Migrant Star Ship – Yaska
Canrum-class cruiser
unknown system
Galactic Standard 2nd Month, 27th Day, 2143
Admiral Farr'Zorah of the MSS Yaska stood on the bridge of his ship, hands clutched tightly behind his back as the redshift in his vision vanished and the universe in front of him regained clarity. His eyes were trained forward and before him, the consoles and the instruments of the vessel whined and buzzed while its crew maintained diligence in their actions and quiet in their steps. Further, beyond even them, a trillion stars sparkled, twinkling against the great dark of space. Among the lights, there lay the salvation of the quarian people just waiting to be discovered and claimed as theirs. Behind the Yaska, the Migrant Fleet, all fifty-thousand ships appeared suddenly, flashes of blue light erupting behind them and dissipating. It was only after an hour or so that all ships were accounted for.
Beyond the stars, an ancient philosopher once said, we shall find home.
Statistics from the Patrol and Civilian Fleets had reported that within a few decades, the Liveships, the heart of the Flotilla, would suffer from irreversible structural failures—even now, it could be seen that the rusting of the Rayya's seaboard hull could not be fixed without replacing the entire chassis, which was too costly and impossible considering the current resources they had. And the Hierarchy would see it as uncalled-for-militarization and be given Council approval to scour their ships. No, they would not be subjected to their prejudice ever again. The people will find their own destiny in the unknown, in uncharted space away from the Citadel, they would not become the vermin that they were vilified as.
"Let us proceed as planned," echoed the admiral's voice across the bridge. Then, the Flotilla lumbered silently after them through the silence of space, only the low roaring of fifty-thousand ships breaking the stillness. The Yaska, being the admiral of the Patrol Fleet's home-vessel, had been chosen to be the first quarian ship to brave the uncertain, to spearhead the charge towards its people's triumph! The quarians would rise again. Farr'Zorah would see to it for his wife, for his children, for his people. The quarians would rise again.
"How are the long-range scanners doing?"
"We've increased our range, certainly sir"–the sensor-officer continued tapping on his console–"but the Special Projects techs had to downgrade much of the detail-scans. We can scan farther and wider, but the VI's won't know what gets pinged."
"Understandable."
And the Flotilla moved, tens of thousands of ships groaning forward like a great, indomitable—but wounded—beast.
Citadel Tower, Presidium
Seat of Galactic Power – Citadel
Widow System, Serpent Nebula
Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 1st Day, 2143
Tevos L'Driani walked up, with her aide following close behind, the steps that led to the upper atriums of the Tower. In the lower rooms, in the Petitioner's Stage, the minor politicians, the heads of several intelligence agencies and the occasional ambassador all scrambled to get to potential sources of information. It had been three days now since the report of the Migrant Fleet vanishing was leaked to the general public. It had only led to small outcry from some turian groups, but it had gained intense traction after several extremist groups, both from the left and the right, had stoked the flames, putting out conspiracies one after the other, with the one gaining the most interest suggesting that the quarians had allied themselves with the geth and had surrendered their bodies for mechanical vessels to one day scourge the entire galaxy. There was even a variation that had the rachni having been secretly cloned by the geth and the krogans mutating complete resistance against the genophage.
As the representative of the asari on the Council, she had been Councilor the longest and had even been part of the Council that revoked the quarians' status as an associate race of the Citadel, kicking them out of their embassy and essentially condemning an entire species to the road of extinction. It had been seen at the time that they had to be made the sacrificial falar to dissuade any enterprising individuals or groups from researching more into the creation of artificial intelligences. It was a cruel punishment, but it had to be done. In the following decades after that, she had thought about raising the issue of reversing the ruling but there had not been any value nor reason in doing it, especially when it was a boon for the early leaders of the Hierarchy that dextro worlds didn't have to be contested.
The doors to the Council Chamber, the true heart of galactic power, slid open with a hiss when both asari neared. The chamber was small and sparsely decorated, a large round table, surface gleaming, standing at the center and taking up a fifth of the space in the room. The seats were simple in design and there were three around the table, one for each Councilor; aides had to stand up for the duration of the deliberation which could take upwards of half-a-day and longer. Idern, the salarian Councilor, was already seated, his beady-black eyes trained on the holo-screen of his omni-tool while Sparatus, the newly assigned turian Councilor, stood near the windows, overlooking the distinctly violet glow of the Serpent Nebula's dust clouds.
"Fellow Councilors." Tevos strode in, gesturing for her aide to leave the room while she sat in her chair. There was a data-pad on her side of the table and a small, triangular console. She pressed a series of buttons on it and the windows of the room, and its door, closed automatically, the sound of a long beep signaling that they had been locked as well. "What do we know about the quarian disappearance?" she asked to no-one in particular.
"Nothing." Idern put down his omni-tool and let out a sigh. "STG lacks information. Could not find anything of import. Last known area quarians spotted near Terminus. Sent operatives there, but couldn't find anything. Save for what the quarians purchased: raw materials for ships, medicine, batteries, food with long shelf-lives. If not wrong, quarians going somewhere…"
Sparatus took his seat, steepling his fingers in front of him, elbows planted on the table. The white markings on his face marked him as Citadel-born, though he was Palavenii by blood. "I have to agree with Councilor Idern. From what reports and scans Hierarchy Intelligence had on what of their ships, the Migrant Fleet seems to be in a propelled state of decay." His mandibles flared as he breathed through his mouth. "We calculated that given their propensity for dragging themselves across the galaxy and the severe lack of resources they have while doing so, their ships would fail; the most alarming are their Liveships which are there most vulnerable and most important vessels."
"So, the both of you think that the quarians are retreating to unknown space? That is insane." Tevos was unconvinced. There was nothing out there in the vastness of space, save for what was already here. Sure, there could be more worlds out there, but would a species, even on the brink of extinction, risk it all for something chance that wasn't even a certainty?
Sparatus looked at her and shook his head, head fringes moving slightly. "Of course, they would. This Council condemned an entire species to a life wandering the stars. What else can they do than to wander further when they have no other option?"
Tevos raised her brow at that. "What are you trying to imply, Councilor?" She had not thought the turian would sympathize with the quarians. It had been many years that she'd been governing the galaxy, longer than anyone in this room, or in the entire Citadel; and still, she did not truly understand most of her charge—she could guess, but never comprehend. Short-lived species could never see the bigger picture.
The turian's mandibles twitched. "The quarians should have never been cast out because of the actions of their forebears. We are the Council, guardians of the galaxy, not its executioners."
"How dare—"
"As much as I'd like to see the both of you argue over ethical and philosophical standards,"–Idern's eyes flitted between his two contemporaries–"we still have more tangible matters to attend to. Terminus warlords getting afraid of disappearance as well. Don't know what to do. Few believe in the conspiracy theories, but a few can still inflict severe damage if they, deferring to a krogan idiom, grow a quad and attack the geth out of fear-addled thoughts…"
Tevos nodded, so did Sparatus.
"What do you propose we do?" the asari asked.
The salarian swiped the haptic interface of his omni-tool and enlarged the several holo-screens he had present, so they all could be seen by his fellow Councilors. His horns seemed to curl inwards. "Initial phase, we send in a cadre—three, five, perhaps seven members?—of Spectres to the Terminus Systems, have them divide themselves. Second phase, some will go to the most powerful warlords and convince them that geth and quarian alliance impossible, others will search for the quarians around cluster where they were last spotted."
The turian had a brow raised, fingers drumming the edge of the table. "How do you suppose they can persuade Terminus warlords?"
"Methods irrelevant, Sparatus. Needed are results, nothing else."
Tevos spoke before the turian could speak his mind: "Do not be hasty with your proclamations, Idern. It would do no good if the hands of the Council were covered in blood." She nodded to the young Councilor; it was rather just a string of words. Spectres could and would do whatever was needed for the safety of the Citadel. Sparatus would know sooner or later.
The salarian rolled his black eyes and resumed looking at his omni-tool. "If blindness necessity, then please continue. I've also sent for STG equipment to be used by Spectres. Quarian disappearance trifling in short-term but will become troubling long-term. Could do anything within span of time not found. Create another synthetic menace perhaps?"
Sparatus's head-spines seemed to undulate slightly, a sign of irritation and frustration. His mandibles squeezed tight. "Who're the personnel needed in this task?"
"We've all our own lists," Idern said, his omni-tool dimming, "so propose we go through each and every one of our proposals."
"Agreed." Tevos sighed, bringing up her own omni-tool.
The turian's own device lit up. "Very well."
Migrant Star Ship – Yaska
Canrum-class cruiser
unknown system
Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 5th Day, 2143
The Migrant Fleet had passed through several uninhabited systems; they had found many livable planets, only a single one was dextro-based. It had pained the Admiralty Board, together with the majority of the Conclave, to leave it. But the system it was in was too close, too likely for a Council Expeditionary Fleet to stumble upon and bomb them off their new home. They were a thousand light-years away from the nearest mass relay. It was either go back now to return wallowing around the galaxy, or trudge on through and leave it all to fate.
Farr'Zorah, as the captain of the Yaska, stood before a console screen, representing the people of his ship. On the screen was the scene of the Rayya's core-tree—every Liveship had one—Tikkun's Princely Child, the oldest rannochai that existed outside of Rannoch, standing majestically under artificial light, its labyrinthine roots snaking across the expansive room. It was the symbol of the people's dreams; it was the symbol of their steadfastness and perseverance. The ancient Jaya tree had been old when the people had first left the planet, transplanted from the Korraya, the seat of power during the people's reign on the planet, to the Rayya when the geth had taken over the planet's largest military compound. All across the Flotilla, each captain would be graced with the same image. Beneath the Jaya's three-pronged leaves, the captain of the Rayya, Zoli'Danna, stood, her grey suit and headpiece lit by a thousand tiny screens projected from her activated omni-tool.
What options the Flotilla had would decide the fate of the people, irreversible and immensely consequential. If they returned to where they came, the Council would never let them continue their endless trek across space unwatched and unguarded, a turian patrol would be specifically tasked with keeping track of them and every Pilgrim would fear every step they took. If they did not, what happened next was out of their hands. When they had reached the current system, the Civilian Fleet Admiral, Kal'Raan vas Tonbay, had immediately requested for the Conclave to convene to vote on the motion of continuing or not.
"We're all aware why we are here." Zoli'Danna was not an admiral—the Dannas had relinquished the opportunity to become one since the Migrant Fleet began—but being captain of a Liveship gave her words tremendous weight. Back in Rannoch, the Dannas were the ruling political family; the people had become democratic by then, but it was the Dannas that held true power. And it was in their rule that the geth ousted them from their home, so their Ancestors vowed that never should their line be blinded by the pull of power and the veil of greed. Mere sophistry when one considered that the captains of all three Liveships were always of Clan Danna.
"We are on the precipice of great change, a turning of worlds and stars, or a return to a despondent lifestyle…In the third month of the galactic year 2143, the Conclave decides on the fates of 17-million souls. It is assumed that all captains present in this convention are knowledgeable about the facts and the arguments that we have heard and poured through in the last session… where we decided that we had to travel to unchartered space for the continued survival of our race.
"Now, it has come to the attention of the entire quarian people that what we shall do"–her gaze fixed on a single camera-drone–"is irreversible. That is true, but what options do we have? The Migrant Fleet is dying, we, with what we currently have, cannot circumvent that. Should we turn back and let the entire Citadel, who have abandoned us, witness our extinction? Or shall we continue on with our present course and hope to find our salvation? The Conclave begins its vote on the motion of returning to chartered space…"
Although the good captain's stare was static on the screen, Farr'Zorah knew that every captain present in this Conclave felt her eyes on them, felt them as they decided on their vote. He already knew his choice and his breather sang soft and quiet. He would not succumb to the temptation, for if he had—what else was there, but to wait for the end to pass?
In the third month of the galactic year 2143, the Quarian Conclave voted 44,343-to-6,874 and continued on deeper towards unknown space.
Migrant Star Ship – Uriyah
Quadim-class corvette
unknown system
Galactic Standard 3rd Month, 12th Day, 2143
Captain Adan'Nara had been one of the individuals who voted against continued excursion towards the unknown. And though he did that, he would not go against the ruling. His duty was to the people, no-one else. If their Ancestors wished them to traverse the unknown, then, they will traverse the unknown with the people on their backs.
The bridge of the Uriyah was larger than most corvettes of the same size. It had originally been used for survey expeditions in the Attican Traverse back when a Council Expeditionary mission had discovered an ancient Prothean star-chart related to a particular section of the Traverse that supposedly held numerous garden-worlds. At the center of the CIC was a communications node, a projector for important feeds from probes, comm-responses or sent media.
The captain looked around and stopped to gaze through the viewing deck where a red dust cloud spiraled behind a terrestrial world and a gas giant, its many moons orbiting around it like a crown of spheres. The sun was a normal red giant, four planets, two that were inhabitable—one in the farthest edge and the other the one nearest the sun. "Hilar, what is the ETA on the jump to the next sys—" There was… a fluctuation in the space in front of them, like something trying to pierce through a bubble. Keelah. He felt an undulation running along his entire body.
Everyone in the bridge stood up and stared at what was happening.
"What in the Ancestors…" someone said, releasing a beeping breath.
Then, something unimaginable happened—the very fabric of space burst apart and a single ship emerged from out of nowhere, the tearing or reality behind it quickly mending itself as if nothing ever happened. The ship in question was enormous. Keelah, it was larger than most of the ships in the Flotilla! It was shaped like a spindle and colored a distinct gold but had evenly spaced grey protrusions sticking out along its 'spine' that had glowing etches. There were no visible thrusters or engines on it, and, to Adan'Nara, it did not seem to have any weapons…
"Give me any readings on that ship, immediately!" The captain's voice echoed through the bridge, snapping everyone out of their daze as they hurriedly scrambled to resume their posts.
"Cross-referencing showed no matches, captain," the sensor-operator said. "Not even from the Terminus database. I think this is First Contact, captain. And…" The young man tapped on his console and his voice dropped into disbelief. "No trace of eezo, no gravitational wells nor discrepancies in dark energy levels around the ship; not even radiation in any form we know..."
There was a silence in the entire bridge as everyone struggled to make sense of the operator's words.
"Perhaps they're salarians trying out an experimental method of F-T-L?" Adan'Nara was aware his words were grasping at nothing. Opportunities of First Contact were too thin and although the chances got larger in the unknown of space, he still did not want to think they were so fortunate.
"I have to agree, captain." The XO, Hera'Hodda, stood beside Adan'Nara. "This far into unchartered space? No way we'd bump into a Citadel species, salarian or not. Then there's the no eezo—Citadel tech is heavily reliant on eezo that I don't really think anyone can come up with some alternative; and as much as I like to think otherwise, with the size of those ships and that weird 'teleportation' that just happened, I think it's not a species that's just achieved spaceflight. Could be a fully-fledged stellar civilization."
Her words rumbled across everyone, giving rise to murmurs and whispers.
Adan'Nara shook his head, wringing his hands quietly. He sighed. "All signs lead to that, yes. Even the turians had a two-thousand-year-old empire before they went on the galactic stage. Who's to say there aren't others like them? Do not do anything hasty. I will not be responsible for an Ancestors-damned war with a new species. Am I clear?"
"Captain, unknown frequencies are trying to hail us," the comm-link officer said. "It's the aliens most likely. There's no-one else here but us… should I pass it through?"
"Let"–the captain of the Uriyah straightened himself, trying to look regal, diplomatic. Keelah, he hoped the aliens were not like the krogan–"them through."
In the main console of the bridge, a holo-screen flared to life, giving a visual feed from the unknown ship, revealing the face of the sentients. Or lack thereof. There was only one specimen, but like them: it had a headpiece that covered its entire faces and a gleaming black suit with orange trim. There were tubes lining the side of its head coiling around it, a telltale sign of a species that breathed a chemical mixture different from the rest of the galaxy. It was stocky and short, not unlike a volus, with a large protrusion behind its back. Where eyes should be: were orange-tinted glasses, blue fire flashing from behind.
"A volus?" whispered Hera from beside.
The alien brought up a small, chubby finger and pointed to itself, speaking through its mouthpiece—voice deep and gravelly. "Tortollan. Tohr-Toh-Lahn." Then, it brought back its hand down and the sound of buttons tapping could be heard.
The quarian's main console let out a beep, receiving a file. Adan'Nara was confused for a bit and looked back to the alien who had its head tilted, fingers waving towards him. "Open the message," he told the comm-link officer.
"Are you sure about this, captain?"
"As sure as the Ancestors can be…"
There were a few minutes of silence as the officer struggled to link their computers with the alien file. The alien at the screen was just patiently watching them and Adan'Nara examined the interior of the ship behind the volus-like sentient. It was painted un the same way as its suit; there was no-one else that could be seen from the feed but with a ship of that size, he heavily doubted there was only one individual in the entire vessel. There were strange slivers of blue light running along the walls and ceiling of the ship, and now that he noticed it, he found that the alien was lit up by an otherworldly glow from his console.
"Finally got it." The comm-link officer activated the file and a large holo-screen opened from the central communications node at the center of the bridge.
Everyone present gathered there to see what the alien had sent.
The lights inside the node lit up in sequence and the hologram of a large garden-world was shown, vibrant blue oceans covering nearly all of the planet and thick greenish clouds hovering over it like the shadow of a fleet of dreadnoughts. There were eight moons in total orbiting the world, none reaching a quarter of their planet's size. Then, "TORTOLLA", a disembodied voice spoke. "TOHR-TOH-LAH," it repeated, slowly.
"It must be the alien's homeworld," a junior officer said in a hush.
Adan'Nara looked at the world, remembering Rannoch. "It is beautiful…" It was by misfortune that they had lost theirs. That was why they were here, he remembered, to claim another home for themselves.
Then, the image of the Tortolla vanished, replaced by two squat figures of green-skinned reptilian quarianoids. Must be what they look like beneath their suits. They both had blocky limbs, arms covered in small scales and legs that were shorter than the arms. Like them, they had two fingers and a thumb on each hand. Thick dermal plating grew in the shape of ancient iron shields that encompassed the entire back of the sentient; on the front was a similar, smaller growth with lighter coloring that stretched from their chests to their lower regions. Their heads were triangular in shape but rounded at the corners; their eyes were large and beady but vivid with color. They look like little krogans. But softer-looking.
And another voice said: "Tortollan. TOHR-TOH-LAHN."
Adan'Nara scratched his chin, the haptic sims beneath his suit mimicking the feel of his fingers on his bare skin. "Totolla…" The word slid off his mouthpiece. "Tortollin—Tortollan." He nodded to himself, slightly pleased. "Tortollan. Tortollan. Tortollan."
Behind him, the others followed, the addition of a new word in their vocabularies, exciting and fresh.
Then, the image shifted again. Now, it was to another planet. Adan'Nara knew it to be the one nearest the sun. It was a dark world with a desert banding around the equator on the only continent; it was only near the poles did vegetation thrive. There was no satellite around the world. Next, a small holographic model of the Uriyah appeared over the new planet. What followed was a model of the tortollan ship and he saw a clearer scope for the alien ship's size. It was easily six times their ship in comparison. The alien ship landed first on the surface of the planet, on its northernmost pole; then, theirs followed after.
After a few seconds more, the hologram vanished.
"It seems that they want us to meet with them on the planet," said Hera'Hodda.
"I can see that clearly," replied Adan'Nara, looking out the windows at the large alien vessel floating in front of them. It shuddered slightly; then it lurched forward, moving towards the planet that had been designated as the first point of communications. "They're serious, at the least…"
"How do we approach this, captain?"
Adan'Nara sighed, a beep exhaling out of his mouthpiece. "Send a missive to the Admiralty Board and prepare for First Contact. We're heading in immediately, people!"
FIN