Orphans of War

Chapter 4

Clara stepped into the apartment, and froze. Behind her, the door slid shut, and Valrus stepped around her, entering the main area.

The apartment was on the upper floors of the Presidium, and was bigger than any house she's ever seen. There stairs to the second floor had a glass wall attached, with a waterfall fixture built in. It fell into a small, tan-cobble stone pond, which when Clara got the guts to walk over, had a few exotic looking fish swimming about in it.

Plants and decorative art were set up around the room, on the walls, an L shaped couch around a glass top table littered with folders and files. How rare, paper work?

The floors were mostly hard wood, and the kitchen was fully equipped. Even the fridge was humongous!

She was still in awe of her surroundings when the turian returned.

"I don't have anything humans can eat," he admitted, "But you can go get what you'll need later. There's at least three spare rooms you can pick from upstairs. Can't miss the bathroom. My room is the only shut door. It's off limits."

Clara's jaw opened and closed, like gaping fish. But he just went on.

"Other than that, there's a study, a lounge, and an entertainment room. If I'm here, I'm normally in the study. If a doors shut, knock. I'm probably doing business and I don't want to be interrupted. Anything urgent comes up, don't hesitate. Clear?"

Clara quickly nodded, his tone leaving no room for anything more than an agreement.

"Oh, the fish," he looked towards the fountain, "There's a VI that feeds them and cleans the fountain, so they're fine. Every two weeks it'll need a refill on food, but that's delivered to the door. Actually, most everything I buy will probably be delivered."

Clara could tell he didn't explain this too many people, which made her feel even worse bout this situation.

Before she had even realized what was happening, he had taken her to a taxi, and brought her to what was obviously an expensive block of exclusive apartments. He took her right to his front door, before she was even able to ask where they were. And her answer had been "my home".

Now she was standing in his kitchen, looking at the black marble counter tops with dark wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a deco-art looking table that sat at least eight!

"Um…sir?" she said as he open his fridge, the inside looking rather bare.

"Hm?" he looked back over his shoulder at her.

"I don't think I should stay here," she said.

He frowned, closing the fridge and turning to face her, crossing his arms, "Why not?"

"W-Well…I appreciate the help, but, we only just met yesterday, and I don't even know your name…"

"Valrus," he said curtly.

"Huh?" Clara thought that maybe he was using some turian word.

"My name," he answered, "Its Valrus Akaron. Pleasure."

"Uh…okay, Mister Akaron," she ruffled her hair, "It's just…I'm not sure if it's a good idea. Won't you get in trouble? Having a refugee living with you?"

"Who I let into my home is no one's business but mine," Valrus waved a hand, brushing off her worries, "Worse thing that will happen would be you steal everything and run off. That'll be my fault." He paused to look at her, "I wouldn't recommend that, by the way."

Clara felt her face heat up, "I wouldn't!" she snapped.

"No problem then," he turned and headed for the stairs.

"W-Wait a second!" Clara hurried after him, mounting the stairs two at a time until they made it to the second landing, "I appreciate what you're doing, but we're practically strangers! I only met you yesterday, how can I possible allow you to take me into your home like this?"

"Would you rather spend the night on those benches again?" he asked as he went down one of the short halls, "If you want to go, be my guest. But my volunteer work with c-sec ends tomorrow afternoon. I can't promise someone will be able to babysit you, or that Wilkson won't come back. He's a habit of robbing refugees blind and then forcing them into indentured servitude on some backwater colony planet."

Valrus turned into one of the open rooms, and without thinking, Clara followed him in. She froze in the doorway.

The wall on the far side was a window, made to look like a hexagon, but it was floor to ceiling, flanked by indigo colored, gossamer curtains. There was a queen sized bed with sandy cream bed clothes, a desk, dresser, walk in closet, a bookcase. Art on the walls displayed different scenery, cityscapes and mountain springs. The room looked like something from a high end, five star hotel.

"This one's closest to the bathroom. Its right across the hall," he said, "View's not bad either. You get a direct line and the other wards. Lights up decently at night. Curtains block most of it out, but there are some tinting options on that panel." He indicated to the panel by the bed, on the other side of one of the nightstands.

Clara stepped inside, and looked around some more. She felt very out of place, like she shouldn't touch anything, but at the same time, her heart race tripled, and her lips curled up into a smile.

"So, I take it your sold?" he asked.

Clara turned back to him as she stood at the foot of the bed. She lifted her arms, "Why me?" she asked in a hush voice.

Valrus was quiet. He looked away from her, leaning on the door frame. He seemed to be deep in thought, as if searching for an answer. Clara didn't speak up or do anything to interrupt his thought process. She needed some kind of answer.

Valrus finally shook his head, "Dunno," he scoffed at himself, "Maybe I'm finally going soft." He pushed himself off the door frame, and then pulled up his omni-tool. "What's your ID number?" he asked.

"Huh?" she blinked.

"For your omni-tool. Figured we'd exchange them for emergencies."

She looked down, "…I don't have one."

"An ID number?"

"…an omni-tool."

Clara looked down at her feet, feeling a bit uneasy. Back on Promise, she'd used her mother's older model omni-tool. But it had broken a few weeks ago. Her dad had promised to order a new one, but he'd never gotten around to it. And she didn't have enough credits to afford a new one right now.

"…alright then," Valrus said, and pulled up a new window on his omni tool. A pleasant computer voice gave a generic "welcome", and a few clicks later, he closed it again, "There. You should have it by tomorrow afternoon.

"W-Wait…what?" her jaw felt like it might just permanently dis-hinge at this rate.

"You can use the vid phone downstairs to order something for dinner," he said, and reached into a pocket on his waist, "Use this."

"Wait a second!" she threw her arms up, stopping Valrus in his tracks. "Okay…" she took a deep breath to calm herself, "I…I guess I can stay…for a little while," she admitted, "But, I'm definitely not comfortable with taking your money!"

"I already bought you lunch," he pointed out.

"That was different," she muttered.

"Not much."

"Just…look!" she scowled, "I'm not going to take your money! I can't!"

Valrus' stared at her, his eyes narrowing. He then stepped over to her, towering above her. "Do you have a job?" he asked.

"…no," she answered.

"How much credits do you have?"

"…about 550."

"That might buy you enough for a few weeks," he told her, "Food prices, especially the kind you can eat, are sky rocketing. If you didn't notice, the Citadel is filling up. Rations are getting low, fast, and shipping routes are getting dangerous."

"Then I'll get a job," she answered.

"Good luck with that," Valrus half laughed, "A refugee from a colony, fresh off the shuttles, so naïve she almost got herself kidnapped by a scam artist."

"I could get a job if I wanted to!"

Valrus seemed surprised, and amused, by her outburst. In fact, Clara was surprised herself. Valrus was taking her into his home, offering to take care of her, and she was just getting more and angrier at him.

"Be my guest then," he said, "Just try not to get yourself into any more trouble. I don't and won't have the time to bail you out every time you fall for cheap cons."

Clara pressed her lips together, feeling the rage and frustration boiling up in her stomach. But before she could do anything, there was a slight beep that alerted Valrus to an incoming message on his omni-tool. He looked at the tag, and then back at her.

"Duty calls," he said, "Make yourself at home. If you need anything, use the vid-com down stairs. I'll leave the credit chit on the table if you change your mind." He said all of these as he was walking away, leaving her standing alone in the bedroom.

She heard him leave through the front door, and slumped down onto the corner of the bed. Looking around the room, she could feel her chest tightening. Everything here seemed so luxurious compared to her little house back on the colony. She had dreamed of living in a place like this, but now that she was here…

Opening her bag, she found her sketch book and again took out the picture of her family. Promise had been home for as long as she could remember. Talking up schemes with her friends of how they would get rich and someday live in a big mansion with all the most expensive comforts had been a favorite pass time. Only now, she missed the homey feel, of having someone right outside her door, or having only one bathroom to share with her entire family.

"What do I do?" she asked the smiling faces in the picture.

'Make the most of what you have,' her father's voice entered her mind. It was what he always said. Be grateful for what you've got, and make the most of what you have. Taking in a deep breath, she straightened her back, and decided that was what she would have to do.

At least until they came back for her.


"Ah, there you are Akaron," Commander Bailey looked up from his data-pad as Valrus entered his office, "Was wondering how long it would take you to get here."

"Had another stop to make," Valrus answered as the door slid shut behind him. Despite how many had been reluctant to accept humans into c-sec, Valrus had seen it as a step up. He had been a part of the Relay 314 incident, but had never really harbored any ill-will towards humanity like many others of his species had. In fact, the short-lived war had given him a respect for the humans.

And Commander Bailey was a respectable sort, a good officer, and looked after his people. As far as Valrus was concerned, c-sec could do worse.

"I got word that Wilkson is still stirring up trouble in the refugee camp?" Bailey threw his data pad aside as he stood behind his desk, looking up at Valrus, "Have you made any progress on that?"

Valrus lifted his arm an opened his omni-tool, "Wilkson is just a small fish in a larger scale organization of scam artists and slavers. They've become a bit braver since the Reaper attack and are taking advantage of the universal shockwave it's created to up their business. Far as I can tell, they've got a base somewhere in the Lower Wards, probably hiding behind a false business of some kind."

Bailey groaned loudly, "Goddamn war profiteers, I tell ya. Nothing but sick bastards as far as the eye can see."

Valrus didn't respond, continuing with his report, "I haven't been able to get a fix on exactly where it is though. I should have that within the next few days. I'll forward your boys any new information I dig up so you can prepare a sting-op. The council will want solid proof."

"I would think the word of a Spectre would be enough," Bailey pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Retired," he reminded him, "I still have my contacts and connections, and my immunity, but I don't want my name attached to this case. The last thing I need is to be roped back into the Spectres. I'm too old to be running and gunning. It's a young man's game now."

Bailey scoffed, "I hear that. Though sitting around behind a desk like this is making me itch. Rather get my own hands dirty than send others to do it for me."

"You always where a man of action," Valrus agreed, "Pushing pencils isn't exactly where you belong."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Bailey shook his head, "But I do what I can, and I won't turn down people who need me. Anything else I can do for you, Akaron?"

Valrus was going to say no, offer to buy him drinks later, but paused. "Yeah. I need you to register an address change for a human refugee for me."

"Address…?" Bailey frowned, "A refugee? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Two days back a human girl named Clara Reed arrived from the colony Promise. She'll be staying with me until her family arrives."

Bailey's eyes flew open, "You did what?!"

"I realize what I did," Valrus reassured him, "And that there could be repercussions. That's why I'm telling you now. Just summit the paperwork and I'll handle the rest."

"Dammit, Valrus," Bailey gritted his teeth, "If the press were to get a hold of this—"

"I'll take care of it," he said, "I still have pull, remember? And lots of people who owe me favors. Just do your job, Bailey. In return," he gave him a sly smile, "I'll buy for next weekend's game."

Bailey frowned at the old turian, but threw up his hands, "Alright, fine. I'll do what you want. But you better get the good stuff. Stay away from the cheap beer and don't listen to what Frank says. His taste in alcohol is fried from all that smoking he does."

"Fair enough," Valrus nodded, "See you around, Commander."

Valrus grinned as he left Bailey's office, hearing the old officer growl at the title. As the doors shut behind him, he opened his omni-tool once again to look at the files he had on Wilkson. He scowled at them, then opened up some of the others while on his way to the elevator.

While he had told Bailey everything he knew, there was a gut feeling he had that this ring of con-artists was more than just a bunch of people trying to cash in on the chaos of war. Something just didn't sit right. As a young officer, he might've been a bit more eager to run headfirst into a situation like this, damn the unknowns.

But years of experience, tempering, and scars had taught him that the unknowns could get you killed. What's more, now he had someone who was relying on him, something that a Spectre would normally avoid when going on a hairy mission.

Valrus closed the case file, and instead opened an extra-net window, and began a search on humans. If he was going to be keeping a human teenager in his company for a while, he should probably brush up a bit more on what exactly they needed.

After all, his knowledge on their welfare couldn't just consist of decent brands of beer and weekly poker games.


"Thank you," Clara said as she accepted the pizza delivery from a rather friendly and eager salarian, who accepted the credit tip she gave him, though he seemed a bit surprised that she didn't send it via omni-tool.

She took the pizza into the kitchen and was just sitting down on the island-bar when she heard the door open, and Valrus walked in. He saw her paused, looking her over.

"Did you shower?" he asked.

She blushed, "Uh…yeah. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, but why are you wearing the same clothes?" he threw down a large bag he was carrying onto the couch and then walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to pull out a turian brand of bottled beer.

"I only have two outfits," she admitted, "…and I didn't know where your washing machine was."

"Oh," he frowned, "…I normally send my clothes to the cleaners. I'll put in an order for a one."

"Y-You don't have to," she said quickly, "I can use the bathtub and soap—"

"Okay, stop it," he frowned at her as he popped the cap from his beer, "This little humble and humility thing of yours is all well and good. Proper manners, I get it. But if I want to buy something, I'll get it. I'm not exactly hurting for cash. I could buy enough washers and driers to fill the entire Citadel and still have enough credits to live in luxury till I die."

Clara scowled at him, "I think you're making that up."

"Maybe a little," he shrugged, "But it's still my damn choice. So, I'll order the washer and drier tonight and have them install it tomorrow. Anything else you need while I'm at it?"

"No," she opened her pizza box and took out a slice, "But I did order pizza for dinner."

"Did you use the chit I left?" he asked.

"…Citadel pizza is expensive," she muttered to him.

He chuckled, "I told you." He took a gulp of his beer and then seemed to remember something, "Oh. I went and saw the c-sec commander. I had him submit a change of address file on you. That way, if your family arrives, they'll know where you are and be able to locate you."

Clara's eyes lit up for a moment at this, and she had to remind herself to swallow as she smiled at him, "Thank you! Did you hear anything about them yet?"

He shook his head, "No. I told one of the officers working the camp to send word if any Reeds come in from Promise. She put a flag by the name."

Clara seemed grateful and smiled at him, "Thank you, Mister Akaron. I really appreciate what you're doing for me."

He nodded, and then took another drink while he walked out of the kitchen. Picking up the bag off the couch, he dropped it at her feet. "I went and talked with an old friend of mine. Has a daughter a little older than you. These are some old clothes that don't fit anymore. Figured they'll do until we get you some of your own."

Curious, Clara peeked inside. Her eyes widened at the clothes that were neatly folded and placed in the bag. Expensive looking dresses and shirts, along with up to style shoes and even fresh underwear that weren't even out of the package.

"Umm…these don't look like hand-me-downs?"

Valrus shrugged, "She's an Asari. Very fashionable," he air-quoted the last word with a slight grimace. "Probably bought the stuff and never wore it. Think it will do?"

Clara nodded, and looked up at him, "You're very generous, Mister Akaron."

"I'm old, retired, and the universe is going to hell," he sighed, "It's a good time to be generous."

Without another word, Valrus turned to the living room and took a seat on the couch. He used a holo-panel built into the arm-rest to make a portion of wall slide back and a large screen appear, which turned on and showed the Citadel news-network, which was running a report on crime in the lower Wards.

Clara turned back to her slice of pizza, and only half listened. Even though the living room wasn't that far, the quiet in Valrus' apartment made if feel like there was an ocean between them.

There still was so much she didn't know about him. But as far as she could tell, he wasn't a bad guy. And if she was going to be stuck on the Citadel for a while, at least she wouldn't have to sleep on the benches again.


Jerry was uneasy.

Every few steps, he would stop and look back over his shoulder. The streets of the Lower Wards were crowded, there was loud music coming from a few of the seeder clubs and joints around, and every now and then you would swear you saw a vorcha or batarian lurking in the shadows. This part of the Wards wasn't on any tourist destination brochure. This was the part that people wanted to forget.

As he made his way, he tried to avoid eye contact with anyone. When he came to a certain alley, he glanced around once more, breathing heavy. He gulped, hesitated, and with a final glance around, ducked into a shadowed alleyway.

He made his way down until he came to a certain door, and gave it a rough and maybe a little to hurried of a knock. A holo-panel flickered to life in front of him.

"Name?" came a deep and rough, none-to-amused tone.

"Jerry Wilkson," Jerry answered quickly.

A beam of light shot out, scanned over Jerry's face, and then disappeared. The panel stayed there for a bit longer, then flickered away. There was a series of clicks, and then the door slid open. Jerry almost leapt inside.

The doors shut automatically the minute he was in, and he let out a sigh as if he was safe. He reached up to pull at the collar of his shirt when a heavy hand suddenly dropped on his balding head and he let out a high pitched shriek.

"Pipe down, you over grown pijak," grumbled a large, battered old krogan, who sneered at him with a growly tone, "Hurry up. The boss wants to see you."

The krogan lumbered past him with a harsh shove. Jerry scowled daggers after him, even though he knew that krogan could easily snap him like a weak twig.

Adjusting his clothes and smoothing his thinning hair, he followed the krogan. A rather impressive doorway awaited them, flanked by a pair of vorcha guards with varren leashed and muzzled at their sides. The krogan halted, and Jerry followed suit. There was a long pause before the door swung apart.

"Enter," came a sultry, velvet sounding voice from inside.

The krogan walked forward without missing a beat, but Jerry hesitated before he too walked inside.

The room was an impressive space. Large with pillars made of glass on either side of a large half-circle desk, schools of carnivorous fish swimming around inside, and the entire walls made of tinted window so that one could see out, but not in. Sitting in a rather large chair behind the desk, surrounded by countless screens of data feeds both on the desk in front of her and displayed in the window behind her, was a rather intimidatingly attractive asari.

She was slender and built with all the allure of a matron in her prime. Her skin was a light shade of lilac with dark shades of indigo blue around her eyes, brow, and lips in interrogate and almost sensual designs. She wore a rather revealing top and a floor-length skirt with slits on either side up to her hips, knee-high leather booths, and sat back in her chair with her fingers laced together on her abdomen.

"Jerry Wilkson, as requested," the krogan announced.

The asari said nothing, her piercing ice blue eyes locked firmly on the human who had entered her office.

Jerry bowed to her as one might a queen, "A pleasure as always, ma'am."

The asari did not speak right away. Her face seemed void of all emotions, and she just stared, unblinking, at him.

Her gaze alone would have been enough to make him sweat. But the silence in which the room had fallen, the way she did not speak to him right away, coupled with how she never once blinked, left him feeling weak in the knees and almost sick to his stomach.

"One job," she finally said in a rather hushed tone, "One simple task. That was all you had to do. All I needed was for you to bring me a human girl, and this would have all been taken care of. But," she dropped her hands to the arm of her chair, and pushed herself up, "You couldn't do it. Not only did you fail to bring me what I wanted, you have brought the attention of c-sec to our origination."

She asari began to walk around the desk, waving her hand in a rather elegant gesture, "That would have been nothing. A minor misstep. Easy to disregard. But it's not just c-sec who you have alerted, is it? No," she smiled, almost sinisterly at him, as she stood in front of the desk, and leaned back, "You had to go and gain the attentions of a Spectre."

"I-I didn't know he was a Spectre!" Jerry said loudly, trying to defend himself, "And I had the girl! I swear! But that old turian—"

The asari twisted her wrist, and Jerry was instantly silenced, choking and wheezing as he desperately grabbed at his throat.

"I don't care for excuses, Jerry dear," she said rather evenly, "If you were any other person, I wouldn't have any qualms snapping your windpipe right here and giving your scraps to the fish. But," she turned her wrist again, and Jerry gasped for air.

"You have done good work for me in the past, so…I will give you one more chance," she crossed her arms under her breasts and glared past her brow at him. "But fail me again, and I will not be so forgiving. Do you understand, Jerry dear?"

Still trying to regain his composure, Jerry could only nod as he rubbed his throat and gulped down air.

The asari sneered menacingly, "Excellent. Then you will listen closely to your next assignment."


A/N: I apologize to everyone who has been following this story. It is not dead, I plan on continuing and finishing it, but real life often gets in the way of my fantasies and leaves me little time/energy to write. I have, however, been finding a stride and trying to write more to things. So please bare with me as much as you can!