Man off the Moon

by FiendLurcher

A rusted hero let loose in a galaxy of myriad grays, walking the familiar steps and seeking answers beyond death at the end of that long, ever-winding road. (Currently editing ch22, took a break last month cuz of flu&brainfog)

28. Toward Torfan

Emiya raised the ration pack above his head, sucking out the last dregs of the mushy blend before discarding it with one last swallow, heavy with resignation.

It was heavy with preservatives and made with little regard for taste or consistency, but it was nutritious. Everything you needed to live for a day in one meal! At least for asari, the asterisk below the slogan disclaimed—he would probably have to supplement it with something, if he continued on a diet of ration packs for a longer time.

For the most part, his headache had disappeared, and he was feeling a lot better already.

Though it had not been the most comfortable of places to crash down on, he had managed a fairly decent night's sleep. For the first time in years, even. Usually he always simply went about his business and hacked during the night hours on Thessia. He had leaned against a sword embedded in the ground and closed his eyes inside of his own world, dreaming the dreamless sleep of the dead. Somehow his internal world had felt nostalgic after all this time. It had been that realization, which had made him open his eyes once more.

It hadn't been more than a few hours since he had crashed, but waking up had been a strange thing. He hadn't 'woken up' where he had fallen asleep, rather he mentally woke up around the time his body had been looking for something to drink in a half-conscious state for well over a minute. Waking up to actual consciousness in a dark storage room, covered in ration packs had been rather perplexing.

Not entirely sure what else to do and still being quite famished and thirsty he had simply decided to eat and drink where he had been. It wasn't like there seemed to be any danger or immediate hurry. So he had continued to tear into ration packs in the dark of the storage room.

That was already half an hour ago. Since then, he had managed to at least get his bearings.

So here he was, sitting in the all too small cockpit again with a pile of rations at his side while he eyed the galaxy map. Fixing Miranda's sabotage was a quick job and he had been able to do it while eating with one hand. He could access everything remotely, but having the displays in front of him felt more natural.

Especially since he could no longer directly interface as he had with the Tristar. His cracked spiritual core was already being a bother.

Eyeing the numerous starships coming and going through the Mass Relay along with the dozens of warships all around him, he sighed.

"What to do... What to do..."

The moment he tried to gun the engines and take off, the other starships would surely shoot out his engines or do something similarly troublesome for him. Though as long as Tela Vasir's old corvette remained cold and running only on battery power, he had the advantage of a hiding place no one would think to check out. Well, until someone finally decided to double-check everything when they realized he wasn't on the cruiser.

So he couldn't exactly just wait here either. Sooner or later, someone would come looking again. And he was in something of a hurry. But at the same time, haste makes waste. I have time to think again, I should plan my next moves thoroughly while I can.

Because even if he managed to escape the immediate situation, that was just the start of his troubles. He couldn't simply fly to the nearest Mass Relay and attempt a jump.

With functional communications in the picture again, even with FTL-travel he would be arriving much too late to avoid his more numerous pursuers. Mass Relays were the focal points of space-travel; even if the galaxy was a ridiculously vast place, as long as you could control the Mass Relay, you could control the galaxy. There were a number of Mass Relays, creating a criss-crossing web of routes from one corner of the galaxy to the other. So while you could always go clockwise or counter-clockwise around the Milky Way, generally speaking for a galactic power it would quite easy to set up checks on choke-points.

Some places even had just the one, such as Parnitha, which made controlling the traffic to the system quite easy. Such was the nature of Primary Relays.

There were two kinds of Mass Relays; Primary Relays which functioned at ranges of thousands of light-years and Secondary Relays that only functioned for hundreds of light-years. The Secondary Relays could be paired with other Secondary Relays in range, creating a connected cluster of sorts where one could jump to any other point in the cluster from any relay. But the Primary Relays were different. They connected only to a single Relay, the other Primary Relay it was paired with.

It could be thought of like tangled city streets, connected by a long highway in between as the only pathways between the numerous cities.

Meaning that even if he had escaped Thessia, slipped through the Mass Relay, and bypassed the blockade behind it, sooner or later he would still have other obstacles to deal with. He would continue to have them unless he could circumvent the system entirely. As long as he stayed in Citadel space, every Mass Relay would be another hurdle. Another point of critical failure. Behind every Primary Relay there might be another fleet. Another host of warships waiting on him to pass through into their waiting arms. With FTL communication massively out-performing FTL-travel, he would never be able to outrun them all.

"What a mess..."

But right now the hourglass had been tipped over. The falling sands had paused and come to a rest, as time was thrown into limbo. He had time to breathe and figure out what to do for now.

So he should use it.

Eyeing the galaxy map, he exhaled and rubbed his brow. He felt off his game, somehow. Something about how he had gotten up was bothering him. Like he had forgotten something, or as if something was amiss.

He blinked, straightening up. "I haven't brushed my teeth."

The realization made it click.

How was he expecting to perform up to his usual level, when he hadn't even done his routine? The previous day had been one stretched out conflict with no time for rest, and now if he tried to get right back into it he would still be stuck in the mindset he had been in at the end. That wasn't good; he needed fresh eyes and a new perspective. With a put upon sigh, he rose from the seat and cleaned up after himself.

Exercise wasn't worth it right now; he had just eaten and the exertion would only waste the nutrition in his stomach, and he was still sore from everything that had happened on Thessia. Getting up, he grumbled out aloud, "This thing better have a shower..."

Ten minutes later, as he dried himself off after stepping out of the shower, he realized something else. Staring at the projected toothbrush in his hand, he let out a disgusted sigh.

"There's no toothpaste..."

Shaking his head and sending droplets of water flying everywhere from his matted hair, he settled on having to brush without.

To think that five years ago he had struggled with getting back to a civilian life, and here he was now complaining about a lack of toothpaste. Looking at himself in the mirror, he wasn't even surprised to see the gray eyes staring back at him, set in the tanned skin and topped off by a head full of white hair. Having held back his magical energy and kept his abilities in check, the process through which the soul overwrote the body had been halted. For over five years he had woken up every morning to a face in the mirror that had seemed unfamiliar to him each morning. Yet now having returned to his normal, he somehow felt as if it was a loss. He really was back to how he had been at the end of his life, now. Somehow, that seemed fitting given everything else that was going on in his life.

Scoffing as much as spitting out the water in his mouth, he dispelled the projected toothbrush once he was done.

At least getting the sweat and grime off of himself along with the cold water on his skin had helped him to clear his head. The problem was that the Mass Relays were a known quantity. The asari alone had been traveling through space for millennia; he could never hope to match them in astrogation and piloting. The Citadel's people would have countless charts, contingencies and plans for every route he could think to take.

Attempting to play on their terms would just end up with them slowly closing in and encircling him, until he was trapped again. It would be pointless.

It was pointless, to play by their rules.

He had only managed everything he had until now, because he was playing by an entirely different set of rules. He knew and understood theirs, but they were grasping at straws when it came to him.

So he had to do something brazen again. Something so outlandish as to leave his pursuers completely aghast and at a loss for what to do. Had to do something no one had thought to prepare for. After all, he was just one man trying to outrun the largest unified force in the known galaxy. To match the efforts of a hundred thousand ordinary actions, he had to continue to do extraordinary things as long as he was all alone. Nothing less would do.

"First option..." He muttered as he sat down on the cold floor, crossing his legs as he settled down. "Fly to one of the nearest systems and activate a dormant Mass Relay."

In 2149, nearly three decades ago, humanity had discovered the dormant Charon Relay. Activating it had opened up the galactic highway to humanity, allowing them to spread rapidly beyond the bounds of just their own system. With that mindset, they had gone about activating any and all relays they could find, drunk on the new frontiers and corners to explore that each promised.

Until first contact with the turians, anyhow.

The Citadel races held another view on the matter of activating dormant relays. One born of a disastrous first contact with a hostile space-faring insectoid race. The Rachni Wars had occurred two thousand years ago, but the after-effects could still be felt in the galaxy of today. Opening dormant Primary Relays was forbidden by the Citadel. It had been that law the turians had been enforcing, when they had attacked humanity first and humanity's first contact war had erupted.

Meaning there were still dormant relays to be found here and there. If he flew for one of the star systems furthest from the Parnitha relay's pair, perhaps he could activate a dormant relay to open up a new pathway for himself? To go around the known routes?

He scoffed.

Or perhaps he would run headfirst into some new, as-of-yet-unknown horror and unleash it upon the galaxy. But more importantly, he would be straining the corvette's fuel tanks with such a long flight if he wanted to keep ahead of his pursuers. If he tried to skimp on fuel and acceleration, a nominally slower ship might well fly at full burn and arrive before him wherever he decided to head.

Moreover, once there, what then? Head to space unknown? Try his hand at exploration in a starship designed around speed and comfort, not long voyages or exploration? This thing couldn't even skim fuel by itself. Most likely he would run out of fuel or have the starship break down somewhere, leaving him to die in the cold of space or crashed down on some barren planet.

Though...

There was a certain pull he felt towards exploration, nonetheless. The great unknown. He hadn't been an adventurous type in his youth, but his long travels had made him grow keen on visiting new places, new cuisine to try out and new people to meet. Perhaps he might even run into other, previously completely unknown space-faring races?

Emiya shook his head.

Since it wasn't an effective option for his current situation, that made it a consideration for another time. He had decided to save Nirida Henell, therefore his flights of fancy could wait.

"I don't even have a change of clothes," he complained quietly, dismissing the thought of wearing the hardsuit again with annoyance.

He had just gotten out of it.

With a shrug, he simply projected his usual black slacks and shirt without another thought to the matter. In this age they were rather anachronistic and would draw more than a few glances, but he still preferred them over the contemporary fashions. Normally he would seek to avoid sticking out any more than he already did, but he didn't care right now.

Sitting back down into the cockpit, he exhaled as he looked at the ceiling. "So that leaves trying to fiddle with the Mass Relays themselves, huh."

It was still cramped and uncomfortable. But now since he knew he would be flying this starship for a while and without the worry of Miranda staring over his shoulder, he might as well adjust it.

"—Trace, on"—begin synchronization,

Stretching out the dimensions of the chair wasn't particularly hard, and the rest of the cockpit wasn't really challenging or complex either. But the cost was substantial. He could have projected three holy swords for that effort. But he had no interest in swords at the moment, only the comfort of the cockpit. Nodding at the more comfortable seat now, he exhaled as he settled in. At least the spiritual core's damage doesn't seem to affect my ability inside the body.

Still, it was going to be a problem.

It wasn't something that would heal with just time and rest. Even the amount of magical energy he had wouldn't affect it much. It did not matter how much water you could pour into a bucket; the hole at the bottom would remain a hole in the bottom regardless of how much water it leaked. Strenuous effort outside his body would probably worsen it. It wouldn't affect his ability to act, only make him lose magical energy rapidly until at some point simply leaving this body would be an instantaneous death for him.

Well, fixing it was easy enough.

He just had to get back to the Moon Cell. Probably, anyhow.

Of course given that he was the galaxy's most wanted man, that was easier said than done. Especially since carelessly running to the local cluster and disappearing on the Moon would make humanity look extremely suspicious.

Who knew how the Citadel would react if they realized where he had run off to.

Thinking back, he hadn't exactly made the most solid of backgrounds for himself when he had left for Thessia. They would inevitably be able to trace back his appearances all the way to Earth. And if he were to return there now, wouldn't it seem like he was reporting back? Given everything that had happened, he wasn't going to risk Earth. Not simply because he was inconvenienced. Besides, my condition is stable as long as I remain in this body.

Exhaling, he reached down and pulled out the i'usushij that he had left behind when he had followed after Miranda and then got out of the cockpit. It's not proper to keep a blade like this...

Walking towards the cargo hold where he would have more space, he absentmindedly swung around the i'usushij in his hand. Without a magnetic field to feed off of, it was biotically completely inert. Which is why he had left it behind; it was probably entirely useless off of Thessia. There were some ideas he had regarding converting the circuitry into something more modern, but that could wait.

Projecting a simple sheath; hard leather molded to the contours of the blade, he dismissed that thought for now. He had more important things to worry about.

He had something of an idea, regarding the Mass Relays. It was a question that had popped up while he had been eyeing the galactic map, more than anything. Or more importantly, the listed distances between various systems with Mass Relays. Something about those distances had tickled his curiosity and had given him an idea.

There wasn't much publicly available data on Mass Relays, not beyond their outer dimensions and general function anyhow. But he had his unique sense for the distortion they created in the fabric of reality. The alteration of mass in proportion to the ambient surroundings. And through his experiences so far, he had gotten a decent grasp on the 'depth' of such fields. It was part of what made him so leery of the Mass Relays; the energy required to affect reality enough to create such distortions was enormous.

Ridiculous, even.

Getting close to a Mass Relay for a jump was considered perfectly safe. Accidents were exceedingly rare and usually the fault of the pilot or pilots involved. He hadn't dug deeper, but he didn't have any cause to believe there was anyone trying to cover up accidents relating to them, either.

Mass Relays worked.

Even so, he felt anxious around them.

Because using a Mass Relay to jump from one system to another was like flying down on the surface of the sun to light a match. But that was to be expected, he supposed. It was possible to travel to other far off systems using modern FTL technology, even without Mass Relays. It would just take much, much longer to do so. So much longer, that it would be necessary to use cryogenics if an individual wished to see the destination alive. Or live for hundreds, even thousands of years.

To cross such a divide in seconds...

Of course an absolutely stupendous amount of energy was necessary. But he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if something went wrong. The Asari Matriarchs' caution regarding the Mass Relays made perfect sense when thought about in such a manner. And here he was, intent on trying to modify them for his own purposes. Maybe it would explode and turn the entire region into a new nebula?

Emiya shook his head, dismissing the morbid thought as he jumped down the steps into the cargo hold, through which he had first entered the corvette back with Miranda. Looking around, he nodded at the space available to him.

"This should work," he said as he put aside the now-sheathed i'usushij, his thoughts returning to the issue of Mass Relays.

As long as it could be done, he could work around any problems with safety. In the worst case scenario, he could find a dormant relay and use that one instead. If one of those broke or exploded, it should be fine. Probably.

The idea he had made sense, even as he tried to pick holes in it based on what little he knew about the relays.

After all, he had sensed it for himself. The primary and secondary relays' 'depth' was exactly the same. Their function was the same. So as long as the hardware was similar enough, then he could probably assume the only difference between a Primary Relay and a Secondary Relay was on the inside.

Meaning that a secondary relay should be able to connect to another relay much further away than previously thought, akin to a primary relay, and a primary relay should be able to connect with another primary relay entirely much like secondary relays could.

"So the question is... Can I hack a relay?"

---

;

---

Shepard rose up as the Admiral entered the room.

The din of conversation died out slowly as the others moved to do the same. The meeting room was chock-full of uniformed soldiers. Men and women, captains and majors. The only Alliance personnel below the rank of Lieutenant Commander here were those like herself, fresh second-in-commands.

She had gotten more than one look, but she didn't mind it since she knew it had nothing to do with Elysium. She honestly preferred being back on the ship, over the public relations stuff they had hoisted off on her following that event.

It wasn't that she hated being in the lime-light, but rather that she wasn't allowed to do it as herself. She could get along with people just fine, but when she was propped up as the humanity's new hero in the wake of the Elysium attack, she had been expected to become something completely different. She was a soldier. Just one among many. Merely the one who had taken the reins and borne the burden as hundreds had died.

Yet the press and department of public relations wanted something entirely different, and the Navy had been more than happy to oblige in effectively creating an idol for the masses. Well, if it had been just that then it would have been fine. But it had started getting in the way of her other assignments, meaning that the way her public image had crashed and burned was ultimately just fine with her.

"I assume everyone is present and ready," the aged admiral Steven Hackett said as he sat down.

There was a chorus of agreement as others followed suit. The man was something of a legend in the Navy. He had joined as an enlisted, served in the First Contact War and clawed his way back to the top. There was an air about him, a gravitas that made him stand out—that gravelly voice and serious, unshakable mien that had seen humanity through some of their hardest times in living memory.

It was a countenance every soldier in the Alliance knew they could count on.

Hackett nodded then looked over at the Major standing next to him, holding onto a tablet and almost buzzing with excitement. "Major Kyle, brief us on the operation then."

"Yes, sir!" He answered and raised his tablet, pressing it and causing a large display to activate. "With everyone present, Operation Fish Barrel may begin. As you are all aware, for years the System Alliance's expansion into the Skyllian Verge has been fraught with problems. Slaver and pirate attacks, trading sanctions, mining and gas skimming rights disputes and more. Until the Elysium attack, these were thought to be unrelated. But following the capture of Elanos Halliat..."

He nodded at her, and she acknowledged it quietly as one or two of the officers glanced at her. Most of the personnel present already knew all this.

"We have come to learn otherwise. Following his interrogation, we have found that there is reason to believe someone has been coordinating these attacks against humanity. Until now the operations Sparrow Hunt, Trout Trail and Beekeeper have been successful in following through on the leads we acquired from Halliat."

Shepard blinked. She had only known about the first of the three mentioned operations, having been a part of it. They had been raiding and intercepting various slaver groups along with sixteen other captains. If there were two other operations of similar magnitude that had been going on until now and they had led to the current operation, then that meant this was easily the biggest move the Alliance Navy had made since the First Contact War.

"Who comes up with these names?" Someone whispered, causing Shepard to glance over her shoulder.

"Someone in PR I bet," was the scoffed reply.

Shepard leaned back and met eyes with one of the two. They were both of higher rank, but her stare still managed to quieten them as they noticed her looking.

"...The turians got ruffled about the last joint exercise being called the 'turkey shoot', I heard."

There was a second of surprised silence and then the two snorted loudly. Major Kyle who had been showing the various areas the operations had taken place in on a galaxy map paused, frowning at the two who could barely hold down their guffaws.

"Is something the matter?" He asked, overlooking Shepard who had turned to look forward again, her face a placid mask of rapt attention.

"No, no. Just something in my nose," the first of the two behind her excused.

"...I see. Well then, let us continue..." Major Kyle said after a moment of consterned staring.

Beside her, Captain Anderson shot her a reproving stare. Even so, she could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

The rest of the meeting went by without further issues and finally as they were dismissed, Shepard stood up and stretched. It had been a long hour, even if she had been paying attention.

"Shall we return to the ship, Captain?" She asked, turning to Anderson.

"You go on ahead. I still have some things to discuss with Admiral Hackett."

She blinked before nodding in understanding. "Alright. I should get a good night's rest in for tomorrow anyhow."

Turning around, she left the meeting room and headed for the shuttles. She had to get her gear off of the SSV Tokyo and onboard the other ship she had been assigned to for the duration of the operation. Captain Anderson would be taking his Cruiser and waiting for the signal to rally at the Mass Relay in the system to ensure no one could strike them in the back while Operation Fish Barrel was under way. With nominal airspace superiority and the batarians dug in so deep, there was little need for more ships near the moon than was strictly necessary for getting their feet on the ground.

The Torfan installation they would be hitting was the base for one of the largest slaver operations in the quadrant. And one that had likely been directly involved with the Elysium attack. But unlike the prefab bases and bio-domes she had fought in previously, the Torfan installation was buried deep into the ground.

Meaning she—along with the strike-teams aboard Tokyo that she had commanded during Operation Sparrow Hunt—would be going to Torfan instead. Given their experience with pirates and slavers, they were a valuable ground unit. They had the training, gear and experience. They would be working directly for Major Kyle, who would be the highest ranking officer with boots on the ground.

Waiting for a shuttle pilot to clear for take off, she scrolled through her personal emails on her omnitool. Finding nothing but ads and internal Navy newsletters, she closed the tab read through some news. Blinking at the blackout in Parnitha, she tried for a few minutes to find if there was anything more to the story on the net, but eventually gave up. The asari must have an information lockdown in place.

Well, she would hear the official version of the story sooner or later. Better to focus on her own operation instead.

Getting a shuttle ride to the SSV Tokyo, she stepped onboard and nodded at the saluting riflemen receiving her. At the same time, a synthetic voice spoke out through the comm-systems.

"Logged: the Executive Officer is aboard. Engineer Adams stands relieved."

It wouldn't be for long; she would probably be handing over the reigns back to Adams. She had said she would need a good night's sleep, but with only four hours to go until she had to report oboard the main attack vessel, it didn't seem like she would have much time for rest. So, she needed to get her own gear along with everyone on the strike-teams all ready to go within half an hour. Maybe she could catch a power nap before her next briefing with Major Kyle. It would take them a few days to get to Torfan, but she wasn't going to have much time to kick back and take it easy.

And after that, once they were there?

Time to rock'n roll.

---

;

---

"Thirty seconds, huh."

That's how long Independent Action and his own focus could hold up before he started feeling something giving way. If it was just thirty seconds, there wouldn't be any problems or loss of magical energy. No, it was better to think he had twenty seconds, always keeping that last third in reserve in case of an emergency.

Still, it wasn't much. Would it be sufficient?

Returning to his own body, Emiya exhaled.

The last thirty minutes of experimenting to test his limits had led to that conclusion. It wasn't exceptional, but it was better than nothing. Whether it was enough for the Mass Relay remained to be seen, because all his attempts at remotely hacking the relay from the corvette so far had been complete failures.

The receiving system on the Mass Relays would usually only receive a short transmission containing the mass of the vessel approaching. This would act as the identification for the Mass Relay, which would allow the starship to safely close in on the approach corridor and be caught by the mass effect fields of the relay.

Thus, there was very little that could be done conventionally to hack the relays. Even with his advantages, there wasn't anything for him to do. It wasn't like a simple database, which when queried with a non-standard format might return anything that could be used to deduce or crack their systems on another attempt. The Mass Relays simply either ignored any non-standard messages or deciphered them in an unknown manner and then waited an unknown period of time until it rescinded the preparation, as far as he had been able to tell.

It was just too simple to be hacked by normal means.

Emiya was certain every space-faring race had experimented with their Mass Relays to some extent, when they had originally tried to figure out how one worked. But he had never heard of them working in an unexpected or dangerous manner, despite all of that. A foolproof system, made simple enough that they could be adopted almost universally by all space-faring races. It seemed odd when he thought about it; almost as if the Mass Relays were made so anyone could use them and not have to worry about it at all.

Supposedly they were also made of the same material as the Citadel's hull; a kind of unknown super-alloy that couldn't even be scratched enough to get samples from. Some drifting dormant relays had supposedly survived stars going supernova, even. He hadn't gotten close enough to try getting a closer look yet.

"Well, I guess I can look into that if I have enough time..."

Thus it wasn't as if someone could simply raise the hood and take a closer look at the inner workings. Not without being prepared to destroy the Mass Relay under investigation. No wonder the asari refused to investigate the matter.

But there had to be something more. The Mass Relays were ridiculously complex machines. He couldn't imagine them functioning on just such a simple system, it would be like a nuclear reactor being adjusted by gauging the heat of the core by hand, or some such.

No, it was likely that it was merely an external module that handled the communications with starships. Like the mass spectrometer on Hosin's orbital station, or something. Which meant that he should be able to dive into the system in his astral form and work his way from there, just as he had with orbital station.

Which meant he had needed to test how much his spiritual core could handle.

"Twenty seconds..." He scoffed. "Should be plenty of time."

With an exertion of will, he dismissed the lock on the metal coffin his body had been lying in and sat up while opening the lid with one arm. The problem of the signal bouncing around still remained, meaning that even without his spiritual core issues it wasn't like he had the option of carelessly leaving his body behind. Setting up the conditions for using it safely, versus the amount of time he had available when he was done with everything was not at a ratio which really made using his spiritual body worth it.

Having to spend a minute to project and check that his body was safely ensconced in a coffin, just for thirty seconds of activity wasn't going to be possible in most situations. He would have to stop using his heroic spirit body until he could get his spiritual core fixed, then.

Or then he had to wear a Faraday cage all the time or something.

Emiya blinked, considering that thought for a second. Hmm, maybe worth looking into.

"Something to consider another time," he muttered as he got up.

Closing his eyes, he patched through to the corvette's functions and passively listened in on the radio chatter to make sure nothing had happened while he had been off the comms. Just the usual chatter and movements, he noted while passively observing. After a minute he decided that no one had noticed anything and he was still safe.

So far he hadn't been noticed by the other starships but once he used the tightbeam to connect to the Mass Relay, it was possible someone would notice the spike in power consumption. And if he wasn't paying attention and hacked them in time to hide the leak, then the gig would be up. The tightbeam itself would be next to impossible to notice, not unless someone directly intercepted or blocked it, so that much was safe. But if someone began keeping an eye on the Janiri's Sickle it would be immediately obvious that someone was onboard from the rise in power consumption the moment he used the tightbeam.

So he would have to make it quick.

And to top it off, he had no idea how diving between two such wildly different computer systems would affect his spiritual core. It had been fine before on Thessia, back when he had gotten the corvette started the first time. But this time it was an entirely alien computer system he would be jumping into, so there were no guarantees of anything.

"It'll be fine," he reassured himself.

With that, he returned to the coffin and sat down.

Closing the lid, he re-projected the lock with a tense exhale to make sure it wouldn't open, even accidentally. He had no idea what to expect inside the Mass Relay, so he it was important to minimize what could go wrong outside of it.

That way he could focus without worries on just what was in front of it.

"Time to roll," he exhaled and stepped out of his body.

Twenty.

Sinking through the floor he dived right into the corvette's computer and initialized the tightbeam commline to the Parnitha Mass Relay. As the tightbeam connection was forged with the Mass Relay, he primed himself mentally and then jumped through before transmission from his ship ended. Time to see if Liara was right after all; Prothean or not Prothean...

Like jumping into a flowing river, he was pushed into the receiver.

Nineteen.

And he was in. And the inside of the Mass Relay was...

"Hmm..."

Rather simplistic. Bare and lacking in any noteworthy features, even when it came to the standards of virtual worlds. It wasn't even minimal, it was just empty. He had seen fridges more complicated than this. There was nothing really there, merely a simple array of communication transmitters and receivers of various kinds, along with—Ah, it's transmitting everything forward somewhere else? Some sort of air gap between it and the main system, then.

The part of the Mass Relay he had entered through the tightbeam wasn't the part of the relay that handled the actual function of creating a mass effect field and transporting ships from one relay to another. Instead, there was something like a terminal through which everything that was transmitted would be displayed. Seems like a meaninglessly complex system, given how easy it is to use Mass Relays. If security is such an issue, why are there no locks on normal travel?

Eighteen.

It doesn't matter. Shaking his head, he moved to the terminal and dove out back into the real world.

And promptly almost froze as he stumbled to not fall into the alien creature that was standing right in front of the terminal. He tottered around the thing, blinking as he gawked at its squat body and numerous thin limbs. Green, spider-like, wearing something like an orange vest or scarf, it was busily tapping away at the terminal set into the wall.

Isn't that a... Keeper? But weren't those only found on the Citadel? What was it doing here?

Emiya looked away from the Keeper, taking in his surroundings. Spotless white walls, the rounded square room-base for architecture along with the lifeless bright lighting... It even looked liked the Citadel on the inside.

He couldn't say about atmospheric pressure or composition in his current astralized state, but gravity felt normal. A bit light—Presidium 0.3 G standard-ish—and definitely due to a mass effect field, but nothing unusual otherwise.

But he could feel the massive mass effect field around him. It was like being in the eye of the storm; no winds touched him, but just a scant dozen meters away he could feel that endless depth, beating like the heart of a great sleeping god. He was definitely inside the Mass Relay. Or a Mass Relay, anyhow.

He paused, inhaling slowly to calm himself.

Seventeen.

Now what?

Should he try to explore? Find out if there was anything else here or how the Keeper-creature was here? There weren't any doors or windows in the room that he could see; it was more like a cell than a room, in that sense.

Turning around, he glanced at the Keeper who hadn't noticed him at all. That was good. He wasn't sure why he thought that, but he had the premonition that he was very much not supposed to be here and that being discovered would not be good.

Should he try to figure out what it was doing? Figure out how the Mass Relay worked? That was why he was here in the first place, wasn't he? To hack the relay and to get free, right?

Sixteen.

Glancing at the Keeper and the terminals it was working on, he frowned. There must be a dozen different systems there...

Managing to possibly recognize a few, he peered over the short Keeper's body at the displays. One seemed like the controls to the Mass Relay, one the communication's module through which he had dived in and finally there seemed to be one display dedicated to a map of this quadrant of the Milky Way. All the Mass Relays he knew—and what seemed like several more which he had never heard about before, indicating possible dormant relays perhaps?—were highlighted as blinking dots there.

Fifteen.

Turning around, he looked at the room once more. I'll take a look around first... See if there are more of these things around. Then I'll jump back to the corvette and reset. No point in hurrying.

Crouching down, he exhaled and leaped upwards through the ceiling. Only to hit his head against the material and fall down on his rear on the floor, blinking in confusion at the failed attempt.

Looking upwards, he frowned at the ceiling. That's not supposed to happen...

Spiritual bodies could pass through matter without any issues. The only exceptions were things with enough magical energy or conceptual weight as to be able to interact with a spirit. Things like bounded fields and conceptual weapons, or crystallized mysteries.

Looking down at the floor, he poked a finger at it. It was just as impervious as the ceiling was. That's strange... I can't sense any magical energy either. What's going on?

With a frown he closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Trace, on"—begin synchronization,

Fourteen.

Thirteen.

Twelve.

Eleven.

Ten.

Nine.

---

;

---

Minus seven.

Minus eight.

Emiya opened his eyes with a gasp, standing up and turning around with an arm outstretched to the terminal he had arrived through. "Trace, on!"—begin insertion,

Diving right back in, he was barely able to jump back into his body before he hit the time limit. Forgetting to dispel the projected lock on the lid, he hit his head against the coffin as he tried to sit up, panting and confused.

Rubbing his forehead and gritting his teeth, he dispelled the lock and opened the coffin. Somehow the corvette's cargo hold seemed familiar and comforting, making him exhale in relief as he stood up and sat down outside of the coffin.

Placing a hand against the floor, he closed his eyes and pushed out his magical energy to analyze the structure of the material. It worked just like normal, making him sigh in relief and fall back to lie on the floor. Staring at the ceiling, he drew one hand to rub his forehead.

"What exactly was that...?"

The floor seemed normal enough, except that it had... He didn't even know how to describe it.

Additional dimensions? Or rather there was more of the floor in the same space as there was floor, except it wasn't the same floor while it was completely identical and the floor was self-referencing itself to maintain its physical state, which also made it something like an infinite loop that recursively began and ended in itself...?

Or no... That wasn't it at all, it was more like the floor wasn't there but was being mirrored from somewhere else, but at the same time was being mirrored into that place from there. Or somewhere else...?

"What the hell was that...?" Letting out a frustrated exhale, he shook his head and threw the issue to his mental pile of matters for another time. At this rate his hill of victory would be dwarfed by that pile; he really needed to catch a break. "It doesn't matter right now. I need to get the Mass Relay working. Focus."

Having used the tightbeam, the corvette's power expenditure would have spiked to any sensor that might have been looking his way. Someone would notice it sooner or later and then come knocking—the hourglass that had been turned on its side was raised again, and the sands had begun to shift anew.

The Mass Relay could wait; there were hundreds of them he could investigate at his leisure once he had time, they had been there for millions of years and weren't going anywhere. That said it was obviously something that pertained to the question of whether or not the Protheans had actually built the Mass Relays. He made a mental note to compile his findings once he did look into it, and to forward it to Liara.

She would probably find it as useful as she would find it infuriating. Just the thought made him crack a smirk, clearing his mind a little. Besides, thirty—twenty seconds at a time just wasn't enough for a proper investigation, even if he could just come back to 'reset'.

Getting up, he checked that everything was still fine. No one had noticed anything for now, and his spiritual core hadn't been further damaged even with the scare he had experienced.

Diving back in and jumping out into that strange room once more, he pointedly ignored the terminal and the Keeper at work by it. Turning around, he looked at the other displays in front of the Keeper as he pondered which one to try.

Assuming the relays in this general area were all connected, he might just get flung into a completely different part of the galaxy by accident if he carelessly chose which system to dive into.

Eighteen—he reminded himself he wasn't here to gawk around. That one.

Without hesitation, he dived right in.

Inhaling slowly as he looked around in the virtual space, he nodded to himself. This seemed more like it. Sensors for internal and external readings; continuous adjustments made to the mass and alignment of the relay's arms and the spinning central rings; radiation fluctuations and build up; a database listing the masses and destinations of numerous vessels wishing to use the Mass Relay, all with their unique mass acting as an identifier...

Bingo.

As he had suspected, the connections of the Mass Relays—the distinction of Primary and Secondary Relays—was due to a programming lock. It wasn't entirely arbitrary however, he realized now. Just like with conventional mass effect FTL-travel, the object would accrue an immense static charge while in transit. For a starship to conventionally fly such a distance without stopping to discharge would be impossible as sooner or later the starship would break. Sooner, most likely given the immense distance involved.

Seventeen. So jumping to other Mass Relays is possible, after all.

But it seemed that the Mass Relays used this static charge to continue functioning; taking that built up electrical energy and accumulating it to power its numerous functions. It wasn't as if the Mass Relays emptied the static banks of the starships passing through, but rather that ships simply did not collect any charge while using the relays because it was taken directly by the Mass Relay pair. He could see it in real time the Parnitha Mass Relays energy supplies dwindling and rising as another starship passed through, playing out a sine wave of expenditure and recharge.

So the reason the distinction existed, was due to the topology of space between the various relays. Because some routes would cause a net loss of energy for the relays.

Starships needed to discharge their static banks less frequently when flying through interstellar space than when inside star systems, as each star emitted solar wind which contributed to the triboelectric build up in traveling starships which thinned out the further one traveled from that star. So too in the almost-darkspace between the arms of the Milky Way there existed very little static charge for the Mass Relays to absorb. On the face of it, the system seemed to make sense but he was sure he was just touching the surface of everything.

The system was warning him right now that the jump he had chosen—from Athena Nebula to Eagle Nebula which lay in the Attican Traverse, outside of Council-controlled space—would deplete quite a bit of the Mass Relay's energy. So the long-range Alpha Relays were rarer, because they functioned at a net loss. Were their energy supplies supplemented by other relays, or were their locations specifically chosen to run over spots where the collected static charge would be at their highest?

Sixteen.

Well, it would be fine. As he forcefully put in the jump into the database along with the Janiri's Sickle's mass, he noted how the system contacted another system for an energy transfer to be made afterwards, ping spreading through the network of nearby relays. So the various relays can top each other off, if need be.

It was as if the entire system was created to build a surplus of electric charge on a truly massive scale; there was plenty to be had. From the looks of it, limiting the possible jumps for the majority of people using the relays was only necessary to keep the networks consumption balanced with how much it could gain if you wanted a constant surplus. Assuming the whole network covered the entire galaxy, it should be able to handle hundreds of irregular jumps without any problems.

Fifteen.

Satisfied with his work, he returned to the real world and ignoring the Keeper jumped right back into the other terminal and promptly returned to the Janiri's Sickle and his body.

Dispelling the entire coffin and standing up, dusting his back as he did, Emiya huffed. Twenty seconds isn't so bad when I can cross the entire galaxy in five, huh.

Shaking his head, he headed for the cockpit again as he mentally powered up the corvette and ran the start up diagnostics. Immediately two starships hailed him.

Getting them on a conference call, he cleared his throat and responded. "This is Special Tasks Group Operative Surden of team 41-B, I am taking Spectre Vasir's ship back to Thessia for diagnostics and investigation. I am cleared for transit."

Making sure to alter his voice to sound salarian as he spoke, he waited for their reply. He just needed to bullshit them for half a minute, really.

The engine started up and the eezo core came online. He didn't however turn on the kinetic barriers or arm the forward guns; he wanted to look like nothing strange was going on, after all.

"What? But I didn't hear anything about this?"

"Who did you say you were again?"

"Operative Surden, of the engineering and logistics division. I am under orders to have Spectre Vasir's ship flown to a base so that it can be taken apart and investigated properly. Thessia is the closest base; orders from up top."

"That's... please hold and power down your engine while I consult with my superiors."

"Alright will do," he said.

Emiya had already corrected his course enough that he was going to pass the Mass Relay close enough to be recognized. Just twenty more seconds and he had to turn off all the mass effect fields for the relay to recognize him anyhow.

"This is Spectre Siljia, who is this?"

"Please repeat, I am getting poor reception here," Emiya responded as he got to the cockpit and sat down.

Eight more seconds.

"So that is where you were hiding, Redhax. Prepare to be boarded," the salarian Spectre said with more than a hint of triumph in his voice.

"Ah, well it seems like we'll have to chat some other time," Emiya flippantly responded as the Mass Relay's rings began to spin faster.

Already he could feel its field reaching out and grabbing a hold of his ship. Unless they shot him down right now, he had already made a clean getaway.

"You're running? That will not work. You may have escaped Parnitha once, but this time we are ready for you. The starships by the other relay have already been notified. There is nowhere to go; give up."

Turning on the terminals, he spoke out with his own voice for the first time. "Well in that case see you there, Siljia."

And then the Mass Relay slung him into FTL and the connection cut off. Three seconds later he arrived by the receiving Mass Relay and fell back into normal speeds. Checking the sensors and noting that no one was here, he chuckled.

"Guess that meeting will have to wait."

Even so, one question popped into his head by itself as he leaned back. Where was all that excess static charge going?

---

;

---

"So, as outlined; the use of smoke has proven quite effective against the targets we hit previously. As long as we bring sufficient supplies we can keep smoking them out and avoid a head-on fight."

"And how much smoke do we have?"

Shepard checked her omnitool. "About three hundred grenades. It proved quite effective due to the poor standard of their gear, so our stockpiles have been running low. It should be enough for the initial thrust, however."

The major nodded, considering her words. "I see, very good. This cannot turn into a 'siege', so continuous use of obscurants will not be acceptable. It is possible they will escape if we seek to merely wait them out. We will have to force our way in, if need be. Regardless of losses. You understand?"

Shepard blinked, inhaling slowly as she nodded. The only thing she wasn't sure about that proposition, was whether or not the major himself could stomach storming the Torfan installation.

But he was right; the moon was home to tens of thousands, a trading hub and meeting ground that had naturally formed as a result of the system's central position between numerous relays and trade routes. Mostly batarians, but some lystheni, turians and more adventurous humans also made their home there. If the batarians from this installation managed to escape and find refuge among the other groups or one of the nearby settlements, they could just start the operation all over again.

They had to be taken out here, preferably without too much destruction of evidence in the process.

The growling voice brought her back from her thoughts. "I asked whether you understood, lieutenant."

"Yes sir, of course. I was merely wondering whether direct force is the best option in that case. If we could take time and slow down this operation, perhaps we could find a weakness in—"

He said nothing, crossing his arms as he sneered at her. She smiled, shutting up then, Major Kyle was a brilliant young officer; a shooting star of this generation, she knew people thought as much. It wasn't wrong per se, but he was a career hawk—a glory hound who knew that he could make it to general by the end of the next decade if he played his cards right.

So that's what he did; played his cards right.

A swift and climactic end to the Skyllian Verge campaign just in time for his updated resume to be placed on the desk of whoever would win the Arcturus parliamentary elections was just the kind of play that would shave years off of that goal.

It wasn't that he was incompetent, or that he would be a burden on the ground. He had rightly decided to stay on the ground and manage the strike teams through comms. His strategic acumen and insight was undeniable, but at the same time... She had the premonition that under enough pressure, he would crack.

So it'd be her job as his second-in-command here to make sure the pressure never got that high. "Sorry, I spoke out of line—the admiral already gave us the go-ahead, after all."

His expression mellowed, the distaste in his eyes vanishing as if it had never even been there to begin with. The major wasn't a man to get hung on such things.

"Then, regarding the perimeter around the four entrances, who do you recommend for here?" He asked, pointing at a top-down map.

"There's not enough cover, and with the steep cliff-face and old mining ravines... Any fight will turn into one with three dimensions. It'd be a hard spot for anyone to hold position, unless we leave a portion of our portable kinetic barrier pickets there..." She opined.

The major shook his head, running a hand through his dark brown hair. "No, no. We need those for the push inside. The blueprints made it clear that without those portable kinetic barrier projectors it will be suicide to attempt a strong push through."

"Then—"

A chime on Kyle's omnitool interrupted her and he raised a hand to forestall her with a quiet 'please excuse me...' as he took the call. "Major Kyle... What? But... No, but I thought... Of course. Yes, I understand. Of course, sir."

Ending the call, he sighed and raised a hand to his short-cropped hair again.

"Sir?" Shepard queried.

He sighed again, rubbing his eyes for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts. It had been a long two days so far, full of planning and getting everything in order for the operation.

And it seemed like another bump in the road and shown up, based on the Major's expression.

"...An Asari Matriarch seems to have ferreted out the Alliance's plans, and demanded to be allowed to take part in this operation," Kyle explained curtly, before sighing as he shook his head. "It seems they've been observing Torfan for a few days and spotted our vanguard. How careless, what if they had been seen by the batarians..."

"What would the asari even want there?" Shepard blinked.

"Something about an asari VIP having been taken by the batarians. And, in the name of galactic solidarity against crimes against sapient life, the Alliance has agreed to let them join our efforts."

"That's..." Shepard didn't know what to say. These kinds of surprises were the stuff of nightmares for delicate operations.

"Luckily the plan hasn't changed, at least. They've managed to convince the Matriarch to stick behind, but I've been 'given' two squads of commandos to order now."

"Will this be a problem...?" She asked, having little experience with the other races of the galaxy.

Until now, she had only read some of the dossiers and seen some vids of the Council races. For the most part, her live interactions had been limited to batarians. Well, mostly shooting them. But only mostly.

"...Hmm..." He did not seem to have heard her, pointedly staring at the map. After ten seconds, he leaned back to cup his chin with one hand thoughtfully. "No, this is fine. The commandos will be well suited to handling that exit. The lack of cover won't even inconvenience them, which will free up more of the heavier infantry for the internal strike-teams. The only problem is... Well, maybe if I frame it right, I won't owe them too many favors..."

"Sir?" Shepard blinked.

He looked up at her. "You do not seem to have much experience with the asari, am I correct?"

She nodded.

"Well, keep your mouth shut and just observe. You'll learn a lot from my mistakes, I'm sure," he said with an amused chuff. "Just you wait, they approached the Alliance but I'm sure that by the end of this we'll all be owing them four favors and two dinner parties."

"They're that bad?" She blinked.

Shaking his head, he gave a light laugh. "No. But I'll be surprise if one of us isn't suddenly getting engaged to a four-hundred year old commando looking retire by the end of this."

Shepard had no idea what to say to that, and Kyle seemed to notice how awkward the mood had gotten. Clearing his throat, he pretended nothing had just happened. "But asari commandos, hmm, hmm. They should be fairly used to low-g combat with little cover. That's their specialty, isn't it? So, assuming we can get the asari to cover that exit, we will have more men to draw on for the push here, here and here..."

---

;

---

Emiya yawned, checking the travel progress.

About forty-five minutes left until he arrived at the biggest settlement near the area the batarians had been operating around. He didn't think that he was going to find them there, but he hoped to at least pick up a new trail he could follow. Fuel, ammunition, food supplies and the like all had to be acquired somewhere and Torfan was the most active trading hub in the sector.

He whistled quietly, impressed despite himself at the speed with which he had traveled.

With his newfound freedom of jumping from nearly any Mass Relay to any other Mass Relay in range, he could cut down on travel time drastically. It was only on certain spots where the gap was too great that he had to travel the conventional way between relays; by actually flying in FTL himself to the nearest Mass Relay.

But given the Janiri's Sickle's specs, that was hardly an issue; he had flown across the galaxy in a matter of days. Or so the time-devices all insisted. There was no star to keep track of the days and nights. He had stayed awake for two days without even realizing it at first.

Fuel on the other hand was going to be a problem.

Mainly because without the backing of the Citadel, having to pay to keep this thing in the air was going to be a severe drain in the long-term. He had probably burned through a few million credits already. Even so it wasn't money that was the problem, as much as what this thing ran on.

The usual liquid oxygen-hydrogen thruster fuel was no problem and he had been able to fill the tank with that without issue. But those were for maneuvering, not long-distance travel. This was no economy ion engine that could chug on halfway across the galaxy on a half-tank, nor was it the usual commercial fusion torch as the Tristar had been.

This damn thing ran on a fucking matter-antimatter annihilation reaction.

That is to say, there was a chamber full of matter—hydrogen, incidentally—into which then anti-protons would be injected. And as a result the chamber would reach temperatures in the excess of millions of degrees. He vaguely remembered hearing about antimatter back during his life. It was the kind of theoretical doomsday device everyone merely joked around about.

"'Oh, a pinhead's worth of antimatter would produce such and such a ridiculous explosion...' It must have been Shinji who told me that, he would have loved that kind of trivia..."

And now he was riding a starship that intentionally blew up the stuff for propulsion. And he had already dented the ship's reserve with his few days worth of flight. He hadn't realized at all, until he had bothered to take a closer look at the repair logs and specifications for the engine to pass the time. The realization as to what exactly was going on under the hood when he accelerated was something of a shock.

After his initial awe over cold fusion had subsided, working on the fusion engines had turned out to be fairly easy. The Tristar for example had been easy enough to work with. He had even taken up a few courses on the stuff in Serrice, both on practical and theoretical side. Though the latter hadn't been anywhere near as easy as the former for him.

But antimatter?

Where the hell was he going to get more? This wasn't the kind of stuff that you could just buy. And how the hell was he going to figure out how to work with the stuff? It wasn't like he could simply fly in to the machinists and mechanics Tela Vasir had always used and hope for similar service, or like he could just download a user's manual off the extranet for maintenance. This stuff was as regulated as regulated could damn well get.

He had for a second entertained the thought of just trying to project some more 'fuel', but then he had come to his senses. Trying to project something that reacted violently with all matter seemed like an exercise in exceptional idiocy, even for him. Especially since he would have to touch the stuff to analyze it first. A prospect he was all too willing to pass up on.

That, and while news hadn't spread quite yet regarding the fate of the corvette's original owner, he did pick up on chatter of pilots recognizing the starship on occasion when he had filled up his hydrogen and oxygen tanks at a fuel station. The local rumor mills had been churning at lift-off speeds, as everyone was wondering what a Council Spectre could possibly want there by the time he had left.

He had probably gotten some of the more paranoid locals jittery, even if he had left right away.

So practically speaking, keeping the ship was completely impossible.

And yet he didn't want to just get rid of it. Somehow the challenge it presented was interesting; like a threshold telling him that it could not be done; an uncrossable divide; like a hurdle that could not be leaped over, yet taunting him to try nonetheless.

He wanted to keep this thing, damn it.

"Can I refit the exterior and change the engine... Or should I just sell this thing...?" He pondered, sitting cross-legged in the cockpit and bouncing his one leg in a steady rhythm.

Could he even sell it? It was the hottest damned ship in the galaxy.

This was the kind of game of hot potato that could lead to galactic wars if it landed in the wrong hands. Shaking his head, he sighed and uncrossed his legs. "Maybe I should just fly it into a star and be done with it..."

It wasn't like he could land this thing anywhere either since it was too big.

The moment he left it out of his sight and came back, he would have to perform a complete check to make sure nothing was done to it in his absence, since he couldn't trust anyone to watch over it. And unlike with a shuttle or the Tristar, he couldn't simply use Structural Analysis on the whole thing in one go to do it quickly. Perhaps he could leave it somewhere with surveillance and keep an eye on it constantly, but that would require his constant attention. Not just for the physical surveillance, but for ensuring no one else would use those same means to find the ship.

And still... And still he wanted to keep it.

Emiya let out a long, aggrieved sigh at his own stubbornness.

"I must be having a mid-life crisis, getting this hung up about a fast ride," he muttered. He pondered making a quip to himself about his hair turning white too, but shook his head feeling more than a little ridiculous. "And, I'm going stir crazy."

The corvette may have been fast, but space-travel was still a massive bore.

There was only so many hours he could exercise or meditate before he had to quit. Without the ability to jump out of his body and occupy the ship, time seemed to pass by in a crawl. At first, he had to be sure he could tinker with the i'usushij and unravel its mysteries, but then he had realized that without a magnetic field for it to interact with he wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of half of its functions. So after spending five minutes memorizing its materials and physical make up, replicating it the harder way, he had nothing left to do with the damn thing.

After the second day of travel he had even thought about cannibalizing some of the systems of the corvette to make a suitable circuit to mimic Thessia's magnetosphere. But getting it adjusted and calibrated right for testing the i'usushij would have taken a week longer than the trip itself would last, along with leaving the starship a complete mess. So that was no good, leaving him to find something else to occupy himself with while the light-years raced by.

He couldn't even browse the extranet or do his usual hacking, since during FTL all connections were effectively cut off with the rest of the world.

And there wasn't even a damn kitchen on this thing!

Maybe he really should fly the corvette into a sun. He only really liked the engine because it was a challenge, anyhow.

Emiya huffed, raising a hand to his forehead and running it through his hair as he dismissed his idle grumblings. He would think about it later; Torfan was practically within sight already. A dull gray orb, orbiting the second planet in the system. Completely unremarkable, except for being the least inhospitable celestial object within metaphorical spitting distance of the Mass Relays in the cluster.

As the sensors began to report a shift in gravity as he entered the gravity well, he mentally punched in the landing coordinates. Unlike the more civilized parts of the galaxy, there was no airspace control to contact here.

Mainly because none of the people who lived here would have stood for such overt surveillance. They all kept tabs on each other, but none among the numerous petty pirate-kings, slavers and smugglers would have stood for one of their own trying to lord over them like that. So instead, everything of value was simply under a constant kinetic barrier in case someone tried to ram a starship into their living room. Those too poor to have that, well they had to make do and hope they didn't live near anyone who made enemies like that. So, settlements were sparsely built and everyone on the moon had both a gun and a shuttle in case they needed to shoot someone and then make a run for it; a kind of mostly-lawless frontier.

Not that it was all anarchy; the central position also made it a trading hub, meaning several large corporations had their own branches here, complete with private security. Then there were also a few trading 'bazaars' of sorts, mostly protected by local gangs which meant they had their own laws and rules in place. Most of this he had been able to figure out by hacking into the satellite he had just flown past, owned by one of the corporations who had settled on the moon.

Eyeing through the advisory documents and security guidelines, he mused at everything he could find. Where to patronize safely, which vendors of various degrees of repute could be trusted for all manner of product and service, how to maintain personal anonymity and who to contact for aid in which situations. It was all there; lawyers, doctors, hitmen and personal security details could all be found on the corporation's contracts in the sector. That they also seemed to be engaging in the procuring and distribution of pleasure slaves from the batarians on occasion was of particular note. They do business in the Citadel, too. I'll have to drop some hints to the STG when I'm done here.

But right now, he settled on the section marked as locations for corporate personnel to avoid at all costs. In other words, a list of places populated by the kind of slavers who would make a tidy profit out of kidnapping and ransoming a VIP. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

Getting out of the cockpit, he moved out to put on his new hardsuit.

He had taken the old one apart and made a new one with projection, taking the parts he couldn't easily replicate from the one he had worn on Thessia. It was a deep sea exploration suit, so it wasn't really suited for fighting. Even a weak pistol could cause serious damage to it.

Simply put he had just beefed up his usual gear and given it additional layers to function as air-sealing and environmental protection for the moon's surface. There wasn't an atmosphere on Torfan, so the cannibalized parts of the old suit were necessary in the new one. It would hold up even in a vacuum just fine; he had even taken it out for a few space walks to make sure.

Wearing his usual black with white highlights felt right, though it was the first time he would be wearing the sleek, featureless black helmet of his own making in public. Checking that everything fit right, he thought about calling forth the red shroud as well but then shook his head. The color would be too eye-catching. And lacking a functional kinetic barrier emitter, he would be better off wearing his diamene weave longcoat on top of the hardsuit instead.

By the time he had managed to get himself suited up, the corvette had landed, though he only knew because the altitude sensors chimed on landing as the inertial dampeners were good enough that even in a gravity well he barely felt a thing. Mentally closing the internal airlocks and giving the suit one last check, he emptied the cargo hold of oxygen and then opened up the external airlock. The ramp opened up and before him the surface of Torfan revealed itself.

"...Hmm..."

It was a dull, lifeless landscape that even managed to make his memories of Mars seem cheerful.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his supply bag and shouldered it. Containing mostly food and water, it was stuff he would hide somewhere in case the starship got taken out. Walking out and taking his first steps, he checked his suit one more time—keeping an eye on pressurization levels for any leaks and at the radiation levels in case he had forgotten or failed to replicate some part of a fully functional hardsuit—along with the pistol on his hip, hidden within the hem of his coat. He nodded to himself without any real satisfaction, having already checked and re-checked everything a dozen times previously, as he closed the hatch behind him at the same time as his feet hit the ground.

Behind him the corvette took to the air and began to fly off. Since he couldn't keep a watch over it, he had decided to have it flying in orbit where he could still ping it once he needed a ride, without having to worry about anyone curious getting too close to the ship. This way he figured he still had some measure of control over it, as long as he remained on the surface and it wasn't on the other side of the moon.

Testing his weight on the surface with a few uneasy steps, he began to move forward with slow, gliding leaps. To move forward more than up, it was important to keep the angle of the kick within strict limits. But the loose dust that made up the surface of the gray ball was not the most cooperative in that regard, offering poor traction.

It almost felt like walking on an ice rink covered in powdered snow.

Dismissing those thoughts, he began to make for the square block of buildings up ahead. It was one of the marked locations; something like a cross between a bar, a market place and a gambling den run by one of the local batarian gangs.

Entering through the first airlock, he looked up at the reinforced window through which a green-skinned batarian glared at him as the atmospheric compression got to work.

"Whaddaya want?" He asked with obvious curiosity, his deep and raspy voice a darker timbre beyond even the usual among batarians.

A heavy drinker, perhaps? He didn't know enough about batarian customs and habits to say for certain. "Looking for vendors."

The batarian's mood obviously soured at the sound of his voice, one which obviously did not belong to a batarian but a human being. Raising a hand, as if to slap him away through the glass, the doorman growled at him. "We don't got nothing here! Leave!"

Emiya frowned, pondering what to do at the same time as the batarian was fiddling with the controls to reverse the entry procedure. But the atmosphere had already been filled in and it was in the middle of blowing off all the dust from his person, meaning that it could not be so easily halted.

Should I hack the controls? His omnitool has an open port, he weighed mentally before shaking his head. Better not leave behind a bouncer who remembered him for hacking the door. The same went for trying to force his way in through other means.

And since the complex was vacuum sealed, sneaking in wasn't going to work either. So, I need to placate him and keep a low profile.

Walking to the window, his hand went to his pocket and he pulled out a chit. Plastering it against the thick glass, he wired through some credits.

"50 credits if you let me in."

The batarian paused with his angry fiddling, having been scowling at his omnitool's refusal to stop what it had been doing immediately. He looked up and peered at Emiya, suspicion obvious. But with the sleek black surface of his helmet revealing nothing, the batarian finally had to just go with his gut feeling. Or rather, his greed.

"One hundred."

"Deal," Emiya immediately accepted and the batarian began to perform the deep, throaty laugh his kind were known for. A hundred credits poorer, he was given entry to the surface complex.

And not twenty seconds later, every vendor had been informed by the doorman that a stinking human had entered. Having been identified as an easy mark who would whale out credits at the first sign of trouble, it seemed like every batarian's eyes gleamed at the sight of his approach. Talk about entering a lion's den...

As he walked in, it felt like everyone turned to stare at him for several seconds. He could see other humans walking around, often in small groups or seated in corners. Already he was standing out while trying to reconnoiter. Learning how to fit in always took time, so it was usually best to start at low-priority locations where getting burned wouldn't be as big an issue.

The first thing he noted was the relative scarcity of information technology. It wasn't like the Citadel or Thessia, where everyone was constantly hooked up and online. Everyone had an omnitool, but it seemed like few people kept them on or connected.

Which meant he would have to do actual legwork again for the first time in... Centuries, is it?

Shaking his head, he ignored that thought as he began to walk. Looking around for twenty minutes, he finally settled on a place to try his luck out.

It looked a mix between a bar and a gun shop, with a counter behind which stood a lone batarian against a wall plastered with collapsed guns and rows of bottles. The moment he entered, three figures immediately checked him out though only one of them seemed armed—a turian without any face paint.

The establishment's bouncer, he guessed.

Sidling up to the counter, he eyed the selection of rifles and shotguns. Nothing too impressive, but he might be able to modify one into a sniper rifle. Tela Vasir had a personal armory on the ship, but it appeared she had had little liking for long arms like rifles. It wasn't like he absolutely needed a rifle, but guns were always good to have.

Even back in his original era, there had been a gravitas to a gun that even a sword could not quite match. Putting a credit chit on the table, he spoke.

"I need a rifle."

The batarian paused whatever he had been doing and looked up at him, obviously surprised.

He had warped his voice to sound like a batarians with his omnitool, even speaking in a Khar'shan dialect of batarian he had been able to find an audio-library to reference from. It should have been fine, but...

The four eyes stared at him for a few seconds and then reached for a gun below the counter, but Emiya's hand shot to his own pistol quickly enough that the batarian paused at the quickness of the motion. They stared at each other, though Emiya did not know which pair of eyes to look at between the two. The batarian had no such problems it seemed, staring him dead in the eyes despite the opaque helmet hiding his face. Did the fact that I was hiding my face reveal me? There seems to be an emphasis on eye-contact for batarians.

"...What do you want, corpie?" The batarian ground out, glaring at him.

Should I leave? No, he'll find that unusual and he'll probably spread the word. Emiya sighed quietly. He had hoped to first purchase something small, like a gun. That way when he started asking more pointed questions, like where he might be able to buy a slave, he might have a better shot at getting an answer.

He had no idea whether Nirida Henell was even on Torfan, or if she had been taken by an outfit that sold their 'stock' on the open market. But he figured it would be a start in the right direction at least.

He was about to speak, when the batarian's eyes twitched at something behind him.

Emiya frowned, realizing someone else was entering the 'bar'. Even without his hearing or the reflections off of the wall behind the batarian, Emiya could have still felt the floor shaking with each step the approaching behemoth was making.

Taking a half-step to turn around so that he could still keep an eye on the batarian, he watched the approaching krogan. Over two meters tall, clad in a heavily scarred and often-repaired red armor and armed with more guns than Emiya had left behind on the corvette, the creature was definitely a sight to behold.

Completely ignoring Emiya and the hand he had on his pistol, the krogan settled his elbows on the counter, practically slamming down several hundred kilos with the casual gesture.

"Your biggest bottle of ryncol," it said as it threw a credit chit onto the counter.

Where turians had a flanging voice and batarians a dark timbre, the krogan's voice was simply deep. Like a jagged scar in a mountain, that mouth full of teeth seemed to be just as ancient. The thing was a head shorter than Heracles, but it must have been at least twice as heavy.

"What, never seen a krogan before? Take a good look while you can, human."

Emiya blinked and then sighed, realizing that the krogan must have smelled it. Turning off the voice modifier, he spoke with a chuckle.

"Can't say I have. Why don't I buy you that drink, eh?"

Tossing a credit chit in front of the quiet batarian while keeping his eyes on the krogan, he leaned one elbow against the counter to mimic its posture and body language.

It stared down at him with one eye, turning its face halfway towards him. With its eyes located on the sides of its head, it felt quite alien a thing to talk to.

All the while the batarian behind the counter stood absolutely still, almost coiled up to spring away at a moment's notice. Emiya was certain that this krogan was someone worth talking to, unlike the distrustful and obstinate batarians so far, he was certain to learn something if he could get on this alien's good side.

The silence stretched for another moment, until finally...

"Heh, why not. Drink a glass, human?" The thing revealed teeth at him in what must have been a smile.

Emiya shrugged, not objecting.

"Good, good. Pour him half a mug, no need to waste more of the good stuff," the krogan said with a dark laugh and obvious cheer while taking back his own credit chit off the counter.

The batarian blinked, before revealing a smile of his own as he hastened to obey while pocketing Emiya's proffered chit. A few seconds later a glass of green liquid was placed in front of him by the toothily grinning batarian, while the rest of the bottle was simply handed to the krogan.

Taking off his helmet and setting it aside, he grabbed the glass and faced the krogan. Its eyes were poring over his features and his white hair, but there was no glimmer of recognition. Thank small mercies, at least.

"To good health,"—begin synchronization, he said as he raised the glass in a toast.

The krogan grinned, raising his own bottle in salute. It seemed the gesture was universal, Emiya realized a moment later.

As his magical energy touched the liquid and analyzed the glass, he mentally nodded. He had heard ryncol was hardy stuff, but this alcohol content, along with this acidity and slight radioactivity? This thing would first knock him on his ass, leave him bedridden for a week and then give him all the cancers a few years down the line.

No wonder the batarian-tender was in sudden good cheer.

Bottoms up, he told himself and drained the glass in one toss back. Setting the glass down onto the counter with a click, he exhaled and rode out the drink. It tasted like ground glass mixed with battery acid, made 190 proof and then drunk with a live current running through it. Even just the condensation of the stuff would be enough to get someone drunk, and despite the Reinforcement he had done on himself he was a hundred per cent certain that this stuff was not something he wanted to keep in him.

The krogan was grinning widely now, anticipation obvious in its great eyes as it took a swig of its own bottle with a chuckle.

Inhaling once, Emiya turned his head and then without moving so much as a muscle vomited at will to empty his stomach. Not a drop so much as touched him, as the green liquid mixed with some stomach acid arced over the counter onto the floor next to the batarian-tender.

The whole bar froze.

Clearing his throat, Emiya spat out the last taste in his mouth with clearly displeased expression. Looking up at the krogan he raised an eyebrow.

"It actually tested better on the way out."

The krogan blinked.

And then promptly threw back its head as peals of roaring laughter took over. A massive arm bashed against the counter while it stomped the ground, sending miniature quakes through the entire bar as all the bottles shook and clattered against each other.

It took the krogan a few minutes to get itself back under control, but finally it looked at the batarian and asked, "Are you going to clean that up, or are you going to stand there all day?"

The batarian seemed to flush, glaring daggers at Emiya before gritting his needle-like teeth and walking away to fetch something to clean the floor with.

"Never seen your kind do that before. I'll have to remember it, bad to waste ryncol if it won't knock whatever fool out," it opined with another round of more subdued laughter.

"No, I'm sure it'll work on most people," Emiya reassured him. "Anyone who's dumb enough to fall for it probably deserves it."

"Heheh, that's good to know. I thought you had the air of a stupid whelp about you, but on a closer look..." The krogan leaned closer, taking a slow whiff through its nostrils. Emiya pointedly did not lean away from the massive head, merely raising an eyebrow at the act. "Your crest has gone wholly white. Guess that makes you the rare old fool instead, heheh..."

Not sure what amused it so, Emiya merely nodded once.

He was trying to figure out how to approach this krogan, now that he had its ear. Should he ask about where he might find asari slaves for sale? Or perhaps who might have had an interest in kidnapping a Matriarch?

It was important that he asked the right question in the right way. If he blew this, he probably wouldn't get a chance at picking the brain of someone as high up any time soon.

"But your manner is rusty, as if you've never had to shake down a stupid little batarian," the krogan continued and took another deep swig from the ryncol bottle. "The key is to humiliate them when they get uppity. You should have retched all over him before, heheh..."

Emiya snorted.

That would have been a little too much for him—he had chosen to drink the ryncol, so really it should have been his job to clean up after himself. But well, things turned out the way they did.

"How old do your kind live, anyhow. About as long as the turians, I seem to remember... Guess it's not much after all."

"Hmm?" Emiya opined, raising an inquisitive eyebrow which the krogan seemed to understand easily enough.

With obvious good cheer, the hulking creature explained. "Stupid whelps can be found anywhere. For every litter, there's a dozen of them at the head. They're the ones who die first, and in droves they die..."

Turning around so that it was leaning its back against the counter, the krogan looked at the ceiling as if in deep thought.

"But sometimes you run into one that manages to survive. And those are the ones you should pay attention to. The longer they've survived, the worse they are... Heheheheh..."

Taking a deep swig and draining the last third of the bottle in one go, the krogan seemed to be laughing at something with those words.

Right, keep the conversation going, Emiya thought as the silence stretched.

"Wouldn't an old smart guy be much more dangerous? Why be peculiar about fools?"

"Hmm?" The krogan grunted, before his mood obviously turned sullen. "Nah, those're all cowards. Harmless as long as you offer them a leash and make yourself useful."

Damn, stepped on a mine, he scowled inwardly as he scrambled for something to say.

"Well, I'd wager you're right about stupid whelps. I definitely was—I definitely am one," Emiya said, correcting himself.

He might be old if one counted his years of existence. But hadn't he died young? Died for reasons he still couldn't quite remember? Wearing a smile that still scraped at his memory? He might be old, but he was still definitely just a stupid whelp.

"Heh, nah. You're old. For your types anyhow," the krogan seemed to correct him, its breath smelling so strongly of ryncol that Emiya almost felt himself turning tipsy from the vapors. "Your question, spit it out. Haven't got all day."

"...Are there any local outfits with the ability to field a solo run to the Minos Wastelands, to a system beyond the nearest Mass Relay. One with the capabilities to continue observing at long range for a long time until finally attacking when an opening presents itself?"

The krogan paused, looking away and steadily avoiding looking at him.

He knows something.

"Batarians, most likely. Uniform, high quality gear and strictly disciplined in the field, but likely very lax when off-duty. Free to torture and use their captives as they see fit," Emiya pushed further.

"...Tch, I knew that bastard was no good..." The krogan spoke under his breath, mumbling it so quietly Emiya barely caught it as the krogan turned to stare at him. "What's your interest?"

Okay, this could go either way. What was the krogan's angle here? Depending on whether it was collaborating or hostile with those batarians, then a careless answer either way might end the discussion. Give him something neutral and fish for more information.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Hmm..." The krogan grunted, eyeing its bottle speculatively. Emiya had bought him the one; should it buy another one to top off with? It seemed barely even tipsy despite downing the whole bottle already. "Keh, what does it matter to me. You, another bottle of ryncol!"

The batarian-tender stood up from behind the counter, glaring at Emiya quickly as he went to fetch the krogan another bottle. Tossing a chit over, the krogan pushed off from the counter and rolled his neck before leaning closer to him. "Corporations aside, the only outfit with gear and hardware for something like that would be the Dusk Raptors."

Emiya nodded once, already looking up mentally the name and finding an extranet page with contact details. I wonder, do they run the legitimate security as an alternate source of income, or just as a front and a means to recon targets...

That said, the server was little more than a mail-client and appeared to be in orbit. Still, it appeared that their headquarters was located on Torfan, and that it was located some hundred kilometers away from his current location. A lead as good as any.

"But..."

The krogan paused, as if taking a moment to measure the taste of something in its mouth, weighing its words again. Shaking its massive head, it raised a hand to dismiss whatever it had meant to say.

"Forget it. No point in a fool telling another fool to act smart. Have fun, heheheh..."

With that, the krogan turned and left without another word. Emiya eyed him, leaning back against the counter with his elbows propped back against the top surface.

And then he drew his gun, whirling around to place a bead square between all four eyes of the batarian-tender who was reaching for something below the counter. Grabbing his helmet and snapping it back on with his free hand, he backed away from the counter while keeping an eye on the armed doorman. The bare-faced turian had drawn a bead on him but wasn't pulling the trigger yet, instead motioning with one hand for Emiya to get the hell out while worriedly eyeing the outside to see if the krogan was coming back. Seems like I'm no longer welcome.

Well that was fine, he had business elsewhere.

---

;

---

Thanks to both PseudoSteak and Olive Birdy for proofreading; they're fantastic.

Thanks to Fan of Fantasy and SentinelSlice for pointing out I forgot to mention Emiya's hair changed.

Sorry it took a while. Had written 10k already before I went to the tournament for the weekend and then immediately got sick when I returned. Was literally too out of it to even write properly.