MGIS 5 - Gathering Strength - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

One of the hardest things I ever did was to watch Desmond tear himself apart trying to explain the reality of their situation to a group of people who were determined to keep their heads crammed up their collective asses.

~Lila Tre’jira, interview on the challenges of interacting with Terrans.

“Printing the armor is going to be far more cost-effective than having it shipped out to us. It’s still extortionate as the only licenses they offer are full runs rather than single ones, and we have to get a different design for each of us due to our species traits.”

“Corporate greed, go!” Desmond said with a mocking laugh before sighing and straightening his uniform once more, which actually made it more messy in the process. Something that Chloe gently chided him for while fixing it.

“Stop that, Des. You look fine.” Chloe adjusted the jacket so it lay straight and his rank markings were displayed for easy recognition by anyone who would care to look.

“She’s right, McLaughlin. Just relax and remember that we are here to support you,” Captain Skytreader rumbled from her spot against the wall. “I’ll wave if it’s something you cannot talk about, but the only one they’ll be able to pick up is you while you are in that circle.”

Desmond sighed and nodded, settling into the familiar at-ease stance inside the circle of silver that was set behind Skytreader’s desk.

It had been five days since he’d gotten the packet from Ambassador Rockchewer, and less than twelve hours since his message had been dispatched to Ambassador Steelbender when they rejoined the fleet. She’d apparently been just waiting to get confirmation from him before putting her plan into action.

“The fact that I’ll be addressing an abridged meeting of what amounts to the United Nations is more than a little concerning,” Desmond grumbled quietly, but didn’t elaborate when the captain shot him a stern look.

“They are a ruling body of a single planet, amongst the millions of planets that you protect with your actions as an adept amongst the Hegemony. Do not let them intimidate you,” the Uth’ra captain said firmly and Desmond felt some of his worries melt away.

She’s right. Chin up, McLaughlin. You aren’t just some nobody that the government can ball up and throw out like a used tissue. You are an adept, Sire to Clan McLaughlin, and in service to the Empress of the Hegemony, Desmond reminded himself as the light on Skytreader’s desk went from red to blue showing that it was transmitting.

After hearing back from Steelbender about the plans, they’d decided that the captain’s office would send the best message, and when they’d contacted Skytreader, the captain was more than happy to let them use it rather than one of the meeting rooms for officers due to better security as well as the full-body projector that was set up.

The entire back wall of the captain’s ready-room was one massive screen, something they’d seen her using before to communicate with Admiral Lo’Unath for important calls. Right now, the captain stood off to the left against the wall where she could observe both the screen and Desmond, while his girls were arrayed on the other side of her desk at his back. The projector wouldn’t pick them up, but knowing they had his back was all that Desmond needed right now.

Ahead of him, the screen that had been displaying the runes for ‘Connecting’ in Standard shifted a moment later and then resolved to reveal a large room that held hundreds of humans in various forms of formal wear depending on their nation of origin. The room was arranged in four rising tiers with highly polished hardwood desks and beautiful white marble flooring. Bright lights shone on polished gold and silver embellishments that marked the name plates and various national insignia on the different podiums set up.

And the room was currently in utter bedlam.

Men and women shouted at each other while gesturing wildly. Desmond heard threats in a dozen different languages, the tone being more than enough to tell him what they were. Uniformed Terran guards stood at the back of the room, but Desmond could tell at a glance they were nervous from how they fingered their weapons.

“Utter chaos, isn’t it?” A voice said through the receiver in Hegemony Standard. “No, don’t speak yet, I’m curious how long until someone notices that I’ve turned this on. Just nod if your captain is with you and you are ready to begin.”

The voice was familiar enough that Desmond easily placed it as Ambassador Steelbender, though she wasn’t in frame at the moment. Desmond dipped his head in a nod and heard a low chuckle through the speakers.

“Good. Thank you, Captain, for allowing the use of your office. I hadn’t expected a full-body hologram but this makes it even better than a floating head like the others would have been.”

Skytreader chuckled at that, her orange eyes twinkling in amusement.

It was a man in a military uniform in the front row that noticed first. He was older, with graying hair and dozens of shiny metals on a dress uniform that had such severely starched pleats that they looked super-glued in place. The man elbowed the older fellow next to him who was busy shouting at a man wearing robes on the other side of the room. When the other looked down at the man in uniform, he pointed at Desmond and said something.

“Figures it would be Whitton that noticed first. He’s been a lot more attentive after I put him through that window,” snickered Steelbender.

Desmond caught sight of the Dwerg woman as she took a step forward on his left. Her mane of blonde ringlets fell to her waist, with the pair of braids at her temples being the only order enforced on the shining mass. She was dressed in what looked like a pantsuit of steel gray with gold trim on the seams and cuffs, with her rank embroidered on her shoulder as well.

As more people began pointing towards the Dwerg, and Desmond by proxy, the shouting began to quiet down as people turned either annoyed or irritated glares their way and settled back into their seats.

“Representatives of Terra-Sol-3,” Ambassador Steelbender spoke in a loud voice that projected over the room. He noted that the Ambassador was speaking in Standard but many of those around the room twitched like they understood her, and the few that didn’t had others bend close to whisper to them.

Interpreters? I was wondering how this would all work, Desmond thought but didn’t let it show on his face. I wonder if they all have translation magic for the major languages, or maybe there’s some larger spell at work here? Enchantment is weird and something I need to experiment with when I have enough brain cells to spare.

“Today I have a unique opportunity for you all. Adept Desmond McLaughlin, first of your kind to leave Terra-Sol-3, has found the time during his service to the Hegemony to reach back to his homeworld to address questions that you might have.”

“How?!” demanded a portly looking man with Asian features and a bad comb-over. “The adept training course is two years, and that has not passed yet from when we were contacted. Not to mention the gross failure rate your people have reported!”

The words that emerged from the speaker did not match the man’s lip movements, so Desmond assumed that something was translating for him, which was fortunate.

“Adept McLaughlin?” The Ambassador turned her smiling gaze to Desmond through the projection and he cleared his throat before speaking. Desmond pointedly remained in the at-ease position despite addressing what he knew to be national leaders back on Terra.

“I received an early promotion due to commendations earned in the line of duty over a month ago now,” Desmond answered crisply, addressing his answer to the entire room on the other side of the projection.

His answer clearly was not welcome from who he guessed was the Chinese representative, as the man’s scowl deepened and he looked ready to snap out another question before someone else spoke up first.

“Mr. McLaughlin, what sort of commendations did you earn during your training years?” The question came from a horse-faced woman in a white pantsuit that sat in the same station as the man that the ambassador had named as Whitton. From the way she simpered his name and the pointed tone to her question, he knew that she was talking down to him.

Fine, they want to play those games. Let’s do this, Desmond thought and remained at ease, not answering her question.

The ambassador’s smile deepened as she watched him, clearly twigging on the reasons behind Desmond’s actions before she wiped her expression clean and turned back to study the room as the awkward silence stretched onwards.

Whispers began and the woman, who remained seated the entire time, began to stir and her disdainful expression shifted to one of annoyance, then outright anger.

“Are you going to answer the question, young man?” she snapped.

Again, Desmond did not respond. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as others began shooting looks at the woman in confusion then back at Desmond through the hologram.

“What’s he doing?” Desmond heard Lila whisper behind him.

“Just wait for it,” Sasha whispered back with a touch of laughter in her voice.

Just at around the two minute mark, the gray-haired man in the uniform huffed and twisted in his chair to shoot the woman a venomous look.

“Perhaps, ma’am, if you would address the Adept by his title, as is polite, you would receive an answer. I’ve warned you before that your attempts to dismiss formality and decorum are rude. My own experience taught me that, but you seem determined to get your own lesson.”

“Indeed, General Whitton,” Ambassador Steelbender said, her voice carefully neutral as she spoke. “The adepts are considered the prize of the Hegemony. It is why Adept McLaughlin’s early promotion for merit is so momentous.”

The woman who had asked the question so rudely was still glaring at Desmond, ignoring the general and the ambassador as she attempted to force him to bend to her will with her eyes.

As if her ‘Karen’ act would scare me after the Rift monsters I’ve seen.

“As amusing as this attempted display of dominance is,” interrupted a swarthy man from the other side of the room. “I would genuinely like to know what it was that Adept McLaughlin did to earn his early promotion, given the failure rate of the others that have been sent. It might help us in selecting the next set of candidates.”

“May I remind those attending that the selection process is done by the academy ships themselves based on genetic markers that show potential of the dynamo to wake in an adept? You may present as many candidates as you wish, but the Hegemony already has a prioritized list. It would be far wiser to work to alert and train your potentials ahead of time, possibly by actually alerting your constituents of the options at hand?”

The ambassador’s pointed words got a roll of the eyes from the swarthy man but Desmond couldn’t help the scowl on his face.

“You mean to tell me that word hasn’t spread about the Hegemony yet, Lady Ambassador?” Desmond asked and got a nod from the ambassador.

“The representatives have a ten-year window in which they can begin informing their people of the new situation, this is a grace period intended to set up proper infrastructure and the like to handle integration and begin trade. We are nearly one-fifth through that time and sadly are lacking in any motion in such directions.”

“Well of course not. Many of the elected officials will no longer be in office when the timer expires, so they believe it’s not their problem,” Desmond replied, doing his best but unable to hide some of the acid in his voice. “Shortsighted, considering the wealth of opportunities out here. They may believe, wrongly I might add, that since it won’t happen during their tenure, they will not be held accountable for the missed opportunities of being prepared.”

“Young man!” snapped the still nameless woman that Whitton had chastised. Her exclamation sparked off a furious argument amongst everyone in the room that raged for a good few minutes while the ambassador waited patiently as the people argued and tried to point blame.

Desmond caught fragments of the argument as it rustled back and forth. Everything from accusations and excuses, to demands for his arrest for insubordination and disrespect. He remained silent throughout it all, though Desmond could feel the last little bits of any affection he had for his homeworld burning away like so much flash paper.

The only one who was not joining in on the imprecations was the old man in the uniform who was studying Desmond with oddly, a look of regret in his eyes.

Whitton… Whitton… why does that name sound familiar? Desmond thought as he studied the old man out of the corner of his eye. Spotting the stars on his uniform, Desmond finally made the connection. He’s the bastard who signed my draft notice… General John Whitton. That’s why he’s familiar.

That realization abruptly made Desmond’s patience run out and he glanced to his left at Captain Skytreader, who was shaking her head while watching the Terrans argue like a pack of ducks over a slice of bread.

“Captain? How much longer do we have the connection window for?”

Desmond’s pointed question cut across the arguments and more than a few heads spun around to look in his direction in a mixture of confusion and anger.

“You have another forty-seven minutes, Adept,” Skytreader replied crisply. “If they happen to circle back to it, remember the redacted portions of your commendations are not to be discussed. No, I don’t know what they are, I just know that they exist.”

“Adept?” Ambassador Steelbender asked, once again shooting him a small smile while her bright blue eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Just confirming something, Ambassador,” Desmond said as he turned his attention back to the ambassador. “We were only allotted an hour to utilize this secured transmission line by the Admiral, and thirteen minutes of the hour have already elapsed. I’m also currently using my captain’s personal ready-room to transmit, as I respected the assembled representatives enough that I believed showing my full body to be wise to confirm I was in good health.”

“Something of which I noticed none of them asked about,” Raegan mumbled behind him, which was followed by murmured agreements.

“Who all is with you, Adept McLaughlin?” General Whitton asked, standing from his seat to respond, the first to do so when asking a question.

“Captain Skytreader—my commanding officer—as well as my four guards. The captain is here to ensure I do not break confidence with anything the Hegemony military deems secret, and I do not go anywhere without my guards.”

“Oh? Do they follow you truly everywhere?” The acidic question came from the woman behind Whitton and Desmond pointedly ignored it.

“I apologize for the lack of decorum, Adept McLaughlin,” General Whitton said, also pointedly ignoring the woman behind him. “Emotions are running high right now. Please, if you would elaborate on what achievements you performed to acquire your commendations.”

“To clarify, I was not the only one commended,” Desmond began, giving the general a very brief nod. While he had a general dislike of the man for his actions in basically using Desmond as a piece of meat to distract the aliens, Whitton was being polite. “Every one of my guards also received commendations for performance as well.”

“Of course he would—” snapped the woman behind Whitton, only to cut off when the general whirled on her.

“Enough, Estelle! You are dismissed. The only thing you are doing right now is making things worse. Get out!”

What followed was a brief altercation where the loudmouthed staffer threatened the general with reprisals of everything from court-martial to arrest before two of the guards for the room bodily dragged her out.

Another few minutes were wasted on pointless sniping back and forth amongst the members still present until the ambassador pointedly cleared her throat and glanced to one side where a clock hung on the wall.

“Forty minutes, ladies and gentleman,” she reminded them before turning to Desmond once more. “Adept? If you would?”

<><><>

Desmond spent the next twenty minutes explaining the commendations that he had received as well as the situations surrounding them.

The disbelief on the representatives faces when he described the devastation of the Rift-nova disaster was amusing, but the bland way in which he described both it, and the resulting catastrophe where he and Chloe had earned their first round of commendations swayed a few.

The description of their space-walk and infiltration on the pirate ship that had attacked the Scion of Thought brought surprising responses. Desmond spotted more than a few awkward looks from different people in the room and had to wonder if the reason for the increased security was something to do with pirates in the area. He wasn’t sure how many ships were set to guard Terra, but determination would find a way.

It was when he got to the final event, when he described the Jaar’ti mother-ship and his encounter with the flesh-eating monsters, that the disbelieving shouts began.

“You are telling me that there are xenomorphs out there that fly about devouring planets?” scoffed a bone-thin and pale man in a tweed suit. “Preposterous!”

“The Jaar’ti are a real threat, one that I have attempted to educate this august body on repeatedly,” countered the ambassador with a sigh.

“Sometimes, it requires seeing to believe,” Desmond interjected, drawing the attention of the ambassador and the whole room. “I’m sure that the Hegemony has footage of the devastation that the Jaar’ti leave in their wake. If not, I am sure that I can make a point of recording the next time I find one of them devouring and desecrating an innocent citizen who was unfortunate enough to be in their path.”

“They won’t listen,” General Whitton piped up with a sad smile on his face. “I’ve seen those recordings, Adept. And I respect you for being able to face them down. The motion to play them before the assembly here was voted down as no one wanted to watch something so ‘gruesome.’ But they continue to insist that it can’t truly be real.”

“Trust me, General. And all of you present,” Desmond panned his gaze over the collection of politicians and their aids.

There were a few amongst the representatives that looked serious, one of which sat near Whitton, between him and the man in the tweed suit, who had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he ran his knuckles over a rather prodigious mustache.

“The Jaar’ti are real. They are vicious. And they would happily devour everything in their path. I’ve touched one, killed it with my bare hands because it was engaged with one of my guards and it was the only way to get her to safety. They are real, and they are a threat out here. Be grateful it was the Hegemony that discovered Earth and not one of the Jaar’ti ships.”

Desmond’s voice dropped into that dead, neutral tone that he used when he let the masks fall. The mask that he wore when he let the wounds on his heart from having to kill so many people show. What his soul felt like, bearing the weight of those he’d killed to protect what he cared about.

More than a few of the observers flinched at the suddenly emotionless mask Desmond showed them. Skytreader watched him emotionlessly, but Desmond had a feeling the captain would be having words with him later on. He had buried this long ago, when he’d made that resolution to accept what he had to do to shield others, but the wounds still remained inside him.

“When a Jaar’ti hunting squad has torn through an orphanage, or ravaged a hospital because you were worried about a quarter of a percentage point of popularity polls, then perhaps you will remember the warning. When slavers with technology beyond human comprehension arrive and carry off entire schools worth of young and impressionable minds, and you have to answer to weeping parents, you might remember—”

“Thank you, Adept McLaughlin.” The ambassador’s words rang out over the suddenly quiet room, cutting him off mid rant. Desmond slipped his polite mask back into place over his scarred heart and turned his attention to her.

“However I can serve the Hegemony, Ambassador. I and Clan McLaughlin are at your service,” Desmond respond to her in that echoing silence, saluting the stout Dwerg woman.

A cough came from one side of the room and Desmond looked up to meet the eyes of the mustached man from earlier who was staring at him intently.

“Lad… I mean Adept McLaughlin. Did I hear you right? You said something about placing Clan McLaughlin at their disposal?”

While the translation magic did not carry over accents, Desmond spotted a square of tartan plaid fabric in the man’s breast pocket and made the mental connection that this must be the representative for Scotland or Ireland.

“Graduating early with my commendations is something that I am proud of, don’t get me wrong,” Desmond began. “But what I am the most proud of is simply this: My clan. It’s not how you probably think of it, one of the old Irish or Scottish clans. It is something new that I have forged with my guards. As of the date of my early promotion, I formed Clan McLaughlin in the Hegemony, a new branch of the Uth’ra Kindred.”

Desmond turned to shoot a smile over his shoulder at his girls, and got four grins in return before he turned back to the projector and locked eyes with the representative who was wearing a small smile of his own beneath that fluffy mustache.

“You could say, I carried my name out into the stars with me when I left. And they accepted it as their own.”

The mustached man inclined his head in respect, an amused twinkle in his eye.

“Then you are living up to your name. You sailed into the unknown and claimed a home there. Thank you for speaking with us, Adept McLaughlin.”