Smoke rose from the stone ridged towers, thick and billowing. The smell of sweat and meat, exhausted and red, hung thick in the humid air, the aroma hanging over the crowds and buildings like an over-stuffed blanket, choking off breath and relief. Ka'Hairal Balak drew in the fetid air through his nose, the heat and odors fazing him not at all.
The base of the great pyramidal tower stood rimmed by fifteen foot walls, topped with thick circles of barbed wires and scowling guards, their spears edged with cruel hooks. A single thick black gate admitted entrance to the grounds proper, but no guards could be seen flanking its sides, and no visitors strode upward for admittance. Indeed, the cars driving by sped up as they passed the road to the gate, and passing pedestrians averted all four eyes, lest they be blinded but what lay within. Only Ka'Hairal Balak made the short lonely trip over hot gravel, his every movement tracked by the sharp-eyed guards above. At a distance of ten feet, his omnitool pinged once. The black gates slid inwards.
The grounds within changed the scent of the city. Large kema trees grew on either side of the path to the tower, the underbelly of their thick green leaves laden with swollen fruit. Great orange and purple flowers stirred lazily in the damnably weak breeze, their petals almost looking too enormous to be supported by their thin green stems. The air, previously thick with sweat, now filled with pollen and the odor of fruit so overripe to be almost rotting. Balak took a moment to regain his bearings as he strode through the gates, taking in the new scents as he breathed in through his nose. It only took but a moment.
The tower rose high into afternoon skies the color of peach. Gravel crunched underfoot as Balak made his laborious way to his destination, not allowing any of his four eyes to stray too far up the tower, lest they be blinded by what lay within. As a senior member of the Soldier Caste, his place lay near the top, but the gulf between those who attended the very highest tier and where he would sit … well. It was the distance between himself and an alien slave, really.
The heat lessened as Balak marched close to the tower, whose inner gate was indeed guarded by two soldiers in resplendent bronzed armor. Cold water ran down the walls of the tower in shallow furrows, filling the channels dug around the tower with shimmering liquid, and the air with a pleasing chilliness. Balak breathed easier as he approached the guards, the leftmost's omnitool flaring. Within moments, the guard had Balak's place of birth, caste, accomplishments, family, immediate friends, and favorite color all running down the inside of his helmet. It took only a moment for the guard to nod and then apply the algorithm, lifting his free armored wrist and adjusting his spear with the other.
"Fifteenth floor, third row, nineteenth seat." The guard inclined his head. "You will be the thirty-third to speak, assuming perfect attendance."
"Thank you." Balak's own omnitool pinged as it received the data and instructions. Balak proceeded past the two and into the tower. All else faded except for the sounds of trickling water and the faint panting of his own breath. His heart hammered in his chest as he entered the tower proper, faced the immense steel wall before him. The closest elevator lay waiting but ten feet away, slanted inwards to travel up the slope of the pyramidal tower. With a deep breath, Balak entered.
The doors shut without his prompting, his ID already scanned and registered. The elevator started with a jerk, and Balak assumed a stiff posture. He could not recall if had ever attended a Scrying of this size before … and he knew for certain that this was the only one the Hegemon had deigned to attend where he would also be present. Thirty-third to speak … that is not so far off from second. It was dizzying to think about.
The elevator climbed at an unimpressive pace. Looking out the window to his left, Balak could now see other elevators likewise climbing the structure, each of them stopping at a lower floor than his. There was no small amount of satisfaction in that. When the elevator stopped with a click, Balak noted with satisfaction his proximity to the pinnacle. Only two floors remained between himself and the very top. His smile faded as he realized that meant he would likely be within sight of the Hegemon for the entirety of the Scrying. There can be no mistakes.
The doors opened without a sound, and Balak forced himself to walk through without any apparent expression, all four eyes fixed on the seat he had been assigned to by caste and accomplishment. Others in similar attire to him sat all around him, the mixed greens and oranges of ceremonial military attire, robes covered by rough armored vests and blades belted around the waist. At the pinnacle above them, hooded figures gathered around a single prone form.
Balak came upon his assigned seat suddenly, the high stone chair unadorned and smooth. As Balak took his seat he tried not to dwell on how unforgivingly hard it felt on his back and rump, how no movement granted any real relief. To display discomfort would be beneath him. Trying to take his mind off of the hard stone, Balak's gaze briefly wandered from the flurry of activity above to directly ahead of himself and his fellow officers. The high throne shone from the opposite alcove. The Hegemon himself stared over all of them in resplendent silver. He would be second to speak.
Not a single whisper slipped from anyone's lips as they waited. Balak only nodded to himself, the sweat gathering on his forehead and hands. It was doubtful he could be easily seen from this distance … but nevertheless, he lay within view of the Hegemon. The others around him sat stiff-necked and unmoving, one pair of eyes set on the proceedings above, the other on a neighbor. There could be no mistakes in etiquette at this level. They were all eager to join the alcove before them one day.
At last, the arms of each chair opened, revealing the gleaming silver screens beneath them. Each emerged from the arms on a thin steel folding rod, holding the telescreen in place as it slid over their laps and crackled into life. Balak kept one pair of eyes on the screen, the other on his rightward neighbor. The first words would soon be spoken. The glass flickered and revealed a bird's eye view of the chamber above.
A shirtless batarian lay against a stone dais covered by a thick white cloth, wearing little more than a black shift lined with golden embroidering. Slight figures covered in thick crimson robes gathered around him, one at each side of the dais, still utterly silent. Each one clasped a small hand against a heavy limb. The batarian gulped and shut one pair of eyes briefly. Fear. It's understandable.
"Proudly do I give my life for the Batarian Hegemony, long may it stand," said the batarian, voice thick with whatever strange concoction the Priestesses had given him to dull the pain and silence the screams. "Through my blood, I will peel away the caul before our eyes, cleanse the air of obfuscating smoke, and reveal where our enemies are weakest. I walk into the Void willingly and without fear. I trust in our Hegemon. Let the end come."
"Bless you and yours for the totality of your faith." The Hegemon's voice, melodious and deep like whale song recorded in the deepest blackness of space. He stood, clad in simple robes of white, his height and magnificence visible even across about twenty feet of open space. Balak's breath caught in his throat despite himself. "Savor this moment, for in these last seconds of life, you stand higher than any of us. So shall you always, even after you pass. Your children shall not ever want for food." The Hegemon inclined his head. "Begin."
"The cut shall be made." Balak watched with unblinking eyes as the grip tightened around each limb. A fifth sister, taller than the others, brought forth a sharpened sliver of obsidian. The batarian on the slab shut his eyes, a small if nervous smile playing at his lips. His fingers barely twitched. The priestess leaned in to do her work.
There had been plenty of blood in Balak's line of work, and he had witnessed such ceremonies in the past. Nevertheless, the way shift and skin simply came open with such a deft slice still sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, something no doubt noted by whoever sat to his left. The cloth did not make a sound as the blade rent it open, but the flesh made a soft sound that brought visions of battle crashing back into Balak's mind, of blades locked with turians chanting about their infernal chained sun.
A thin surgical slash of red now ran from just under the neck all the way down the batarian's sternum, terminating midway through the now partially exposed belly. Balak held his tongue beneath his teeth, his hands clamped to both armrests. To look away would be the highest disrespect for the immensity of this man's sacrifice, a sure sign of lacking the grit and honor demanded of his caste and position … but watching the proceedings still made the hair all across his body stand on end. The batarian on the slab did not react. His breathing in fact slowed, and the smile widened.
With only a moment of pause, the High Priestess placed the blade to the side, its edges dribbling with thin trails of red. Then she leaned over again, hands outstretched. With a small grunt, she pulled open the two free flaps of skin, exposing the glistening, pulsating red beneath. Balak's fingers scratched against stone as the sister reached in, her arm going elbow deep, questing for the truth within this man's guts.
With a sound like tearing fabric coupled with a faint pop, the sister wrestled free some greasy fat rope, dripping a faint pink, her limb red all the way up the forearm. The other sisters looked up and murmured as the taller sister stretched out the organ, holding one end with either hand, letting the impressive length of the middle dangle and bounce below, the red droplets flying in all directions.
"The Outsider moves!" called out the High Priestess, and murmuring erupted from the Hegemon's alcove, the Grand Vizier speaking first, followed by the hushed utterances as speech was permitted further down the line in turn. It remained silent around Balak at present, however. "Someone new has been granted his mark."
The High Priestess dived into the guts of the sacrifice again, creating a truly hideous series of squelches. The sacrifice's legs twitched, and the other priestesses pressed them down against the stone. What was left of the shift was now soaked heavy with thick blood, and Balak could do little else other than stare in mixed sick fascination and utter disgust. The High Priestess pulled free another series of grisly rope, fat with grease. Both eyes looked it up and down before lifting it high.
"The Ecclesiarchy sounds the drums of war, but they are deafened by the cannons of the asari." The other sisters nodded and pointed to the heavy midsection, where the blood fell fastest and in the greatest splotches. Little movement could be seen from the sacrifice now, and Balak's alcove began to erupt in whispers. His own omnitool pinged, and he felt his tongue loosen. Relax. You did the best you could.
"A new race has been discovered!" proclaimed the High Priestess after a momentary pause, her voice containing a hint of disbelief. She pointed a trembling finger to the patterns of red on the soaked shift, at where the blood ran down. "They … they bear the Outsider's face. The one who bears his mark is among them."
"Name them!" hissed the sisters, and the High Priestess relinquished the meaty rope to sink her arm into the sacrifice one last time. He groaned and shuddered as she reached upwards through the rib cage, angling her body to seek the greatest trove of knowledge of all. With another ripping sound, she yanked the heart free, raised it high above the stilling body of the sacrifice, above the entirety of the Hegemony.
"I name them humanity!" called out the High Priestess. "They warred with the turians, but the guns still at the Council's behest. And now the Void echoes with the name of the Outsider's new toy."
"Name him!" called out the sisters, and the Hegemon joined them, followed by the Grand Vizier, followed by the Vizier, all the way down the line until Balak was bellowing the words, until the chant echoed from deep below where the rabble gathered.
"We name him Jack Harper. We know his face. And we know where he might be found."
Jack faced the star-speckled emptiness, filled with a hollow kind of awe. His mag boots clung to the hull of the ship with a reassuring strength, letting him stare into space with only the occasional lurch of the stomach. He still twitched as the inside of his helmet gave a sharp snap of static.
"You've spoken to the Outsider; you wear his mark on your hand. Is space really that interesting?"
Jack did not turn at Miranda's words, instead choosing to marvel a little longer at the swirling, multi-colored gases that lay so very far away. The stars did not twinkle as in the nursery rhymes he half-remembered from a distant time before the Abbey, they instead shone like the distant suns they were, blazing without cease.
"Did you often travel from world to world, Miranda?" asked Jack, still staring up into the black, a faint sense of unwelcome weightlessness creeping into his gut. "Did your father allow you to perform space walks, stare out of viewports, fly the ship, maybe?" He waited for a response when his helmet filled with static again, but he heard only a faint snort. His eyes wandered, following a few drifting globules of thick red blood, stained with an electric azure substance that trailed behind it in flecks.
"The Abbey afforded me precious little freedom," he continued, still unblinking as he admired the cosmos. "The ship that bore me from Dunwall to Shanxi was a cargo freighter, hauling hundreds of tons of concrete, and a small band of shivering Warfare Overseers. The High Overseer had decreed that the Overseers of the Abbey required no greater comfort than basic food, water, and bedding in such matters, and no way to pass the time other than a single battered copy of the Litany on the Whitecliff." Jack took in a deep breath, remembering the chill and the long hours spent in the company of Oleg and a handful of others, a pang of regret striking his spirit. "I relish this sight."
"Could you relish it after the job is done?" Jack heard a muffled smack and wrenched his gaze away from the beauty. Miranda sawed at the whale meat splattered against the side of the ship, the remnants of the Spicer Whale that had put up the greatest fight, and consequently been blown in half by the cackling Captain Jiang's fore-mounted cannons.
"Not the optimal way to do this," the Captain had admitted as smoking whale meat splattered all against the viewports within the bridge, turning everything outside a sorry shade of blackish red running with bright blue, "but it's better than losing another layer of ablative armor to these things. Of course, now someone will have to scrape the goods off the outside." A sudden grin had sprung on Jiang's face.
Jack had immediately begun averting eye contact, but there was no avoiding the fact that, of all the people on the ship, he and Miranda had the least amount of purpose and did not have the excuse of being horribly injured to the point of incapacity. He had accepted the task with a shrug, Miranda with the poorest of grace.
Jack turned his neck to the side and heard the clicks, felt the hidden bones snapping back into place. Then he leaned down and tugged his saw from where it floated above the hull, its edges leaking free-floating blood and the occasional torn shred of flesh. The remnants of the once-mighty creature sat before him, now nothing more than a heap of broken jagged bones spearing through a steaming mess of gore.
Muffled and most unladylike curses streamed from Miranda's helmet as she cut away chunks of flesh and shoved it towards the nearest gravpipe. Jack watched the most recent harvest disappear with a faint sucking pop before flipping the switch and bending to his own task, taking a faint but nevertheless shameful satisfaction in feeling the flesh part before the whirring blade of his saw. As the chunks came away in the zero gravity, he imbedded the saw in his next target before quickly retrieving the meat and lightly tossing it towards the nearest pipe. The meat, blood and all, disappeared into the belly of the ship with another pop of suction.
"This isn't what I had in mind when I left Shanxi," said Miranda, with that familiar petulant tone favored by the nobility. "This is disgusting."
"These people defied your father and took us in when no one else would." Slice. Another piece of whale flesh, floating free from the whole. "This is the least we can repay them with."
"I can think of plenty other activities I would consider "least" to this." Miranda hacked savagely at the carcass, several jagged strips coming away at once in a slurry of slow-moving blood. "My back hurts. I've almost slipped twice. And…" Jack thought he heard a faint burp, and Miranda quickly turned away. Ah. It makes her sick. Jack shrugged. All initiates in the Abbey grew used to the sight of blood eventually. Their own, more often than not. It would be no different here.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, the meat disappearing at a depressingly slow rate. Nevertheless, the tide of flesh still gradually receded, and Jack eventually found himself standing on blood-soaked hull that had once been covered by whale. For some strange reason, it made Jack feel … content. Restless Hands. It is still good to complete my works, whatever they happen to be.
Jack stared at the now sodden glove clamped to his right hand. It could have been his imagination, but he still swore he could see the mark faintly glowing beneath, its golden outline smoking in the emptiness of space. But that was folly. Errant Mind. He returned to his task.
"What is the plan, exactly?" asked Miranda, her tone changing from petulant to exhausted and a little worried. "We're both … different … now. There's not going to be any going back, is there?"
Ah, child. Now you remember your mattress stuffed with Kingsparrow Feathers, the many bookshelves in your father's household, the splendid banquets with their honored guests … Despite himself, Jack felt a pang of guilt. Took her away from all of that on a whim, at the behest of the Outsider more or less. She's only fifteen. She cannot understand what she just gave up.
"The Captain plans to stop at Tyvia next," said Jack carefully, feeling his throat close momentarily at the memories from his last days spent on the homeworld. Gristol and Dunwall, not so far away from that frozen place. I suspect I will never be able to return. "I … would not recommend that we stay there. Once the Spicers are offloaded and the ship's registry changed, they are bound for the Rim. So are we, assuming the alien situation does not … escalate."
"The Rim," said Miranda dully. "And on the Rim?"
"Oleg and I will take stock and evaluate." Jack grimaced underneath his helmet. "For now, we will have to hide. Given the sheer number of Outsider worshippers I found within about five minutes of receiving his mark, I am sure we will not want for allies." Consorting with such scum … Jack's left hand trembled for a moment, remembering countless wooden rulers smacking over his knuckles for asking the wrong questions. His hand clenched. You'll need a bigger ruler now.
"Perhaps the Outsider will have some ideas." Miranda said this so casually, but Jack noted the way she looked back at him, trying to gauge his response through his body language. "He wouldn't hand out his mark to someone who won't do anything with it."
"I'm not asking him for advice." Jack cut away a massive slab of meat and gingerly began swatting it towards the nearest gravpipe with his free hand. "He is the reason we are both cutting up a dead whale on this cursed vessel." Jack's hand burnt again. And yet … he is the reason I am now free. From the Abbey. From the Empire. From the law as man made it.
Jack looked up into the stars again, brow furrowed. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he felt a chill wind blow from beyond the black, carrying a scent of fresh gore, disturbing and alien. Jack stared into the darkness, and thought he could feel someone staring back. His mark burned.
"By the order of her Imperial Majesty, Elizabeth Kaldwin, martial law is in effect!" blared the screens and speakers across Shanxi, audible even in the depths of the Lawson Estate. "Law enforcement and military personnel have orders to shoot violators on sight!" Reina Azerah, Royal Spymaster, took a moment to stare out the open window and over the smoldering cityscape. A familiar crack broke through the droning of the announcer.
Strange. We are invaded from beyond the stars, yet by now we have spent more bullets on our own than the ones that besieged us. She would need statistics to prove that, of course. She had the current death toll laid out before her, each district having supplied a count down to the last man, woman, and child. Only the Fisherman's District had failed to report in. Too many waterlogged bodies kept washing ashore, and much of the rubble remained uncleared. Stiff arms stretching up into the dusty air. Children's fingers bleeding as they scrabble against rough stone…
The thought caused a small stab of emotion, but little more. There were numbers to go over, costs to calculate. No amount of money would mend the shattered bodies and pull their beings back from the Void, but broken bridges and buildings, smashed windows and destroyed vehicles, these could have a price attached to them. These could be repaired.
Reina bit her lip as she shifted in her chair, tapping and dragging part of the haptic interface separate from the other glowing screens. Something else unquantifiable. The High Overseer's message remained as clipped, direct, and impartial as she was used to, but the actual content of the message … well.
Report of overseer by name of Jack Harper to have been seen with an Outsider's Mark. He used dark powers to repel an attack by these "turians" and save the abbey here in Shanxi. He resisted arrest with the help of another overseer, Oleg Petrovsky. They are both believed to have escaped on board the vessel known as Cerberus that illegally left harbor shortly before our arrival, as corroborated by the alien agent brought to the surface to hunt them down. I will send additional updates as they come.
Glory to the Everyman.
-High Overseer Ramon Boyle
Reina stared read the message three times, committing each word to memory. She had the report regarding the Cerberus, of course, and the local Whaler's Guild representative remained in custody, but this was something else. It stirred an old memory from a history book, specifically That Old Heretic, the Life of Royal Protector Corvo Attano.
"There can be no true defense against black magic," the Royal Protector had said. "Practitioners are still mortal men, and will bleed when struck, but how can you prepare against something so unnatural? So unpredictable? Men and women disappear in puffs of smoke and showers of flower petals, reappearing where they will with blades in hand. Others summon rats or raise hounds from the dead to fight for them. How can guards be trained against such witchcraft? If someone with his mark gets it in their head to kill an empress, then the empress is dead."
And what runs through Harper's head now? Reina's fingers twitched. At least he is not here. He is not where the empress is.
From beyond the door came a heavy note on a piano, followed by two others. Reina frowned and looked through the screen, wondering who on earth would decide to mess around with a piano at this time, at this place. After a few more clearly probing notes, the culprit apparently decided that the piano was in tune and began playing the instrument with undeniably deliberate loudness, sending a barely recognizable rendition of "Drunken Whaler" barreling down the halls and through Reina's office with outrageous aplomb. Thankfully, there was no singing.
Pressing her fingers against the desk with perhaps a tad more force than she intended, Reina pushed herself up and strode to the door, not bothering to unclench her jaw as she pushed it open with a snap. She stared at the large figure sitting at the piano, teeth grinding, raising a finger to point before starting in recognition.
The Royal Protector turned with a bushy eyebrow raised, a large gloved finger lingering over one of the keys before pressing it down with deliberate forcefulness, a single shrill note hanging in the air before fading with an almost comical slowness.
"Knocking at your door always gets a, "Just a minute."" Samuel Murphy, Royal Protector, stood from the small bench and stretched out, his back giving out a series of pops as he lifted his arms over his head, brushing against the graying hair of his thick sideburns. He grinned at Reina cheekily as he brought his arms back down, the scars running across his left cheek and jaw stretching and contorting as they did so. It remained a thoroughly friendly grin nonetheless.
"You don't have a minute you can spare?" Reina folded her arms and did her best to scowl, but her heart was not in it. "Couldn't you have at least played a little quieter?"
"It's not Sokolov's fourth bloody movement, ma'am." The grin stretched wider. "Some songs need to be loud, or you lose the message. The song doesn't go, "Dear oh dear, my good captain, whatever shall we do with the inebriated sailor in our employ?" And I spared you the singing."
"You did spare me the singing," agreed Reina, lips twitching. "And you got me out of the office. Well?"
"The empress has agreed to land and meet with them." Murphy's grin disappeared in favor of a furrowed brow and a furtive glance to either side of them, checking the halls and doors. "Ruled out meeting on one of our ships, ruled out on meeting in one of theirs, compromised by bringing it down here, sharpish. Talks need to be had, but I'm not sure this city is going to withstand more aliens bumbling about, trying to root out heretics."
"She could have consulted me," said Reina, face flushing as more numbers flashed by, costs for damages caused by the second series of riots that happened as the Cerberus left. "When was this decided?"
"About twelve minutes ago." Murphy shrugged. "I mean, for what it's worth, rubbing their noses in the mess they've made and making them fly past the Apex Imperium and all her escorts? Makes for a message. And it makes it clear they are meeting on our terms, on our planet, in our city."
Asari. Turians. Elcor. There were other species as well, but she lacked the data at present. Part of her raged at the empress making such a … bold move without at least consulting her, but the other parts could only buzz with excitement at what might come next. Assuming it is not war … that their needs are similar to ours … think of everything we can learn from this. Think of the data!
No trace of that strange enthusiasm could be found on Murphy's broad Morley face. Well, he is a soldier by trade, standing atop a ruined city. The numbers he would most likely be interested in are relative only to military strength.
"Will I at least be a part of the negotiations?" asked Reina, a bit more stiffly than she intended.
"She wants you to memorize every word these people say," said Murphy with a wink, motioning for Reina to follow him. "Take sketches of them. Analyze their body and their body language. She said, "We're going to bring the finest mind in the Empire and not even point her out. We're going to hide her in a crowd and root out every secret we can.""
"Really?" Reina could not help but blush a little at that. I suppose that makes sense. Introducing your Royal Spymaster to alien nations immediately would be a little strange. She sensed the implied apology in the statement as well. "Well. That can be arranged."
"There is one thing that needs to be taken care of before that, though." The two of them strode side by side down the wooden corridors, the light streaming in from the windows alongside from their right revealing the sheer amount of dust in the air, even within the duke's estate. Murphy pushed open the next set of heavy wooden double doors without effort, extending a hand and silently urging Reina past. "About that Whaler Guild fellow. Udina."
"Was just reading up on him." Reina looked down from the railing she now stood against to the polished marble below. A fountain bereft of running water dominated the center of the entrance hall, a worn stone statue of some long-dead Lawson rising from the dry structure. A pair of red-clad Royal Marines flanked either side of the staircase, bayoneted repeaters resting against their shoulders. "What does our lady need me to do?"
"Make sure the High Overseer does not kill him out of hand." The doors thudded shut and Murphy joined her at the railing, resting his heavy wrists against the wood. "Determine to the best of your ability what kind of threat this rogue heretic might pose, if any. And, uh…" Murphy coughed and checked behind him, making Reina cock an eyebrow. Do you not trust my own ability to check for potential listeners? Her omnitool could track every electronic device in the building. Or are you just uncomfortable?
"Well, see if you can twist this to the Empire's advantage," said Murphy finally, with a slight scowl. "We need not make any powerful enemies here, regardless of what the Abbey might believe."
"I see." Reina pursed her lips and directed her attention to an innocuous black door to the left of the stairwell below. "With your permission then…?"
"By all means." Murphy rapped the wood once and stepped back from the railing. "While you do that, I will speak to General Williams about coordinating with the guard on riot control. She wants the negotiations to start tomorrow, in full view of every citizen in the empire. It's going to be a bit of a scramble." He scratched the back of his neck. "A pleasure to see you again, my lady."
"The pleasure is all mine." Reina extended a hand only to have it crushed by Murphy's unrelenting grip. The two parted ways, Reina bound for the dark below, Murphy bound for the soft light outside. The Royal Marines straightened as she descended the steps, her boots thudding harshly against the hard marble. The unmarked black door beckoned, and already Reina thought she could taste blood in the air.
The air cooled quickly as she took her first assured steps into the dark, and the smell of smoke and dust gave way to mold and the acrid stench of human bodies given precious little food and precious little facilities to process that food. The stairs soon leveled out to rows of cells, lit dimly by flickering yellow bulbs, a disconcerting number of them already populated by gaunt and hollow-eyed prisoners. They stared out at Reina as she passed, some murmuring pleas for water, for food, for pardon, while others simply gave her a dead-eyed stare, perhaps recognizing her attire and bearing as a servant of the Empire.
At the end of the short hallway sat a heavy door, marked by the pitchfork of the Abbey. Reina knocked on the door with a heavy fist, bracing herself for the possibility that the High Overseer himself would open it. Her heart lurched as her fears were confirmed.
Ramon wore his mask at all times when on duty, but the blood red color of his robes gave his status away immediately. Even beyond that, the man was of an uncommon height, having somehow ended up with the good half of the Boyles' infamously inbred genes. Even though she could not see the man's pale face, Reina thought she could detect a thinning of the lips, a certain setting of the jaw.
"Royal Spymaster." The High Overseer's voice betrayed no hint of emotion. He nevertheless shifted to the side and allowed Reina to pass. "I trust you have read the message I sent?"
"Your trust is well-placed." Reina did not turn as she spoke, instead scanning the man before her, a balding gentleman in whaling gear, his face shaking with rage even as his forehead glistened with fearful sweat. Donnel Udina, 43, long suspected of all number of corruption and heresies … but what guild representative isn't? This is the first time you have truly stood out in a crowd, Mr. Udina … Reina could hardly fail to note the glinting metal suitcase laid on a stool before him, its surface painted an intimidating black. "The Empress wanted me down here, to make certain you did not kill this man when it might not be necessary. Enough citizens have died at our own hands while the alien ships linger above." And the heretic has yet to prove himself the Empire's enemy.
"I once heard it said that the Royal Protector was entrusted with protecting the Empire's heart, the Spymaster its mind, and the High Overseer its soul." The door shut behind Reina with a click, and Boyle folded his arms, almost looking as if he were blocking Reina's escape rather than Udina's. "I have also heard it said that one cannot be traded for another without weakening the Empire."
"It's a gross overgeneralization, High Overseer." And I know which body part I would protect at the expense of the others … it's certainly not the soul. "There is overlap. The Abbey documents history and all manner of cosmological phenomena, the Royal Protector is always well-versed in intrigue, and the Spymaster is always interested in the activities of the Outsider. We have the same goals in mind."
"We shall see." The High Overseer's mask glinted in the harsh light of the single lightbulb above. In the shadows, his the mask made his head look as if it were made of bronze, and no man lay beneath. He strode past Reina to Udina, flinging open the metal suitcase and producing a thin sliver of metal. "Reina, you are Pandyssian, and well-read besides. Would you care to describe to Udina the effects of Razor Geese venom?" He paused. "And while you are at it, is there anything on Pandyssia that is not venomous?"
"Bane Toads." Reina shrugged, eyeing Udina all the while. "They spit acid instead." I can still remember the smell it makes, too. And the screaming after. They know to aim for the eyes… "Razor Geese are rightfully feared for their venom. Sailors stung in older times would scream for amputation rather than try to survive through the pain. Nowadays, thanks to natural philosophers, we simply scoop out all the nerve endings closest to the entry wound. There's still a one in four chance of fatality regardless."
"Spare me this nonsense, High Overseer." Udina spoke through gritted teeth, eyes focused on that thin sliver of metal. "I become useless to you if I get injected with that venom. I will not be intimidated. I have answered your questions already."
The High Overseer cocked his head and placed the needle back into the metal case. His hands came away gripping a silvery hammer.
"It is true. The venom would render you insensate. But I do not need you to walk." The High Overseer stepped forward, his free hand brushing almost lovingly Udina's left knee. Reina clucked her tongue.
"You have questioned him already, then?" she asked sharply, taking a quick protective step forward to the chair. Udina had pulled back, throat working as his breathing quickened and his head reared away from Boyle. Boyle turned to Reina, mask glittering. He nodded stiffly. "Then I would ask that I be allowed to begin interrogations. In private. With an intact Udina."
"Heresy must be punished, Ms. Azerah." Nevertheless, Boyle laid the hammer down and shut the metal case with an angry snap, aware of whom the empress would back. Boyle headed for the heavy door. "I urge you to remember that, far from the Elder Continent's dreary shores. The Abbey and its servants are not to be dismissed so readily."
"You are dismissed regardless," said Reina before she could stop herself. Boyle stopped in place, metal case held under his arm. A lengthy pause followed, and Reina found herself unable to breathe despite herself. Then Boyle took another step forward, opened the door without ponderousness or alacrity, and departed as if nothing had happened at all, a small click following his exit. Reina waited a few moments more, listening for his footsteps fading down the corridor before checking her omnitool. Nothing in this room. Alone.
"I know nothing, I'm saying nothing, you've got nothing." Udina stared up at Reina, yellowed teeth exposed behind red lips. "These are not the old days of the Rat Plague. Touch me, and the Whalers will make you all regret it."
"There are Outsider Shrines within this district," replied Reina immediately, making sure her voice carried a snap. "Baker's Street, basement within an alley. Foxwile's Square, apartment number forty-two in the green building third from the left entering from the docks. And of course, one within a small, nondescript storage locker owned by the Whaler's Guild, just off of Jacobs Street. I have it on good authority that you have visited all of them at least once within the last four months."
Udina's jaw hung open for a moment, and Reina resisted the urge to smirk or otherwise twitch. She instead stared at Udina, urging him to make the correct decision.
"Figures the Royal Spymaster would see what others choose not to." Udina smiled bitterly. "I can see you're no fanatic, though. What do you want?"
Reina paused, thinking. Force was still an option, distasteful as that might be, but Udina seemed to realize he was in some position to bargain. I know an opportunist when I see one, however. He will try to hold back as much as possible to better his position later. Reina rested a hand on the empty stool where the case once lay.
"The truth." Udina choked back a laugh, but Reina's expression shut him up quickly. "There are alien ships in the atmosphere, Donnel. Rioting in the streets. And now the Outsider walks among us again, so it is said. And as a Royal Spymaster, the truth is intensely valuable to me. Let's talk about Jack."
"Never touch the stuff."
With a sigh, Reina brought her hand back and cracked Udina across the face full force, the flat of her hand creating a ringing smack. Udina's chair rocked in place and the man gasped in pain and surprise, his face immediately reddening. Reina stood fully above him, hand clenching as it burned and the satisfaction turned to pain.
"You're not taking this seriously." Reina's nostrils flared as she tried to focus her anger, tried to come up with some explanation that this could be mutually beneficial, that she would not have to cut him into pieces and feed him to hogs. Judging from the way Udina's eyes now flashed with white, it was clear that she had his full attention now at least. "Look … I am not interested in punishing you for whatever sordid business you have been doing for the Whaler's Guild. I am not interested in bringing you in for heresy."
Reina paused, sucking on the inside of her cheek for a moment. "Think … think of this Empire as a vast ship, sailing into the future. Each of its citizens serves a role on this ship, servicing or manning a particular part. At times, the appropriate lubricant for a series of gears may not be available. Or, due to constraints of time and weather, certain safety procedures while docking have to be sped up or overlooked." Udina's red face now cooled partially into white, Reina's fingers blazing across his shaven cheek.
"And of course, what whaler would pass up a chance to secure some good luck with a bone charm or two? A muttered prayer when the waves crest high and the wind howls lustily, when the captain is out of earshot?" Reina smiled. "Your … shortcuts … your dealings in the supernatural, they are simply making use of the tools you have to accomplish the goal set before you. But the captain is watching you, now. People have been flung overboard, and talk is you are responsible." Reina stepped in close, grabbed Udina by the chin and pulled him forward, close enough to smell the marmite on his rancid breath. "Honesty is your best defense now."
"Jack Harper." Udina pulled away, all trace of a smile gone. "Some ex-Overseer. The Outsider gave him a bloody mark, for all the good it did him. I helped him escape."
A marked Overseer. Reina breathed deeply. So it is true. The first in history. Boyle must be livid. But no, that was not right. No … he must be terrified.
"Saved a bunch of his friends up at the Abbey, and they wanted to lynch him for it." Udina snorted. "Fanatics, the lot of them. From what I've heard, he saved the lives of over a hundred people, turning that attack aside."
"Why did you help him?" asked Reina, genuinely curious. You seem a rather self-interested creature, Donnel.
"When's the last time we had someone marked with the Outsider running around?" Udina shrugged. "A worthwhile asset to the Guild, assuming we could get him off world. Which we did. He's on board the Cerberus now, as I am sure you already suspect. But I couldn't tell you where it's going, or what its name and registration will be when it makes port."
"Jack's the one I want." Reina's fingers tapped against the stool, one at a time. "Tell me … what is he hoping to accomplish? Why did he accept the mark? What does he intend to do with it?"
"He saved his people. That's all he wanted." Udina shrugged. "And he didn't feel like having a brand rammed in his face and spend the rest of his days begging in a gutter. He ran for his life."
"So he is no threat to the empress?" asked Reina, watching Udina's every facial movement, every twitch of the eye, every quiver of the mouth.
"I can't imagine why he would be." Udina met Reina's gaze steadily, unblinking. "Unless you gave him reason. He just wants to live."
And I can give him a reason to live. Reina cast one lingering glance back at the door, wondering what the High Overseer would say if he were here. So, we have a man loyal to his friends and bereft of motivation beyond "run." And, coincidentally, he can also bend time and space.
"Put me in contact with him," said Reina. "The Whaler's Guild are not the only ones who could use him as an "asset.""
"I am no diplomat," Desolas mumbled again as the asari ambassador, Tevos, adjusted his collar again without warning or concern for his personal space. "I laid waste to this colony, ambassador, for that is my purpose."
"And now you will apologize for it," said Tevos firmly, taking a step back and looking Desolas up and down while the salarian representative looked on dispassionately. Desolas felt a dull and clumsy thing next to the immaculately pressed and ruffed peach naval dress Tevos wore, despite having been given his own ceremonial attire. Even the sword they had provided (purely cosmetic – it had likely never tasted blood), complete with golden hilt and scabbard running with long-dead turian scripts spelling out the Commandments, paled in comparison to the (equally ceremonial) Kahje pearl-handled pistol protruding from a resplendent holster beneath Tevos's left breast (whose quality Desolas could not comment on, but would hazard a guess that it was very high.)
"I only followed orders." Desolas did not say this with much conviction, however. The Primarch's instructions had been clear: heed the Council; he would handle the Ecclesiarch. If an apology will allow me to leave this place without being forced to engage an asari task force…
The shuttle consisted of little more than a cabin with three passengers and two pilots, leading back into a small wooden cargo hold currently bereft of any cargo. The pilots, a pair of asari almost as well-dressed as their ambassador, worked a series of glowing orange haptic screens and stiff wooden levers as they prepared to disembark from the main asari vessel. They murmured to one another and occasionally barked a status report through a comm, leaving the salarian as the sole silent spectator.
The salarian stood off to the side, leaning against the cabin wall with arms folded, pink skin illuminated by the flickering ship interface before them. His rank and intentions were unknown, having simply identified himself as "Kel," likely a drastic shortening of whatever hellish naming conventions his family had forced upon him. A single stylized version of a salarian three-fingered hand adorned the breast upon his green and white clothing, marking him as a servant of the Union, even though he had no title. All Desolas knew, aside from the salarian's name, was that he moved with an economy and surety of movement that did not come from training as an ambassador.
Makes you wonder what his hands look like under those gloves … but Desolas tried to shake off that thought. The salarians would not have been foolish enough to send an agent of the Outsider (assuming such rumors were true) with Inquisitor Harrow present nearby. As if sensing Desolas's thoughts, the salarian stared back coolly, long fingers tapping against his slim arms. Desolas felt a slight chill.
"Vector set, ground teams confirm docking clamps are compatible." The asari pilot gave a thumbs up to her co-pilot before turning to the three of them. "Ready when you are, ma'am."
"The Goddess wills it," replied Tevos, making Desolas shake his head internally. There is only the Outsider you fools. Tevos glanced at the two of them, as if asking for their agreement, not that it mattered. The salarian waved a hand airily. Desolas grunted. Time to see firsthand just where I sent so many to die.
Desolas sighed as the ship shook, the tethers coming away from the hull above. The pilots activated a flickering blue viewscreen (likely only for the benefit of the passengers), revealing the blue-gray of the planet below, as well as the slivers of silver above its orbit. Glancing at the instruments, Desolas could not help but note their flight path would take them fairly close to the waiting human ships. Surely they would not be so stupid as to set a trap. Nothing would unite the twin asari and turian forces so fast as to see their diplomatic vessel blown out of the sky. I would not die in panic or despair. More mild satisfaction and vindication.
"We are starting our approach." The asari pilot pulled down one of the higher intercoms, the curling wire stretching from the ship like some electronic intestine. "Shanxi docking authority, we are on our way. Requesting translator check."
"Administering check." A strange cough came from the other side of the radio, followed by a high voice. "What do we do with the drunken whaler? What do we do with the drunken whaler? What do we do with the drunken whaler, early in the morning?"
"It's a song about a drunken whaler," said Desolas, making both Tevos and Kel nod. Asari translation technology … always impressive. His eyes narrowed on the pilot, mind suddenly racing with possibilities. "Shall I sing something back?"
"Uh, that will not be necessary," said the asari, eyes darting nervously to Tevos before shifting back in place to her seat. "Shanxi, translators are good, we will land shortly." Damn. I was hoping to shriek a battle hymn or three.
The three of them stared out the viewscreen while the pilots worked, making occasional course corrections as needed. After about a minute, the Empire's small defense fleet loomed up on the monitors, dominated by a single massive ship.
"They called it the Apex Imperium," said Kel, the first words he had spoken during the trip. He announced the information as if he were a bored tour guide. "If I were to hazard a guess, it is intended to house their empress when traveling."
Its dark blue hull gleamed in the light of Shanxi's sun, its sides glistening with gold leaf and unreadable text. Its broadsides stretched across for what must have been almost three quarters of a mile, countless cannons protruding faintly from gaps in the armor. The entirety of the vessel shimmered with what must have been a truly enormous trans-eezo core, making Desolas wonder how many dreadnoughts it would take to breach. A single enormous tower rose from the center of the ship, ringed with guns at its base and stationed regularly up its sides, wires and cables running down from the midsection and stretched taut. Looks like a broadcast center. Yes, this would seem to be some kind of vast mobile propaganda vessel. Desolas still did not fancy his chances with less than three dreadnoughts.
"Only the Destiny Ascension is larger," said Tevos, sounding more amused than anything. "I wonder … how many of these do you think they have?"
"One," said Desolas and Kel in unison, prompting a snort from the salarian. "Don't expect them to be forthcoming with that information."
"Hmm," replied Tevos, lifting a finger to her mouth as if in thought. Desolas thought he detected the edges of a rather smug smile from behind the raised digit.
The rest of the ships did not impress, looking like little more than the common blocks of wood and metal that Desolas was used to, the largest stretching for at most about 800 meters. They all looked considerably more beaten in terms of appearance than the Apex. Likely because they have actually seen some action.
The dark gave way to gray trimmed with orange as the shuttle broke through atmo. The cloud layer below looked impressively thick, marking a truly dreary day for official first contact. Desolas sighed and prayed it would not at least rain. Duty Ascendant. This unpleasantness will pass. And the Ecclesiarch cannot fault me for adhering to the will of the Primarch, not when an Inquisitor backs his words.
"Auto docking protocols engaged," said the radio, a shrill whistle following the statement. "All hail Empress Elizabeth Kaldwin, second of her name. You are reminded to be on your best behavior during your stay in Shanxi."
"Best behavior," said Tevos, eyeing Desolas and making him grin savagely. "They are still feeling the sting of your guns. We don't want them to return the favor … and we don't want them running to the batarians. Understand?"
"Say little," said Kel, eyes fixed on the swirling cloud line as they made their descent. "Listen much."
The clouds broke to reveal the gray-green of a deep ocean. Desolas felt that familiar knot in his stomach at the sight of open waters, a sick sensation in his gizzard that all turians instinctively felt at the prospect of being caught in the deep. Unlike the rest of you, we were not sailors of the sea first. The asari and salarian did not seem perturbed by the ocean below.
"There it is." A colony blanketed by smoke, its untouched buildings looking weather-beaten even next to the ruins of their neighbors. The city appeared constructed primarily of brick and the same blue metal as before, its docks made more of the latter than the former before giving away to the stone. The entirety of the city seemed to be built on two hills, one topped by the building where the Outsider's agent had been seen, the other by a vast estate. The rest of the city slouched into these hills as if using it as a particularly neglected backbone, the houses and streets slanting gradually upwards away from the sea.
"Used to coastal regions," said Kel, still refusing to move from his vantage point leaning against the wall. "Prefer them, even. They chose to settle here and three other locations, and none of them were any great distance inland. I can see ships upon the waters as well." Kel's lip curled. "I wonder how many can become starships at will, and fly with the whales?"
Desolas grunted, hoping it were not too many. Part of him still refused to believe he had seen that report, of a lumbering tub transforming into an agile whaling vessel and slipping away in a pod of vicious Spicers. It indicated a greater engineering proficiency – and madness – within this species than he was willing to contemplate.
They now topped the city, their ship clanking as it began its steady descent. The pilot and docking authority exchanged information in a relaxed manner, putting Desolas on edge as he realized how comfortable the asari were becoming over all of this. Kel merely watched from his corner. The shrill sound of some instrument blared over the city, piercing the inside of the shuttle.
Duty Ascendant. Desolas gritted his teeth. Linger not on the arduousness of the task before you, but rather on the satisfaction of having fulfilled one's duty in the face of a hostile universe. There is nothing so noble in its pointlessness as a hard task accomplished without any possibility of being rewarded for it.
The shuttle ground to a halt, tethers doubtless being fixed to the hull as Desolas waited, hand fixed on the hilt of his entirely combat-unworthy blade despite himself. Kel watched his every movement, obviously unimpressed.
"Well," said Tevos, clapping her hands together. "Let's get this all sorted out then. Shall we?"
With a brisk sweep of the hand, she motioned for Kel and Desolas to fall in behind her, something Desolas could not help but appreciate. They strode into the small cargo hold together, the ramp already lowering. Bright light tinged with all too much smoke greeted them, making Desolas wince at its intensity. Shrill instruments greeted them.
Two vast lines of armed humans lay before them, eyes front, weapons resting against their shoulders, the redness of their clothing broken only by the leather harnesses and belts strapping their pistols and scabbards to their breasts and waists. A single human waited for them at the base of the ramp, his face covered in gray fur, his shoulders broad and thick like a krogan's. He watched them descend with teeth exposed, the facial expression unfamiliar to Desolas. He did not like it.
They look so much like him … Desolas could still barely get over it. The same shape of the limbs, the same presence of fur atop the skull (although he saw the colors were not all the same as the Outsider's), the same pale, smooth flesh. It would have been enough to send a Palvanus into convulsions.
"Shun!" bellowed the human, making Desolas's heart jump and making the group pause. As one, the humans in line brought their feet up and repositioned them, creating a cacophony of stamping feet. Ah. A drill command. Likely done purely for effect. Desolas could not deny that he would likely have done something similar under the same circumstances. The human still had teeth exposed, tinged with yellow on the white. The three of them stopped before the human at the ramp's edge, just feet away.
"Samuel Murphy, Royal Protector," said the human maintaining his distance. "I will be escorting you to the courthouse where the Empress has deigned to speak with you." He inclined his head, a gesture Desolas could understand. He could also recognize the stiffness, and the way the man's head craned slightly to keep an eye on them.
"Ambassador Tevos, of the Asari Republics," said Tevos clearly, words vanishing into the stony silence. "Thank you for meeting with us. I look forward to speaking with your empress."
"Kel, of the Salarian Union." Kel said nothing more, instead staring steadily at Samuel Murphy, who glared back. Nothing more seemed to be forthcoming.
"General Desolas of the Turian Ecclesiarchy." The human's gaze became a good less friendly as he looked to Desolas, the glare turning to an outright glower. "We welcome the opportunity to negotiate." The stiffness of these words would hopefully not be caught by these new translators.
Murphy eyed him up and down for a moment, the teeth disappearing behind red, rubbery flesh. He turned back to his waiting human soldiers.
"Arms to the present!" The soldiers snapped their free hand to their guns and brought the rifles forward. To Desolas, it looked as if a large group of humans were offering him a sea of weaponry to take for himself. This damn well better be a sign of respect. Tevos certainly seemed to think so, nodding. "With me, please."
They passed through the sea of silent brandished steel without speaking. A large stone building, parts of it held up and braced by freshly applied wood, stood before them, taller than the surrounding structures. From windows and from beyond the waiting lines of soldiers, dirty, dusty, bloody faces looked onward at these three curious aliens, many of them with their own teeth bared. Not one of them spoke, however.
Desolas took the time to take in the soldiery at either side of him. They varied greatly in size and varied only slightly in color. Some had browned skin, upon closer inspection, a few had chest protuberances similar to the asari's. None stood at a height with Desolas, but a few drew close, while others fell far below. Their weaponry looked to be mass-produced but well-maintained, a far cry from the asari's personalized kit but closer to what Desolas was familiar with. The familiar hum of shields could be heard beneath the footfalls, confirming a rough parity in protection. Dull gray armor plated their shoulders, while rounded metal helmets covered their heads, leaving only the face exposed.
The unexpected brightness of the sun only served to illuminate the sheer amount of dust in the air. Everywhere Desolas looked beyond the assembled troops and gathered crowd, he saw only partially mitigated destruction. My doing. And they all know it. Their resemblance to the Outsider did not help matters. At any moment, Desolas could not help but wonder if one of them would appear before him, hand glowing, a blade in hand…
But there was nothing. Just the crunch of feet on gravel. The building loomed, and the line of troops stopped at the stairs upwards. With a grunt, Murphy began his ascent, and the three of them followed. The scent of smoke lay heavy in the air.
The building itself reminded Desolas of the churches back home, only less angular and more rounded. The humans had taken some time on aesthetics in the place of pure function, and appeared unconcerned with exposure to their wretched sun, may it one day be chained. The stone lay thick at least, firmly anchored to the ground. Desolas found himself nodding in slight approval. The windows, however, looked far too numerous and flimsy. A few were already broken and boarded.
As the burning sun and gray skies disappeared in favor of a high roof, dull murmuring could be heard above the now softer footfalls. Past the empty desk of the lobby came a high and open room, a single throne on a raised platform before them, a single figure atop that throne.
Other humans, softer looking, clad in colorful clothing and bereft of armor or weaponry, sat to either side of them on wooden stands, looking down at the aliens with wide and curious eyes. Like being stared at by a horde of Outsiders…
The human above, presumably the empress, wore a comparatively simple outfit of black, fitted with a high color of white. The fur she wore seemed to be tied up somehow, sitting neatly atop her head in what must have been a state of high tension. She lacked the same paleness of the Outsider and the Royal Protector, and her eyes lacked any of the blackness, for which Desolas was grateful. If they did worship him, one would expect their empress to be touched … but the Inquisitor reported nothing, and her hands are exposed and unblemished.
Two lower seats sat around the highest, each filled by another male. One of them, on the left, wore an adorned mask, his attire in crimson. Desolas felt the back of his neck prickle as his eyes met the eyes behind that metal.
The Royal Protector stopped and bowed deeply, with none of the stiffness from before. He turned to the assembled humans and Council ambassadors with a fierce look on his face.
"All rise for Empress Elizabeth Kaldwin, second of her name!" The humans around them rose from their chairs, and Desolas found himself standing just a bit more at attention than before. He understood the word "empress" after all.
"Be seated," said the empress, apparently done with ceremony already. She stared down at the three of them.
"Before you, your majesty, are Tevos of the Asari Union," Tevos bowed in imitation of Murphy, "Kel of the Salarian Union," to Desolas's surprise, Kel followed suit, "and General Desolas of the Turian Ecclesiarchy." Desolas bowed, wondering how many people in the room hated him. It was only understandable after all.
"I hope you understand that part of me is pained to see you standing here," said the empress after a moment's pause. "I look upon this city and see ruin. I look upon its people and see suffering. I look upon your faces and feel rage. You stand here when so many others cannot after the attack. So the first question I will ask is why. Why have you done this?"
"It was my doing." General Desolas stepped forward, unwilling to let Tevos blunt his words. The asari were circuitous in negotiation, and would do a poor job explaining the Ecclesiarchy. More likely, she would also throw in the odd insinuation or stealthy insult as well. "Or rather, my people's. One of our whaling vessels came under attack by your ships."
Desolas paused as the crowd reacted, but the empress only brought her hands together and waited for further explanation. The man on the right, clad in a mix of golds and whites, looked as if he were poised to pounce, his teeth gleaming. Desolas tried to ignore him.
"Our whalers slew a number of yours during a failed boarding action. The bodies were brought back to me." Desolas could see Tevos twitching out of the corner of his eye, knowing she wanted to take a different tack to what he was doing. It was delicious to see her squirm. "I looked upon their bodies and saw the Outsider, the entity that has plagued our dreams and nations for over a thousand years."
"The Outsider?" snapped the man in the mask, his voice a crack of the whip. "What do you know of him? Why do you speak his name?"
"Pale of flesh, topped with fur, black of eyes," said Desolas, his mind flashing back to his encounter with the wretched being. "Visions of whales drifting in an endless void, their songs mixing with the howls of an empty wind. You should know him. You all resemble him."
The masked man stood, shaking with some kind of intensity but Desolas sensed it was not anger. If anything … it looked like revelation.
"Your majesty, his bounds stretch beyond our realms," said the masked man, voice tremulous with excitement. "These aliens are plagued with his influence the same as us! Long have we known, through careful study, that the stories of the Outsider taking the form of a woman, of a winged serpent, of a many-toothed whale, they have all been fancy. And now these aliens have seen him, known of him, for millennia!"
"And so when you saw us…" The empress narrowed her eyes. "You saw him. A shock, I can only imagine."
"Yes, your majesty," said Desolas, and Tevos nodded in approval at the added honorific. "A shock. A most unwelcome one. With the blessing of the Palvanus, our people's bulwark against the Outsider, we began a cleanse of what we saw as a manifestation of his influence."
"We are no manifestation of his influence!" The masked man's voice rose to a shout now, and the empress gave him a meaningful look. He quieted, voice turning cold and meaningful. "I … I mean … I am High Overseer Ramon Boyle, of the Abbey of the Everyman. We educate the Empire's peoples against the Outsider."
"I am Kel, a pontificator of the Mundane Faith, a similar organization," said Kel, making Desolas start and eye him wearily. He had never before met an actual member of the salarians' oft-mocked church militant. "I suspect you have just as much cause as we to oppose him."
"And the asari have the Justicar order." Tevos cleared her throat. "This has all been a horrible misunderstanding … please. We have a thousand years of history with the Outsider, and very little of it pleasant. Elements of our societies overreacted."
"Overreacted." The empress stated the word coldly, let it hang in the air. "Without meaning blasphemy, what has the Outsider done to warrant the deaths of over four thousand people without warning?"
"Warlord Kredak and his infused horde," said Desolas without hesitation. "He granted his mark to a warlord of … a very violent people. The warlord passed a lesser version of his mark to first thousands, then millions. The galaxy burned, all because he granted his mark to one individual. The wrong individual."
"The League of One," said Kel, making Desolas start again. He had believed them only a legend. "An order of twelve salarians granted his mark. They worked for our government over a thousand years ago, until we met the asari. In the interests of establishing closer relations, their identities were revealed. The League disappeared without warning, and began murdering high-ranking government officials with their black magic. The Mundane Faith formed shortly after." Kel shrugged. "We cannot speak to the Outsider's nature, only that the power he offers is too easy to abuse."
Tevos did not speak at first, her hands fluttering. After a moment, she composed herself.
"We do not speak the name of the one we hunt, for she yet lives and listens," said Tevos in a low voice. "She is a demon, and the Justicar order hunts for her still. But the lives she has claimed number in the tens of thousands – this one asari! If the Outsider's nature was truly ambiguous, she would never have been granted his mark."
That made Desolas pay attention and wish more was forthcoming, but to be frank, he did not want her name spoken either.
"There have been many other problems," continued Tevos, trying to regain her composure. "The bone charms people carve, empowered by his will, are banned in our space for the safety of our citizens … and these new "wire charms" seem to be even more destructive, even actively malignant. His shrines attract vermin and disease. His magics draw the interest of criminals in pursuit of power. I am sure this is all familiar."
"All too familiar," said the empress, glancing down at the High Overseer, whose gaze remained fixed upon Desolas, who shifted uncomfortably. "It nevertheless does nothing to alleviate the suffering of the people you have hurt. It does nothing to restore the people you have slain."
"We cannot pretend to understand the grief you must all endure," said Tevos, making Desolas grit his teeth as she pointedly did not look at him. "We can first, offer our apologies…" Then, she did look at him.
The bile rose in Desolas. Stone Mind. Linked Arms. Outstretched Talons. Downcast Eyes. Duty Ascendant. None of them mentioned making apologies for following the faith too vigorously. He had only done his duty to the best of his ability, and then stopped when instructed. Nevertheless, they all looked to him, Kel, Tevos, the empress, all of these Outsider spawn…
"I will ask the Ecclesiarchy to offer reparations," was the best Desolas could come up with in all honesty. Perhaps one day a true apology would be forthcoming. Tevos frowned, but the empress nodded.
"I trust you will follow through." The empress paused, eyes flicking to elsewhere in the room. When Desolas looked, he saw only blank faces, but Kel seemed to pick up on something, turning his head repeatedly to glance at someone in the crowd. For whatever reason, this also began to agitate the Royal Protector.
"Your majesty," said the High Overseer, "if I may speak?"
"You may, High Overseer."
"These beings, if they speak the truth, are clearly beings of reason." The High Overseer remained collected this time. "They study natural philosophy as we do. They reject the vile influences of the Outsider, as we do. They hunt whales, as we do. It is clear we have much in common. In the interests of avoiding further conflict and bolstering ourselves against the Outsider, it is clear we should unite. To what extent, I cannot say, but if we can just overlook this initial transgression…"
"Your brothers died on that hill, High Overseer," said the Royal Protector, his voice a growl. "You seem rather keen to forget that."
"Whatever his origin, the Outsider clearly spawned from us," snapped back Boyle. "Our punishment is deserved, and nothing will be gained from prolonging the conflict."
"We cannot be held responsible for whatever vile events brought the Outsider into being all those years ago," said the empress, eyes flicking to the aliens. No? We still punish the krogan for their transgressions. You might wish to rethink that. "It cannot be overlooked; we will have recompense. And an official apology." The empress stopped, clearly in thought. "But … I am told we attacked first?"
The man on her right coughed, suddenly shaking.
"I am afraid that would have been two of Shanxi's whaling vessels, the Curmudgeon and the Corvo's Whiskers." The man glanced at the three of them. "Henry Lawson, Duke of Shanxi. You have to understand that they had been hunting that pod for over a month at that point, and were unwilling to relinquish it to unknown invaders. You were technically within our space."
Desolas stared the Duke down with disappointing ease, the man turning away almost immediately when Desolas locked eyes with him. Outstretched Talons. You attacked us out of greed.
"This will be brought into consideration," said the empress, icier than a comet. "In the interests of, at the very least, insuring whaling routes are properly mapped out between our nations, I suppose it would be best if we at least took a look at your…"
"Citadel," said Tevos clearly. "All relays lead to the Citadel, where we make our home. It is the base of our Inquisitors, the cross-species program that hunts down servants of the Outsider and executes them. It is the base of our united governments, who oversee over a third of the known galaxy … and it is the largest port there is, where all goods can be exchanged."
Greed. Greed drives many of them. Desolas could see it in their eyes. Not the empress's, nor the Royal Protector's, but so many of those around them. Greed for wealth. Greed for knowledge. Greed for power. He did not sense the Abbey to have nearly a strong of a hold on its people as the Palvanus did on his. But it can be taught. We dragged the volus screaming into the fold after the Devastation of Irune, the fools. We pushed the batarians out. They will learn.
Desolas looked upon the High Overseer and, even through the mask, knew the man was thinking the exact same thing.
One of yours turned to the Outsider. We both know it. Your people forget your teachings. We both see it.
It is time for a purge. The galaxy needs it.
A/N: Hellish term, still an inexcusable wait. Expect some more updates over the next two weeks. This is basically a background chapter I originally did not plan on including, but I felt the need to flesh out the setting more due to a few reviews. There will be one more chapter after this one, then I will feel comfortable doing a time skip and getting to the meat of the story. After the next chapter, it's going to be more or less all Jack's perspective from that point, if I keep to the plan.