1 Corinthians 10:31

NOLTA

Chapter 1: Broken

Nolta'Lae nar Ichtome was an average quarian. Granted, at nearly seven feet, he was a bit tall, but average nonetheless. He had hit the ripe age of twenty-one, embarked on his pilgrimage, and had nothing to his name beyond his environment suit, omni-tool, and a special rifle given to him by the Ichtome's captain. Yes, he was just another, inexperienced, frightened youth who'd been sent off into the unknown when the time had come.

At least, that's what he told himself as he lay on the hot, rusted metal of the catwalk. Korlus, they called this planet Korlus. How he'd gotten here, how he'd ended up in this predicament was beyond him. He recalled from his pre-departure briefings that Korlus had one of the highest per-capita murder rates in the galaxy. Not that it had all that many inhabitants… …at least, not where he was.

Why had he even come here? The answer stared him in the face even as another wave of pain wracked his ribs. Inches from his mask, the brown-red rust that covered the catwalks reminded him of the graveyard that Korlus was. Not a graveyard for the living- varren and microbes made sure of that- but rather a graveyard for ships.

Countless derelict vessels had been dumped on this junkyard world, scrapped here after their most valuable components had been removed. Still, dozens of vessels were stripped of their parts hastily, and a good tech could easily find an overlooked drive core. That was why he'd come here, to find a functional, jump-capable engine.

There were hundreds of millions of tons of scrap metal covering the planet's surface, waiting to be harvested. If he could find a comm relay on one of them, he could signal the fleet to come pick him up once he'd found his quarry. Bringing a serviceable drive core back to the flotilla would require more manpower than a single quarian could muster, let alone an injured one.

Nolta's attention was drawn back to his injury as the bullet wound in his torso called to him in ever louder throbs. He looked down at the blood slicked metal underneath him. The pea sized hole below his right pectoral muscle had been easy enough to seal with medigel, but the slug was still lodged somewhere in his body.

The Quarian looked up again, noting the almost motionless form of the merc that had attacked him. She was a human female; at least, he thought she was human. Were it not for the shins, feet, hands and lack of environment suit, she could have been a female quarian. Nolta shuddered at the idea. He held nothing against humans, but to think of killing a fellow quarian…

The bullet wound called out to him again. Even with the pain-numbing effect of the medi-gel, he could feel the fragments of the two millimeter round that had grazed his ribs and split into dozens of tiny pieces in his body. He let out a pained breath, the air hissing between his teeth.

The pilgrim noticed the merc stirring and instinctively reached for his rifle, grasping only air. A sharp gasp for air emanated from the woman's helmet and Nolta saw her arch her back before collapsing back to a sitting position, hunched over and clutching the right side of her chest. Fresh blood seeped from her chest plate, trailing in a tiny rivulet down the blue armor.

Nolta felt strangely compassionate towards the young woman. He didn't know much about humans, but she couldn't be too much younger than him. Her small frame and high voice had indicated as much when he'd stumbled upon her sentry position an hour before.

He reached down to his belt, struggling to ignore the protests of his injury, and withdrew a plastic tube of medigel. With a weak motion he tried to cast the container towards her, but it fell to the ground, rolling to a halt not three feet from his mask.

Why was he trying to help her? She'd tried to kill him. Nolta tried to dismiss his actions as being caused by the onset of infection, but he knew that that was not ultimately the case. Something prompted him, even in his current state. In the depths of his soul, Nolta knew he had no hatred for this woman, no desire to see her die.

The Quarian could barely touch the vial of medicine, but he could still flick it. The mercenary heard the small canister rolling across the rusted catwalk and tilted her head slightly up. The vial glistened in the evening sunlight as it slowed, rocking back and forth for a few moments before the weight of its contents stopped its motion.

The merc snorted. Did the alien really think her stupid enough to try it?

As if to answer her question, Nolta's thick brogue rasped from behind his black faceplate. "Medi… gel… yer still… bleedin'… get some o' that… over… th' wound."

She glared at him from behind her helmet. Sick, twisted, creature. I oughtta put a slug through his skull. She absently fumbled for her rifle, her arm weakly flopping around on the metal next to her.

"Look… ya wanna… bleed out… tha's yer business… I just… don' wanna see a lady hertin'."

The merc felt her injury throb as the blood slowly seeped out of her armor. His rifle was a Kryr II, just like the boss's. That round should've killed her from blood loss by now.

Nolta watched as the merc gingerly touched the bullet hole in her chest plate. She felt the medigel plug he'd given her earlier, after she'd passed out. He noted the surprise in her body language as she realized that she hadn't administered the treatment.

Nolta pretended to look away. He could still see her as she cautiously picked up the vial and lifted it to her mask, grunting with effort as the pain of her wound grew stronger in her consciousness. She started to pull the helmet up and the pilgrim closed his eyes, instinctively respecting her privacy.

"Wha's yer name?" he breathed.

The merc started, momentarily forgetting her injury. "Wh- What?" She noted that the two silver lights in his mask had gone out.

"What d'… yer people call ya?"

"K-" she hesitated. Should she really trust him? He had saved her life by administering the medigel plug… "Kala. Kala Youri." She winced as the bullet wound reminded her of its presence.

"Sounds… almost quarian… I'm Nolta'Lae… nar Ichtome." He could hear the quiet pop of her armor being detached, she was using the medigel. Good. The thought caught him off-guard. Yes he'd given it to her to use, but why did he feel relief that she was using it?

"So," Kala repositioned herself to sit straight against the railing, giving little huffs to cope with the pain as she did so. "You, turian? Salarian?"

Despite his own wound, Nolta looked up. Had she really never heard of a quarian? "Quarian… I'm a quarian."

The human's face was delicate, graced by a pert nose and small lips. Her eyes shone with a blue that out classed the aquamarine iridescence of his environment suit with ease. Despite her injury, the young woman's face radiated an air of vitality that was almost infectious. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her light hair, something he'd never seen on the fleet. Even his mother had kept her hair short, thanks to an herbal supplement.

Lae realized that he was staring at her face and quickly closed his eyes again. He felt guilty that he'd seen her visage without her consent. In quarian society, seeing another individual out of their suit, even partially, was a very intimate experience.

"Quarian? What's -ah!- What's that?"

Nolta tried to shift, his discomfort almost palpable. How did one explain a species? Might as well start with their history. "Ever hear 'bout… th' geth?"

She grunted, acknowledging that she had.

"Cursed AI's… drove us… from our home-world… three… hundred years ago. Now, we live on… a migrating Starfleet."

Something about the alien's manner struck her as odd. Kala finished applying the medigel to her wound and set the vial on the ground next to her. It still seemed bizarre, talking with the person she'd shot at and been shot by not two hours ago. "How old are you?"

Nolta's head bobbed. "Twenty-one, stell a minor. And you?"

"Ninetee- wait, a minor?"

Lae laughed, an action he immediately regretted as the bullet again announced its presence in his system. "Haven't… -Keeeeelah!- haven't finished… m' pilgrimage yet. Oh, Keelah… that burns!" Nolta shifted his weight, pulling one of his knees up to give his stomach and abdomen more room. He felt the pain in the front lessen, only for the dull ache in his back to become more pronounced. At least it was better than a minute ago.

Kala grabbed the right half of her chest plate and snapped it back into place, grunting as the pain pushed through the buffer made by the medigel. She hadn't radioed the base in over an hour, hopefully, patrol would show up soon…

Captain Tokus Voran leaned against the aged bulkhead of an ancient capitol ship. The vessel had been deposited on Korlus decades ago, rusting and accumulating dust. The two tables in front of him had been scoured until the brilliant silver of white-steel shone through. They looked like ancient rectangular birdbaths, the rusted base crawling up to the lip of the flat silver.

Atop each table lay the body of one individual. One was a human female, the newest entry to his force, a young, nineteen year old female named Kala. The other was a male of a species Tokus hadn't seen in decades. A quarian.

Something in the back of his mind had reminded him that the aliens couldn't leave their suits without suffering badly. Exactly what caused them to suffer, he couldn't remember, but the fact had prevented him from allowing the surgeon to operate on the quarian.

Kala's procedure had taken very little time compared to a usual slug removal. Despite its size, the projectile hadn't fragmented inside the young woman's body, and had lodged just past one of her upper ribs, a testament to the quality of her armor considering the rifle's caliber. The Quarian's weapon had been found only a few feet from the incapacitated youth.

Tokus scratched his fringe, allowing the cartilaginous tissue to flex slightly as he pushed his hand against it. What to do with the quarian? Umul would tell him to sell the youth as a slave. The thought made the turian's blood boil. Eighteen years ago, he himself had been sold in the batarian slave trade. His master proved herself a cruel and heartless female krogan, a powerful beast that could have broken him in half had she so desired.

No, the quarian would be attended to, as best they could. Mercenary or no, Tokus understood the value of life. There was little he hated more than taking the life of an innocent. He'd killed drug lords, crime gangs, other mercs, but only once had he shot a civilian.

Nolta slept atop the hot metal surface on which he had been set. His fever had grown worse since he'd been brought to the mercenary camp and now his dreams reflected that.

The Ichtome's engine room was easily the hottest place on the ship. Roha'Lae stood in the center of the chamber, accompanied by Captain Gria'Re and Admiral Han'Gerrel. Roha's son crouched up in the support struts, hidden in the shadows of the massive coolant pipes.

"Sending him away from the fleet is totally out of the question." Gerrel's familiar voice was just loud enough for Nolta to hear above the constant drone of the ship's propulsion systems. "He's just too valuable, too rare, to leave the fleet."

Roha was clearly displeased. "So what? We let him rot aboard the Ichtome? I know my boy, and he won't take kindly to being holed up aboard a single ship his whole life. He'll want to join the service or be a pilot. Besides, his gift is of no value to us if it's not put to use. Biotics have little application in civilian tasks."

Nolta's eyes narrowed. They were talking about him, but why mention biotics? What little the youth knew about the subject consisted mostly of rumors and hearsay. It was rumored that individuals blessed with such power could level fields of enemies. Did they really think he could do that?

"Tael died in childbirth, we still don't know how healthy the boy will be on his own." Captain Gria voiced.

Nolta could see his father bristle at the mention of his deceased bond-mate.

"He's been a hale youth since the day he was born, never had so much as a cough." Roha countered. "Why should he suddenly keel over and die after stepping foot outside of the fleet?"

Gerrel shook his head. "Not from illness, no. You may not have noticed on your own Va'Seras, Roha, but our people are not the most popular in the galaxy; there are plenty who would be more than happy to injure us by taking one of our rarest blessings. Tell me you've at least considered that."

The soldier crossed his arms. "The boy is my son, don't you think I'm nervous about sending him on pilgrimage? Isn't every father? If he is permitted to go, he cannot be told about his gift until he returns, I acknowledge that much."

"Perhaps, but are you as concerned as we are? His loss would be a serious blow to our people. Besides, I think it very unlikely that he hasn't figured out that he's special by now." The Ichtome's captain let her tone drop too low for Nolta to hear. Whatever she said next was lost beneath the rumble of the machinery.

His father responded with an air of finality. "Whether he lives aboard the ship is irrelevant, he is still 'nar' Ichtome, child of his birth-ship. His fate is my responsibility until he takes 'vas' as his title. Until then, he is crew of no vessel. Nolta will begin his pilgrimage like every other youth his age."

Author's Note:

I really surprised myself with this chapter. It went into a LOT more depth concerning even the little things that I began to wonder if I were writing a parallel version of 'Pilgrimage'. Not to say that this is the same level of quality…

I really liked the idea of having the merc that Nolta almost killed and almost got killed by, actually talk. In the end, I grew to like her character so much that I decided to write her into the narrative as a main character.