Vertigo: Virtual Lounge

Part Three

"So Vahe," Devan began as the quarian led him down yet another hall in the sizable compound, "I know I've asked you a lot of questions already, but I can't help but wonder why you choose to work for C-sec instead of the Shadowbroker…"

"Heh," the quarian laughed, "It's very simple, Mr. Macalister. I do not trust the Shadowbroker; their motives and agents are not known to me. While your friend the turian is quite a pest, C-Sec serves the interests of the Citadel, and therefore, my interests. My relationship with your organization is the more stable and beneficial partnership. I dislike secrets and subterfuge."

"About Antius, why does give you such a hard time anyway? I know he doesn't like VR, but your spat earlier seemed a bit more personal."

The quarian shrugged a bit as they neared a sliding door inlaid with glowing green wires and a few small portal windows arranged in a simple geometric design.

"Perhaps he feels about me as I feel about the Shadowbroker," Vahe replied, "As a quarian, I am unusual and unknowable to the people here, your friend included. Normally, the only quarians outside the flotilla are criminals who have been exiled for being nothing but deadweight to the populace. I imagine he may suspect I am one such person."

"You think he's afraid of you?"

"Not afraid, perhaps, but alert…cautious. I do not begrudge him his wariness; it likely does much to keep himself and others safe."

"Funny you should say that," the human mused as he recalled Antius' warning, "He told me I should never come here."

"Hmph. Caution is one thing, turian pig-headedness is quite another. Of all the dangers on this Citadel, why should an ailing quarian and his hobby be counted among them?"

Devan's head perked up at the quarian's words. Ailing? Is that what his odd host had said? Before he got a chance to ask, Vahe activated the door which opened into a large room lined with monitor panels and furiously flickering lights. A wave of heat rolled out and Devan nearly took a step back. As Vahe sidled gracefully into the viewing room, the human took a few moments to survey his new surroundings.

If Vertigo had a heart, surely this room would be it. The chamber vibrated with energy that seem to ebb and flow; coursing through thick cables instead of fine arteries. Exactly one hundred monitors streamed high-definition digital video, and the rooms central mainframe reported all systems functioning at top performance. The warm air wrapped around Devan like water, reaching into every crevice of his clothes and making his eyelids droop sleepily. He could no longer hear the thumping, feverish music from the lounge; only the white noise conversations of more electronic entities than his simple mind could distinguish.

Vahe crossed the room with a brisk gait and took a seat in the rooms lone, high-backed chair. Devan walked to the quarian's side slowly, gaping at the thousands of images and dozens of scenarios flashing across the screens around him.

"This is unreal," the human breathed. He stopped in the center of the room and rotated on his feet, trying to take in as much as he could without getting a dizzy Vahe swiveled away from the complicated mainframe controls to look at him.

"This is the viewing room," he replied matter-of-factly, "The individual user terminals relay input to their respective servers, where the information is translated into visuals before finally being sent here for review. I spend most of my time here."

That much was obvious, Devan thought. A glance up at Vahe revealed the quarian was completely at ease; adjusting a knob here, pressing a key or other button there. He was completely absorbed in the tiny adjustments to his grand creation. Light glinted off his opaque faceplate as he checked and rechecked the vitals on his user reports. Nothing about the man's behavior suggested any of the negligence or risky activity that Antius had implied. In fact, the exact opposite seemed true. The quarian was obsessive about his standards and maintained them with a dedicated vigilance from the chair in which he currently sat. Devan felt oddly humbled to see someone pour so much effort into a single endeavor. He'd never committed much time to anything in his entire life, so it struck him that Vahe sacrificed his life to keep the place running.

"How long have you been working on this place, Vahe?"

"Since before I came to the Citadel," the quarian replied distractedly, "It was…originally intended to give young pilgrims some glimpse of the outside world so they could be better prepared to face the conditions they would encounter there. That is why many of my simulations are nothing more than elaborate representations of planets and places. I gathered sense impressions from quarians who had already made their voyages, but it soon became apparent I would have to venture out myself to gather sufficient data, as well as the materials necessary to put it all together. Salvaging was not sufficient to my needs."

"So you came here?" Devan asked him, drawing closer to the quarian's computer station. Vahe stilled a moment, but didn't move his face away from the large screen in front of him. For the hundredth time that night, Devan wished he could catch a glimpse of what rested behind the man's mask. Trying to read his emotions through the thick glass was like trying to converse with a looping AI; an irritating and hopeless pursuit.

"Not at first," Vahe replied at last. His voice was quiet, and had lost the clipping quality of his accent. Devan thought he sounded almost mournful. "I did a lot of traveling aboard a small twelve man shuttle before events forced me to settle here."

Devan thought he knew.

"You got sick didn't you?" he asked softly, "That's why you're on the Citadel isn't it? You can't go back and spread it to others in the flotilla. It's why you risk breathing our air…"

Vahe nodded, once again without facing him.

"I'm infected with a disease for which there is no cure among quarians," Vahe explained, "When I first became ill, I knew it would be impossible for me to continue traveling. I would have to settle somewhere, so I came to the Citadel. I decided that if I cannot go out to the people and places, I will let them come to me. All things come and go from the Citadel; it is the nexus of life in this galaxy."

"You can't go home…" Devan breathed, "That must be horrible for you."

Vahe tilted his head to the side and gave a light laugh.

"I try to think of it as a mixed blessing," the quarian said, "Had I not gotten ill, I may have never stopped long enough to actually compile the machinery and software you have seen here today. My nomad's heart would have me roam until the edge of space, with an unfulfilled dream. It is true these four walls crush me on the bad days, but to see the people who come here everyday to enjoy my work is as uplifting as a sunrise. Vertigo is my art and last act in this world. I have come to accept that it will never be perfect, but perhaps I still have time enough for it to be complete."

The human stood before the quarian as dumbfounded as when he'd first glimpsed inside the arcade from the street outside. He could only imagine the amount of will that allowed Vahe to accept his fate with such content resignation.

"How long will you live?" Devan asked.

"That is uncertain," Vahe replied, recovering some of his distant, factual tone, "The treatment I currently use is proving effective in treating the symptoms, but the building toxicity will kill me eventually. My organs will shut down systemically, and it's only a matter of time until the rest of me collapses. Should I live the three years necessary to bring Vertigo to a state of finish, I will be satisfied with my lot. From there, it makes no difference to me. I will die happy, if alone."

"But then what will happen to Vertigo?" Devan asked.

Vahe stiffened suddenly, as if it was a notion he hadn't considered yet. The human tensed and wished he hadn't said anything.

"I still need to address that," Vahe replied, "Perhaps a young pilgrim could be convinced to take up my post. A place of safety for quarians upon the Citadel will still be necessary in the future if we are to survive. Natives are not so hospitable."

Devan agreed. Quarians were an uncommon sight on the space station, and treated poorly under most circumstances. Vahe was lucky to have built an establishment that made him valuable to the volus and entertaining to the public; not to mention his ties with C-Sec.

"But this is not why you have come," the quarian said dismissing the discussion, "You came to see the simulations, and there they are."

It was obvious to Devan that the quarian would speak no more about himself, so he followed his host's gesturing to the monitor panels. He found the ten multi-user screens linked together along the right wall. As he watched, he discovered they were playing some sort of war-game; a virtual tag with laser weapons while avoiding traps and geographical obstacles. It was interesting to pick out players from one another's perspectives; as soon as one screen would creep in on an unsuspecting player, one of the other screens would fade to black and scroll a message about waiting in the user queue for the current round to finish and another to begin. It looked like a fun game, but Devan had no one to play it with. He certainly couldn't convince Antius to step foot inside the place, and the turian would probably slaughter him anyway, so he passed them by for the other monitors.

Once he'd strolled down a few rows, he saw a user in a world that stood apart from the other environments. It was amazing, and Devan knew instantly what sort of sim he'd like to try.

"I want to visit this place," he said pointing to the screen while turning to look at Vahe. The quarian gave a slow nod.

"This one is my favorite, as well," Vahe replied, "But I will caution you that it is incomplete. It works, but is not as expansive as the other worlds available. Not yet."

"That's okay, it looks awesome."

"It certainly was."

"Was?" Devan asked curiously.

"The place you are looking at was once the quarian home world," Vahe explained, "It is no longer. I have reconstructed it from what I could glean off of ancestor imprints and preserved data logs. It is…a work in progress."

With that, Vahe lead the human back to the entryway and reserved him a slot for the following week.

"Before you go, I have something I need you to take to C-Sec," the quarian said as he withdrew a disk from one of the many pockets on his skin-tight suit, "It needs to go to your Networks division."

"What is it?" Devan asked as he took it from the small man.

"Humans and your questions…Truth be told, I am not sure what it is, and that is why it scares me. A few days ago, I found a Keeper in the viewing room. Once it had removed itself, I found several strings of code in the computer system that I did not put there. I took at look at it, but it is like no program language known to me. I quarantined it and moved it to that disk. I could not discern it's purpose, but it has no place in my workings. The slightest alterations to my programming could make the experience dangerous for my users."

"Wow, that's really weird," the human said back, "I'll make sure it gets to them. Thanks."

The quarian shook his head as they exited the building together.

"No, thank you, Mr. Macalister. I find few who take such an interest in work outside of what it can do for them or how they could exploit it. I appreciate your visit and have enjoyed your company. Do take care; there are far more dangerous things in the Wards than a stray quarian and his computer games."

Devan laughed and gave a wave as he walked down the ramp to the busy street.

"Will do. See you next week!"

Once the officers had disappeared into the crowd, Vahe returned to Vertigo, and immediately descended the dark stairwell to his private rooms on the bottom level. He collapsed into the chair in front his computer then brought his hands to his head. With a few snaps to two side latches and a quick twist, he dislodged his helm from its airtight socket at his neck. He lifted it off and placed it carefully onto the desk in front of him, right next to a series of pills arranged from largest to smallest. There was also a single syringe.

The quarian sat quietly in the dark unmoving for several moments; observing the reflection in his visor. Gingerly, he picked up the first pill and closed his eyes. He put the capsule into his mouth and forced himself to swallow. He repeated this action many times before picking up the syringe of pale purple liquid that would allow him a pleasant sleep; a deep sleep. Too deep to dream.

He did that in his waking hours.

End Vertigo