The council chamber was a repurposed mining briefing room — folding chairs, a projector that flickered on every third slide, and a table with coffee stains embedded so deep they'd become topography.
Six people sat behind the table. The colony council of Haven's Point: three former mine supervisors, a merchant, a doctor, and Kowalski. Six people responsible for two thousand lives, looking like they'd been carrying that weight in their bones for longer than any of them had signed up for.
Vasquez stood at the front. She'd changed into a clean uniform — the gesture of someone who understood that formality mattered even when everything else was falling apart.
"I'll keep this brief. You've all read the security assessment I circulated this morning. The pirate activity disrupting our supply lines is connected to a weapons trafficking network operating through our colony. We have evidence. We also have a response plan."
She activated the projector. The colony's perimeter map appeared, overlaid with threat analysis data that Garrus had compiled between midnight and dawn, surviving on turian endurance and what appeared to be an inhuman tolerance for terrible coffee.
"Marcus Webb has served as informal advisor for twelve days. In that time, he's restored our water recyclers, repaired the atmospheric processor, and stabilized the power grid. I'm proposing we formalize his role as Security Advisor, with authority over defensive operations and infrastructure hardening."
The room stirred. Not dramatically — these people were too tired for drama. But chairs creaked and glances were exchanged.
"Who is he?" The merchant — a thin woman named Delacroix with perpetually narrowed eyes. "We've been grateful for the repairs, Administrator, but gratitude doesn't equal authority. What do we actually know about this man?"
"Ex-Alliance. Combat certified. Demonstrated engineering capabilities."
"Ex-Alliance means deserter, in most cases."
Vasquez didn't flinch.
"It means someone who left a system that wasn't working. You'll note nobody on this council has a kind word for the Alliance's commitment to Terminus colonies."
That landed. Delacroix's mouth tightened but she didn't push.
Kowalski sat at the far end. Arms folded. Face unreadable. He hadn't spoken since Vasquez began.
"The appointment carries defensive authority only," Vasquez continued. "Resource allocation for security infrastructure, coordination with our militia, and oversight of threat response. Administrative governance remains with this council and with me."
"And the turian?" One of the mine supervisors — heavy-set, balding, with hands that could crush rock. "The one who showed up a week ago?"
"Garrus Vakarian. Former C-Sec investigator. He'll serve as security consultant under Webb's authority. His expertise in law enforcement and tactical operations fills a gap we've never been able to address."
"She's selling it. Not lying, not exaggerating — just framing every piece in the language they need to hear. Vasquez has been doing this for six years. She knows exactly which words make tired people say yes."
The vote was called. Delacroix: yes, with visible reluctance. Mine supervisor Hanson: yes. Mine supervisor Ortega: yes. Dr. Patel: yes. Mine supervisor Chen — no relation to the lieutenant from Eden Prime, the name was just coincidence, but it still made something twitch in his chest — voted yes.
Kowalski raised his hand.
"Abstain."
Vasquez's expression didn't change. "Noted. Motion passes, five to one, one abstention. Webb, you're formally appointed effective immediately."
He stood. The council stared at him with the universal expression of people who'd just delegated a problem and were hoping they hadn't made it worse.
"Thank you. First briefing at 0800 tomorrow. I'll need full access to the colony's sensor grid, communications array, and militia roster."
"You'll have it," Vasquez said.
The council filed out. Kowalski was last. He stopped at the door, turned, and looked at Webb with those small, sharp engineer's eyes.
"I voted abstain because I don't trust you. Not because I don't think you're capable."
"I know."
"Those parts you 'found.' The filtration unit. The power relay junction box. I've been an engineer for thirty years. I know what manufactured components look like, and I know what salvage looks like. Those were manufactured. By something I've never seen."
"He's right. And he's telling me he's right to my face, which means he's either honest enough to be an ally or dangerous enough to be a problem."
"When I can explain it, you'll be the first to know."
"That's not good enough."
"I know that too."
Kowalski's jaw worked. Then he turned and walked out. The door closed behind him with the quiet finality of an unfinished argument.
---
[Haven's Point — Security Advisor's Office, 1420]
The office was a converted supply room — four walls, a desk, a terminal, and a door that locked. Vasquez had cleared it out that morning. The desk still smelled like the packing crates that had occupied the space before.
He locked the door. Checked the corridor through the small window. Empty.
[TERRITORY CLAIM REQUIREMENTS: MET]
[ADMINISTRATIVE AUTHORITY: CONFIRMED — SECURITY ADVISOR, HAVEN'S POINT]
[POPULATION LOYALTY: 43/100 — ABOVE MINIMUM (N/A — AUTHORITY PATH USED)]
[CLAIM TERRITORY? COST: 200 MP]
[CURRENT MP: 200/200 (REGENERATION + MILESTONE BONUS: FIRST FORMAL AUTHORITY POSITION)]
Two hundred points. Exactly enough. The milestone bonus from receiving formal authority had pushed his reserves to the cap — the system rewarding progress with the resources to take the next step.
"This is it. First territory. The foundation for everything that comes after."
He pressed his palm flat against the desk. Focused.
[CLAIMING TERRITORY: HAVEN'S POINT]
[CLASSIFICATION: SETTLEMENT TIER]
[PROCESSING...]
Heat. Not in his arm this time — everywhere. A pulse that started in his chest and radiated outward, through his limbs, through the floor, through the walls. Like a heartbeat magnified a thousandfold and broadcast through the colony's foundations.
The system interface expanded. Not the narrow toolbar he'd been working with since the beacon — a full territorial overlay, wrapping around his vision like a holographic command center. Every building in Haven's Point rendered in translucent wireframe. Every person a dot of light — 2,147 of them, moving through their daily routines, eating and working and sleeping and living.
[TERRITORY CLAIMED: HAVEN'S POINT]
[TIER: SETTLEMENT]
[POPULATION: 2,147 | GROWTH RATE: -0.3%/MONTH]
[LOYALTY: 43/100 | TREND: ↑]
[DEFENSE RATING: 8/100]
[INFRASTRUCTURE LEVEL: 3/10]
[BUILDING SLOTS: 0/6 USED]
[RESOURCE PRODUCTION: CREDITS: 200/WEEK | MINERALS: 80/WEEK | ELEMENT ZERO: 0/WEEK]
[ACTIVE THREATS: PIRATE ACTIVITY (HIGH), INFRASTRUCTURE DECAY (CRITICAL), SUPPLY DISRUPTION (SEVERE)]
[SYSTEM LEVEL UP: 1 → 2]
[NEW UNLOCK: FACTION LOYALTY MATRIX (BASIC)]
[MP CAPACITY INCREASED: 100 → 200]
The weight hit him. Not physical — something deeper. 2,147 lives, rendered as data points, each one a responsibility he'd just accepted. The territorial overlay showed their needs in stark detail: housing at capacity, medical stretched thin, food reserves measured in weeks, defenses measured in prayers.
His hands trembled on the desk surface. Not from the system — from the understanding of what he'd just done. This wasn't a game. These dots were people. Children playing with broken mining drones. Engineers working through the night. An administrator who hadn't slept properly in months.
He'd claimed them. They were his responsibility now.
The overlay pulsed gently, patient, waiting for orders he wasn't sure he was ready to give.
[DEFENSE RATING: 8/100]
[WARNING: THREAT LEVEL EXCEEDS DEFENSIVE CAPABILITY BY 400%]
[RECOMMENDED: CONSTRUCT DEFENSIVE STRUCTURES IMMEDIATELY]
Eight. Out of a hundred. With a weapons trafficking network that had just been exposed, and professionals who would come back with more people and more guns.
He opened the Heroes tab.
[HERO RECRUITMENT — AVAILABLE TARGET]
[GARRUS VAKARIAN — TIER 3 (HIGH VALUE)]
[RECRUITMENT COST: 500 MP]
[CURRENT RELATIONSHIP THRESHOLD: INSUFFICIENT — REQUIRES "ALLIED" STATUS]
[CURRENT STATUS: PROFESSIONAL PARTNERSHIP (PROGRESSING)]
[NOTE: HERO RECRUITMENT REQUIRES SYSTEM LEVEL 4. CURRENT LEVEL: 2]
Five hundred points he didn't have, a relationship level he hadn't reached, and a system level that was two tiers too low. The system wasn't giving Garrus away. Nothing worth having came free.
He closed the Heroes tab and opened Construction.
---
Garrus was waiting in the corridor when he emerged. The turian leaned against the wall with the deceptive casualness of someone who was always ready to move.
"You were in there for twenty minutes."
"Paperwork."
"You looked like you'd seen a ghost when you came out."
"Administrative work does that to me." He straightened. "I need you to run a full defensive assessment. Every entry point, every blind spot, every structural weakness. I want it on my desk by morning."
Garrus's mandibles shifted — the turian equivalent of a raised eyebrow.
"That's a lot of authority for a man who was fixing pipes two weeks ago."
"Council voted today. I'm Security Advisor."
"Congratulations. Does it come with a pay raise?"
"It comes with the right to tell you what to do."
The turian rumble. Almost a laugh.
"Nobody tells me what to do, Webb. But I'll take suggestions from someone who earned them." He pushed off the wall. "Defensive assessment. By morning. I'll need access to the sensor grid."
"You'll have it."
Garrus walked toward the colony's eastern perimeter. Rifle on his back, visor active, moving with the precision of a man who'd found a problem worth solving.
The territorial overlay pulsed in Webb's peripheral vision. Red zones covered the colony like a rash. Defense Rating: 8. Threats: critical. Building slots: empty.
He had zero MP. Regeneration at two per hour now — the system level increase had doubled his base rate. A hundred hours to fill the tank. Four days.
The morning report from Vasquez's desk had listed the warehouse crew's ship as still in-system, holding position at the relay's edge. Watching. Waiting.
He pulled up the building menu.
[GUARD POST — COST: 50 MP | DEFENSE: +5 | CONSTRUCTION: 1 DAY]
[SHIELD GENERATOR — COST: 200 MP | DEFENSE: +15 | CONSTRUCTION: 5 DAYS]
[GARDIAN BATTERY — COST: 400 MP | DEFENSE: +25 | CONSTRUCTION: 7 DAYS]
Fifty MP for a guard post. Twenty-five hours of regeneration. He could have two by the time the warehouse crew made their move — if they waited two days. If they didn't, he'd have nothing.
The overlay's red zones pulsed. Patient. Merciless. A colony of light-dots going about their lives, trusting a man who couldn't explain where his miracles came from.
He started calculating.
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