Chapter 30: Reconciliations

It was rather surreal, President Tobias Gideon reflected. The war with the Turians had effectively been the cornerstone of his administration; for the past two years, it had dominated the political landscape of the Federation, from Earth to the outermost colonies. It had been the topic of countless press briefings, news programs, and debates in Parliament. Not since the Aeon War itself had there been such a constant, pervasive presence in the Federation's collective mind.

But now, it was about to end. Moreover, it was about to end in a victory for the Federation. That had come as a genuine shock to everyone. The Turians had been built up as a formidable enemy: a vast navy of thousands of warships, an army of millions upon millions drawn from a population base several times larger than the Federation's, and a reputation for unwavering discipline and military skill that had gone unchallenged for centuries, whose doctrine was built solely around the concept of "total war."

The alternative, however, had been what amounted to total subjugation at their hands, and that was simply not acceptable; humanity hadn't fought against the likes of the Migou and the Rapine Storm just to be reduced to vassals of some puffed-up imperialistic aliens. And so, the whole Federation had braced itself for a long, bloody conflict, with the full expectation that they would suffer grievous losses and terrible hardships, hoping that at the end of it all, they would still exist.

Not even the most optimistic scenarios had predicted that the Federation would not only hold its own against the Hierarchy, but outright defeat them in practically every theater of war. Whether it was in space or on the ground, they had consistently bested the Turians, winning one battle after another in truly astounding fashion. The most common reaction from the populace had been incredulity at the reports of the Federation's success; they were so used to being constantly on the backfoot against superior forces that the idea of actually winning was almost incomprehensible to them.

But win, they had. And not only did they win, they won decisively. Gideon couldn't have asked for a more favorable outcome, especially in the court of public opinion. His approval ratings were sky-high and climbing. Even his opponents in Parliament were, if not singing his praises, then at least offering him grudging compliments. If things kept going this well, then his reelection was in the bag.

Of course, Gideon was more concerned about the reason why the Turians were calling it quits rather than the future of his political career. When he had read the reports about what happened within their home system, how something from that foul abyss beyond the mortal plane had manifested itself and attacked Palaven, he'd been horrified. It was the kind of nightmare scenario that would make anyone wake up in a cold sweat and raid the nearest liquor cabinet. It was nothing short of a miracle that things hadn't turned out much, much worse.

That was the main reason why Gideon was here and not some random diplomat. Beyond the optics of showing the public that he was putting an end to the war, he needed to impress upon the Turians the seriousness of the matter. This was the type of incident that, if it ever truly got out of control, could lead to the utter destruction of civilizations. They needed to be taught, in no uncertain terms, what they needed to do, so that anything like the disaster on Palaven never happened again.

"Mister President?"

Gideon was brought back to reality. He looked to his right, where a woman in her late twenties, dressed in the formal attire of an assistant, was looking at him expectantly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"The Turian envoys are on their way, sir," she replied.

"Very good," Gideon nodded, and the woman took her seat at the far end of the table. They had chosen to have this meeting on the Charlemagne, both for security reasons and to make the Turians understand that they were the ones who held the advantage here, and not the other way around.

Gideon stood in the middle of the ship's war room, putting on his most confident demeanor. Behind him stood a large vidscreen, displaying the Federation's flag: an image of Earth sitting within a pair of golden laurels with a star on top, all resting on a red background. He was surrounded by aides, all of whom were making sure that everything was perfect before the meeting began; checking to see that the refreshments were ready, running the filming equipment, and going over last-minute security precautions.

He didn't have to wait long. Soon enough, the doors to the war room slid open, and Grand Admiral Slade marched inside. He stood like a statue, his eyes boring straight ahead and his expression as blank as a wall. If Gideon was being honest, it was a little intimidating; the man's gaze felt like it was boring into him like a pair of drills.

"Mister President." Slade snapped a salute to Gideon. "The Turian delegation is here."

In one fluid motion, he turned and took one long step backwards. He stood there at attention, and the other military personnel followed his lead. Gideon could hear the whirring of the camera drones, their lenses focusing on the new arrivals.

Three Turians stepped into the room, both wearing what passed for formal attire among them. All were male, one noticeably older than the others, and clearly the more important one of the trio. The elder Turian was a very impressive specimen; Gideon measured in at an even six feet, and the Turian topped him by a good head and a half, with a frame to match. He walked with the confident stride of one who was used to being a figure of authority, though his expression told a different story. If there was one word to describe it, Gideon thought, it would be resigned.

The younger Turians were both shorter than their counterpart, and with leaner builds. Gideon recognized the one on the right: Quentius, one of the lesser Primarchs that governed the Heirarchy and seemingly the only one of his kind who wasn't obsessed with warfare. His blue-grey eyes darted around the room, as if he were scanning for any potential threats. Like the elder Turian, his features were covered with colony markings, in his case a series of intricate white lines rather than the flecks of blue that decorated his superior's face.

The one on the left remained a mystery, but Gideon was willing to bet that he was another Primarch, or possibly someone high up on the chain of command in their military. His colony markings were a pale yellow, arranged in a pattern that looked vaguely like the sun, though there was a large patch covering his left eye. His face was a mask, revealing nothing of what he might be thinking.

All three stopped a few paces away from the Federation delegation and Slade spoke up.

"President Tobias Gideon, I present to you Sergius Draxon, Primarch of Palaven and Primarchs Quentius Travian and Veridius Fedorian, representing the Turian Hierarchy. Sirs, the President of the New Earth Federation."

The Turians resumed their walk and Gideon strode forward, doing his best to exude an aura of confidence and humility; the idea was not to come across as a swaggering conqueror, but rather a leader who was willing to negotiate in good faith with a peer. They met in the middle of the room, and he offered his hand in greeting.

"Primarchs, I am very glad to see you," Gideon said, his voice projecting sincerity and warmth. "It is an honor and a privilege to finally meet you."

Draxon and Quentius shared a look between themselves while Fedorian simply continued to stare at him, his eyes neither friendly nor hostile. After a moment, Draxon extended his three-fingered hand, and the two leaders shook.

"Thank you, Mister President," he said in a low rumble. His subvocals buzzed with an emotion that Gideon couldn't quite place, though his tone remained steady and cordial. "The honor is ours."

Draxon released Gideon's hand and he suppressed a wince; the Turian had one hell of a grip, and it hadn't felt like he'd been squeezing particularly hard. The other Turians stepped forward and took Gideon's hand in turn. Their grips were considerably less powerful, for which he was grateful. Once the greetings had been exchanged, he gestured towards the table and chairs that had been set up.

"Please, have a seat."

The three Primarchs nodded, and Gideon took his seat opposite Draxon. Slade and the other officers stood behind him, while Quentius and Fedorian sat on either side of the elder Turian. Even sitting down, Draxon loomed over him.

Before any words could be exchanged, Draxon stood back up and looked down at Gideon with a grim expression.

"President Gideon," he said. "Before we begin, I must first apologize for my failure."

Gideon frowned, confused. "Your failure, Your Eminence?"

"Yes," the Primarch rumbled, and a low sound reverberated through his flanged subvocals. Gideon didn't need a translator to know what that sound meant: shame. "I failed Palaven, and I failed my people. I am their appointed sovereign, and it is my duty to lead and protect them to the best of my abilities. Instead, I brought disaster upon the Hierarchy. I sanctioned the terms that ultimately led to war with your people. The blame for all that has happened since is mine alone.

"And so, I offer up myself as penance," the Primarch said, his expression firm and his eyes filled with steely resolve. "Let the punishment fall upon me, not the Hierarchy. I shall submit myself to your justice, and accept whatever fate you see fit to sentence me to."

There was a pause, during which the silence in the room was deafening. Everyone's attention was locked onto the Turian. Then, Gideon spoke.

"Your Eminence," he said, keeping his tone gentle, "your gesture is appreciated, but entirely unnecessary. The Federation has no desire to punish the Turian people; vengeance is not what we seek. Our intentions here are twofold: to bring an end to this war on mutually acceptable terms and to ensure that incidents like what occurred on your moon never happens again." Gideon gestured to the chair Draxon had been in moments before. "Please, sit down."

By the expression on Draxon's face, that wasn't the response he'd been expecting. He paused for a moment, looking as though he was going to say something, before nodding and returning to his seat. Gideon nodded as well.

"Thank you," the President said, and then continued. "As I said, the Federation has no desire to continue this war. We would much rather move on from all of this, and rebuild what we can, both of us. I hope you understand."

"I do, Your—" Draxon suddenly paused and his mandibles fluttered in a flash of embarrassment. "My apologies, but what is the proper way to address you?

"Mister President is fine," answered Gideon.

"Very well." The Primarch nodded. "I do, Mister President, and the Hierarchy is also eager to leave this conflict behind us."

"Glad to hear it." Gideon folded his hands in front of him. "With that out of the way, I suppose it's time we begin the formal negotiations." His eyes flicked over Quentius and Fedorian. "I must ask, in what capacity do your colleagues serve, Your Eminence?"

Draxon inclined his head towards Fedorian. "Fedorian will succeed me as Primarch of Palaven. I intend to step down after the war is officially ended. As such, he will be the one who oversees the implementation of the agreements reached here."

He then looked over at Quentius. "And Quentius will serve as the Hierarchy's new Councilor on the Citadel. It was felt that, in light of the current circumstances, the Turian race needs to show the galaxy that we can put aside our militaristic tendencies and act in a civilized fashion."

"I see," said Gideon. "If I may...what became of Councilor Sparatus?"

Draxon's face wasn't able to contort into a proper glower by human reckoning, but it made a solid effort.

"Sparatus," Draxon's voice ground out in a low, rumbling growl, "has been removed from his post and is currently waiting in a cell while I decide his fate." He offered what amounted to a thin smile. "If you'd like, I could arrange for him to be delivered into your custody to do with as you please."

"That won't be necessary," Gideon said, holding up a hand. "I'm confident that your judicial system will deal with him in a satisfactory manner."

"It will," Draxon assured him. "I'll see to it personally."

The coldness in the Primarch's tone sent a shiver down Gideon's spine, but he was careful not to let it show. "Very well," he said, moving on. "I suppose it's time that we begin our work. My government has prepared the preliminary draft of a treaty that they have developed."

He held out a hand and one of the aides slipped a datapad into it. Gideon noticed all three Turians staring at the device with resigned acceptance; it was obvious that they were expecting the terms to be, if not harsh, then certainly not favorable, but were ready to accept them regardless.

Gideon cleared his throat and began reading. "Article One: in recompense for the unprovoked act of aggression committed by the Turian Hierarchy against the New Earth Federation, the Hierarchy shall pay to the Federation reparations in the sum of three trillion credits or material resources equal to the amount, to be paid in installments over a period of ten years, the first portion to be made within thirty standard days of the ratification of this treaty."

He paused, allowing the Turians a moment to process the news. None of them looked surprised by this item; if anything, they seemed almost relieved that the amount owed wasn't larger.

"Done," said Draxon. "However, the war has greatly impacted our economy, and we anticipate further turmoil due to…internal reasons. It will likely take longer than a decade for us to pay the full amount."

Gideon had a good idea what those "internal reasons" were; reports gathered by the Federal Intelligence Agency had revealed that the Volus were no longer content to be a client race to the Turians, and were working on plans to establish their independence. If those reports were accurate, and they usually were, the Volus were likely to succeed in their efforts.

"We can work out the specifics later," he said, and moved on to the next item on the list.

"Article Two: concerning the planet of Digeris, which is at present occupied by Federation armed forces, the Hierarchy will agree to lease the planet to the Federation for a period of fifty standard years. The Federation will oversee the reconstruction efforts and return the planet to the control of the Hierarchy at the expiration of the lease. Insofar as the citizens are under Federation authority, they shall be governed by Federation laws and regulations. The Federation will pay for the relocation and resettlement costs for the displaced inhabitants of Digeris and for the cost of building the infrastructure necessary for the resumption of planetary-wide industrial, agricultural and civic operations."

This article was considerably less palatable to the Turians, if the sour expressions on their faces were any indication. That being said, they all knew that the Hierarchy's economic situation would only hamstring any rebuilding efforts. With the Federation picking up the tab for all that, it was the best offer they could have hoped for.

"Agreed," Draxon rumbled, with his two compatriots adding their assent. "However, we require assurances that the citizens will not be mistreated or abused."

"You have my word," Gideon promised him. "Everyone living on Digeris will be afforded the respect and dignity due any civilized people."

"What will happen to those who refuse resettlement?" asked Quentius, speaking up for the first time. "While I do not doubt the Federation's intentions, there will undoubtedly be some who do not wish to live under the dominion of a foreign power, regardless of how benevolent that power may be."

"We will give them the option of leaving and going wherever they want, within reason," answered Gideon. "The Federation will not impede anyone who wants to be under the Hierarchy's aegis instead of ours."

Quentius nodded. "Good. Continue, please."

Gideon moved down to the next article. If the Turians had been unhappy with the previous one, he sincerely doubted they'd like the next. But it was also the most important one, and it had to be implemented for everyone's sake.

"Article Three: the Turian Hierarchy will permit the presence of certified Federation occult instructors to operate within its territories," Gideon read. "These instructors will educate the populace regarding the dangers posed by extradimensional entities and arcane forces, and will work to train local militias and law enforcement agencies to identify and handle possible supernatural threats. The Hierarchy will allow the construction of bases of operation for said instructors, and grant them the authority necessary to carry out their duties. All information obtained through the training program will be shared between the Hierarchy and the Federation.

"In addition, the Hierarchy will permit the creation of a specialized paramilitary unit for the express purpose of countering occult threats. These personnel will be equipped and trained by the Federation and report directly to its arcane authorities. They will only operate within Hierarchy territory on orders from the Federation until such a time as they are capable of functioning autonomously, whereupon the unit shall be transferred to the authority of the Turian Hierarchy. This unit will work in tandem with Hierarchy military and police forces, and will share all information obtained through their operations. These agents and their superiors will have the power and immunity necessary to carry out their duties. In the case of an extreme extradimensional or occult threat arising, the Federation will deploy forces to assist the Turian Hierarchy."

As Gideon had expected, the Turians weren't thrilled by this one. He could understand their reticence. This would involve having the Federation essentially dictate the terms of their internal affairs and nobody ever wanted a foreign power meddling in their affairs, no matter the intentions.

"Mr. President," said Fedorian. "While we appreciate the...purpose for the Federation's demand, it seems wildly excessive. You are essentially mandating that we allow you to create what amounts to a secret police force with near-limitless power to act as they see fit in policing 'otherworldly' transgressions, and which only answers to your people. At the risk of stating the obvious, that's not going to go over well with the public."

"No, it won't," Gideon agreed. "Believe me, I know only too well how this will look to the Turian people: an infringement on their rights, their sovereignty, and their way of life, inflicted upon them by the race they were just at war with." He fixed all three Turians with an iron-hard gaze.

"However, I'm afraid that there is no other option. Let me be blunt: you were insanely lucky that the incursion on your moon didn't end up turning your entire home system into a smoking ruin, or worse. That's not an exaggeration; the reports I've read from our occult specialists make it clear that the consequences of such an event would have been catastrophic.

"Like it or not, you all have been exposed to the dangers that lurk beyond our reality. The only way to minimize the risks of further incidents is for everyone to be aware of what's out there and to have a coordinated, systematic approach for dealing with them. The only way we can do that is if we all work together, and that you know how to deal with those situations; we don't have the means to protect everyone, so you need to be able to handle your own battles. Your people may chafe at these new rules, but personal liberties don't mean much in the face of complete destruction and damnation."

He let his speech hang in the air, giving the Turians time to mull it over. They did so, and then Quentius spoke up.

"There's no getting around it, is there?" the younger Primarch said, his tone heavy with resignation.

"I'm afraid not," said Gideon. "I wish there was a better way to go about it, but there isn't. That's just the unfortunate truth."

Draxon sighed heavily. "Very well. The Hierarchy accepts."

Gideon nodded, feeling a knot of tension he hadn't even noticed loosen within his chest. There were still several more articles to go through, but those first three had been the biggest hurdles. With those out of the way, the rest would be smooth sailing. Hopefully.

"All right," the President said. "Let's move on."

#

Anita Goyle would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. This wouldn't be her first meeting with the Citadel Council; she had been seeing them almost every other week, practically since the war with the Turians had started in earnest. They weren't official diplomatic summits, just a bunch of back-and-forth where both sides felt each other out, trying to determine who would accept what and how much.

But this one was for real. The war was ending and it was time to make nice with the other powers of the galaxy. And it fell to her to make it happen.

No pressure. None at all. But that was why she made the big notes.

Anita stole a look at her reflection in the gleaming surface of the elevator. She looked perfectly presentable; the black business suit with a red blouse she had picked was both professional and stylish, and it fit her form in a way that was neither too tight nor too loose. The makeup she had chosen was simple and subtle, and her blonde hair was done up in an elegant, but practical, bun.

Her eyes flicked over to her aide. Sazidi, as always, looked as if he didn't have a care in the world. The Nazzadi man's dark face was as still as stone and his red eyes were half-lidded, giving off the impression that he was on the verge of falling asleep. His arms were folded across his broad chest, the fingers of one hand idly drumming on his bicep.

Sazidi noticed her gaze and offered her a placid smile. "Nervous, Anita?"

"Me? Nervous? Perish the thought," she replied with a laugh. "I'm just about to enter a diplomatic meeting that's going to determine what kind of relationship we have with the Citadel for decades, if not centuries. And it's up to me to get the best deal I can for the Federation." Anita gave her aide a sidelong look. "Of course, I wouldn't mind a bit of whatever you're on that makes you look like a cat about to fall asleep."

"Ah, now that is an ancient Nazzadi technique," said Sazidi with exaggerated pomposity. "It's called, 'not giving a shit,' and it takes years to master."

Anita allowed herself a brief chuckle and then focused on what was to come. Her main task was to secure a diplomatic presence on the Citadel and ensure that the NEF's sovereignty was acknowledged. The Council wanted peace and a return to as close to normalcy as possible and as quickly as possible; her previous summits with them had made that abundantly clear. But they also wanted some measure of control over the Federation. They already had the Terminus Systems as a rival power, and weren't keen on the idea of humanity becoming another.

Because of that, the Council wanted them to join the Citadel as an associate race, and they had been doing everything they could, short of outright coercion, to try and persuade the Federation to take that offer. So far, their efforts had failed, but they were nothing if not persistent.

But the Federation was the one who held the upper hand, and both sides knew that. If the Council tried to push too hard, they could just walk away. Nothing would be lost, and the Citadel would have an unfriendly foreign power on their hands, which was something they desperately didn't want. How desperate was yet to be determined, but Anita was certain that they would be willing to make a lot of concessions to make it happen.

Of course, it couldn't all be demands and metaphorical dick-swinging on the Federation's end. They had a couple of very big requests of the Council, which were almost assured to come with a price tag of their own. Quid-pro-quo would be the name of the game.

The elevator arrived at its destination with a cheerful ding, and the doors slid open. The pair stepped out, and found themselves on the floor that served as the entrance to the Council auditorium. The chamber itself was an open-air amphitheater, its center dominated by three podiums that faced a narrow platform, where any speakers would be addressed by the Councilors.

The podiums were empty, however. This meeting was to take place in private, away from prying eyes and ears. As such, the only occupants were a handful of C-Sec officers standing guard. No Turians, Anita noticed with some surprise. They were the ones who made up the bulk of the Citadel's police force, but there were none in sight.

Probably don't want to risk some Turian with a grudge ruining everything with an assassination attempt, she thought.

One of the C-Sec officers broke rank and strode over to them. She was an Asari, not particularly tall, but whipcord lean, with a face hardened by years of service. She looked young, but with her people's longevity, she could have been anywhere from a hundred years old to a thousand, for all Anita knew.

"Ambassador," she greeted them. "I'm Captain Nassia. Pleased to meet you."

"Captain," Anita replied. "The pleasure is all mine."

"The Councilors are expecting you," Nassia told them, gesturing to the doorway. "Please, follow me."

Nassia led them past the C-Sec officers, and into a short corridor that led directly into the Council chambers. The Asari took up a position by the door and motioned for them to enter. Anita discreetly touched the silver ring on her middle finger as she followed her. This piece of jewelry wasn't just for show; it was enchanted to allow her to read the emotions of anyone within a ten-foot radius. The Councilors had some very good poker faces, but they wouldn't be able to mask their feelings from Anita.

Underhanded? Yes. But if recent history had taught humanity anything, it was that playing fair was for the birds.

The room lacked the ornate opulence of the main Council Chambers, being little more than a rectangular space with a pair of windows on the far wall. A single table dominated the middle, a massive slab of metal polished to a mirror shine. On either side were chairs, which had been placed equidistant from each other.

Tevos and Torbel were seated on one side of the table, talking to one another in hushed voices. When they saw Anita and Sazidi enter, they rose from their seats to greet them.

"Ambassador Goyle," Tevos said, hospitable as always. "It is good to see you again."

"And you as well, Councilor," Anita replied, offering her a polite smile. In truth, she liked Tevos the least of the two. The Asari was friendly and welcoming enough, but there was always the undercurrent of arrogance in her words, as though she was the bearer of indisputable wisdom that others were simply incapable of grasping. The fact that her kind all had an innate ability to invade other people's minds only added to Anita's unease.

Torbel was a different story entirely. He was straightforward and pragmatic, with little time for pleasantries, and a no-nonsense demeanor. His own greeting was far more perfunctory, just a slight bow of his head and a thin smile.

"I trust you are well," the Salarian Councilor said, his voice low and reedy.

"As well as can be expected," Anita told him. "It's been a busy few days, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Quite so," Torbel agreed. He gestured towards the seats opposite the two Councilors. "Shall we?"

The four took their seats and Tevos wasted no time in getting down to business.

"I'm glad your government has agreed to continue talks with us, Ambassador," she began. "Now that your war with the Turians is ending, we are eager to discuss the future of the New Earth Federation. It is our hope that you will be willing to take an active role in the galactic community."

You mean you hope that we'll join your club like a good little client race, Anita thought. Aloud, she said, "The New Earth Federation wishes only to be on good terms with the Citadel."

Tevos nodded. "That is good to hear. While we would be more than happy to have a race such as yours join our ranks, I understand that is not the objective of your government."

"That is correct, Councilor," Anita agreed. "My government wants to establish diplomatic relations with the Citadel, but we do not wish to join it. Especially if the price of membership is the curtailing of our military assets."

Tevos nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, you have expressed concerns regarding the Treaty of Farixen. Understandable, given your history and the recent conflict with the Turians. But as we have said before, the treaty was never intended to be used as a method of suppressing the military capabilities of any one race. It is merely a means of preventing catastrophic destruction on an interstellar scale; dreadnoughts are simply too powerful to be wielded casually." She fixed Anita with a pointed stare.

"Your variants are particularly deadly, Ambassador, and your method of FTL only heightens that lethality. You can imagine how the existence of such vessels inspires concern among the members of the Citadel. While your intentions may be benign, I'm afraid that's not what the rest of the galaxy perceives; right now, they see only a potential threat, and one that isn't constrained by the technological standards of everyone else."

"With all due respect, Councilor," said Sazidi, speaking up for the first time, "whichever way you slice it, signing the treaty would put us at a disadvantage in terms of naval power. Yes, our dreadnoughts are overall more powerful than the equivalent classes used by the Council races, but their sheer numbers would make up for that. Under the treaty, associate members are allowed only one dreadnought to your three and the Turians' five, so if my math is correct, that would mean that at the present count, we'd only be able to have seven dreadnoughts in total; we're already over the limit there, so we'd have to mothball several in order to bring ourselves into compliance."

The Nazzadi gave Tevos a thin, humorless smile. "At the risk of stating the obvious, decommissioning some of our most powerful warships wouldn't go over so well with our government."

"That is true," Torbel agreed, taking over. "Which is why Tevos and I were discussing an alternative before you walked in."

Anita and Sazidi both frowned.

"What kind of alternative?" asked Anita.

"It's quite simple," Torbel said. "You have made it abundantly clear that the current political arrangement simply isn't acceptable to your people. So, we wish to devise a separate treaty with the Federation; one that recognizes its unique circumstances and needs."

Well, this was a twist. Almost since Anita been assigned to the Citadel, both Councilors had done their damnedest to persuade her to accept the terms of their little club more or less as they were. But now they were offering to draft a custom-made deal.

That could only mean one thing: they were desperate.

A subtle brush of her thumb against the ring on her hand made the emotions of the Councilors visible to Anita's eyes. Both of them pulsed bright green with hope, along with a vivid streak of reddish-orange anxiety. Their offer was genuine, but what they were apprehensive about, she couldn't tell.

Anita decided to test the waters.

"We're listening," she told them.

"Very well." Torbel cleared his throat. "First, concerning the Treaty of Farixen: we propose an alteration to the stipulations on dreadnought limits for the Federation, granting the right to match the combined number that the Salarian Union and Asari Republics are allowed. If my own math is right, you would be able to double the number of dreadnoughts you currently possess without issue." He folded his three-fingered hands together. "Would that satisfy your concerns, Ambassador?"

Anita and Sazidi shared a glance.

"Might I have a moment to discuss this with my aide?" Anita inquired.

"Of course," Tevos said.

They both stood and moved over to a corner of the room. Once they were there, Sazidi discreetly pulled out a small silver medallion with a leather cord. In its center was an intricate sigil carved into its surface that seemed to almost glow. The Nazzadi muttered an incantation and suddenly, both of them were engulfed in total silence. Anita was always amazed at how many ambient noises there were that remained unnoticed until they were gone.

"Okay," she said, once the spell had settled around them. "What do you think?"

"It's a pretty good deal," Sazidi answered. "They're essentially offering to put us on their level without actually having to join them. In effect, they're saying we're a fellow sovereign power, an equal to the Council itself. That's a hell of a bone to throw us."

"We'd still have our naval forces restricted," Anita pointed out. "That would ruffle some feathers back home."

"Only when it comes to dreadnoughts," said Sazidi. "Every other ship class is fair game. Plus—" a wolfish grin crossed his dark face— "the treaty is very specific as to what constitutes a dreadnought. There's plenty of wiggle room in the stipulations for creative interpretation. I mean, hell, our dreadnoughts technically don't even count as dreadnoughts according to it! And let's be honest, it's not like we were churning out whole fleets of the things before all this."

Anita nodded. That much was true. Dreadnoughts were a major investment, both in terms of construction and maintenance. It would be some time before they had enough of them to actually be affected by the restrictions.

"So, you think we should accept?"

Sazidi nodded. "Like I said, it's a good deal. We get a special arrangement with lots of loopholes to exploit and the Council gets to feel a little less worried about us possibly becoming the next big threat. Everybody wins. I wouldn't be surprised if they asked us to help shore up their borders since we made Swiss cheese of their guard dogs' navy."

Anita thought for a moment. "We could sell it as a diplomatic victory and a good-faith gesture to the public. It'll make us look generous and reasonable, but also shows that we won't be pushed around."

"Exactly," Sazidi said. "We can leave the details to the spin-doctors back home. And if the Council ever tries to screw us over, then we can claim that they'd violated our trust and back out of the deal. The whole thing is basically a formality in any case; they just want a piece of paper to wave at their own people and say that they got us to come to an accord."

"Not bad," Anita conceded. "Not bad at all."

A spark of inspiration suddenly went off inside her mind.

"Wait," she said. "You know, we might be able to turn this into a two-fer."

"How so?" Sazidi asked.

"The Council wants us to sign an agreement to give them peace of mind. And we want a presence in their space to keep the arcane underground from spreading like a wildfire. Nobody needs another Menae."

"Amen to that," agreed Sazidi with a shudder. "So, what's your idea? You want to make a demand that they let us build a base here or something?"

"Yes and no. I'm thinking of something a little more... refined," Anita said. "Just follow my lead."

The two of them walked back to their seats. Tevos and Torbel looked at them expectantly.

"We have reached a decision," Anita announced. "My government will accept your terms and sign the Treaty of Farixen under the condition set forth here. However, there is a condition of our own for that."

Both Councilors fixed her with curious eyes. "And that is?" Torbel inquired, a flash of golden curiosity emanating from him.

"There are a number of items that the Federation have declared illegal within our territories," Anita said. "Some are of the more mundane type, but the rest are what we have labeled as "eldritch" or "occult." These are the most dangerous and strictly regulated of contraband; it is the wish of my government that the Council likewise acknowledges their illicit and hazardous nature in accordance with Federation law and work with us in policing them."

Her pitch finished, Anita observed her counterparts. Tevos's face was blank, but the ring showed that she was confused and skeptical, as though she couldn't tell if Anita was being serious. Torbel, on the other hand, clearly didn't doubt the gravity of her words; his face was set in a grim frown while his interlaced hands tightened around one another.

He leaned forward.

"These...'occult' articles, Ambassador," he asked, "how dangerous are they, exactly?"

"Extremely," she replied. "Even the least of them has the potential for incredible damage, not just to the individual, but everyone around them. We have no shortage of arcane underground traders who would eagerly exploit an untapped market such as yours, especially when it has no idea of how to deal with the things they would put into circulation. If proper safeguards aren't put in place, the consequences could be catastrophic. As such, their distribution must be kept under strict control, and violators of occult regulatory laws must be punished with utmost severity."

Torbel and Tevos exchanged a long glance, a silent conversation passing between them. At last, Tevos turned back to Anita.

"While we have no knowledge of the specific dangers posed by these items, the Council can agree to this provision," she said. "However—" Tevos raised a finger, emphasizing her next words— "Federation forces will not be permitted to just come in and operate with impunity. We are not a police state and have no wish to become one. The Council will work together with the New Earth Federation on joint efforts, but there will be none of the heavy-handed, authoritarian methods you utilize."

Anita couldn't say she was surprised by Tevos's declaration. The idea of letting Federation agents go haring off all over Citadel space in search of criminal occultists without caring about their laws wasn't exactly a dream come true. She'd feel the same way if the Council wanted their Spectre agents free reign within NEF territories.

But perhaps there was a way to make it work.

"Councilors," said Anita, "I would like to make a suggestion regarding the enforcement of occult crimes. If I am not mistaken, Council Spectres are granted the license to act as they see fit in the interest of Citadel space. Is that not so?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Tevos answered.

"Then, here is my proposal: the Federation will train Spectres who are willing in the means of detecting, hunting, and arresting or eliminating occult criminals. Since they already have complete discretion concerning the methods they use in carrying out their normal duties, this would simply be another facet of their authority. Once they are properly instructed in the ways of the arcane, we would be willing to work with them, both in Citadel space and our own. The arrangement would serve as a mutually beneficial relationship for the benefit of both sides."

Tevos and Torbel were silent for a time as they thought over her offer.

"Hmm," hummed Torbel, stroking his chin. "An interesting suggestion."

"The idea does have merit," Tevos admitted. "It would certainly be preferable to allowing Federation agents to operate without any oversight. I assume that you would keep a close watch on the Spectre agents within your borders?"

"Naturally. Just as you would with any of our own within your territories." Anita was gratified to see that they were seriously considering it. She decided to give them some extra incentive.

"If nothing else, Councilors, it could very well help prevent another Menae Incident from happening again."

That got a nice reaction from the two. Anita didn't need her ring to tell her their feelings; Tevos visibly recoiled, her eyes going wide, while Torbel let out a startled noise that sounded a bit like a strangled sneeze. Clearly, they'd both been made aware of just what exactly had gone down there. Anita didn't blame them for their lapse of poise. No amount of experience or training could prepare someone for that.

"Yes," the Asari said, after recovering her composure. "That could be...an acceptable compromise."

"Agreed," Torbel said. The Salarian gave Anita a small, thin-lipped smile. "Very well. The Council accepts. If you agree to adhere to the stipulation concerning dreadnoughts, we will permit the training of Spectre operatives to enforce the Federation's laws on the…arcane. We have every confidence that your government will implement the terms without any needless oversight."

"Thank you, Councilor," said Anita, giving him a nod. It looked like Sazidi's feelings were right: the Council didn't care if the Federation had their way with the treaty, they just wanted a bit of legal fiction to keep their populace from having a panic attack.

"Now, let's move on to something more palatable," said Tevos. "It is the Council's earnest hope that the Federation open up trading routes with Citadel space. Since the war is ending, there is no longer any reason that trade cannot be conducted directly between us. With the proper arrangements, your goods can be sold on the markets throughout our domains within a matter of days." She offered Anita a friendly smile. "As I'm sure you're aware, your people's commodities are in very high demand."

"We are," said Anita. "And while your offer to open trade directly with us is appreciated, my government is content with the deal we have with the Quarians. As a matter of fact, we recently formalized the agreement granting them the exclusive right to sell our wares at any market they choose.

That was clearly not what Tevos had been hoping to hear, if the flare of purple shock emanating from her was anything to judge by.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "With direct trade, you would get much better prices. Your exports would go directly to the Citadel markets, and there are more than a few major interstellar companies who would be more than happy to buy from you without the need of middlemen."

"And while that is no doubt true," said Anita, "the fact is, we have a system already established with the Quarians, and it is working exceptionally well for us. We see no reason to change that."

It was actually starting to become a problem. The Federation's economy had expanded like crazy ever since the Quarians offered up their services, and there was growing concern about overheating the market. There was even talk about letting the Quarians take a bigger slice of the pie to ease the pressure. But no need for the Councilors to know that.

"Well," Tevos said at last, "if you're sure, we will not force the issue."

Anita had to suppress a chuckle at Tevos's emotional state. She was practically suffused with the yellowish-orange hue of displeasure. No doubt the Asari had been hoping that the Federation would drop the Quarians the moment she made the offer and leap straight into the arms of the Citadel.

Sorry to disappoint you, thought Anita, feeling distinctly not sorry.

Still, she knew that denying Citadel space direct trade was a bitter pill for them to swallow, especially with their overall economy in a precarious position. The Council had already made some big concessions, so it wouldn't hurt to give a small one in turn.

"That being said, we are not averse to setting up some trading outposts on worlds within reach of the Citadel races. We know there are always those who prefer to do business face to face."

"Thank you, Ambassador," Tevos replied. While her disappointment was still prominent, there was a tinge of gratitude now.

"There is, however, one small problem," Anita said. "Among your members is a certain polity who has a track record of unprovoked aggression against others. Along with practicing slavery despite Council law." She stared pointedly at Tevos and Torbel. "I trust you know who I'm talking about?"

The grimaces on both Councilors' faces told her that they did, and were not relishing having to address the topic.

"Yes, the Batarians," said Torbel with a sour expression. "The resident black sheep, I believe the human term is. We've been trying to convince them to abandon that barbaric practice for centuries, but they have steadfastly refused. It's their 'cultural heritage,' and by our laws, we must not interfere with the customs of other species." He let out a disgusted noise. "Even if those customs are utterly abhorrent."

"We are aware of your people's intense loathing for the institution of slavery, Ambassador," Tevos interjected, somewhat hurriedly Anita noticed, "as well as your concerns about the safety of any potential outposts you may build within Citadel space. Therefore, we propose entering a mutual defense agreement with the Federation; if any hostile forces should attack the holdings of either the Council or the Federation, the other party would provide military assistance."

Anita thought it over. A mutual defense treaty with the Council would give them a reason to operate within their territory, which would be a great asset if a cult or any other occult problem sprang up there. The details would almost assuredly be more exhaustive and probably come with some restrictions, but it was better than having to ask for forgiveness than permission if such incidents did come to pass. And, if it allowed the Federation to put down some slaver rings in their free time, that was no bad thing.

"That could be acceptable," she told the Councilors. "So long as it is understood that the Federation will not serve as the Citadel's cudgel; we will work together as equals, or not at all."

"Of course," said Tevos.

"In addition," Anita went on, "my government would require a promise from the Council that, in the event that armed conflict between the Federation and the Batarian Hegemony breaks out, they would not side with the Hegemony."

Anita seriously doubted that they would back the Hegemony if it came down to it; they hadn't for the Turians, and they'd been a valued member of the Council. Still, it didn't hurt to have a little extra assurance; the fact that the Batarians were even associates of the Citadel in the first place was a black mark against them as far as Anita was concerned.

The Councilors didn't react right away, instead taking a moment to discuss things in hushed voices. Tevos's face was carefully neutral, but Torbel's was very clearly showing his approval of the idea.

At last, the pair turned back to face Anita.

"We accept," said Tevos. "Should the Hegemony be proven—" she put careful emphasis on the word— "to have initiated a hostile action against the New Earth Federation, the Council will not stand with them. Nor shall any members of the Citadel."

"If anything, they'd cheer you on," Torbel added. By the almost giddy undertone in his voice, it sounded like he'd be leading the applause. Anita privately wondered if he had a personal grudge against the Batarians. It wouldn't surprise her; by all accounts, the four-eyed aliens had spent the past centuries making a valiant effort to piss off the rest of the galaxy.

Tevos shot her counterpart a reproachful glance. "Let's move on to the next topic." She cleared her throat. "Concerning the field of science you call 'arcanotechnology'... the Council acknowledges that it is an indispensable element of your people's civilization. As such, we will not ask for any restriction of its development or use within your domains."

How considerate, Anita thought dryly.

"That being said," Tevos continued, "we must insist that you refrain from introducing any products derived from arcanotechnology into the general market. There are concerns that doing so may disrupt the tenuous state of the galactic economy. In compensation, the Council will recognize the New Earth Federation as the sole owner and purveyor of arcanotechnology. No member of the Citadel will be permitted to study or develop it without your express permission."

Not officially, anyway, Anita thought. She stole a glance at Torbel, who was putting on an air of casual indifference, but his emotional state was a firework display of golden-orange eagerness. The Salarians were all about having the latest cutting-edge tech and weren't afraid to use underhanded methods to acquire it. If some elements in their government weren't already thinking up ways to get their hands on arcanotech samples and start some reverse engineering programs, she'd eat Sazidi's fedora.

As if acting on her thoughts, Torbel spoke up. "Of course, that isn't to say that we are entirely opposed to having some bits of arcanotechnology to study. Such an opportunity would be invaluable for our research and development teams, and no doubt allow us to expand the scientific frontiers. If you were willing, perhaps we could make some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement."

Anita had a strong suspicion as to what Torbel was angling for. The Salarian Union had become very interested in the Engels and Nephilim of late, specifically how they were made. She knew the Union was chomping at the bit to get their hands on some and see if they could figure out the secret. While Anita had no doubt that the Salarians would pay through the nose for the chance at even a few specimens, the method of creating them was a state secret and therefore off the table.

"I will pass the offer on to my superiors," she told Torbel. By which she meant, "not in a million years."

If Torbel picked up on the meaning behind her words, he gave no sign of it; even her ring didn't tell her anything. Instead, he smiled and said, "That would be appreciated, Ambassador."

"I believe that's everything," said Tevos. "If there's nothing else...?"

"No," Anita replied. "Nothing else. If you have no objections, then I will report back to my government."

"By all means," Tevos agreed. She stood, and Anita followed suit. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Ambassador."

"Likewise, Councilor."

Tevos offered her hand to Anita, who shook it, albeit with no small amount of trepidation. While all information about the Asari's melding said that it was too obvious to be missed, Anita still didn't like having to make physical contact with an alien who could get inside your head just by touching you. It was over quickly, thankfully, and a moment later, Anita was out of the chambers and headed for the elevator, Sazidi following a step behind.

"Well," said the Nazzadi as the metal doors closed behind them, "I suppose congratulations are in order." He performed an extravagant bow. "Miss Goyle, I hereby declare that you are officially the greatest diplomat of the modern era. Why, I daresay you'll have statues erected in your honor all over the Federation."

"Oh, shut up, Saz," Goyle scoffed good-naturedly. "Let's just get back to our people. I have an overwhelming need for a strong drink and something smothered in chocolate."

#

"Well, I'd say that went rather smoothly," remarked Torbel as the Federation ambassadors left.

"Better than I feared," admitted Tevos. "But worse than I hoped."

Torbel let out a snort of laughter. "Worse than you hoped? In what way? You didn't honestly think they'd suddenly have a change of heart and just hop into bed with us, did you?"

"No," said Tevos. "I suppose not. But I had hoped they would have shown some signs of being amenable to joining the Citadel."

"That would have been nice, but I seriously doubt that's ever going to happen," Torbel opined. "We have nothing of any real substance to offer them. They have no reason to join the Citadel when they can have all the benefits and none of the obligations by staying independent." He shrugged.

"All things considered, I'd say we got off pretty lightly. We knew from the beginning that we'd be making some big concessions to the Federation when the time came. The only real losses were the issues of arcanotech and trading. Hell, they even agreed to allow Spectres within their borders!"

"All of whom will be closely monitored and have no actual authority to act as they would in Citadel space," Tevos countered. "I doubt that they'll even be allowed into the Federation's inner domains. And I can't say that I like the idea of them having any kind of influence over our own agents."

"Nor do I," agreed Torbel. "But at least this way, we'll have some access to their holdings, however little it may be. Besides, I'd much rather we have some way of countering any criminal elements that might come out from the Federation than none at all."

"I suppose you have a point," said Tevos. "Though it occurs to me that most of our dealings with the Federation are going to involve a lot of faith." She turned to look over at the Salarian. "Do you really think that the Federation will honor the terms on dreadnought production?"

"Of course not," declared Torbel with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, they'll keep to the letter of the agreement, no doubt, but they're going to violate the ever-loving shit out of the spirit. And even if they didn't honor the terms at all, what could we do about it? Send a sternly-worded letter of disapproval?" He shrugged.

"In any case, it doesn't really matter. We only wanted them to agree to something that would placate our people, and we got it. As long as they aren't being too blatant about skirting the terms, we won't be inclined to look that closely. We have plenty of bigger problems on our plates to worry about right now. And if the Federation manages to help us out with any of them, all the better." A smugly satisfied grin crossed his face. "If nothing else, they'll make the Batarians nervous."

Tevos's eyes narrowed. "You shouldn't have been so disparaging about the Batarians, Torbel. However you feel about them personally, the fact remains that they are an associate member of the Citadel; unity is paramount for us right now."

"My opinions on the Batarians and their 'cultural heritage'—" he spat the words like they were a vile taste— "are common knowledge, and I make no apologies for it. The Hegemony has filed more than a few formal complaints against me for discrimination," he added with a sardonic chuckle.

Tevos sighed. This always happened with the Salarian councilor whenever the subject of Batarians got brought up. Torbel held a deep loathing for them, far beyond the normal animosity most had. She knew that something had happened in his past involving the four-eyed race that had cause him to hold such a virulent enmity towards them, but she'd never found out the exact nature of the incident. All Tevos did know was that it had been personal; in all honesty, it was probably for the best that she never learned the whole story.

"Be that as it may, you should be more circumspect," Tevos advised. "It could undermine our attempts to maintain solidarity if we are seen bad-mouthing one of our associates."

Torbel's large eyes were hard as diamonds as he stared back at Tevos. "I understand the need to put up a unified front, but don't ask me to pretend that the Hegemony is a valued member of the galactic community. They are not. Their practices are not. And if they are dumb enough to get on the Federation's wrong side, I won't lose a single night's sleep over it."

Tevos decided to drop the subject before it could escalate. "No matter. What's done is done, and we still have another task on our agenda today."

"Ah yes," Torbel said, grimacing. "Our meeting with Maro Vul about what it's going to take for the Volus to solve our money troubles. That surely won't be too expensive." He sighed and pinched the skin above his nostrils. "Well, let's get this over with."

They both stood up and walked over to a holo-terminal in the far end of the chamber. Tevos activated it, and the image of a portly Volus appeared. He was wearing fine robes of purple and gold, so unlike the tight, featureless environmental suits his race had to wear when off their worlds. Maro wore his years in plain view; his face was one of heavy jowls and deep wrinkles, with long white whiskers growing from his chin and brow.

His eyes, however, were bright and clear, and his gaze was shrewd as he stared up at Tevos and Torbel.

"Ah, my good Councilors!" he greeted them in a jovial and surprisingly rich voice. "I hope this day finds you both well. I regret that I can't meet you in person, but I never could stand to be encased in those pressure suits."

Maro gave a dramatic shudder that made his paunchy flesh quiver. Tevos and Torbel exchanged a quick glance; they both knew better than to assume that the Chairman was nothing more than the gregarious, affable old Volus that he presented himself as. There was a well of ambition hidden underneath that pleasant demeanor and a mind as sharp as a razor, ready to exploit the slightest weakness for his own gain, to go with it.

"A pleasure to see you, Chairman," said Tevos politely.

"Likewise, Chairman Vul," Torbel added, not quite as graciously.

"Please, Councilors, let's not stand on formality," the Volus replied, the very picture of benign grace. "We're all friends here, aren't we? Well, maybe not friends, per se, but certainly colleagues." He let out a good-natured chuckle.

"Chairman," began Torbel, "you're no doubt aware that the economy of the Citadel is currently in dire straits, and—"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" interrupted Maro. "Very, very unfortunate business. War is ever a ravenous beast, gorging on resources with a bottomless appetite and leaving nothing but ruin in its wake." He shook his head as though the very idea was almost too dreadful to contemplate.

Torbel's lips pursed in annoyance at Maro's interruption. "Yes, it is," he said tightly. "Which is why the Council would like to formally request that the Vol Protectorate assist in the economic recovery of the Citadel."

"But of course!" Maro said exuberantly, spreading his arms wide. "The Vol Protectorate stands ready and willing to render any aid it can to the Citadel."

"Good," said Tevos. "What kind of support can the Volus offer us?"

Maro raised a finger and waggled it at them. "My apologies, Councilor Tevos, but I fear we are getting ahead of ourselves. While the Vol Clan is willing to lend our expertise in economic matters to the Citadel, our resources are not unlimited; after all, we were directly involved with the Turians' conflict. As such, we cannot afford to give our aid for free."

Tevos suppressed a sigh. Here it came.

"What is it that the Volus want, then?" she asked, bracing herself.

A gleam appeared in the Chairman's eyes. "Well, I suppose the first item won't come as much of a surprise: a seat on the Council. After all, we've been a part of the galactic community for a very long time, and have contributed quite a lot to it. I'd say it's well past time for us to be considered a full member."

As Maro had said, that wasn't a surprise. Tevos would have been more shocked if the Volus hadn't demanded it. She could see from Torbel's expression that he felt the same.

"Done," said Tevos. "You shall be awarded a seat on the Council, and all the rights and privileges thereof."

"Secondly," Maro continued, "it is the wish of my people that the Council, and all of Citadel space, recognize the independence of the Vol Clan from the Turians and acknowledge the Vol Consortium as the legitimate government of Irune and all of its colonies and dominions."

That, on the other hand, was quite unexpected. While the intelligence reports indicated that the Volus were making serious efforts to separate themselves from the Hierarchy's orbit, Tevos hadn't thought they'd move so quickly.

"Then...you have the necessary support to do so?" asked Tevos cautiously.

Maro nodded. "Indeed! We have the votes and we have the required number of Primarchs to approve it. It'll take a little while for it to be formalized, but we have all the paperwork and such done. Of course, there will still be a lot of red tape and legal wrangling for quite some time, but that's to be expected. Nothing in politics moves quickly." He chuckled again.

Tevos glanced back at Torbel, who returned her gaze with a subtle nod. She cleared her throat. "Then, we will honor your request. The Council hereby recognizes the Vol Consortium as the sovereign government of Irune and all of its territories."

"Excellent!" Maro beamed. "Now, for the third item. While it is expected that the Council is rather...displeased with the Turians due to their recent conduct, and rightly so, it is our wish that, whatever penalties you see fit to impose upon the Turians, they are not removed from the Council itself."

It was an effort for Tevos to not let the confusion show on her face. That was an odd demand; why would the Volus care whether or not the Turians kept their seat?

Torbel looked just as surprised, and the Salarian took a step forward. "And why is that, exactly?"

Maro waved his hands expansively. "Because, my dear Councilor, there is no need to punish the entire Turian race for the sins of a few. Should they lose their seat, why, can you imagine the blow to their pride? It could cause a great deal of discord, which is the last thing the galaxy needs at this time."

"That's very considerate of you," Torbel remarked, sounding as suspicious as Tevos felt. "I wouldn't have thought the Volus would take such an interest in championing the political interests of the Turians, especially considering how much effort you've no doubt gone through to separate yourselves from them."

Maro clapped a hand to his chest as though he was beside himself with dismay. "Councilor, I assure your that, while we may no longer owe allegiance to the Hierarchy, the Vol Clan has no intention of outright abandoning our former benefactors! We have been together for far too long for that." A genial smile crinkled his flabby visage. "In fact, I daresay that we'll be working even closer together than before, to our…mutual benefit."

Suddenly, it all became clear. The Volus, or at least Maro, only wanted to keep the Turians around as a way to ensure their own power and influence. Tevos was in no doubt how poorly the Turians' monetary situation was, and that the Volus would be working to exploit it for all they were worth. They could potentially even turn the Hierarchy into a puppet state if they entrenched themselves deep enough.

That would give them a guaranteed two votes on any issue that might come before the Council; not a majority, but definitely a way to deadlock any proposal they didn't like. And if the Turians managed to build their navy back up to its former strength, the Volus would likely control that as well.

Tevos could see that Torbel had come to the same conclusion. His mouth was a thin, grim line. "The Turians must be truly grateful to have such...devoted friends," the Salarian remarked, his voice dry as dust. "But some might say that what you are asking for oversteps your bounds."

Maro shrugged. "Some might say that. But, in light of the services the Vol Clan have rendered to the Citadel over the past…" He paused to consult his omni-tool. "Two thousand years or so, I would say that our requests are perfectly reasonable. Especially considering all the work we will have to do to put the galactic economy back on track."

Maro favored Tevos and Torbel with a sagely look. "Financial matters are no trifling thing, I assure you. It takes very little to tip the scales, and if not handled with great care, well...the results could be disastrous." He shook his head, tutting.

Torbel's nostrils flared. "That sounds dangerously close to a threat, Chairman."

"A threat?" Maro asked, the very picture of hurt innocence. "Councilor, what a notion. I am merely stating a fact. Ask anyone who deals with money, and they'll tell you the same thing. One misplaced decimal point, one errant comma, one box in a spreadsheet incorrectly filled out, can cause a chain reaction that may lead to the utter collapse of a business. Or a government." He smiled again.

"We Volus are, if you'll forgive the lack of modesty, the very best when it comes to balancing the books. But we are not infallible. Mistakes can be made even by the most astute people."

Tevos could practically feel the ire radiating off Torbel. It took a few moments for him to get his emotions under control, but he finally replied, "Very well. The Turians will be permitted to keep their seat. You have no objections, Tevos?"

She shook her head. "None."

"Wonderful!" said Maro. "We will provide you with a list of reputable banks and financial institutions for the Citadel to use. All Vol Clan-owned, of course. We are sure that you will find their terms and conditions most favorable."

"I'm sure we will," replied Tevos. "Are there any other items the Volus would like to discuss?"

Maro gave another laugh. "None that spring to mind at the moment, Councilor, no. For now, I would say that our business is concluded."

"Until next time, then, Chairman," Tevos said, nodding to him.

With a gracious bow, Maro terminated the call, leaving the two Councilors alone once more. Torbel let out a soft hiss and ran a hand over one of his horns.

"Well," he said. "I guess that's what they call 'getting taken to the cleaners'."

Tevos could only agree with him.

#

With no further matters requiring their attention, Tevos and Torbel left the room and made for the lounge. It was still rather early in the day, but a drink seemed a prudent idea right about now. Or maybe several.

They passed through the door and immediately sat down at the nearest table. There was no need to place an order; the bartender knew their drinks of choice perfectly well by now. Already, the sound of glasses clinking and liquid being poured could be heard.

"So," began Torbel, leaning back in his chair. "It looks like our Council sessions are going to become very interesting in the near future."

"Indeed," agreed Tevos. "And I can't say I'm looking forward to it."

"My thoughts exactly," said Torbel, grimacing. "Bad enough that we'll have an even number of seats, the Turians are going to be in the Volus's camp for who knows how long. They can stalemate us on any issue they want. And I have a feeling that a lot of those issues are going to involve money and trading rights."

"Yes, but what choice did we have?" asked Tevos. "You know as well as I do that we're in no position to make demands, not while the whole Citadel economy is teetering on the brink. The Volus are the only ones capable of fixing this mess without any more suffering and hardship than there already is."

"I'm not denying that," Torbel said, holding up a hand in a placating gesture. "You're right, we had no choice. The Volus are going to be part of the Council now, no two ways about it, and they're going to hold leverage over the rest of us for the foreseeable future."

An Asari waitress glided over to their table and set down their drinks: a glass of green Sur'Kesh brandy straight up for Torbel and a large tumbler of a rich, deep purple Thessian ambrosia, with a generous helping of ice for Tevos

"Thank you," Tevos said. The waitress bowed and moved away without a word.

Tevos picked up her glass and sipped, relishing the rich flavor of the ambrosia. The warmth spread through her chest and out to her extremities, the sensation soothing and reassuring.

"So, the question now is, how do we mitigate that leverage without being too noticeable?"

"Well, the most apparent route would be to elevate one of the other associate races into the Council, thus breaking the tie." Torbel took a generous gulp of his own drink before continuing.

"Of course, serving as the designated tiebreaker will give that newcomer leverage of their own, and there'd be no guarantee they'll always side with us over the Volus, especially not when they can offer two votes on their own. Plus, adding on a new Council member so soon would make it blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain that we're attempting to curtail the Volus's influence, which would harm our legitimacy and enrage them something fierce."

Tevos let out a sigh. "Then that idea is off the table."

"For a good few decades, at least," Torbel agreed. "Another option is to remove the Turians' dependency on them for financial matters. We funnel some care packages their way, boost their economic recovery, and maybe then they'll be able to extricate themselves from the Volus."

"I'm afraid there's a problem with that as well," Tevos informed him. "The Volus have effectively been the Turians' economy almost since they first became their protectorate. They controlled practically every facet of their financial systems, from the banks, to the credit exchanges and trading markets for centuries. It's in their best interests to keep things more or less as they are; Maro basically said as much. Even if we offered the Turians the necessary capital to make a clean break, it would just end up in the Volus's pockets anyway."

"Wonderful," groused Torbel. "So, we have no other option than to sit back and allow the Volus to have their way." He slugged down the rest of his drink and signaled for a refill. "That is going to be an absolute joy."

"And it won't just be the Volus with influence on the Turians," Tevos added. "The Federation will also have their hooks in them. And there's no telling what sort of sway they'll have." She took a sip of her ambrosia. "In any case, I think it's safe to say that many decisions the Hierarchy makes won't be all their own for some time."

Torbel nodded in agreement, a sour expression on his face. "Yes, indeed. They'll be dancing on the strings of both the Volus and the Federation." He let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll be too busy squabbling to see who gets to be the puppeteer."

"Not likely," Tevos said. "The Volus like to make money, and the humans have products that nobody else does. They'll be more than happy to accommodate the Federation's wishes, so long as they don't interfere with their own affairs.

"There's one other factor that we haven't touched on," Tevos added.

"Ah, yes: the Quarians," said Torbel. His new drink arrived and he wasted no time in downing half of it. "The only people who actually came out ahead in this gods-awful mess. Once the former nobodies of galaxy, they're now the personal middlemen for the Federation, and have made themselves filthy rich in their new position. The two of them are going to be joined at the hip when it comes to foreign relations."

He went silent and contemplated the remaining brandy in his glass, swirling it around as though he could divine some great mystery from the green liquid. After a long moment, when it was clear that his drink was not going to impart the secrets of the universe to him, he looked back up at Tevos.

"You were around when the Quarians were still part of the Citadel, weren't you? Before the Morning War?"

Tevos nodded. "I was."

"Then you have a better idea of what they might be capable of than I do, now that they no longer have to worry about surviving day to day. What are your thoughts?"

Tevos's eyes took on a distant look as she dredged up centuries-old memories. "The Quarians, and I do not exaggerate, were the most advanced race in the known galaxy, second only to my own people. But that gap was very narrow, and growing slimmer by the year. It was estimated that they'd catch up to us within the span of as little as a century, and surpass us not long after."

Torbel's large eyes blinked in surprise. "Really? The Quarians were that advanced?"

"They were," said Tevos. "Most of their society was automated, which freed them up to pursue whatever endeavors they felt like. They were constantly pushing the boundaries of the known sciences and creating new technologies and discoveries. The only real hindrances on them were their biology and the fact that they were never a very populous race. But even that was effectively remedied by their technology.

"To give an example of just how capable they were, I once toured one of their space stations. Haratar, I think it was called." Tevos looked straight at Torbel. "It was about half the size of the Citadel itself. I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you just how great a feat that is."

Torbel shook his head. "No, indeed." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You know, hearing this makes me think that the Morning War wasn't exactly received with dismay by the rest of Citadel space. And it puts the Quarians expulsion from our illustrious community in a much more cynical light."

"I cannot speak for the motivations or opinions of anyone from that time," said Tevos with the evasiveness born of centuries-worth of navigating diplomatic landmines, "but I won't deny that the Quarians' misfortune was to our benefit."

"No doubt," said Torbel. "And now that they have found a source of wealth, you think that they might potentially reclaim their lost glory?"

"It's not a question of 'if,' Torbel, but 'when,'" Tevos corrected him. "It is unlikely that the Quarians have lost their technological edge. They just lacked the resources to utilize anything but what was absolutely necessary to survive. Now, that won't be an issue. They're already capitalizing on their newfound wealth, buying ships and upgrading them as fast as possible. The Migrant Fleet was already the largest naval force in the known galaxy, and it will only grow larger. Every ship will be equipped with the best weapons and equipment money can buy, crewed by a race that has lived entire generations keeping those ships functional in spite of all odds.

"And that will just be the start," Tevos went on. "At the rate their wealth is growing, they'll soon be able to fund colonization efforts on their own. They won't need to risk their own lives taming hostile environments, not when there are plenty of other people who would gladly do it for them if paid well enough. They can hire mercenary companies to protect their interests, and buy the best guns that the galaxy has to offer. Including from the Federation."

Torbel let out a nervous chuckle. "Now there's a frightening thought. Imagine if the humans shared the secrets of their arcanotech with them."

That was indeed a frightening image. The Quarians wouldn't even have to buy any weapon systems from the Federation to become a truly great power in the galaxy; all they needed was the humans' FTL drive, and they would no longer be dependent on the relay network as well. That was a true nightmare scenario: the Quarians would be able to go anywhere, at any time, without restriction, with ships armed to the teeth and manned by the most ship-capable people in the galaxy.

Torbel polished off the rest of his drink and idly studied the empty glass, his eyes tracking the little streams that remained of the brandy. "So, to sum things up," he began, "the Turians have been reduced to a shell of their former selves and will be under the influence of the Volus and humans while they rebuild, both of whom have their own interests they will want to pursue. The Volus will have a seat on the Council and use their hold on the Turians' economy to make them vote whichever way they want, which will allow them to stonewall us as they please.

"Meanwhile, we have the humans, a new face to the galaxy who exist far outside of the relay network and has an entirely alien technological base that we have only the faintest understanding of. The treaty we have with them is effectively a polite fiction that we need to play along with to keep our own people from panicking. And finally, the Quarians are on the rise, carving out their own little niche in the galaxy with the backing of a very powerful and terrifying ally. Neither of them has much reason to love us, and so our relations with them will be lukewarm at best, no doubt for a long time."

The glass made a hollow clunk as Torbel set it down on the table. "I've heard that the humans have a curse that applies quite nicely to this situation: 'may you live in interesting times.'"

A most terrible curse indeed.