Hope was a distant memory. A bittersweet taste one only remembered in passing.
Faint… but still there. A memory to call upon when the sun set and darkness fell. No matter how black the night the promise of dawn beckoned.
A sigh from the deepest part of its spirit was carried away with the wind. For millions of years it had lived without hope. So long that even death was nothing more than a fading dream. The sweet, blissful release from the toils of life… if only it could afford such a luxury. How could it keep going on like this?
The Being grappled its doubts, pulling its cloak tighter as the wind sought to tear it away. Just like the night that sought to tear away the hope it had harbored for millennia. The plan it had followed for countless millennia was crumbling to pieces.
Time and time again it had escaped the clutches of fate… no more. The trap had been set and the noose tightened. This fate it could not escape.
The Being let out a long sigh, filled the weariness of a thousand lifetimes. Its voice was undefinable. Male, female, young, old, friend, or foe; it had long since ceased care. Who it once was no longer mattered; there was only its purpose, and that too was becoming a fading dream.
Hope. That bittersweet melody that kept it going all this countless years.
Was it doing the right thing?
Again, it's doubts surged. How could it go on like this?
The wind rushed through the grass at its feet, bringing whispers that carried no answers. When did it ever? The wind was silent the first time it visited. Then the second. Then the third, and ever on since then.
The wind had no answer when it lost its mother.
It had no answer when it buried its sister.
This place used to be mighty cliffs, overlooking a forest that spanned an entire continent. Time had ground mountains down to dust, leveled the cliffs so only the hill remained. The two tombstones, however, were eternal; their names carved everlasting onyx and preserved from the ravages of time.
Glowing lavender eyes trailed down to the base of the second stone, hating itself for what to come. But what choice was there? Its mother was dead. Gone. Obliterated. Without even a body to bury. If only its sister had been so lucky, if only to be spared from this living hell.
The stone of its mother watched as the Being knelt and began to dig. Inch by careful inch the layers of soil were peeled away until a small, metal casket was revealed. A deep ache settled in its chest as it painstakingly cleaned the mud from the silver rose crest carved on its lid.
Ruby didn't deserve this.
But what choice did they have? The balance had tipped. The enemy was at the gates. They were on their last breath. Defeat meant the doom of all. It only took a single spark to set the galaxy aflame… but why did that spark have to cost so much? All these years, all the endured suffering, watching everything crumble again and again… The Being could only lose so much.
Now, even its hope was being sacrificed.
With trembling hands, the Being pulled the casket from the earth, cradling it like a long lost child. And with a heavy heart, turned to the grounded Reaper Dreadnought in the distance, standing guard over its world and sister, as it had for the last billion years.
-o0o-
From the moment she awoke Ruby knew something was wrong.
The air was ice cold, burning her lungs and charred flesh. She was burned… badly. When had that happened? Whimpering, she curled into a ball and tried to will the pain away. When that didn't work, she cracked an eye open and blinked blearily at the barren, grey landscape around her.
Stars, she thought distantly, rolling into her back and staring up into the pitch black sky, filled with so many stars it took her breath away. It was… beautiful. She'd never seen a sky like that before… never so close.
Her mind drifted to a rock lying beside her as she gasped for air. And she'd never seen a rock like that before. It was grey… to grey… everything was too grey. Why wasn't it orange? That's what she last remembered.
Orange… orange what?
Fire, that's it! It was something about fire. Where was it then…? Where was… where was…?
Ruby gasped, though it had nothing to do with a sudden revelation. Just… the act of breathing itself was hard. Every breath felt shallow and empty. It was getting harder to think. She remembered something about taking deep breaths, how they kept a person calm… but it wasn't working.
Why though…?
She stared up into the sky, so full of stars it felt she was flying… drifting away… flying so close she could… touch them…
Oxygen.
That single word, however random, brought her crashing back to awareness. For an instant everything was clear as a terrifying realization dawned on her. There was no oxygen. She was breathing, but the vital component was missing. She was drowning… drowning on dry land!
She panicked, the world swaying wildly as she managed to rise to her feet. An endless landscape of grey rock and dust surrounded her on all sides, barren of all life. Not a single blade of grass could be seen for miles.
The action took more energy than she thought. The panic was fading, replaced by a heaviness that weighed down her limbs, her mind going blank as sleep beckoned.
"No…" Ruby croaked, somehow still lucid enough to know that she was suffocating. The moment she shut her eyes she would never wake. The thought didn't seem so terrifying now as she swayed on her feet, searching the featureless landscape for any sort of repreve. Finding none, she took a step… then another… and another…
Past the nothingness that was quickly filling her head, she reasoned that if she just kept moving… kept pushing forward… she'd find help… safety… air… Her legs grew heavier, each step requiring more effort then the last… until she stepped off into nothingness.
Ruby felt nothing as she fell off the cliff, felt nothing as her body hit the dirt. She felt only the cold that seeped into the marrow of her bones.
Cold… so cold...
Using the last of her strength, she curled up into a ball, trying to preserve what little warmth remained. Her gasping became slower and weaker in the lifeless air of a dead world.
-o0o-
First Lieutenant David Anderson was out of his bunk and dressing before the last notes of the klaxon faded. Two short blasts; the general call to readiness. His estimates had been on point; a fifty hour transit to the Area of Operation, giving him enough time to grab a solid eight hours of sleep before diving head first to the wolves.
He grimaced as he laced up his boots. He could count the number of times an operation like this hadn't gone completely pearshaped on one hand. There was always a catch, always one missing detail that brought the mission crashing down. Kallee Sanders was a prime example regarding Sidon, and that sparked his most dangerous assignment to date. That had only been a distress call; this was a classified operation authorized by the Admiralty and requested personally by the Director of the Alliance Intelligence Branch himself. For all the intelligence reports, sensor networks, and assurances that this would be the easiest operation of his career, Anderson was counting down the minute until everything would go to hell.
The annoying part was that none of the crew of the SSV Pearl Harbour shared his concern. They were a new bunch, fresh from the academies, handpicked, and eager to prove themselves. It was frighteningly obvious as Anderson made his way up to the bridge: Despite the cramped corridors, the salutes the crew gave their Executive Officer were sharp, even to the point of dropping tools and other small items.
Anderson took it as a bad omen, even as he corrected their mistakes. Yes, his rank and position as Executive Officer demanded the respect of the crew, but as long as they followed orders and did their jobs even he could overlook a missed salute here and there, if it wasn't blatantly disrespectful, of course. It also suggested they were more concerned about his report back the Admiralty following the mission's conclusion. The intelligence reports had lulled them into false sense of security.
And that got people killed.
While it didn't necessarily get worse as Anderson went on, it was enough to put a scowl on his face. Disaster could strike any second and they'd be caught off guard, and in combat that made them easy picking. Anderson just hoped he was groundside when it happened. Then, at least, he was in control of his own fate; while on the Pearl ultimate authority lay with the Captain.
And he wouldn't trust that man to tie his own shoe.
At least on the bridge there was some semblance of normalcy, save for one small, very important detail.
The Captain himself.
Never before had Anderson been more… dissatisfied with a ship before, and the Captain was the physical embodiment of all its flaws. A thin man, who looked more like a model than an officer, Captain Maloney was everything Anderson wasn't. Far from attentive, he even started as Anderson snapped a crisp salute right behind him.
"Ah, Anderson! Good." Standing in a hurry, Maloney beckoned him to the rear of the bridge towards his quarters. Anderson followed, barely suppressing a sigh as he went. Unfortunately, this wasn't an unusual occurrence.
For all his flaws Maloney was an intelligent individual; graduating at the top of his class. Unfortunately, his brains didn't translate over from the books into real action. The man was as insecure as an overweight Asari, as rare as they were. At times like this, when the Captain asked for his personal recommendation, Anderson felt he was the only thing keeping the ship on course. Sure, he had appreciated Maloney's requests for council in the beginning; feeling it was only right as the more experienced of the two, but when the Captain couldn't do a damn thing without requesting his input it became annoying fairly quickly.
The man had no spine, and Anderson couldn't help but resent him for it.
Again, he wondered if it was a joke - some cosmic punishment perhaps - that he'd been handpicked for this post. Or how that shrimp of a man made Captain before him.
Sure enough, as soon as the door to the Captain's private office closed, Maloney whirled on him, panicked. "We have a problem. A big one."
"How so, sir?" Anderson asked, barely managing to hide his annoyance.
"It's… I…" The Captain huffed, snatched a datapad from his desk. "Just look at this! Is this some sort of joke?"
It was the mission dossier; sealed and rendered classified to all eyes until they reached the operational area.
Anderson suppressed a sigh. Yet again he found himself embroiled in the shady world of galactic politics. With these security measures what else could it be? Clearly something the Alliance wanted buried before the Council found out.
Even so, he hesitated before reaching for the pad. He really didn't want to tangle with another Spectre again, and dabbling in classified operations was a surefire way of meeting one. They were drawn to secrecy like a moth to a flame.
What he found, however, was… underwhelming to say the least: The location of a moon with a brief topography assessment, three lines of text, and a set of coordinates.
The moon, a planetoid named Experimental Observation (EO) 839, was roughly as large as Earth, orbiting a gas giant far outside the system's habitable zone. When it was first discovered, scientists were boggled by how this apparently lifeless moon had a sustainable atmosphere.
Well, sustainable was pushing it. The pressure was roughly the same as Earth, but with a third of the oxygen content. Yet somehow it kept the heat. Granted, you'd die of asphyxiation faster than freezing to death, but with the right equipment you could potentially survive for a number of days.
Anderson filed away this fact for later consideration. A suit breach here wasn't an instant death sentence as on other missions. Some good news, at least.
The mission objective, however, caused his scowl to return full force.
Search and destroy.
Use all means at your disposal.
Leave nothing behind.
"How do they expect us to work with this?" Maloney demanded, pacing back and forth. "Do they expect a miracle or something? How do we know what it is? I can't work with nothing!"
"They expect us to complete our mission, no matter the obstacle," Anderson replied, even though he agreed with the sentiment. You needed to be clear and concise when describing an objective, otherwise screwups tended to happen.
Still, it was all they had to work with, and his mind was already churning over the problem. An unspecified target on a barren moon. Flip the equation, and the barren moon hid the unspecified target. Just find the thing that didn't belong.
He checked the moon's dossier again. There were no mentions of any scientific expeditions mounted on the planet, just scans and readings from orbit. In fact there was no technological presence on the moon at all, and this was a regularly patrolled sector; so there was a chance the target wasn't technological in nature. Maybe. Honestly, it could be anything. Those coordinates were the only real clue they had, without them their target could be anywhere on the planet.
He didn't like it one bit.
"How though?" Maloney whined, running a hand through his slicked back hair. "This isn't protocol. Since when did they stop specifying things? What if we miss it?"
"Then we keep looking until we find it," Anderson said, fighting not to grit his teeth. "That's all we can do, sir."
"Not that it does us any good! What if we mess up?"
Anderson couldn't help but roll his eyes as Maloney continued to spout nonsense, jumping from one worst case scenario to the next and working himself up in the process. Had it been about any other mundane subject - such as women - it would've been hilarious. But this was a military vessel; lives depended on this man.
Anderson considered pointing out the obvious; that it wouldn't be the Captain's fault if anything went south. He was in command of the ground team, the ones blowing up the damn thing. If anyone had the chance of messing up it would be him! That would have eased his Superiors worries, but some childish, vindictive, part of Anderson enjoyed watching the Captain suffer.
He instantly crushed that thought, cursing himself for indulging it, and stepped forward. Such behaviour was not appropriate of an XO. "Sir, in my experience it's straightforward. We land, hit the target, get out, report. If we get it wrong, we try again until we get it right. According to intel, our window of opportunity is very open. We could manage a couple of runs before anyone even realizes we're here."
Maloney blinked owlishly at him, glanced at the pad, then back to Anderson. Even then it took ten seconds before comprehension dawned and he tried to recover what dignity he had left. "R-Right. I, uh, got a head of myself. I assume your ground team is prepared?"
Anderson nodded. "Gearing up as we speak."
All as well; getting off this ship was the closest thing to a transfer he was going to get at the moment.
"Right." Maloney straightened and pursed his lips; a pose he often assumed when remembering the ship's itinerary. It took another ten seconds before he came to a decision. "We'll put you down five hundred meters from the coordinates. I don't want to land right on top of an AA gun if I can help it."
Anderson's brow shot up. An original idea? He was almost impressed. Though an Anti-Air battery could take them out long before that.
"We'll hit the atmosphere in…" The five seconds of calculations seemed to stretch on forever. "...in thirty minutes. You'll be ready by then?"
Of course they would, what kind of question was that? "Yes, sir."
That was all Anderson bothered to remember from that point on. His recommendations on deployment and landing strategy came next. At this point he wasn't even sure if Maloney was genuinely clueless or playing dumb in order to use his experience to jumpstart his own career.
God, he wanted off this ship.
At least the ground team was reliable. No green rookies this time. Each of Anderson's four man team was a hardened marine, transferred from other ships in the fleet. It made for an interesting combination: An inexperienced crew and Captain but a tough as nails ground team.
Handpicked, they said. More like they were short on hands and transferred anyone they could, and for a top secret mission no less. That spoke of even deeper problems within the Alliance itself.
Anderson sighed, pausing against his locker in the cargo bay, armored up to his waist.
Maybe he was taking this a bit too far. Yes, the crew was inexperienced, but they were well trained and adapting quickly. Maybe it was just him?
He glanced around; taking note of his squad's readiness. Lance Corporal Haylings was already slipping on her helmet and weapons, and here he was ogling her like a high school dropout. Anderson quietly cursed and finished armoring up in double time.
He still finished last.
Anderson briefed the team in a foul mood, unable to focus as he mulled on his issues. He was supposed to be the example, a soldier all could look up to, but he was the one lagging behind. What if it wasn't a problem with the ship. Blame was in the eye of the beholder after all. He'd been finding fault with everything lately, but never bothered looking on the inside, convinced that he could do no wrong. Now that he did, it pissed him off even more. He was supposed to be better than this.
The cargo bay rattled as the Pearl descended through the atmosphere. It had never bothered Anderson before, but now he felt sick to his stomach. He remembered his attitude when he first boarded, how excited he'd felt at the prospect of something new, then as the days dragged on how his mood deteriorated when the crew failed to meet his standards.
This wasn't him. Something was dragging him down. Before this he could find satisfaction in the order of military life, it gave him purpose. He received his orders and carried them out. Straightforward. Simple. He loved it, and his dedication paid off. He was the Alliance's most decorated special forces operative, first graduate of the N7 program, and had even been considered as a Council Spectre. Those achievements weren't the day to day of your average joe. It was his passion, his dedication in life.
So why did it feel like his life was turning to dust?
Anderson snapped himself out of his daze as the cargo bay doors opened. He tried to banish the thoughts, focus on the mission as he and his team formed up on the moon's surface, but the doubts still lingered in the back of his mind.
He was unfocused, and that was dangerous.
I need a vacation, he thought as he led his team across the bleak landscape, rifle trained and ready. Just some time to get myself sorted out. I can't go on like this.
This wasn't something he could soldier through. Doubt on a mission was deadly. It would affect his judgment, and on the battlefield where each choice mattered, it could get a lot of people killed. He couldn't abide by that, least of all from himself.
"Wow! Hold up."
Anderson stopped short as Haylings, who was on point, signaled them to halt.
"I think we found it, sir." She nodded to the ground at her feet.
The grey rock of the planet had been pounded flat to form a wide circle ten meters in diameter. Silver veins flowed through the rock, creating a wide snowflake-like pattern filled with intricate designs too numerous to count. How the ship missed this was anyone's guess. For a moment, all Anderson could do was stare in awe. It was incredible. A strange, alien beauty that tweaked his intrigue that made him want to follow the veins to their conclusion.
He forced the urge away. They had a mission to complete.
The team's demolition expert, a stocky Gunnery Chief named Bourque, took over, handing out premade explosives from his pack and directing the marines to place them around the edges of the… design. He didn't know what to call it. The stone was unnaturally smooth under Anderson's boots as he walked across the design and planted his charge, taking special care to clear his mind as he linked the explosive into the detinator. Conflicted or not, he wasn't going to let carelessness end his career and the lives of four others early.
As he typed in the correct sequence, however, something shifted in his mind. It happened so suddenly he stopped and looked around, as if realizing where he was for the first time.
What am I doing here?
Anderson swallowed, knocked dumb by a sudden surge of emotion.
The question had never occurred to him before, even in his darkest moments. His first reaction was anger for even daring to question his own life choices, but the thought persisted, snowballing into a cascade of emotions he couldn't identify.
He hadn't felt like this since his wedding day, back when he'd been an impulsive young man, convinced he could make it work. Time had pulled his convictions apart, forced him to see the flaws he had ignored for the sake of happiness. Forced him to make a simple choice: Duty and fulfillment, or a lifetime of dispute.
The choice was obvious, but the divorce hurt nonetheless.
In spite of everything she'd put him through, he still loved Cynthia. Enough to miss her when she was gone. He'd buried his pain in his duty, throwing himself head first into action with dedication and valour. There was no denying his love of action and the responsibilities the Alliance had granted him… but it wasn't the same love from before.
He'd changed. It was subtle, but unmistakable when he looked back.
His shipmates were nothing more than passing faces, there until fleet rotation carried them away. Even the marines under his command were passing strangers. He began to trust the training, not the people who wielded it. It honestly wasn't that hard; just a choice to read the dossier and get to know the people he commanded. Was it because he'd lost so many he considered distancing himself better in the long run? Or because the pain of losing Cynthia was affecting his relationships?
A mental picture slammed into him full force; Rear Admiral John Grissom on the day they met on Elysium, in nothing but a bathrobe and boxers, dull eyes glaring below unkempt hair, sick of it all and just waiting to die on his own terms.
For the first time in his career, Anderson was well and truly terrified as he saw himself in that same position. Unloved, rendered obsolete, waiting out his days on pension as the galaxy quickly forgot about him.
He let out a long, shaky breath, trying to calm his nerves. The explosive beeped as it connected to the detonator. Last step; make sure they were back in orbit before it blew. He stood, silently berating himself for going philosophical on a mission… then tensed.
A footprint was pressed into the dust, just outside the circle's perimeter.
Anderson's rifle was up before he even realized it, scanning the horizon. He was only one on this side, a quick glance around confirmed it. Someone had been here before them.
One word and his team was instantly on the alert, eyes scanning the barren landscape. When nothing popped out at them, Anderson moved forward to examine the print.
It was smaller than he expected, too small to be a soldier's, though they were definitely from combat boots. Anderson picked up the person's trail easily enough; a drunken stagger that carried on to the lip of a small crater thirty meters away.
They advanced, weapons aimed and ready. Anderson's heart pounded in his chest as they crested the lip of the crater.
For years afterward, Anderson would never forget what he saw and how it would change his life completely.
A girl lay in the crater's basin, curled into a ball and completely still. A red cloak was draped over her. For a heart stopping moment, Anderson thought she was dead. As if sensing his presence, she looked up, silver eyes glazing over as her skin turned from blue to deathly white.
Anderson's breath caught in his throat.
"Med-evac!"
He was run before he even realized it, throwing his weapon aside and shouting into his radio as he jumped down beside the dying girl. "Pearl, we need a Med-evac now!"
Never stopping to even consider the consequences, he tore off his helmet and slipped it over the girl's head. The freezing air struck him like a hammer, sucking the breath from his lungs. He ignored it, and sealed the helmet as fast as he could, holding what breath remained in his lungs.
The helmet was a new piece of tech from the Alliance Research and Development labs. No longer was the helmet a complicated affair of suitseals; now a thick band of mesh expanded around the helmet's rim, sealing the soldier's head inside automatically. The carbon dioxide scrubbers and micro tanks were an added bonus. Even without his hardsuit it could supply breathable air for ten minutes before switching to recycled oxygen.
It would save her life… but as the seconds ticked by, Anderson feared he was too late. Then, as the girl took her last dying breath, fresh air flowed into her lungs and she gasped. Through the visor, Anderson saw her face come to life, before the rush of oxygen caused her black out.
Anderson smiled. His lungs were starting to burn, but the color returning to the girl's cheeks was worth it.
The rest of his squad crowded around, their shouts muffled by their helmets, and Anderson suddenly realized how stupid his decision was. Though for some reason he couldn't muster the anger he thought he deserved. His inner soldier was screaming in fury, but his conscience was satisfied.
Using hand signals he directed his team to take up defencive positions. He could see them shouting into their radios, probably screaming that the Lieutenant was dying of suffocation, or just about anything to make the extraction go faster.
To the Captain's credit, the Pearl didn't keep him waiting; cutting a blazing line through the sky as it settled before them. The ramp opened, light beckoning through the darkening encroaching around the edges of his vision.
Summing every ounce of strength he could muster, Anderson forced himself up, the girl wrapped safely in his arms as he started towards the ramp. His lungs screamed as he fought for each step, the urge to open his lungs growing stronger. He shut his eyes, focusing only on the next step and the weight settled in his arms...
...and suddenly he was safely aboard, the bay door sealing with a hiss.
As fresh air rushed over him, Anderson collapsed to the deck, barely managing not to crush the girl beneath him as he gasped for breath. Lightheaded, he was barely aware of medical staff surrounding them, their voices blurring together into an intelligible buzz. All he could see was the girl and the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
Alive.
He smiled and let himself fade away into consciousness.
-o0o-
Part of being a Spectre was recognizing secrets. The moment you stepped into a room, people hid themselves, hid their pasts, hid their crimes. They knew that you had the authority to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, to achieve your mission. So they buried their secrets deep down; in hard drives, optical storage devices, or conveniently forgot they had ever met a particular person.
You had to learn to see through all of it.
Saren was adept at sniffing out secrets. He attributed it to his fearsome reputation. No one else could cause the scum of the galaxy to cower whenever he walked in. Even close accomplices turned in their friends for a chance to live. There were the odd times when people were brave - or stupid enough - to keep their mouths shut, then he had to get his hands dirty. Secrets like that cost blood, and Saren never killed without a reason.
Coincidentally, you could always find a reason to kill.
Strangely enough, however, this time it was the other way around. This time it was Saren's turn to keep a secret.
Through the window of his own private shuttle, Saren opened gaped in awe at the majesty of the ancient vessel floating outside.
Sovereign. Truly, the late Doctor Qian couldn't do the ship justice; it was twice the vessel the mad doctor described in his notes. It resembled an ancient predator of the deep; a long diamond shaped hull, tipped with five manipulator limbs, armed with weapons that dwarfed the Citadel fleet altogether. Qian's description that it looked like a cuttlefish was nothing short of offensive.
With his shuttle pinging the late Doctor's IFF, Saren was able to circle Sovereign twice, simply basking in its glory.
Clearly the ship had seen some fighting during its time. Deep gouges were carved in its hull, gouges that Saren couldn't place to any kind of weapon. In fact, the wounds more closely resembled the claw marks of some giant creature. In this, Doctor Qian proved… well, either insane or genius; comparing the marks to those caused by Earth eagles and other birds of prey.
Alarmingly, they were an exact match.
Even more alarming were the facilities constructed within the ship itself. Even Doctor Qian wasn't mad enough for that, relying instead on a research station on the planet Sovereign orbited. The indoctrination field the ship produced was nothing to be taken lightly. It had driven Qian to madness, and Saren had no intention of falling to the same fate. The countermeasures he'd installed in his armor were more than enough to protect his mind.
Would Qian's personnel have the same protection? He knew Qian's notes by heart, but until he had the vessel completely under his control, it would be best to keep them around. For research purposes.
Conveniently, a small docking bay was set in Sovereign's hull. Saren couldn't deny the thrill he felt as the shuttle set down. Here was ultimate power at his talon tips. The feeling intensified as he stepped into the dark majesty of the ship itself. He could almost feel the opportunities flowing through his veins. Controlling himself, he turned to the hatch leading deeper into the vessel and stopped.
A human woman stood in the hatch. One of the staff no doubt.
"You're not Doctor Qian," the woman noted as he approached.
"Doctor Qian is otherwise engaged," Saren replied coolly, stopping before the woman. Better to insure their cooperation than alienating himself right off the bat. "He's…"
"You don't need to lie to me, Spectre. I know he's dead."
Saren floundered for a moment, forgetting that the woman - the human - had dared to interrupt him. She knew who he was.
"Your name? Now." he demanded, memorising her appearance as she considered the question.
Her proportions wouldn't be out of place for an Asari Matriarch, an impressive feat… for a human. Her bleached white hair was tied in a large bun with black beads woven in. Her face, however, gave Saren pause. The skin was so pale he could faintly see the veins beneath, and these were so dark they were almost black. The eyes were the most alarming: Blood red pupils stared out from milky white orbs, even the irises were white. Aside from her… albino appearance she was a fine specimen, perhaps still in her early twenties. The longer he examined her, however, the more he picked up on a… weariness that hung about her. Nothing as obvious as loose skin and wrinkles - disgusting human trait - but in the way she held herself, as though she had lived this moment many times over.
Finally, she gave a slight bow. "You may know me as Salem."
"Your name. Not an alias," Saren growled, taking a step closer.
"Then my name it is."
To her credit, she didn't even gasp as Saren grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. "Your real name. Now."
The woman… Salem, chuckled. "Ever try to find a drop of water in the ocean? Honestly, I've used so many I can't remember them anymore." she sighed. "I don't know why I even bother hiding my identity anymore. Salem was the name I was born with… but nobody cares about the woman… locked her tower of torment for all eternity."
She choked as Saren shook her. "And what are you doing here… Salem?"
The dark smile returned. "Waiting."
"For what?"
"For you." She smirked, eyes flicking down to the arm currently strangling her. "Oh, don't act so surprised. We of ambition are always destined to meet. You're hardly subtle with your methods."
"Then you know I'm not to be trifled with."
"A risk I'm willing to take, Spectre." She chuckled. "Besides, only the disposable fear for their lives. I have a higher calling.
Saren scoffed. "And your brilliant plan is antagonizing me?"
"Is it?"
Something poked him under the arm. Salem smirked as Saren saw the long knife in her hand, ready to plunge through his armpit and into his heart. Growling, Saren carefully released her, taking a step back as Salem slipped the knife back up her sleeve. He hated how collected she was, even as he leveled his pistol at her head.
"Give me one reason why I should let you live."
"Ultimate power," Salem said without hesitation. Her eyes drilled into him, unconcerned with her imminent demise. "Sovereign is more than a mere ship. Even Doctor Qian recognized this, and he was a raving mad man. But I suppose a broken clock is right twice a day."
"And what's stopping me from taking it off your corpse?"
Salem threw back her head and laughed. "Over my…? You think you can…" She calmed herself as Saren's pistol shook angrily. "I apologize, but you can't be this dense, can you? Did you expect launch codes just lying around? A key to the gates? No. No, the key is Sovereign is not what you think."
Saren seathed. Never had a mere human dared to laugh at him before. Before he could blast her head from her shoulders, however, Salem bowed. "I apologize for my insolence. It was never my intention to offend you. Just… dealing with weak minded fools irritates me. I will give you Sovereign. On one condition."
"Name it." Saren demanded after a moment's consideration
"I want to come with you, of course." She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.
"Why?"
She sighed, suddenly looking far older than her face suggested. "Sovereign is my life's work. The work of a thousand generations. Everything you see is the result of my direct intervention. I know more about this ship than anyone alive or dead. The fool, Qian, could only give you speculation. I can give you the galaxy."
"Doctor Qian never mentioned you in his notes," Saren noted, trying to find a hole in her story. Her offer was tempting, but Saren had met one too many fakes during his career. He wasn't about to take a chance here and now.
Shooting her would be just as satisfying, however.
Salem laughed. Again. "I'm hardly surprised! I wasn't a part of the discovery team, I was the discovery team. Edan Had'dah and his lackey, Qian, came later. Fools, the lot of them. Qian despised my evidence of Sovereign's true nature and fabrated theories of his own. Everything you believe, Spectre, every word that came from that buffoon's mouth is a lie."
"If you think you know so much about me, you'll know I need proof." Now it was Saren's turn to smirk. "So far all I've seen-"
"Is lies!" Salem hissed, turning on her heel motioning for Saren to follow. "If it's proof you want… then so be it."
So Saren followed, pistol leveled at her head the whole while as Salem led him through Sovereign's twisting corridors. She never tried to escape, always staying within reach, never trying to dart away and vanish into the gunmetal grey maze of the ship's corridors.
Eventually they entered into a wide open space inhabiting the core of the ship, reaching on for as far as the eye could see. Despite himself, Saren felt his jaw drop as he beheld the sheer majesty around him. Truly, Sovereign was everything Qian had described, except for the veins of a black, oily material spider webbing across the walls. They stretched across the vast expanse, pulsing to some silent heartbeat.
"Doctor Qian was Edan's second mistake," Salem said suddenly as she stepped onto a catwalk and led him over the vast expanse toward the very center. "An Artificial Intelligence expert? Ha! His first mistake was assuming Sovereign was an AI to begin with."
"What is it then?" Saren asked, for the first time genuinely curious.
Salem looked back, a smile that only came from new discoveries plastered on her face. "A living being. A being so far beyond our comprehension we can't even imagine. A god given shape."
"A god?" Saren repeated sceptically.
Salem didn't reply as she climbed a brief flight of stairs onto a circular platform over what Saren thought was the Ezeo Core; an orb far larger than any he'd ever seen. As he examined it, however, he realized the component was completely unnatural. The same black veins as before covered every inch of the orb, save for a single glass panel at eye level. Salem motioned him forward and together they looked inside.
At first, Saren didn't know what he was looking at: a pinprick of light that pulsed with energy, growing and shrinking in a steady rhythm. Currents of energy swirled around it, flowing in and out like the big bang itself was held suspended in time. The longer he stared at it, the more he began to see… dimensions… plains. It was not a single entity, more millions upon millions of... He didn't know how to describe it. He would stare at one spot, see something frozen in time before it was lost in the never ending torrent of energy. But what Saren saw was nothing compared to what he felt: a blistering rage that radiated from the light like he was standing before the sun itself.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Salem leaned in, pressing her face against the glass.
As if sensing her presence, the light tensened, the clouds of light tightening around its center. Saren leaned in beside Salem, almost pressing his nose to the glass, taken aback by the sheer beauty the light radiated.
"There are many things we've yet to understand in this galaxy of ours," Salem continued as the light swirled angrily. "We're born with our eyes open, but as we mature we fail to realize our true nature. We are not a mortal people. We were born as immortals, all of us. The Reapers realized this."
She caressed the glass with a hand, smiling wistfully, then fixed Saren with a hard stare. "Tell me, what do you know about a world called Remnant?"
"Remnant?" Saren echoed. The light pulsed again, a silver spark jumping across its surface. "Nothing. What does it have to do with Sovereign?"
Everything…
Saren tensed. He hadn't so much heard the word, but felt it in his very soul. The light swirled in its containment, the same silver spark jumping too and fro as if trying to escape.
"Everything," Salem echoed, idly fingering the glass. "The entire galaxy believes that the Protheans were the pinnacle of evolution before they vanished. The Protheans thought the same of the Inusannon. And so on, and so on, to the beginning of time itself. It all began on Remnant… a billion years ago."
The light suddenly expanded and the entire ship shuddered, metal creaking as it tried to escape. The oily veins bulged and stretched, then contracted, containing their prisoner.
"It was then... the Reapers were truly born," Salem continued wistfully, completely unconcerned. She turned away, walking the width of the platform, lips moving soundlessly. When she looked back, it was with a look Saren had seen many times before; hopelessness. A cornered animal with no hope of escape.
"How could the gods have been so cruel?" Her glazed eyes roved over the core, ignoring Saren entirely as she went and caressed the metallic surface.
"How could we have known our positions were reversible?" It seemed as though she was speaking the light itself, for it reacted by pulsing quietly, as though hanging on her every word. "The light, once bound to protect, now burns all in it's path… and the darkness becomes the comforting shadow of refuge. How could I have known? How could I have become their savior?"
A ragged sob escaped her. "How could you have betrayed everything you stood for?"
A groan echoed through the hull. The light seemed to regard her for a moment, then shank until only it's glow was visible.
"So be it." Salem's jaw clenched and she turned back to Saren. When she spoke, it was with new strength. "Sovereign is many things, but truth it is not. Qian lied to you, Spectre… Sovereign lied to you. The entire galaxy has lied to you. I… I have lied to you."
Saren raised a brow in speculation and opened his mouth to speak, but Salem beat him to the punch.
"I'm old, Spectre. Much older than you think. Old enough to see the birth of a star, and watch it collapse. Old enough to see the Endless War begin. Old enough to see the galaxy burn for a billion years."
She turned her gaze back to the core and stared for a long moment. "Do you truly care for your people, Spectre? Is galactic stability truly your purpose?"
Saren didn't hesitate. It would only hinder his true mission. "It is."
"Salem nodded. "Then I will give you Sovereign. I will give you everything you need to command it's power… all I ask is that you listen and judge for yourself."
Saren said nothing, only motioned for her to continue.
"Remnant…" The name came out as a sigh. "Remnant is where the Reapers truly began…"
AN: So, third times the charm?
*Sigh*
Let it be known that I'm a stubborn bastard. I believe this story is worth telling, and the idea of it just won't let go.
Fav and Review, let me know what you think? Your comments keep authors like me going.