Dr. Judith Belfast
Four days passed, and still Jasmine could find no trace of Rift. She chewed her nails down, ragged to the quick as she searched. She stopped every duct rat she came across, a panicked desperation settling in like a rock in the pit of her stomach as they all gave her evasive answers. They didn't know him, or just didn't know where to find him. Jasmine contemplated trying to bribe the kids, or earning over their trust. She couldn't though, not with the brutal fact that she may have already put Rift in harm's way hanging over her head like a guillotine ready to drop. Bringing more of the wayward children into her life would only put them at risk as well. She wouldn't even risk leaving him a message until she knew he was safe.
Fighting the gnawing sense of failure as it tried to claim her, Jasmine returned to her apartment and retrieved her sniper rifle. Collapsing the rifle, she tucked it away under her jacket and secured her pistol under her shirt at her waist. She needed to get her mind off of Rift before her imagination had him dead in an alley, his insides ripped out and hanging from the rafters. She opened her omni-tool to double check her temporary identification. Being a Phantom, only unofficially associated with the Alliance, she couldn't make use of their facilities without the temporary ID Leon set up for her.
Besides, Leon would be tracking the use of the ID. It'd been four days since approval for her request came in, and he gave her everything she needed, setting her up under the alias Ramona Salazar. If she didn't put Ramona's name to use soon, Leon would show up at the Citadel demanding to know why. She didn't want Leon there. Not wanting her handler to see her playing loose with the rules.
Thane sat in the middle of the floor, measuring his breathing as he rolled onto all fours. The bare metal floor, warm and smooth, beneath his palms supported his weight as he pushed his feet out behind him. Spreading his legs shoulder width apart, he rested a hand on the small of his back. He took his time, lowering his chest to hover a centimeter above the floor before pushing himself back up just as slow. Savoring the burn in his muscles, already brought near to the point of quivering beneath his weight an hour into his routine, he pushed up once more. He repeated the movement ten times before switching arms.
By the third repetition, his training overrode the pain, against his will. He fought to hold on to it, but he needed something more. He finished his routine and returned to a sitting position, feeling his throat expand, pulling in extra air to cool the blood circulating through his system. Thane ran a hand over the expanse of his bare chest, noting not for the first time the dull ache deep in his lungs. He took solace in what that ache might mean; a slow and painful death awaited him, but refused himself the chance to get confirmation from a doctor. They would want him to seek treatment. Doctors would insist on blood transfusions and organ transplants to prolong his life. They'd hook him to machines and pump him full of drugs to dull the pain.
Thane rested his palms on his knees, the fabric of the straw colored harem pants damp with sweat and venom. He took a deep breath and dove into the memories, the only thing left to him that could reach into that stillness and rattle something loose—give him something to feel.
Sunlight paints closed eyelids red. Clinging to the last few moments of stillness. Of being next to her. Her breathing quickens. She is awake. The bed shifts. Fragrant spice wafts over me. I smile. "Pretending to be asleep, my love?" Her hand settles on my chest. Breath warm against my neck. I press my hand to hers. Open my eyes. Sun filters through the shades, dancing across her body. Greens. Blues. Reds. Vibrant and rich. Her warmth seeps into me, heating my scales. My Irikah. My beautiful Irikah.
I touch her face. Fingertips trailing across her scales. It reminds me she is real. What did I ever do to deserve her love? She smiles as my thumb brushes her cheek. She moves, pushing up on her forearm. Leans over me. Shadows spill across my face. Light a halo around her. Full lips brush mine, whisper soft. I catch her. My palm cradling her head, pulling her back to me. Shock gives way to joy in sunset colored eyes.
She laughs. The chimes of the goddess Arashu ring through her lips. My heart races. Thumping against my ribs. Pulse pounding in my throat. Her eyes turn back to me. "I love you." My thumb brushes her lips. I am transfixed by the supple skin. Tugging, following my touch. "And I you." Her smile shifts. Predatory. Brilliant white teeth flash. Swift, yet gentle. They press into my thumb. Hunger fills her eyes. Breath catches in my throat. Desire, strong and urgent. She is beautiful, and I want her.
Thane's chin drops, nearly touching his chest before he takes a shuddering breath and presses himself onward, determined to feel his misery to the fullest.
Rain falls in blinding sheets. Pounds on the roof, washes over the glass. The funeral procession waits on the shore. Bowed heads, vague figures through the water's distortion. They can wait. Death always waits. I need to see where it happened first. I tell myself it's irrational. Won't change anything. Can't bring her back. No one comes back from the dead.
The door's locked. A blue ribbon of light forbids entry. Indecently bright. Active crime scene. I hack through the security, the door opens. Droplets of rain cling to my clothes. My face. I brush them off. Scrape the mud off on the mat. She hated mud tracked inside. Little light passes through the curtains. Thin rays of bleakness doing nothing to illuminate the dark stains on the walls. The floor. Blood, old and dried. Still, I think I can smell it. Metallic and sharp. Biting at the back of my throat. The furniture shattered glass and broken wood. Twisted bits of metal. Pictures of her and Kolyat litter the floor. None of me. Never any of me.
A scream fills my throat and is swallowed. She lies there in a puddle of blood. Imagination filling in missing pieces. The details of her last moments. Her last breath whispering across trembling lips. My Irikah's lips. Soft and sweet. Tasting of kala fruit. I shake my head. A sharp breath burns my nose. I open my eyes, forcing myself to look at the broken home. Once a hallowed place now defiled forever. Shattered dreams. Twitching fingers clench into fists. I want to rage. Scream and break things. Anything that dared to remain unbroken while she lay here dying. My arms ache with the force it takes to restrain myself.
So much blood. Thick splashes trailing from wall to floor. Soaked into the couch. The carpet. Outlining where she fell. She died laying on her side. Just as she always slept. They say the dead often look like they're sleeping. My lip lifts in a sneer. Disgusted with my own idle thoughts.
Tears burn like acid, stinging my eyes. I savor the pain. Refuse to blink. To let them fall. Something catches my eye. A smear in the blood. Low to the floor. I crouch in front of it. A handprint. Her handprint. Dragged through her own blood. The tears come now. Sliding down my face wet and hot. Curving over my cheek to rest on my lips. I lick them away, unthinking. Salt on my tongue. My body is heavy. I collapse to my knees. Shoulders sagging. Pain lances through my chest. I press my face to the wall. Smooth and cold against my skin. "I—I'm sorry, Irikah." The words catch in my throat.
He clenched his jaw, breathing deeply through his nose. His fingers fisted around the fabric beneath them as his body trembled.
I don't know how much time has passed. It's darker now. Shadows surround me. The tears have run dry. I don't move. There is no point. There is movement outside the door. Have they come to kill me, now? I consider staying there. Allowing myself to be slain. It's what I deserve. Will she welcome me across the sea?
The door starts to open. I rise to my feet. Ready to face my fate. It's only Rone. The pity in his eyes makes me cringe. Eyes so unlike her's. Reserved. Lacking the warmth hers held. The resemblance is there. The curve of his cheek. The dip of his lips. I never noticed before. Noticing now sends fresh pangs of guilt through me.
"We have been waiting for you, Thane." He clears his throat and looks away. "Kolyat … Kolyat needs to say goodbye to his mother." Fury sweeps through me. Hot and demanding. I clench my fists. Who is he to tell me what my son needs? Does he know I could end his life with a flick of my wrist? Of course not. I lower my eyes. He is right. Kolyat needs to put his mother to rest. It's not him that I'm angry with. He's a good man. He'll be a better father to my son than I ever was. I remind myself that even as I lost my wife, Rone lost his sister. "Of course," I say, my voice cracking. My throat raw.
I move to leave. His hand darts out, stopping me. "You have—You have blood on your face," he says. I'm confused. I have no injuries. I touch my face. Fingertips come away dark and sticky. I glance at the wall. The handprint no longer discernable. Washed away by my tears. Smeared by my face. With Amonkira's blessing, I will not rest until those responsible are dead.
I push past Rone and out the door. "Thane, your face." I turn my face to the torrent. "Let the rain take care of it."
Thane curled forward, pressing his forehead to the floor. The agony ripped through him with claws sharper than any beast. Finally, he was left with no choice but to succumb.
Finally.
His omni-tool pinged, and he glanced at the flashing light only briefly before returning his gaze to the Presidium stretched out before him. Thane didn't go to the Presidium often, he prefered the wards where wary people kept their eyes to themselves, hoping to avoid conflict. His eyes roamed the pond and expansive gardens, pausing to take in a sculpture of a relay. The Presidium was certainly more aesthetically pleasing than the wards. He breathed deeply, taking in the almost sterile scent of the upper class. Lingering traces of a woman's perfume mixed with the clean scent of freshly pressed clothing.
Restlessness set in. Twelve days since Medagna's unfortunate end at Jasmine's rushed execution, and no one reached out to him for work since. He knew that twelve days was inconsequential. Longer stretches occurred between jobs many times before, but never had he been forced to return to an employer empty handed. It still left a bitter taste in his mouth to admit to his employer that someone else beat him to the target.
Perhaps his unease came from knowing that despite his best efforts to peacefully convince Jasmine to leave, the obstinate woman remained on the Citadel. There were other assassins in play on the Citadel. He knew a few of them personally, but none of them ever insisted on putting themselves in his way. Then again, none of them were ever sent after the same target as he, either.
He considered leaving the Citadel. He could find work anywhere in the galaxy. He needn't waste his time and further risk his professional reputation on the chance that the clumsy human might interfere with another contract. The Citadel was a big place, though, and they were unlikely to cross paths again unless he sought her out. He would stay, he decided, at least long enough to make it clear to prospective employers that he remained the best at what he did. Thane refused to acknowledge the voice that whispered in the back of his mind, telling him that he didn't want to leave because Jasmine would think it meant she'd won.
He turned, stepping back into the shadows and opened his omni-tool. A message from Mouse telling him that Jasmine asked about Rift again. "I think she's worried about him," the last line read. Thane paid Rift extra to avoid contact with Jasmine until she left the Citadel, when he still thought he could convince her to leave. How wrong he had been.
He knew eventually the child would seek her out if she continued to stay. He read the last line once more. Something akin to diluted regret pulled at the corners of his mind. Perhaps he should tell Rift to go to her, ease her mind. He pushed the thought away.
No, it's best to avoid her completely. The less I interfere, the less of her I'll see.
About to close his omni-tool, he paused when another message popped up. This one from a repeat employer inquiring if his services were still available. Thane felt the restlessness slip away as he responded in the affirmative.
Jasmine's eyes flew open, her heart thudding against her ribcage, her hand already reaching for her pistol. Memories of being in an abandoned apartment complex, alone in the middle of the night while drunkards stumbled around outside looking for a way in pushed against her mind. She stilled herself, forcing her breathing to slow as she strained to listen for the sound that woke her. There it was again, a quiet knock on her door.
She slid the covers away and sat up, picking her pistol up from the nightstand as she stood. She grabbed her robe off of the chair on her way to the door, toppling the chair as the robe caught on the back. She threw her hand out, catching it before it clattered across the floor. Moving her pistol between hands, she slipped the robe on and knotted the belt. Three weeks of training day in and day out, and her muscles still protested with every movement.
Jasmine activated the vid screen for the security camera she installed outside her door. The screen showed nothing. Jasmine's hackles raised, and she adjusted her grip on her pistol. She caught a hint of movement at the very bottom of the screen and held her breath, clinging to the hope that bubbled up inside of her. She hit a button, and the camera panned down.
Rift! Oh, thank God.
She hit the door's control release, peering down both ends of the hall before stepping back and motioning the boy inside. He stayed in the hall staring at her, his mouth agape; eyes wide and red. She frowned, confused by his expression, making her feel like she just kicked his puppy or something. Jasmine realized she still had her pistol in her grip and snorted. She put the safety back on before dropping it into the pocket of her robe.
"It's alright, it's gone now. See?" Jasmine held her hand out, inviting him in again. "I've been looking all over for you, kid."
Rift hesitated a moment longer, fresh tears welling up in his eyes explaining the redness. Jasmine looked around the hall again before crouching down in front of him, ignoring the burning rage of her quadriceps. She steadied herself with fingertips pressed to the doorframe, fighting off the vertigo brought on by her sleeping pills. She should definitely not be awake yet.
"Rift? Hey, what's wrong? Is someone after you? Are you hurt? What happened?" Jasmine didn't care that she didn't give him time to answer one question before asking another. She only cared that he was alive, and in front of her.
Rift flung himself on Jasmine, nearly knocking her backwards. His breath rushed out of him in a ragged sob as he buried his face in her neck. Jasmine's body stiffened at the sudden unexpected contact, her breath catching in her throat. She recovered quickly, wrapping her arms around his back and cooing softly in his ear.
Jesus, what happened kid?
A couple of minutes later, she had him calmed enough to let her stand. Her thighs and calves screamed at her in protest as she rose to her feet, pulling him in clear of the door so it could close behind him. She led him to the little table and cleared a spot for him to sit down before getting him a glass of water. Jasmine checked to make sure that she locked the door before sitting down across from him, tucking her robe in around her so she didn't traumatize the kid any further.
Rift sipped at the water in between sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve until Jasmine fetched him a tissue out of the bathroom. She studied him intently, her eyes searching for any hint of bruising or lacerations. All she found was dirt and grime. Although they were in desperate need of a washing, it filled Jasmine with pride to see that he still wore the outfit she bought him nearly a month ago. She gave him a moment longer to collect himself, but after a time she realized she needed to be the one to speak first.
"Rift? What happened?" Jasmine leaned forward, folding her arms on the table.
"I told him." His whisper was so soft she wasn't completely sure she'd heard him at all.
"You told who what?" Her heart sank as the answer came readily to her mind.
"Sere Krios. I told him all about you." Rift kept his eyes on the glass of water sitting in front of him as he spoke. "I didn't know, Jasmine! I didn't know when he asked me to talk to you that he was gonna make you leave! I didn't know, I promise."
Jasmine took a steadying breath, excitement rushing through her veins better than a hit of red sand. "The as—The drell? That's his name? Sere?"
Rift shook his head, wiping his nose on the tissue. "No, I think it means something like 'mister'. I don't know what his first name is, he never told me. But his last name is Krios."
Jasmine licked her lips, contemplating the delicate situation. She needed to reassure Rift, but she also needed as much information about Krios as she could get. "And he asked you to talk to me?"
Rift nodded. She waited for him to say more, but he only sipped his water.
"Does he ask you to talk to a lot of people?" Jasmine pressed, keeping her voice low and soothing.
"Only sometimes. Sometimes he asks me to do other things, like take something somewhere. Or asks if I know someone. Twice he paid me to follow someone, but I had to be real careful not to be seen." Rift risked a glance at Jasmine, and she smiled.
He pays him. Sonofabitch. He's using street kids to do his legwork. I—I can't even be mad … that's actually incredibly smart. Risky, but smart. I would have killed for a gig like that back on Earth. Shit, what am I saying? This crap could get Rift killed. He's just a kid.
"What uh, what did he want to know about me?" Jasmine asked.
His shoulders sagged, and he looked back down at his water. "Whatever I could find out. I told him your name, and that you worked for the Alliance doing secret stuff." He let out another unexpected sob. "I even told him where you live. I'm sorry, Jasmine. I didn't know. I don't want you to leave."
Alliance. From Earth. Geoffrey's name. What else? What else? That's it, isn't it?
"Hey, hey, hey. It's OK. I'm not leaving, not anytime soon." Jasmine reached across the table, putting a hand on his forearm, and giving it a little squeeze.
"You're not? But Sere Krios said he asked you to go. He said you'd be leaving soon, and he asked me not to talk to you again while you were here." The words spilled out of him, slurring together in his excitement, but Jasmine kept up. "He paid me extra, and I tried really hard, but then Mouse said you were asking 'bout me, and I … I'm gonna give him his money back. I spent it all already, but I can get more, and I'm gonna give it all back because I don't want you to leave." Rift's voice shook, on the verge of breaking down again.
"Rift, are you scared of Sere Krios? He's never hurt you or threatened you has he?" Jasmine still didn't want to think that the assassin would hurt a child, but she had to ask. She needed to know, because she'd kill him herself if Rift said Krios hurt him.
Or die trying.
Rift shook his head adamantly. "No, Sere Krios is very nice to me."
Jasmine let out a relieved sigh, sitting back in her chair. "Keep your money, Rift. You earned it. If Sere Krios doesn't like it, tell him to come talk to me." She thought about it for a moment, mulling the idea over. "I'd like to talk to him. Do you know where he's at?"
He shook his head again and shrugged his shoulders. "He always finds me when he needs something. Mouse might know, or Talak, or Mila."
Christ, how many kids is he using like this? At least Mouse is old enough to look after himself.
Jasmine opened her omni-tool to check the time, wincing when it showed her zero three thirty-one hours. "It's late, Rift. Do you need to crash here?"
"Mouse has us a place. If he wakes up and I'm gone, he's gonna worry." Rift slid down from the chair. "So, you're not mad at me?"
Jasmine smiled and shook her head. "I'm not mad at you." She got up, following him to the door.
Rift threw his arms around her waist, and she ruffled his oily hair before sending him out the door and locking it behind him. She bounced on the balls of her feet as a giddy smile broke through her calm façade. A name—half a name, but still a name. It was a start. Jasmine knew that she could have pressed Rift for more information, but she didn't want to risk breaking the boy's fragile trust. She had time, and Rift would come to see her again. She'd bet her life on it.
She sat her pistol back on her nightstand. Jasmine washed the residue left by Rift's hair from her hands at the kitchen sink before stripping off her robe and climbing back into bed. A dirty house didn't bother her in the slightest, but she couldn't stand feeling dirty herself. It reminded her of her time on the streets, having to go weeks and even months at a time with nothing but a sponge bath in a public restroom. Strangers coming in while she was half-undressed and looking down their noses at her. She pulled her covers up, tucking them beneath her arms and closed her eyes. No, as long as she had the choice, she would be clean. A moment later she flipped to her side and shoved an arm under her pillow. Before long, she rolled to the other side and let out a frustrated sigh.
"Damn it." Jasmine sat up and opened her omni-tool, squinting her eyes against the sudden glare she opened a search engine, typing in, "Drell assassin Crios."
Jasmine rubbed her dry, burning eyes with her knuckles and reached for her coffee. After an hour of searching and finding nothing, she switched to her laptop and changed the spelling of the name to 'Krios'. Finally she struck gold, not exactly the gold she went looking for, but it was something. Maybe closer to pyrite, but there must be a few nuggets of the real stuff buried in there somewhere.
Either way, it's all I've got.
She tried not to think too hard on the fact that she was seriously digging through a cheeky conspiracy website called 'Assassins Unveiled' at zero six hundred hours, after only four hours of sleep. Grainy images, obviously dubbed vids, and a forum filled with everything from the 'laughably bizarre' to the 'this is a little too close to the truth for comfort'.
She squinted her eyes at a grainy, out of focus image. It definitely looked like a drell, but with the wrong build and coloration. She kept scrolling until she saw a thread titled 'The One-Hour Massacre on Omega'. She quirked an eyebrow and opened the thread, rubbing her eyes again.
It's him. Christ, it's really him.
She recognized the image embedded in the thread. The terrible quality and unflattering angle made it questionable, but she felt certain it was the same asshole who stole her job and broke into her house.
"Five batarians tortured and killed within the span of an hour on Omega. Two were found dead at the first location, their eyes gouged out, limbs broken, and several non-fatal wounds to their torsos and faces. A third batarian found in a similar condition as the first two a district away. The fourth found dragged inside a ventilation shaft, his fingers and legs broken along with his neck. The final victim found by following a blood trail to his residence, identified as Forlan Dal'hes, a known leader in the slave trade. Dal'hes was found with identical wounds, the accumulation of those given to the other batarians."
"This image taken during the One-Hour Massacre, and he is believed to be the person responsible for these deaths. I believe that it is the same assassin that has sparked so much interest in the past. The mysterious drell who seems to go out of his way to avoid civilian casualties, going so far as to knock them out and drag them away from the scene of his future execution."
Jasmine swallowed hard, scrolling down to read the comments. It didn't sound like his work to her. He was controlled and methodical. This just sounded horrific.
"No way, can't be the same guy. His work is always neat, clean. He rarely leaves blood behind. This thing—*shakes head*—this thing's a mess. A vendetta. Not the work of a badass assassin. This was something personal. Suppose it could've been a merc or a hitman paid to send a message."
"I heard he left Dal'hes' heart pinned to the wall with a dagger made of obsidian."
"You're an idiot, obsidian is brittle as fuck. That shit would shatter all over the place, no way would it stick in a wall."
"I thought they were turians, not batarians?"
"The real question you should all be asking is who IS this assassin, and WHO hired him to kill these people."
"His name is Thane Krios."
"He's a drell right? The drell all work for the hanar or something, so obviously the hanar are the one's we should be looking at."
Jasmine stopped and scrolled back up, blinking her weary eyes. "His name is Thane Krios." She lifted her mug to her lips, frowning when she found it empty. "It can't be that simple."
She clicked on the link for the username 'I'llNeverTell360' and opened a private message. "Why do you think his name is Thane Krios?"
A warning popped up on her screen. "You must be logged in to send a private message. Would you like to login now or create a user account?"
"Damn it." Jasmine bit her lip, groaning.
She finished the incredibly detailed registration process making up the requested information as she went, including creating a new extranet address. Frustrated at the waste of time, she chose the name 'TellMeNow360', using it to send her message."Why do you think his name is Thane Krios?"
She returned to the main page and resumed her scrolling. Laughing occasionally, and shaking her head in dismay at some of the crap people posted. 'Batarian Assassin Spotted With His Elcor Lover'. 'Were the Citadel Councilors Once Assassins?'. 'Turian Hierarchy Trains All Turians to be Assassins'. 'Are Spectres Really Just Legal Assassins?'. 'Asari Assassin Planning to Take Over Illium'.
Jasmine stopped, her blood turning to ice in her veins when she saw a picture of herself.
No.
She stared at it for five minutes, frozen by the implications.
Sonofabitch. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Jasmine clicked on the picture and read the caption, "Human female seen leaving the scene immediately after the assassination of Dr. Judith Belfast. Dr. Belfast was killed in the streets of Atlanta, and while all others nearby flee in terror or move in to help the doctor, this mysterious woman walks calmly away without even a second glance in Dr. Belfast's direction."
Jasmine snorted, scratching at the invisible insects crawling up her arms as she denied what was in front of her. "Lucky. That's it, you got lucky."
She wrestled with the idea of reporting it to her liaison. If the picture had popped up anywhere else, she wouldn't bat an eye. It was a poor shot, showing her profile only. Taken at a distance, it could have been anyone really. She didn't think that anyone would recognize it as her unless she was standing right next to the image. Nothing about the picture itself implicated her; no weapon poking out of her jacket, no blood on her hands. She told herself to close the thread and forget about it, but instead found herself browsing the comments.
"Yeah, but Dr. Belfast was charged with committing acts of illegal research, using living specimens bought from slavers. She only got off on the charges because the rich hag had a good lawyer. Don't you think she kinda deserved what she got?"
"Yes, yes, I do." Jasmine looked at her empty coffee mug again before finally getting up to get a refill.
"Why can't anyone on this site ever post a clear fucking picture of anything?!"
"Thank God they can't." She blew over the top of the steaming liquid, inhaling the rich scent, feeling it wash away the nagging doubt.
"IKR? I mean look at her, she looks hot as fuck. I want to see a close up of that rack!"
Jasmine spit coffee out all over the table and laptop. "Shit!" She hurried to the bathroom, grabbing a towel to mop it up, shutting down the laptop before the coffee could soak in and fry the live circuitry. She laid the towel out on the table and flipped the laptop upside down, hoping that any moisture inside would make its way back out.
Jasmine made her way back to the bathroom, stripping off her tank top and underwear to join the growing pile of laundry on the bathroom floor. She turned on the shower and let her hair down before stepping under the near scalding spray. She told herself she'd go to the range for three hours, and then she'd let herself take a nap. Then, and only then would she see what else she could find on 'Assassins Unveiled'.