quite by accident and quite the unusual accident at that, too. I have top men looking into that particular issue even as we speak but suffice to say I shouldn't worry about anyone else pulling off the same trick if I were you! One in, well, certainly a higher number than a million, hmm?"
Jarrion felt it best to omit the recent development hinting at a possible way back. After all it had yet to be confirmed, for one, and for another did they really need to know, really?
"And what trick would that be? Out of curiosity," the Asari asked, glancing to the Salarian who seemed only a little annoyed to have had her question co-opted and hijacked.
Jarrion wafted a hand.
"Oh, some one-in-a-million Warp drive breach accident. It all happened so quickly I couldn't honestly tell you. As I say, I have top men on the problem so when I know I shall be sure to tell you," he said.
Teeny-tiny ripple of excitement at that. Mention of something unknown, something new. Something valuable? All ears pricked.
"Warp drive?" The Turian asked, again quickest off the mark. Jarrion frowned at him.
"Did the report not mention that?" He asked.
Eyes again to Shepard.
"The report didn't, but the briefing package I got asked to put together before this thing did. You all read that, right?" Shepard said through gritted teeth, looking around.
There was some shifting in seats.
"Ah, well, to clear up any confusion…" Jarrion began, raising a finger in the way that one does before launching into a lengthy explanation of something.
The conversation that followed did much to separate those who had actually bothered to read Shepard's aforementioned briefing package in detail and those who had not, or who had and had just not believed it.
Jarrion explained what a Warp drive was, he then explained what the Warp was, he then explained what daemons were (in a very roundabout way, not really wanting to dwell on the details, mostly just mentioning 'dangers' involved in Warp travel), the Archenemy, the Emperor, psykers and so on and so on until everyone present lost the energy to keep asking questions.
Shepard got some hard looks. She wasn't sure why any of this was supposed to be her fault.
"One imagines that all sounded rather unusual and unlikely to you," Jarrion said once he'd wrapped up, aware of the shift in the mood of the room. Even the waiters seemed stunned, though really they shouldn't have been paying as much attention to the conversation as they were - could never get the staff these days.
"It sounds...interesting…" Said the Asari, smiling in what was clearly an attempt at ingratiating but couldn't quite get there.
"What a diplomatic way of putting it," Jarrion said with a twinkle in his eye, raising a glass.
"You shall have to forgive us if we are not immediately convinced," the Salarian said. To her, the explanation had had the hallmarks of something true wrapped in several layers of increasingly unreasonable, misdirecting bollocks. Somewhere in the middle was the part worth getting at - how this ship of his actually got around - but you would have to burrow through everything else to get to it. And that was just annoying.
"Oh, I'd think me a madman too, were I in your position. But that's hardly going to get us anywhere. Much as your, ah, 'Mass Relays' serve to get me nowhere, too," Jarrion was rather proud of that bit, though no-one reacted to it so he quickly carried on: "I have seen your galaxy, I know I don't belong. And you are seeing me right now and, honestly, can you say I belong? I could very well be a charlatan, yes, but do most charlatan's also happen to possess voidcraft that make your largest vessels look like tugs? There's commitment to the act and then there's that!"
As much as they might hate to admit it he had a point. Not a point they could do a lot with, but a point nonetheless. Strip away everything and just believe he was a conman or a lunatic and you still had a man in a spaceship that dwarfed anything anyone had ever seen or even imagined, and one that had managed to get here in a way that defied conventional understanding. There were no easy explanations for that.
Someone had to have built the thing, somewhere, and the odds that happening with no-one being any the wiser were long, slim and generally poor. Someone involved would have felt that selling the designs of this or that secret component would have been the economically prudent move, but no-one had heard anything. There was always a leak! Only not this time, apparently. That was unusual.
Which wasn't even getting started on the size of the thing! Building a dreadnought in secret would have sent out ripples enough to cause some sniffing round, and this was something else!
And if someone could build something like this in secret then that raised all sorts of fresh, new, deeply uncomfortable questions. Either everyone's spies were getting lazy, someone else's information retention was insanely good (up until the point their super-secret ship was given to a man dressed like he'd escaped from the circus who then just showed up) or, well, he was telling the truth?
Probably not the third one. Still, nothing about any of this was uplifting or invigorating.
It was in this mood of mild discomfort that the appetiser plates were cleared away - including the largely untouched plates of the Imperials (barring Loghain and Thale's plate, which had both been cleaned completely) - and replaced with the main course.
No getting out of eating this time, Jarrion knew. The appetiser you could mess around with or hide or just ignore, but ignoring the main course would be poor form which would go against his whole thrust here, that of appearing friendly and broadly inoffensive - someone you could let do business around you!
At least it looked like some sort of meat. He could work with that.
So he cut a bit off and, tentatively, had a nibble.
In the course of his duties Jarrion had eaten far worse and pretended to like it, so this wasn't too unpleasant. You didn't travel from planet to planet without learning how to stomach things you had never seen before. He turned to Thale.
"And what do you think, Thale?" He asked.
"I miss grox, Lord Captain," said Thale, shoving food about his plate plaintively.
Hearing the man mention it, Jarrion had to admit he rather did as well. You knew where you stood with grox. Preferably a safe distance away until it was properly dead and cooked. But once it was cooked at least you always knew just what to expect.
"And you, Loghain? Enjoying your meal?" Jarrion asked.
"Well, you eat with your eyes, really, so I'm operating at a disadvantage here."
"...quite."
She then shoved another forkful into her mouth with much gusto.
"Sh'good though," she said, chewing. Jarrion leaned further away from her.
"You know Loghain, I do sleep easier at night knowing fine agents of the Emperor such as yourself are watching over us," he said, turning his attention to Pak.
Pak - who lacked most of the equipment needed to take in solid food - was just playing with their meal, sculpting the mashed-and-or-pureed vegetable accompaniment into something with their fork.
"Enjoying yourself, Magos?" Jarrion asked.
Pak paused, slowly turned their head and then, equally slowly, gave Jarrion a thumbs up. They then immediately resumed sculpting their food.
Jarrion sighed.
"I always somehow imagined this role would carry more dignity…"
"So what do you think of Illium, Jarrion?" The Asari asked, rescuing Jarrion from sinking into despair by giving him an excellent excuse to talk, which also doubled as an excellent excuse to avoid eating any more.
"Hmm? Oh! Oh yes, yes, very impressive. I like the, ah, the tall buildings. Very well done. Rather reminds me of a few worlds I've visited before. Some hive worlds I've seen. Only perhaps a little more sparsely populated. Still, very well done, yes."
He did his best not to sound too condescending. He really did mean that they'd done a good job, for aliens. He hadn't seen any of the buildings collapse yet.
"Hive world? The planets of some...insect-intelligence?"
A stab in the dark there from the Salarian, and her attempt at small talk. Jarrion looked perplexed.
"What? No, nothing like that. Just, ah, a planetary classification. The Imperium has many planets, you see? All sorts of planets. Hive worlds are so-named and so-defined owing to their, well, their population centres resembling hives more often as not, I suppose. Lots of tall buildings, you see? Well, usually. Most commonly! And very populous, they are. Certainly most that I'm familiar with are rather more crowded than Illium."
Having done his reading on Illium Jarrion had already what it's population was listed as and had honestly found it shockingly low. Comparing it to a hive world was, even if one picked a fairly modest example, pretty laughable.
"Illium is, strictly speaking, only a colony world," the Asari pointed out.
This seemed very generous to Jarrion especially given his colonial experiences, but to each their own. Seemed like an attempt to exploit a tax loophole more than anything else, which at least demonstrated a vaguely commendable level of cunning. They were only aliens, after all.
"True, true, as I saw. Done well in a short time but still growing, yes. I am merely comparing the, ah, as you say, urban density to that which I have observed on hive worlds. A hive world would, of course, be more significant. Population-wise at least. Purely talking numbers," Jarrion said, acting as though he was about to keep eating while having no intention to do so.
"Would you have an example?" The Salarian asked.
Jarrion paused, cutlery hovering above the plate.
"Of a hive world? Oh, let me think. Off the top of my head? Hmm, there's always one…"
He thought to himself, stroking his chin with a finger. The example was lurking close to the surface of his thoughts. He could feel it, he was certain.
"What was it's name again? Tsch, if only Torian were here, he'd know. Hmm. Ultima Segmentum - not that that narrows it down! Hah! - father was there once, to talk to the Governor about acquiring some materiel and some men...oh what was it's name…" Jarrion tailed off, frowning, mouthing to himself a moment before sitting up so sharply he even managed to make Loghain jump, which was impressive given that she should have been impossible to surprise. "Minea! That was it! Minea!"
He'd snapped his fingers on saying this and looked very pleased with himself.
"And Minea is one of these Hive Worlds?" The Salarian asked with obviously rapidly diminishing patience.
Jarrion frowned at the alien. Why else would he have brought it up were it not? Was this alien slow? More slow than might be expected, rather.
"Yes, yes it is," he said.
"It's population being…?"
That took the wind out of Jarrion's sails and he went back to frowning and wracking his brain, either not noticing or not caring that the alien was plainly fishing for what might be a useful nugget of information about this maybe-fictional-maybe-not Imperium the interloper was claiming to come from.
"Oh, now let me think. Big number, always remembered it, always impressed me when I was younger - ah, yes: one hundred and fifty four billion. I think. More or less. Sorry I can't be more precise."
No-one around the table said anything after this. Even cutlery stopped moving. Even Shepard stopped eating.
The thinking was that this was a translation error, perhaps. It was not, and as this sunk in all those present grappled with this frankly unfeasibly big number. If not a translation error then a lie. But why such a ridiculous lie? What could he hope to gain from saying something like that?
Maybe just roll with it? See how deep a hole this madman could dig for himself. At some point this story of his would surely have to start unravelling, then they could actually start getting at the real details, maybe spot a thread that could lead back to where he was actually coming from.
"How is a world that heavily populated supported, just to ask?" The Asari asked.
"Oh, I don't know the details. Imports is usually how it's done. Likely needs the output of a good few local agriworlds just to keep going, but that's just the way of things, isn't it?" Jarrion asked, feeling this was a strange thing to ask.
Dedicating whole worlds to the support of others was not really the way of things, but no-one present felt compelled to point this out. If it was obvious to them and not to Jarrion, that in itself spoke volumes.
"Is Minea the capital world of the Imperium?" The Salarian asked instead.
"No! Of course not! That'd be Holy Terra," Jarrion said, briefly making another Acquila across his chest, the suggestion so ludicrous he felt a little affronted. "It's just a world. Rather a crowded one I'll admit but that's hardly unusual. There's hive worlds all over. All other kinds, too, like those agriworlds I mentioned - all other kinds! The Imperium is vast, after all. Man has dominion over the entire galaxy."
"And that was - this was - how - how many of these, uh, how many Hive Worlds would you say there are?" The Turian asked, furiously crunching numbers in their head and hating that they to doing so, even in a hypothetical capacity, but simply unable to stop themselves from wondering what the manpower output could be in this lunatic's made-up empire.
Jarrion really had no idea why they all seemed so bent out of shape all of a sudden.
"Oh, Emperor alone knows. Thousands of the damn things. Can you even imagine how tiring it would be to have to run such a place? Organising the tithes? Keeping order? It's hard enough keeping those few colonies I was entrusted with ticking over, and those are veritable ghost towns! It's like herding cats. Though, in the end, all that matters is that everyone from the lowest to the highest remembers their place, does their duty and obeys their betters, on and up to the Emperor himself, who of course has no betters, and there the buck stops. The system is perfect."
People, sadly, were often not. But that wasn't the fault of the system.
Jarrion had met a cat, once. He hadn't been impressed.
Strictly speaking the various colonies and worlds that House Croesus had founded or rediscovered should have been operating under their own Imperial Governors rather than being directly overseen by House agents, but there was still a transition period, you see? There was paperwork to be done before they could be fully integrated-slash-reintegrated into the Imperium. Had to do things properly.
And all that had to be done only when the worlds in question were ready anyway. Wouldn't do to rush things! Might make a mistake. Best to keep a gentle, House Croesus hand on the rudder until they were ready. Just to be sure.
They'd been in a state of getting ready for some time now, and continued to be so, and would likely continue to be so for some time yet, too.
Jarrion, on a tear, took another gulp of water and just carried on, everyone else too baffled to really interrupt:
"The Administratum sees to all of that, really though, all the fiddly bits, keeps everything ticking over. In a broad sense, I mean. Each world looks to itself course, but defers to the higher authority of the greater Imperium, the mechanics of which is the Administratum. Fiddly stuff, like I say. But vital! Looks after the Tithe. The busywork, you know? Can't all be mighty generals or, heh, dashing Rogue Traders, eh? Or scheming, underhanded Inquisitors…" He said, sparing a glance to the side.
"Aww, you remembered me."
"Get your hand off my leg, Loghain…" Jarrion growled.
"Tithe?" The Salarian asked.
All that was needed now was single-word prods to nudge Jarrion in the right direction. The man was in full flow. It was like trying to grab a loose hosepipe on full blast and not getting wet - it simply couldn't be done.
"Every world must contribute! Materials, men - who are their own material, after a fashion - whichever the planet is best suited to provide. Usually both. All planets have men, and all planets have something on them that is of at least some value. Else why would mankind settle there at all, eh? So yes, the Tithe. The Imperium collecting what is due to it. Simple enough, yes?"
"So...extracting tribute?" The Salarian followed-up. An idea was forming in her head of some sort of mini-empire that had somehow managed to flourish in some out-of-the-way area of space. Possible? Vaguely, but highly unlikely, and obviously nothing like what this human was describing.
She had heard of this human's activities in the Terminus - they all had - but that still begged the question of where he'd come from in the first place. And it obviously couldn't be where he was saying he was from. That hardly bore thinking about.
Jarrion meanwhile frowned just a tiny bit. She made the tithe sound sordid! Like extortion! Nothing could be further from the truth.
"Not at all! The tithe is an honour! Every one of the Emperor's planets is happy to provide, no matter how grand or how humble their assigned level may be. A place for everything and everything in its place. The Imperium is built on duty, after all, as I said. That and blood," he said.
Rather an ominous bit to tack on the end there, all the important persons present felt, and they exchanged another glance.
"Blood?" The Asari asked. Jarrion nodded seriously.
"The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Imperium, they say. They are not wrong. Mankind stands amidst enemies on all sides and always has. Luckily, if there is one thing the Imperium is not lacking for it is zealous souls ready to serve!"
"What was that line from Cardinal Blate again? 'Fear us, for we count the lives of planets, not men!'. I always rather liked that one," Loghain said with a mighty flourish of her fork, and Jarrion found himself nodding and agreeing with her, much to his surprise.
"Apt, very apt," he said.
More glances. Not that Jarrion noticed.