Chapter 21 – Ideological Ramblings
March 7th, 2211. Eagle Nebula, Amun System – Aboard the Exeter, Officer's Quarters
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Field Commander Thomas Locke – Project Transcendence)
She was just as beautiful as Locke remembered, looking exactly as she had the hundreds of other times Locke had visited her. Her blonde hair would always be like soft-spun gold, her eyes blue like the sky on a clear, hot, summer afternoon, and she'd always have that same, wry smile on her face every time Locke looked at her. Meanwhile Locke himself had aged and changed and become someone else.
I wonder… if she looked at me now, would she recognize me?
She'd never age and she'd never change, but that was because no matter how hard Locke prayed some nights she was still just a photo. And even if that photo were to age and fade she'd still look the same way in his memories, still frozen in time and as beautiful as the day he had left her. As long as he was around to remember her that is.
The N7 sat with his shoulders hunched protectively over the well-worn picture held almost reverently in his hands. Locke looked down and smiled at her. She was always smiling back. That was perhaps one of the only benefits of having a picture instead of having the actual person with you. Pictures could be used to record only the best memories, the best moments, leaving out all the bad, the yelling, the fighting, and the tears.
But a picture wasn't a real, breathing human being. It would never say 'I Love You' back—would never hold your hand or laugh at your jokes or kiss you goodnight or do any of those things that made love what it was.
And it wouldn't respond when you told it you were sorry, wouldn't tell you that it forgave you for leaving, for putting a job before her when she should have been your world. It wouldn't say that it was okay, that she understood, and that she was willing to give you a second chance.
Locke kissed the photo one last time, pretending as hard as I could that it was really her, even just for a moment, before sliding it back beneath his chestplate, tucked away securely in a secret compartment.
One day, soon, he promised. I'll make it all up to you.
The grizzled old soldier sighed and ran his hand over through his dark, greying hair.
The door behind him hissed open and Locke immediately stood up from where he'd been sitting on the bed, the mask he'd adopted and cultivated meticulously over the years on his face in an instant.
"Tom," greeted his oldest friend.
"Marcus," he returned.
Marcus extended a hand and Locke grabbed it, shaking it hard. As per usual, Marcus wore an impenetrable mask on his face as well, making it hard for Locke to determine whether or not Marcus was pleased or pissed off at this particular moment in time.
"What's the word?" Locke asked him.
The mask slipped ever so slightly and the smallest of smiles snuck its way onto Marcus' face. "Success. Zakiah has delivered the core and Tyrannus and his commandos have captured the facility and the satellites. We have control of the whole network of planetary defense cannons and their communications."
Locke nodded morosely but despite the good news he couldn't bring himself to look pleased. A successful first phase of our mission on Anhur meant that there had been complete civilian casualties at the objectives. It had been a necessary loss, one that neither Marcus nor Locke had wanted to incur but one that had to be incurred nonetheless.
Marcus noticed the look on Locke's face and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tom, I don't like it any more than you do, but you know what we're fighting for. You know what's at stake here. Sacrifices have to be made."
Locke nodded numbly in agreement. "Sacrifices have to be made…" he echoed, but how many? And for how much longer? How far could they go before they did more harm than good? Took more lives than they saved? How many more had to die before they could no longer claim that they had acted in the name of the greater good?
If they were successful on Anhur, then hundreds of thousands more would die before they could proceed with the next phase of their plan. Zakiah had planted the Core on the Harsa's Embrace and sent it on a collision course with Anhur's capital, New Thebes, nearly several hours ago, which meant that soon the entire colony would be overrun with those things and countless of innocents would die.
All in the name of the greater good.
"Sacrifices, Tom," Marcus continued. "You want to see and hold her again, just like I want to see and hold my son. There is no other way."
Marcus gently removed his hand from Locke's shoulder and sighed. The N7 turned to look at his friend. Marcus looked older than ever – grey streaks ran through his hair where none had been a mere few months ago. His eyes had grown haunted, his cheeks gaunt. His skin was pale and he looked to have lost at least ten pounds.
Locke sighed and rubbed my jaw before brushing past him to leave the room.
"For the sake of our souls Marcus, I hope you're right…"
March 7th, 2211. Eagle Nebula, Amun System – Aboard the Exeter, Bridge
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Field Commander Thomas Locke – Project Transcendence)
"All IFF tags accounted for, Admiral. Every last ship in the task force has successfully made it through the relay," reported crewman Khapoor. The communications officer entered it into the ship's log before firing off a copy to the admiral.
"Excellent," Marcus replied. "Have Castor take his battlegroup and blockade the relay, then tell Gladwyn to lend him one of her flotillas as well."
The communication officer's fingers were a blur as they manually inputted Marcus' orders.
"Have the rest of the task force move to rally point alpha," he further ordered.
"Yes, admiral…"
Locke stood in front of the bridge's holo-table in full N7 regalia, tapping his finger absent-mindedly on the casing of his M5 Phalanx as he watched the holograms of dozens of ships – mostly frigates and cruisers, but at least three carriers – move into position around the Exeter.
The unfamiliar silhouettes of numerous salarian prowlers and corvettes, as well as those of an asari light cruiser and several frigates, could also be seen interspersed within the predominantly human task force. It was quite the sight to behold, watching warships from multiple species flying together. The last time he'd seen something even remotely similar to this had been almost twenty-five years ago.
Beside him Marcus studied the layout of Anhur's planetary defense cannons. They were mainly situated over the planet's largest continent, the one that contained all the major cities. Now that they were under their control, Marcus' task group could theoretically hold off a relief fleet nearly five times the size of his task force. If all went well, however, they wouldn't have to fight an all-out space battle.
Hopefully they'd have time to complete this phase before the Council caught on and sent in their own strike group. They wouldn't send a whole fleet, Locke mused. No, that would anger the tenuous peace that they shared with the Terminus Systems. They'd send a small battlegroup at most – maybe a force of Alliance N7's backed by turian Ghosts and salarian STG, or even a couple of stealth frigates under the command of some of their legendary Spectres.
"Never thought I'd see the day when we'd fly side-by-side with the asari and the salarians once again," Marcus mused as he studied the tactical display.
Locke stopped tapping his gun and crossed his arms over his chest. "Misery makes for strange bedfellows," he grunted.
"Missing someone is most definitely not an exclusively human trait…" admitted Marcus. "Nonetheless you'd think that we'd have learned a little bit more about interspecies cooperation after the Reaper War."
The N7 gave a dry laugh. "We could definitely have used a few salarian prowlers at Bahak, or even a couple of extra Jaeger teams. Would have made taking those planetary defense cannons a lot easier."
"Agreed, salarian prowlers for up-to-date satellite imagery. We could have caught that ambush if they'd been there, and if the Jaegers had been given the space-op maybe the 63rd wouldn't have taken nearly 50% casualties taking the space cannons," Marcus pointed out.
"The Jaegers would have done it with less than 10%," Locke agreed. "When it comes to space boarding, your average Jaeger team would probably do as well as any team of N7's I could put together."
"Remind me why we didn't call them in again?"
"Politics," the N7 groaned. "Some desk-jockey with a few extra bars on his lapel coerced another desk-jockey to have the Jaegers help with the slave facilities instead. Waste of time if you ask me, the battalion assigned to that was more than capable of successfully completing the mission by themselves."
"A waste of life…" Marcus agreed.
For all the darkness and pain that the Reaper War had brought to their lives and to the galaxy, those who had fought it and survived had done so in the hopes that the galaxy would learn to help each other and work together.
The turians had played ball, for every colony of theirs they had attempted to rebuild they had helped to rebuild a colony of another species, and for their generosity they had suffered. Locke remembered when the Palaven Rebellions had broken out. He'd begged the Systems Alliance Security Defense Council to send military aid but he'd been denied.
That was not to say that the Systems Alliance hadn't made any strides in interspecies cooperation. The Jaegers were a prime example of that, posted in many systems in Council space to aid with any high-risk recovery missions that might arise in them. It was mainly the asari and the salarians who had withdrawn tightly into their shells following the Reaper War – the asari because that was what asari did, and the salarians because they feared ill-will from other species following the decision of their dalatrass to withhold salarian aid until the very end of the Reaper War.
Hell, even the newly arisen Krogan Federation and the Quarian and Geth Collective had done more to help the galaxy than the asari or the salarians. The quarians and the geth had sent out teams of tech and engineering specialists to many broken colonies to effect repairs, not once using their expertise to leverage exorbitant prices or valuable goods, while the krogan had done their best to protect hapless refugees from slavers. The Alliance officer who'd formed the Jaegers had actually gotten the idea for the Jaegers from a particularly cunning and intelligent krogan warchief.
A set of light footsteps pulled Locke out of his thoughts. Both the N7 and the admiral turned to acknowledge the newcomer as she moved to take her place between them at the holo-table.
She was in her late fifties, her blonde, graying hair was done up in a tight bun and she was wearing a white labcoat. Although the wrinkles around her eyes were starting to become more and more apparent, her eyes themselves were as bright and intelligent as ever. She nodded to both of them and smiled at them. Locke and Marcus simultaneously greeted the woman by her codename, as was the protocol.
To their surprise, the woman waved her hand and rolled her eyes. "Please, I think the time for secrecy disintegrated the moment Marcus ran off with the whole fleet," she laughed. Around the bridge Locke could see the crew stealing quick, covert glances at the legendary 'Mordred' — the woman who had promised to reunite them with their loved ones.
Marcus shrugged and turned his attention back to the holo-table. "Suit yourself Alice, but it was your security protocols that allowed us to operate undetected for so long. It'd be a shame to grow overconfident just as we're about to finally move in to the next stages of our plans, especially with the Council now possibly on our tail."
Alice sighed and placed her palms on the edge of the holo-table with a grimace.
"I know, but I'm tired, Marcus. I just don't want to have to hide what we're trying to do any longer. Maybe if we had simply told them what we intended to do then we wouldn't have had to resort to such extreme measures," Alice lamented. "Maybe the people would have supported us."
It was a different time, a different place, Locke thought.
Locke rubbed his jaw with an armored gauntlet and shook his head. "They would never have understood, how could they?" Maybe some would indeed have supported her, but Locke knew that the vast majority of the Systems Alliance would never have condoned the steps that they would have had to take to accomplish their goal.
Marcus nodded in agreement. "They wouldn't understand. But you're not completely wrong about the need for secrecy being somewhat past. If the Council didn't know we existed then, they most certainly do now, especially if those Spectres survived the Hippocrates."
"Nonetheless," his friend continued, "if you'd like we'll stop referring to you by your codename as long as were in a relatively secure location. However, I think Locke and I would both sleep better if our operatives stuck to your protocols, at least as long as they're out in the field."
"We need you, you're the one thing we can't risk," Locke told her. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.
The doctor's hands tightened into fists as she drove them deeper into the holo-table. "I'm sick and tired of all this secrecy, like what we want makes us evil. I'm sick and tired of hiding what we're trying to do, is what we're trying to accomplish truly something so terribly, horribly wrong?"
It wasn't, or at least so Locke thought, but that was never the issue. The issue had always been the price. What had happened aboard the Hippocrates had shaken all of them to their cores, and yet it would pale to what they we're about to do now to the people of Anhur.
Alice dug her fingers into her palms. "What we've done, the damage and pain we've caused, I know that all of it is on some level unforgiveable, believe me, but all of it is a price I'd pay without hesitation if I were given the choice all over again. I guess I just need something as simple as having my name being used to remind me that at heart I'm still human even after all these terrible choices…"
The three of them had been there since the beginning, when Alice had first come to him and Marcus with her findings and her plan more than two decades ago. Since then they'd all been forced to do some truly, truly terrible things, things that like Alice sayd they'd never really be forgiven for. Things that they wouldn't hesitate to do a thousand times again if it meant one more chance with the people they loved.
"The Embrace should be making landfall in a few minutes, and Severus reported that they managed to take the cannons and the satellites with zero casualties," Marcus told her in an attempt to cheer Alice up.
"Yes," Locke added, "Hopefully after Anhur, no one else needs to die."
Alice wiped away the few tears that had started to form beneath her eyelids. She put on a shaky smile and nodded at her two friends.
"I'm glad to know Severus and his team are safe, and I hope you're right, Tom. Now if you'll excuse me, there are some preparations I have to attend to before we make planetfall."
With that the scientist turned and left the bridge. Marcus and Locke shared a glance with each other before returning their attention to the holo-table.
"Admiral, all ships have made it to the Rally point, we're ready to initiate phase two," reported crewman Khapoor.
"Excellent," Marcus replied. "Flight Lieutenant Mulligan, take us in. Crewman Khapoor, signal the task force to commence phase two."
"Aye aye, sir," the two bridge officers chorused.
The rest of the officers on the bridge held their breath as the ships slipped one by one into the web of planetary defense cannons. If Severus' 'all-clear' had been falsified or someone managed to turn them on at the last minute, the entire task force might very well be ripped apart in minutes.
Locke sensed that Marcus had been more unnerved by Alice's words than he'd let on. His friend shifted uneasily in place and cleared his throat. "Tom, what Alice said about maintaining our humanity, do you really think it's even possible?"
It was something Locke asked himself every day. He understood the moral conflict within both Alice and Marcus because it was something that he struggled with as well. Back in the early years when project transcendence had been nothing more than talk and theories none of them had any compunction about the things that they were doing, but they'd done some truly horrible things in the last few weeks and they intended to do even more terrible things in the days to come. Did it all irrevocably change who they were?
And even if they were to change for the worse, was there anything they could even do to restore their souls. Was forgiveness attainable or was restoring their humanity a pipe dream—something they'd attempt and seek in order to try and sooth their conscience with but in the end pointless and irrelevant.
Locke stood in silence as he pondered his friend's question. Since when did Marcus ever display even the slightest hint of self-doubt? Sure, he probably had some thoughts from time-to-time, but for as long as Locke had known him the naval officer had never had anything other than ice water running through his veins. In front of others and in front of his men, Marcus was never anything but sure.
"I don't know Marcus," he finally replied. "Maybe the fact that we're doing this for a 'good' reason might just be enough to keep our humanity intact, or maybe we're just kidding ourselves and what we've done has permanently damned our souls beyond measure."
Marcus grinned at his friend, something he seldom did. "Damn, look how maudlin we've become in our old age."
Locke chuckled and shoved the smaller man. "I never heard you once question our humanity when we were mowing down Reaper troops, eliminating terrorist cells, or assassinating corrupt officials"
"What's this 'we' business? You were the N7, I was just a naval officer stuck in a chair."
The N7 grinned back at his friend. No, he didn't know whether or not he was still human after doing the things he did. He didn't know if there was anything that he could do that would ever make up for the crimes he'd committed. He had no idea if the price of bringing her back would be exacting beyond measure on his soul and on his humanity.
But as his fingers brushed lightly against his chestplate, where the picture was kept right over his heart, Locke knew that it was a price he'd happily pay.
March 7th, 2211. Eagle Nebula, Amun system, Anhur – Planetary Defense Cannon Main Generator
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Field Commander Severus Tyrannus – Project Transcendence)
The air inside the facility reeked with the scent of ruptured bowels, blood, urine, and burning flesh.
Severus tilted his head up into the air as a pained and terrified scream echoed through the emptying corridors. Biting back a snarl he strode out of the operations center, followed closely by his lieutenant and his de-facto second-in-command, Darken Krystos.
"We shouldn't have brought him," Severus said quietly. Although his tone was flaccid the menacing flanging beneath it did not go unnoticed by his subordinate.
"We had no idea what kind of resistance we'd be encountering," Darken rasped. In contrast to Severus' pale-white carapace, light-blue clan markings and blood-red eyes, Darken had dark-brown plates and bone-white markings, with light-green eyes. He was also a good half-a-foot taller and much bulkier than the slimmer, younger turian.
"Better to have him and not need him than to need him and not have him," he finished.
Severus scoffed. "Technicians and maintenance workers, security guards too fat for their uniforms and a few cooks. Hardly worthy opponents."
Darken didn't reply, he merely kept a regulation three paces behind his superior, his Phaeston held tightly in a ready position across his chest.
The screaming eventually died. Both the turian saboteurs rounded the corner to see another massive turian clad in similar, angular, matte-black armor standing over the smoldering corpse of what had been a batarian technician. His omni-tool was activated and he had an M-300 Claymore in the other hand.
Despite being half a foot shorter and possibly fifty pounds lighter, the younger turian grabbed the offending saboteur and slammed him into the wall, eliciting a snarl from the larger turian.
Severus violently pulled Brutus' face down so that his own face was within inches of the bigger turians. Behind Severus, Darken stood and watched impassively as his friend and commanding officer dressed down the much more physically imposing turian as if he was nothing more than a child.
"No fire, no heavy weapons, nothing but knives and un-modded ammunition. Clean kills," Severus menacingly reprimanded the renegade turian.
The larger turian stared petulantly into the blood-red eyes of the smaller saboteur. "My Claymore was out of ammunition and the batarian was carrying a Carnifex," he snarled.
Both Darken and Severus eyed the smoldering corpse before them. An old, Y-series Carnifex was indeed holstered at the waist of the deceased tech. Both turians also couldn't help but note that the batarian had fallen onto his front, indicating that he had been running away from something, not towards.
"The heatsink on that relic would have overheated long before it penetrated your kinetic barriers," Severus snarled back. His normally implacable demeanor had been tested by the one-sidedness of their assault upon the facility and finally been breached by the knowledge that his subordinate had violated the rules of engagement on a fleeing technician.
Brutus Mara'kin didn't deign to reply in the face of the smaller turians ire. There was a reason that they all followed Severus, and not simply because of the dynasty from which he hailed from. He had seen first-hand many times what Severus could do.
Instead, Brutus decided to do the smart thing and kept his mouth shut and his mandibles tight to his jaws. That way he had the best chance of leaving this facility alive so that he could fight once more.
As quickly as it had come, the anger left Severus' eyes and the unblinking, hardened mask came crashing back down. He released his hold on the larger turian and shoved him away, disgust evident in his expression and in the look he gave the murderous turian.
"Take your team to the main generator, you'll be staying behind with the reinforcements from orbit, in case they try to retake this facility," Severus ordered him.
Brutus scowled and glared petulantly at both his commanding officer and his second-in-command. Severus' angry stare had faded away to be replaced with his usual glassy-eyed, disinterested look, but it didn't mean that Brutus was off the hook. The younger turian commando was notoriously hard to read, even for a turian. Just because he didn't look angry didn't mean that Severus wasn't mere milliseconds away from ending Brutus' life.
But luckily for Brutus, killing in cold blood wasn't Severus' style. Brutus himself would have ripped out the throat of anyone who dared challenge him with a swipe of his talons without a second thought, even if the individual were to be on his knees, begging for his life.
Darken Krystos on the other hand, now that was a turian who knew the joys of unrestrained violence. Although Darken was as equally stony and impassive as Severus was and beholden to the same misconstrued notion of turian nobility and honor, Brutus had nonetheless seen the hulking turian gun down dozens of unarmed terrorists, rip out the throats of surrendering slavers, and execute frightened gang members. His honor and nobility did not extend to those he considered scum. Only his loyalty to Severus and the younger turian's antiquated notions of honor prevented Krystos from becoming the angel of death that he had the potential to be. Brutus would have happily served under an unrestrained Krystos.
"Take your team to the generator," repeated Severus.
Brutus blinked to clear his mind, then clipped his Claymore to his back and saluted. "Yes sir."
He spun on his heels and proceeded down the hall, one talon on his comms and relaying the young turian's orders to the rest of his team. Although Brutus would have preferred to accompany the rest of the commandos to New Thebes, he knew that when the Council inevitably sent a force to retake Anhur, they'd have to first regain control of the cannons and they'd send their best to do so. Brutus would have the fight he craved.
Severus watched his subordinate walk away with a heavy sigh.
"Are you sure it will be wise to leave Brutus' team here at the facility?" Darken rasped to his commanding officer. "His commandos are among our fiercest fighters…"
"Fiercest… and most bloodthirsty, more varren than turian," Severus replied. "They have grown too wild ever since we've initiated this campaign. I do not know how much longer I can restrain them."
The larger turian cocked his head in confusion. Not many had the courage to question Severus Tyrannus, but the two had known each other for a long time. "But to leave them here? A waste of fighting ability that we may yet need."
Severus looked at the only turian he'd ever considered to be his friend and smiled. "No, not a waste at all."
The red-eyed turian's gaze went unfocused as he sifted through his own memories. "You know me, Darken. I have never been bested in combat, broke hundreds of training records and defeated every single one of my peers and every single one of my drill sergeants before I was even sixteen. I was to be one of, if not the, youngest Blackwatch recruit in the history of the Hierarchy. That is not pride, it is fact."
Darken nodded. Severus had been a prodigy the likes of which no turian had ever seen. Unfortunately, nothing he did, not the records he broke nor the missions he completed had ever fully sated his desire to prove himself. That desire to develop his true potential had been what had driven the young turian to abandon his rising star in the Hierarchy for a career as a private contractor.
Severus pulled his mandibles tight to his jaw and continued quietly. "Aboard the Hippocrates there were these two Spectres. One, a turian, fought with a natural talent that almost rivaled my own. You know him perhaps, he is the legendary Cade Kitiarian."
Darken nodded again. Everyone knew about the Hero of Palaven. Slightly older than Severus and also the youngest son from a prestigious dynasty back on Palaven, Cade was universally hailed as a hero throughout turian space for his actions in saving the Primarch of Palaven during the Rebellions.
"I bested Cade," Severus continued. "He was the best that I'd ever fought, and on any other day he might have bested me. After our fight I remember how happy I was, thinking to myself that I'd finally found someone worthy of fighting."
It was to the bigger turian's surprise when Severus suddenly let out a tiny laugh. Severus Tyrannus was known for many things but laughter, humor and good nature were definitely not any of them.
"But the second Spectre, Darken! He was every bit as equally cunning and as talented as Cade was, and a biotic no less. He was neither the fastest, strongest, nor the most biotically-talented individual I'd ever fought, with no formal martial arts training, but inside he had this fire, this anger, so imagine my surprise when mere hours after I'd finally found someone equal to me, I found someone even better."
Severus turned to his second-in-command. "And his eyes, they were like glowing chips of ice, so full of pain and anger and hate. A truly worthy opponent, perhaps the most dangerous opponent I'd ever fought."
The younger turian smiled. "So no, it will not be a waste at all to have Brutus and his team remain here, for when the Council inevitably discovers our presence here they will undoubtedly send him to retake the cannons."
Finally Darken understood. Either Brutus would kill or wound the Spectre or the Spectre would kill Brutus. Either way, a threat was handled.
Severus looked once more at the corpse of the batarian technician. Mordred's orders had left no room for interpretation – everyone inside the facility had to die, they couldn't risk the planetary defense cannons being reactivated.
But killing did not mean butchering. Severus took no pleasure in ending the lives of those he considered weaker than him. No, it was a waste. Better to spare them and give them a chance to grow into a worthy opponent.
The two turians eventually met up with the rest of their commandos and proceeded out to the landing pad where a pair of shuttles were currently touching down. Out of them streamed nearly a whole platoon of fellow soldiers. Most of them were humans who were wearing Systems Alliance armor that had been painted black, but there were also several salarian engineers and even a trio of asari commandos.
One of the human marines with a pair of blacked-out lieutenant's bars made his way over to Severus and saluted smartly.
"Field Commander Tyrannus, Lieutenant Hershal reporting for duty," the defector reported.
Severus nodded and jabbed a talon over his shoulder. "Report to Team Commander Brutus Marak'in. You should find him in the main generator room."
"Sir," Hershal replied. With a brief nod he began to direct his men into the facility.
Darken and Severus watched quietly as their fellow defectors departed. Their fellow commandos were arrayed in a staggered semi-circle behind them, weapons across their chests and their tinted visors gazing steadily at the backs of the departing platoon.
"You'd think they'd have sent more men," Darken said quietly.
Severus shook his head. "No, our actions on Anhur may be bold but secrecy is still a top priority. We need to minimize our presence. Once Admiral Octavian's task force finishes deploying their cargo they too will slip away. Hopefully the Council won't even know that they were here."
Darken chuckled. "And you truly believe that they won't find out?"
The pale turian smiled lightly. "No, but even if Octavian's task force is discovered, they nonetheless will still be long gone. Either way, there is no need to flood the planet with our troops, especially once those creatures are unleashed once more."
He gestured for his commandos to start loading onto the shuttles. Just in case, Severus decided to take a different shuttle than Darken. It wouldn't do for both of them to perish in some freak accident.
"I'll see you back on the Exeter," Darken waved in farewell. Severus nodded in return.
The doors to the shuttle slid shut with a hiss and Severus moved to take a seat beside one of the other commandos on his team. He strapped in just as the shuttle's miniature drive core kicked in and they were propelled towards the atmosphere.
"Sir?" asked one of the commandos, Quintus Gallian. "Was it really necessary to kill all those people?"
Severus sighed and closed his eyes. He was only twenty-three years old and yet Quintus, a veteran nearly forty years old, still talked to him like Severus was his sergeant. Sometimes he questioned whether or not he deserved such loyalty and faith from turians nearly twice his age and with more fighting experience than he'd been alive.
"Quintus, my friend, Mordred has been nothing but transparent about what we fight for," he began.
"Were it for a lesser, more selfish goal, you know that I would have killed her myself." Severus continued. "We left the legions to become something more, to do something great with our lives that the rigidity of the Hierarchy would never have allowed."
He looked at each of his commandos in turn – turians who he had known and fought alongside for years, turians who had overlooked his youth when he had first joined them in light of his raw talent and had treated him with the same respect that they'd treat their own generals, captains, and fathers.
When he'd abandoned the legions, he'd done so in the hopes of finding something truly worth fighting for, something worth dedicating his talents to. It had been a decision his own highly traditional father had neither understood nor forgave him for. Severus had simply grown sick and tired of fighting for the glory of some outdated, archaic government body, he wanted to fight for something more.
These turians had shared his vision, they had placed their faith in him and so far all he had to show for it was a thousand souls physically twisted beyond all recognition aboard a Systems Alliance ship and a planet full of innocents about to be subject to the same fate. It all left a bad taste in his mouth and an aching in his chest.
He pondered his words for a second before resuming his speech. "I know that I myself will never truly be rid of the shame that some of my recent actions have brought me and believe me, I regret asking each of you to share in that burden…"
Each turian nodded at him in turn. Those at the facility, they had been technicians and janitors, cooks and maintenance. None of them had been true warriors. None of them had deserved to die.
And yet Severus and his commandos had still cut them down. It would be a mark of shame that they'd be forced to carry for the rest of their lives, no matter the intention behind their actions.
"…But think of the lives that we will have saved. I know that it might be hard to see the light right now, brothers, especially with the blood of so many innocents on our hands, but I believe that the sacrifices we make and the sacrifices we demand will indeed justify the end."
"Die for the cause," he finished.
"Die for the cause," echoed the turian commandos around him.
March 9th, 2211. Eagle Nebula, Amun system, – Aboard the Exeter, Officer's Quarters
Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…
(Field Commander Severus Tyrannus – Project Transcendence)
Severus double-checked the firing mechanism of his M-11 Suppressor once more before re-assembling the weapon and holstering it on his thigh. His M-97 Viper already sat on his back, having already been cleaned and inspected three times over the last hour.
Had his father been here, Severus would have been forced to not only clean and maintain his weapons, but also to inspect each and every single one of his arc grenades, perform maintenance on his armor, and ensure that his room was immaculately stowed away.
But luckily for the red-eyed turian, his father wasn't here. His father had declared him dead for being a terrible turian and now he could simply clean his guns in peace, put off armor maintenance for another few days, and check his arc grenades at his own leisure rather than every six hours. His bed would remain undone and his clothes and the components of his gear cleaning kit could remain strewn across the room.
A knock sounded outside of his door. Severus toggled on his omni-tool and checked the security feed. It was Locke.
"Come in," the turian called out.
The door slid open and in walked the human N7. He was already wearing his armor, the red stripe of paint on his right arm pitted and scarred and fading in some places. His cold, blue eyes were glassy and a bit forlorn, giving the old soldier the appearance of being always on the verge of tears, or at least so Severus thought.
"We got them," Locke told him. "One of Castor's frigates finally got off a lucky shot when they were about two parsecs from the relay."
Severus stood up and grabbed his armored cuirass from the foot of his bed, clipping it onto his undersuit and tightening the clamps.
"Did they manage to send off a comm. buoy?" the turian asked.
Locke sighed and nodded wearily. "Our sensors didn't pick one up, but knowing the STG they probably had the tech to cloak it. Either way, Alice is moving along with the assumption that they got one out and that the Council will find soon find out that we're here."
It was sometimes hard decipher what Locke was thinking, even for a human. He could be remarkably stone-faced, as stoic as any turian, but these last few weeks had added years to the N7's face. The crimes that they had committed had battered down his carefully-maintained walls to the point where Severus could now see the weariness just leaking out of the man.
"Is it Alice now? What happened to 'Mordred'?" he asked quietly. Severus proceeded to put on his armor legplates as Locke crossed his arms and leaned casually against the door jamb.
"Alice has been having an existential crisis of faith. Regardless, 'Mordred' wants you and your commandos down on the ground within the hour. You'll be supervising overall field operations while we search for one of their scientists. You'll also be protecting her, she insists on going down there herself."
The plates above Severus' eyes rose in surprise. "She's on the ground?"
"Yeah," nodded Locke. "Equal parts scientific expertise and equal parts easing of conscience. Zakiah's also going with her."
Severus hated the insane salarian. He constantly prattled on about transcendence as if it was some sort of religious rapture, talking about 'eternal life' and 'deliverance' and 'the lies of the bastard Shepard'.
He had acquired a few new scars aboard the Hippocrates, courtesy of the cold-eyed Spectre, and now required a constant supply of painkillers in order to function properly. Unfortunately that hadn't taught the crazed former STG captain the value of shutting the hell up. There were days when Severus sorely regretted saving the bloodthirsty, crazed salarian. He'd not been good to work with.
Of course, Olivia had been worse than Zakiah – had been much more impulsive, sadistic, and psychotic than the demented salarian. She however had disobeyed directives, disappeared aboard the Hippocrates and was most likely dead. Severus was willing to bet his prized M-97 Viper that it had been the cold-eyed Spectre who'd finally shut her up.
"The salarian is a liability," Severus said flatly. "His presence will be a detriment, just like Olivia's was."
Locke sighed and nodded his head in agreement. "That may be, but you don't take your eyes off a rabid dog, Sev. He may be crazy but he has absolutely everything to lose if he screws this up for us. Plus, you and your commandos are the only ones I trust to keep him in check."
The turian looked at him with a flat stare, then sat down on the bed, dipped his head and sighed as well.
"I hate what we've been reduced to, Locke. In bed with the devil, as you humans say."
The N7 crossed the room and sat down beside the despondent young turian. He gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I know, and I'm sorry Sev. And it's not just you, Marcus and Alice have felt the same way ever since the Hippocrates, all I know is that we're in too deep to turn back now."
Locke set his lips in a grim line and continued on. "I need you, Sev. Everyone here needs you. Without you and your commandos we don't have any hope of succeeding. I know it's a lot to ask and unfair to do so, but I'm sorry, there's no other choice."
The red-eyed turian sat silently. The last few months had weighed heavily on his soul. Most of the individuals in project transcendence were like Locke – individuals who'd lost loved ones during the Reaper War. They were driven by what Severus considered to be noble reasons. They were rational and conscientious and understood that the things that they had to do to accomplish their goals would be considered criminal at best, horrific at worst.
Others were like Zakiah or Olivia, driven by demons such as greed, sadism, and a love of pain. Back on the Hippocrates it had taken all of Severus' self-restraint not to cut down both of the other two lead saboteurs for killing defenseless, unchanged crewmen, and he kicked himself at least once a day for saving Zakiah's life from the cold-eyed Spectre. If only they didn't need the assistance or the expertise of such twisted monsters.
Severus decided then and there that the moment Zakiah ceased to be useful or jeopardized the mission or their morals with his sick tendencies once more, Severus himself would kill the former STG captain with his bare hands. That would be an act that he himself would consider with absolute certainty to be an act of good.
"My commandos will do their job, Locke. We'll keep Mordred safe as the next phase of the project occurs and we'll keep an eye on Zakiah," Severus finally conceded.
Locke smiled. "Thanks Sev. Your commandos are already in the hangar bay, waiting on you."
His job done, he stood up and made his way towards the exit. Severus tracked the departing N7 with blood-red eyes and an unreadable expression on his face.
"And Locke?" he rasped.
The N7 turned around. "Yes?"
"You're a good man, don't lose that trying to bring her back," Severus whispered.
He could see the look of pain that flashed ever so briefly over his fellow saboteur's eyes. Severus hadn't intended to cause him distress – he liked Locke, considered him not only a damn good soldier but an honorable individual with a good heart, one who was fighting for a noble goal. He'd only meant to remind him that Severus would not consider it a favorable trade if Locke lost all these traits in the pursuit of his ghost.
The rogue N7 nodded before turning again and exiting the room, leaving the pale, red-eyed turian to sit in silence for a few more moments before he had to dirty his hands once more.