Fort Veritas

Some more murmurings were heard but she ignored them as she simply stood under the center chandiler within the massive cathederal that housed the Marines home for that moment. Sazhori smirked, her wings folded and refolded upon her back as she thought over his words. "What I had witnessed moments ago before following you here.... I have many witnesses." She said aloud as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her words echoed clear as if speaking tgo the two that spoke between themselves "You may ask them..... Or.... the transmission that they sent"

Sometimes the Raven hated acting, but sometiems she loved it, this was one of the times when she just wanted to do it to keep up appearances. But she did it so well she kept her own voice even and calm as she spoke. Her eyes locked on Carnaelgaar.

Apparently her words rang true, one of the sgts turned to a nearby Techmarine who was going over old transmissions, it was garbled but he had it..... somewhere in his logs. But it would be too little too late as Sazhori suddenly had a feather like a dagger in her left hand in full view of Marines

For the two sgts who recognised her they knew exactly what it meant. But their bolters never raised, as they simply stood still and watched the Living Saint carefully. Was why she was there true ? Why was her attention locked on their Captain ?

The Space Marine soon lost his resolve as she had evidence against him. He tried to remain calm however it was clear something was wrong. "So what? Evidence is always forged...I am---" The man tried to speak but lost his voice.

"So my puppet has been caught? A pity...I thought there would be more use from you...But looks like my eyes in your brothers chapter is now going to die...Shame...you had some use left...

"But as expected of a useless puppet...I can't have you spilling out my ultimate plan...Do not fear, your soul shall be damned to my will now 'captain'...But you have played your part well my puppet..."

"N-No! I-I did what was asked!...NO!..." The man suddenly screamed.

"farewell 'hero'...Oh I wonder how they will react to...This!"

Suddenly the Captain was lifted into the airs as chains erupted from his body. Chaotic taint poured from his body as the man screamed in agony. "Ah!...Greetings 'brothers' and the so called 'saint'...It looks like you found my puppet...A shame I suppose but his time and use has run out...But...I bid you all...farewell for now..." The voice laughed as the soul of the Captain was dragged away and his body continued to have chains explode from his body.

Four chains sprang towards her from the tormented Mortal. A flick of the wrist and the feather was launched like a bullet dead at the body's primary most vital artery, but that wasnt all. As the feather connected the built up magic and sheet power went off like a pipebomb.

Shimmering golden energy floated around her body however as the chains repeatedly tried to grab her until the feather exploded, forcing the chains apart. Allowing her hand to raise and sheer energy slammed into it with such force it launched the chain writhing mass through a wall.

But that then left her.... with three dozen Space Marines staring at her in shock.

How did she know their Captain was tainted ?

Why did whoever possessed him call her a so called Living Saint when her sheer power alone proved she WAS a Living Saint ?

With a soft smack, the feather reappeared in her hand before she let go of the weapon, it floated briefly before fading into smoke, its power seemingly spent befoer it was once more on her should unseen due to the sheer black of the feathers, even her wings ewere black like her shoulders. No light escaped from the black feathers unless she willed it so.

She drew a deep breath....

Now was a good time to try and get out.

She turned to where the door was, she had entered over it. But what she saw instead was the first sgt who spoke with his fellow. Uh oh.

Wait his weapon wasnt raised ? Was she safe ?

As the remains of their former captain painted the ground. The squads of Space Marines could not believe what had happened. Who was supposed to be the best of them was actually a traitor. As a Tactical Marine armed with a flamethrower began to scorch the tainted remains. Others looked to the woman with black wings. "We thank your for the assistance in dealing with the traitor. The chapter thanks you for the help ma'm...We will deal with the mess and appoint a new captain. But if there is anything you need to ask we shall answer." The Space Marine spoke.

For long moments nothing was said as the sounds of fire cleaning the tainted ground was heard, finally she asked. "Is anyone harmed ?" If there wasnt, she could take her leave. The Marines did not appear to want to take her prisoner as she had helped rid them of a traitor.

But they also wondered if she really was a Living Saint. For all she knew she was. She stretched her wings, nearly knocking over a Marine on accident in doing so.

Finalyl to the sgt who spo0ke to her she said simply "Thank you.... for trusting me" She bowed to the Man her wings spreading wide to lift her off the ground with a brief thrush of air. "By your leave...." She said simply.

"Negative, we are all fine. However we must screen our company in case the Chaotic influence is removed. Cleansing has to be thorough and merciless. You are free to leave, we have our work to do now..." The Marine spoke as he began to march off to already do what he just said.

Sazhori smiled. She did not want to know what cleansing was, and from the sound of things it was indeed merciless. Since she was given the notion and freedom to leave she nodded and with a flap of her wings, was out the door and moving at a fast rate through the air. Moving back the way she had come.

There was a certain unit of men she had to visit

A single Lambda Shuttle arced its way through the atmosphere and over the skyline of Wing City. Under orders from the higher powers within the government, Admiral Thrawn returned to the city for questioning. The shuttle's wings lifted and the landing legs extended as it hovered over the landing pad. The faint triangle of the Chimaera loomed over the planet near the Moon.

The shuttle landed, the ramp dropped, and Thrawn's guards marched down in a double file line, relaxed but alert. Thrawn exited the shuttle in the center of the formation. His blue skin, and blue black hair a sharp contrast to his glowing red eyes and sharply pressed white Grand Admiral's uniform. Might as well dress his best for this meeting.

The armor of Thrawn's Personal Guard of Kinara clones likewise looked its best. Freshly polished and maintained to look brand new. The blue and black designs seeming to shift in the day light, the dark red visors seeming to glow dimly as they took in the world around them. Their rifles were set on safe.

At the edge of the landing pad a Sergeant stood, waitimg for Thawn, who stopped in front of the non-commissioned officer.

"Good Afternoon, Sergeant." the chiss greeted. "I assume you are here to escort me to the meeting? If so, lead the way." Thrawn's tone was nothing but polite, but regardless carried the Authority of his rank.

Sergeant Matthias Hartblay had been enjoying his morning, the day thus far demarcated by his usual ten kilometer run at dawn, a thoroughly unremarkable breakfast in the mess on base, and the generally quite uneventful slog of interior guard duty by the suborbital/atmospheric space/aircraft landing pad and hangar. The afternoon, Hartblay suspected, would not give him the courtesy of remaining as pleasant as the earlier part of the day.

Hartblay had been briefed on Admiral Thrawn's imminent arrival, potentially to face court-martial, if not a more thorough dressing-down from Defense Minister Varona himself. That latter possibility, Hartblay had deduced from the Minister's motorcade arriving about an hour before the Lambda shuttle touched down. How he would hate to be in the admiral's shoes today.

He and his fellow soldiers sharing guard duty saluted, as was proper, when Thrawn disembarked, and he had to take a moment to steel himself as he found himself face-to-face with the famed Chiss.

"Good afternoon, sir," Hartblay responded, meeting Thrawn's eyes and betraying no outward reaction of his own. "If you'll follow me, right this way." He turned to lead the admiral toward the base's main administrative building, an imposing structure of concrete and steel with sparse decorative motifs along the eaves, engraved with the seals of the Terran National Government and the Terran Armed Forces Central Command. As they walked, Hartblay snuck a glimpse at Thrawn's figure, never having had the chance to lay eyes on the Chiss before.

Their destination was neither the warren of security posts by the main entrance, nor the grander halls reserved for the generals pondering war and defensive postures, but rather a small, disappointing conference room with simple furniture and walls without adornment save for a ticking clock and a framed portrait of Minister Varona. The stately portrait, done with the Terran flag as backdrop, was no match for the man himself, seated at the head of the table, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin, eyes raking Thrawn as the Chiss entered.

Hartblay felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to flee immediately, but instead saluted Varona, waiting for his dismissal.

That's when he noticed that Minister Varona was not alone. Standing against the wall, behind Varona, was the Foreign Affairs Minister, a wider, fatter man than Varona's muscular and lanky form. Where Varona's dark, tightly curled hair fell about his chin shoulders, framing a neatly trimmed mustache and beard, Minister Dvořák's greying dark hair had grown out wildly, his beard full and untamed. What both men shared though, was their unforgiving stare, resting on Thrawn.

When Varona spoke, his voice cut.

"Sit."

Thrawn returned the Salute as needed, and nodded, following the man as directed. His Guard likewise followed, maintaining their formation around them. Thrawn's glowing red eyes hold a steely expression, and his face was unnervingly neutral. The Chiss' stature was very similar to a human's, however he held himself with confidence and strength. The door to the chamber opened, and the Sergeant salutes to the people inside.

There is a strong distaste for the situation in the Sergeant's body language. His muscles stiffen. Minister Varona's expression is stern and unyeilding, as is the other man, who Thrawn is not familiar with. Thrawn sits as instructed, and his guards stand at parade rest with their rifles outside the chamber door as the door closes.

The situation is tense.

Thrawn takes a moment after he sits to smooth his uniform, then turns his Glowing Red Eyes to the ministers before him.

"Good Afternoon." he greeted cordially.

Hartblay's undress grays contrasted noticeably with Thrawn's dress whites, with Varona's combat blacks, and Božidar's civilian suit and tie. (A necktie that Božidar seemed only to tolerate minimally.) It was an odd sight, the mismatched uniforms with the lone civilian holdout, though Božidar knew Varona ​― technically a civilian now that he was Defense Minister and not Grand Admiral, the rank that only Fātiḥ Sayılgan had ever held in the Terran Armed Forces ​― had chosen uniform to send a not so subtle message about his position today. It occurred to ​Božidar that Grand Admiral Sayılgan's absence from the meeting might also serve as some message to the insubordinate Chiss. After all, Thrawn fell under Sayılgan's command, and Sayılgan under Varona and then Prime Minister Khayyam.

Varona struck an imposing figure, his long curls suggesting a bit of rebelliousness not typical of a career soldier, the sleek black metal of his wheelchair suggesting what sacrifices he'd made through his service, his combat blacks suggesting he had no time for nonsense, frivolity, or the shenanigans of recalcitrant upstarts and miscreants. With the sterile air of the base's conference room and the faint hum of the HVAC system churning in the background, the setup laid bare the lines of power. No need for such ostentatious shows and crass dick-measuring contests, as the intelligence director would often say. Varona tilted his chin back ever so slightly, dismissing the old crone's voice from his head.

There were about a half dozen things Varona could say, and he'd run through each of them before Thrawn's shuttle had even landed. Most of the scenarios he'd envisioned ended with him throttling or impaling the Chiss to great satisfaction. But out of respect (however little) to his colleague, Varona instead chose to keep it simple and at least physically nonviolent.

"What the ever-loving fuck do you think you've been doing out there, admiral?"

And only from Varona, and perhaps one or two other people at most ― the intelligence director among them, could the rank of "admiral" come out sounding like the most foul and degrading insult.

As if in afterthought, Varona dismissed Hartblay, who all but fled the room, the door shutting noiselessly behind him.

Thrawn was eerily quiet for a moment. His expression and eyes likewise eerily calm. They blinked slowly, before focusing on Varona.

"An Attempt to bolster our military, which I have found to be severely lacking in strength against significant threats." he answered honestly. His smooth voice continued the trend of eerie calm. "That is the first answer, and only one that covers the rest of my intentions.

"In truth, i was gaining intel on our enemies. To defeat your enemy you must know them. Beyond their military might." he continued. "I have been able to observe Aschen and Taiyou Culture, as well as acquire some pieces of Art for study. In doing so, I am beginning to paint a picture on how to properly defend against them, as well as destroy them." he finished. He fell quiet after that. Best to get this disciplinary action done before doing anything regarding the new ships, as well as the other plans for the new Defense Fleet he wants to build for Terra.

Hopefully this wouldn't turn into anything more than one hell of a slap on the wrist.

Varona considered Thrawn in front of him. Though he was noticeably below Thrawn's eye level when both were sitting, and to the uninitiated observer physically disadvantaged in comparison by far, Varona's presence was vast.

"We are all familiar with basic strategy, admiral." His tone was flat and unimpressed. "Political and cultural analysis belong to Foreign Affairs and Intelligence, which I might add, have both developed substantial expertise on the Taiyou and Aschen, without your unsolicited 'help.' Or have you somehow managed to advance this far without even the smallest modicum of intelligence necessary to minimally grasp your particular and limited role in our defense infrastructure?"

Well said, Božidar seemed to say with his eyes, burning fiercely.

"I'm going to put it more plainly," the enormous, bearded Foreign Affairs Minister said, speaking for the first time since Thrawn had arrived. "You think you've been helping, but you've gone and fucked up a shitton of sensitive operations in not just my department, but for the fucking TIB too. You've done the exact opposite of help. You've made things actively worse. So thank you for all the fucking help."

Thrawn's eyes blinked and his eyebrows raised. Now he began to understand his transgressions. He let each of his current opponents talk, and then blinked again, his face still unnervingly calm. His voice was chilled to match. "I apologize if I have caused any irreversible issues. That was not my intent. I also now understand that I do not have the same power and authority to do as I see fit, in the name of the greater good, as I did before coming to this Galaxy." he said.

"If it will help my case, I will gladly share all the information I have gleaned. Perhaps I have found something that you have not." Thrawn's glowing red eyes turned to Božidar, and narrowed slightly.

As Grand Admiral of the Empire, Thrawn was allowed a very lengthy Leash to do as he pleased on the border region of the Galactic Empire and the Unknown Regions of the Galaxy. He knew what was out there, and was able to do what he thought was needed without question from his crew. There were very few at or above his level who would, or could stop him. He had the Emperor's Blessing. But this was not the Galactic Empire. This was the Terran National Government. He was not a Grand Admiral, just a regular Admiral. Perhaps he could work his way back up to a similar Rank.

"Try me, then," Božidar said, having adopted a wide stance, shoulders back, one arm akimbo, the other resting, for now. His tone was thoroughly uninviting.

Varona leaned back slightly, not ceding anything so much as widening the space between where he and Božidar were in the room and where Thrawn now sat, the object of their collective fury.

"And you should know," Varona added with contempt, "I've already ordered the Legal Corps to draw up papers for your court martial, and I'm very keen to file."

At the news for the imminent Court Martial, Thrawn's face goes grim, and the usual stoic visage gives way to one that hints at worry and stress. Swallowing hard, Thrawn's glowing red eyes move to Božidar once more, and he begins to speak. First he explains that approximately eighty percent of what he was about to explain came from his study of the Aschen and Taiyou pieces of Art that he'd acquired through his travels. He didn't say how he got them. After his brief explanation, Thrawn would go on to give out every piece of information that he had, including cultural, spiritual, and war-faring details. He went over in great detail strategies that he believed would work extremely well against both factions - strategies and theories that could be run in simulations in secret to see if they were accurate. They would be entirely accurate. Past that, he went into more detail about the cultural reasons as to why these strategies would work so well, but was also quick to concede that they would only work a handful of times against the Aschen, with their advanced AI, EVE, watching over everything.

Of all the information he shared, only half was brand new to the TNG. That being said, however, the sheer amount of information that he'd gleamed in such a short time from so little exposure to either culture through actually being there or through their art was astonishing. He'd gleamed a similar amount of information as the past three years of espionage put together. And half of it was brand new information that would help in every aspect in the event that war broke out.

He went on to further explain, if allowed, that the new classes of Ships he wished to build for the TNG's fleet would be able to perfectly pull off the strategies needed to swiftly win the first few decisive battles, if the need arose.

For much of the time Thrawn was speaking, Božidar was shaking his head, invective on the tip of his tongue, while Varona looked poised to strike. Both men remained silent, allowing Thrawn to fill the space with his proffered information and proposals.

Once Thrawn had finished, for several long seconds, the three occupants of that unremarkable conference room could only hear the hum of the air conditioning and the brief rumble of a truck ambling on past them outside.

"Impressive, no doubt," Varona finally said, his voice flat. "You still have yet to adequately explain your insubordination, for which there is no excuse. And I'll be frank with you - I don't need officers here who can't fucking respect their role in a functioning nation, as military, not civilian and diplomatic."

Thrawn nodded softly. "I was merely doing as I normally did under the Galactic Empire. I forgot for a moment that being in my current position within the Terran Military does not allow me the authority nor leverage to do as I see fit. Again, I apologize for my actions." he let out a breath for a moment, and then blinked.

All he could do now was hope for the best.

"Well, you'd better start learning soon," Božidar said, exhaling forcefully. "Here on Terra, it's diplomats who handle diplomacy, not the fucking army. It's not my job to pilot a fucking suborbital fighter, and it's not your job to fucking show up at interstellar negotiations because you fucking feel like it."

Varona glanced momentarily toward the Foreign Affairs Minister as he spoke, then fixed his glare back on Thrawn. "An apology isn't going to be enough, soldier. You're to stay confined to quarters on base until you hear otherwise from myself or Grand Admiral Sayılgan Dismissed."

Thrawn nodded silently at everything said to him. He realized he'd messed up, he was willing to atone for that. He just hoped that it wouldn't end up in a Court Martial. He stood when dismissed, gave a small bow and salute, then pivoted on his heel, and walked out of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

As he exited the room, his personal Guard snapped to attention, and he looked to them, then to the Permanent Personnel Guard standing before him. He didn't say anything still, but nodded when ushered by the guard. They followed silently, rifles at Right and Left shoulder arms respectively, while Thrawn walked in the middle.

"You'll be staying here, Admiral, until told otherwise. It ain't much... but it's enough. You'll be escorted to Chow three times a day. Have a good rest of your day." the guard, a nervous but diligent Corporal, said confidently.

"Thank you, Corporal. I'm sure it will do just fine." Thrawn said, stepping into the room. It was a simple room. It was a bedroom and bathroom. Not much else. The door closed behind him. Two of his ten Personal Guards would be posted outside his room constantly, and while they did not have keys to get into the room to ensure Thrawn didn't leave, they could get in if they needed to. They were Force Sensitive, allowing them to use basic abilities, such as a Push or Pull strong enough to knock out the door. They would yield to the Permanent Personnel, and allow them to do their jobs, but likewise, they wouldn't leave Thrawn's side.

When Thrawn had left, Varona sat in silence for several long minutes, fist pressed to his chin, while Božidar paced the length of the conference room, hands jammed into his pockets and shoulders hunched. The shadows from the blinds shifted ever so slightly, and a pair of trucks rumbled by, accompanied by vaguely cheerful but unintelligible banter.

The whole place stank of ruined aspirations.

"You think Vilhjálmsdóttir and Olson will support a civilian indictment?" Božidar spoke darkly, the side of his mouth curling in distaste.

Varona shook his head. "Justice has no jurisdiction. Thrawn is ours. It's a military matter. Vilhjálmsdóttir can stay in her lane."

"So what then?" Božidar continued pacing, not looking at Varona as he spoke. "Thrawn gets a slap on the wrist? Demotion, couple of months in the brig, some kind of punishment duty? Then act like nothing happened? We all know that's how things operate around here. Look what happened in Parliament. At the TIB."

The defense minister slammed his fist on the table.

"No! No. I'm no fucking sycophant. No one's yes man. The Grand Admiral isn't either." Varona leaned backward, turning his chair with the faintest mechanical whir to follow Božidar pacing. "The judge won't throw him in the brig longer than a year or so, but that's because he's intelligent enough not to attempt, oh, I don't know. Fucking treason or espionage or something. He's loyal... enough for now, anyway." Varona's eye twitched. "Still. The fucking audacity he has, coming in to the TAF, thinking he can strut around like he owns the place! Where did he learn his fucking discipline?"

Božidar shrugged. "Honestly, I don't care if he's in the brig for a few fucking months or a few fucking years, as long as he stays the hell away from Foreign Affairs."

"We're on the same page there, mate," Varona replied. In afterthought, he crumpled a page from the table and threw it at the wall.

"Fine then. Keep me updated." Božidar turned to leave without further pleasantries.

Varona found himself alone with only the droll walls and sagging chairs as company.

This was weird. Everything about this goddamned request. Ahmad Fazari didn't like it one bit. Then again, he rarely did, not when the old woman sent him on these ill-explained errands with very precise instructions. He wasn't her special assistant anymore, but her deputy director. Which either meant that she now thought him mostly useless (a sobering proposition) or that she trusted him and him alone with whatever task he'd been entrusted to carry out, only hoping that at least this time, it wouldn't result in criminal charges.

It was about eleven in the evening, and Ahmad stepped outside the Bureau's old headquarters building inside Fort Veritas, looking to his left. About three miles down the road, where the droll barracks buildings sat, was his destination. He held a thermos sealed tightly, and a small envelope sealed in antique style with wax. This was absurd. But it was what the director had asked of him, and so he would do it.

Ahmad considered walking the distance, then decided against it. Not as cold as it was now that temperatures had dropped for the night. He climbed in his car and drove the three miles, parking very illegally by one of the barracks. (It wasn't like the base police were going to do anything about it. Probably.)

Upon entering, it was easy to figure out where a certain Chiss admiral was staying, because of the special guards stationed outside a door that in all other respects was completely unremarkable, as plain and austere as every other fixture and furnishing in the place. Ahmad swallowed, then approached.

"Excuse me... I'm looking for Admiral Thrawn. Can I go in?"

For a moment, the Guards were silent, turning their heads towards the man who approached them. Their H.U.D's did their job in identifying him, and they nodded. The one on the right side of the door pressed the button, and the door slid open. Thrawn's cell was neatly kept, but their was coming rather stale. The room was filled with small holographic projections of art, a holo-communicator set on the table and projecting them as best it could. Thrawn sat in the center, staring at each of the pieces of art. Even a piece of music played dimly.

"Good morning. To what do I owe this visitation?" Thrawn asked, blinking, and turning his bright red eyes to the man entering. "Tell, me, Deputy Director Ahmad. What can you gleam from this painting?" he asked, shifting the projector to zoom in and solely display a single piece of art from the Imperium of Man.

Ahmad stepped into the room, bewildered momentarily at Thrawn's peculiar assortment of possessions. He and the old woman were not too far off in their affections and eccentricities, though Ahmad certainly hadn't been expecting, well, this when he'd headed here. Then again, he supposed he hadn't expected much in this vein of idiosyncrasy the first time he'd met her either.

When Thrawn addressed him, Ahmad turned his attention to the painting indicated, unsure where this was going. Some kind of bizarre test, no doubt.

"It's... It's from somewhere in the Imperium of Man," Ahmad volunteered, squinting at it. "I'm not really sure what else I'm supposed to know? Um... Why are you showing me this?" This was so far outside his wheelhouse.

Thrawn considered Ahmad's reaction to seeing the painting for a moment before nodding. "It is indeed from the Imperium of Man. From art, I can gain details about a people that many others could not from years of observation. I merely wished to see if you could garner anything from it." Thrawn reached over, and turned off the holo projector, standing before the man who had entered his cell. He was in a more relaxed wear, his boots neatly placed off to the side, and wearing his trousers and undershirt for the moment. Despite this, he still looked more dignified than many others in the military while they were in full uniform.

"Now then, as I was saying... to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked carefully. Those glowing red eyes taking the man in with measured respect and suspicion.