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THE BEGINNING / THE CITADEL
How marvelous the Citadel was, the amalgamation of so many races gathered over the frenetic passage of space-time. The revelation that the Citadel was of Reaper-make had initially threatened to hamper the rebuilding efforts, although the resurgence of the Citadel was inexorable. Asari, Salarian, Volus, Turian – all of them could lay claim to the Citadel, just as the Reapers could; in many ways, the Citadel marked each of them and their belonging to galactic civilization. So, inevitably, the greatest galactic construct rose again, a veritable mosaic of space-cultures and species.
At its epicenter, the beautiful, marvelous, Citadel Tower, the universe's finest monument to treachery, empty rhetoric and bluster.
"Hmm. So before we get to the real meat and potatoes, anyone want to re-address the issue of inviting a Volus to Council? That's a no, right?" Jefferson Moreau, nearing sixty, and still deemed by some as too young by far for his status as Human Councillor. Vrolik Syndrome had continued to have its way with the man; he had foregone his cane for a wheelchair. Still, there was a presence about him, a confidence despite his ailment, and an ease in which he conducted himself in a room of snakes and titans.
The Salarian Esheel spoke – as ever – with a tongue slicked over with vitriol, poison greased upon a blade. "I'm sure the Volus would appreciate being considered an afterthought, Councillor. But, I concur, they can wait a while longer."
"I agree." The deep intonation of Urdnot Baraka, her form an incorporeal shade conjured by technology, worlds away in Tuchanka.
"We are in accord." The monotonous droning of Phalanx, his holographic figure flickering next to a Quarian's. Tali'Zorah vas Neema.
"As am I." The Asari Irissa, tone almost immodestly sultry given the occasion.
"And me." The Turian Quentius. Reserved, dutiful, stalwart.
Unanimous. A rare word for the Council. Indeed, political entities had a way of agreeing ever so readily to indecision and inaction. The majority of the Council looked towards Esheel without any particular prompting. There was a pattern to this, a niche telepathy almost. It was sometimes so predictable who had the grievances, and when they'd bring them up. Still, it was hard to say what the Dalatrass would approach with.
"Doubtlessly you are all aware of my supreme disapproval of Commander Markovich. Unorthodox in the most detrimental way. And, of course, directly responsible for the loss of many of my people's finest. Former criminal according to the records, and still a criminal, as some of the more rational among us no doubt realize."
"He came to us with information – largely verified."
"But with no documentation as to its source, and more or less using it to strong-arm himself a ship and crew. I believe your culture involves knowing ones place and role, Quentius? He is no longer qualified for the task at hand. There are disturbing rumors of not one, but two Krogan on an infiltration squad…"
The shade of 'Eve' spoke, "I resent that remark, Dalatrass."
"And worse yet, a vorcha."
"I heard he makes an excellent gruel."
At its epicenter, the beautiful, marvelous, Citadel Tower, the universe's finest monument to treachery, empty rhetoric and bluster.
"Hmm. So before we get to the real meat and potatoes, anyone want to re-address the issue of inviting a Volus to Council? That's a no, right?" Jefferson Moreau, nearing sixty, and still deemed by some as too young by far for his status as Human Councillor. Vrolik Syndrome had continued to have its way with the man; he had foregone his cane for a wheelchair. Still, there was a presence about him, a confidence despite his ailment, and an ease in which he conducted himself in a room of snakes and titans.
The Salarian Esheel spoke – as ever – with a tongue slicked over with vitriol, poison greased upon a blade. "I'm sure the Volus would appreciate being considered an afterthought, Councillor. But, I concur, they can wait a while longer."
"I agree." The deep intonation of Urdnot Baraka, her form an incorporeal shade conjured by technology, worlds away in Tuchanka.
"We are in accord." The monotonous droning of Phalanx, his holographic figure flickering next to a Quarian's. Tali'Zorah vas Neema.
"As am I." The Asari Irissa, tone almost immodestly sultry given the occasion.
"And me." The Turian Quentius. Reserved, dutiful, stalwart.
Unanimous. A rare word for the Council. Indeed, political entities had a way of agreeing ever so readily to indecision and inaction. The majority of the Council looked towards Esheel without any particular prompting. There was a pattern to this, a niche telepathy almost. It was sometimes so predictable who had the grievances, and when they'd bring them up. Still, it was hard to say what the Dalatrass would approach with.
"Doubtlessly you are all aware of my supreme disapproval of Commander Markovich. Unorthodox in the most detrimental way. And, of course, directly responsible for the loss of many of my people's finest. Former criminal according to the records, and still a criminal, as some of the more rational among us no doubt realize."
"He came to us with information – largely verified."
"But with no documentation as to its source, and more or less using it to strong-arm himself a ship and crew. I believe your culture involves knowing ones place and role, Quentius? He is no longer qualified for the task at hand. There are disturbing rumors of not one, but two Krogan on an infiltration squad…"
The shade of 'Eve' spoke, "I resent that remark, Dalatrass."
"And worse yet, a vorcha."
"I heard he makes an excellent gruel."
***
He woke to his coarse hands holding a smooth purple body bare against his own. Marko's eyes first traced the defined outline of a Quarian's hip, then they trailed upwards until he was looking at a bandaged bullet hole in Mora's shoulder. He stifled a laugh at the immediate thought that ran through his head but the Quarian woke up anyways. She turned and he was met with bewildered golden eyes over her shoulder.
"Boshtet!" Mora cursed animatedly, dropping her head into her hands as realization set in. The human in the room could not help but laugh as he strode over to the bathroom for a quick shower.
"Ready for round two?" He asked jokingly from inside the smaller room, surprised and eager to see her leaning against the door frame a moment later, but ultimately disappointed when she shook her head seriously. Judging from the dossier she was holding in her hands, Marko knew it was already back to business.
"I'll make it clear now so nothing about this gets confused. There will never be a round two." She answered with a matter of fact tone. Mora didn't even look at him while she spoke, her eyes quickly scanning through the last of the dossiers she was working on last night before the surprise visit from Marko had interrupted her. "The council is expecting you in the next hour and a half, as well as the rest of Tiger Squad."
Marko nodded as the hot water came on. He had no illusions of their one-time partnership. Speaking over the shower, he asked. "You're not coming along? It might take a while before everyone's there you know; some of them are still on their way back from their latest ops."
"I'll be seeing to the Tempest and making sure she's ready to fly. You are on your own trying to justify Chacho's position on the ship to the politicians." The Quarian jested while she turned away. Moving from her position against the door frame to pick up the blanket from off the floor, she continued. "Now hurry up and get the hell out of my apartment."
***
An hour later, Markovich strode seriously through the Presidium, his old spectre armor feeling good to have back on. Various holo-signs around the upper ring of the Citadel displayed warnings about the Batarian threat. While that may seem surprisingly transparent from the galactic government, both Marko and the Council were the only souls on the grand space station who knew the extent of the threat.
He had been active in the Terminus Systems when the Batarians began pressing against their borders and he had been living on Omega when they began appearing all over the system with force. Tensions were at all a time high in the Terminus Systems and the common people were barely allowed to have an idea. The Council was adamant it remained that way of course, but Marko couldn't help scoffing at the thought.
Moments later Markovich was in the Council Tower and soon enough – the Council Chambers. He walked to the podium, standing straight and resuming a soldier's stance with his hands behind his back as he was greeted by both the corporal and non-corporal figures of the galaxy's most pivotal individuals. He offered a handsome smile to the human and turian councilor but beyond that he retained a steady gaze.
"Punctual for once, Commander. I do hope the same could be said for the rest of the…squad you've put together." Daltrass Escheel was the first to speak up, a sharpness in her tone that Markovich was becoming accustomed to hearing directed at him. It was no secret among those in the grand architecture that the younger human had a particular distaste for the short-living but incredibly influential race.
"My squad will be here in time, Dalatrass." He responded with a particular cheekiness in his voice that was sure to get some blood boiling from the Salarian matriarch. Alluding to the representative that the Dalatrass had appointed to 'make sure he was following protocol and regulations' he continued. "I hope the same could be said for your person. I wouldn't want to leave them behind ma'am, but we can't keep the Batarians waiting too long."
"That will be enough, Markovich." The Asari councilor was quick to speak up, her tone sweet to the human even if she was using it to reprimand him. "We are all aware of the threat the Batarians have become and the necessary actions we must take to stop them. I will remind you Commander, that you were not reinstated for your humor."
"Yes ma'am." He nodded. The fifth human spectre did not speak any further, though the smile on his face did not falter. Now all that was left was for the rest of the newly formed Tiger Squad to arrive.
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