Sizu thought of himself as a scientist at heart and a Councillor second. It can be a confusing mix up when your job, at its heart, is the representative of all of your species' higher authority. The Dalatrasses vying for an ounce of representative influence, battling their way through their intrepid games, their hostile jibes, and vast intelligence agencies touting their technological development progress.
It can be annoying.. The vast influence of the salarian union is, after all, tied to the citadel. No matter the defectors, fleeing to the terminus. The despotic pit for all of the galaxy's filth. They rely on the influence the citadel allows them. The Daltrasses, although high in authority. Have no right, nor power here. They may decry such a notion, such.. Restrictions. For they have no meaning of the word no. their power absolute. No matter their humiliation after the League of One.
They still envy Sizu. For that, he can be shrewd. But, still. He is a scientist first and foremost, his living quarters all but embody such a notion. Centrifuges litter the panelled tables. Shelves, their draws filled with pixelated matrices of modularized analytics, used for inspecting intriguing material he is interested in. Smooth violet lights clutter the opulent surfaces of the boxed-in roof. Chandeliers of gold and silver hang from its solidified chains of Eezo powered couplers. Their blue aura emanating a fierce white glow. Swatting away the shadows of darkness that trail behind a lights haze.
The shielding aesthetics amplify the already, rather luxurious surroundings. Kinetic barriers guard the automatic metal doors of his abode. The grey engravings of the glistening surface are a reminder of the dangers of his job. Assassins litter the grounds of the citadel's towers. Collections of varying sentients watched from their humble abodes, bugs and recording devices reserved for those suspected of being Krogan infiltrators. The dangers of roaming freely are forever a reminder of the atrocities being committed far away from the common citizens eyes.
The news network's blaring volume backdrops the eerie silence of his quarters. The flashing lights of rumbling ordinance hitting armoured-metal screaming in the background. Reporters reporting sensitive topics from the front lines, disseminating information to the public. This, he knows, is a ruse. Every reporter, every investigator that is sent to the frontier, is paid, and threatened to silence. Replaced with loyal, and trustworthy individuals. Their mission is to carefully censor information that the Salrian unions and the Asari's intelligence networks deem unsafe for public knowledge.
Of course, the Asari grumbled, but they were swayed. It is important the public does not deem it necessary for a reevaluation of sentient safety and war time laws. The catastrophe of such an action would cripple the already meager support for the war, something that is deemed a priority if they are to succeed. The cries of peace, the riots, the protests. They are already a headache for Citadel security. Their dwindling numbers only increase matters. The security of the council inner-chambers are nothing but a hindrance in comparison. The safety of the councillors deemed unimportant. Enough, for the continued success of anti-infiltration objectives to proceed.
This, Sizu cannot agree with, the power of the citadel lies with the councilors of each Associate and Council race. If the underlying governance of the citadel were to collapse with the complete and total assassination of member species influence of citadel control.. Well, he does not need to be alive to fear the consequences of such an action.
Breathing through his nostrils, the stale, sanitised air of his chambers, somehow a comfort for his contemplative mind. His large spherical eyes, dark and black in colour, blinked. His reptilian instincts moving him forward. Standing from his erratic musings, grabbing his leftover tea by his desks receptacle. Clapping his paws so the room darkens to a forbidding black. Eyes roaming the enlightened clock before his eyes, narrowing in bemusement, He stalked out of his quarters. The bright, hollowness of the corridors of his abode, a comfort for a being of his size. The cold creeping air wafting and caressing his exposed flesh. Cooling his heating body.
His steps echo within the corridors.. Clicks, and clacks. Their snapping heels enough to mesmerise the mind. The steel beams littering the halls, a testament to the protheans supremacy. The dark and lidded eyes of other intrepid salarians, a solace. The small, pack minded creature within the backdrops of his mind voiced. Walking the halls, turning in random but memorized directions. He reached his destination. The dark glass doors opened without prompting. The blue neon biolights stuttered as they were primed and affixed with power.
The presidium came into view, the green vegetation of varying worlds, and the pillars of green foliage lining the columns of steel. Giving the place a modern, green, look. Within minutes he made his way towards the elevator to the Council chambers. The annoying, buzzing of the elevator, a relief. The eyes watching him stalk the presidium were ruthlessly ignored.
The ding of the elevator's arrival at the council chambers was marked by echoes of affable chatter.
Two Asari, matrons in appearance, were sitting aloft atop luxurious seatings. Their bluish purple like skin, glowing under the neon-blue lights of the white-crested illuminates softly swaying from their chainlinks above. Upon his entrance into the chamber, they shift from their lounging positions. Brows narrowing in annoyance. Recognition, however, comes swiftly.
Quickly arising from their seats, one gracefully. The other, not so much. Arissa, her cloth swaying as she walked, bowed before him in respect. The subtle nod of a peer, of a colleague gracing the other their due diligence. The other Asari, her cheeks turning a dark shade of purple, turned. Silently. Hiding her blushing facials. She quickly bowed. Doing a neat little curtsy in reverence, before shooing away. To a place just behind the doors out of the chambers. He watched her fly away, amusement lacing his features. She was young, just a little bit shy of 300 and something years. Young, for an Asari that is.
She was something of a comedy these days. In a time of strife and war. It is something coveted deeply by the masses. Something to laugh about, to feel joy in. but, as joy is ought to do. It dissipated quickly, shoved down to the depths of the wrapped emotions of his mind. This was not a time to feel such infectious joy. Putting upon his facade. He eyed Arissa for a deep, unyielding moment. Neither of them moved, their eyes affixed upon the other. Before they quickly dipped their heads in synchronicity.
They moved forwards, their heels echoing as they stalked forth. The hovering Eezo powered platform brought them upwards. Forwarding them to a place only councillors knew of. The inner-inner chamber of the council. Where secret meetings come to unfold, where talks of serious import are held. Where Asari and salarion, equal in might, discuss various important council matters.
Upon their seating on their respective chairs. Their initials etched upon their very making. Holographic displays showering their view. Awashing them in deep voidless light. Their faces obscured by the darkness that followed. Holopads were quickly picked up, slotted into their respective places. Illuminating their faces just briefly before darkening.
The meeting has begun
"The Krogan are advancing" it was not a question, it was a statement, A fact known to all. Even to Arissa herself.
"It was to be expected." She replied, crests twitching in unsubtle displeasure. She continued, "They have been preparing this for months." She stated "it is only now confirmed. The ships, the defenses, the sheer power. I mean, by the reports coming in from the front. We can expect a complete collapse of the entirety of the frontier within a decade." She grumbled, clearly displeased by the reports before her.
"That may be true, but surely there is a way? We can increase our spending on military infrastructure, hire mercenaries.. Anything is on the table now that we know this was a premeditated strategy." Sizu replied, skipping through his Holo-pad as he did so. Eyes shrinking to dots as he raced through possible plans to be put into place, Strategies that could be used to increase effectiveness of their disparate forces. Anything to give them the advantage they so desperately need.
"Any News from Doctor Mundi? Surely his new Energized Eezo powered shields are to be put to use, now that they have a purpose?" Arissa questioned. Curiosity lacing her tone. Eyes widening just slightly as she scanned the holographic display before them, completely ignoring his baffled looks. Which was quickly hidden behind the facade of distracted apathy.
No matter the lies the salarion unions media spouted to the public back home, within salarion space. Their power within the council, especially on economic matters, was severely hampered by Asari economic domination. The power within the council is not exactly equal per-say, no matter the delusions of the dalatrass. Sizu knew this of course, every counsellor knew this. They just paid it no mind. No matter how much the salarian officials tried, their commerce sector banks subtly supplying economic boons within the economy, the banks contracting exclusive economic deals. They just could not outcompete the Asari on economic might. They may be slightly ahead on the technological font, but they will be quickly surpassed within years. That is certain.
"No, Arissa. Doctor Mundi has been effectively busy clambering away within his lab. Scrutinising the manufacturing of his ohh so worthy manufacturing process. Something about 'being grounded by his work'.." Sizu replied, eyes narrowed, the picture of Nonplussed. The apathetic facade holding his unquestionable curiosity behind a visage of boredom. And, maybe, just a little bit of shame.
Too focused on gazing upon the holographic displays, Sizu got a good look at the scars that now litter Arissa's body. Her now visible forearms, that were once hidden behind the silky like cloths that flowed as she walked, a kimono in dressing. They littered, and scared her hands and arms. Leaving them with pinkish slashes covering their front. He knew she was attacked only very recently. The reports littering his desk only days after the incident. It left security scrambling to find the aggressors contractors. Shame creeping in on every step.
He could sympathize. Really, he could. He knew the risks, and he knew she knew the risks. It is only a part of the job. Nothing in life is easy, especially when your lives are held accountable by the very population that is now being sent to war. Their very lives being sacrificed for the greater good of the citadel.
"The republics are not pleased with the progress of the war, contact doctor Mundi on the hour. I will talk with some of my compatriots. Their advice will welcomed" Arissa all but commanded. And he knew that he would have to obey.. Oh how he despised the subtle power plays the Asari are all but making public. Insulting the union when clearly, they have been doing much of the heavy lifting. The subtle cultural manipulations.. 'They are not blind' he wanted to curse. The Dalatrasses don't care, of course. All they care about is that their influence of citadel decisions is still in their hands…
He couldn't do anything but nod…