Massive Disaster III-15
David Shen-Abraham found comfort in routine. Every morning, he would wake at 5:30, engage in some peaceful meditation for fifteen minutes; not the pointless hokey nonsense that many religious groups out in the colonies often pushed, the kind that actually worked. After a period of deep, mindful breathing, David would drink a protein shake made with only the finest organic ingredients; imported, expensive enough to offend most people’s sensibilities.
After that, he would spend a solid half-hour reviewing colony production reports while his coffee brewed. The imported beans from Earth, vacuum-sealed, and shipped at a cost that would fund a small infrastructure project. Worth every credit. Many would not understand, but some luxuries were simply non-negotiable.
And then—order. His fingers curled around the ceramic mug by the time his omni lit up, stock projections, shipping manifests, efficiency margins.
A clean rhythm.
Today, the rhythm had been interrupted by the Alliance.
David sat behind his desk, fingertips resting lightly against its surface—old-world wood, deep-grained and solid, an object meant to outlast lifetimes. Across from him, Captain David Anderson, fresh off his ship, wore his Alliance blues with a formal ease that was clearly something he’d grown so used to it didn’t register any different than a t-shirt and jeans would be to the common man. Even now, the man sat regulation-perfect even in the plush visitor’s chair, spine straight, shoulders squared in a way that came off as experience and second-nature.
Clearly a career Alliance man of note, straight-backed, deliberate and undeniably focused. Not one of those sleek, press-friendly politicians the Alliance had trotted out his way over the last year or so to attempt to get to the real golden goose on his colony.
No, Anderson was the real thing—old-school, pragmatic, someone who could smell bureaucratic bullshit from orbit.
Which made it all the more incredible that the man was here, now, in Shen-Abraham’s office, pretending like this was all about something as mundane as colonial security. Despite the importance of keeping his cities safe, they both new that had very very little to do from why Anderson had spent the last few weeks roaming the Traverse.
David clocked it absently, drumming fingers against jade inlays as afternoon light cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, casting the office in cool daylight. Beyond stretched the restored and upgraded skyline of New Abraham—a sprawling metropolis of white-and-silver architecture, growing bigger every month as it expanded in size, sprawl and population.
And yet, as always, Arkadia IV remained a small player in the grander game.
Oh, sure, of course he was a multi-trillionaire, and a governor of a colony in the Attican Traverse. On paper, that sounded impressive, and it would have been so to many of the masses on Earth and out in the colonies, but some jingling keys would have been impressive to 99% of the many, many billions that made up humanity’s population.
In reality? He was a minor power in a galaxy of multi-quadrillion-dollar megacorps across Citadel and Alliance space. And that didn’t even factor in the thousand-year-old asari matriarchs who made his entire family’s combined fortune look like a rounding error.
Just another small lord in a system full of empires.
Still, he did his part to play the game anyway.
“I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice, Governor Shen-Abraham,” Anderson said, the captain’s deep voice carrying that particular cadence of someone who’d spent decades giving orders. “I’ve been in the area patrolling suspected Batarian hotspots and I decided to pay your colony a visit. I’ve heard of its recent growth.”
“I’m sure,” David replied back with a smile that was well-practiced for meetings like this, “and of course, I have time to meet with you, Captain Anderson. New Abraham values its relationship with the Systems Alliance,” he continued, the practiced diplomatic response sliding out automatically. He didn’t add what they both knew.
At this distance from Earth, that relationship existed primarily on paper and was only really due to his connection to his family’s company.
In reality, it was effectively little more than a lie. Out here in the Traverse, the Alliance’s authority stretched thin to the point of non-existence, like watered-down sauce trying to cover too much pasta. Laws, regulations, standards; neither the Citadel nor the Systems Alliance could truly lay a claim to anything that wasn’t given to them or outright taken by force.
Anderson nodded, taking a sip from the coffee David’s assistant had brought in barely a minute earlier. “The Alliance pays close attention to the unique security challenges faced by frontier colonies,” Anderson was saying, voice measured and even. “Particularly those in the Traverse, especially those in such close proximity to the Terminus Systems as Arkadia IV is.”
Most first-timers balked at the complexity—actual, real coffee, the kind that didn’t taste like repurposed protein supplement the commoners called caf.
Captain Anderson, though? No tell that David could even note. Impressive.
Clearly, the man was either in possession of an exceptional poker face or his palate had been dulled by decades of rations. Might be both even. “The Alliance understands the unique security challenges faced by frontier colonies,” Anderson continued on, without even a break in expression. “Especially those bordering the Terminus Systems.”
“Of course you do,” David replied, fingers dancing lightly across the edge of his desk. Pure Taiwanese jade, imported at ridiculous expense.
Another small indulgence. “Just as you understand that these ‘unique challenges’ have been brought to the Alliance’s attention no less than seventeen times in the past quarter alone.”
Anderson’s expression didn’t flicker a single milimeter. “Budget constraints are a reality—”
“Of course they are, all throughout the Systems Alliance and really, any organization throughout the galaxy,” David cut in smoothly, voice barely shifting from polite indifference. “Of course.” He repeated as he let the words settle just long enough to register. “A fascinating reality, considering the recent expansion of the Fifth Fleet’s cruiser program.”
A flicker. Not much, but there. The kind of small, instinctive reaction only noticeable if you were looking for it.
Which David was.
“That’s a separate budgetary consideration,” the captain replied evenly.
David let out a quiet exhale, the sound bouncing in between amused and dismissive before finally settling in somewhere in between but neither of the two at the same time. “Naturally. And classified, I imagine.”His index finger traced over the ancient whorl in the jade with his index, a habit from childhood that emerged only during the most delicate negotiations. “Just as I assume the real reason you’re here today is also classified.”
A breath too long, one the Captain held as the flat line of his mouth somehow became even flatter.
Interesting.
Anderson’s posture didn’t shift, but David felt the air change, that subtle recalibration happening beneath the captain’s careful stillness. A reassessment, however slight.
“Governor,” Anderson finally spoke up again, the man’s deep rumble of a voice giving David nothing to mull over as the man said all he could, “the Traverse represents a complex political landscape. The Alliance’s presence here must be… carefully calibrated.” A barely there exhale left Anderson’s nose as David leaned in, clearly interested.
David smiled, the expression small and unreadable. “Calibrated… I see.”
“The Alliance believes in protecting human interests.” Anderson didn’t lean back, didn’t shift, but there was a careful lack of elaboration in his tone.
Shen-Abraham was silent for a moment too long. “But the question here is that if the Alliance is truly interested in a stronger relationship with effectively independent colonial bodies,” he said, tapping a single finger against the desk, “One has to assume that involves a drastic reconsideration of the restrictions on military assets the Alliance unfairly imposed on Terminus-adjacent human settlements?”
Anderson didn’t even shift as usual, the man giving him nothing. “I think you know how the Council feels about that.”
Must we do this? Shen-Abraham didn’t sigh like he wanted to. “Of course, again. I must be a fool to forget the Citadel Council. And For some reason I had the idea that I was speaking with the Systems Alliance. My mistake.”
Anderson didn’t sigh, didn’t frown, but something settled behind his eyes, like adjusting to a new temperature.
“The reality, Governor Shen-Abraham,” the captain said, voice dropping just enough on his title to mark the shift, “is that the Traverse is a powder keg waiting to explode. You know that. I know that. The rest of the galaxy knows that. The Council’s restrictions are… cautious, yes. But not without reason.”
David let his gaze drift toward the window. White towers, expanding city lines, the hum of a growing metropolis. “Cautious,” he repeated, taking a long moment to roll the word around his tongue like testing a bad vintage. “That’s… certainly one way to put it. Another, more accurate way to phrase it would be deliberately leaving human colonies vulnerable while the Council races fortify their own positions.” He turned his attention back to Anderson, watching him. “The turians have enough firepower stationed near their Traverse outposts to glass half the region. And yet, we’re expected to defend ourselves with outdated weapons and civilian-grade barriers.”
Anderson’s right hand twitched toward his omni-tool—a movement so small it might have been involuntary—before returning to perfect stillness.
“We’re navigating complex waters,” Anderson said. “Pushing too hard, too fast could—”
“Could what?” David asked, leaning forward just enough.”Cost us our place at the table? Or reveal how wobbly our chair already is?”
“Your colony has shown remarkable growth.” He set down the coffee David knew he hadn’t actually been drinking. “Particularly in the technology sector.”
And there it was.
The moment he’d been waiting for. The reason Anderson was here.
“Arkadia IV has always fostered innovation,” he said easily, giving the planet’s proper name just the slightest emphasis, a correction in itself. New Abraham might have been his family’s mark, but it wasn’t the whole of the world. “The distance from established manufacturing centers necessitates creative solutions.”
Anderson’s expression remained neutral, but something changed. Not in his face, but in the silence before he spoke.
“Creative solutions like Victory Innovations’ non-eezo technology?”
Come on, Anderson, David tilted his head to the side. All this delicate talk and now you toss it aside for a blunt hammer blow like this? “Among others. While New Abraham has nothing but support for that particular company, we have several promising startups planetside exploring alternative technology.”
“And I assume all of them are equally successful.”
David had known from the moment the Alliance requested this meeting that it was about Zedd and his company. The boy’s non-eezo technology had sent ripples through the defense industry that even the Council couldn’t ignore. “Ah,” he said simply, as if the idea was unexpected. “ Well, while Zedd does have quite the natural talent for addressing colonial-specific problems in that unique way of his,” Shen-Abraham acknowledged, deliberately using the first name of the young man the extranet was occasionally referring to as his protege.
It was the closest thing to blatantly yelling in the man’s face that while Anderson might have reports and dossiers, David actually knew Victors personally. “His solutions prioritize the development of novel but practical approaches to previously theoretical concepts, which appeals to colonists who need results rather than research papers.”
Anderson nodded, the man probably barely even paying attention to his actual words. “The Alliance is… interested in establishing a dialogue with Mr. Victors, and we were hoping you could expedite that in an environment that would not have him reject our advances outright,” he responded carefully.
“Translation: his tech doesn’t rely on eezo, which means it doesn’t rely on Council supply chains, and the Alliance would love to have him work with them,” David said bluntly. “Mostly because it threatens the economic chokehold the Council races maintain on humanity’s expansion capabilities. Am I wrong?”
Anderson didn’t confirm or deny, which was confirmation enough.
“We believe there could be mutual benefit in a structured partnership,” he said instead. “One that ensures proper development oversight while providing Victory Innovations with the resources to scale their operations.”
David almost laughed. “Development oversight. Resources to scale.” He shook his head slightly. “Captain, do you think Mr. Victors is unaware of what his technology represents? Do you think he hasn’t already calculated precisely how much leverage it gives him?”
“Then you believe he’d be unreceptive to Alliance overtures?”
“I believe,” David let out a slight sigh before speaking, well aware he had little control over his golden goose, “that Zedd Victors is a young man who values his independence above most things. And who has very specific views on authority structures attempting to guide his work. I’d rather not irritate the boy, personally. Victory Innovations represents a significant economic asset to Arkadia IV.”
“And to you personally, I imagine,” Anderson said, voice as smooth and as conversational, like they were two men at a social function and not sitting across from each other in a meeting both knew was a negotiation.
“But of course, he’s like a son to me.” He took a sip, deliberate, unhurried, before lowering the cup with the barest click against the desk. “Though I’m curious why a military officer of your standing was selected as the ambassador for what sounds suspiciously like the Alliance appealing to an adolescent for help.”
Anderson lifted his own cup but didn’t drink, clearly a deliberate action. “My background includes extensive work with colonial security,” he said, making his point. “There’s practicality to my experience, while man”
David gave him a slow nod, like that had been an answer. It wasn’t. “Very true,” he said anyway, leaning back slightly, fingers drifting idly along the jade inlay of his desk. He let the silence settle before clearing his throat and continuing. “Simply speaking, we both know thatecurity remains a priority for any colony in the Traverse, particularly after the incidents last year.”
Deliberate.
Casual enough to pass as an observation, but pointed enough that the implication sat in the air between them. The Batarian raid. The chaos. The bodies. The fact that when Arkadia IV had needed the Alliance, it had been met with silence. A reminder.
“…And we are both aware those incidents highlighted the need for better integration between colonial defense systems and Alliance rapid response protocols,” he said, voice neutral, measured. “Which is another reason I’d be interested in speaking with Mr. Victors directly. His innovations in his kinesis field technology could have significant applications for civilian protection.”
David almost smiled. At least he’s not pretending this is about anything else.
“A reasonable request,” he said, setting his cup down lightly. No sound, no ceramic clink this time. A more deliberate movement. “Unfortunately, your timing is regrettable.” He tilted his head slightly, just enough to suggest polite regret. “Mr. Victors isn’t currently on Arkadia IV.”
Anderson didn’t sigh, didn’t frown, but something in the way his fingers shifted against the untouched cup suggested something. “I see,” he said, contained, but not entirely absent of reaction. “Any indication of when he might return?”
David let the pause stretch again, watching the way Anderson handled the uncertainty before saying, “He’s on Nova Kasiopea, speaking to students about accessible technology for lower-income demographics. Marketing directly to the next generation of consumers while they’re still forming brand loyalties.”
There. A flicker behind Anderson’s eyes. The barest shift in the way he was holding himself, a reassessment. Whatever profile they had on Zedd, that wasn’t in it.
“Nova Kasiopea is primarily an academic consortium, isn’t it?” Anderson asked, voice just slightly different now, a bit more interest in his tone. “Several universities pooled resources along with investors to establish an independent colony?”
Good. He did his homework.
“Correct. Founded by several academic institutions pooling their resources with a few billionaires looking to pursue education in a society free from the ills of Old Earth,” David quoted the usual spiel of the place, well aware it was mostly an attempt to recreate their own vision of Ancient Hellenic society, in a few more ways than education. “They’ve established quite the foothold in the Traverse. Ten million residents now, give or take. Mostly students, faculty, and the necessary infrastructure to support them.”
Anderson absorbed that with the same unreadable composure, posture locked into that military precision he wore like a uniform inside a uniform. “When do you expect him to return?”
David made a deliberate show of checking his omnitool, even though he already knew the answer. “The visit was supposed to be relatively short; product launch, a campus tour, the usual handshakes and PR optics.” He nodded slightly as if confirming what he already knew. “He should be wrapping up today, actually. I imagine the extranet feeds are covering it.”
A flick of his fingers, a keystroke on his desk, and the far wall of his office shimmered to life, the viewscreen adjusting through a brief flicker before stabilizing on a news channel.
“I believe they should be reporting on it on this channel—”
His voice cut off, eyes widening in barely mitigated shock.
The reporter wasn’t standing in front of a press event, flanked by polished executives and eager young researchers. She was outside. The air behind her thick with smoke, emergency vehicles flashing blue and white in chaotic rhythm. Medics wove through the scattered clusters of injured, stretchers lining the pavement in uneven rows.
Buildings still smoldering. Windows shattered. The chyron at the bottom of the screen made it official:
“ATTACK ON NOVA KASIOPEA MAIN DISTRICT.”
David inhaled slowly. Exhaled through his nose.
“—still piecing together details of the assault,” the reporter was saying, her voice carefully controlled but edged with the raw undercurrent of someone still catching up to the sheer scale of what they were witnessing. “Witnesses describe Batarian raiders and combat mechs engaging in a full assault against the colony’s primary district. Victory Innovations CEO Zedd Victors was among those present when the attack began.”
Then the camera panned.
Zedd.
His clothes were torn, ash streaked his jaw, the side of his temple red where a gash was still sluggishly bleeding. He stood at the edge of a triage zone, not with the injured, not with the officials. The same sharp, relentless energy as always, but now it was sharpened to a point. The aviators were still on. Of course they were.
“Mr. Victors!” The reporter surged forward, stepping past the scrambling medics, voice cutting through the noise. “Can you tell us what happened here?”
Zedd barely turned, just a flick of his head toward the camera, his mouth pressing into something that almost looked like a grimace before he wiped it off his face. “Listen, I got a friend hurt, I can’t speak for too long—”
“Is it true that Victory Innovations security personnel engaged the attackers?” The reporter pushed, voice sharp. “Witnesses described someone in armor similar to your VEST technology, and another figure in blue and white with his own armor system.”
David narrowed his eyes.
“That… that…” Zedd’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing slightly before curling into a loose fist. His gaze flickered away for half a second. “He’s a new operative within Victory Innovations. You can call him—”