You ever get the feeling the world's filling up with bastards? I do. What I want to know is what happens when all the bastards run out of people to crap on? What happens when all that's left in the world is bastards? . . . The golden rule. Screw unto others before they screw unto you. ― William Hoffman, A Place For My Head

Ài – [愛 – love] (whether spoken by Xiùlán or Samantha, the meaning is 'Luv')]
Article 32, UCMJ – An investigation that is the equivalent of a pretrial hearing in civilian court.
Cover – Military (Marines and Navy) name for an officer's hat. Another term for any formally fitting hat.
OMPF – Official Military Personnel File. Administrative record, containing information about the subject's service history,
· · · · · · ·such as: date/type of enlistment/appointment; duty stations and assignments; training, etc.
MP – Military Police
Qīzi – [妻子 – wife]
SDU – Standard Duty Uniform
UCMJ – Uniform Code of Military Justice

• SYSTEMS ALLIANCE BASE, SAN DIEGO, CA · EARTH, SOL SYSTEM •
⸰ Wednesday, 16 January 2222-CE ⸰

A squad of Marines accompanied Navy Commander Jolena Pitts as she quietly entered the base administration building and moved deliberately to the reception desk outside the office of the base commanding officer. When she stopped in front of the desk, the petty officer on duty stood up and asked, "What may I do for you, Ma'am?"

Pitts offered the young man the datapad she was carrying as she replied, "I have been ordered to relieve your CO of his duties, take him into custody, and perform a search of his office and quarters. A certified copy of the arrest warrant, outlining the charges against him, along with the search authorization—all issued by the Fleet Admiral—is on this device."

Petty Officer Seth Hensley listened with growing disbelief as Pitts spoke; upon accepting the datapad, he took several moments to scan the contents on the screen. Returning his gaze to the woman's eyes, he replied with a shocked near-whisper, "It appears everything is in order, Commander. Please, follow me." He came out from behind the counter and walked into a broad passageway to the right; stopping in front of a closed door at the end of the hall, he rapped on its surface and hesitantly stated, "General Joesiar? Commander Jolena Pitts is here to see you."

Hensley waited for several seconds before banging his knuckles on the door once more. "General?" The only response this time was a nearly unintelligible grunt of "Come." The petty officer opened the door, entered the rather large room, and stopped a few meters away from the ornate desk behind which the general was ensconced.

"What in hell is this, then?" he asked, as Pitts and the six Marines—all wearing side-arms—entered behind Hensley, with the squad taking up positions in a curved formation behind the commander, each an arms-length apart.

Hensley gingerly approached the desk and carefully placed the datapad given him by Commander Pitts on the edge. He stepped back quickly, as if afraid of being bitten, and stated, "These are orders, Sir … from the fleet admiral. You're … "

He was interrupted as Jolena moved past him to take up a position half-a-meter from the massive desk. She came to attention as she said, "General, you are hereby relieved of command. My orders are to take you into custody and escort you to the base shuttle terminal, where you will be given priority passage to the secure detention center at joint base Vancouver."

General Bradley Joesiar placed both hands flat on the surface of his desk and slowly stood from his chair. Leaning over the top of the massive piece of furniture in an obvious attempt to physically intimidate her, he replied, "As I don't answer to you, Commander, I don't think I'll be going anywhere with you today!"

Pitts clasped her hands behind her back as she said, "General, I am an officer with the JAG Corps; regardless of your rank or seniority, I actually do have the authority to detain you. Your objections to this action have been noted but mean nothing whatsoever to me." She glanced around at the grim-faced master gunnery sergeant leading the Marine squad. "Master Guns?"

Three of the other five squad members joined their sergeant as he moved around behind the desk. Pulling the general's chair back and out of the way, he calmly stated, "With all due respect, Sir, you can either walk out of here, or be carried, but you will be accompanying us out of this office to the shuttle terminal."

The general half-turned to angrily glare at the gunnery sergeant for several long, tense moments, before breaking eye contact to glance briefly at each of the other Marines standing close by; it was quite obvious these Marines were not pleased at having to detain a fellow Marine, and a major general at that. Finally caving in, he loudly gave voice to more opinions as he began moving past the desk. "This is someone's idea of a joke! Preposterous! I've done nothing to merit this disrespectful treatment! This is an insult! Someone is going to pay dearly for this!"

Commander Pitts retrieved the datapad as the Marines escorted the general out of his opulent office. "It's all spelled out on this device, General. You can read about all of the charges against you during your trip to the stockade in Vancouver."

As the general's luck would have it, an ANN correspondent with an AI-controlled hover-camera was on the base; Iris Dunnigan was conducting interviews for an upcoming segment about the difficulties facing the military in their efforts to recruit people to join either the Marines or Navy.

Noticing unexpected movement at the administration building, Dunnigan directed the camera to refocus its attention on the obviously angry general as he was escorted out of the building by a Navy Commander and four Marine MPs. She was too far away to obtain any comments, so after recording the six people leaving the base in an eight-passenger police speeder, she walked over to the admin building and strolled inside, with the expectation that she could learn more about what had just transpired.

Upon encountering Petty Officer Seth Hensley, she attempted to learn why the general had been escorted off the base, only to receive a tight-lipped, "No comment," to each of her inquiries.

• SYSTEMS ALLIANCE BASE, VANCOUVER, BC · EARTH, SOL SYSTEM •
⸰ Thursday, 17 January 2222-CE ⸰

Having never seen Joesiar's uncle until this day—even in photos or on vids—I took a great deal of interest in viewing ANN reporter Iris Dunnigan's next-day coverage of his arrest in San Diego. I was somewhat taken aback by the physical appearance of a scowling, visibly angry General Bradley Joesiar as, accompanied by an unidentified Navy Commander—I later discovered her name was Jolena Pitts—and surrounded by four very large, extremely grim-faced Marines, he was unceremoniously escorted out of the base administration building. I inquired of my Qīzi, "Why not a full squad?"

"Given the amount of corruption … and the number of crimes with which the general will most likely be charged, I expect two of the Marines remained behind to conduct a thorough search of his office suite and personal living quarters. I'd presume at least one of them would be an expert at cracking encrypted files …" she replied, then added with a wry chuckle, " … even though I doubt the man possesses the mental acumen required to encrypt any of the files he may have saved." We continued to watch with interest as he was confined in the rear of an armored and shielded military police speeder, which then left the base through the main gate.

Over the course of the day, I amused myself by further studying the general's physical appearance each time the video of his arrest was rebroadcast by ANN. What really grabbed my attention was only revealed when he removed his cover to climb into the speeder. It was readily apparent that he had long since lost most of the hair on top of his head; in order to cover his bald pate, it looked as if he took great pains to arrange what remained of the pale, grayish-orange strands on the sides and back into an atrocious looking "comb over".

In this day and age, it was a point of pride for most humans to maintain themselves in good physical condition, even well past their centenary celebration. General Joesiar was a rather conspicuous—and seemingly shameless—exception. Overall, he appeared to be quite heavy, to the point of nearing morbid obesity. His uniform jacket may have been well-tailored when originally made but was no longer a good fit; it was much too tight across the shoulders, and the tautness of the fabric across his ample middle seemingly threatened to pop the buttons. It was interesting to see that the Marines had elected to not confine his hands with wrist-binders … I expected it was partially out of respect for the man's rank and position, but also because he was most-likely incapable of placing them together behind his back.

His face looked unnaturally florid, as if he habitually over-applied some sort of orange-tinted bronzer, and I got the impression it was swollen with adipose tissue, as he no longer possessed any visible jaw line. Small, beady eyes, although difficult to clearly view past jutting brows and corpulent cheeks, looked to be the same shade of pale blue as his nephew's. He also appeared to have very small hands, which looked even smaller when held close to his stout torso. I mentally shook my head, thinking, Too much over-indulgence, combined with extremely soft living … he looks as if he's just two or three Varren Skewers away from a massive—and fatal—cardiac arrest.

During our dinner, Xiùlán shared that the Alliance Navy had transported the general here to Vancouver for his confinement, where he would be held under house arrest while the Article 32 investigation into his alleged crimes was carried out.

"Why in 'ell did they bring him here? Why not lock him up in San Diego?"

"Can't really say for sure, Sà mǐ, but I expect the number of people that owe allegiance to that man … in the form of loyalty and favors … is far less here than the number in San Diego. I expect him being restricted to quarters here will make it easier to keep track of him, since he'll only be subjected to house-arrest. Once the Article 32 proceedings are concluded, the JAG Corps will proceed with his court-martial … probably in the same courtroom where his miserable nephew was recently tried and convicted, and where Osoba was tried and convicted for corruption."

"Yīnguǒ bàoyìng, [因果報應 – karma; retribution for sin] Xiùlán. Unfortunately, Osoba is still breathing free air while his appeal works its way through the system."

Xiùlán chuckled as she replied, "The general's Article 32 investigation will be quite thorough, so will take a number of weeks … perhaps even several months. Fortunately, as former Councilor Osoba was so thoroughly investigated, a majority of the facts and figures needed to convict the general have already been documented." She paused for a few moments before concluding, "All that said, I'll honestly be surprised if he sees the inside of a courtroom before the end of the year.

"Should I ask Griff for some help? I'd be willing to bet the general was in bed with Jack Harper, before and during the war."

Xiùlán cocked her head in step with raising one eyebrow. "That may not be a bad idea, Sà mǐ. If Buchanan and his people can find proof of the general's wartime collusion with Cerberus, it will go a long way to seeing him spend what's left of his life sitting in a prison cell."

I chuckled as I raised my omnitool. "I'll make the call."

• INSIDE IRINGÙ-EẞIZKUR, AT LARGE · WIDOW SYSTEM, SERPENT NEBULA •
⸰ Tuesday, 19 March 2222-CE · · · Two Months After General Joesiar's Arrest ⸰

Iringù-Eßizkur, inbound from Parnitha in the Athena Nebula, had just cleared the Widow relay and steadied up on an Approach Control-approved vector for the Citadel, when the two-tone chiming alarm from my comms system alerted me to an incoming vid-call. Upon sitting at my console and completing the connection, I was thrilled to see a familiar face on the monitor. "General Park! What a pleasant surprise! It's been quite some time since you left Vancouver." Taking note of the location tag below her image, I asked, "You staying on the Citadel now?"

With the cheeky grin I'd come to cherish over the years, she replied, "Retired general, Sammy. Been here for a few months now, and it's damn good to speak with you again! Looks like you just cleared the relay. Can we meet somewhere for lunch, or dinner? It'll give us a chance to catch up."

"Of course … your choice, for either meal. For lunch, I know of an asari-centric café in Delta Ward—the Bluestone Grille features excellent fish and salads, as you might expect. There's also the Smoke House Café, not more than a stone's throw from the Alliance docks." I grinned as I added, "Buchanan and I ate breakfast there before our mission to stop Michael Moser Lang from destroying the Anixara." I cocked my head as I dropped my final suggestion. "If you'd like to have a nice dinner, The Captain's Table Restaurant is the only place for me. And it's my treat, wherever you choose."

"The Captain's Table sounds perfect, Sammy. Let's have dinner then … I don't like rushing through a meal, and it always feels like lunch is something that needs to be hurried."

"Perfect," I grinned. With a couple of keystrokes, I entered the grid location of the restaurant and sent it to the General. Glancing at the chrono displayed below the monitor, I added, "I just sent the location to you; I have a few things that need doing, so let's meet there at, say … 1930 or so?"

"Sounds perfect, Sammy. I can't wait."

• CAPTAIN'S TABLE RESTAURANT, PRESIDIUM · CITADEL, WIDOW SYSTEM •

I strolled through the restaurant's main entrance and paused in the middle of the foyer. I was quite happy that RaeLee had chosen dinner over lunch, as it gave me the perfect opportunity to once again don my dark burgundy gown – the same dress I'd worn eighteen months earlier for dinner here with Spectre Rachaél Shepard.

After taking a few moments to speak with the Maître d', who assured me General Park had yet to arrive, I sauntered over to the bar and ordered my 'go-to' drink – whiskey, with a splash of lime juice. Rather than risk an over-exposure by sitting on a bar stool, I positioned myself sideways at the end and used a forearm to lean on the bar. In this manner I could use my free hand to wield my drink while watching for the general to arrive in the foyer. I didn't have long to wait.

When she did arrive, I had to look twice to make sure it was really her. I'd only ever seen her out of uniform once before, on the evening Griff accompanied me for a few drinks in the Smiling Tiger Tavern, in Vancouver … after our efforts to prevent the destruction of the MSV Anixara had been terminated. She had joined us for a drink, ostensibly to explain the inactions of Alliance top brass.

Tonight she was attired in a knitted, belted dress in a brilliant shade of blue, sporting a high neck, long sleeves, and a mid-knee hemline. She looked around for a few moments before spotting me at the bar; walking towards me, she began speaking as she got close enough to chat softly. "I should have known I'd find you waiting for me with a glass in your hand." Nodding towards that glass, she added, "Whiskey with a splash, correct?"

I replied with a chuckle. "Good memory." I set the glass down to embrace her tightly. "It's so good to see you, RaeLee." Pushing back slightly, I added, "Beautiful dress. How's it feel to actually have to choose what you're gonna wear for the day, rather than simply throwing on an SDU?"

She replied with a chuckle of her own. "I might ask the same of you, except you've been out a lot longer." She smirked as she added, "I certainly didn't expect to feel the skin of your bare back under my hands."

I half turned to my left, twisting my torso so she could see the dragon tattooed there. "Not much point in having a beautiful tattoo if I never share it in public." Turning back, I observed, "The Maître d' has a table ready for us. Shall we?" I tilted my head in the direction of the foyer and began strolling away from the bar; RaeLee turned and moved to walk beside me.

The Maître d' intercepted us and, after leading us to a table that was a bit secluded, pulled the chairs out a bit and said, "I hope this will be to your liking, ladies."

As we took our seats, a waiter appeared with a pair of menus; after telling us about the evening's specials, he asked if we'd care for drinks—I held up my glass and replied, "Whiskey with a splash of lime." RaeLee requested scotch and soda; our drinks appeared in a matter of minutes. I lifted my tumbler and, after tipping it in my companion's direction, took a couple of sips, then set the glass on the table in order to study the menu.

The general continued to sip from her own glass while studying her menu … after several minutes, she placed it at the table's edge and said, "I'm ready to order."

I placed my menu on top of hers and replied, "As am I." The waiter appeared as if he'd received a signal, took our orders, and disappeared. I looked at Park and asked, "So, what have you been doing since you retired? Are you bored yet?"

After taking another sip of her scotch and soda, she skewered me with her eyes and replied, "Bored? Not a chance. The Alliance has been keeping me busy with analyzing existing facilities, inspecting consolidation ideas, along with plans for new locations, plus submitting recommendations on security enhancements." With a chuckle and a slight shake of her head, she added, "They pay me a stipend, over and above my pension … fly me all over the planet and throughout our galactic territory." Her happy expression turned serious as she added, "My last stop was in San Diego."

That piqued my interest. "Were you there when General Brad was arrested?"

"I was." Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of our salads.

She began eating as I pressed her. "So, what did you think? Were you privy to any of the details of the charges against him?" I took a couple of bites from my own salad bowl as she responded.

"I remember back on Luna telling you that General Joesiar was not the smartest person I'd ever known, and that he told me to do whatever was needed to fix the problems concerning his nephew at Luna base. He actually said he didn't have any trouble with me booting him out of the Alliance." She took another bite from her salad bowl, followed by a bite from a bread stick. While she chewed, I took a sip from my tumbler, then asked her, "What's your opinion of the man now?"

She set her fork down and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin before responding. "Over the past three-plus decades, he has gradually evolved … or devolved, if you will … into a man that lacks any shred of human decency, humility or caring." She polished off her scotch and soda, caught the eye of the waiter hovering nearby and raised her empty glass, then continued, "He was never the smartest officer I've known, Sammy, but I've come to believe over the years that he is morally bankrupt, breathtakingly dishonest, lethally incompetent, and stunningly ignorant of virtually anything related to leadership, history, geography, human events or galactic affairs."

I chuckled with my observation of, "Sounds like another perfect slave to the poisonous persuasion of the Illusive Man during the war. Do you have any proof, of even a hint, that he was clandestinely working for Jack Harper?"

Our conversation paused as our dinners—and RaeLee's drink—were brought to the table. Alone once more, Park continued, "Now that you mention it, I can easily believe he was taking creds from Harper, and I really feel that General Joesiar is a traitor, Sammy … a malignancy in the Alliance. If he's not a clear and present danger to the rule of law, he comes damned close."

I began applying myself to the excellently broiled petite filet mignon and baked potato on my plate; RaeLee picked up utensils and began eating her 280-gram prime rib as well. After several minutes of companionable silence while we both enjoyed our meals, Park coughed to clear her throat and asked, "You really believe the general was accepting credits from Jack Harper, Sammy?"

I took a couple of swallows from the glass of red I'd ordered with my meal. After a few moments of consideration, I replied, "Harper had a number of the senior staff in his pockets, so it seems quite likely, doesn't it? I've already asked Buchanan to look into the general's wartime connections." I took another bite of my steak and chewed for a few moments while I thought about the corruption above General Park's pay grade. A sip of wine followed the bite of meat, then I said, "I'll talk to Buchanan tomorrow … have him do a really deep dive for us. If there's a connection, he's our best chance of finding it." I took another bite of steak and savored the way it seemed to melt in my mouth. My potato was a treat as well – baked to perfection and smothered with butter and sour cream. I'm gonna hafta double up on my exercises for a few days after tonight's dinner, came the thought.

General Park set her fork down, took a sip from her glass and said, "Article 32 is proceeding, Sammy, but I don't expect the JAG corps will have a recommendation on the charges anytime soon. Brad has been a general for a long time … a very long time; I'd be surprised if his court-martial begins before next year. They're going to want an airtight case before launching a trial."

"He's been relieved of duty, RaeLee. He's under house arrest at Joint Base Vancouver … probably raising all kinds of 'ell about how unfairly he's being treated." I finished my potato—the steak having long since become only a fond memory in my stomach—and set my fork down. After downing the rest of the wine in my glass, I added, "The man's a bigger whiner than his miserable nephew. In his view, none of this is his fault. Folks are simply out to get him … trying to make him look bad."

RaeLee shook her head with her response. "Don't think there's anything I can do to keep abreast of the investigation, Sammy. Hell, even if I was still in uniform, it'd be difficult to pry anything outta the people working it." She polished off the wine in her glass, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and said, "I'm done. You ready to leave?"

"Of course. I'll take care of the bill. Do you need a ride back to your apartment?"

She replied with a small chuckle. "It's not far, Sammy … I'll walk. Need a bit of physical activity to settle my dinner." Another chuckle. "Too many more meals like this and I'll need a hover lift just to get around."

"Okay. You need to stay in touch with me … and I'll let you know what Buchanan and his team dig up." I embraced her and accompanied my 'good night' with a quick kiss on her cheek, then left—after paying for our meals—and returned to Iringù-Eßizkur.

• AHN'KAHAR STATION, STRENUUS SYSTEM · HORSEHEAD NEBULA •
⸰ Tuesday, 16 April 2222-CE · · · Three Months After General Joesiar's Arrest ⸰

Griffen Buchanan dry-scrubbed his face for several moments with both hands. Along with Oriana Lawson, he had been plowing through the financial records of General Bradley Joesiar in an effort to uncover verifiable records of the man's clandestine payments to former Councilor Dominic Osoba; additionally, he and Ori were searching for any income—in the form of credits, or 'in-kind' proceeds the general may have received—that did not originate with the Alliance Military.

Buchanan was providing the services of the Shadow Broker to Samantha Traynor at no cost; when Ori questioned him concerning his largesse, he'd simply replied, "She's like a sister to me, Ori … a sister to whom I owe a debt of life. There's nothing I would not do for her." Oriana's own love for Buchanan was the reason she dropped the matter; Traynor's generosity towards Ori in her first few months as part of the Brokerage team had been completely genuine. Isolated as it was, she had grown to love not just Buchanan, but living and working full-time on this station.

Griff locked his terminal, rose from his chair and, rather than have Chef make lunch for him, strolled to their private lounge, where he grabbed a fresh turkey-club sandwich from the cooler and a beer from the fridge. As he took a seat at the nearby table, Chinami'Taelas entered, grabbed a dextro lunch tray—the chef or one of his assistants kept their larder stocked with fresh meals for all three Broker principals—from the cooler and sat across from him.

After taking a couple of bites of the food on her plate, Chinami speared Buchanan with her cat-like eyes and fumed, "The credit trail concerning the general is extremely well hidden, Griff." She continued after taking a few more bites of food. "Please, excuse me … I am really hungry."

"Quite alright, Chinami. Finish your lunch, then we'll talk."

Rather than waiting, she took a couple sips of water, then continued, "I don't accept the notion that General Joesiar is as naïve concerning computerized records as you and Sammy seem to believe; his methods for hiding illicit transactions may be old fashioned, but they're just as effective as any present-day techniques for obliterating credit trails, no matter if it's a bribe paid … or received."

Buchanan chuckled, "Sounds like you're giving up."

"What!?" came the indignant reply. "Never! The difficulty in tracking his credits is a challenge! I could never back down from a challenge. I refuse to allow the complexity of his many transactions to beat me into submission, Griff!" With a smirk, she added, "General Bradley Joesiar will rue the day Chinami'Taelas vas Ahn'Kahar was assigned to ascertain the reality of his financial dealings."

Buchanan laughed, only to apologize upon witnessing her indignant expression. "Forgive me, Chinami. It's just, you seemed so defeated. I'm glad you're on the credit trail, and if I were the general and knew you were tracking my transactions, I would be worried … very worried, indeed!"

The quarian returned to her meal; upon finishing, she rose from her chair, took her tray to the collection area for cleanup, grabbed a dextro sweet-cake made especially for her by the station's chef, then returned to sit in front of Griff. As she unwrapped the treat, she declared, "Just so you know, the general's nephew didn't come by his hostility towards women naturally … particularly those from other ethnic backgrounds; General Joesiar taught his nephew by example. He's an odious, misogynistic racist, and a bigoted, xenophobic bosh'tet."

Buchanan managed to stifle a laugh before responding, "That's quite a damning combination of repulsiveness, Chinami." He paused for a moment before adding, "Hard to understand how he managed to keep his rank all these years."

"Not really," came the ready reply. "After comparing my research with Oriana's, we came to the same conclusion. The general deliberately surrounded himself with toadies … fawning sycophants. Everyone on his staff thinks exactly the same as their leader. In their eyes, he can do no wrong, and they'll do anything necessary to please him or to protect his position." She paused, finished her sweet-treat, then asked, "Should some of them be arrested and charged as co-conspirators?"

Buchanan tilted his head slightly as his unfocused gaze moved to the far bulkhead. After a few moments, he skewered the quarian with his eyes and replied, "I hadn't thought of that possibility, Chinami. Study the backgrounds of the general's closest associates. I'm sure you'll find damning evidence that'll convict them of similar crimes."

She grinned, "Oh, I have no doubts about that, Griff." Rising from the table, she took her tray to the collection area, tossed her trash in the receptacle and left to return to her terminal. Buchanan studied her unhurried departure while thinking, Those people have no clue about the massive shit-storm that's about to begin raining down on them!