Flux Effect


I'm still asking myself that come Thursday. Apparently I'm tending towards justification, though, since I'm sitting in a booth of the cafeteria, looking for Abby as I try and force down the Shalta Institute of Technology's imitation of lasagna. I'm reminded, forcibly so, of the product of a Sirius Cybernetic Corporation Nutri-matic Drink Dispenser.

Actually, that might be a pretty good description for the Tupari I'm drinking right now.

"You actually eat that crap?" asks Abby as she slides into the seat next to me without me even twigging to her presence.

"How'd you…never mind." I shrug. "It fills my belly and provides nutrients." I take a bite, suppressing my shudder at the taste. "Good a reason as any, right?"

"Uh huh, and how's it taste?"

"Awful," I admit.

She smirks. "I win again." I push the Tupari towards her. "I said I win, not lose." I pull the can back. Again with the smirk. "So, did you find my panties yet?"

"Afraid not." I look over at her and shake my head. "What, was that your only pair or something?"

She laughs, and guides my hand under the table. "Want to find out?"

I jerk back as my fingers brush against her inner thigh. "No!"

Her face falls. "Sorry. I took that a little far, didn't I?"

I grimace. "Little bit."

"Yeah. I've always been a little blunt." She shrugs. "My sisters and I have a tendency to just go for things."

"I'll admit, it's kinda refreshing, but I'm not really feeling up to…"

"Feeling me up?"

"Especially not in public." I push away the travesty sold as lasagna. "So what's the surprise?"

She pats a duffel bag that I hadn't spotted before. "I thought I'd see if you'd like to meet some friends of mine."

"You keep your friends in a duffel?" I put a mock horrified look on my face. "Why do I get the feeling I should be running for the nearest hills?"

"Those are something like 10 light years from here." She gives me an odd look.

"I've got good shoes."

She smacks my shoulder. "Ass. Come on, let's go." She hefts the bag and heads for the door.

I dump the so-called food and follow.


Apparently, Abby and her friends have taken over a smaller gym for their get-together. There's six of them, three human, one turian, one asari, and one drell, and all of them are wearing non-Newtonian fluid reinforced clothing. All of them also have some sort of practice sword in their hands as well.

"Hey guys, this is Chris. He's going to be joining us today." Abby puts her duffel down and starts pulling out her padded gear, tossing me a set as well. I pull it on slowly, watching the six for any sign of welcoming or resentment. It's just as awkward a moment as whenever I joined a new dojo.

Thankfully the turian breaks the ice. "My name is Amulius. It is good to meet you."

I nod and smile as I fasten the jacket. "Likewise."

The others introduce themselves in short order. The drell is Aristides (or Rizzy, to hear Abby tell it), the asari, Eulalia. One of the humans, prematurely balding, is named Eric, and is, according to Abby, the best swordsman among them. I get a chuckle of remembrance at that, remembering my instructor in the European swords, and move on to the next two. They're twins, Silvia and Tomas, and though fraternal, look as much alike as a brother and sister can. "So Chris," asks Eric, "Have you used a sword before?"

"Years ago," I say sheepishly.

"What kind?" He seems honestly interested.

"Well, I learned a little Italian rapier, some German longsword, and I've practiced some Chinese and Japanese sword as well."

He raises an eyebrow. "You never settled on a blade?"

I shake my head. "Too much moving around. I took what I could get, to be honest."

"Spacer?" he asks.

I nod. It's true enough, if you're willing to ignore the twenty-odd years I spent on Earth before…well, before two years ago. All the time I've been in the universe of the mass effect, I've lived in space. Most of it on the Citadel, granted, but there was that hazy time of pain after the core went bang in my face, and I lay bleeding and starving on the deck of the eezo freighter that was apparently registered to 'my' family. "Yeah. And no one else in the family was really up for 'playing with swords'."

Amulius spreads his mandibles in what I've pegged as a turian grin. "Well, we're all fans of…" He motions with his talons to draw quotes, "…playing with swords here."

Never thought I'd be so happy to see a turian airquote. Abby hands me one of the practice swords, a long cut-and-thrust blade that would look at home on an old pulp novel's cover. The straight blade tapers to a curving tip, foiled on this practice blade, but almost certainly needle-sharp on the live steel version. The guard is a bronze bell shape with an upsweeping quillon on the spine of the blade, and another thoroughly impractical quillon sweeping out from near the base of the guard. A diamond pommel caps the base, cast into the bell. "How's this feel?"

I sweep the blade through a series of cuts and guards, mixing my training together to find the proper use for this blade. The steel fairly sings in my hand, and I struggle to remember where I'd seen it's like before. "Excellent."

"Then why don't you use it?" asks Amulius, putting on a fencer's mask. "Kaor, Chris."

I laugh as I realize where the sword comes from, and take the mask Abby offers. "Kaor, Amulius." I fasten the mask and whip the Barsoomian longsword through a salute.


I can't help but think that John Carter would not be proud of me, covered in bruises even through the fluid jacket, but I can't keep the grin from my face as I unfasten the protective gear. It has been years since I was able to spar like that, even before ending up in this universe, and martial arts have always been a passion of mine. My chest heaves in gasping breaths as I try and recover from the fight, looking over to my opponent as Abby doffs her mask and fans herself with the jacket's lapel. Her face is as drenched in sweat as my own, hair plastered to her scalp. At least I made her work for her victory.

"Years out of practice, huh?" She laughs in between deep breaths. "I think you'll fit in here just fine, huh?"

Eric and Amulius both look very pleased, nodding strongly, and Silvia and Tomas give me welcoming smiles. Aristides looks far less happy, though he conceals it behind a veil of civility. Eulalia, the only one I could best consistently, looks sulky. I imagine she was looking forward to having someone she could hold her skills over, but the memory of any martial art never truly leaves your body. "That was a hell of a lot of fun," I say, finally having brought my breath close to normal, and heart rate down to merely speeding. "Do you do this every week?"

Eric nods. "Unless there's some conflict with a more official or larger group, yeah. Normally we don't do quite so much sparring, but…"

"It was a test," I say. "I got it. Kinda surprised you didn't run a bear pit drill on me until I collapsed."

"We can still do that if you like," offers Abby.

"I'm good," I say quickly, not liking the look that flashes across Aristides's face. "I think I'll hit the showers."

"This way," say Amulius, jerking his head towards a door in the wall. I fall in behind him.


Another hot shower. God, I love the Citadel's tankage.

"That's some scarring," says Amulius, taking a nearby head. "I thought you were in the Alliance Reserves."

I turn to him, getting an eyeful of naked turian. It's not a new experience, but it's still pretty novel. There's something undeniably alien about their carapace-covered bodies that sets them apart from the other races. It probably has something to do with the almost non-existence of gender dichotomy, at least to human eyes, as well. It makes sense. No race that evolves in such heavy radiation as the turians is going to want to keep it's gametes outside its protection. "I am. The scars have nothing to do with the military."

The look on his face is one of surprise…I think. I've dealt with plenty of turians, but their expressions are hard to read, given that speed of motion is almost as important as the motion itself. The next motion is apologetic. "An accident?"

I nod. "You could say that. I was too close to a detonating eezo core."

He winces. That's an easy one to read. "I'm sorry." He might have put together that I lost my family in the explosion, given the fact I've said I'm a spacer to him. He's definitely looking uncomfortable. "Look, can I try and steer the subject onto something that isn't a bad memory for you?"

I shrug. "Be my guest, but I'm pretty used to it by now. It's every person I meet, pretty much."

"Oh?" Now he looks intrigued.

"Yeah. Depending on what they see first, they ask about the eyes or scars first, then squirm when I mention the copious bang, knowing that I picked up the two at the same time, but still wanting to ask about the other. If they know I'm a spacer, they then dance around the fact that I almost certainly lost a person or people I cared about in the blast, which incidentally, I did."

"Every time?"

"Pretty much. Then, assuming they haven't spotted the implant port, they suddenly realize that I'm not dead of brain cancer…"

"They realize you must be biotic."

"And if they're human…"

"Or stupid," cuts in Amulius with a turian grin.

"They start thinking the scarred-up, glowing-eyed, biotic spacehound is going to suck out their soul."

"Or read their tiny minds," chuckles Amulius.

"Not much to see, even if I could. And it doesn't help that my eyes glow biotic blue." I roll my eyes. "Frankly, Amulius, you're way ahead."

"I still kind of feel like a jackass."

"Well, that's part of the reason. Look, would it help if I was a jackass back?"

"It might."

I nod. "Okay, on the subject of scars, you seem a little light. No cracked plates, no soft-tissue thickening…how, exactly?"

Turians don't blush. Amulius is pulling their equivalent of it, though. "That would have to do with my father."

I shut off my shower, and Amulius does the same. "I would figure any turian in the Heiarchy with the pull to get his son in the Shalta Institute of Technology would want his son to go through military service." I toss him a towel and start drying off myself.

"Well, I am military. Went through boot and everything. But I was marked for military research early on. I'm smart enough, don't get me wrong, but that's normally the kind of thing they save for after you prove yourself. Normally you have to tier up a few times."

"But your dad…" I say, toweling off my hair.

"I don't know for certain, but I think he pulled some strings. You're not going to ask who he is?"

"You didn't ask me who I lost," I point out. "It's obviously a touchy subject for you." I start pulling on my clothes.

That's definitely a smile. "Thanks, Chris."

I shrug as I do up my belt. "I have to at least pretend to be a decent being, don't I?" My shoes slid on easily.

"I'm glad you're trying to spare my feelings." He pulls on his tunic. "Talk later?"

I nod. "Yeah, sure." I make to leave, but Amulius gasps and places his talons on my shoulder.

"Before you go…be careful around Aristides. He's not a fan of yours."

I turn to face the turian, who lets go of my shoulder. "I thought I caught that. Is there something I should know?"

Amulius sits down on a bench. "Probably not my place to say, but we think he's got something for Abby. Never makes a move, but there you have it."

Oh hell. I sleep with a girl, and she's got a 'nice guy' friend. I sigh, closing my eyes. "Dammit. Thanks for warning me, Amulius. He hangs out around her quite a bit, right?"

He's giving a very human nod as I open my eyes. "Yeah."

I lean back against the wall. "Something to deal with, I guess."

"Good luck with that."

"Yeah, thanks."


Normally, working on a laser is a good way for me to clear my mind. It is involving work, to say the least. My designs involve a miniaturized free-electron laser, multiple computer controls, advanced power systems, a dual-phase heat dispersal system for both atmospheric and vacuum operation, and an eezo-based adaptive optics system. Two years ago I knew how to build none of these. Hell, I barely knew the basic operating principles of the components, and nothing about how eezo worked other than positive current increases mass, negative current decreases mass.

It's impressive how much free time you can have in a hospital during recovery.

I connect my workbench's autoforge to a supply of omnigel, and command it to build a pistol frame. I've got plenty of orders to fill. There's a quiet hum as the autoforge gets to work.

More than anything, I owe my success as a gunsmith to the rapid prototyping ability that omnigel forging allows. Back home, to make a proper prototype would require ingenuity and a set of tools that I frankly didn't have the skills to operate, or funding and a partner with the tools and skills. Even a mock-up would take some serious work. Here? I've got a 3D printer on steroids on my wrist. Given enough omnigel and the proper design, you can make almost anything. Long live the cottage industry. And for someone who can afford a proper autoforge, like me? I can turn out pieces that rival the quality of the biggest companies by myself.

Just not at the same speed or in the same quantity. Which leaves me with free time as the autoforge assembles the frame. I place my personal carry piece on the bench, frowning at it. The pistol is my primary testbed for upgrades, but nothing is coming to mind. To keep my hands busy, I start a takedown on the weapon, undoing the primary cowling and exposing the radiating fins.

Unfortunately, I'm a little too familiar with this gun, and a takedown and cleaning is automatic, leaving my brain far too free to ponder my current situation.

I'm no further along with answering my earlier questions about what I should do. No, scratch that. I'm just not liking the answers my actions are leading me to. I met with Abby and had a real good time with her friends. In fact, I get the feeling that I'm going to get along really well with Amulius. By all rights, I should feel ecstatic. It's not exactly like I've been overburdened with friends the last two years. The closest I've come to making a friend before last weekend was a self-destructive tryst with another patient and making a certain Clerk Bosker's day when he realized he'd just brought a possible biotic recruit into the Alliance.

Fuck, I've been depressing.

But I'm not exactly jumping for joy. What, am I still holding onto the vain hope that I'm going to get back someday? Is that it? Connections will just make it harder to jump into that glowing wormhole with an EXIT sign floating above it? I always thought I was more of a realist than that. I'm here, and by all rights, I'm staying here. Why shouldn't I make a few friends?

I shake my head as an image of *****'s smiling face swims into view. I'm not betraying her, dammit! I'll always love her, but I'm never going to see her again. I slam my hand into the bench. That's fact, no matter how much I wish it wasn't.

I know full well that she wouldn't like to see me like I was. Just working, training, and studying, with only the occasional night at the bar spent drinking painful memories into submission. It's no way to live. But then, neither is lying to every person you meet, and I really don't see myself stopping that anytime soon.

You know, universe jumping sucks. A lot.

"What do you think, dear?" I murmur, concentrating on the image of my fiancée.

She's smiling, but it's a sad sort of smile. Hell if I know what it means.

"Real helpful, dear." I shake my head again and start reassembling my pistol. "Chalk another one up for the 'I'm insane' theory." The cowling clicks back into place. "I really can't keep this shit up." I check the functionality of the reflex sighting, and place the pistol down, scrubbing my hands across my face. "I guess I'm going to have to try and be human again, huh?"

I just wish it didn't feel like surrender. The autoforge dings, and I start assembling the new laser. That, at least, pushes my brooding away.

It's not until I'm finished with the gross assembly of my fourth pistol of the day that I realize that I've still got a problem. To wit, I've got no idea what to do with Aristides. No matter what I might decide in the end with Abby, she certainly likes me well enough, and has made no bones about the fact that she's going to be flirty. And I know myself well enough to know that I'm going to be flirty back.

That's not likely to sit well with 'Rizzy'.

I sit back and sigh.

Especially not since, if I'm going to brutally honest, I'm likely to end up drunkenly sleeping with her again.

Well, at least he's not likely to be an ex-Compact assassin. Too young, and while he's better than me with a sword, he's not that good. Unless he's just hiding his real skill…

I shake my head. That's harder done than said, and the age argument still applies. Besides, he was winded after the bouts, and convincingly so. And I've got to think that Amulius would have warned me if Aristides had attacked any of Abby's previous flings. Talk about your worst case scenarios.

I grab the frame for a fifth pistol, spinning the polymer, alloy, and carbon fiber assembly around on a finger. I'm letting my imagination get away from me. If I'm being realistic, I'm likely to run into passive-aggressive behavior, and him talking behind my back. I've dealt with that shit from plenty of co-workers, and to be fair, dished it out myself. Avoiding that was one of the bonuses to being a depressing recluse, I suppose.

So, I've got to give up on ever being best friends with Aristides. Fine. I can live with that. So long as he doesn't start a campaign to make me look like a Cerberus cell leader, I can tolerate an unfriendly face or two to gain some friends. It's doubtful that I'll ever be too close with Aristides or Eulalia, but I'll be dammed if I run away from my first chance to have some friends in years. Abby's way too much fun, and Amulius is a pretty good guy. I don't know that I'll ever get over the whole master-student thing with Eric, and Silvia and Tomas are question marks, but I owe it to myself to try.

I spin the frame to a stop in my grip. And I owe it to myself to keep a glowing eye out just in case we are dealing with a worst case scenario.


It's halfway through pistol number seven that I get a page on my omnitool. Suppressing the reflex to immediately check the message, I finish soldering in a power regulator and then place the half-assembled pistol in a clear space. Only then do I switch the omnitool over to its communication function. Having so many tools on your wrist is neat, but it can occasionally get annoying if you don't have a proper multitasking routine.

I make a mental note to visit Saronis Applications for just that.

The VI has tagged the message as potentially interesting, which probably means a customer. Tapping at my workbench, I look over the sender address. No one I know. Word of mouth is my primary advertising, but none of my customers mentioned a referral. I shrug, idly keying in a modification to the VI's parameters to bring messages from the sword club to my attention.

Six more pop up.

"Son of a bitch." Now what? I scan the list. Three messages from Abby, one from Amulius, one from Eric, and a schedule for meetings.

Eric's message is pretty standard stuff, going over places where I can pick up equipment for club meetings. I make special note of the outfitters for the fluid jackets. Most places that sell those will also carry a line of low-profile everyday wear with the same functionality, or offer a modification service. With only so much time until the geth hit the Citadel, a little body armor seems like a good investment, and if it's stuff I can wear every day, so much the better. I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up on the Presidium during the attack, what with my luck.

Of course, if my luck is that bad, I'm likely to just get splattered no matter what I do. I shake my head to stop that morbid line of though. I'm alive, even though by all rights I should be dead. And there's nothing that guarantees death like lying down and waiting for it. So yeah, low-profile armor.

Amulius's message is his contact information and an invitation to page him whenever if I want to hang out. I nearly do so immediately to keep myself from putting it off until eternity but hold back. Abby's messages wait, and given that she left three, it's probably a good idea to check on them.

Contact info and invitation to use it, teasing message with pictoral enhancement (that gets an eyebrow raise and a shift in my seat), and a gentle reminder to not get all wrapped up in work.

Yeah, I'll have to make some time with both of them. Maybe the visit to Saronis? I've practically forgotten what it's like to pick over an electronics store with some friends. And if I bring both of them, it won't be like a date, so Abby won't go too far with her teasing.

Oh, who am I kidding, she probably will.

I close Abby's last message and nod. I'll send them a page, right after I check this last, mystery message.

The message is pretty simple stuff. A request for a meeting to hash out terms and provide a demonstration. That's normal enough, and could mean any number of things, from a rich gun-obsessed collector, to a mob boss who wants something to drop anyone who comes calling. Let's hope for the collector. I'm a lot less likely to get shot like that.

Unless we have a case of some serious insanity…but that's a far from likely situation. I shoot off a reply leaving the time and place for the meeting up to the client with the basic caveat of leaving it during time that I can spare. With that taken care of, I send messages to Amulius and Abby, asking them if they want to come along to Zakera Ward tomorrow.


It's no surprise to see Abby's impish grin as I climb out of one of the Citadel's many public transfer aircars. Amulius pulls the turian equivalent of rolling his eyes. Either Abby just made a comment, or I'm walking into a joke. Quite possibly both.

"Well, I see you've managed to pull yourself away from your cave."

I shake my head. "Caves are at a bit of a premium on the Citadel. Best I could do was to rent a small warehouse."

"There's one in that big park on Shalta Ward," points out Amulius.

"One, it's fake, two, it's way out of my price range."

"Three," interrupts Abby, "It has no bats. What kind of workshop cave lacks bats, I ask you?"

I wince at the horribly out of date Batman reference. Amulius just looks confused. I suppose I shouldn't be that surprised. Abby does like old things. As the turian opens his mouth, I shake my head. "Don't ask."

"Ah. A human thing."

"Sure, let's go with that."

"So where are we going?" asks Abby with a grin.

"Well, I need to get some new applications for my omnitool, so I wanted to hit Saronis."

"Isn't there one closer to your apartment?" asks the turian.

"Sure, but I like the clerk at this one. He's actually helpful. God knows what he's doing working as a shop clerk." I point towards a stairway. "This way."

Abby clucks her tongue. "He's that good?"

I nod. "Funny too. If I ever expand my business, I might see about bringing him onboard for IT."

Amulius flicks his mandibles in the equivalent of a noncommittal 'hmmm'. "Abby says that you're a gunsmith?"

I nod and bring up my omnitool as we walk, flicking the virtual equivalent of a business card at him. The Mover app can eat its heart out. "I'm the owner and sole employee of Valentine Diverse Optics, Citadel Space's last word in personal-scale directed energy weapons." The spiel comes out buttery-smooth, as it should. It's my sales pitch. It's also true. For how long is an open question, but the simple fact is that no one else seems to have jumped on the bandwagon yet.

To watch a turian whistle is a somewhat eerie experience, what with them having no lips. It's moments like this that remind me of their avian qualities. "That's…impressive."

I shrug. "Believe it or not, my work is actually incremental, not revolutionary. I just put a few technologies together that no one had bothered to before. I fully expect one of the big companies to overshadow me in the next few years."

"There's always room for high-end custom work," he points out.

I nod. "And there you have my business plan. Besides, it'll take them a while to work out all the parameters for the VI." We exit the stairs and head for Saronis.

"There's a Rodam Expeditions near here," points out the turian. "Have you thought about trying to get them as a vendor?"

"I don't know. I've been focusing on the military, mercenary, and law enforcement markets."

Abby sighs. "Amulius, did you really have to get him focused on work?"

The turian's expression is confused. "This is work?"

"Turians." Abby shakes her head. "I swear, you're as bad as my sister."

I nearly choke at that. Amulius ignores her.

"Rodam is a hunting store, sure, but it's also a chain that the influential and rich get most of their firearms from. They practically define the high-end market in Citadel Space."

"Guess it couldn't hurt. I suppose I could…" I take one look at Abby's expression and amend my sentence. "…go visit them later."

She smiles and I duck into the Saronis Applications.


Two hours later and about five applications and subroutines richer, we say goodbye to Marab and leave the shop. Geeks and an electronics shop. More than a century and a half and light-years away, but some things just don't change.

"I see why you like him," says Abby. "He knows his stuff."

"A shame that his family can't send him to SIT," muses Amulius. "He'd fit right in."

"I think I'm going to have to expand, if only to get him out of there." I tap my chin, trying to decide when I started caring that much about the friendly clerk. Sure, he was always a favorite shopkeeper back in the old world, but I've spent a lot of emotionally detached time over the last two years. I guess trying to be human again has all sorts of unexpected effects.

"Mr. Valentine?" asks a gravelly voice from behind me.

I turn around and blanch. It's Thane Krios.


A/N: Yeah...that took a while to get out. Frankly I'm not entirely happy with the quality of this one, but writing everyday events in an interesting manner has always been a bit of a challenge, especially in first person. And frankly? I'd rather not sit on this one for a month or more dodging back in and out of writer's block. Just don't be surprised to see an edit in the near future. For those who stuck with me through the wait, thank you, and hopefully the next chapter will come out faster, and be more exciting. After all, Thane just showed up.

Thanks as well to everyone who reviewed and favorited. I hope you continue to read and enjoy. Till next time.