The Haven.
Meer'Talos, eyes hidden behind her enviro-suit's mask, scanned the data terminal screen in front of her.
Other identical screens displaying various data and images covered three of the four cabin walls. Above the small cot behind her there hung a swath of bright red and violet fabric, thick like wool, with something embroidered along the bottom in quarian script. It showed nearly a decade of wear, although little dust – Talos kept her cabin specially filtered after all.
A small shelf near the cot held a pile of aging tech manuals, a couple of modified omnitools, and a disassembled M-6 Carnifex pistol. She was more of a soldier than a machinist, but always did her fair share of tinkering, to keep twitchy trigger fingers busy if nothing else.
As quarian names cascaded down the display she tapped a key to pause it, another to open the voice command function and spoke slowly and deliberately, "Search."
A small box blinked onto the screen. She continued: "Kenn'Dekazza. Faro'Dan. Sol'Veema. Zha'Gerrel." The program took note and began scouring the contents of the database for her queries.
She sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. Seventeen million quarians were all logged in this database – the database, listing every quarian currently living and serving on the Migrant Fleet – without the luxury of quantum computing, she was ready for a long wait. But Talos was finding it difficult, remembering to breathe.
Twenty minutes went by, then thirty, with no hits. A low hum from the hulking mass of salvaged tech that powered Talos' personal terminal could be heard over the cacophony of the old ship. She liked it. The sounds calmed her nerves, which were stretched far tighter than she would ever admit.
Talos had spent the past three months attempting to track down every young quarian on pilgrimage in the Sahrabarik system, of which there had been at least fifteen, and most were on Omega. Six of them returned to the Flotilla with their respective contributions, and five had moved to other systems not long after she tracked them down. She had been keeping an eye on the rest while they continued their pilgrimages when she intercepted an odd message.
It originated from the Migrant Fleet and was, as far as Talos could discern, genuine.
She pulled out her omnitool and punched her passcode to access the hidden memory bank she used to store her intel on the Flotilla. She didn't dare keep sensitive information anywhere but her own person. A few more keystrokes and an imperfect hologram of a quarian man, distorted by distance and her rough means of obtaining it, flickered to life above the device.
"Origin: Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema. To all quarians abroad: All are recalled to the Migrant Fleet by order of the Admiralty Board, effective immediately upon receipt of message. Reason a matter of national security and the future of the fleet. Keelah'selai. Origin: Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema. To all quarians abroad: All are recalled to the Migrant Fleet –,"
Talos paused the message as it looped around a second time. "Keelah'selai," she muttered. The Admiral had spoken those words with an odd sort of emphasis. She lingered a few moments on the frozen image, her eyes narrowing, before shutting it down.
The four young quarians heeded the message, as they should have. Not a week ago, Zha'Gerrel had organized his fellows and together they bartered their way onto a human merchant vessel headed out from Omega to the Pylos Nebula. She followed them as far as Jonus, in the Nariph system, before they all went suspiciously silent.
She was concerned, but not overly so – they could have simply made a jump through the relay towards the Far Rim sooner than she thought. It was when she picked up some suspiciously encoded comm traffic she decided to act. These were uncertain times and unfortunately not many people looked out for quarians, even before the chaos. Meer'Talos always looked out for her own… whether the Admiralty Board wanted her to or not. But sometimes she couldn't do it alone, so here she was.
By the time the clock on her omnitool read 15.42 GST, three hours had passed and Talos wasn't surprised when someone buzzed her from the bridge.
"Excuse me, Captain?" Ah. The new human, called Sam.
She took a breath. "Yes?"
"Ma'am, we've reached Citadel space."
"Thank you, Sam," she closed the link and tilted her head back towards to the ceiling. The hum of the terminal hard at work blended with the sound and slight lurch of the Haven dropping out of FTL. After a stop to vent the Haven's drive core, they could attempt to dock at the Citadel.
Talos wondered how long it would take this time.
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