Providentius: Reflections

At 15, I was inducted into the Hierarchy Navy. I served for a year alongside friends and family, our lifelong bonds having reached their peak in the crucible of our shared experiences as fresh recruits, and at the end of that period we went through aptitude tests that would determine the path for the remainder of our service. Almost everyone I had known in my life at that time, whom I had called kin, tested into the Combat Engineer Corps. I was selected to be part of the Officer program. Overnight, I had lost a number of my closest friends, and never saw them again.

Some of them had stared at me as if I were a stranger to them their whole life. One to whom I thought I had been particularly close almost seemed betrayed by the news, as if I had any choice in the path that was given to me. I had no answer to their hurt, nor to my own. 

“You are destined for greater things than they,” my father claimed. I did not believe him then, and I do not believe him now.

“You aren’t Modalius. Not really. You can wear the markings of one all you like, but you don’t look like one, much less act like one. Your dad just married into the clan, and everyone knows the Chronols do it for the politics. Don’t bother trying to be like one. You’ll just tarnish the name.”

These words were hardly said to my face; even by then, I was a head taller than most of the others in my class, and had been accustomed to my strength. They were exchanged between others whom I had called kin, in whispers and rumors. It was only later, with many years of retrospect, when I learned that being Modalius was nothing worth boasting about; an engineer’s life was a quiet one, without prestige or any sort of glory or weight to be found with responsibility. In truth, the words of my father were not without merit. To be the exceptional person who occupied a position of prestige would have been seen by most others as a step up, of escaping from humble circumstances into a position of glory.

But all I felt was profound solitude.

Fenriux, ever by my side, swore that day he would remain with me, to follow in the same footsteps as I had, despite my best attempts to dissuade him. He took that as poorly as I had taken the loss of everyone else. For as long as I could remember, Fenriux had stuck by my side, and I had not yet learned to appreciate it. At the time, I had considered it an effort on his part to win from Praetorious an approval that he had never been given. Having lived in my shadow for so long, I thought he would have grown tired of its owner; at the time, I had thought that he was merely attempting to mimic me in an effort to one day eclipse my accomplishments with his own. 

Drill Instructor Pisax was less charitable than any other authority figure I had known up until that point. He was even more cruel to Fenriux. It did not matter that we were taller and stronger than all the others in our class; even when it came to sparring, we were beaten down handedly by his ruthless experience and skill. He intended to show us that we were no different nor better than any of our peers, and he had accomplished that just about as well as he had fostered resentment between me and my sibling. He had made it obvious, and spite could only maintain Fenriux’s grit and loyalty for so long.

It was not long before we had become the top two contenders for the best close-quarters combatants in our class, and thereafter we fought each other in a series of bitter bouts. No matter how much he studied and practiced, Fenriux had never bested me in the ring. He could never get accustomed to fighting on the ground as I had; it was a simple matter of intercepting his strikes and kicks, and bringing the fight down to the floor. No matter what he tried, I knew Fenriux too well; I could read every tell, every deception. We had been at this since we were kids, after all.

It was not long before Pisax had made me an example for others to follow; Fenriux, the example to avoid. Though Fenriux had an even keener observation than I, his knowledge and acumen were never fully reflected in the test scores we came away with. We were first and second in our class. Shortly thereafter, we stopped talking to each other. When our class graduated, we were assigned to different ships on different fleets. I did not see him again until many years later.

Having experienced it in this manner for so long, I did not consider success (as I had come to understand it) as anything special. I had followed the mold set out for me from the beginning. By that time, I had left my hopes and my dreams behind many years ago. The Hierarchy had found its place for me, and from that day forwards I was molded into the role it had set out to make me fit. I had met very expectation, every bar, no matter how high it was raised. Never once did I think to turn against what had been prepared for me. It was a plan placed into motion before I had even become aware of it. Praetorius made sure of it.

Even a meritocracy has its politics. The argument that all people earn their way to power and responsibility can just as easily be reversed to justify all the people in power having earned their way there. So it was (and is) with the Chronol family. Their pride in their biotics is a subtle one; normally, the discovery of such a gift is rewarded with the privilege of serving within the highly specialized, and highly segregated, Cabal units. But saying the right words to the right people allows one to avoid such a fate. It was not difficult for Praetorius to convince my superiors that his progeny’s true worth was beyond that of any Cabal; after all, what use has a titan for the power of gravity when his muscle alone could suffice? I had grown to be as imposing and as mighty as my forebears, having only the markings of the Modalius as my claim to their heritage as well.

Both Fenriux and I avoided the Cabal’s life. It carried benefits and detriments all its own; we were more openly accepted within our circles, and yet I cannot help but feel permanently stunted for not having proper training to make full use of them. My capabilities for grasping the finer elements of control are lost to me; all I can use them for are brute applications of raw power. Fenriux fared better: had he been allowed to use his own, I am sure he would have bested me on at least a few occasions when we had faced each other in the ring.

To this day, I would consider Fenriux superior in all matters pertaining to biotics. Much of it was self-taught, but I am sure that he has taken the knowledge of many others in his journey towards mastery. In the days and years since our separation, he has truly grown into himself. He is self-assured and confident; we rarely see eye-to-eye on many matters, but I trust his judgment nonetheless. He truly seems comfortable in the areas of expertise he has carved for himself, and we have found again a working rhythm that covers many of our weaknesses with the other’s strengths.

If every turian had such an opportunity as we had, I would think that the Hierarchy would benefit immensely from it. Biotics are more than their powers, however prominent. They are no different from you or I, and people foremost. I am proud to be such an example, if it means one day that others could receive similar treatment.

Life in service to the Navy does not leave much time for reflection or regrets. There is always a new duty station, new tasks to complete, objectives to accomplish. I served in those early years as a midshipman, until I eventually came to command a frigate in the fleet I served in.

Ascension through the ranks comes with time as much as it does dedication, and in those years I had grown close to many of my peers that I had served alongside, a new comradery that I had not experienced in all the time I had spent training to be an officer. It was easy to forget about rank and station when everyone was working together to keep the ship intact during fleet engagements or fending off a boarding operation.

I could never understand the upper rank’s propensity to isolate themselves from the enlisted, when the destruction of the ship we all served on would not distinguish between the leaders and the people serving them. Oftentimes it was the people who worked their duty station the longest that knew better than the officers assigned to rule over them. In that time, I had learned as much about the crew as I had myself, and I did not resolve to be the kind of leader who simply delegated orders and would expect obedience for commands that I myself would not wish to be subject to. Neither would I shy from the danger that they put themselves in on my behalf.

In retrospect, it was easy to see how I had become a very literal bulwark for my men, serving alongside them in as much a physical capacity as an authoritative one. Not only had it felt natural to me with my own inclinations and traits, but it was something that I felt was sorely needed in an era where the expectation that the soldier is to die on the orders of his superior when it is required of him. It is something I have kept with me, no matter what title or rank I hold. And I believe my service record and accomplishments speak for themselves on that matter. 

Pioneer

Mission Cheer

Without Fear

These were the words spoken to the gathered kin who had returned from their years of service. Fenriux was with me that day. One and all, we were recognized as fully fledged members of the Modalius line, and I was happy to be counted among their number. Gone was the stigma of my youth; the Modalius are far more pragmatic than the stories some of their more conservative branches might offer their children. They take people of all backgrounds, all skills, and absorb them into their own. They are a resourceful people, unscrupulous and willing to adopt anyone possessing any quality, be it wealth, prestige, or talent, to contribute to their ambitions. Above all, the Modalius are industrious, and while their innovative tradition stretches back to the days of antiquity, they are not incapable of adapting to the times. Among a people of engineers and shipbuilders, there are yet among them pilots, bodyguards, marines of the Hierarchy. I knew then that I was as much heir to that same legacy as peers with whom I shared neither blood relations nor talents with. The people united in that room that day were connected by creed, not by blood.

To this day, I wear the starbird with pride, not because it is my only sense of identity, but because I believe in its mission, and the people who work alongside me to that end. The Home Defense Fleets have more turians who hail from the Modalius lineage than any other, but many of my people are yet found all over the Hierarchy, and beyond. I would readily recognize them as Modalius as I would those who serve alongside me, bearing the same markings as I. By blood or by creed, we have found a union in which we gain strength.

It was only after that day that I recognized Praetorius having his own place in that lineage, despite hailing from a far more prestigious family. It was not purely for legal relations; he had understood his place in the Modalius to be altogether different from most who had adopted the starbird, as the melding of two mighty peoples in the Hierarchy towards something greater than anything that had come before. As I have said before, I do not believe in that vision. I simply believe that I can make the most of what I have been given, and where I now find myself. That is enough for me. For all of the faults in the system, it is not wholly irredeemable; there is capacity for advocacy, for improvement, and I am well-positioned now to help put such plans into motion. That is a vision that I strive towards. It is not the grandest of ambitions, but I have no need for one; I am content with where I have come from, and where I can go with it. It is about far more than what I have brought from my past. There is a future there beyond all my past regrets and mistakes. I can face them honestly, without reservation.

I do not consider myself a teacher for what I have learned over my many years of life and service; what I have seen and learned in my life is not merely a lesson to be learned. For some it is a warning; for others, a reminder of all their failures and regrets, still others might see it merely as a tale by which they can see themselves in a new light. But for me, it is simply a part of myself that I take to heart.

Sword and Shield

“Do you understand why I chose Providentius over any other Admiral?”

Koter blinked, and glanced over to the human who addressed him. He stared at a cold and dark gaze wreathed in the shadows of the dark safe house they lingered in for the time being. 

“Because you’re never one to back down from a challenge,” Koter supposed. Aeos shook his head.

“Nothing so petty. I have observed him and determined him to be the weakest among all the others of the Hierarchy, the most easily levied in times of crisis.”

Koter narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

Aeos stepped from the shadows, his hard and unyielding stare no lesser for having been revealed in the harsh lighting. Dark hair parted over a sharp brow, a neutral expression made severe for a narrow and piercing gaze, a killer’s intent. “The Hierarchy’s strength relies upon the discipline of its soldiers,” Aeos began. “They must be willing to follow orders of their commanders, or else the coordination of their numbers and firepower will shatter and fall to the cunning of their enemies. A leader of thousands will know that casualties and sacrifice are inevitable, and must instill this willingness to die in their subordinates, even as they themselves must be insulated from such risk. Should they refuse, the loss of leadership will quickly degrade the coordination of their fighting force, even if they retain sufficient numbers to continue fighting. But Providentius refuses this maxim, priding himself on never having lost a unit in combat. He is unwilling to face the realities of his duty in a true conflict, and instead risks his own life than that of his men. He cares surprisingly little for the fact that he would leave his entire fleet rudderless should he die in the attempt. His noble spirit is a liability, not a benefit.”

“In other words,” Koter supposed, “his mind is more valuable than his life, or the lives of everyone it leads.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Aeos agreed with a nod. “A commander worth their salt should know that good intentions are not a rule for winning wars.”

“You are wrong.”

An amused chuckle escaped Aeos. “Oh? And what about my assessment is wrong?”

Koter crossed his arms and regarded his handler with a narrow gaze. “You see the Hierarchy as a cohesive society pursuing its self-interest, sacrificing a limb to save the greater body; as if it were so different from the Alliance in that respect. But you are mistaken; the giving of oneself in our society is shared by both master and servant, by both head and foot. In this, Providentius is the most fearsome admiral of all. Everyone who serves him knows that they are not pawns to be thrown into the fire for some greater purpose they cannot truly believe in; he breaks the barrier between those who leader and follower, knowing the needs of those who fight for him as one who fights alongside them. Not a single turian among his ranks can serve him in a way Providentius himself will not do for them, and he has devoted the entirety of his being to the well-being of his people. They would give their lives for him not out of duty, but of their own free will. His greatest weakness is not his love for his men; it is his greatest strength. He is surrounded by men whose loyalty he has earned.”

Aeos turned to face Koter square in the eye. “Does that include you? Take yourself for an example; you are killed more easily than he is; yet for your sake, he would surrender himself, and become all the easier target for it. You become his greatest weakness.”

Koter did not shrink back, but crossed his arms over his chest. “Have I served under you for so long that I have become a fragile thing in your eyes? Or do you consider me a thing you must protect much the same way you think Providentius himself does?”

This time, Aeos was silent. Smiling a little, Koter continued.

“Our weaknesses are not so different, such that is common to all flesh and blood. They seem to be only to those who don’t understand what makes it our strength. You didn’t choose Providentius because he was an easy target; you chose him because he is more like yourself than you want to admit. But I think that is a strength, not a weakness.”