Chapter 8: The Respite
For Lakota, the Alliance's private gym on the Citadel was better than working out in the corner of the Normandy's cargo bay, except Garrus wasn't there to spar. It had a full nautilus setup, two complete sets of free weights, a bench press, some parallel bars, set of rings, balance beam, pommel horse, four treadmills, an elliptical machine, two stair climbers, two stationary bikes, jump ropes, a heavy bag, and a speed bag. There was a lap pool off the gymnasium and a sauna, a whirlpool, showers and massage setup in between the rooms. The floor was done in some type of resilient rubber padding with a twelve by twelve meter spring floor section in the middle. The ceiling of the gym was high and walls were mirrored. Bright fluorescent lights gave the illusion of permanent daylight in each room.
It was early morning, so Lakota took extra time stretching each and every muscle of her body. When she finished she walked over to the spring floor and began a slow tumbling routine. Two forward somersaults led into a forward handstand which she held for a five second count and then tucked into another forward somersault. She kept her pace slow and methodical as though trying to hold each pose to its maximum stretching potential. She reached the corner of the floor's outline, but instead of turning around she lifted one leg and arched backward, bringing the other leg over the body into another handstand. She held the pose for a count of five then dipped down, touching her nose to the mat and began a set of thirty free-standing handstand push-ups. By using her core muscles and hand muscles she kept her body balanced- from falling over back, forward, or to either side, while maintaining her rigid posture.
Even as a child, Lakota had excellent hand-eye coordination, strength and agility. Those traits had been recognized and nurtured soon after joining the Tenth Street Reds by the Den Mother who had handpicked her for specialized training. As the handstand push-ups continued, Lakota thought back upon those early years in the Reds- the wisdom of time bringing insight and clarity to a period which was filled with deception.
In the beginning of her life with the Reds, Lakota was schooled in gymnastics and martial arts. Discipline, concentration and confidence were the primary focus of her developmental skill set. When her aptitude for math and science emerged, the Den Mother- who rewarded intelligence- ushered Lakota into an education which revolved around the various engineering branches – physics, mathematics, chemistry, electronics and mechanical systems. Those hand-picked disciples who excelled in their scientific studies were encouraged by the Den Mother to seek out other creative influences, as well. Lakota had chosen music to balance out her cultural learning, specifically learning how to play the cello. The concentration, discipline, creativity and focused passion required to play the instrument had been valuable outlets during her adolescence and youth. Although she hadn't played since joining the Alliance, Lakota had always felt that playing music allowed her to touch upon the four bodies that make a person whole – the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual realms.
As the push-ups continued, Lakota saw with great lucidity the ways in which she had been cultivated and seduced by the Den Mother to become an ultimate warrior for her branch of the Reds.
The Den Mother had been beautiful, poised, and mesmerizing- a magnetic personality. She demanded allegiance from all those she nurtured, but not to the Tenth Street Reds as an organization. The Reds had just been a convenient label which induced fear in the general public. Instead, the Den Mother had demanded loyalty to her own dominion. With a larger than life persona, she controlled her orphaned wards by manipulating their emotional needs and subjugating them with the promises of family and belonging. All had loved her and wanted to be in her spotlight, but there was a price to be paid if you fell into shadow. Those who were favored saw her as generous and magnanimous, but those who displeased her saw a savagery that rivaled a rabid varren. At sixteen years of age, Lakota had come face to face with that viciousness and had almost succumbed to its brutal gaze. Instead though, the future Spectre ended the Den Mother's life and then with a forged birth certificate sought refuge within the Alliance military.
Sweat shimmered upon her skin as Lakota finished the last push-up and rolled into a forward somersault. Her thoughts of the Den Mother sent a shiver of outrage down her spine which she channeled into three consecutive back handsprings. On the third handspring she twisted 180 degrees in the air and landed on both feet, her momentum carrying her into a leaping forward somersault. When she came to a rest she turned to face toward the middle of the mat and began another tumbling combination – two cartwheels, a back flip to back handspring and finally rolling into two backward somersaults, popping to her feet at the end.
She strolled nimbly over toward the heavy bag, grabbed some red training gloves and then launched an all-out karate attack. She funneled her irritation by spinning in mid-air to kick the bag and then whirled gracefully, and with a precise ballet-like fluidity, to drive home an elbow which led into another kick. Her movements were sometimes too quick to follow and the heavy bag pitched and shivered as she hit it, kicked it, slashed it and butted it- all at what appeared to be the speed of sound. The red gloves she wore were no more than a red blur as she repeatedly hit the bag with a rhythmic cadence. For the coup de grace she leapt into the air, scissor-kicked the bag with both feet and went into a backward somersault as she landed on her back, rolling to her feet in one continuous motion.
She was breathing hard and her toned, lissome body was glistening with sweat as she stared at the heavy bag swinging aimlessly. She pushed the thoughts of the Den Mother and the Reds out of her mind and moved back to the heavy bag to work on her punches.
She had learned to box shortly after she joined the Alliance. Tug, a member of her squad, had taken her under his wing and showed her the basics of the sport. As she hit some combination cycles, she thought of him- tall, strong, like an ebony steel beam with an amiable smile and piercing blue eyes. They had been close, had shared a bed a few times, but it had been momentary companionship for both and nothing more. He died on Akuze - a casualty of a thresher maw attack, a victim of a Cerberus experiment. The more she thought of the rogue black-ops group, the harder her punches hit. The muscles in her upper body coiled and uncoiled in her sweat-shiny skin as she hooked the heavy bag- three left hooks, one right and then repeated the pattern in an unending loop. The bag bounced and swayed on the heavy chains. The shock of the punches went up her forearms. That had been one of the first surprises when she had first started to box- punches hurt the wrists and forearms. Until she had built them up she had been not only arm weary, but arm sore.
As she was beating the hell out of her simulated opponent, she caught her reflection in the mirrors. She felt sort of silly, but the imagined pummeling of Cerberus still felt good. She spent another forty-five minutes channeling her frustration to exhaustion and her body to the point of fatigue.
When she was finished and the hot water was sluicing over her weary muscles in the shower room, a thought came unbidden to her weary mind.
"How did Chellick find Finch?"
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Lakota headed over to the medical ward of C-Sec as soon as she had finished cleaning up at the gym. The facility was like most state of the art hospitals that she had seen - sterile looking with an unmistakable yet untraceable odor of antiseptic floating through the air. She was wearing her Mercenary armor which had been cleaned since returning from Las Catacumbas allowing for its deep burgundy hue to glow under the fluorescent lighting of the long corridors. Her raven-black hair was pulled into its trademark pony-tail and her make-up was expertly done, giving her a professional, no-nonsense appearance. Black eye-liner and brown eye-shadow made her pale green irises luminescent against her honey-toned skin while the dark red lipstick added a subtle, but attractive severity.
Using her Spectre status she gained access to Chellick's private room and entered after signing in. He was unfazed by Lakota's arrival, as though he had expected to see her.
"Palin would really like to string your ass up," said the C-Sec officer. He was sitting in his med-bed holding the data pad he had been reading.
Lakota shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "Why should he be any different?"
The room had no window, but along with the med-bed there was a small sofa on an outer wall with a small table placed in front of it. Next to the bed were a large reclining chair and a tall table that could swing over the med-bed when it was time to eat. On the wall hung a flat screen video monitor which had been muted, but was showing some turian news cast. Even with the extra furniture, the Commander noted that the room had more open space than her quarters on the Normandy.
"He told me not to cooperate if you came around. Said C-Sec didn't need you."
"It's alarming how many people think that." Instead of sitting in the reclining chair, Lakota opted to lean against it.
"It's not good for C-Sec's image," said Chellick. "A Spectre's involvement is bad for business."
"So why you willing to help me out?"
"This isn't C-Sec business." The turian smiled. "But Palin would really like to go toe to toe with you."
"Yeah," said Lakota, "that's a good plan. We'll beat the hell out of each other and when Finch dashes in to break it up, we'll arrest him."
Chellick chuckled. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts too much."
Lakota took a long look at the turian in front of her. He looked much better than when she'd found him shackled to the chair in the dingy apartment. Most of the minor abrasions had already healed and he appeared to have full mobility of his arms and upper body. For a turian though, he looked tired. "How long 'til you get out of here?"
"Couple of more days. Humans didn't know turian physiology well enough to do any permanent damage."
"In this case," said Lakota, "it's good that human stupidity knows no bounds."
Chellick smile slightly. "You're human."
"Yes, but I am beautiful and clever, gives me an edge."
"Convenient."
"And I have a gun," said Lakota.
"Dangerously convenient."
The Spectre furrowed her eyes before asking the burning question in her mind. "How did you find Finch?"
"An anonymous tip," said Chellick. "A digital image of four humans was sent to me with a note attached. The note said a certain human Spectre may be interested."
"Good thing there's only one of us. Might get confusing otherwise."
"I did some checking though." Chellick paused before saying any more. Lakota sensed he had something else to tell her, but was holding back momentarily for dramatic effect. For her, the giveaway was in the turian's eyes. They looked impish and devious. Being a patient person, she waited for him to continue.
After a few heartbeats, Chellick said, "Not many know C-Sec upgraded its security network, specifically the tagger programs which allow us to trace incoming and outgoing messages."
Lakota nodded her head in approval. "Handy tool to have."
"I was able to track who sent the message."
"And of course, the details are official C-Sec business," said Lakota.
"Of course."
"So when I ask you who sent them…"
"Then I won't tell you it was Donnel Udina."
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Wrex and Lakota were back in the Bachjret Ward sitting at a corner table in the busy confines of the Interstellar Café. The establishment was human run, but well-known because it catered to all Citadel species and professed the freshest ingredients. In particular, Lakota liked the place because all of their vegetables were as close to organic as they could get on the space station – hydroponically grown. The married couple who ran it were in their fifties and showcased their produce through large picture windows that separated the restaurant from the indoor garden. Seeing the vibrantly green and growing plants added to the relaxed ambiance of the space, plus the café served fantastic, Earth-authentic, club sandwiches.
It was mid-afternoon on the Citadel, and the establishment was active with a colorful variety of hungry patrons. The place was comfortably full, but not noisy and with no sense of a crowd. Lakota was enjoying her club sandwich and Regalian ale while Wrex opted for a liquid lunch – ryncol. The green liquid, a krogan concoction, was known to hit other species like ground glass, but the Battlemaster drank it like humans drink water.
"Why did Udina give those images to Chellick?" Wrex asked. His tankard of ryncol was almost empty, but luckily he had ordered two and the second mug was still untouched on the table.
Lakota was quiet for a moment as she spun her pint around with her left hand. The dark beverage was reminiscent both in color and taste of dark, bitter Earth-brewed amber ale. "Maybe Udina was afraid of Finch saying something about my history with the Reds and ruining the reputation of the first human Spectre."
"Udina is too stupid to be afraid and too arrogant to think he couldn't keep it quiet."
Lakota nodded then took a sip of her beer. "He knew that C-Sec would want to take care of a known terrorist."
"But he didn't go through the proper channels. He didn't give it to Palin. He gave it to Chellick." Wrex emptied his drink, put the mug on the table and then picked up the full one. "Why?"
Thoughtfully, Lakota stated, "Palin would have kept the information within C-Sec."
Picking up on the Spectre's tram of thought, Wrex said, "But if Udina sent the images to Chellick and attached a note saying it would be beneficial to you…"
"…then Chellick would get that information to me," finished Lakota. "He knew I had helped Chellick out in the past and would feel obliged to me."
"Udina also knows that you would take care of Finch yourself." Wrex took a long draw from his drink, and then set the tankard on the table. "Everyone knows that about you."
Lakota paused to take another sip of her beer. She looked at Wrex while she swallowed. "So why didn't Udina give it to me directly?"
"Because he doesn't like you?"
The Spectre stared at her companion for a long couple of moments, and then shook her head. "Something else is going on."
"What motivates humans?" asked the krogan
"Love and greed."
Wrex took another long swig from his tankard. "How about love?"
"He only loves himself."
"And status," added Wrex.
"That, too," said Lakota
"Okay, no love," said Wrex. He took another long drink. "That leaves greed."
"It does."
"So what do you plan to do about it?"
Shaking her head, Lakota said, "I need more information. None of this makes any sense."
The krogan nodded slightly. "Where you going to start?"
"Tonight. At the banquet. Udina will be there and so will Anderson. I'll start asking questions, see what falls out of the sky."
"I bet Lysandra will be there, too." Wrex's smile was subtle, but Lakota knew him well enough to catch sight of it.
"Yes," said the Spectre. "I bet she will."
"She probably set us up."
"Yep." Lakota took a bite out of her sandwich, chewed it with purpose.
Wrex took another swig of his drink while waiting for her to continue.
The Spectre swallowed her food and then looked over at the krogan. "There's an answer out there and Lysandra has it."
"So why are we sitting here?" said Wrex. "You want me to ask her the question? I could be firm."
Lakota shook her head. "I don't even know what question to ask yet. There's something going on that involves Cerberus, Red Sand, an asari corporation, Finch and the Reds and I don't know what it is… yet."
"I could ask her that."
"And if she doesn't answer and you can't scare her into answering, we're nowhere and she has been warned."
"I could be really firm," said Wrex.
"And she may tell us, but what if it was a lie?" Lakota huffed in frustration. "I don't want any stories. I want facts. I need the information from Chakwas and Garrus before I confront her. Factual ammo instead of explosive."
"Explosive is much more fun."
The Spectre chuckled and drank some of her ale.
"I could kill her," said Wrex.
Lakota tilted her head and looked at the Battlemaster with delighted fascination.
"May not answer any questions," said the krogan, "but maybe the questions would go away."
Recalling Wrex's last encounter with Lysandra, Lakota said, "I don't think the Citadel could handle it."
Wrex drank some more ryncol. He was expressionless and, except for drinking, he was motionless. It was as if nothing interested him, as if he saw nothing and heard nothing. Except that later, if it mattered, it would turn out that he had seen and heard everything around him.
"One other thing that bothers me," said Lakota.
"Just one?"
"For now. I'm sure there are others, but my limited mind can only handle one thing at a time."
Wrex snorted.
"Lysandra said that the Reds ran Las Catacumbas, but we didn't see any evidence of that. No Reds' members. No Reds' symbols on the packing crates." Lakota's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I assumed Finch was still with the Reds because of the information we've been getting, but Finch says he left them."
"He could have lied."
"I don't think so."
"So… it makes you wonder if the Reds are really involved."
"Yes, it does," said Lakota.
"Maybe you can ask Lysandra that, too."
"When I see her tomorrow night, I'll fish around. See how far I can get with her."
"Careful," said Wrex. "She's probably going to try the same with you."
"I am incorruptible and true of heart," said Lakota, a broad smile upon her lips. "Besides, Liara will be there."
"You three together in the same room?" The krogan's face was transformed by an amused, toothy grin. "I would pay to see that."
Next up: The Banquet
