"Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." –Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
Shush
The tide broke gently against the pale sands of Thessia.
Shush
Crystal blue waters, coaxed into a brief edge of froth at the surf's edge, extended far out into the horizon, laying passively beneath an amethyst sky. The coast spread out for miles, unmarred by development or smog from nearby cities. The asari were always conscious and appreciative of beauty—they would not permit such natural wonders to be violated by machinations or pollution. Scalloped clouds gathered off near the setting sun, and glided majestically from view under the gentle insistence of a slight sweet-scented breeze.
Shush
Sorla Na'Skaani's feet were bare, but she felt no heat from the fine sand. It pushed pleasurably against the pads of her toes, and dusted the periwinkle skin of her slender ankles.
Shush
There was a tinkling cascade of laughter from the water's edge—three asari maidens relaxing, likely on vacation from the nearby College of Architecture. Two were wading in the shallows, splashing each other and giggling, while the other watched, stretched luxuriously out on the sand.
Sorla smiled, and headed toward the group. She was also on school vacation, her last before entry into the ranks of this decade's Justicar hopefuls. It was common knowledge that Justicars made a practice of denying themselves pleasure at all possible opportunities, so Sorla planned to make this final period of freedom last her through the arduous years of training and the lifetime of abstinence and self-denial that awaited her.
Shush
"Hello!" She called out, waving brightly to the lone asari. The other woman turned, smiling in welcome, and, Sorla thought, appreciation as she noticed the athletic grace of the newcomer.
Sorla was momentarily struck by the other girl's facial tattoos—sweeping and intricate, more like a flower's shadow than the customary angular shapes. She liked it.
The other asari opened her mouth—
The blaring of Sorla's personal terminal shattered her dream, and she rose gratefully from bed. Life in the present was harrowing enough without reminders of the past.
The encryption was heavy, but the contact tag was familiar. The Broker needed her again.
Sorla ran the decryption program while she suited up. If this was anything like all her missions in the past three hundred years, he'd have arranged for transportation already, and it would be waiting for her long before she'd downed breakfast. It was not good to keep the Broker waiting.