Chapter 3

Allen,

We have been here on the Citadel for five days and we've seen very little of it. Our hosts are citing transportation issues, but I feel the tension, see the suspicion in the stares of those I pass on our way to the next event. I hope rather than believe it will get better the longer we are here. This is what Ambassador Julian tells us, anyway. I hope, rather than believe her to be right.

My roommate, Sylvie, is from France. We try to communicate with our broken Galactic and any stray words we know in each other's parent language. Once classes start, I hope our lessons will make it easier to converse with each other. This is the case for most of us, pulled from across Earth and her respective colonies; growing up in a post-war galaxy has kept us from learning what the previous generation would believe to be basic skills and knowledge. The Forgotten Generation they call us, and it is fitting as there seems to be no place for us at home on Earth, or here.

Mariah

After years of sleeping alone in an old shipping container, my first few nights aboard the Citadel were unsettling at best. It was just too damn quiet, and in my experience, quiet meant something bad was about to happen.

I lay in my bed, ears straining to hear even the faintest hint of someone else to try and reassure myself. Simulated moonlight from the wall panel created eerie shadows on the walls of the room. Sylvie slept like the dead in the other loft, the only sign of life a gentle fluttering of a strand of hair in front of her face. Back home, the jury-rigged lights in my humble metal box buzzed and flickered. Voices could be heard throughout the night as people passed through the living quarters at all hours. Sometimes a rare chortle of laughter would break through the darkness when the third-shifters headed to their nightly posts. There was activity in the colony twenty-four hours a day, the constancy of rebuilding a community a round-the-clock job.

I looked over to Sylvie, whose eyelids fluttered as she slept, perhaps exploring some mysterious world of dreams. The stillness of the nights left me restless. I had become accustomed to active labor, returning each night feeling physically exhausted. Exhaustion helped with keeping unwanted thoughts and memories at bay, but here, in this silent arena, there were no such distractions.

I didn't know what to expect on the first day of classes. Part of me was terrified that my lack of education would stand out amongst the other students, but it shouldn't have surprised me that many of the others came from the same situation I did. After a year or so some of the larger cities began to re-institute their schools, beginning with the enterprises of lower learning first, working their way onward and upward.

When morning finally came, I found myself looking forward to the planned activities for the day, if only for the distraction from my exhaustion. The night before we were all sent messages containing our class schedules and we all compared our schedules to see what classes we would have together. I was enrolled in Earth History, Galactic Trade (a language course), Astronomic Geography and Xenobiology. It seemed insurmountable, staring at the screen. I barely remembered basic algebra.

My mind went back to the previous night, then, when Ambassador Julien had vaguely discussed the curriculum. Those who had designed it had apparently taken our weaknesses into account. They knew our education levels, as they should. Each of us had to endure a series of standardized tests before being officially accepted into the program. Common sense would argue that someone who was completely illiterate would find it difficult to reach this level.

My own results were fair at best, slightly below the median scores. Only one score had surprised me: the reading and comprehension section. I had scored into the graduate level, far beyond my incomplete eighth-grade education. My rational could only attribute it to the reading I had done over the years. Though my actual writing was barely legible and my spelling atrocious, I could string together coherent sentences and was often sought out when anything official was being sent to other parts of the country from our small time farming community.

We loaded onto the shuttle that would take us to the learning annex. It wasn't officially a part of the university. The only thing that connected us to the university was the fact that the classes we took would count as general college credits in the degree of our choice. During this first year we would be monitored, and the next year, in theory, we would be allowed to join the general student population, choose our classes for ourselves. We would always be bound by a singular class, a "homeroom" of sorts where we would meet weekly. As for now, thought, the common living area would due, as would the hosts in terms of homeroom teachers.

Monday, Wednesday and Friday were class days; Tuesdays had a planned outing of "great cultural significance". Thursdays were study days and the weekends were ours to do as we wished. We were handed a list of activities and we could choose as many as we could fit in the day. I decided to try tennis at Sylvie's request, which was from two until four on Saturday afternoons. Then Derek brought my attention to a martial arts group on Sunday mornings and I was eager to sign up for something that was more physically involved. Also, I suspected I could tire myself out and get a bit more sleep.

All in all, the first week of classes went by smoothly and I even enjoyed the tennis, especially seeing how agile Sylvie was on the court. She was patient with me and showed me the basics, but when we were paired in doubles against an older human couple, I was immensely shocked at the ferocity of her playing style. It was definitely her game.

The martial arts class was fun too, but it was also fulfilling because I felt like I was learning something useful. Some of the concepts came easy to me, and the more complex moves would be approached by Derek and myself breaking them down into components, mastering the minutia of the move, then putting it back together. The instructor saw us at the first practice and immediately recommended we move to the intermediate class.

The curriculum was remarkably well structured, leaving little time for dalliance. Many of the students were enthusiastic in their studies after the first day and spent much of their spare time immersed in the texts given to them on their data pads, cross-referencing sources from the extranet, intermittently jotting down notes. I didn't bother taking any notes myself, my handwriting being that illegible so that even I had trouble with it at times.

My anxiety decreased as the first full week ended. I noted that some of the others had started to let down their guards. After possibly years of fear and uncertainty they felt secure in this new location, and within the routine of normalcy. They began to let small things slip, notes of their pasts, moments of terror or suffering mentioned as if they were nothing but a second or third hand story.

The other thing I noticed was that I would have to join in to remain a part of the group. I resented this but understood the necessity. They were all bonding with each other, and if I failed to bond with them I would be in danger of being ostracized from the group, and therefore left on my own to survive. I would do what was necessary, I knew, but this was one thing I couldn't complete without difficulty.

The first night I finally chose to speak up was during a discussion of what many of them had tried eating during the winter or meager times where food was scarce. Some had unique recipes they had created which sustained them during these times. Kayla had invented something called "moss roll-ups" by taking sheets of moss, covering them with chunks of dried meat and any berries or fruits they had on hand, then rolling them up.

"They were filling, and eventually you get a taste for them," Kayla commented, and laughed when Sylvie and a few others wrinkled their noses or stuck out a tongue. She said she even made them now, when their food supply was better then ever, and others in her town would request them for special occasions. After a few moments of silence, I offered my story to the group.

"Back in my town we sucked on frozen potato chunks in the winter. Sometimes we had some maple syrup to dip them in and we started calling it candy. It was great for the long hours between meals."

Sylvie acknowledged my story by patting my forearm and smiling, while the others popped in with more stories of their own. I felt the tightness in my chest release and exhaled, smiling sideways at Sylvie.

"Guys, I have the best idea! We should make a recipe book!" Kayla exclaimed, and we all laughed.

The days and weeks flew by, and I had difficulty in finding a purpose in the program. Higher education was a delusion of grandeur for my generation. It didn't seem fitting that it would be given me. I began to wonder, as many of the others seemed to accept with ease, if the galaxy would ever be a place where more than survival would characterize our existence. What of art? Of culture? What of expansion, of building bridges with new peoples, exploring the unknown territories with nothing but hope and eagerness to succeed? There were still many parts of the galaxy which could be labeled a frontier, ripe for adventure.

And what of family, friendships? It was then I began to discover a new purpose in my life on the Citadel, amongst the best of the best in the galaxy. It would serve as a means to an end. I would be good, follow the rules, but in the end, it would serve my own purposes. Perhaps this opportunity would be the means of finding Allen.

I sent a message to an old address I remembered as a kid, but it quickly bounced back as an unknown address. I tried his military contact information after much searching as to how they were set up based on name and date of enlistment. That one came back too, citing a full message box. Perhaps the Alliance had cracked down on server space and offered a minimum amount of messages.

One thing was true: I felt, rather than logically believed, that if he was dead, I would somehow know. Especially with my presence on the Citadel, my family history recorded as part of my student information, that Mariah Xirri, sister of Allen Xirri, would be informed by the relevant authorities in the event of his demise, especially now that I was here on the Citadel, as a part of a government-funded program. But even more that, beyond the natural plane, we shared a connection, like two entangled particles, and wherever in the galaxy we might be, we would always be connected.

I had always been the type to weigh pros and cons, gather all possible information and agonize over a decision. But once the decision was made, my anxiety lifted and I was filled with determination. It was then decided. There was only one reason for me to be here: I would find my brother.

Late one evening, when nearly everyone had gone off to bed, I stayed recumbent on one of the couches, reading Kushiel's Dart. Derek approached me, a data pad in his hand.

"There's something you should see," he said, somber expression on his face.

I took the data pad, and the title of the article triggered my heart rate to increase.

"Humanity's Secret Plan to Retake the Citadel," I read aloud. "It sounds…ridiculous."

"Yes, at first. But there are dozens like it. Just read."

I followed his prompt and read aloud.

"The Citadel, the galaxy's central location, has been invaded. Not by soldiers, mercenaries, but by children. Students, they call themselves. Supposedly invited by the council to further their education cut short by the Reaper War, these students seek to gain the secrets of the council races and pass them to the Alliance under the guise of higher education. This is something our post-war galaxy cannot afford to allow. We need to stand against this invasion of humans!" I skimmed the rest of the article in my head, a frozen storm churning in my stomach. "So they know about us."

"And they don't like us," Derek said. "They hate us, in fact, and are trying to encourage violence against us."

"Do you think they might actually...attack us?" The heaviness of dread sunk into my gut as I forced out the words. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, and passed the datapad back to Derek.

"I don't doubt it. There are already proclaimed groups against humans all over the Citadel." Matt scrolled through text on the datapad, pacing back and forth in front of me.

"So what should we do?" I asked tentatively. "Find some guns?"

"Ha, I wish. But there's one thing I want your advice on. Should we tell the others about this?" Derek asked me. "It's safe to assume the ambassador and the other sponsors of this program know about the attitude and threats against us."

"I don't think we should tell the others, not at this time. It might create hysteria and be more of a detriment then a help. Many of these groups tend to be all talk, anyway."

"Until the crazy ones start believing the crap they're spewing."

I nodded at the truth of it. It wasn't difficult to pick up on the general dislike of humans here on the Citadel. Even our two salarian professors had an air of superiority about them, though Logan, who spent the first decade of his life on the Citadel, said every salarian he'd ever encountered was like that. With the charged atmosphere that hung between human-nonhuman relations, it wouldn't take much to ignite another conflict.

"I just don't want to leave it until it's too late."

"I understand, but just think about it, Derek. Think about where they came from. If we expose them to this information, most won't be able to handle it rationally."

He nodded, understanding.

"Il-seung's already hella jumpy. And your friend Sylvie..."

"I don't think she would leave her room." I thought of the fair-haired girl who had become a friend so quickly. She was the embodiment of all that was good which remained in this war-torn galaxy. I imagined her face struck with fear, her limbs like ice. The image pulled my heart into my gut.

"Alright. We say nothing about it. For now," he stipulated.

"For now," I agreed.

"We keep watch, you and I. Keep an eye on our surroundings at all times."

"Good idea," I responded, as if neither of us hadn't already been doing just that since we arrived here.

Derek was more of a leader type than I was. I had watched in the past how he managed the others, kept different personalities from clashing, maneuvered people without them becoming aware of his background influence. I trusted him, in a manner of speaking. I trusted his judgement, anyway. I had not the skills of reading people like Derek did, and I felt at a disadvantage. I could analyze a circumstance, an event, an arena. It came to me in a quick succession of cause and effect, like a chess match between two masters where the coin toss and first move predicted the outcome, and the rest of the game played out in their minds.

As the weeks went by, I began to see the slow changes of the group. Perhaps it was just a survival instinct, bonding with those nearby, becoming part of the group to increase the probability that they would have your back in a tight situation. They smiled more. They let loose. Slowly, the shackles of their inhibitions began to release. I forced myself to join in their activities, while still remaining on the outskirts of the group. There still remained a few outliers. Il-sung kept his distance, only responding in class when required. He ate alone, studied alone, and even his roommate, Logan, reported that he wondered if Il-sung ever slept. He was always awake when Logan went to sleep, and still awake when Logan woke. I found myself wondering what had taught Il-sung these habits of always keeping one eye open. I may be cautious and mistrusting, always looking for back door in any situation, but his paranoia was far beyond me. And instead of mocking him like Logan and a few of the others did, I found I respected him more.

After years of having next to nothing, fighting just to survive, I found it hard to let go of my basic tenant: to survive at any cost. A few weeks of food and shelter couldn't erase years of bad memories, of sleeping in fear of not waking up. Betrayal does that to you, messes with your senses, even your trust in yourself. If the past ten years had taught me anything, it was that humans were selfish creatures, willing to sacrifice almost anything for an increased chance at survival, a leg up on everyone else. I would take this opportunity for all it was worth, as long as I had it. After all, as Matt had always said, "Ignorance is death."