7 - Caeli Flos
It did not matter how many times Kaidan traveled through a mass relay. The approach and subsequent reordering of reality never failed to astound him. Consequently, when Joker initiated the transmission sequence and made his final calculations, Kaidan was right there in the cockpit, leaning against a bulkhead and watching the view out the shutters.
Behind him a heavy pair of boots treaded towards the cockpit. Chief Williams appeared in his peripheral, eyes wide and curious. Serving planetside she probably hadn't had many opportunities to experience a relay jump.
The massive silhouette of the relay loomed large, an enormous but elegant prothean relic that had utterly changed the course of humanity. As they made their final approach the giant oscillating rings began to spin, churning a web of blue energy that made Kaidan's most powerful biotic display seem like a firefly trying to outshine the sun. Instinctively his muscles tensed, as though bracing himself would make any difference if something went wrong.
The Normandy hummed in greeting as the mass effect field lashed out and ensnared the ship, propelling them down the relay's fluted nose and into a virtually mass-free corridor of space, like an interstellar slingshot. The stars shivered violently under the blue trellis of dark energy before everything – including the stars – vanished and reformed into the thick, billowing gases of the Serpent Nebula.
Williams exhaled with obvious delight, Kaidan with imperceptible relief. When you didn't understand the technology you were using, he always counted himself lucky when it worked. Their impromptu Gunnery Chief apparently had no such reservations; once they cleared the relay she gripped the back of Joker's seat with long fingers in her haste to get a better view, inadvertently rocking him backwards. He shot a venomous look over his shoulder which she promptly ignored, instead craning her neck and rocking forward on the balls of her feet. A few strands of her long, dark hair floated loose from the hasty bun that still looked damp in places from a recent shower.
Ashley Williams. Kaidan could still feel her hands yanking the back of his hardsuit, see the scorch marks crisscrossing the ground that should have been his skull. Without Ashley Williams, Kaidan was a dead man, and he wasn't sure how to process that yet.
She was still stuck in the ill-fitting fatigues the requisition's officer had scrounged up for her, not to mention those hideous armored boots, but if she was bothered by it at all it didn't show. Other than a tightness at the corner of her eyes and a little too much staccato in her step (though to be fair, that could have been the boots), Kaidan would never have guessed that 48 hours ago she'd been knee deep in death, the sole survivor of nearly thirty men.
"Look at that!" she exclaimed, pointing over Joker's shoulder.
"I see it," he said irritably, swiping at her hand. "Watch out, I'm driving here."
The metallic gleam of the Citadel emerged slowly from the nebulous haze. Like the mass relays, it never failed to humble even the initiated. The seven billion ton structure was the largest known deep space station, a solitary beacon wrapped in a blanket of blue-lit gas and debris, nearly impossible to reach without the aid one of several relays paths funneling to it. Kaidan couldn't fathom the effort the protheans must have exerted to build it. Less than thirty years ago humanity hadn't even known it existed. Now it served as the center of galactic politics, home to over 13 million people of nearly every known spacefaring species, humanity included.
From the central ring of the Presidium stretched the long, concave arms of the five wards, all latticed with frenetic lines of light and activity. Each arm was nearly 350 meters wide, a whopping 43 kilometers long and engendered its own unique, microcosmical community that according to Kaidan's XO on the Bangladesh were as elitist and seedy as any major city found on Earth.
In its standard formation the Citadel arms opened wide enough to fit a triangular rift of space between each, roughly as wide as the arms themselves. Though Kaidan had never heard of it actually happening, supposedly the arms could fan open until they were nearly in the same plane as the ring, or seal shut to create an impermeable, cylindrical shell.
"Hell of a place."
"Shepard," Kaidan said, whirling around in surprise. The commander stood behind him with his arms crossed casually across his chest, weight shifted to his right as he gazed out the shutter with an unreadable expression on his face. It was a look Kaidan had come to associate with Shepard, who had a maddening knack for analyzing a situation without giving away the slightest hint of what he thought about it.
Kaidan hadn't seen him since he'd emerged from the med bay, but aside from the dark circles under his eyes he looked none the worse for wear. Shepard nodded a greeting, but otherwise kept his gaze trained on the shutters.
"Citadel control, this is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to dock," Joker announced through the comm, ordering everyone else in the cockpit to shut up with a glare.
"SSV Normandy, this is Citadel Control. Standby for clearance."
A handful of ships drifted just outside of the Citadel arms, several frigates mixed with a couple of cruisers, all dwarfed in size by a dreadnaught with a massive drive core. The sheer density of it, accented by four fins jutting out from each side like the points of a compass, a distinctly asari design, would have been far more impressive had they encountered it before the dreadnaught on Eden Prime.
"That thing is huge," Williams said in hushed tones.
"It's the Destiny Ascension," Kaidan told her. "Flagship of the Citadel fleet." According to the extranet that monster crewed 10,000 people, and had more firepower than all the other ships in the fleet combined.
"Size isn't everything," Joker muttered, lovingly stroking a console with his fingers. Williams rolled her eyes.
"Someone's touchy."
"I'm just saying. I bet it takes month to calculate burn vectors on a ship like that. I'll take the Normandy's maneuverability over that tank any day."
"SSV Normandy, you have been granted clearance. Begin your final approach. Transferring you to an Alliance operator."
"Roger, Control. Normandy out."
The wing of Tayseri Ward yawned beneath them as the Normandy glided towards the docking facilities along the Presidium ring, weaving in and out of Citadel traffic lanes. This close Kaidan could see the spike of the Citadel Tower bisecting the ring. He did not envy Anderson and Shepard's task of dealing with the Council. Kaidan had never met the human ambassador, but if his personality at all resembled the gruff, nasal disdain projected in the vids the Captain would be lucky to get through the meeting without someone's face smashed against a bulkhead. Shepard hated politicians.
Anderson hailed them through the comm. "Shepard, Williams, Alenko. Meet me in the airlock as soon as we're cleared to disembark."
Shepard sighed a little, motioning for Kaidan and Williams to follow. Williams pulled herself reluctantly away from the view, tucking the escaped stands of her hair back behind her ear. "My sister's going to freak out when I tell her about this," she said with a grin.
The Normandy shuddered as the docking clamps took hold. An hour later the four of them stood in the airlock as the ship's VI dutifully updated them about the interior pressure/exterior atmosphere sync. Kaidan fidgeted a little, shifting his weight from foot to foot with an occasionally sideways glance at Anderson. If the Captain's expression was any indication, his communication with Ambassador Udina before their arrival had not gone spectacularly well. Shepard, as usual, was unreadable. Only Williams seemed blissfully unaware of the tension.
The crank and clatter of docking bay activity greeted them when the airlock finally cycled open. Dockworkers shouted back and forth over the sibilance of hydraulics, mingled with the zip of cabling being dragged from ship to ship, the crack of welding torches and echo of maintenance equipment, all muddied into a cavernous blur of sound. They exited onto the long steel catwalk and entered an elevator to Citadel Security, sealing off the cacophony as the door clamped shut.
The low light and sculpted contours of C-Sec formed a sharp contrast to the docking bay, but the place was just as active. The expansive atrium housed a hive of activity, new arrivals waiting in long customs lines, people entering and exiting the various elevators to the Wards. Officers wearing the distinctive C-Sec uniform – mostly turian, but a few other council and even non-council races – hurried back and forth between offices that branched off from either side. A pair of trees, asari in origin by the looks of them, guarded the docking bay elevators, an unexpected flourish to the efficient but drab architecture.
Thankfully Anderson had somehow gotten their clearance process expedited, earning them the glares of others still standing in line as they went through the screening process, registered their sidearms and headed quickly towards the Presidium access elevator. It didn't take much to get Ward access, but the Presidium was a much more restricted area, far more affluent than the Wards and home to the Council itself. Its Taurus-style ring was not unlike Arcturus in shape, but that was where the similarities ended. Where the Alliance military hub was constructed to meet a basic standard of living and little more, entering the Presidium was like falling into the lap of luxury.
Green parkland, intermingled with sprawling lakes and perfectly manicured trees, cut a swath through the Presidium's center, spanned by a series of slender crisscrossing bridges. On one stood a monument to the krogan's victory in the Rachni War, still standing in spite of the unsavory Krogan Rebellions that later proved their downfall. Another boasted a statue to the mass relays themselves, a miniature scale model of the very gateway they'd just traveled through on the Normandy, reproduced in startlingly exquisite detail.
Open air shops, restaurants and various embassies lined the Presidium's sleek, curved walls, all basking under the simulated light of an artificial blue sky. When Kaidan closed his eyes and inhaled even the recycled air smelled real and fresh in his lungs. A handful of skycars zoomed past, all of them makes and models that undoubtedly carried a higher price tag than what Kaidan could expect from ten years of Alliance income.
Because of its proximity to the center of spin, gravity was lighter here than in the Wards, making Kaidan's first few steps disorienting until he got used to it. Anderson appeared impervious to both the gravity and resort-like atmosphere, heading straight towards the human embassies about a hundred meters to their left.
Kaidan leaned conspiratorially toward Williams, who was similarly agape, not paying any heed to where she was going. "I hear they even simulate a sunset and nightfall," he said. "Wouldn't that be a sight? When's the last time you saw a sunset?"
"Two days ago," Williams replied.
Kaidan clamped his mouth shut. Idiot.
Humanity's embassy shared a multi-story structure with the elcor, of all beings. A few of the four-legged, heavy-bodied creatures ambled about the open foyer, their distinctive monotone voices droning over the din. If the Presidium's low gravity bothered Kaidan, the elcor had to just hate it. Though the words "affluent" and "elcor" hardly seemed to go together, the rich, ornate fabric they wore around their thick, muscular legs and over their broad backs clearly stated he was wrong.
Amidst the bustle of the embassy Kaidan was surprised to find a squat, four legged aphid creature worked the haptic keys of a low set terminal with a pair of spindly arms. It paid no attention to the lumbering elcor stumping around it, nor anyone else for that matter.
"Huh," he said aloud. But no one else heard.
An asari with uncomfortably forced enthusiasm manned the reception desk at the center of the embassy foyer. Anderson spoke to her briefly, then gestured for Shepard to follow him towards a staircase to the upper level. "You two stay close," he informed Kaidan and Williams. "Ambassador Udina may want to speak to you about what happened."
"Yes, sir," Kaidan replied. Shepard cast a pained look over his shoulder as they made their way up the stairs. Once they were gone Kaidan exhaled in relief.
"Hey, what's that thing?" Williams asked, pointing to the same creature Kaidan had noticed moments ago. Before Kaidan could stop her she walked right up to it, squatting down to its level. The creature ignored her completely.
"Please don't disrupt the keepers," a recorded voice chimed. The Citadel VI, an asari-shaped projection that introduced itself as Avina, shimmered to life on an adjacent terminal at their approach.
"What are they?" Ashley asked, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her chest.
"The keepers are the enigmatic caretakers of the Citadel," the VI said serenely. "You may see them involved in various tasks in all areas of the Citadel. Please do not interfere with them in any way. Because the keepers are essential to the smooth operation of the Citadel, obstructing their daily work will result in harsh penalties, including incarceration and rehabilitation."
"Rehabilitation," Williams scoffed. "Lovely."
Intrigued, Kaidan scanned another entry from the VI's database. Sapient, incommunicative but non-threatening creatures that had maintained the Citadel presumably since the protheans built it. They moved about the Citadel however they pleased, sometimes coming and going using undiscoverable routes.
Well, that was a little creepy. They lived on a station being maintained by a race that had wandered around for 50,000 years on their own and didn't talk or even acknowledge anyone on it. And in all the stories you heard about the Citadel, they never came up. Strange that something so odd and undiscoverable could fade so easily into the background.
"Come on," Williams said suddenly, grabbing him by the arm. The keepers had lost her interest as abruptly as they had found it.
"Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here."
She made a face. "He didn't say wait here, he said stay close. Now come on. There are a ton of shops here, and I need to get myself some clothes so I can look a little less like a giant tool."
Kaidan snorted. "You think either of us can afford anything we find here?"
"There's got to be an Alliance kiosk somewhere. Close," she added when she saw his expression. "Come on, LT. Live a little. Not only are we on the Citadel, we're on the Presidium. Think we'll ever get to poke around here again? Let's go."
Kaidan thought again of her grip on his back, altering his trajectory, the coppery tang of burnt metal. Saving his life had come so naturally to her, so easily. For her it was almost an afterthought, for him it meant continued existence.
Live a little.
He went.
The C-Sec uniform was usually all it took to get what he needed from a file clerk. But Garrus Vakarian learned quickly that to be a Spectre file clerk you apparently needed the ego of a damn Spectre. He tapped his talons impatiently on the pristine counter, resisting the urge to grab the salarian sitting behind it and rip the fleshy horns right off his head. The impervious clerk blinked his amphibious eyes, the rounded bulbs of his fingers skimming the haptic keys for what had to be an exaggerated length of time.
Despite the uniform, the grating counter tapping and his best don't-mess-with-C-Sec expression, the biofeedback readouts on Garrus' visor informed him that the salarian felt about as threatened as a krogan being taunted by a pyjack.
"I'm sorry, Officer Vakarian," the salarian said finally, his treble tone not sounding sorry at all. "That information is also classified."
"Oh for the—Nihlus is dead. There has to be something in those files that isn't classified."
The salarian blinked again. "Have you tried the Citadel archives?"
Garrus' mandible twitched. "Twice."
"I'm very sorry," the salarian said. "I wish there was something more I could do to help."
In moments like this Garrus almost – almost – understood why his father hated Spectres so much. Too much power, too few restrictions. Saren might be a criminal hiding behind his title, but at least he didn't have to deal with C-Sec's nightmarish bureaucracy to get something accomplished.
It had been less than 48 hours since Executor Pallin had dropped this investigation in his lap, but already it seemed an impossible task. Every last detail of Saren's Spectre career was classified. The Council, despite their request for the investigation in the first place, refused to answer questions. Saren's former military connections wouldn't return his calls. Garrus had even dug up the name of the man who'd trained him for Basic on Palaven, only to have him clam up at the very mention of Saren's name.
Garrus splayed his talons across the counter, leaning the full weight of his armored carapace against it. To his satisfaction the salarian actually leaned back. "Saren Arterius is dirty," he said, subharmonics dripping with frustration. "And it's people like you – "
"Officer Nevik to Vakarian. Sir, I have a message for you from that med clinic in the upper Wards."
Upper Ward clinic. That meant Dr. Michel. The human doctor, one of only a few licensed to treat turians. Sweet girl with a bad habit of falling in with the wrong people. Garrus had done a little off-the-clock PI work to solve a blackmail problem for her not long ago, the kind of work that Pallin could have his job over.
But if he'd done it Pallin's way and gone by the book, the way his father always screamed about, at best Michel would have lost her clinic, worst her life. Either way the blackmailers got off scot free. The way Garrus did it, the Wards kept a good doctor and got rid of some baggage that wouldn't be missed. Justice was done, and he didn't feel the slightest iota of remorse.
He liked Dr. Michel. He just didn't have time for her now. "Is it important, Nevik? I'm really busy at the moment." He glanced at the salarian, who had gone back to his terminal and now ignored him completely.
"I'll forward you the message."
Garrus sighed. Regardless he wasn't getting anything more out of the Spectre Archives, and he had an hour before he needed to meet with Pallin at the Tower. He'd hoped to interview the human Commander, Shepard he thought the name was, when his ship arrived, but the Alliance rep had patiently informed him that the Commander along with his CO were closeted in a meeting with the human ambassador.
Without saying goodbye he left the Spectre Archives, found himself a bench in front of a volus financial center and pulled up his omitool. Not far away, a haggard looking C-Sec officer from Enforcement did his best to shut up a hanar preaching loudly and incessantly about the Enkindlers. Garrus shook his head. Dealing with the jellyfish was something no one at C-Sec particularly enjoyed, not because of their overabundance of religious zeal so much as there was no good place on a tentacle to slap a pair of handcuffs.
After making sure there no one stood in immediate earshot he pulled up the message, rerouting the audio portion through his personal comm so it wouldn't be overheard. His translator always had trouble with her thick accent, thicker than most humans he'd dealt with.
"Garrus, It's Dr. Michel."
The familiar sight of her humanoid face and red skull fringes popped into view through his omnitool projector. She looked distressed. Garrus' mandibles flexed. What the hell is it this time?
"I didn't want to bother you again, but I don't know who else to call. I treated a quarian in my clinic yesterday morning. She…she was in trouble. She had information she wanted to trade for her safety, so I put her in touch with Fist's people-"
Garrus groaned. How did a woman with such good intentions get tangled up with people like Fist? His name was Fist, by the Spirits.
"But I'm worried-"
No kidding.
"She told me what she had, and then I started seeing all these vids about the geth, and rumors about that Spectre…"
His plates tightened.
"I think she's in over her head. And if anyone finds out she was here, I'm afraid someone will come looking for her…and me. I don't know what to do."
Garrus checked the signal frequency of the message to see how well it was coded and swore. She'd tried, he gave her that. But if Saren's people wanted to bury evidence her mediocre encryption job would hardly slow them down. He glanced anxiously at the chronometer in his visor display. No time to go there now. He had to make his way towards the tower to meet Pallin. At least now he might have good news once he got there.
