Chapter 21: I Asked Her To Stay, But She Wouldn't Listen
I stop at CresCare before heading to the nearest C-Sec information desk. This hospital isn't a free clinic. They, the emergency response med team, took the bashed up quarian here because the hospital has a special fund for the enviro-suited aliens. Any quarian in need of urgent care on the Citadel gets free treatment at CresCare. And they have the best clinicians for quarian infection treatment and enviro-suit repair and maintenance. At the reception booth I ask a human man about the quarian male brought in last night. Hazel eyes give me a suspicious up and down.
"You're obviously not a relative." A gold tooth flashes at me when he speaks.
I grip the square edged counter and push into it. "No, but I do know a friend of his in lockup. I think she'd like to know how he's doing."
"Uh-huh." His attention lingers on my shine set injection luminous cleavage, then travels to his terminal pane while he locates the correct records. The data he scans makes his face pucker. Cracking his knuckles, he says, "No details, but I can give you a general status."
That's enough for me. Convincing the head officer at the C-Sec outpost where they hold the quarian woman is harder. Dakan's not here to grease the bureaucratic gears. My shimmery boobs do not assist my negotiations with the stern turian behind the scanner controls. Red colony markings streak his face plates like war paint.
"You're not getting back here, lady, understand? You're not next of kin, you're not council, and," he bends to my ear, whispering, "you have nothing to offer that I want."
After my payouts to my krogan co-models, I have no credits left for bribes. I have no credits left for food. Or my mother. Hopefully, I book the job I bet so much on.
"Oh, officer Santius, you're such an unreasonable hard ass," a lilting voice I recognize calls from the inner chamber.
"Shia!" I embrace her once she passes under the scanners. A trench coats covers her illuso-weave costume. Another asari in a stately flow dress and the detatched attitude of a matriarch follows Shia. There's a human woman in a C-Sec hardsuit at the matriarch's side. Shia releases me when the older asari lays a hand on her shoulder.
"Your mother demands an audience with you, Yashia."
Shia runs a palm over her scalp crest. Flakes of gold gilt clinging to the raised scales there flutter to her shoulders like brilliant dandruff.
"Tell her I'm waiting. She can sleep on my couch."
"The stipulations of my interference with this," her upper lip pulls back, "incident require your presence on Thessia within the month. The contract you signed compels your acceptance. Of course, you could always return to the cell."
"And you could always deal with a return trip out here when mother has her change of heart. Like always."
The matriarch's left eye twitches. Shia laughs.
"Or, you can help my friend here with whatever she needs and I'll go along with mother's wishes quietly."
I am a crawling bug in the matriarch's path. The pleasant expression she plasters onto her face cannot mask her disdain.
"What favor might I pay you?" She asks.
All I want is a short face to face with the quarian woman. The matriarch holds up three fingers, signaling the turian officer manning the scanner. His mandibles flick out and in. He motions me through the scanner while Shia's advocate works on her omni-tool.
"The sum has been deposited," she says.
A taloned hand comes down on my shoulder before I enter the outpost's suite of holding cells.
"Fifteen minutes." The tip of the officer's mandible scrapes my cheek. His head snaps in the human officer's direction. "Patrolman Chandra, escort her to the quarian's cell."
The fortified chambers along each side of the long hall officer Chandra marches me down don't have kinetic bars like prison cells in vids. Clear, versaplast walls seal prisoners inside. Two other human officers patrol the corridor, checking each prisoner's status. A salarian with crazed, rolling eyes slams himself into his windowed wall as we pass. Whatever he shouts at us can't penetrate the soundproofed cell. Officer Chandra touches the comm link at her ear.
"3-A needs another dose. Ten milligrams into the venting pipettes should do it."
The quarian woman's cell is at the far end of the hall. She sits cross legged in the center of her assigned cubby, her back to the outer hall. Approaching the intercom on the right side of the cell, officer Chandra punches the open channel button with her thumb.
"vas Nerai, you have a visitor."
The patterned kerchief draping the quarian's face mask creases when her head turns. Several seconds tick by. She doesn't budge from her meditative position. The breath she takes slumps her shoulders. She stands right before I call it quits. Her movements are graceful and precise. A black gloved hand touches the sister intercom inside the cell.
"What do you want?" Tiny lights in the quarian woman's face mask pick out her eyes and high boned cheeks.
Officer Chandra moves away and allows me access to the external intercom.
"I went to CresCare," I say into the speaker. "Your friend—"
"My step-brother."
"He's in the intensive care unit. When I checked, they had his infections under control. He's submerged in an antibiotic bath."
Removing her hand from the intercom, the quarian places two fingers over her heart then touches the ring of metal around the light on her suit's mouthpiece.
"Keelah. He survived the first night. He has a chance." Emotion makes her voice quaver. She's quick to bring it under control. "Why are you telling me this?"
I open my mouth, but don't speak. Going to CresCare seemed like the right thing to do. A sister has the right to know whether her brother is alive or not. Quarians aren't a respected race. If I didn't tell her, who would? Everyone deserves hope. Those are the correct reasons. Those are the right things to say. But they're not the truth. The channel button clicks when I press it.
"You shouldn't be in here by yourself."
"That's not an answer to the question I asked."
I lean my head against the wall.
"You're in a shit situation. I feel bad about it. I can't get you out, so—"
"So, you bring me word of my brother to assuage your guilt."
I rear back, ready to dispute her remark. The quarian's eyes are tired through her mask. She's fought this battle who knows how many times. The reason I rail is because I don't want her to be right. But she is right. Massaging the space between my brows, I wonder if I've ever done anything selfless in my life.
"I'm sorry." My voice cracks. "I—"
The quarian's raised hand silences me.
"Don't. Don't you dare offer me your pity or platitudes. The favor you've done me is more than I hoped for in this place. I will return it when and if I can. Your self castigation is wasted here. Be grateful you have a place in this universe. You never know when you'll lose it."
The speech replays in my mind as we exit the cell corridor.
"Her public defender is quite good," officer Chandra says. "He's a quarian on an extended Pilgrimage. I don't know that he'll ever return to the fleet."
Basic human education includes units on all the major races in the universe. My middle and high school units on quarian culture weren't extensive. I know they created the geth, the synthetics who invaded Eden Prime under Saren's direction. The quarians lost their homeworld to their robotic creations. They all live on a fleet of ships in constant migration across the universe. Individuals away from the fleet, like the woman in holding, are on what's called a Pilgrimage. It's a coming of age ritual, but that's the limit of my education, or at least of my attention span in school. Officer Chandra obviously knows more than I do. I keep my questions to myself. I've already stuck my ignorant foot in my ignorant mouth once today. That's quite enough.
"You get what you came for?" Shia's waiting for me at the outpost's entrance. The matriarch is nowhere in sight.
"No, but I did what I came to do."
Officer Chandra has escorted me all the way outside. When she leaves my side for Shia's I see why. The hardsuited woman produces a small device from a compartment in her armor.
"My omni-tool," Shia says and offers her hand to the patrolman. Officer Chandra slips the handguard onto Shia's proffered appendage. "I thought it was impounded."
"It was," Chandra says. "Now it's not."
Once the device is in place Shia balls and flexes her hand. She beams at officer Chandra.
"You're the best, Bharati."
"I know. See you tomorrow night?"
With their date confirmed, Officer Chandra departs. I raise one brow at Shia.
"Bharati? Did you seriously score a date on lockdown?"
"A cell can't contain all of this." She makes an up and down gesture at her body and thrusts one hip out. "And Bharati's cute. Love those C-Sec hardsuits." The omni-tool barely glimmers on over Shia's arm when it starts vibrating and chiming non-stop with all her incoming messages. She switches off the device. "I don't have a mind to parse all that at the moment. What's going on with Shadow Matter?"
"Sarc—"
My stomach erupts in a loud uuurruuup. I cover my belly with both hands. My cheeks prickle with heat.
"Why don't we go to Zakera café?" Shia asks. "My treat."
Saliva fills my mouth at the mention of a hot meal. Shia knows I live on a tight budget and I'm immensely grateful that she's willing to pick up the tab. The asari tilts her head, squints at me, steps back.
"Girl, you're glowing. When did you get shine set injections?"
The human cocktail waitress at the Presidium Lounge sets Vlair's drink on his table and hurries away. Not the usual reaction he inspires in women. Until recently. His countenance must betray his black mood. He came here for the atmosphere, but the plash of a nearby fountain, the synthetic white-yellow light shafting through the windows, the delicate laugh of an asari executive on a holo-call who blatantly gives him the eye, none of it cheers him. Slender red straws spear the brandy and crystalline cubes of ice in his glass. He stirs the contents of his tumbler, lets the ice melt. The drink is a prop ordered so he has a reason to stay. No one runs out on him.
Not since the early days, he thinks. Back when he didn't understand his innate ability to draw women without the slightest effort. When their constant attention frightened him and he didn't know what they wanted with him or how to give it. At that time the hanar had not yet recognized his talent and had not yet altered his training to suit his strength.
Women don't frighten him now. Nothing so easily controlled could.
Why did she run?
Vlair grinds his teeth, shoves his glass away with a swipe of his hand. He'd done nothing different, given nothing away and yet Neve ducked out on him while he escorted the charming asari model to her transit terminal.
It's not aliens. It's you.
But why! What misstep caused her mistrust?
The buzz of the omni-tool at his palm brings Vlair to himself. A request for an RT chat pops up from the light gauntlet's haptic interface. This model is vid chat compatible. He accepts the request. Kella's face fills the vid pane, her aloof, slightly distracted expression almost comforting in its consistency. That face changes only when he performs for her at night. Sometimes at midday if she has no pressing business.
"I'm surprised you accepted this call," she says. "I'm not interrupting anything?"
"No." He's too gruff and she hears it.
"Interesting. It's not often you're without the company you've set in your sights." Kella's head tilts downward. She's busy with something in another pane on her p-terminal. "Lanaral sent out his agency notice."
"That was fast."
"There was a clear favorite. That's not as important as Neve's behavior at the shoot. How did she interact with the non-humans on site?"
"Well. She seems comfortable with almost everyone she meets. If she harbors any anti-alien sentiment she's buried it too far down to detect."
"Then she has none. I trust your skill."
"I'm glad one of us does."
The look Kella levels at him would suit a child in the midst of a tantrum.
"Sulking doesn't become you, Vlair. Not everyone in the universe can love you despite your significant charms. But don't worry. I have an errand that will take your mind off Neve for a short time."
"I'm listening." Vlair lifts his drink, swallows a mouthful of watery brandy. The cocktail waitress swishes by on another delivery and he flags her for a fresh drought.
"One of our storage sites, the warehouse on Omega, was compromised last night."
Vlair traces the curve of his bottom lip with his thumb. "Blue Suns? Blood Pack? Eclipse?"
"C-Sec. I believe."
I have a date with C-Sec.
The tapping of Vlair's finger on his new glass goes ting-ting-ting. Coincidence. Neve's casual mention of the Citadel's authority and this news of their interference in NOVA's off-station affairs couldn't be linked.
"What makes you suspect them? They have no authority outside Citadel space."
"Two of the surviving Talon members loyal to NOVA's credits reported a C-Sec plant headed the sting. Aria herself confirmed the turian's identity and contacts with C-Sec. The Citadel's police force is no different than NOVA. Or Cerberus. We are all of us expanding our influence."
Fresh brandy burns a path down Vlair's throat, makes a brazier of his insides.
"You want me to find this traitor turian?"
"No. I want you to meet Ceenira Zanius at the lower docks. She has an important package that requires your deft hand. Will you retrieve it for me?"
"If that is your will."
Kella terminates the vid chat. The small pane winks out of existence. Coordinates appear in Vlair's inbox. With them, he pins a nav point to the live map stored on his omni-tool then he finishes his brandy and descends to the Lower Wards. This errand is twofold. He will carry out Kella's orders, but before his return he will contact his hanar guardian. This news will interest the Illuminated Primacy.
Barla Von made Dakan wait an eternity. The turian's feet jigged on the glossy tile in the anteroom of the volus' office. Only he occupied the waiting area. Another turian had come and gone hours ago. The information broker remained cloistered in his suite. Dakan inwardly recited his list of interests in order of importance.
Dalessia Kella's agenda, intelligence on NOVA's tampering with red sand, and a dossier on Vlair Upshad.
The sum afforded to him from C-Sec's accounts would cover one exchange, perhaps part of a second. Depending on Barla Von's price, Dakan could supplement C-Sec's stipend with personal funds. Information on all his interests would command a hefty fee.
The doors to Barla Von's office hissed open. A pressure suit muffled voice carried into the anteroom.
"I don't care what they're telling you, Sarc." Shush-hiss. "Your club will open its doors in two weeks. Cease your fretting, nephew." The rest of the quiet conversation Dakan could not make out. Then, "Detective Tallen, please, come in."
The volus sat behind a large desk. When Dakan assumed his place in the simple chair before the workstation, Barla Von nudged his interface panes aside and folded his hands on the desktop.
"What can I do for you, detective?"
"Dalessia Kella."
"Ah," shush-hiss, "the infamous Ms. Kella. What's C-Sec's interest in the entertainment industry?"
And herein lay the trouble with soliciting Barla Von. Besides the price. Anything Dakan offered up in this conversation became another piece of intelligence available for sale by the broker.
"Non-existent. This appointment is personal not professional."
Shush-hiss. "Of course it is. Executor Pallin's fixation with NOVA is incidental is it?"
Dakan leaned forward, gripped his knees. "A dossier on her activities since her arrival on the Citadel."
"I suppose you are prepared to make a very large personal investment in the asari?"
"How large?"
Barla Von quoted Dakan his price. The turian's mandibles almost dropped off.
"That's skyway robbery."
"That's business."
"I can't afford your business."
Not with the C-Sec stipend and his allotted personal credits combined. Dakan shoved out of his chair. This whole meeting was a waste.
"Wait," Barla said. Dakan halted. "What figure are we working with?"
The amount Dakan offered rendered the volus speechless. The suck and wheeze of his pressure suit filled the awkward silence.
"Well, detective, I can optimize my vast intelligence network to your very specific needs."
Dakan picked at his handguard. "Fine."
The credit transaction completed. The volus brought his interface panes within working range. A light key console drew itself beneath his stubby fingers.
"Dalessia Kella solicited my expertise recently. I believe the requested information would be of great personal interest to you. I'm uploading the data to your p-sig."
"But I haven't told you my p—"
The bright white eye apertures in Barla Von's pressure suit fixed on Dakan.
"Nevermind," the turian said and opened the file in his inbox, read it. He put a call in to Chellik before he left the Presidium Ring. "Ambassador Udina needs extra security at his office and at all social events scheduled for the upcoming months. NOVA's targeted him."