Chapter One

[Mary]

The embassies were as packed as ever. On one side, people were forming weaved lines to speak with anyone who could answer their questions, most being turned away from a lack of information or paperwork. On the other, a band of C-Sec officers were stationed in front of the doors to the ambassador offices, making sure no one that wasn't authorized gained entrance. This number was growing every day, civil unrest accumulating to the point where many wanted a personal chat with their specie's political leadership on the Citadel. Many were human, wondering why they hadn't heard news about Earth or the other colonies in a while. If it had been any other day, Tertius might have questioned it himself, considering news was being thinned by the request of higher officials. That day, however, would not allow him the pleasure of thinking about anything other than the names he had seen on the previous screen.

He made his way to commander Bailey's office with a quick pace, catching a few sympathetic glances as he went. The look on his face made his distraught feelings apparent. Waving his hand across the green, electric dial, he found himself letting out a heavy sigh, almost as if his subconscious already knew the answer to his questions. He proceeded anyway, stepping through once the sliding doors had parted and finding the commander at his desk.

"Commander Bailey," he approached respectfully, Bailey waving away the formalities while he rubbed his forehead.

"I know why you're here, Tertius. Have a seat," he stated, picking up a data pad and scrolling through several report logs.

"I...When did the reports come in?" he asked quietly, sitting down in the cushy chair across from him.

"There was a slight delay on this one, due to messages that far out getting scrambled by interference. I've checked and rechecked the logs, though, and contacted the turian ambassador." He handed the pad to him, shaking his head as he sat back. "The Reapers landed before they had much warning. My sincerest condolences, Tertius."

He stared down at the specified and detailed account of his home, his clan, being torn apart and turned to ash. The friends he once knew, his teachers, his two elder brothers, his parents—they were all gone. Killed within the first few minutes of the invasion only to become a few digits in a long, long total of the dead and missing. He tried to maintain his composure, wanting his demeanor to stay professional in front of his commanding officer. Humans had a knack for spotting subtle signs of emotional distress, however, especially when it began to show in physical form. Bailey didn't want to mention it directly, but he could see the poor turian's fingers twitching where they were placed on the armrest, his facial mandibles doing the same the more he read. He was surprised Teritus could hold himself together for so long; he had seen many fall apart much quicker over far less.

"Take the rest of the day off," Bailey said, resting his arms on the desk. "The holding area can handle itself for awhile. We'll be getting in more refugees tomorrow, so I'll need you at your best."

"Understood, sir," Tertius stood, handing him the data screen. "Thank you, sir."

Bailey nodded solemnly, turning back to his work when the turian made his way out of the office. Tertius's knees were going soft the more he walked, increasing his pace just to stand on his feet. He finally made it to the elevator before needing to prop himself up, his head swelling with an overwhelming pain the more his chest compressed. The realization was sinking in slowly; all but one of his family members were gone. He could remember speaking with them candidly only a week ago, just before Cerberus attacked the Citadel. Tertius had been meaning to message them, if only to let them know he was okay, but he never could find a moment outside of the docking area. Perhaps he just didn't take the time to write it, slipping his mind for a complaint that needed filing. It didn't matter, though; they would never know. He would never hear what new projects his brothers were working on, or his parents scolding him as to why he couldn't be more like them. Seeing his light orange facial markings in the reflective surface of the elevator doors, the ones that designated his clan's pride, made these thoughts sting even deeper.

When the dizzying ride eventually came to a stop, he adjusted his uniform and stood tall, attempting to stay strong at least until he reached his apartment. The hall was deserted except for a few men returning to work from their lunch breaks. It wasn't surprising; most who resided on his floor were in C-Sec and either on duty, sleeping, or drinking their cares away at Purgatory. His room was at the very end of the corridor, the walk to it short but grueling in his tired state. Releasing the door's lock with its designated access code, he manage to step in and shut it quickly. That was all he could manage.

His back hit the door when his knees gave out, his body sliding to the floor. The filtered air barely managed to enter his lungs once his throat tightened, placing his face in his right hand. Tertius couldn't remember the last time he had felt like he did then, or if he ever had. He had always been taught that the turian race was not one to 'cry about it', as the humans would do similarly under emotional distress. Not once in any of his years of life had he been one to show weakness, considering it seemed counterproductive to his duties. At that moment, however, he was beginning to understand the people he saw on a daily basis—those that sat huddled in a corner or crying frantically against the wall of hundreds of faces. If there had ever been a reason to break down, he suspected that the circumstances he was facing would be worthy enough, just as they were for the countless others who were suffering because of the war. If only just once.

The next day, he barely managed to get up from where he had passed out on the floor and made his way back to the holding area. It seemed the news of his relatives' deaths spread quickly, receiving a brief word from almost everyone he passed. While he appreciated their sentiment, all he wanted was to get back to work. He figured it would take his mind off the pain, at least for a little while. Sitting for only a few minutes, however, and turning on his computer screen of scrolling names made this sentiment deflate. He turned his attention to wherever he could, leaning against his hand and staring distantly out through the windows into space. Tertius wasn't even sure how long it was before someone approached his desk, slightly surprised when the person seemed so cheerful.

"Hey!" the voice greeted, almost forcing themselves to be louder than usual out of nervousness.

He turned his gaze to realize it was the girl from the other day, his flanged voice dull to greet her. "Oh. Hey, it's you. Still waiting, I see. Any news?"

"No, but...they promised, right?" she laughed timidly, waving her hands in front of herself slightly. "They'll get here soon."

There was something about her mannerisms that spoke beyond her chipper attitude. He wasn't quite sure if she was worried about her parents or for her situation staying in the docks. Mourning or not, he knew he could take care of at least one of those concerns. He wanted to take care of others, and that was something he knew he should keep at his highest priority then. Perhaps even that would help keep his mind at ease.

"I'm sure they will. I'll drop by later to check in on you," he began, shifting in his seat when he reconsidered what he was saying, "if that's okay."

"Okay," she replied, smiling.

She could tell why he had paused, and it amused her to know that he thought about her safety so highly. From all the times she had visited the Citadel before, she never knew a C-Sec officer who so forward about individualized protection. At least none that weren't guns for hire. It was a pleasant change from the sea of sad and bitter expressions.

"My name is Mary, by the way. I'm from a colony in the Orion Arm."

"Mary?" he repeated. "Hm. Simple, pretty strong...Pretty short..."

She laughed, crossing her arms. "Okay, okay, I get it! I'm short! Jeez, rub it in why don't you!"

"Well, at least you're not as tall as a Volus," he muttered with a weak chuckle. "Then I'd be really concerned."

"Well, we wouldn't exactly be speaking so clearly to each other without a footstool, in that case," she shrugged, finally making him laugh heartily. "But no, I've still got a couple more years to grow. I just had a growth spurt last summer!"

"Forgive me for not being familiar with human attributes, but how old are you? 12? 13?"

"I'm 16, you jerk!" she shouted. A few of those conscious enough to notice raised their heads, the holding area quieting briefly to turn their attention towards them.

Tertius held up his arms, waving his hands to dispel any tensions that were building. He even had to shake his head towards the man at the other desk, his hand on his omni-tool to signal the other officers. "I'm sorry, okay? Just keep your voice down."

"Oh...You were serious?" Her face turned red, rubbing that back of her neck. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he replied. He didn't expect human teenagers would be so sensitive about such a thing. Then again, turian children could be just as fickle. "Jeez, you really are a lot like him."

"Like who?" she overheard him mumble, her eyes lightening up. "You mentioned that the other day."

"I did, didn't I?" he thought aloud, scratching the side of his face. "My younger brother. He has a tendency to, uh...speak his mind. Still does from time to time, even if he did enlist in a Palaven fleet."

"A Palaven fleet?" she said, concern creeping into her voice. "I heard about what happened there! It's so dangerous! Why would he go there?"

"We're in the middle of a galactic war. Anywhere is dangerous," he answered bluntly. "He felt it was his duty to defend Palaven, and when he was asked he accepted."

"But couldn't he have taken a job defending it some other way? Like engineering new ships or tending to the sick here?"

"If we didn't have people on the front lines then this war would be over in the Reaper's favor. They're just as important as those directing from the sidelines. Besides, what my brother did was a very honorable thing, and his duty comes first before everything else."

"But what good is his honor if he's dead?" she asked sincerely. His increasing temper made him neglect what she held behind her tone.

"For a turian, everything," he said coolly, sitting back in his chair. "Though I'm not sure how human kids deal with the concept of duty. I'll put it in terms you might understand: live or die, it's a lot better than sitting on your ass all day moping about the problems you could have helped solve."

"Don't lecture me about duty," she seethed, putting her hands on the desk and leaning close. He was almost taken aback by her sudden shift in attitude. "All the Alliance ever talks about is duty. Do this duty for your family, do that to duty for mankind. Where does it get anybody, huh? Pretty sure I could have used that answer before my sister enlisted and went to Eden Prime. She wanted to do her 'duty' and help those colonist get settled, only to get dragged away. Duty only gets people so far. Then you're dead."

He was fuming by that point, his eyes narrow as he stood and bent over to glare in her face. Tertius didn't rethink what was going through he mind before he said it, though the moment the last word left his tongue he wished he could have. "And I'm sure she'd rather be that way than to hear you say those things."

She stood back slowly, her mouth dropping. Her eyes became shifty, not sure if she had really heard what he said. Stiffening her upper lip she shook her head, turning quickly on her toes and stormed away. He lifted a hand slightly to call after her, but sighed inwardly, knowing it wouldn't do any good. Sitting back down in his chair, he let it roll back against the wall as he began to stare up at the wall of windows again, oblivious to the other C-Sec officer standing next to him.

"Eh, she was getting mouthy anyways," the other turian spoke, itching a portion of his white facial markings with his thumb's joint.

Tertius looked over quickly when he recognized the voice, jumping slightly in surprise. "Nerva! Don't do that."

"Do what? I was just casually making my rounds like usual," he replied smugly.

"How long were you standing there?"

"Somewhere between name exchanges and asking a human girl her age," he laughed quietly. "Look, if you're trying to get in good with the locals, I can tell you right now you're doing a horrible job."

"I'm not trying to 'get in good' with anything," he spat. "She just started talking to me. And speaking of doing a horrible job, shouldn't you be monitoring any suspicious activity instead of eavesdropping?"

"What's more suspicious than a human getting friendly with a turian?" Though he asked a rhetorical question, he paused just to see Tertius's face tense up. "But seriously. Bailey's been sending down more officers ever since they brought that batarian terrorist suspect down here. There's more eyes watching this place than ever, so us regulars have a little less to worry about."

"We should be more concerned than ever if the commander is sending more people down here. Even you should realize that."

"Good old Tertius. Keeping the Citadel safe one minor complaint at a time," he chuckled as he began to walk away, waving a hand behind him. "Don't worry. I'll be sure to keep those rowdy poker games in check."

He could feel the pain returning to his head, sitting back in his chair once more. The world around him began to take on its normal pace and sound, helping his tense muscle relax. He stared at the ships that were entering and leaving the station, occupying his thoughts with blank questions of who could be on them and where they could be going. Anywhere would have been better than the Citadel.

Mary only made it to the entry lines at the front of the docks before she stopped, sniffing her frustration away to look over her shoulder. The nerve of that officer; what right did he have saying such cruel things? All he did was sit around on his ass and mope all day. She'd observed the way he behaved the last few days she had been there, and it likely hadn't changed suddenly from his previous years of employment. Though, he had been nice to her the few times they spoke...And he every time he kept saying she could go to him if she needed help...

She held her arms, feeling a chill go up her spine the more she considered it. Maybe she had just pinched a nerve. After all, she really didn't have much contact with any other species outside her own; maybe turians were a little more sensitive than others. She looked back cautiously to see he was speaking with another officer, wondering if she should apologize. Taking in a breath, however, she shook her head. He was just as guilty as she was, and she wasn't going to make herself look like some helpless little girl who needed his acceptance or protection. She had made her way to the Citadel by herself on a rescue shuttle, after all; she could handle waiting around for a day until her parents arrived. Wiping her cold, wet nose with the back of her hand, she began to wander around, making sure she stayed clear of that area for a while.

Stepping down a short flight of stairs, she carefully maneuvered around the electrical lines that were wired to lamps illuminating the far wall. There were people everywhere. Some where passed out on the floor, their faces damp from crying themselves to sleep. Others were sitting on benches with communicators in their hands, anxiously waiting for a call. What made her slow her pace, however, and eventually stop, was a short haired, strawberry-blond woman with her eyes planted against her hands. A Salarian man had his hand on her shoulder, trying to console her, but she just remained standing there. Her silence made Mary both curious and alarmed, leaning her head in an attempt to see the pictures on the wall. She wasn't entirely sure which one belonged to the woman at first, but it became clear when she moved closer. Scanning the multitude of family photos alongside images of the dead, she stood nearby, overhearing the woman whisper but trying not to make her actions obvious.

"It's not fair...It's just not fair..." the woman choked quietly, the Salarian nodding.

"Who would do this? They were just civilians..."

"I know who did this. We all do," the woman sobbed, her voice raising slightly. "That batarian. That monster. And now they're treating him, giving him sedatives that could be saved for those who deserve it?"

"Shh, don't get worked up. Remember your asthma," the man tried to console her, the woman nodding.

"I know, I just...I just miss him. So much."

"You and me both."

Though she wanted to say how sorry she was for their loss, Mary glanced around them, catching similar words from others both near and far. She had seen the other refugees, but standing in the still air of that place finally made her listen. There was just so many, too many to go up and share condolences with. The thought made her eyes drop to her feet, her chest tightening. If anyone had observed her behavior, they might have thought her cold, biting the inside of her lip and walking away. She forced her mind to go blank, her gaze fixed to the floor. Everywhere she tilted her head, the more she heard stories of heartache and worry. Her pace quickened as she tried to escape it, stepping past the entry lines once more and turning right, down into the main crate area. Her path didn't seem to help, shuffling through a mob of angry people only to get turned around and sent back the way she came without realizing it. Scuffing to a stop, she placed a finger on the edge of her lip, noticing that she had dug in deep enough to make it bleed.

Where was she? Who would ever want to come to this place? Why had her parents sent her to be trapped in such a blur? She could feel her nose start to run once more, wiping it away before anyone saw. The truth was, no one would ever see her do it, or even see her. The day prior she sat on a bench believing her parents would arrive in the morning, but there she remained, standing alone in a foreign place. She held her arms once more, looking over to the wall that separated her from the only person who had spoken with her. He was the only one who made such a place even feel remotely normal. Although she wanted to return to the front of the desk, if only to make the cries from others cease in her mind, his last words still stung. Shifting the metallic taste that sat in her mouth, she turned in a vain attempt to find someplace quiet.

Forcing herself past the disgruntled group once more, she paused at the very far end of the stack of crates. She noticed that there was a decent sized gap between the shipment packages and the wall, looking to both sides and seeing that the C-Sec officers were preoccupied with other things. The silence beckoned her, coaxing her to slide down the opening until she reached the back wall. Seeing the rest of the crates were stacked randomly, Mary climbed up on the next one that was shorter than the one stacked on top of it. There was a small bridge of metal boxes she could jump onto, the rest of the holding area blocked from view. Eventually she was stopped by a large, red container that was placed all the way against the wall, blinking curiously when she realized how far she had gone. The light was dimmed and the voices reduced to dull murmurs in the little world she had discovered, Mary smiling weakly before finding a spot on the artificial floor with her back against the wall. She breathed a heavy sigh almost in relief, proud that she had found a place to stay on her own. Deciding quickly she would just stay there until her parents came, she stretched her legs out until her feet rested against a smaller silver box, shutting her eyes to maybe get some sleep.

A restful sleep, however, was not something that would be granted to her. She woke up painfully after, what she guessed, was only a few hours, her surroundings shadowed even more. While the voices of the docks had quieted, making way for a brief moment of rest for those who were forced to reside there, she could hear deep whispers coming from the other side of the containers. They were angry, much of the conversation resonating upon the metal of the red crate. Without much thought she sat up and gazed about for any openings between the boxes, finding that the only way to see those on the other side was to climb on top of the silver one in front of her. Trying to be as silent as possible, she lifted herself up and slid on her stomach until her eyes barely crossed over the outer edge. She recognized the area; the large, lobby-like opening was for the batarian refugees. Most of the large lights were turned off and she couldn't determine where the voices were coming from. Though they spoke in hushed tones, she could clearly hear what they were saying.

"You've really screwed up this time, Ghorek," a man's voice stated, clearly belonging to a batarian. Why he was speaking in a human tongue, though, was a brief, perplexing thought in her mind.

"I did...what was necessary..." another batarian man coughed, his voice weak.

"And you've virtually gotten yourself kill in the process. You were suppose to formulate a distraction for Cerberus, not anger them in the process!"

"You know as well as I...that these humans do not deserve...deserve..."

"You almost blew this whole operation with your rash decisions—"

"Hey!" She glanced up quickly to see the figure of a turian dressed in a white uniform. "Are you almost finished?"

"Yes, you can continue treating him," the first batarian replied, his voice quieting when he continued. "You should be thankful I have my connections with C-Sec. Once you're treated, however, I won't be able to help you with the Citadel's judicial system. I'm sorry."

Mary watched as the batarian departed, the turian nurse returning to his duties. She placed her face against the cold metal in wonder, hearing the other batarian cough furiously before a few beeps echoed in the corridor. Perhaps that was who the woman before had been referring to. Why they would bring him down into the holding area for all to see, however, was not something she was going to try to wrap her head around. What was meant by the phrase 'connections', however, and the notion that the man below really was a terrorist made her thoughts go dark. There was a murderer not even ten feet away and it was possible no one had heard the truth directly until then. Not only this, but there was someone looking out for him that knew of his actions.

She slowly made her way back down to the other side of the crates, feeling her heart race beneath her chest. Subconsciously pinching her cold, running nose, she had to keep reminding herself that they hadn't seen her. She would just forget that she had ever heard that conversation and shove whatever remained into the deepest recesses of her mind. No, everything would be okay, she was sure of it. Her parents would be there tomorrow, and her whole experience there would just be like a bad dream.