Archon's Ship, 1849
It was a phrase Vetra had heard Ryder use before, one of the ones which apparently few other humans used with the same regularity as him, but which he insisted on regardless, one of his many idiosyncrasies: the stomach dropping. It was supposedly a feeling of the ground falling out beneath you, as though the world dropped away from you, one Vetra had never known. Until now.
The voice from Sam had come just moments before the air around them had erupted with a strange orange light, her body lifted and her stomach dropping from inside of her. Every part of her body became weightless, as though she were made of air; but her armor continued to pull her down, the weight useless against whatever force held her aloft. The orange aura around intensified as her hands were shackled together, the energy visible but nonapparent, as though gravity itself were shackling her wrists together. A soft grunt of surprise escaped her lips, just as it did Jaal's, though both were overshadowed by the stunted yell from Ryder as he too was held aloft in the trap.
Immediately she had begun struggling against the restraints, pulling and pushing at her wrists in some desperate hope that freeing her hands would in any way help her to release the rest of the body from the invisible grasp. Her arms ached with effort after only a few seconds, whatever strength she had matched in gentle force by the growing cuffs around her wrists, her body still hanging but decameters above the ground. Still, the desperate struggle continued.
Until he had walked in.
The footsteps were from the darkness initially, heavy and commanding, not born of stealth nor any desire nor need to conceal them from anybody – the tread of one who is obeyed. From the heavy steps was borne the bone and grey face of The Archon, alien eyes staring without compassion from sunken sockets as he approached the group, speaking as he went.
Vetra had watched as the Archon belittled the sector, taunting Ryder and both his and his father's accomplishments. She had felt the disdain in his voice as he reviled the species of this sector and spoke to Ryder as a scientist to a lab rat. Her blood was simmering, kept under control only by the fear of what wrath could await them all deeper in the ship once these energy restraints were replaced by fabric. It was brought to a boil as she watched his hand wrench at Ryder's neck, turning it as one would a prize animal.
It was small consolation to hear the distant explosion, proof that this dictatorial arrogance was founded only on superior numbers, not superiority, but consolation nonetheless. The Archon had stomped away to tend to the rest of his ship as the Salarians ran as fleas on a dog about, causing chaos where they could (much to Vetra's silent approval – If you're going to poke the giant, at least do it in a way that's hard to catch), and soon his steps were faint echoes down a faceless corridor. There was but one problem – They were still hanging.
Vetra looked over to her side, seeing Jaal's face covered in a sheen of sweat as he too struggled against the restraints, his grunts of effort reduced to soft breath as he did what he could to bear the burden silently. Looking ahead, Vetra could see and hear Ryder speaking to Sam, the distress on his face from the entire situation subdued only by a focus forged under fire which she had come to recognize on him. She didn't heed the words too much, paying more attention to her own efforts to escape, until she heard a discussion and idea which alarmed her into attentiveness.
"As you know, my access to your physiology allows me to enhance your vital signals when required. I could also do the opposite."
Vetra's head turned as she heard that, the initial shock of the implication being enough to stop her from reacting truly to the idea as the conversation continued. Ryder, naturally, protested, the small shifting in his body as he tensed up at the idea evidence enough to his dislike of the concept. But, as Vetra listened, she realized, as Ryder, that there weren't any other options.
"Alright, let's do it."
Vetra's mind raced at the thought. It's crazy, yeah. But, SAM's done some amazing things: controlled remnant technology, identified impossible signals, piece together a murder nobody else could have solved. Plus, I mean, the mission is sort of in ruins right now. If we don't get out of here, everybody – from The Salarians to all of The Initiative – will go down. So, it's not like we have much of a choice.
With Adrenaline coursing through her veins Vetra spoke up. "You're Crazy, Ryder". If she were being honest with herself, she'd admit that the idea, beyond all the practicality and utilitarian arguments behind it, rather excited her, in a go-to-a-new-galaxy-and-then-drive-the-Nomad-off-a-cliff kind way.
With little warning Wes' head rolled to the side, his body going limp as the energy binders disappeared from view. The sound he made as he hit the ground was sickening, like a sack of produce being thrown in a market. His head rolled back, green-blue eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling as Vetra watched him lay entirely motionless.
It was odd, for her, seeing him like this. She had seen death first hand before – there was no way to travel The Milky Way as work for hire without confronting it with uncomfortable regularity. But to see a friend – her friend – her best one in all of Andromeda lay on the floor, empty eyes lifelessly looking into infinity… it was unnerving. Her plates crawled and any alarm which she should have felt at the idea came rushing into her mind, a fog of worry and concern drowning out any pretense of excitement as she watched Ryder, subconsciously holding her breath.
She counted.
1… 2… 3…
"Sam!"
Her voice held more worry than she had perhaps intended, even some small part of her still excited at the idea of what she was witnessing. But there was no hiding, through posture nor intonation, just how worried she was as her eyes darted from side to side and her mandibles twitched with how tightly they were held to her face.
She counted again.
1… 2… 3…
Thinking back about it, the idea was slightly horrifying to begin with – Killing Ryder, just to get out of a trap? There had to have been a better way. Some, clever hacking move or something. We didn't have to… suspend him. Kill him. I mean, look! What if he doesn't come back? What if he's gone, the ship no longer has a captain, Andromeda doesn't have a pathfinder, and I don't have a…
With ferocious tenacity Vetra's stomach leaped from the proverbial ground it had hit when the trap was sprung straight to her mouth, the response unexpected as she imagined a Heleus without Ryder… a Tempest without Wes…
Well… yeah. He's a friend. Of course you care about him! Certainly about him dying!
But is he just a friend?
Yes.
Really? Because you don't shudder at the idea of friends being gone from y our life forever.
Maybe I do.
Not like this. Maybe it's time to admit it to yourself, Vetra.
Admit what? I see nothing to be admitted.
You're really going to play this game while he's dead on the floor? Come on. We can move on, find healthy ways to deal with it, maybe even pursue it, just as soon as you admit that you…
Ryder sat up, a gasp of breath breaking the silence as he supported himself on his arms. Vetra breathed an audible sigh of release, and she suspected Jaal did too (though she couldn't tell for how ardently she was watching Rambo for signs of damage).
"That's twice now I've come back from the dead. Can't say the experience is improving."
Relief flooded her veins until she could swear she felt her plates relax around her. She looked at Wes' face, his eyes clearly hiding concern over what just happened, a quip his go-to deflection method after anything he didn't want to talk about. A quick exchange and she and Jaal were back on the ground, running onwards to the Archon's chambers. They ran forwards, fighting and desperately clawing their way through one problem after the next, as they had their entire time in Heleus. But as they did, Vetra's eyes tended to linger on Wes just a few seconds more.
Nexus, 2215
Like most areas on the Nexus, this one didn't have a name. Sitting on the Nexus' version of the Presidium (which also lacked a name, though current candidates were "The Cluster", "The Promenade", "Spacewalk", and most amusingly "Just-Let-Us-Off"; all gotten from a station-wide survey) the skyscraper stood 250 stories tall, but still dwarfed by the massive ceilings of the new spacestation. It was designed to be part of the "Home-like" housing offered by the station, for those who didn't want a window to the rolling void and instead liked views of trees and lakes and future throngs of Andromeda citizens.
One of roughly 250 like it, modeled after the buildings on the Citadel, there was one large difference which set Tower 113 apart: a ballroom. It was designed to be a "Luxury Complex", complete with floor 150 pool, numerous fitness facilities, banks upon banks of holovid booths, and a penthouse/rooftop ballroom. The floors were furnished in luxurious turquoise carpet (a luxury which had gone out of fashion in the space-faring age, and largely confused most Krogan for it being "too soft and squishy, just like humans") with apartments the size of most of the station's "houses". Every wall seemed to have a recessed terminal hidden somewhere, and the entire space was bathed in a soft glowing light the tone of which could be changed with a simple voice command. While it's residences were currently empty, the ballroom was still suitable for celebration. And Celebrate the Nexus did.
Once news had reached the station of Ark Pararchero's rescue the denizens of the station had erupted with celebration, cheering and hugging as another victory came rolling through their desolate cluster, another beacon of hope illuminating a possible future many had forsaken. Few knew of the Archon, or the artifact, but it was enough that, in a few days, the Ark would return. The Tempest had escorted her home, Ryder conferring constantly with the Salarian's new pathfinder to get him oriented to progress made, the demands of the job, etc. Gil had worked practical miracles on the ark's shot ODSY drive, and Vetra had disappeared goodness-only-knows-where, only to return with crates of rare-vintage Salarian Ice Brandy. The ark had docked easily, to much applause from the ops center and indeed the entire station, followed shortly by a hero's welcome for the Tempest as her engines cut and the landing gear sighed under the weight of the elegant spaceship.
She now stood, across the station, draped with decorative blue and white lighting, standing across the synthetic night as a symbol of progress and hope. Music thumped throughout the ballroom as the VIP's of the station celebrated together, looking across to see the rest of the station shrieking their joy on the roofs of other buildings, ballroom or no. The entire "block" was lit up as Earth on "Alliance Day", blue and white light filling the massive space as music echoed through the station.
Ryder's invitation had been automatic, his crew's tendered at his request. All had thrown on the closest thing they had to "dress clothes" – not having originally packed much formal gear for their excursion into the new galaxy. Arriving at the door, a sleekly mirrored elevator rocketed them up to the top floor where a slightly-drunk Kesh greeted them with Krogan abandon (a state which had almost left the pathfinder's crew with a few broken ribs) before they were welcomed into the larger party. It was a mass of some of the most senior members of the Nexus, from work foremen to ops crew to senior scientists huddled in the corners and walls, grabbing conversation where they could. Drinks were flowing from an automatic bar, and a nouveau-pop song was pounding through the hidden speakers. Gil, Liam, and Peebee had immediately ran for the bar, quickly with glasses of whiskey, beer, and Ryncol respectively before disappearing into the throngs; Drack had laughed at Kesh's display of drunkenness before going to join some of the few Krogan left on the station in what looked like a mostly-emptied area. T'Perro joined some of her scientist friends, gracefully skirting the crowds as she grabbed a glass of water to responsibly sip throughout the night, and Vetra seemed to have disappeared altogether.
Ryder, however, was left to socialize with the station's true "elite" (or so Tann considered them) in the closest thing to a private room the area had: a small glass-walled eating area in a far corner of the space, furnished with a small table upon which were set glasses of Turian, Salarian, and Human Champagne. Conversation was made, a mix of political parlance and genuine excitement. All of it made Wes uncomfortable. He fiddled with his Pathfinder jacket, making skirting eye contact and downing Champagne at a semi-alarming rate. Tann regaled them of stories of how Jien Garson had so favored him over others who could have been in line to assume control of the initative, his chest practically swelling as he swung his influence and power around. Kandros' parries were sufficiently potent to silence Tann shortly after he began, but done in such a respectful fashion that he had no way to protest beside frantic gestures and hasty interruptions. Addison seemed to be in a semi-sour mood for the beginning of the evening, but warmed up nicely after two glasses of champagne, quickly diving into complaints of the stresses of colonial affairs, aspects which Kandros scoffed and Tann tried to turn into an advantage to much the same effect as his bragging.
After about an hour and a half of stunted diplomacy, Ryder eventually escaped the room by a hasty excuse, walking over to the bar, ordering a Thessian Sunrise, and then making his way to the window. He stood in front of it, staring out at the station at night, smiling at the frantic yells and thumping music which could be heard across the space, sipping the blue-glowing drink through it's small, curly straw.
"Finally manage to escape?"
Wes looked up, Vetra's bemused face next to him as she stood next to him, looking out with him as she drank from a glass of Turian Ale. Her usual heavy armor had been polished to a sheen, all the scratches and dents from the years of action it had seen buffed out to a mirror polish. Her usual purple half-cape had been exchanged for a swath of white cloth with three blue stripes running vertically down it, a pattern which Struck Ryder as suspiciously close to the curtains in the rooms downstairs.
"Something like that. You don't clean up too bad for a celebration like this."
"You don't look half-bad yourself. New outfit?"
Ryder's outfit was indeed new. Moving away from the blue and white, he had changed the color of the bulk of the jacket to a dark red, a few shades darker than the accented colors on his father's armor. The collar, button line, supporting shoulder bands, and seat of the pants were left plain white, and the side panels colored Initiative blue. Unlike most of his time onboard the Tempest, he wore the shirt buttoned up all the way, and with a white mock-neck sweater, giving the whole outfit a semi-uniform appearance. The overall effect was that of a distinct pathfinder uniform, neither expeditionary red, nor pathfinder blue, nor engineering grey, but rather a combination of both, a uniform of unity.
"Yeah, figured I'd finally change it."
"And why's that?"
"An outpost on Eos, a science research station on Havarl, and one more ark home… I guess I'm finally starting to feel like a pathfinder."
"About damn time. It's how we've all seen you this whole time."
"Flattery isn't going to get you less duty, you know."
"It wasn't."
A pause as they both stared off into the distance. Ryder spoke first, heat burning under his face as he somehow felt awkward at the silence, wanting desperately to talk but finding no such words.
"Nice party, isn't it?"
"Yeah…"
Again, a pause. Again, Ryder tried to start a conversation, the fun-loving atmosphere behind him lost as he felt an odd desperation to keep the conversation going. Had he been less consumed with desperation, he would have noticed the look of deep contemplation plastered to his friend's face.
"Where'd you get off to? You pretty much disappeared as soon as we walked into the door?"
"Huh? Oh, just some friends."
"Nice."
"Yeah."
A third pause. Wes could feel his heartbeat pounding as he found himself struggling to come up with something – anything – to say. He and Vetra had sat in perfectly comfortable silence before, but for some reason he felt compelled to get her to talk, to interact, to enjoy themselves at this party.
"Wes, I have to confess something."
Ryder's face immediately turned to concern as he turned to face her, his eyebrows lifting in curiosity.
"Oh?"
"Let's go somewhere a bit more private."
Ryder gestured at the stairs to the roof, following Vetra as she walked up to the slightly quieter roof area, finding a quiet spot behind some planter-kept bushes squaring off a corner. Leaning against the balcony, Vetra continued.
"I confess: it really bothers me. What you did on the Archon's ship."
The furrows in Wes' brow deepened.
"Dying, you mean?"
"Yes. That."
"But… it didn't seem to bother you in the moment."
Vetra inhaled deeply, bowing her head as her mandibles flared for the exhale. She breathed three more times before continuing, her voice uncertain, as though she were expressing feelings she herself was still testing.
"I know. But that was in the moment, with all the adrenaline, the Archon, the mission. I've been thinking about it since, though, and it bothers me. What you did."
"Do you think I shouldn't have done it?"
"No, no, not at all. SAM was probably right: it was the only way out. I just… what if you hadn't come back? What if SAM hadn't been able to restart your heart? It seemed like an awful lot of luck that brought you back…"
"And luck can run out on you?"
"Well… yeah."
Ryder chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he took a long swig of his drink without the straw, his face smiling thinly but serious concern borne of hours of contemplation sitting behind his eyes.
"I get it, trust me. It… it wasn't pleasant. At all. And for how much SAM can do, bringing me back to death definitely seems like the most impossible; implausible, I guess. But I made it. I'm here. That's enough for me."
"Is it, though?" The consternation in Vetra's voice was palpable in her subharmonics. "Is it enough, Wes? Because it's definitely not enough for me. You almost died. Not almost, you did die, and almost didn't come back."
A pregnant pause. Vetra's breath was heavy, her armor expanding and contracting with her breath. It was an odd reaction for her, being this stressed talking to a friend about this… but it gave her clarity. She continued.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't have done it, Ryder. But you were dead for 5.8 seconds. What if it had been longer? What if you had stayed dead? Without you, the Initiative would fall apart, lose momentum. The Tempest would be grounded again, the crew disbanded."
A pause before she continued.
"None of us want to lose a friend. None of us… I don't… nobody wants to lose you. And on that ship we came uncomfortably close. And yes everybody's being as nonchalant about it as they can, but that's just dodging the issue. But I can't. It's… You're…"
Wes interrupted her softly, his voice full of concern, thoughtfulness. For the mostpart he was soft-spoken, but tripped on his words occasionally, his heart jumping into his throat anytime he seemed to talk about losing Vetra, hastily covered up.
"I know, Vetra. Really. Trust me. I don't, didn't, want to lose you… I mean, all of you. But I made it. Yes, there might have been some luck involved. But what here hasn't? Surviving the Scourge, not getting wiped out by the Kett. Heck, even just having you with me… the whole tempest crew, I mean. It was all pretty much luck. So, yes, I got lucky. And yes, it bothers me too. But we're going places nobody has ever gone before. You don't do that without a little luck on your side."
Vetra's brow plates dropped as her right mandible closed the distance to her jaw, the left one flared. She exhaled forcefully through her nose, turning from Ryder to stare back into the distance, her eyes squinting as she considered the statement. Wes' heart felt as though it was about to beat out of his chest, felt in the pads of his fingers. He didn't know why – while a stressful subject, it had never spiked his heart rate to think about before. Nonetheless, though, he calmed his breathing as best he could and matched Vetra's stare into the mid-distance. Eventually, she spoke.
"I guess you're right."
A dry laugh from Wes as he turned, a rye grin on his face.
"Damn right I am, I'm a pathfinder."
Vetra laughed again, the tension and conclusions being hastily pushed away for favor of the rest of the party.
"What was that about being unsure of yourself before?"
Wes smiled shamelessly, backing out of the area back to the party as he spoke, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Please. Pathfinder's are never unsure! I have no clue what you're talking about."
With that Wes turned around, walking to the Party. The smile which his sarcasm had brought to Vetra's face quickly slipped off, replaced by concern as her eyes followed him through the crowd. They were filled with concern, thought, and something else… something she couldn't quite identify…
Nexus Docking Bay, 0315
The stumble back to the docking bay had been an event to put it mildly. Having danced through the past four hours, Wes had finally found Vetra to head home in a state which was best explained by the five empty drink glasses on the bar. Pathfinder though he may have been, he still partied as thoug he were in college. Truth be told, Vetra wasn't much better, but being the more stable of the two she walked them back to the docking bay, pulling Ryder up as he tried to sleep in every patch of grass and bushes that they found. The party was still rolling in the background, but it was clear that it was time for both of them to head home.
Right before they had made it up the ramp Ryder had declared drunkenly and to the world "Alright, I'm done!" gone more boneless than he had before, and laid down not six feet from his ship. Vetra tried to drag him to the ship, but the addition of dead-weight was too much for her inebriated sense of balance and she was soon sitting next to him, changing gaze from between him and the station, left alone with her own thoughts and internal conversation.
It still bothers you, doesn't it?
What does?
Please. Wes' death.
When did we start calling him Wes? That's awfully casual, isn't it?
He doesn't mind. Seriously, though, it still bothers you.
Well… yeah.
Why?
The single question stopped her in her tracks as she watched the human sleep in a small ball next to her, passed out against the cold deck plating, no regard for the outside world as his heavy breath carried him into a dreamless alcohol induced sleep.
Because… he's a friend.
I think we both know he's more than that.
Fine, a best friend!
More…
No, really! He's my best friend.
Really?
Yes.
Bull.
Why? How is that Bull?
The three hour conversations in his cabin? Teaching him to shoot? Taking him to meet Trivenia?
He's… a special best friend.
Vetra…
Really!
Vetra…
I love him.
The thought struck her like a ton of bricks. While it seemed to come out of nowhere, the more the words hung in her mind, the more sense they made, more natural they felt. Her breath paused, and as if he could hear the conversation, Ryder shifted in his sleep, moaning softly as he moved an arm under his head.
Or, I think I do.
Isn't that enough.
Maybe?
So, you love him.
Maybe.
What are you going to do about it?
Nothing.
Nothing? Really?
Yeah. Nothing. He's the pathfinder. The human pathfinder. I'm just some Turian who knows how to make deals. I've got Sid to take care of. We're best as friends.
But, what would you be if you were better than friends?
I don't know. But I don't want to. We've been down this road before. Gotten hurt. Gotten others hurt. Wes and I work together. We're part of a team on which this whole effort is based. If he and I… don't work. If things go bad, we can't have either of us falling apart. Besides, we have no indication that he feels the same way. And if he doesn't… that's just not a road we want to go down. So, we do nothing. We continue to be his best friend. Continue to work well with him. Pretend we don't love…
Before Vetra could finish her thought, Ryder stirred, mumbling drunkenly as he stood up. With a small laugh Vetra watched him stumble his way onto the Tempest, the automatic doors a blessing from the technological era. She followed him into the ship, watching him as he bumped down the cargo bay and into the hallway, her eyes following him with a new warmth as he collapsed into bed. His snores were concurrent with his head hitting the pillow.
Vetra herself stumbled out of the Pathfinder's cabin, her armor not even coming off as she fell into her bunk. She closed her eyes, but her mind was anything but quiet, like a million bugs buzzing around at her new admission. She thought long and hard about the blackness which her eyelids brought, and eventually her mind was quiet enough that sleep found her. But through her dreams, whenever Wes would appear (as he had for the past few weeks, though her memory would never let her remember) a warmer smile graced her face.
Author's Comments:
Hey guys! I know it's been a while since I posted. While I was intending to post more over the summer, my time has been split in more ways than I was anticipating. I start my new job in July, and it's going to be very intense, so no guarantees on how often I'll be writing. But I promise you: I will keep writing. And, at the very least, I'll finish every story I have right now.
I thought it was strange how the game was so non-chalant about Ryder literally dying on The Archon's Ship, so I wanted to try and delve into that more, essentially head-canoning that it really does bother Vetra, but she was too adrenaline-poisoned and mission-focused to notice in the moment.
Regardless, hope you enjoy! I love likes, and comments are my lifeblood, so leave them if you want! Enjoy!
