Chapter 6

The holographic projector is a sea of salt and pepper, awash as the static struggles to form the shape of something recognizable. It takes a few minutes adjusting the dials and controls, but you are eventually able to form the semblance of a steady signal. Your communications suite is state-of-the-art, but you lament the inability of your smaller vessel to mount larger and more sophisticated transmission hardware, equipment that will allow instantaneous and consistently stable contact with the Citadel. As it is, you make-do with what you have, and are grateful that you are even able to form a connection without the assistance of a communications buoy.

The image eventually resolves into the grainy form of what you recognize as an asari virtual intelligence; it stares at you with its soulless eyes for a few seconds as your ship and the Citadel systems synchronize. With a smile, the VI says, "Welcome to Citadel Extranet Information Network. How may I direct your query? You may enter a response verbally or through your omni-tool—"

"Override code star-beta-four-eight-gamma," you interrupt. The VI pauses midsentence and processes your command; before she can continue, though, you say, "Check phrase: Knowledge is power; guard it well."

The VI processes your words and you wait impatiently, but after a few seconds, it responds. "Override command acknowledged. Input orders, Operative 532."

"Connect me with control. Priority alpha."

"Working," is the VI's response and you curse the software's slowness. Even though it takes only a handful seconds for the order to be processed, you feel as if it has been hours. Finally, it transfers you.

The virtual intelligence's image dissolves into a hail of snow, and you see the distinct double-horns of a salarian. You read the tiredness in the slump in his shoulders and the irritation in his nasally voice. "532, do you have a report? Make it quick."

"I was hoping to speak to the Council," you reply.

"You think you're the only one who wants to talk to the Council?" The salarian shrugs and begins to read from a data slate. "You're talking to me, 532. If you don't like it, you can take your report elsewhere. Maybe C-Sec will care."

You narrow your eyes but you're not sure that the projector is catching such fine resolutions, so you infuse your words with ice. "I don't have time for your games, Durin. The krogan just hit another colony. Patch me through to the Council. Don't make me turn your brains to mush with my biotics."

Durin laughs mirthlessly at your threat. "Save it, 532. The krogan are attacking a dozen colonies. You're not unique. The Council is busy with more important matters, such as figuring out how to deal with the threat on a global level. You can leave your report with me. Otherwise, clear the channels."

You bristle at the salarian's tone and disinterest in your situation, but you know what he says is true. The krogan are an unrelenting tide, rolling over much of the Citadel's defensive forces, and the Council is scrambling to deal with the threat; you do not doubt that dozens of reports of varying degrees of severity vie for the Council's attention. Swallowing some of your anger and bruised ego, you acquiesce. "You win this time, Durin. I'll deliver my report verbally."

Durin's attention is already focused elsewhere. "Whatever. The VI can take care of you," he says offhandedly.

"Yeah, well screw you, too." You give him a rude gesture, not caring if the projector picks it up. Durin's image flickers and disappears; the VI's annoyingly cheerful face emerges from the hail of static. "Record message and transmit it to the Council," you command.

"Understood, Operative 532." The VI whirls for a moment. "Please begin transmission now."

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you gather your thoughts and mentally prepare your report. "This is Operative 532," you begin, "reporting from the Reya System, Horse Head Nebula. Timestamp to be included in this message. The mining colony Aghoru has been hit by a krogan assault. Krogan forces include drop pod units and a heavy naval presence. Ground forces are estimated at a regimental strength and are based off sightings of at least thirty-nine drop pods." You recite these figures automatically from memory, and tap some commands into your omni-tool. A data upload status bar appears under the VI's image. "I'm uploading visual and digital scans of the enemy navy. Initial readings indicate eight frigates and three cruisers, as well as four planetary assault vessels.

"The krogan assault commenced at approximately 1100 local time and was preceded by a broadcast of intent from Oshika. I cannot confirm the identity of the krogan combat units, but because of the proximity of Oshika, I suspect the presence of World Eaters. My hypothesis is supported by a brief analysis of the IFF transponders of the attacking ships. The codes closely match those on file for the World Eaters." You pause and consider the options. "Reports indicate Battle Master Hordar Malachar commands the krogan unit."

You sigh, and your voice is firm, but you do not like what you are about to say. "I do not recommend extraction of the Aghoru colony. It is a no-go. Malachar is known for his brutality, so sending in rescue forces would be a waste in effort and resources." You leave unspoken the understanding that any surviving colonists would be left to fend for themselves. "I do recommend placing all units assigned to the Horse Head Nebula on alert, and increasing patrols in the sector would be prudent. Reinforcing the borders to contain the threat is viable until proper military action can be taken."

You glance at the VI and consider if there is anything more. After a moment, you decide your report is complete, given the limited information you have and the haphazardness of your departure from Aghoru. "Report ends here. Affix time stamp and signature," you say. "Terminate transmission."

The asari VI smiles and bows her head. "Thank you, Operative 532, for using the Citadel Extranet Information –"

You silence her by cutting the transmission at its source, and the projected image blinks into oblivion. You let out a tired sigh and rub your eyes as you stand up. The form-fitting command seat is usually quite comfortable, but today you find the cockpit cramped and claustrophobic. You make your way to the sparse galley, and you fish for a bottle of liquor; after some minor searching through your collection, you decide on a golden salarian brew, what they call aptly call amber. The alcohol has the viscosity of oil, and you pour it into a tumbler carved from a chunk of volcanic glass.

The pungent liquid is a flow of sickly-sweet, molten gold, and it burns as it glides down your throat. Your belly warm, you let the soothing effects of the alcohol calm your system, but not even the brew's fruity aroma keeps your thoughts from being dragged to Aghoru. You are troubled that your advice to the Council was to let the colonists die, but you know there are no other options; by the time any rescue force could reach Aghoru, the krogans would have destroyed any survivors. Plus, krogan warriors are notorious for being tough to kill, so any assault would be costly in lives and equipment.

You sit at the lone dining table and stare into your clutched drink. Unbidden, the golden eyes of the krogan child you vaporized along with the rest of the Oshika facility floats up from the depths of your amber liquor. You know it is your imagination, but you cannot help but imagine the child's innocent smile as she looks up at you as you plant the demolition charges. Though she is krogan, your heart swells with guilt as you contemplate not only her death but the deaths of her siblings.

The despair is dreadful, and it's quite a familiar sensation of loneliness and simple crap that you feel. You've found that as of late, the sanctity of innocence has been a greater concern to you. It's not that you've grown tired of death or have suddenly become soft; you've seen your share of killings and murder, having been hired on as an assassin, commando, and bounty huntress during your Maiden years. No, you are not a stranger to the realities of collateral damage. However, lately, you've been more concerned with making sure bystanders are not harmed by whatever methods you choose to fulfill the mission, and you've taken great pains to make your ways as subtle as possible.

Perhaps it's a side effect of growing old, you muse; you are no longer the young, carefree Maiden you once were. You've largely given up your old life of dancing and stripping, but you've still kept some of the bad habits. Like your store of spirits. You also know you've come to rely more and more on these bottles, flasks, phials, and flasks of distilled beverages, and that might be a problem. But, as is your usual course of action, you shove that nasty thought aside and find comfort in your salarian-brewed amber.

You drain your glass and refill it from the bottle. The drink does you well, and the alcohol gradually shunts away your ruminating thoughts. Your belly is warm and you don't feel as down as before. It is comforting. However, you know that even if you are at peace with your thoughts, even for the moment, there is someone else onboard who is not, and she does not have the luxury of your ethanol companion. You decide you should probably talk to her.

The ship is not large, but when you purchased the vessel, you were wise enough to make sure there were spare quarters for the rare guest. They've largely been unused up until now, but Ari'Itani is now situated in one of those rooms. They are located aft of the galley, and you make your way down the short and cramped hallway. You still clutch the tumbler of amber in your right hand.

You rasp your knuckles lightly against the sealed door, and after a moment, you hear some noise; the door slides open with a near-silent hiss, and Ari stands before you. Her eyes are dimmed and her mane of quills is loose and unruly. She wipes a hand across her eyes; she has obviously been crying. You are slightly amazed at how universal the expression of sadness is.

"What do you want?" the quarian asks. Her voice is downbeat, her spirit broken. It no longer carries that musical lilt.

You feel awkward; the past half-century has been spent largely alone without any permanent companion. "Ari, I wanted to say I'm sorry about Aghoru."

"Why? You should have just let me die with the rest of them." There is pain in her voice, pain you suspect that stems from more than just losing Aghoru. "They were no one to you; I'm no one to you. You're just a courier who randomly stumbled upon our colony." She sinks to her knees and leans against the bunk. "You don't care."

After a moment's hesitation, you sit next to her and draw your knees to your chest. You aren't sure what to say; you've not had much contact with quarians, and so you have no experience with their psychology or thought processes. And Ari is still a virtual stranger. "I'm sorry," you begin, "I know it's a shock and it's tough to lose everyone you know in such a sudden way." The words are awkward even to your ears.

"You have no idea," Ari says. She is staring blankly ahead. "You've got no idea what it's like to lose your friends and family like this. My parents died to a random attack by batarian slavers. That was rough. I finally manage to get back on my feet and find a quiet colony where I can do what I'm good at. I start making friends. People I get to know." She looks at you and her eyes narrow. There is sarcasm in her voice, and even though you know the situation is entirely inappropriate, you think that it mixes lovingly with the natural hymn of her voice.

"Then some random asari drops out of the sky, and it just has to be me to greet her to the world. The bosh'tet then drinks herself over, and I have to drag her ass to my place just so she doesn't drown in her own vomit." You grimace as you realize she is talking about you, and you push the tumbler out of sight. "And with my luck, she brings with her krogan death-from-above, and everything I know for the past half-decade is erased before I can even think about what's going on."

There is an awkward silence as you look at your hands; you can feel her glaring at you. A small part of your mind finds it hilarious that you, an accomplished killer, are so cowed by this quarian girl. After a long period, you finally say with some trepidation, "I, uh, yeah, Ari, I really didn't mean for this to happen. I am sorry for your loss." You dearly wish you can take a sip of your salarian amber, but you guess that'd probably just piss off the quarian even more. "What do you plan on doing?"

Ari isn't looking at you anymore; she's playing absently with her respirator. "I don't even care. Just drop me off wherever it is that you stop next. It doesn't matter. I don't have anything left in this godforsaken galaxy."

"I'll be heading to the Citadel," you respond quietly. You are aware that Ari doesn't know about your secret identity, and mentioning so would likely inflame her even more.

"Great, I've never been to the Citadel. I can't wait to see how life decides to fuck me over this time." She stands and looks down on you. "Get out, Starmet. Leave me alone."

You nod and leave her. The door hisses closed behind you.

-+-+-

There is the sound of muffled footsteps and you look up from the mug you are nursing. Ari pulls a chair up to the table and sits; she eyes your drink warily. You lean back and tip the cup towards her, showing her the contents. "It's not alcohol, just some caf. Do you want some?" The quarian nods and you fix her up a cup.

She sips at the hot beverage gingerly, blowing at the brown liquid in an effort to cool it. "Sorry about what happened earlier," she says. Her voice is calm, composed, and her quills are tied back neatly. "I just, I think I just lost it. You don't know what it's like, to see your life being destroyed at the whim of the gods."

"I understand, Ari." You want to reassure her; even though her words from hours before still sting, you don't let her know. "Don't worry about it. It's not a problem."

She shakes her head. "No, you don't understand. I wanted to blame you for Aghoru. I did blame you. It didn't make sense, with the krogan just dropping randomly on the world. You and the krogan appearing, I wanted to believe it was more than a coincidence. My whole life has been a series of coincidences, and it's driving me insane. It's just hard to tolerate now."

Ari looks into your eyes and the intensity behind hers dims somewhat. "My parents, we were on a trip. It was a spur of the moment thing. The year was good, and my father wanted to take us to see the rings of Rho Prime. We arrived and docked with one of the space stations, but just as we debarked, the batarians hit us. They killed lots of people."

Sadness fills her voice, and you wonder why she is sharing this with you. "I was lucky," she continues. "Father shoved me and Mother into a supply closet, and then he ran off to try to lead them away. We waited for hours in that tiny room, but they eventually found us." She snickers and shakes her head; cynicism replaces the melancholy in her voice. "That was my first brush with Chance. The batarians never actually found me or Mother, but there was a firefight right outside the closet. A stray round killed her."

She finds your eyes again. "What makes it worse is that I later learn the batarians had hit the wrong station. Random chance that they'd be there when we randomly decide to take a vacation. And randomly, they kill my parents. Talk about shitty luck."

The two of you are quiet. You wait a few minutes, and then venture a question. "What about Aghoru? How'd you end up there?"

Ari chuckles dismissively. "I spent a few years wandering, jumping from place to place. Eventually, I hitched a ride on a frigate bound for Ilium, but would you believe I picked the wrong ship on accident? Took me to the middle of nowhere, and I ended up on Aghoru. I was out of money by that point, so I had to make do. I've been there ever since."

"And then I show up, and the next day the krogan show up," you finish the thought for her.

"Pretty much." She stares down into her mug of caf. After a while, she asks, "Starmet, do you believe in fate?"

You consider her question, trying to figure out where she's going with it. "I'm not sure," you reply eventually. "It's not something I've really thought much of. Back in my early years, I would have said no. Our lives are what we make of it. But now, I'm not so sure. I mean, I'd like to think that we're all made for some higher purpose, but the universe is so large. It's hard to see any larger purpose in anything. The salarians, the asari, quarians, and all the other races, they all add some random element to the universe. Then you've got the Rachni Wars, and now these krogan rebellions. I'm not seeing a bigger picture. But then you've got the mysterious discovery of the Citadel, eons ago, and you can't help but wonder what came before us." You shrug. "I guess, I'm not sure. I'm not convinced either way."

She contemplates your words, and the two of you sit in silence. You stare out the small viewport at the passing streaks of stars, while she stares into her mug. Finally, she rises slowly from her chair. "Thanks for listening, Starmet. Let me know when we get near the Citadel."

"Will do," you respond and watch her disappear back into her room.