The customs department was a crescent against the docking bay, with alcoves and offices running along its dimly lit silver hallway. A crowded office overflowed with opera from a vid-screen when Selar and Beran entered it, but none of the employees inside were aware of the situation with the diplomat. They were too busy drowning in mountains of paperwork.

So Selar and Beran searched, guided by nothing more than the spotty information T'Ven had sent them. They passed tariff offices and then a private post office, moving toward the less populated end of the hallway until the only sound was their steps echoing through recycled air. And it was a screech of metal against metal that stopped them.

They approached the last office where the sound had come from, and where they found the human diplomat sitting at a desk beneath old, trembling blue lights.

A turian in uniform stood leaning over the other side of the desk while his hands gripped the edge. His chair had fallen when he stood up, it seemed, and his teeth were clenched as he glared at her. The human was motionless except for the steady rise and fall of her chest, with her fists clenched in her lap. A pair of omni-cuffs glowed at her wrists.

"I have the right to contact my ambassador under council statute three sixteen, section four," she said with burning eyes.

"You have the right to be treated like everyone else on this station," the turian bit out in response. "This isn't the Presidium."

The human stole a glance at Selar as he entered with Beran, and Selar recognized her immediately. It was the woman he had bumped into at the customs kiosk.

And now that he had a chance to notice, he realized that she was wearing the usual Presidium attire of a high collared, long-sleeved dress in two colors. Strands of black hair fell past her shoulders, with shorter strands cut just above her eyebrows. She must have arrived expecting to be whisked straight into negotiations. High heeled shoes, perfectly new, matched and peeked out from the rose and ivory fabric of her dress.

But any recognition in her eyes was overwhelmed by caution at the sight of the C-Sec uniforms that matched the turian customs officer. She looked away, clearly expecting nothing from anyone around her. She closed her eyes, took a breath.

When she opened her eyes she lifted her chin defiantly. "Statute three sixteen, section five," she continued, "states that I have the right to a neutral witness and an advocate. Section six states that if an embassy and Citadel Security have an unresolved dispute the embassy's judgment will take immediate precedence. Section seven..."

She was perfectly reciting every archaic Council statute that was about to cost the customs officer his position in Citadel Security. It was unusual to see an alien detailing them all off the cuff like that. And it was impressive to see just how much panic had settled into the officer's eyes because of it.

"It's about time," the officer said, glancing at Beran and Selar, but the relief in his voice didn't match his expression. He straightened and removed his hands from the desk edge, picked up a holo-pad and set it down again. "I don't recognize you two. You here to pick her up?"

"Statute three seventeen states that during a detainment..."

"Yes," Selar answered. "Can you tell us what happened?"

The turian hesitated, then gestured at the diplomat. His subharmonics lilted a sting of panic at the sound of her voice continuing. "She thinks she can bypass regulations and bring in luggage that exceeds the weight limits. I confiscated it and then caught her sneaking into the evidence room to steal it back."

Beran made a deep, humming noise as he suppressed a laugh. "I was right," he murmured.

Selar glanced evenly at Beran, then back to the officer. "Are you aware that she's an Alliance diplomat?" he asked. He opened his omni-tool's haptic to register a skycar escort through an emergency lane with traffic control.

The officer's voice lost its harsh edge, but the panic in his eyes sharpened. "Ah," he said. He smiled at Selar as if they were old friends, moved his mandibles widely. "Look, I didn't notice. You two are from the ring, aren't you? You don't know how it gets down here."

Selar nodded a little, played along for the moment as he worked the haptic. "Of course. No harm done."

Tayseri's lower Ward was short on staff and high on hours. Things were more frantic than they should have been. Quotas were high.

But just as Selar and the turian weren't friends, it was more likely that the turian was being an obstructionist just as T'Ven had implied. He had to have noticed her identification. And it wouldn't have been far-fetched for someone to meddle because they sympathized with the anti-human side of the political climate.

In either case, they needed to get her to the Presidium before the human embassy started accusing C-Sec of obstructionism. And before they were right, considering the circumstances.

"Yeah, these things happen," Beran said was no point in causing a scene if they didn't have to.

"You didn't listen to me," the diplomat said. She looked up at Selar. "No one here is listening to me. He took everything from me right away when I arrived. I was trying to get my multipass back."

"You're a thief, human," the turian remarked. "No one cares what you have to say."

But he looked agitated at the word multipass. He smoothed his hands along his uniform.

Selar hesitated with his fingers on the omni's haptic. He raised his brow and glanced at Beran, who had sobered immediately with a dark look. Multipasses weren't confiscated except under the direst of circumstances. They were recognized across Council Space as official travel documents and there were very few situations in which confiscating one was warranted.

"What was your name, again?" Selar asked the turian, his hands still lingering over the haptic. "I didn't catch it."

The officer tightened his mandibles with a snap. "Vantius," he said. "Look, like I said, I didn't know she was a diplomat. She was breaking regulation and I took her in."

"I don't care if she's a duct rat," Beran said. "Where the hell is her pass?"

"In the quartermaster's office," Vantius answered.

Selar put his omni-tool on standby. Vantius' white colony markings were etched into a tattoo across his eyes and it was a far more expensive method than the synth-crylic paint recommended by the Hierarchy. Other than that there was nothing suspicious about him. But the situation began to take on a darker hue and Selar's lingering thoughts about obstructionism and embassy politics fell away.

In batarian space, where slavery was legal and a defended tradition, the novelty of the latest Council race translated into an avalanche of credits. And there was a lot of traffic from batarian space doing business in Tayseri. There were a lot of things you could do on the side to afford a permanent Hierarchy tattoo.

"How much was this weight limit exceeded, exactly?" Selar asked.

Any camaraderie between one C-Sec employee and another completely evaporated. Vantius' subharmonics grew hard. "Four hundred grams," he answered, shifting his glare from Beran to Selar. "What about it?"

Selar said, "That's not even a can of tupari."

Vantius bristled further. "If the Council wants to give humans special protections and coddle them up on the ring, fine. But there are regulations down here and she broke them. I don't play favorites."

"And who was it that you were expecting to come and take her away over it?" Selar asked. "It seems it wasn't us."

"Why would I expect constables from the ring?" Vantius said, and Selar didn't correct him. "I thought it would be someone from the department here, that's all."

Beran let out a low, suspicious hum and headed back toward the quartermaster's office to search for the multipass. A dull, sinking feeling began to press in Selar's stomach.

"You can't go back there," Vantius snapped angrily. "You need a warrant or an investigator to even open the door."

Beran flashed his investigator badge over his shoulder. When Vantius tried to follow after him anyway, Selar stepped forward and blocked the entrance to the alcove. He could hear Beran's footsteps echoing away in the hallway behind him.

He leaned over a few inches to meet Vantius' eyes and said politely, "You and I will remain here for the moment."

Vantius snorted at that, looking up at Selar's horns as if they were a joke. "So this is how it's gonna be, then," he said. He righted his chair and sat down at the desk, glared at the ceiling. "You'd think there was an eezo core in that cesspool they call a homeworld."

Selar ignored the comment. He gestured to the diplomat in a way he hoped appeared friendly. "We'll take care of this at the C-Sec academy," he told her. "You'll be up on the ring soon with your people."

She watched him suspiciously. If there had been a council statute for mistrust Selar believed she probably would have recited it to him. Where there was one corrupt officer there were usually others, and he could see her weighing the risk of it.

Selar wondered how long she had been repeating statutes while Vantius tossed insults at her. He had probably planned to take her from the offices by citing a precinct transfer and hoping that she didn't understand the regulations and procedures. It was possible that the call to T'Ven had been a cleaner officer stating their own opinion.

And Vantius would have been too busy counting credits in his head at the sight of her to even notice someone turning him in.

The diplomat stood up cautiously. Selar gestured again and she walked toward him as calmly as she could with a deep breath. He didn't have a lot of experience with humans, particularly ones who weren't involved with C-Sec as employees, but he thought that she looked relieved as she came toward him. He also thought that she looked vividly angry.

Her heels clicked on the hard floor in the silence. Selar unlocked her omni-cuffs when she reached him, carefully didn't touch her. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yes," she answered. "I wasn't going to let him take me anywhere."

Selar nodded at that, noting her optimism and approving of it even if he didn't share it.

"She's fine," Vantius grumbled. "I wasn't going to rough her up over it."

Selar glanced at him. "There's less credits for you if they're injured, correct?"

Vantius sneered and stood up, pushed his chair away until it crashed against the floor again. "What the hell are you implying?" he said. "You think there aren't a bunch of people around here who are as fed up as I am? Humans break rules all the damn time. And here you are to sweep it under the rug like a good little beat cop, just like everyone else on the ring."

"Spare me the theatrics," Beran said behind Selar. He was holding a brown suitcase over his shoulder and he held up a handful of multipasses without owners. "You don't give a shit about politics, so let me explain what's going to happen. I'm the nice, friendly half of this partnership and I'm the one who's going to rip your plates off if you try anything before T'Ven gets here to clean this up. Are we clear enough about that?"

The muscles in Vantius' neck tightened. "You guys work for T'Ven?"

And Vantius began to say something else, but his voice died away in his throat. He moved his gaze over each multipass, then to Selar, hesitant about the horns now that ripping someone's plates off made Beran the nice, friendly half of the pair. "No, I... We're clear enough," he answered after a moment.

"Then sit down," Selar said.

Vantius righted his chair once again, obediently sat down.

And when Selar contacted her, Madam Sergeant T'Ven's response sounded like a biotic car crash over his omni. Employees from the precinct were dispatched immediately. He sighed a little, listening to it all on the line as it approached and then overwhelmed the hallway like a tidal wave. He left as soon as the first constables arrived, passing T'Ven in the hallway. Her pale blue face was taut with anger as she directed everyone.

It was going to be a mess, Selar thought.

But it was someone else's mess for now. As quickly as they could, Selar and Beran led the diplomat outside. She had somewhere to be even if they would need to interview her later. Selar handed the suitcase to her after he had read the tag. "Meiko Ogawa of Tiptree," he recited.

Beran handed her the multipass that matched.

"Welcome to the Citadel," Selar continued. "I wish the introduction had been more pleasant for you."

"Thank you," Meiko said unsteadily. The color had begun to return to her face and she held the suitcase in front of her, clutching the handle tightly with both hands as they escorted her to a waiting, empty skycar. A tiny solar system of planets and stars hung on a keychain attached to the handle. It twinkled with light and noise as she walked.

"You could have punched that guy before we left," Beran said to her as they settled her in the back seat of the car. "Diplomatic immunity has its advantages."

Meiko studied him for a moment, as if she wasn't sure whether or not he was attempting humor with such a comment. "I didn't want to make things worse," she admitted. She placed her hands in her lap, and some of the anger slipped across her eyes again before she composed herself. "Now that I'm late for the hearing I suppose I should have. The ambassador will be angry."

Selar got into the skycar behind the wheel. He could see her watching him in the rear-view mirror. "If the Ambassador has any sense she'll just be relieved that you're safe," he said to her reflection.

"Yes, I hope you're right," she said.

And Selar started the skycar, with Beran in the front seat next to him. The car lifted through the air, moving with a soft, mechanical hum toward the traffic lanes. They would take her up to the Presidium and then head for the academy, where there would be reports waiting. An investigation would inevitably follow.

It would probably be on the news, Selar thought, and woven into the rest of the terrible stories pouring out of the embassies each day.

Beran and Selar made small talk with Meiko, keeping her mind occupied during the trip. She was a colonial arbitration lawyer from the Alliance's colonies, and she had been reassigned as a political appointee to the Citadel until further notice due to the growing crisis in the Skyllian Verge. She looked out the window while the lights reflected in her eyes, sat mostly still on the tan seat surrounded by smoke colored windows.

"I should have done something," she said after a while, mostly to herself. She looked as if the weight of the situation had begun to settle on her.

Beran said, "You did fine. You were scaring the fringe off him."

The skycar rumbled gently, and they rose beyond the lines of neon headlights into an emergency lane. The air in the cabin was warm after the colder drafts of the dock. Selar's thoughts wandered as he drove, listening to the car hum, and he tried not to think about the other multipasses that were probably back in those offices.

At least they saved someone, he thought. But there were a lot of people who fell through the cracks in the Citadel. It wasn't as unusual as it should have been, like everything else that happened in Tayseri.

"I get tired of it being dark all the time," Beran was saying. He looked tired, settling deeper into his seat. "I feel like I should be in a bar or something," he muttered to Selar. "Spirits, there's probably a group of them grabbing people for credits. I definitely need to be in a bar."

Selar said, distantly within his own thoughts, "You just need a hobby to combat stress. Something healthy."

Beran chuckled. "Don't even start with me. Remind me what you do on your downtime, again?"

Selar frowned, looked into the rear-view mirror again where his eyes met Meiko's. She must have been watching him. She smiled and looked away out the window.

He shook his head a little, wondered if he should take up a real hobby now that Amalthea was gone. Perhaps model ships like most of his brothers and uncles. Glue and decals, and shining bronze models of the Destiny Ascension with its turian cruiser escorts.

And little silver stars, silently falling everywhere on clear wires that you could hardly see.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, focused on driving. He watched the neon lights marking the empty lane. And the ring of the Presidium loomed monolithic ahead of the skycar, outlined against the thick blue haze of the Widow system while turning slowly.