Smoke, Sorcery, and Steel

by A Very Thirsty Megalomaniac

A long time ago, the Outsider formed. Contrary to many's beliefs, he could not change his face. When aliens saw him in their dreams, they knew humanity long before humanity knew them. And they feared. Now their space whaling routes cross paths, and the aliens stare upon humanity's face proper. And they fear. Perhaps rightly so. The Outsider only shrugs, and then offers his mark.

2. Roving Feet

Desolas could not smell the blood from here, at the CIC. Only the panic. Officers and lesser crewmen walked between computers and instruments at a hurried pace, their voices hushed and their tread light against the polished wood of the bridge. The planet's hologram gleamed in the center of the CIC, displaying for the most part still oceans and the occasional storm on the planet below. It appeared sparsely inhabited, only a faint glow emerging from distant coastlines, only the occasional streak of light from some foreign cargo ship crossing a foreboding sea.

Traffic from the planet now also grew minimal. The final shuttles began their hurried retreat from the planet surface, from the sole source of the great lights from this cursed civilization they had been tasked to destroy. Crewmen looked out of the viewports with indiscernible expressions, arms often crossed, occasionally muttering some scrap of scripture. The Third Commandment could be heard more than once.

And of course, there were the asari, their vessels resplendent and perplexing as always. The graphs indicated a large amount of radio traffic between their ships and the planet surface, but none of it made sense to Desolas. Even less sense could be made of the reports below.

"The evacuations are complete, General." Desolas leered out the viewport again as the boatswain made her final report. "Casualty estimates still unknown, however we appear to have inflicted grievously damaged the colony's ability to defend itself. The Spawn's dead stack the streets."

As do ours. Desolas's fingers tightened on the railing he leaned against above the CIC. The planet hologram still spun slightly, a dozen pink vessels now floating serenely in its orbit. Most of the Spawn defenders are dead … but the asari are still protection enough.

Desolas had few illusions about his options at this point. No turian in his right mind would send his marines against asari sword-sisters, many of whom had honed the twin craft of blade and biotic for two decades at the least. And while asari vessels would be no match for any guns carried by the Ecclesiarchy's battle fleets, the diplomatic fallout would be beyond Desolas's feeble scope to contemplate.

So there was nothing else for it, really. Until the Ecclesiarch either backed down (unlikely) or dispatched dreadnoughts (depressingly likely) he would have to tread water and reflect on his sins. As well as the Third Commandment. It was doubtful this would provide any immediate assistance or psychological relief.

"Hail the leading asari ship," called out Desolas, prompting the comm officer to begin turning dials activating haptic interfaces. Rough static filled the CIC, and Desolas adopted the most stern of expressions, recalling the stiff and proud spires of Palaven, the great vanquished sun shining down on all, warming his face with its rays. And of course, he reflected on the Third Commandment. Do not seek to deter the Outstretched Talons for long, sisters. The planet hologram changed to a large glowing screen, revealing a scowling blue face.

The asari captain wore a smart white cap with the Republics' symbol, a flowered sabre, stamped upon it in silver. Shoe bore a blue overcoat on her slim frame, gleaming gold buttons arrayed down its medal. A Kahje pearl-handled pistol lay strapped to her chest, and Desolas could just barely make out a similarly decadent sword hilt protruding from an unseen scabbard.

In the early days of first contact, the Ecclesiarch Admiralty had dismissed the asari as vapid dandies, more concerned with facing the opposition in immaculate dress rather than perfect battle lines. Those dismissals died in turian throats as they had witnessed the sword-sisters and justicars in pitched battle. The asari were not fops. They simply did not believe in half measures, not when they had so much time to master themselves. If one must fight well, fight with unmatched ferocity. If one must look their best, spare no expense.

And if one should die, it should be surrounded by enemy corpses.

"Speak quickly." The asari captain betrayed no emotion, her heavy lids making her look even bored.

"I am requesting a status update," said General Desolas, trying not to feel shabby in his general's uniform as the asari captain practically glowed like the sun. "I would know how long you would have us wait here."

"The Council alone can dictate that. And I do not represent them." The asari sniffed. "At present, we are awaiting their true representative. An Inquisitor, I believe."

That stopped Desolas dead. He winced, not bothering to hide his dismay. That bodes ill for us. That bodes extremely ill. A few other crewmen, the boatswain and first officer included, exchanged looks of mixed dread and horror.

"Is that truly necessary?" asked Desolas, offering a pained smile. The asari's face did not so much as twitch.

"You will have to ask the Council. Or better yet, their representative once they arrive." The captain sniffed again. "Are we done here?"

"For the time being. Good day." Desolas opened his mouth to order the screen to die, but the asari had already disconnected.

So. We have found the race that either birthed or birthed from the Outsider, suffered greater losses than anticipated, and then attracted the Inquisitor. Desolas nodded to himself. And there was not a single instance of heresy on that planet that we could find.

"Sir?" The boatswain again, head cocked, listening to some hidden report from her uplifted omnitool. "We have wounded onboard that wish to speak to you. They witnessed some…" She hesitated. "…shivering shadow, who moved at impossible speeds."

Third Commandment. Part of Desolas rejoiced that perhaps there was some justice in their actions after all, some kind of leverage that might be sought from the Inquisitor.

The rest of him, the boy who had grown to a man underneath the shimmering candles of the Church of the Vanquished Sun, cried out in terror.

Desolas could not dwell on this. No sooner had he sucked in a breath to bellow a new order, the planet hologram blinked as a fresh ship appeared, rotund and thick with armor. Desolas stared at the vessel with narrowed eyes.

"Invite the Inquisitor aboard," he said, and the comm officer hastened to comply. "Invite them to my cabin. I will be with them shortly." And together, perhaps we can come to an accord. The Outsider walks among us. Let us find out where, and end it. Together.

---

The blade ran roughshod through Jack's hair, parting the brown strands from his skull in tufts and chunks rather than in smooth snips. The whaler grunted in frustration with every fresh twitch Jack made, which was usually in pain. Specks of blood dripped from the razor into the sink, mixing the brown with the red.

"I have many talents," said the whaler, voice carrying an edge as sharp as his implement. "Negotiation. Rabble-rousing. Bone carving. Racketeering. I can even carry a blade well enough when pressed." Jack grunted as another chunk of hair fell away. "But I was apparently never fated to be a barber. A pity for the both of us. Void damn you, hold still!"

"Who are you, exactly?" Jack gritted his teeth as the whaler got to work on the side of his scalp, the blade scraping against both hair and flesh.

The whaler stopped and sniffed.

"Donnel Udina, of Alba." He resumed his work, the remaining words spoken through gritted teeth borne of intense concentration. "Whaling Union representative. Do not be fooled by the garb – I have never been out to sea or the dark frontier. I simply have to look the part while attending certain company matters."

"You're a criminal." Jack winced again, wondering if the sheer number of bandages he would have to apply to his head would ultimately cover his baldness. "A criminal with an Outsider shrine in his basement."

"You would be surprised, friend, at how a little criminality and a little black magic can go a long way to insuring the continued dominance of her Imperial Majesty … and her most loyal servants." The last of the hair fell away, the sink now covered in soft chunks. Jack turned the faucet on and watched it all vanish with a mixture of strange loss and satisfaction. When he looked to the mirror, he saw a new man staring back, face lined with worry. It will throw them off for a while. Jack turned to his companion, who stared Jack up and down with a frown on his face.

"It'll do. You are certain this will throw off your, eh, brothers?"

"We wear the masks even in our quarters." It felt strange to admit that, but it hardly mattered at this stage. "We know each other's faces, but not by heart. Our voices and names play a far greater role."

"Hmph." Udina beckoned Jack to follow, and he did, head feeling so much lighter now that it was bereft of hair. Jack strode to a set of wooden shutters and threw them open with a grunt, letting sunlight stream in from beyond the distant horizon. Udina walked on to the balcony, and Jack joined him.

"Much of the city is smoking." Udina hardly needed to say it. From their perch on the balcony, the previously impressive skyline of Shanxi now resembled nothing so much as a jumble of jagged black teeth, broken and sharp. The oppressive scent of black smog filled the air, and many walked the streets with a wet rag pressed tightly to their faces. Even the Watch had donned a mix of enclosed helmets and plague masks, ushering citizens up the hill to the abbey, where the air was less foul.

"I should be up there." Jack pointed up the hill, to where the sun shone on the abbey's cracked walls. "I should be helping my brothers."

"Well, there is not much point dwelling on that." Udina shrugged. "I should be back in Dunwall, dining on blood sausage and waited on by fifteen servants. But company affairs dictate I remain here in Shanxi, where the Spicer Whales are known to mate, and where the dock authority does not ask terribly many questions."

"Spicer Whales?" Jack licked his lips, still looking up at the abbey, where they held Oleg.

"Eh, there are a few kinds of whales. Some that mate within gas giants, others that tether comets to themselves to attract females. Prettiest comet gets the mate." Jack turned to Udina, eyebrows raised. They don't teach us this in the abbey. "Spicer Whales are … well, look to the coast." Udina pointed out to sea. It was difficult to follow his slightly shaking finger, but Jack eventually got the idea. He stared out to sea, hand held over his eyes. After a few moments, he saw a flash, a splash, a flicker of some massive tail.

"Pod of them," said Udina, sounding morose. "Just before the attack hit. A whole choffing pod. These things are choked with trans, practically bleed it. Have to be, to withstand both the ocean's depths and the gas giant's heart. Massive profit margin, even with the specialized ships we must use to hunt them. And now we're all grounded, both from sea and space. Had a captain ready to go and everything."

"Specialized ships?" Jack watched the horizon, thinking.

"Spicer ships. Able to handle sea and space with equal aplomb." Udina now spat the words through gritted teeth. "An absolute fortune to build and maintain, but paid for many times over with every kill. But a whole pod…" Udina stared up at the skies above with impressive hatred. "Void take these beasts! And the whales as well. Opportunity is knocking, and the Duke has barred the door." From his tone, it was clear Udina's grievance with the beasts lied less with their vicious invasion and more of a disruption of his profit margin. Jack did not know whether to find amusement or rage in this.

"You said the docking authority is lax here," said Jack, still looking out to sea. "And there is a ship ready?"

"Thinking of sneaking out on board the Cerberus?" Udina clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder. "You might have that mark and the Outsider's ear, but the whole city is against you. No one moves without the permission of the Duke." Suddenly Udina looked thoughtful, pressing a dirty finger to his mouth. "Although … there might be a way around that. Perhaps."

"I need to get out of this city." Jack stared out to sea, watching the whales. "I need to get Oleg out of this city. I don't want to hurt anyone, especially my brothers … but I'm not offering myself to the abbey." He stared at his gloved hand. A quick chop, a brand to the face … and then out to the cold. The beasts can wait. Heresy cannot. He looked Udina up and down. "Are you willing to help me? I don't know what I can return." An overseer without the Abbey is a piteous thing, bereft of much talent besides bladework.

"You can remember my name when one day the Whalers, or a friend thereof, calls on you." Udina frowned, licked his lips. "You can mention me to the Outsider, maybe. But even aside from that, I can think of all manner of uses for someone with his mark, "assassin" being the least creative. But that can wait." Udina looked to the coat one last time, then nodded. "Yes, I think I know of someone who can get the Duke's stamp." He paused as Jack's belly let loose a series of pained grumbles. "When did you last eat?"

"Before the attack." Jack had seen plenty of opportunities to swipe the errant apple or pie during his night run across the rooftops, but the Seven Strictures screamed through his mind with every fresh temptation. Restless Hands. Roving Feet. Rampant Hunger. No amount of burning from his hand would change that any time soon. "I do not want to beg or impose-"

Udina rolled his eyes and left the balcony, flinging open cupboards and cabinets filled with tinned meat and vegetables. Jack closed the shutter behind him and watched Udina impatiently fire up a greasy oven and produce an equally greasy pan. Soon, an equally greasy smell filled the room as whale meat sizzled in a bed of oil atop the frying pan.

"Eat and change," said Udina, gripping the frying pan by the handle and shifting the meat and oil in place, not letting it sit. "If fighting needs doing, best not to let hunger slow your blade."

There was sense in that, but Jack could not help but feel he was building credit with this man that he would not be able to pay back. The scent rising from the pan was mouth-watering, even more so as Udina retrieved several Pandyssian limes from a small fridge and began sprinkling their juices over the meat. Just over the sound of the sizzling, distant amplified voices echoed over the rooftops. Jack caught a snatch of "By order of her Imperial Majesty…"

"Don't scarf it down. Plenty of time until curfew." Udina slid a ceramic plate loaded with fried whale meat coated in a layer of lime juices. A neat pile of chopped green beans fresh out of a tin lay against the meat pile, looking distinctly less appealing but nevertheless appealing to the hunger crawling within Jack.

"Whaling food," said Jack, accepting a fork and knife with a genuine mutter of thanks.

"It keeps, even when the crew wishes it didn't." Udina folded his arms. He had not taken anything for himself. "Again – not the best barber, not the best cook, either. But if it keeps me alive, it should do the same for you." He marched out of the room after a minute, holding up a finger for Jack to wait. Jack did not have to be told – as long as a plate full of food sat in front of him, he would not be moving an inch. The whale meat tasted thick and smoky in his mouth, the lime adding a tart aftertaste. The tinned vegetables tasted like something someone would scrape off the bottom of a lake bed, shapeless, green, and all too slimy.

Regardless, hunger did not discriminate. Jack did his best to hold back the clatter of knife and fork against plate, but even so the meat disappeared with unhealthy rapidity. By the time Udina returned carrying a folded whaling outfit in his arms, Jack scraped the remnants of his meal together into a corner, smiling ruefully up at his savior.

"Try not to throw up if we end up running from the Watch." Udina dropped the whaler uniform on the table, topping it neatly with the signature mask. "Put this on. I'll wait."

"You don't think the mask might make people suspicious?" asked Jack, immediately realizing his folly as Udina snorted.

"Look at the streets below. Even the children are donning gas masks right now. Going unprotected would be more suspicious." Udina waved off further questions. "I'll be wearing one myself. Meet me at the door once you're done. When we hit the checkpoints, let me do the talking."

After shoveling what was left of his breakfast, lunch, and dinner rolled into one down his throat, Jack picked up the whaling mask and examined it critically. It hardly stands up to the overseer hardsuits. Then again, it did not need to. Whaling suits needed only to keep out the cold and the vacuum, not the bullets and blades of heretics. It did not even come with a shield! Jack unclipped his own shield from his belt and swiftly undressed, checking the windows and shutters in the unlikely case someone watched from a nearby rooftop.

The suit fit him surprisingly well, making him suspect it came from some far-off Gristol factory, maybe the Uncle Workshops. They always were good at making sure their suits fit well. The shield clipped neatly to the inside of one of the suits' many pockets. It smelled new, like the first Warfare Overseer uniform he had ever been presented. Which now lies in a gutter somewhere. He looked down at his discarded clothes, retrieved shamefully from one of Shanxi's many dead, toed it with a fresh blue boot. Should burn it. He pulled the whaling mask from the table and slotted it into place on his neck, the suit locks holding it steady. A basic interface lit from inside the mask, assuring Jack of 100% suit integrity. Good. After a moment's hesitation, he belted his overseer sabre and scabbard. Some things I'm not willing to give up yet.

Jack descended the wooden steps with bundle of clothes in hand, feeling like a new man and not entirely for the better. Udina waited at the door with his own mask held under one arm, nose wrinkling at Jack's approach. Jack, for his part, turned left at the bottom of the staircase and neatly dropped the oily and blood-soaked rags he had previously worn into the fire, which flared. Then he turned to Udina.

"Might be best to lose the sword," said Udina, gesturing to the dull yellow hilt of Jack's sabre. "I have a spare."

"No." Jack patted the hilt. "I found it off one of the dead."

Udina paused, nodded slowly. Then he opened the door, the bright light streaming through on a brand new day.

The city did not sleep following the battle. It bellowed and roared like the wounded beast it was, smoke spraying from its shattered buildings like life blood, discoloring everything it touched. The Bottle District in fact seemed to be one of the more peaceful areas in the city, even if its silence was mostly the silence of the dead. As they passed its smoke-blackened cobblestones in favor of the still shining marble of the Legal District, a great cacophony of voices carried over the wind of salt and smoke.

A great crowd of people, commoners and noble, working men and those of leisure, raised their fists in protest before the chief justice's house. A great screen fixed to a thick iron post blazed from above, displaying the taciturn visage of Shanxi's guard captain, his Watch uniform streaked with blood both blue and red.

"By order of her Imperial Majesty, Empress Elizabeth Kaldwin II, a curfew has been placed on Shanxi. All citizens must remain indoors past sundown for the safety of themselves and the colony. The Watch is authorized to execute violators on sight. Shanxi will be on lockdown until further notice. No exceptions."

"Justice!" boomed the voices. "Justice for Shanxi!"

"You can't keep us here!" screamed a woman from the front of the house. "We have families!"

Two Royal Marines bearing repeater rifles flanked against their broad shoulders stood to either side of the entrance, the expression under their metal helmets dour and threatening. Despite vastly outnumbering the two red-clad marines, the crowd kept a healthy distance from the glaring soldiers, all too familiar with how quickly and efficiently repeater rifles would disperse unshielded crowds.

Jack and Udina skirted the edges, Jack with his head down, Udina with his head high. Watch officers patrolled the edges of the protest, apparently awaiting backup, hands resting on the hilts of their blades, pistols loosened in their holsters. They paid no mind to the two quiet whalers, their eyes remaining fixed on the roiling crowd.

"Rig up some atmo-cannons and have done with it!" roared a large man in a bloodstained jerkin, lifting a hand with a bandaged stump where his ring finger should have been. "Blow those choffers out of the sky before they come back!"

"Justice for the Bottle District!" called out another. "The dead are stacked up in piles ten feet high! Where were you when the beasts landed? Guarding some noble with soiled pantaloons?"

"There's going to be riots tonight," muttered Udina as they reached the other side of the crowd and made for the checkpoint to the Government District, its gleaming blue arch manned by two more Royal Marines, who watched their approach without any expression. "One idiot will stay up past curfew and get shot. Then others will join in. It's how it always happens. Just one person to make the push. One person with a family, some friends."

Jack nodded, hoping that would not be the case. A wall of light crackled before them, the electricity arcing between blue pillars. Watchmen worked the ground, watching the two whalers with folded arms and raised eyebrows, many of their blue uniforms looking rankled and stained with Void knew what. At least they are not overseers.

"That you Donnel, you old scallywag?" An officer with a thick mustache and sideburns stepped from beyond the wall of light, a small grin playing at his lips. "You're the only whaler I can think of that would walk up here all bold-like."

"It's me." Udina lifted a hand and stopped Jack well short of the wall of light, which crackled and spat sparks as he watched. "Tell our lady that I have someone of great interest to see her. Great enough to risk the streets, even." He fumbled through his own pockets, produced a small battered carton gleaming with gold leaf and handed it to the officer. "Here. I know you've all been up all night. We'll wait here."

"Heh." The officer slid the carton under his coat and whistled. A lower watchman jogged from beyond the wall of light, cap askew. He stopped and saluted, hand quivering at his forehead. "Go and send word up to the lady. You know the one. Say it's Udina. Hop to it!" The lower watchman departed without a word, retreating again beyond the wall of light.

"Who's this guy?" asked the officer, looking Jack up and down and making his blood freeze despite being well covered. "Can't fault you for wearing the masks, but don't you go sneaking up on people dressed like that. Scare the daylights out of 'em."

"New recruit," said Udina without hesitation. "Got to Shanxi at a bad time and he's all nervous, but he's got the stones to sign up against Spicer Whales. Thought I'd show him the city." Udina leaned in to the officer, who leaned in and put an ear close to Udina's face. Jack could not quite hear what was said, but he thought it included, "terrible embarrassment," and "son of some noble." His face reddened underneath the whaler mask.

"You going to join us for whiskey and cigars later?" asked the officer, lightly patting the bulge in his coat, which rattled expensively. "They're going to rotate us at six. If you can get to the guard house past the curfew, might give you a reason to smile. Not a lot of good happening around here right now."

"I'm not sure what my schedule will look like, but I'll bear it in mind." Udina inclined his head. The lower watchman jogged out from beyond the wall again, face red. "At any rate, make sure you enjoy yourselves."

"She said to let 'em on through, sir!" said the lower watchman, snapping another salute. The officer grinned and whistled again, waving up to the Royal Marines.

"Oi! Tinheads! Unplug the wall for a second, let these two on through. Got important business to take care of." The officer motioned for Jack and Udina to follow while the soldiers in red grumbled and hauled a canister out of its slot. The wall beeped twice in protest, the sparks dying.

"Marines," said the officer, looking back at the two of them with a grin. "They'll do their job aright, but never with good grace when it's a Watchman in charge of 'em. And don't piss 'em off, whatever you do. They dispersed a crowd in Pickering Square earlier today – someone threw a rock at the Duke's car."

"How many casualties?" asked Jack, face ashen beneath the mask.

"Eh, they're still cleaning up the body parts. But you ask me, with those beasts waitin' up there? Too many, regardless of the number." The officer stopped once they were past the wall, the relatively clean buildings of the Government District now dominating their left and right. "And ah, since that one overseer kept askin', keep an eye out for this one guy. Jack, was it?" He turned to the lower watchman for confirmation, and the man stammered out an affirmative. "Dark hair, sorta slim. Gristol bloke. Apparently he's a rogue overseer." The officer shrugged. "Just saying. Keep your eyes peeled."

"Of course." Udina shook the officer's hand, and the man winked at Jack as he turned away. "Good day, Captain."

"Alright you lazy slugs! Lights back on, keep eyes on that crowd!" bellowed the Captain, waving a well-manicured hand. "Heard tell the Empress is coming here personal, means this District has to stay damn well secure!"

"You know a lot of people on the Watch?" asked Jack, voice hushed when perhaps it shouldn't be. Udina shrugged.

"I know a lot of people, period. But all Whaler Guild representatives should keep up to date with the birthdays of each Watch captain in their city."

"Was it his?" Jack took a quick look round to the Watch Captain, who had now hooked his thumbs in his coat pockets and scowled at passersby beyond the reactivated Wall of Light.

"No, he just likes whiskey and cigars." Udina sniffed under his mask. "Most Watchmen do, come to think of it. This way."

They left the gleaming cobblestones of the Government District beyond for a jaunt down a back alley. Three well-dressed children watched them pass from in front of an overturned dumpster, a stack of rocks lying in front of the. The air smelt faintly of ozone, and the hair stood up at the back of Jack's neck.

"Mister!" called out the middle one, a light-haired lass with a strange smile over her face. Udina sighed and stopped, turning to face them. "One coin to see a trick?"

"Bad luck to refuse," said Udina, and Jack could not tell if he was serious. Udina produced a small pouch and jerked a coin into his palm. He flipped it to the child, who caught it and bit it, likely without knowing why. Then she grinned and kneeled in front of the pile.

"Watch this!" The other two stood over her, urging the child on. With a look of concentration and mild constipation, the child lifted a twitching hand over the rocks, which wobbled. Then, the top one began to glow blue, lifting ever so slightly into the air. Jack swore and crossed his arms at this witchcraft, before lowering them in mild embarrassment. He thought he heard Udina titter. I am well past the stage where I can criticize others for witchcraft. Still, he stared. Outsider's blood, what is this?

"Do another one," urged a boy on the girl's left, face smudged with dirt. The girl, eyes shut and biting her lip, gave a jerky nod. The rock below the floating stone lifted as well, and the girl began to heave with desperate breaths.

"Okay," she said, letting out a sigh. The two rocks fell. She stared up at the two adults, face flushed, massaging her hand. "Neat trick, huh?"

"Don't do it in front of any overseers," said Jack sharply, even though truthfully he did not know from where this power came. There were no marks on the child's hands. "But … yes. Very neat."

Udina bade Jack follow, and the two of them continued down the alley, the other two boys trying to coerce the girl into doing it again. Udina did not turn to look at Jack, but he did begin to speak in a low tone.

"I hear tell of glowing blue whales that fling comets as a child would fling stones, all without ever touching them," he said, actually sounding a bit disturbed. "Sometimes you'll find whale meat glowing a soft azure, tasting faintly of spice. I always tell my whalers to throw that meat out, but you never know. I hear strange things of people exposed to the blue meat, powers not borne of the Outsider." Udina laughed lightly. "Perhaps you're not as special as we think."

"That brings small comfort." Jack clutched his own hand, thinking. "Times are changing."

"Always good for profits, assuming you can improvise." Udina stopped by a small hatch and knocked on it three times with his boot. "She might be waiting already. She always comes running when there's excitement afoot. And her father is terrible about keeping track of her."

"Who is this, exactly?" Jack's neck tingled. Another shrine lay close by. How many lay hidden through the city? How many turn away from the Abbey's teaching in favor of seeking the Outsider's blessing? This is the Government District, nowhere should be as pious.

The hatch opened, and gloved hands beckoned them inside. Udina removed his whaler mask with a smirk, and Jack did the same. They went down the ladder, one at a time, the hatch falling with a clang after they were inside.

"Can this one be trusted?" A man with noble bearing and attire, dressed in a smart blue suit and flanked by a single scowling watch officer. "I do not know his face."

"But you will know my mark." Jack clenched his fist and let the mark flare. It glowed orange underneath his glove, and the noble took a shocked step backward, hands raised to his face. Jack glanced to the soft purple glow beyond the noble, the jagged metal twisted into something resembling shape and beauty. "This is my place, isn't it?"

"So the Outsider has chosen someone," breathed the noble. "Oh, my."

"Is that who you brought to see me?" A woman's voice, imperious and cold. The noble shrunk back as a small figure rose from before the shrine, something clutched in her hands. She placed the object back in its resting place before turning, an inquisitive look playing across her sharp features. Jack knew her face. The Duke's daughter. Truly, the Abbey has failed this colony.

She could not have been more than fifteen, tall enough for her age, but still standing far short of any of the actual adults in the room. She had the Tyvian look, pale of skin but dark of hair, slight and pinched, always serious and glum of face. Lady Miranda Lawson. And the word around town is that you are always locked in a tower.

"Who are you?" she asked with a quickness, voice snapping like a trap. "Who did he choose?"

"Jack Harper, my lady." Jack swept into a low bow, feeling that even in such circumstances, certain practices should still be observed. "Formerly of the Abbey. I … accepted this mark to save my Brothers. Now they hunt for me in the streets."

"What happened to your hair? Never mind. Daft question. Smart move." Miranda strode up to Jack, looking him up and down as if assessing him for something. "An overseer? Why would he choose an overseer?"

"Why does the Outsider do anything?" asked Udina, spreading his arms wide. "Whatever it takes to while away a mindless eternity. My lady."

"Udina." Miranda looked more amused than anything at his presence. "You lucked out, it seems. Finally a tool worthy of your ambitions."

"I am no one's tool." The words came out with more force than Jack intended. But it is true. Once I worked the will of the Abbey. But no longer. And I will certainly not work the will of the Outsider.

"Just what you are remains to be seen." Miranda gestured to the shrine, expression hard. "Go on, then. I've knelt there for hours, waiting, hoping to hear something. Yet all I hear is the water running through the pipes. Show us … something."

Jack cocked his head and clenched his fist. The air turned lifeless and gray. He looked around. The noble remained frozen, hand stroking a hairless chin. Udina smiled a savage grin, staring at Jack as if he knew what he was about to do. The officer had turned away to pick his nose. And Miranda, Miranda wore a hungry look, the same look Jack had seen men and women wear at the Fugue Feast; a desire for something normally unattainable and utterly forbidden.

Jack released his grip and appeared before the shrine in a puff of wind, prompting a small shriek from the noble. Miranda only joined him at his side, squeezed his arm.

"Put in a good word for me. He has to have been listening." Miranda took a step back, the hunger turning to bitter longing. The rune sung from atop the shrine, glowing faintly in the dim light of the basement. The shadows clung to the purple walls, silent spectators to Jack's display. His gloved fist closed over the rune, which began to burn. The purple spread, covering all, leaving only silence, a wisp of smoke. Jack's breath caught in his throat.

"We really are becoming familiar now, aren't we?" The Outsider appeared in a whisper of distant whale song, eyes black and full of emptiness. "Two shrines in the space of a day? Within the colony you pledged to protect from me? Truly this is a sad day for the Abbey."

"Spare me your mockery." Jack clutched the rune tightly. "It brings me no pleasure to see these shrines."

"Yet here you are, regardless." The Outsider stroked his chin. "I suppose I can provide some commentary. You are a strange one, you know that? You recite the Seven Strictures while my mark adorns your hand. Worse still, you follow these Strictures. All too many of your former brothers cannot even manage that."

"Enough!" Jack clenched his jaw. "I'm sure this is all very amusing-"

"Mildly. It seems rather likely to come to a close soon." The Outsider folded his arms. "Lady Miranda Lawson. So rebellious, so sad. Sole daughter of a corrupt Duke. He visited my shrines in his own time, pleaded desperately for knowledge I do not even possess, not that I would have provided it if I did. His interests run less to the political, more to the scientific; the Kirin Jindosh or Anton Sokolov of your times." The Outsider's lips curled into a smirk. "They were fools as well. But Duke Henry Lawson is perhaps the most tedious of the three."

"As for Miranda – she remained tethered to the Duke's ambitions. She's grown up beautiful and educated, a hopeful match for your Empress's own son. But she has no intention of ever becoming someone else's bride. She has inherited her father's hunger, but directed it to pursuit of her personal freedoms instead of monstrous scientific experiments." The Outsider smiled. "She wants what you have. She wants to be special, and free. She would do anything for that. Now feel my rune."

Jack looked down at the rune, which burned with the mark and faded, filling Jack with a strange kind of giddiness, as if he could leap to the stars. The rune now sat in his palm, a useless chunk of carved whale bone and smoldering wire, whatever strength it once possessed utterly spent.

"Your powers stretch beyond mere manipulation of time and space. Can you feel those secrets, rattling in your mind?"

Jack could. They burned, two runes etched into his brain like pictographs on a rock. It felt warm, flooding his body with a strange kind of strength. His hand twitched, the mark flaring.

"You can share your gifts, to a certain extent." The Outsider waved a careless hand. "I have no interest in granting Miranda her freedom with my mark – the outcomes are all too unsatisfying. But … if she were tethered to you? Perhaps it might give you a chance. It will not diminish your own powers. And it will grant you an ally who can assist in the harder work."

The Outsider lowered his head, brow furrowed.

"Decide quickly. You're running out of time. Soon a greater presence than you will stalk these streets, and each invocation of my gift will draw him nearer. You had best have begun your exodus by nightfall, or I see clearly how this will end: two halves of a false whaler, guts strewn between them, his blood laying thick against the blades of an alien Inquisitor."

"I don't understand any of that." Jack tossed the rune aside. It fell away and out of sight, cast into the Void. The Outsider gave an airy wave of the hand.

"You will soon enough. When the sun falls."

Jack gasped, his mind snapping back into his body. A small crowd of people gathered behind him, murmuring questions, but none were so bold as to speak up. Only Miranda stared up at Jack without fear, a single eyebrow arched overhead.

Jack stared at his hand, thinking. It should be her choice, if she wants this. That's more than I had, really.

"Miranda – my lady." Jack winced, wondering if this were really the best course of action. Nightfall, he said. Did he mean it? The Abbey teaches that he lies with every false breath … but they also claim he can change his shape. "You want to be free."

"Yes." Miranda's expression did not change. It remained hungry, watchful.

"I can grant you freedom. With my mark." It burned now, and Jack could feel it reaching out for this youth, the Void whispering the question before he himself asked it. Jack took a hesitant step forward, left hand outstretched. Miranda lifted her own hesitantly, as if somehow inherently realizing what Jack was about to do. "Can you fight?"

"I have been trained. You do not need to ask any further," she said, eyes narrowing, as if bracing for pain. "Do it, and I can help you escape this colony." She kneeled, head bowed, arm still lifted. Jack clutched her hand with his own shaking fingers.

Ribbons of gold and purple ran from Jack's glowing mark, tracing faint lines against Miranda's alabaster skin. She trembled, and Jack heard her take a sharp breath as if in pain. The lines coursed across her flesh, leaving faint valleys of black, a faint outline of what Jack himself bore. Then, the ribbons faded. The traces remained. Miranda rose, rubbing her wrist, expressionless.

"I suppose we have work to do."

---

The sick bay smelt rank with blood. The eyes of wounded rolled in desperation, awaiting the skilled and certain hands of the ship chirurgeons, who strode between blue-stained beds with grim purpose, gleaming white phantoms whose hands always dripped with either bodily fluids or the remnants of a fresh coat of cleansing water.

Desolas walked between the beds as well. He trod between them with a censer lifted, intoning the old words passed down from sailor to sailor, from father to son. The Ecclesiarchy's marines craned their heads up from feather-stuffed pillows at his passing, mouths open either in awe or imitation. The smell of spice followed Desolas, masking the heady stench of exposed guts and spilling tissue. Chirurgeons crossed their arms at his passing, sometimes pausing mid cut to match Desolas's chant.

Palaven's sun, blazing and broken, grant us your light and your heat. Mend these wounds and shield our minds, expose all lies and deceit!

So many rows, too many rows of sodden beds and glass-eyed wounded. The Outsider-Spawn below provided panicked but stiff resistance, and all of Desolas's preparations against sorcery had been for naught … barring one incidence. That bed he saved for last.

The marine watched Desolas approach with eyes pinched in pain, hand lightly tracing the patched hole in his side. His bedsheets at least seemed clean, and as Desolas made his final circuit among the wounded, the marine joined in, his words rasping and slightly slurred. Desolas concluded his work, lowering the censer to his side and allowing his aching arm some blessed relief at last.

"The sun lies vanquished and broken," said Desolas, grim of face and apologetic of tone.

"Many others filled the night sky," coughed the marine, wincing in pain and feeling his side with increasing urgency and discomfort. "I saw him. The servant of the Outsider."

"That is why we are speaking." Desolas did not bother to pretend otherwise. Serjeants and generals rarely had meaningful topics to converse on, and there were many others more wounded than he. "Tell me what you saw. In detail." The more comprehensive my report, the more easily I may dance that fragile line between the Ecclesiarch's will and the Council's displeasure.

"First squad blew the doors open to their fortress," said the serjeant, nose wrinkling at the memory of it. "The dragoon went with them, cannon and blade readied. They marched through smoke, bellowing the Third Commandment and cutting down at least one Spawn. Then … we saw him."

"He moved at first as a shivering blur, carrying a sliver of sharp starlight." The serjeant's eyes shut. "He cut apart the first squad, flickering in and out of reality, shifting from flank to flank as if he were made of shadow rather than flesh. The dragoon fell at a few well-placed blows, and the heretic turned to the steps where the second squad stood."

"Did the others assist him?" asked Desolas. "The other Spawn? How did they react to this shivering swordsman?"

"They drove us off in a hail of gunfire and steel," said the serjeant. "But … it was the strangest thing. As I fell back with the Palvanus, I saw one of the masked warriors force the heretic to his knees and lay a blade against his throat." The serjeant grimaced and removed his hand from his wound. "I wanted to remain, but my wound and the fear … it was too much. The Palvanus carried me back to the nearest evac point and I was glad for it."

"Interesting." Desolas's heart thudded dully. Too interesting. The beat quickens as the dance grows more complex. "May your wounds knit well, Serjeant. Thank you for your intelligence." Desolas grimaced, felt the need to share his pain. "Wish me well. I go now to the Inquisitor."

"They sent one already?" The serjeant gaped, his wound temporarily forgotten. "I thought it was just the asari! Sir … do you know who they sent?"

"Probably a salarian. It usually is." Desolas took in a heavy breath, feeling as if he walked a tightrope between ships battling a stormy sea. The wind howls and the ships buck … Desolas crossed his arms and bowed, censer dangling loosely from one finger by its chain. "Heal well, my friend."

In a way, visiting the infirmary had been both penance and a way of delaying the inevitable. Inquisitors were far cries from the antiquated Spectres that preceded them – their will and actions were tightly leashed to the Council, meaning one's presence was of great import to whoever was nearby. And it means the Council's gaze is fixed on this spot. Normally the Citadel and its creatures were slow beasts to react to any change or event. Not this time. Which bodes extremely ill for this expedition. The dance goes on, spin and leap…

Desolas had given the Inquisitor the run of his cabin while he completed his rounds, such as they were. It was a perfunctory and somewhat desperate gesture, one that would doubtless do him only the slightest of favors when it came time to explain himself. When he exited the sick bay, two Palvanus followed his path, his "honor guard." Desolas glanced back at the steely gray masks and handed off the censer to one, wondering all the while if they would listen outside the door for their report to the Ecclesiarch, or instead simply interrogate him in person afterwards. Desolas hoped for the latter. That would at least indicate trust.

Crewmen fled at the approach of the three of them, their heavy boots ringing against the steel. Sailors pressed themselves up as close to steam-filled pipes and funnels as they were able and saluted or bowed as space allowed. The only exception was a single engineer carrying two canisters of trans, one in each hand – Desolas and the Palvanus instead allowed him passage, the heat of the ship warming their backs as he heaved his load past. Generals and the Faithful might command the respect and fear of sailors, but whale oil bowed to no one once angered.

The ship's crew stood partially depleted by the bloody excursion to the planet below, yet Desolas had never felt the vessel so cramped. The steaming pipes worming their way through the interiors made of mixed wood and steel, the sailors exchanging hushed rumors and overloud jokes, the steady climb up polished steps towards the inevitable – it made Desolas feel as if a great weight clamped down on his trunk, pressed chest and back together to turn his insides to stew. In a sense, it was a relief to finally make it to the captain's cabin, the door gleaming with the embossed gold text of the Five Commandments. The Palvanus waited patiently behind.

"The Inquisitors have the same ultimate goal as the Faithful," said Desolas, reminding the two of them without turning to see their reaction. "We must respect the Inquisitor's wishes. They act with all races in mind, not simply our own."

"The Third Commandment, brother," replied one of them, sending a chill down Desolas's back. This is going to get unpleasant.

Desolas tapped the code into the door lock. It slid open on oiled hinges, not so much as a whisper. Desolas crossed the threshold without fully registering it in his head, instead bracing himself for what came next. Sure enough, a salarian dressed in black skintight armor sat at his desk, staring over it without any discernible expression. A massive shape loomed to the left, four-legged and likewise clad in black metal, its own protection far bulkier. Four folded lumps clung to the creature's back, and it glared at Desolas through red glass eyes. An elcor. Rarely do I see one so up close. Desolas tried to ignore the sensation of insects crawling up and down his back while his heart sped up again. He eyed the folded weapons momentarily before collecting himself once more.

"Forgive my delay, Inquisitor," said Desolas, bowing to the salarian, who immediately opened an omni-scroll and began typing with his long thin fingers. "I needed the report of one who had seen the heresy of these beings firsthand. I assure you-"

"Chilly: you have made another dangerous assumption, General." Desolas winced, head swiveling to the elcor, who took a step forward with a disconcertingly loud clank. "I am Inquisitor Farrow. You speak to my scribe, Lael, who will record our meeting here for the Council's benefit." The elcor took a dangerous pause while Lael typed furiously. "Imperious: Lael, do me a service and do not include the translated emotion within the script. It will not be necessary."

Lael complied, the omni-scroll flashing with fresh deletions. The sudden halt to the beeping as the salarian caught up made the silence deepen to dangerous levels.

"Forgive me, Inquisitor," said Desolas, trying to salvage the situation with the deepest bow his nerves could allow. "I have only met two Inquisitors in my life, and both were salarian. It is an honor to have you here."

"Dismissive: spare the empty words, General." The elcor's voice boomed far deeper than any other's that Desolas had heard before, its speech both amplified and slightly distorted by the ebony armor it wore. "The Ecclesiarchy has acted without thought or the blessing of the Council. I am here to conduct damage control." The elcor lowered its head, bringing the red eyes level to Desolas. "With great implication: the Council is the control. I am the damage. You will heed my words as if the Council itself stood before you. Understood?"

"Understood," replied Desolas, standing stiff and at attention, the Five Commandments blazing in his mind. Stone Mind. Linked Arms. Outstretched Talons. Downcast Eyes. Duty Ascendant. The last echoed each time he thought it.

"With mild empathy: I am aware you walk a knife's edge between honoring the wishes of your Ecclesiarch and managing the fallout from the Council, General. That is why I will present the case for a complete and total cessation of all hostilities between your people, and theirs. It is in the Ecclesiarchy's best interest."

Desolas laughed at this, but there was no humor in it. The salarian looked up from his omni-scroll, eyes narrowed. The fingers danced on.

"We finally found the race that either begat the devil that plagues us or sprang from his ethereal loins, and already you want us to sue for peace." Desolas shook his head. "Yes, I am torn between duties here, Inquisitor, but I side with the Ecclesiarch in this matter, particularly given that these Spawn attacked first. No good can come with associating with such Void-swollen beings, and we have evidence of at least one having been marked by the Outsider on the planet below." Desolas smiled as the elcor turned to the scribe in slight surprise, obviously taken aback. "Yes. A shivering shadow, time and space gripped with one hand, a blade in the I spoke of heresy before, Inquisitor, do you think I meant their visage alone?"

"Gravely: if what you say is true, then diplomatic efforts must be accelerated." Harrow paused, parts of his suit whirring. Desolas starred at the weapon folds, trying not to recount the handful of times he had seen elcor in action, the hidden twin blades and cannons emerging to cut apart pirates with dizzying brutality, bellowing farmers gathering a grisly harvest … the elcor merely leered on, heedless of Desolas's attempts to block out the images. "Boldly: nevertheless, I must persist. All hostilities must cease."

"Explanatory: this space borders both the Terminus and Hegemony," said the Inquisitor, and Desolas resisted the urge to fold his arms. Ascendant Duty. Ascendant Duty. "Since their forced exodus, the batarians have ached to form this Void Confederacy of theirs, sending envoys to both the Terminus and hanar, extolling the virtues of free trade and military alliance."

"I am aware of this." Desolas tried to control his impatience. "What relevance does it have to the matter at hand?"

"Irritated: your attack here may have inadvertently pushed these peoples, these "humans" into the batarians' Void Confederacy," said the Inquisitor, to a distinct lack of reaction from Desolas. "Increasingly annoyed: Think on it. A link between the Terminus and Hegemony, more military ships, more whaling routes, and above all, the greatest insult to all allied peoples against the Outsider: allegiance to the species wearing his face." The elcor shuffled in place, the feet falling like hammer blows.

"You say this under the assumption we will not exterminate them first." Desolas kept his gaze level, trying not to dwell on the terrible implication of his words. "That is the Ecclesiarch's will, you understand."

"Bluntly: the Ecclesiarch courts destruction if that is the case." Desolas growled at this, ceased suddenly by a wild urge to throw something. The hiss from the Inquisitor's weapons, the slight unfurling of glinting steel, quieted his madness. "Still blunt: the Asari Republics remains unconvinced of the Outsider's unwavering supremacy. Their translators uncover evidence of an "Abbey of the Everyman," comparable to your Palvanus or the salarians' Mundane Faith." Lael nodded in agreement, the omni-scroll faintly beeping. "With less empathy this time: I understand your position, General. Think of the Primarch and the secular elements of your Ecclesiarchy. Think beyond the will of Ecclesiarch Primus. Ascendant Duty. What is best for your people?"

Desolas did not answer, instead clasping his hands behind his back and waiting patiently for this elcor to dictate what was best for his people. He did not have to wait for long.

"Greatly annoyed: it is best that your people do not face a united Void Confederacy. It is best that your people do not spark a galactic war. It is best that your people remain a part of the Council."

"And what of the Outsider?" asked Desolas, throat feeling stiff as he spoke the infernal being's name. "Has the Council forgotten Warlord Kredak, whose Void-infused horde cut a still-unhealed swath through Council space? Do they take the report of heresy below seriously?"

"With barely-controlled rage: you tread on dangerous ground, General." Desolas still maintained his footing as the elcor took a threatening step forward, shaking the cabin, making the desk bounce. Lael glanced up, still expressionless, the text flying by on his omni-scroll even as he looked away from it. "We will be forever thankful for the Ecclesiarchy's assistance in the Rebellions, and value their continuing contributions in maintaining the peace hence. But do not ever imply we have forgotten Kredak's heresy." A bellow not unlike a bull whale's call issued from the Inquisitor, making Desolas jump. "Do not. Ever."

"Very well. I was out of line." Desolas acknowledged this with a genuine tone and a tip of his head. "But … expect the same sentiments from the Ecclesiarch and the Faithful, only uttered with greater fervency and anger. The Third Commandment, Inquisitor. You do not live and breathe it as we do."

"Murderously: apology accepted." The elcor still glared at Desolas, a sliver of metal visible through an armor flap, full of dangerous promise. "With forced courtesy: the Ecclesiarchy will receive reparations for the damage sustained to Dutiful Hands and its crew. With luck, these humans will have a worthwhile explanation. But all hostilities will cease. The Hegemony and Terminus cannot be allowed another ally."

"And the heretic?" asked Desolas, folding his arms now, hoping he had sufficiently tread the line between the Ecclesiarch's attack varren and the Council's loyal yes-man.

Inquisitor Harrow paused, threatening posture temporarily discarded. Lael finished the last few words and stared at the elcor with a cocked head, clearly uncertain as to what his companions' next move would be. Despite himself, General Desolas began to hold his breath. After a lengthy period of heavy silence, the elcor finally nodded, his armored form glinting in the cabin's light.

"I will handle the heretic personally."

---

Lanterns across the city began to flare. The bulk of the protestors returned to their homes, temporarily cowed by the threat of unrestrained force. Royal Marines now patrolled alongside the Watch, their numbers bolstered by a recent redeployment from the nearby Strangeport, further down the coast. Strange lights played in the sky, stars that moved back and forth before vanishing suddenly, alien vessels hard at strange work. Down below, Jack surveyed the kit Udina had hastily provided, the dim glow of the shrine forcing him to strain his eyes.

"You are certain you don't want my mark?" asked Jack, hesitantly picking up the strange green pellet Udina had assured him was a sleep dart. Udina shook his head, his own hunger far less than Miranda's.

"It is tempting, far more tempting than I will admit. But I do enough business with overseers to know better." Udina flexed his hands, stared at the back of them. "My own work requires far less teleportation and far more cries of, "This is an outrage!" I would rather not compromise that. If you escape and remember my name fondly … that will be more than enough payment for me."

Jack slotted the five green pellets against his left wrist, hoping the omni-bow software had been installed correctly. Udina's endorsement of the weapon had not been terribly reassuring, but Jack saw few other means that would allow him to assault the Abbey without taking the lives of his brothers. Unless they wear thick armor. He resisted the urge to inquire as to the cost of this equipment.

Three swift raps came at the hatch, and Udina hastened to open it, expression softening as he saw who it was. Miranda Lawson descended, a large pack strapped to her pack. She produced a stamped piece of paper from her coat.

"Amazing what you can do when you can flit from place to place with a thought … and you know all of the ducal palace's codes." Jack took the paper and examined it. He handed it to Udina, who nodded.

"We might actually get those damn whales after all," he said thoughtfully, holding the paper up to the light and smiling. "Yes, that will get a ship clear of the port, but I wouldn't chance taking off. I will bring this to my captain. I'm sure she will be thrilled to see it."

"Aren't you worried about the curfew?" asked Miranda, glancing back up the hatch.

"Not especially. Not when most of the whiskey and cigars in this city can be traced back to me." Udina offered a bow. "If you ask me, the two of you would be better off leaving without your friend. Better chance at living that way. I'm sure my captain will not thank you for the delay."

"The captain should thank me that she will be leaving at all." Jack clipped the medigel elixirs to his belt, followed by the Sirta solutions Udina had assured him would ease any sorcery he happened to perform. He glanced to Miranda. "You ready?"

"For the last three years now, yes." We'll see how long that enthusiasm lasts. Miranda looked capable enough, ignoring her small size, clad in a gray coat and bearing a short blade at her hip. She had covered her hands in fingerless gloves, allowing for a decent grip while also hiding her own little heresy. How much hard work have those hands seen, girl? How many nights have you spent cold and hungry? Becoming an overseer is long and hard. But she was young, there was time to learn. And she had magic, now, as well.

"Up the hill then," said Jack with a shiver. All of a sudden, the air seemed to turn cold. He paused to shake Udina's hand warmly. "With luck, I will see you on the road ahead. I will not forget you."

"And that is all I ask." Udina smiled, donned his whaler mask. "I might wave goodbye on the docks, depending on how this plays out. At any rate, may your journeys eventually bring you home, wherever you decide that is. Good luck."

The hatch reopened to a quieter city. The sound of the guard captain and announcer making regular reports and threats still drifted on the sea breeze, but no screams of protest underlined it. The air still smelled of smoke, even through the mask. Jack stood tall in the alley while Udina climbed the ladder and hurried for the docks. Miranda fell into step behind him. There. A small blue vent shaft above. He nodded to Miranda and vanished, reappearing atop the reassuringly solid metal. The rooftops went from towering to attainable. After a moment's pause, he found the lip of the closest building and held his breath, releasing it as he appeared atop it. Miranda followed suit below.

"We're not killing anyone, just to make that clear," said Jack, crouched and staring over the curiously smooth roofs beyond. "Sleep darts if you have to. And I know the Tyvian choke hold."

"They won't spare you if they catch us." Miranda's voice sounded muffled; she had pulled a thick red scarf around her face, leaving only the eyes exposed. Her black hair trailed behind her in the gentle but chilly breeze. "If it's life or death, will you choose death?"

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. On the steps of the abbey, he had chosen life. He might do so again.

"No killing," he said again, but could not help but wonder how well that would hold up. "We should be saving our strength for those devils if they come 'round again."

"If you insist." Miranda waited, watching Jack for his next move. Jack stared the short distance up the hill, where the abbey's lights glittered. They will have their hands full with the refugees, and our numbers were sorely depleted by the attack … still, it will be crowded. It will be difficult.

They blinked from rooftop to rooftop, feet pounding against concrete and steel before vanishing with the wind to reappear at another building's top. The city looked far different from high up above, the streets seeming far smoother and more traversable from where they stood. Guards traveled in tight patrols, only visible through their shoulder mounted flashlights which shone from building to building, only audible through the occasional whistled tune or bark of laughter. From the squares and plazas, the screens droned on about the curfew.

"Udina said this place would explode into a riot tonight." Jack stood at the edge of one roof, glancing over Pickering Square with one hand braced against the chimney. "Glad to say he was wrong."

"Give it time. Parts of the Bottle District are still stacked with bodies." Miranda spoke with a matter-of-factness born of detachment. It made Jack wrinkle his nose. The wind blew on.

The buildings closest to the abbey rank of smoke. Many sat tumbled and broken at the base of the abbey itself; it seemed that many of the turians had vented their considerable rage at the overseers' deflection of their attack on the nearest structures. Few remained unscarred.

Beneath the abbey's intact lights, overseers strode bearing both swords and bowls of soup. A great sea of tents ran across the abbey's courtyard, with nothing save the errant patch of dried blood to mark where battle had once raged. No hounds walked the yard. The Watch too, were absent. Have their hands full elsewhere.

"No hounds make this easier," said Jack, tears cropping at the corner of his eyes as he said so, the memory of his fallen Valor bringing a stinging bitterness to his throat. "It's dark. They are few in number. Steer clear of the refugees and we should not be seen."

"Where will they be holding him, do you think?" Miranda looked out over the refugees, hands clenched in what might have been anger.

"Interrogation rooms." Didn't take a natural philosopher to figure that one out. "And we won't have long. The Outsider said they would have a trial and an execution, but I wouldn't put it past the abbey to just give him the brand and fling him to the streets."

Miranda chuckled. "You're still going to try and gainsay the Outsider, even after all of this?"

"He can predict our paths. He does not dictate them." Jack scanned the abbey for purchases. A low ridge ran under the second story windows, just enough for a sure pair of feet. "Wait a moment." Jack closed his eyes, his hand burning. He reappeared with his back flat against the wall and window, the edge of his toes dangling over a sizable drop. He began skirting to his left, the chill of the wind and the sheerness of the drop combining to steal the breath from his chest. His veins filled with ice. Miranda moved with a far greater sureness at his side.

"I tried to stop time in the palace." Miranda spoke with a casual nonchalance, but Jack caught a bitterness in her tone as she scooted alongside him. "It did not work."

"I have no control over what you can and cannot do. Be grateful for what gifts you do have. Petition the Outsider if you feel cheated." Jack stopped, a great light appearing over the horizon. A ship, immensely thick and well armored, blazed a path over the sea, bearing directly for the port. To his surprise and shock, green lights went up at the dock. An alien vessel is landing … and the Duke approved it. The air grew chillier, yet the wind did not pick up. Two overseers met below, and Jack held up a fist for Miranda to wait.

"David." The name made Jack wince. We were comrades once, brother. I will not forget it. "The Watch reports no sign of Jack, although they found discarded overseer robes atop a building at Third. You are certain you cannot predict his movements?"

"Oleg's the one to talk to, if he's still capable of speech." David's voice sounded dull and dead, as if he did not believe the words he was saying. "They may have been conspiring. I merely accompanied him to retrieve the Shepard boy. I would be surprised if he has not fled the city on foot."

"He would not get far without help." The other overseer (Barnes, perhaps?) sounded impatient. "I hear tell we are receiving some help from above. No idea what kind."

"If it's one of those beasts that attacked us, I'd rather lend them a bullet than a hand, even if they are dedicated to rooting out heresy." David spoke through gritted teeth. "The Outsider did not burn this city."

"Yes, well, let us attend our duties for the nonce, brother." The two parted, and Jack watched them leave, everything he had lost suddenly becoming all too clear. I was shaped by the abbey. And now I can never return. Jack heaved a deep breath and kept sidling along, finally finding an open window. The scent of incense and faint sweat wafted through. He clambered into the opening, left hand readying the omni-bow just in case. The corridors stood empty, although alarm systems ran along the walls. Deep chanting echoed from deeper inside the abbey, and Jack felt a horrid mixture of trepidation and longing. Soon he would be saying goodbye to this place, one way or another.

"Security seems sparse," remarked Miranda, blade drawn as she climbed surely through the window.

"Many died during the attack. Almost everyone." Until I … dishonored myself. Jack pointed to the pipes above and clenched his left hand. Miranda, rooted in place at the feet but otherwise unfrozen, nodded and readied her own transversal. They appeared side by side, crouched under the heating pipes that ran along the ceiling.

"Useful talent. Gives you plenty of time to think." Miranda sniffed. "A pity mine does not stop time."

"Are you going to complain about how disappointing your unnatural powers are all day?" Jack kept his voice low, but the anger was genuine. "They're just enough. They're all I can give, as far as I know. And they cost me much to obtain."

"My apologies." It did not sound terribly genuine, but Jack did not have time to care. The stench of sweat rose as they crept along, making as little noise as possible, stopping as another overseer patrolled under them, humming tunelessly. A small open shutter led to the room Jack wanted, the stench thickening.

A great steel cage stood ringed around a single chair fitted with restraints. A limp figure sat in the chair, head turned to the side, his outfit unmistakably one of an overseer, sans mask. Above the cage, someone spoke into a crackling audiograph. Jack held up a finger and directed his will to the top of the cage, just above where the man would be standing. Wait here. He blinked, staring down at the masked overseer from above, watching the way his arms stood out against the desk he leaned against.

"…keeps claiming it was a spur of the moment decision, borne only of love for one's brother," said the overseer. Gerald. He bore no real love for Gerald. The man had a temper, and occasionally vented it on hounds. "He continually tells us that he has nothing for us or the abbey, that what he did was purely on compassionate impulse. "We live because of Jack," he says, but Jack might have damned us. The High Overseer will look upon Shanxi with an unforgiving eye, invasion or no. We are expected to die before treating with the Outsider, and Jack made the wrong choice."

On that we are agreed. Jack held his breath, surged forward behind Gerald. His feet touched firm carpeted floor. He reached for Gerald's neck and readied his arms.

With a sudden charge of strength, Jack wrapped his arms around Gerald perfectly, choking off his last words and his immediate breath, causing him to gasp and grunt as he struggled fruitlessly against Jack's chokehold. A few desperate seconds of uncertainty and pain, and Gerald fell limp in Jack's arms. Jack released his former brother with a sigh, his body falling bonelessly to the floor.

"You'll have to teach me how to do that," said Miranda, joining Jack on the ground.

"You're what? Fifteen?" Jack grunted. "Fifteen year old girls can't incapacitate grown men through strength alone." Or, well, you can't at least. "Give it time, use the darts. I'm going to go see what the damage is."

"I'll unlock his restraints." Miranda rubbed her arms. "Is it just me, or is it getting … cold? And I thought I could hear music."

Jack strained, his neck prickling. He could hear distant music as well, familiar music. And the air felt far chillier than it had any right to be, inside a heated building.

Jack blinked to the top of the steel cage again, fell from it neatly, legs bending as he hit the ground. Oleg sat lifelessly in his chair. As Jack approached, he stirred, his head lolling, making Jack's heart jump. Smooth fresh burn scars covered the right side of Oleg's face, three angry red lines like the claws of some great cat. I was too late. Jack hesitated, wondering if it would be more merciful to wake him, try to initiate a rescue … or slide a blade into his breast, a clean stroke through the heart. It would be less painful in the long run, most likely. It is one thing to wear a mark on one's hand. It is another to have it burned across your face. Oh, Oleg.

"Oleg," murmured Jack, gently pushing the man's shoulder. Oleg gave a start, began coughing, his body heaving with pain. He stared up, his black goatee flecked with dried blood. For a few moments, he stared up at Jack without recognition. Jack removed his mask. The restraints retracted into the chair with a snap.

"You came back for me?" Oleg's voice stood a hair above a whisper, and he did not hide his disbelief. He coughed. "Heh. We're a … loyal pair of heretics, are we not?"

"I'm taking you out of here." Jack reached forward, tried to pull Oleg to his feet. Oleg grunted with the strain, tried to stand to the best of his ability. After a few moments, he slumped back.

"It might be best … for the both of us-" he began, but Jack just shook his head, donned his whaling mask.

"I'll carry you. We have a ship waiting."

"What kind of a ship would bear the likes of us?" asked Oleg, before chuckling. "Ah, a stupid question. A whaling vessel, I would guess by your attire. The sailors have always clung bits of carved bone to their breast far more readily than simply reciting the Seven Strictures." Jack pulled Oleg over his shoulder, grunting at the strain. This is going to be unpleasant.

"Voices down the corridor." Miranda appeared in a burst of wind, tugging her scarf closer to her mouth. "You're going to seriously carry him the whole way?"

"He's always been determined," said Oleg, sounding more bemused than anything else. The voices grew closer, and Jack's left hand began to burn. "You are sure this is how you want to go about this, Jack? I have already accepted my fate."

The two doors swung open, and Jack ordered time to slow. Three brothers, all looking to him in shock, reaching for their blades in slow motion. Jack activated the omni-tool, the sleep darts loaded. He fired three times, the projectile slowed to a blazing yellow arrow, tipped with blue. Then time snapped back, and Jack watched in amusement as his brothers shouted in slurred speech.

"Sound the alarm!" shouted one, turning and falling to the ground with a muffled yell. Another fumbled with his blade, muttering curses, and then finally slid to the ground against a wall, still gamely trying to pull his blade free. The third simply stood there, plucked the dart from his side, and nodded.

"Huh." Then he collapsed without any fanfare. Miranda giggled at the display, but Jack was already jogging as fast as he could, stepping over the bodies.

"Two darts left, and they'll sound an alarm soon enough," snapped Jack, making for the window. "Help me with him!"

With much fumbling and muttering of curses (along with Oleg half-heartedly asking to be left behind again) they pulled him through to the ledge and sat him down. Then they slid through, shutting the window behind them, Jack already reaching down to grab Oleg. The night air chilled further. The music grew closer. Worse still, new lights danced from the streets, blazing fires and unrestrained screaming.

"Guess Udina was right after all," said Miranda, peering out into the chaos beyond. The crack of gunshots and the clash of steel carried far on the night wind, far too loud to indicate anything less than a major riot. "I wonder if it started how he said it would. One idiot getting shot."

"Not worth speculating over at this juncture, is it?" asked Oleg, head bouncing against Jack's back. With a sigh, they reappeared on the closest rooftop, the sound of violence growing only louder. "I see you've been spreading your ah, gift." He paused. "Is that the Duke's daughter?"

"The heresy runs deep." Miranda appeared at his side. Snatches of music could be heard over the chaos, along with deep grinding clanks. Jack recalled the Outsider's words. Sweat began to roll into his eyes under the mask. "We need to leave. Now."

The trip to the abbey had been serene. The trip away was anything but. Jack deposited Oleg on the second rooftop and stared below at the licking flames and thrashing figures. Bodies lay strewn where they had fallen; guardsmen taken from behind with meat cleavers, roughly hacked to pieces; butchers and other men of labor riddled with the small bullets favored by repeater rifles, the odd red coat of her Imperial Majesty's Royal Marines. The body of an overseer, too, could be seen, his body rent with bloody cuts. Rest easy in the Void, brother.

Where life could still be seen, the view grew no less grisly. Watchmen formed firing lines with their pistols and opened up at the crowds, who returned fire with thrown rocks and bottles. Men and women alike went down with screams, clutching bloody faces and gaping chest wounds. A Royal Marine stood on a nearby rooftop, repeating rifle firing on full automatic, the bullets ripping through the crowds without warning or remorse. She stood in Jack's way.

With a sigh he appeared behind the grim-faced woman, the smoke of her gun clinging to her clothes like he guts of fish. With a grunt he pulled her away from the edge, arms holding tight against her, the thrashing of her limbs doing nothing to deter him. In a few minutes she lay still but breathing, a far more merciful fate than she had dealt many below. Jack considered the repeating rifle for a moment before abandoning it, returning to Oleg and Miranda.

"Might swing things in favor of the chaos," said Miranda, but without disapproval. Oleg only coughed and laughed.

"Give the everyman a chance," he said, a grin lighting up his face. It faded as another blast of music erupted from below. "That didn't sound-"

Jack sprinted to the edge and looked down. Something massive stirred down below, something that grinded and clanked like a ship being shifted to dry dock. It bore thick plated armor and stood on four thick legs. Jack could make out no head from where he stood, only that from the back it looked like a pill bug, and it seemed to be observing the chaos without moving to interfere. Strange but familiar music blared from its armor, and a thick spotlight was mounted atop the thing's spine. Without warning, the spotlight swiveled, searching the rooftops. Jack shrank back, afraid to even breathe.

"I think something's looking for us." Miranda looked down and shrunk back as well, falling to a crouch. Oleg cocked his head but did not otherwise react, instead remaining resting against the rooftop vent access. "It's big. And it's using mathematics."

"That means your powers won't work on it, girl," said Oleg, sensing Miranda's confusion. He coughed, a weak hand feeling for the mark on his face. "How big is it?"

"Ten feet tall at the … shoulder." Jack took quick glances over the edge at the beast, which now crossed the street with stupendously heavy footfalls, its armor grinding like broken clockwork. "The Outsider warned me about this. I don't think we should let it get our attention."

"Hmph." Miranda pointed to the next rooftop. "The docks are not far. And it doesn't seem to be moving very fast." Fair enough.

Jack scooped Oleg off the ground, who now at least appeared to be moving with greater strength. Just to be safe, he also activated the Sirta Solution injector, letting the warmth flow through his veins at the pinch of a syrette. The last few blinks had felt labored, difficult. The next one – effortless.

No sooner had the two of them crossed rooftops, the beast below bellowed in some alien language, the mathematics crashing like thunder. The headlight blazed upwards at the roof they stood on and fixed there. The grinding clanks began working in rhythm, far faster than before. It moved through the streets with disturbing speed. It can sense us.

"Keep moving!" Jack leapt across the next gap, flying through the air. His left hand glowed and he froze. Below him, the dark shape still moved. Through the gray, a light blazed at Jack, and part of the creature's armor unfolded. Jack released his grip with a gasp, appearing safely on the next roof. It defies our abilities.

"Run!" Jack's feet pounded against the steel and concrete, and he did not let himself think. The sea awaited him, the coast growing larger with every passing moment. Behind him, Miranda panted and gasped, urging him to wait up. Behind him, the city went mad as the Watch turned its guns on the citizens, and Shanxi burned this time at its own hands. Behind him, the thing kept effortless pace, cantering along on armored feet, its shadow now winged with what might have been two massive blades and two massive cannons. Jack could not afford to slow.

A ship waited at dock. Their ship. A great crowd had also gathered at the dock in protest, demanding exit from the colony. The captain stood at the dock, pistol drawn, smoking a long cigar. She too, scanned the rooftops, caught a glimpse of Jack as he hurtled along, Oleg still in his arms. She fired her pistol once into the air.

The smell of salt and rot. The promise of freedom and the threat of the weather. The docks always sang to Jack, even as a full Warfare Overseer, the crowds of people from all over the Empire always providing a wondrous, if sometimes very odd, sight. The green glass waves, too, appealed to some part of him, the part of him that still remained from his time as a callow boy. To sail the waves and the stars, to hear the whale song cross the empty expanse…

Jack longed to Rove with his Feet. And now, at last, he went to sea. As a heretic. With the Duke's daughter at his back, and a marked overseer on his shoulder.

He blinked to the streets and did not let up, trying to outrun his own exhaustion. The captain fired again, the crowd scattering and shrieking, other whalers emerging from the deck with weapons in hand. The captain cocked an eyebrow at Jack's approach but parted to let him pass. The crowd went absolutely mad at this.

"Are you smuggling people out, now?"

"That man had an overseer on his back, I saw it!"

Miranda did not bother to run through the crowds, instead blinking to the ship's prow and mantling it neatly. Her own chest heaved with exhaustion, but Jack could see the smugness and satisfaction in her eyes as he laid Oleg down. Two more shots rang out, and the captain beat a retreat to the ship.

She whistled loudly, cutting through the chaos. Ancient mathematics boomed back, a vast shadow emerging from a burning street.

The crowd turned. They did not like what they saw. To be fair, neither did Jack.

Looming red eyes stared at the ship, the floodlight fixed on Jack, who turned and stood, mark burning. From where he stood now, the creature looked like some kind of rhino on stilts, heavily plated in black armor. Two massive cannons emerged from the creature's back, pointed directly at Jack. Before those cannons, currently holding to the side, gleaming metal spread from the beast like wings, thick and sharp, each as big as Jack. So this is what the Outsider meant about a whaler sliced in half. Those would do the job.

The beast stared. It did not move. It did not shoot. Mathematics boomed from it, making Jack feel fundamentally ill. The captain shouted, curses, pleas, and orders, a flurry of activity around her. The ship began to lower with a rattling of chains. The beast took a step forward – only to stop as a thrown bottle broke over its head.

"Beast!"

"Void-spawned demon!"

The crowd found its voice, hurling bricks, bottles, and stones at the creature, which had about as much effect as one might expect. Nevertheless it turned away from Jack, its blades flashing. Without warning it charged the crowd with a distorted bellow, scattering them in all directions with a scream. Then two gunshots rang out. The last Jack saw over the lip of the dock's edge was the blades whirring overhead like the motor of a ship, the mathematics growing silent in favor of some inhuman screaming. Then it was gone.

"Outsider's eyes," breathed Oleg. "I am glad to leave this place. What was that?"

"Large and angry." The captain strolled over to them, looking distinctly displeased. "Udina said you might arrive looking something like this. I didn't expect the crowd, though. Or that thing." She extended a hand, her skin gleaming beneath the deck's lantern. "Captain Jiang. Thanks for getting us off that damn colony." The ship lurched and splashed, finally free. The engines began to chug. "We need to get below deck. Can he walk?"

"I've got him." Jack hoisted Oleg up for what he hoped would be the last time. Oleg smiled in weak disbelief as he ascended.

Miranda followed, looking pensive, as if the true implications of what her life would look like from that point forward were at last hitting her. The other whalers went with them, holstering pistols or fingering bone charms, a few singing under their breath. As they entered the metal guts of the ship, one actually burst into full song.

"It was on the good ship Venus, by Void you should have seen us-"

"Not now," snapped Jiang, and the crewman shrank back. She led them to sick bay, where a doctor wrung his hands as Jack laid Oleg on a metal table.

"Strap him down. We're not going to be sea-bound for long." Jack started at this, and Jiang turned to him with a scowl. "What? You think a false document will let us leave with the Duke's daughter in peace? We've got a week at most before they send someone out to get us. It's time to get off this planet."

"But the ships-"

Jiang waved it off. "Yeah, the ships. I've got a plan. Ever seen what Spicer Whales do when they're properly pissed?" She pulled a speaker from the wall and activated with a crack of static. "Find the pod, full steam ahead. Prep VTOL launch."

"The Empire will find you, you know." Miranda folded her arms. "They have your ship registry and everything."

"There are ports out there who won't ask questions and will pay out the nose for Spicer oil. And it's not the first time this ship will have changed names." Jiang waved Miranda off. "I'm going to the bridge. You're welcome to join me, if you're as sick of this planet as I am."

Whalers rushed to and fro in the hallways, some carrying canisters of trans, others heavy munitions. Many opened hatches and departed inside, manning the weapons and tools used to bring down nature's greatest and most dangerous of creatures. Jiang barked out instructions as they passed, and the crew hastened to them. She paid little mind to the two heretics at her back, marching upwards to the bridge and pulling her mask about her face. The ship bucked with the waves, and Jack could feel his empty stomach begin to heave.

"Docking authority wants us back already, Captain," reported the comm officer as the three of them clambered through the main hatch, an omni-pad emerging from his wrist, barked orders crackling from a nearby radio. "I think they're starting to question the legitimacy of our paperwork. Can't imagine why."

"Turn it off," said Jiang, and the radio fell silent. "You better be bloody well prepped for VTOL. Cannons ready?"

"Cannons ready!" called back a crewman from her instruments.

"Harpoons ready?"

"Uh, harpoons ready!"

"Seal all bulkheads and brace for launch." Jiang turned to Jack. "There are certain measures one must take to hunt space whales. They differ from breed to breed. One thing they teach you early – never, EVER try to use harpoons on Spicers. Too big, it'll just piss 'em off." Jiang cracked her knuckles. "But … if ever we needed a big choffing distraction…" She pointed to a crewman. "Full volley. Fire!"

"Firing harpoons!"

Through the thick viewports, rain and the spray of the sea lashed against the windows. Through the dark choppy waters, something large let loose a gout of seawater. Deep resonant songs reverberated across the night air, audible even through the metal. Then the ship bucked. The songs turned to screams.

"Full power to aft VTOL engines." Jiang did not appear the least bit perturbed as the crew scurried back and forth. Miranda and Jack clung to the nearest chair welded to the floor for dear life as the oceans began to froth with blood and rage, and the ship shook. "Oh no. We're being abducted by whales."

Jack looked up just in time to see the Spicers leap from the waters, blood and seawater falling from them like sparkling crystal, their flippers flaring into enormous splendid wings. One trailed thick chains, and the ship jerked as the engines fired and the whale tugged the ship upward, engine and chains alike straining to keep pace without breaking something. Jack looked on as the captain cackled dementedly, totally at ease with this chain of events.

More orders burst from radios like firecrackers, many invoking her Imperial Majesty to get the Cerberus back in line. All were cut off, however, as the cheers went up. The sea faded below, the green glass waters disappearing beneath a thick cloud line. The stars gleamed overhead, full of promise and mystery. The ship bucked and shook as they pressed through the atmosphere, Jack's knuckles whitening as he gripped the ship chair with great force. And then they were through.

"They're pulling us away from the ships. Use the whales to screen us, that should fuck up their targeting solutions." Jiang looked to the readouts, hand on chin. "Give it ten minutes and then unchain the beasts before they jump. Prep to follow." She looked down to Jack, who kneeled on the floor, sweat running into his eyes under the mask. "Say goodbye to Shanxi, if you feel like it. We're bound for distant ports, now."

"Are all whalers this insane?" asked Jack, wondering why the Outsider hadn't granted this madwoman a mark. The captain only shrugged, began bellowing for her bo'sun. He stood shakily, Miranda helping him to his feet.

"So," she said, voice not entirely calm. "We're free."

Jack looked to the rear viewport. Shanxi grew smaller behind them, smoke rising from the city they left behind. He thought he could see other ships, smaller ones, resplendent in indigo and strange of shape, but it could just have easily been his imagination. The mark on his hand burned, but he felt safe.

"Yes," said Jack, bereft of Abbey, home, and certain future. But not life. Not capability. The mark flared on his hand, promising great things for the taking. "I suppose we are."

The Outsider came to Jack in his sleep, his own form pitching with the ship, shaking in the smoke, a smile fixed to his face. Jack watched, waited patiently.

"Well," said the Outsider, looking for the first time genuinely amused. "Now, I think, things get interesting."