A/N: I'm stealing my own character, Dude (from The Last Mission) for this story, which began life as a literary role-play. He wasn't written to be referential to Jeff Bridges's character from The Big Lebowski - in fact, the name came last - but I don't mind if readers see a bit of parallel there. Anyway, I wanted to challenge myself and write someone a little removed from myself, someone I might not actually like very much - at least at first glance - and see where that went. I hope you enjoy the results!
He woke up in a corner. At first, he couldn't remember what had happened. All he knew was that his limbs ached and he felt like someone kept hitting the inside of his skull with a biotic slam over and over again.
He blinked, looked around. A few doctors and nurses were attending to patients in cots - and some, like him - on the floor. There was a quiet murmur of groans and the occasional beeps of some diagnostic tech. It smelled like slow death.
"Oh, right," he mumbled. "The war."
The goddamned war.
He'd had a good thing going. Private transport for hire, running goods – and occasionally services – under the nose of the Alliance. Good money, steady work. Sure, sometimes a bullet would hit him, and sometimes he'd do a little time. But it was worth it, and he was good at what he did.
And then the fucking Reapers attacked.
The Alliance needed every ship they could get their hands on. And they got their too-clean hands on his, all right. Busted for a routine red sand run, they'd taken the Mary Jane off his hands and pressed him into service. Bastards.
He got unsteadily to his feet, leaning on the wall for support until the dizziness passed, then started limping for the door.
"Whoa, hold on there." A doctor approached. He tried to increase his gait, but she caught up with him. "You're not going anywhere."
"War's over?" he asked, not stopping.
"Yes, but –"
"We won, I take it?"
"Yeah, but you still need medical attention," she said. "You shouldn't be up for at least another forty-eight hours!"
"Well, I guess I'm ahead of the curve, then." He turned to her. "Look, hon, if I can walk, I'm gone. If the war's over, I'm getting my ship back." He leaned in close and grinned. "Wanna come?"
She leaned away from him, a disapproving frown on her face. "I don't think so, Mr –"
"Zignitowski Poporovich, but just call me Dude."
The area around the dockmaster's office was swarming with people of every race, in various stages of disarray. Everyone looked shellshocked and smelled even worse than the medcenter. Dude wrinkled his nose, then glanced down at himself. "I guess I'm not really helping."
As he approached the desk, a human and salarian couple ahead of him burst out into tears.
"I can't believe this! Are you sure?" the salarian was saying. Her husband just sobbed.
"I'm sorry, but yes," said the clerk, his face gaunt with the weight of having to tell so many what they'd lost. "That whole section of the wards was completely destroyed. No one survived. I'm sorry," he repeated. He looked behind them. "Next."
Dude shouldered past the couple. "I need my ship. The Mary Jane. Where is it?"
"I'm sorry, ships are at the next office. This is missing persons."
Dude rolled his eyes. "You got a terminal right there. Look it up and I'll get out of your way and you can go back to telling people their kids are dead. Unless you're in a hurry to do more of that."
"Uh, no. Hang on a second. Who are you?"
Dude pushed his Identicard across the counter.
"No omni-tool?"
"No, I hate those fucking things."
The clerk shrugged and scanned the ID, then passed it back to Dude.
"Okay, and your ship's the Mary Jane, you said? Checking."
Dude looked over his shoulder at the still-crying couple. Jesus.
"I'm sorry, sir, it's . . . gone."
Dude turned back to the clerk, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, gone? It was -" Oh no. " - destroyed?"
"No, if it was destroyed, we'd have a record of it. It's just . . . not here." He gestured at the terminal.
"You lost my ship? You. Lost. My. Ship."
The clerk backed away from the storm gathering on Dude's face.
"Fuckin' Alliance. Goddammit!" Dude slammed a fist on the counter. "I've been kidnapped and made to fight a war, I've been sober for months, and my ship is now missing! What the hell do you guys get right?"
"It's not my fault, sir. It either never got entered or it got wiped."
"Wiped? Ah, shit. So someone could have stolen her? Never mind. Of course they did. Fuckin' thieves. Anyone who steals a ship oughta be - oh, fuck it."
Dude stormed off through the milling crowd, almost knocking over the grieving couple.
"Now I gotta find a ship to steal."
Dude allowed himself to flow with the crowd, losing himself in the chaos. Shouting, crying, the occasional whisper of illicit dealings, they all mingled together to create a wash of noise. Dude found it soothing. And Christ, did he need soothing.
Eventually, the waves of people emptied out onto the docks themselves, pressing against barricades between the masses and the ships all so desperately longer to board. Dude spied several small freighters and an Alliance corvette. Some of the ships had C-Sec guards; the others had their own private security forces. He surveyed them all, weighing his options. The ship itself, its state of repair, who and how many were watching it (and how well, and how well armed) – these and a hundred other factors rapidly spun through his too-sober (dammit) mind, like tumblers clicking into place in an old fashioned slot machine. In seconds, he had his target.
It was a quarian ship; on the smallish side, but quick, by the look of the engines. Its lines had that odd mishmash of styles that the nomads were known for. A little banged up, obviously pretty old. Looks weren't everything, though – all he really knew it was that it would run, and run well. Now, to get to it . . .
He glanced over his shoulder, searching. Ah. Of course. Perfect.
Lorfan'Hala vas Gemma eyed the crowd warily, glad none of them could see his face. The quarian was nervous – not just because of the desperate mix of refugees, but because of the cargo in the ship behind him. He shifted his rifle and glanced at his Nora, his partner. He could tell she was just as anxious as he was.
The sooner we get that thing off this station, the sooner I'll be able to relax.
There was some sort of disruption in the crowd on the other side of the barricade. He took a step forward, bringing his weapon up slightly. Nora drew up behind him.
"It was THEM!" A voice screeched. "They did it! They let the Reapers in!"
A salarian woman was pointing right at him. Her husband, tears still streaming down his face, stood beside her, his jaw set. The crowd around them had gone quiet, their eyes moving from the anguished couple to the quarians.
This is not good. Lorfan thought to himself. He could see the eyes of the crowd, already desperate, latch onto something to vent their anger. And that something was him.
He brought his weapon up, only to have it slammed down by Nora.
"Are you insane?" she hissed. "Don't give them a reason!"
She shipped her own gun, and he followed suit. They both raised their arms, hoping to placate the increasingly hostile crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please," she began. "I'll hear what they have to say, but I promise –"
"LIAR!" roared the husband, his eyes now wild with grief and rage. "You gave them the codes, let them in, let them . . . let them . . . KILL MY SON!"
He vaulted over the barricade, arms outstretched, rushing at the guards. His wife followed, screaming wordless, unreasoning, at the top of her lungs.
The rest of the crowd looked ready to topple the barricade, bloodlust in their eyes.
Lorfan reached for his weapon, but the human was on him before he could pull it free.
Nora was quicker and her pistol was out and cocked before the salarian reached her. But she just kept coming. Nora fired once.
The salarian dropped to the deck.
There was a moment of almost absolute silence, and then the crowd went berserk. The barricade was toppled in a moment, and people flooded over the docks.
None of them – not the crowd, not the guards – saw the unshaven, dark-haired, pantsless man appear from under the dock and scramble up the ship's ramp.
The roar from the riot outside muffled as the hatch sealed shut. Dude didn't look back as he headed for the cockpit, moving quickly and quietly, eyes open and ears intent for any sign of someone else aboard. Nothing.
He settled into the pilot's chair and glanced at the controls and gauges. Good. No surprises. Just like he liked it. He released the tethers and started the ignition sequence.
A shudder ran through the ship as the engines rumbled to life. Dude eased the throttle up and felt the ship rise away from the dock. He smirked as he turned the ship toward the dock exit. With any luck, the riot outside would distract the guards and C-Sec Authority just long enough that -
He froze, looking out the canopy. Oh Jesus.
The scene on the dock was one of utter chaos. The guards had fired into the surging mass of desperate people. Men, woman and children of all races were being gunned down, panicked, fighting, struggling to find cover. Some raced into the waiting ships. Some made it aboard, overwhelming the guards. Some didn't. Turian, Salarian, Human blood mingled on the flight deck. This wasn't just a riot. It had become a bloodbath.
Dude's jaw dropped, his throat raw. Holy fuck.
A burst of static over the comm shook him out of his paralysis.
"Quarian vessel Gemma, you are not cleared for departure! Cut your engines and stand down!" He could hear screams in the background.
"I don't think so," Dude muttered. "And go back to that? No sir."
With one last glance at the increasingly bloody dock, Dude took the ship up and out as fast as he could. A blast of energy cut across the bow.
"Gemma, this is your last warning! Stand down, now!"
Dude ignored the comm. The Citadel's defense systems may not have been much good against the Reapers, but they'd cut this ship to shreds in seconds if they got a lock.
He increased the power to the engines as he jinked hard to port. Another blast cut across the space he had just vacated. Good thing he'd been right about the ship - it was quick as hell. It wasn't the Jane, but it was gonna do fine until he found her again. Another barrage nearly took him out of the sky. Gotta get out of range. He wasn't yet clear of the Citadel, but he pushed the engines full anyway.
The ship surged forward, leaving the dock behind. He checked the scanner - no craft in pursuit. They hadn't had time, and with the . . . situation . . . on the dock, there was no way they'd scramble anyone after him. He was clear.
"You must be very proud of yourself," came a voice from behind him.
Dude let out a surprisingly high-pitched scream and jumped out of the pilot's seat. Standing behind him was a quarian boy, probably not yet into his teens.
"Holy -! Where the hell did you come from?"
"Really, well done," said the quarian, ignoring the question. His voice was shaking with rage, and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "If you were going for maximum amount of bloodshed, I'd say you succeeded."
"That – that wasn't my fault!"
"Keep telling yourself that. I saw what happened. I know what you did!" He took a step toward Dude. "Those were my friends out there! And all the rest of them – they were all innocent people! How could you do that? What kind of man are you?"
"I didn't mean to –"
"Does it matter what you meant to do? What matters is what you did!"
"Look, kid –"
"If you were on one of our ships, you'd be thrown out the nearest airlock. Wait, actually - you are on one of our ships. Which you stole." Dude heard the disgust in the boy's voice.
"I'm sorry, okay? I feel bad about . . . what happened back there. I just needed a ship. I'm just trying to survive."
"At any cost. Right? Right?!"
"Well, yeah!" Dude felt the heat of anger rising to his face. "Damn right! That's the way of the whole fuckin' galaxy!"
"No. It's not."
"It is for me, kid."
"My name is Vaa'ti Loran vas Gemma. Not kid. And you're very lucky I can't pilot yet. Because I would throw you out the airlock."
"You? Come on –" Dude froze and saw the small pistol in the quarian's hand. "Okay. Fine." Goddammit. "So what now?"
"Now we turn around and you turn yourself in."
"Not a chance."
Vaa'ti raised the pistol. Dude stared into the boy's mask.
"Not. A. Chance."
"I will kill you if you don't turn around," said Vaa'ti. "I'm smart enough to send a distress call. And I'm sure I can figure out how to fly well enough until I'm picked up."
"You'll have a hard time killing me with the safety on."
"What?" Vaa'ti turned the pistol to check.
In one fluid motion, Dude stepped forward and grabbed Vaa'ti's arm. He pointed the gun at the deck and it discharged. The smell of ozone singed the air. Dude let his legs go slack and allowed his body to fall backwards, trapping the quarian boy's smaller frame underneath. He wrested the gun out of Vaa'ti's hand and tossed it aside. The boy struggled, but to no avail.
"Are you done?" said Dude.
The boy continued to fight for a moment, then went still. "Yes."
"Good."
Dude got to his feet and grabbed the gun off the deck. He offered Vaa'ti a hand up, which the boy reluctantly took. Standing, they faced each other.
"Better," said Dude.
Vaa'ti crossed his arms, trying to disguise how frustrated and embarrassed he felt at being bested. "So now what, human?"
"Now," said Dude, "I find a place to drop you off, then I'm on my way. Alone."
"You won't be alone."
Dude paused. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not the only one here."
"Ah, shit," said Dude. He raised his voice. "All right, game over! Ollie ollie eezo free."
"He can't come up here. You'll have to go down, if you want to meet him."
"What, you got a prisoner?"
"Not exactly." Vaa'ti turned to go. "Don't shoot me in the back."
"Not my style, kid."
"You could have fooled me."
Dude followed the quarian down a ladder to the lower deck and found himself standing opposite a darkened containment tank.
"He's here," Vaa'ti said. He flipped a switch, and the lights inside the tank glowed dimly. "He doesn't like too much light."
Dude felt his jaw drop as he stared into the tank. "Oh, goddammit," he whispered. He turned to Vaa'ti. "I picked the wrong fuckin' ship to steal, didn't I?"
The quarian nodded.
Dude felt sick. "The hell am I looking at?"
"A volunteer."
The thing in the tank floated in a pale greenish fluid. It had two wide, unblinking eyes, which seemed to fix Dude with a piercing stare. The quarian face was gaunt, haggard. And no wonder. Below the head was his torso, naked – but incomplete. He had no limbs. In their places, ribbed conduits and mechanical joints stretched from his joints to sockets at the edge of the tank, swaying in the liquid. His skin was translucent, and beneath the surface, the glow of tiny electrodes pulsed.
"The fuck you people do?"
Vaa'ti took a step towards the tank. "He gave himself so that others may live." He turned back to Dude. "You know how my people survive. How we are vulnerable to a galaxy rife with disease, how we have been doomed to roam the stars, no world to call our own, isolated from all others. With the Reapers, with the Geth, some of our scientists saw an opportunity to … mitigate … our weaknesses. They performed experiments to see how - /if/ - we could use their technology to blend with our biology. So we could mingle with the galaxy, unfettered, once again."
Dude snorted. "Yeah, because it worked so well the last time you messed with an AI. Hell, the whole galaxy paid the price for the Geth."
"Most quarians feel the way you do. They lack vision."
"And insanity. I can't believe I let myself get lectured by you on morals and shit. Jesus."
"What is more moral, to accept how unjust things are, or to sacrifice to change them?"
"Is it worth it? To him?"
"It's . . . he was . . . my father."
"What?!"
"The man who raised me is no more, but still, I am very proud of him."
Dude grimaced. "There's something seriously wrong with you, man."
Vaa'ti looked back at him. "What's left of my father will free our people. In the meantime, he is jacked into all of the ship's systems."
The implications hit Dude immediately. "Oh. Crap."
"Yes. I'm afraid we are all along for the ride."
Dude sighed, nodded, and stalked back to the cockpit. "I cannot get off this ship soon enough," he muttered.