"I killed her" Han Olar offered his confession quite plainly.
"What?" the asari asked.
Olar struggled to find words to describe the things that haunted him. He was always articulate, even for a volus, yet the sound of screaming played on an endlessly looping track in his mind. He struggled to busy himself with minor tasks, desperate to dampen the nauseating cries of the woman he killed. It hadn't worked. His hands shook, and his mind wandered back to the moment of his selfish decision to sacrifice a life to save his own.
"You did what you had to", the armor-clad human raised her slender shoulders in a casual shrug, as though Olar's traumatic experience was built upon a trivial error in judgment.
Still, he agreed with her. If he kept the door open for one moment longer and allowed his associate to enter, the rachni would have followed. They were deceptively fast for their size, and easily capable of rending flesh from bone in a matter of seconds. Less, actually. He tightened his fists at the relentless memory of her panicked screams, this time returning with images of shredded muscle tissue, crimson with pink chunks of brain matter. The sounds were far worse, though. She howled a melody of anguish and betrayal. You were my friend, Olar. We were on our lunch break!
There was no denying it. Olar had killed her.
Commander Shepard knew that she was pressed for time. The oceanic orbs of Liara's eyes became flooded with apprehension. Even Ashley, carrying the weight of four separate firearms on the backside of her armored suit, appeared to falter at the sight of broken spirits throughout Rift Station.
Shepard was not going to walk away from this, however. She knew it was important for a soldier to understand what they were fighting for; it drove them to focus their fear, and put their petty concerns into perspective. She allowed the Volus to finish his story, although two survivors at the opposite side of the room became vocal about their desires to keep him harnessed in silence. Fortunately, this volus was strong-willed. He would not be silenced, and he dismissed their angry accusations of insanity.
This was good. It was important for the survivors to share their tales. Shepard might not have been a professionally-trained psychologist, but she was well aware of the risks of keeping one's innermost fears buried in darkness. Open disclosure allowed people to cope more readily; it boosted morale as well as productivity.
But more than that, it felt right.
Comforted by the reassurance of a heavily-armed stranger, Olar answered all her questions regarding the rachni infestation. He told her about the queen, how they found her egg on an ancient derelict craft. He told her about the genetic research, and how the company had been so eager to clone and utilize the rachni, they had neglected to carry out the replicant studies and extensive peer reviews necessary to ensure their appropriate growth and containment.
This place was an abomination of science. He wanted to leave.
Olar realized, at this moment, that he was not the only one at fault for this catastrophe. Binary Helix had investors that funded this project. They were the ones cracking the whips on research teams, eager for quick results, regardless of how conclusive or valid the data might have been.
The human had been right. How could he have burdened himself with all that had gone wrong in such a complicated situation? He believed in taking responsibility for his actions, but he wasn't above pointing fingers at those who were too selfish to see the destruction they wrought. Han Olar had wasted time writing so many polite letters that received no reply. He would take aggressive action, and he already knew two asari attorneys that owed him a favor.
It wasn't his fault.
Olar's fist relaxed, and the sound of screaming stopped.
Alestia clutched her throbbing knee, biting back the sharp pains that wracked her body. She could handle minor wounds in battle, but this was the first time she experienced firsthand the blunt hammering of squash rounds. It was more pain than she had anticipated, but she would recover. She had to. The matriarch was counting on her.
Mother.
With great effort, she forced herself back onto her feet and drew her pistol.
"Holy crap, that was awesome!"
One of the humans, though she couldn't tell which, mired herself in shallow observations regarding the use of biotic attacks. Most asari were skilled with biotics; consequently, their resistance to such attacks was relatively high compared to that of other species. Synthetic life forms were not so lucky; their cold hard frames could be tossed around like cheap office supplies by a skilled biotic.
"Keep her off me!" came another shout, this one sounding coarser than its predecessor. Alestia knew she was being outflanked. This assault had been doomed from the beginning. Once she reported the Spectre's presence to Lady Benezia, her immediate objective was to neutralize the threat as discretely as possible. Alestia was good with discretion, and her mind worked quickly to solve any problem she faced. Upon receiving her orders, she made her way to the intruders' location with geth reinforcements. The few moments required to close in on her prey offered more than enough time to plan her method of attack. Time was one of the greatest assets of any asari.
Alestia curled her wrist, extending only her pistol beyond the safety of the supply crate. She squeezed the trigger rhythmically, maintaining a steady rate of fire without allowing her sidearm to overheat.
"Taking fire, Shepard!"
The rounds striking her bulky cover impacted with a slower tempo. This was a good sign; Alestia's blindfiring was not likely to eliminate her primary target, but it would slow their advance. Time was on her side, not theirs.
"Keep up the fire, Chief", Alestia heard a third voice, icy and smooth like walls of the entire complex. Sure enough, her foe's rate of fire increased, but it would not matter. Her kinetic barriers were fully charged.
It was unfortunate that the battle became so messy. This Spectre, as well as her companions, were exceedingly skilled combatants, and they cut down her synthetic support team in mere seconds. Alestia suspected that this would be her final stand, and like many asari, she did not feel anxious about meeting her end. Her life had been colored by many wondrous sights and sounds. To die here, as a loyal servant for the Matriarch, might very well be her finest hour. The thought of a noble and violent death made her feel even more alive.
"Can't hit her from this angle!"
Personal pleasures and selfish desires no longer existed. Alestia saw only the face of Benezia, proud and powerful, a goddess among insects.
"Three seconds, Ash!"
Alestia enveloped herself in a tingling blanket of biotic protection. It would only last several seconds, she wanted to live just long enough to see the eyes of her enemy. She wished the Spectre to see the true beauty of servitude and familial love. Perhaps the Alliance-trained assassin would remember Alestia's face before meeting her own death, and come to recognize her actions as driven by love, rather than fear. She delighted in the knowledge that she was alone against them, and that her enemies might be foolish enough to expect her to surrender to them. They did not understand what it was to serve a matriarch, to have already surrendered to a greater power that is beautiful and wise beyond comprehension.
"Cease fire" the silky voice sounded close enough to be right beside her. She turned toward it, but only soon enough to bear witness to the angular trenches that laced the soles of Shepard's heavy boot. There was a crack, and Alestia blinked several times before she realized she was looking at the vacant expanse of the ceiling.
"Where's Benezia?"
Turian skin was not as thick as it looked. Alestia had been disappointed when she noticed the way her thin little knife slid into the guard's neck without even a hint of resistance. That slow-minded turian appeared more startled than anguished, but Alestia had been hurried, so she settled for the sound of his choked gargle as he collapsed, armor and all, to the cold floor.
"We're not asking you again, tell us where she is!" another voice called to her. It sounded very far away, almost muffled. How could such a distant observer notice the blade she drew from the rim of her boot? Her limbs felt heavy, but she swung valiantly with her tiny weapon before a Firestorm IV was discharged less than two meters from her tranquil eyes.
She had not screamed. Alestia had embraced eternity.
