The chair felt flimsy under Jack's weight, the wood too thin and weak at places to bear a full-grown man. With Jack's every motion it creaked, encouraging stillness. With the ship's every motion it creaked, encouraging calm nerves. Jack sought distraction where he could, trying not to look upon the looming white door.
Restrict thine wandering gaze … but the words felt dead to his mind. With a quick flick of the eyes to the door, Jack looked pointedly away. He lifted his gloved left hand to his face, the mark burning. With a dull bloom of embarrassment and shame rising in his chest, Jack swept two fingers before his eyes. In their passage, the world changed.
Jack's vision turned a faint blue, like how an artist might paint a scene from underwater; everything visible, but the colors subdued. Faint whispers gnawed at Jack's ears, Void-forsaken echoes whose origin Jack did not care to guess. The hidden wires and tubing buried beneath the wood and metal veneer of the ship ran with a cold azure heat, blooming forth from the now transparent walls and floors. And of course, there were the people.
Everyone on the ship glowed with an inner fire, their gaze casting forth a cone of vision that Jack could not help but marvel at. Their beings blazed a fierce yellow, burning intensely within the cold by simply existing. Even the humblest of sailors scrubbing the decks above, backs aching, prospects unexciting, shone with heat. With light. We are all stars, here in the cold. We stand out from the crude matter…
The boatswain gesticulated before a grim-faced captain, words unheard through three thick walls. Two whalers coupled roughly in a bed directly above Jack, prompting another bloom of embarrassment and shame as he turned away, trying to dismiss the urge to look on. Two whalers hacked away at the remnants of the mass of meat still clinging to the ship, the whirring saws held tight in gloved hands. And, of course, there were the bone charms.
Swinging from leather thongs tied around whaler's necks, hanging from belts hidden under the thick coveralls, scattered and secured under and within desks and cabinets … the entire vessel stank of desperate superstition. Through his enhanced vision, the bone charms emitted twisting green smoke, beckoning Jack to relieve the whalers of their most prized possessions when they least expected it. Bones to bring them luck. Bones to shield harm. Part of Jack shrank away in revulsion at what he saw … but their songs gnawed at his ears, called him forward. They belong to me, more than anyone else on this vessel. Nevertheless, Jack remained still, waiting.
Now through the white door, the surgeon approached.
Jack swept the two fingers before his eyes again, and the world returned to normalcy, the whispers fading. Jack stood as the door opened, hands joining together in front of him despite himself. They squeezed as his teeth gritted. The ship's surgeon blinked in slight surprise as he opened the door to find Jack already standing.
"Well, he's not dead." Jack caught the faint slur in the man's voice, the whiff of spirits on his breath. His chest began to tighten. "But, uh, I'm more used to sawing off legs than performing skin grafts. His face…"
"Show me."
The surgeon grimaced, the pencil mustache on his face wiggling like a caterpillar caught in a bird's beak. He stood aside as Jack made for the door, his hands shaking. Jack's insides roiled, fists balling as he passed through the short and spare hallway into the equally unadorned surgery room.
Sure enough, a bottle of half-drunk Serkonan rum sat next to a stained tray filled with questionably sharp tools, most of which were still stained with reddish brown blood. Oleg raised his bandaged head from the gurney he lay upon as Jack surveyed the room, face contorting with rage at the sight of the bottle, of the tools, of Oleg's bandaged face.
"Tell me, friend," said Jack, voice quivering, refusing to turn towards the undoubtedly cowering surgeon behind him, "are you paid to drink while performing surgery?"
"My hands. They shook." The surgeon's voice shook, too, and Jack smiled to hear it. "The work was delicate and precise, not the usual hack jobs, transfusions, or splinting. His face…"
"They do not inflict wounds meant to heal, Jack," said Oleg, head turning clumsily, his single visible eye fixing on Jack's face. He too, slurred his words. "No heretic shall be shielded from the Abbey's sight … as it should be."
Jack stared at Oleg, who smiled ruefully back at him. Slowly, so slowly, the fists unclenched, but Jack still did not turn.
"Get out."
The surgeon obeyed without a word, and Jack closed the door smartly behind him as he entered, resting gripping one of Oleg's hands and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Skin grafts, Jack … honestly." Oleg coughed weakly, his face contorting in pain as he did so. "I am marked until the end of my days … as are you, in a different fashion. Would that I could fit my head in a glove and yet breathe. Do not fault an underpaid whaler surgeon. He is more accustomed to the cleaver than the scalpel."
"If I had arrived sooner…" Jack thought back to Shanxi. If I had … cut down those who sought to kill us … it would only have been right. Oleg would be standing beside me on the deck instead of Miranda, and we would be laying out plans instead of sharing an uncomfortable silence…
"You arrived just late enough for the citywide alert to be meaningless, just early enough that I had not been brought before the High Overseer, and you did not slay a one of our former brothers." Oleg returned the squeeze weakly. "All it cost was a rather unsightly blemish … and some temporary discomfort on my part."
"Why did you do this?" It had been nagging at Jack since the very moment David had pressed a blade to his neck. By all rights, by all the Abbey's laws, his life was far more forfeit than the invaders. They had simply followed whatever base impulses caused them to attack – the mathematics they inflicted upon the city were a clear indication they were no Outsider servants, if nothing else. Not like me. He stared down at his gloved hand, wrapped around Oleg's frail exposed one.
"The Abbey is many things." Oleg paused, thought for a moment. "It is … a weapon against the Outsider. A shield for the Empire's people and government. But to me, it was always a brotherhood, where men would share the same miseries and grow strong from them. Hatred of the unnatural was drilled into us from the moment we arrived at Whitecliff, but my love for those who showed me kindnesses was always stronger." Oleg shrugged. "Had anyone else done what you had did, accepted his mark to save us, my reaction would have been the same. It was clearly a sacrifice … and you were unwilling to resist until I told you to run."
"This world has too few men like you." Jack gripped Oleg's hand just a bit more tightly. "And … I would make you even more extraordinary. To protect you." His mark burned, the light shining through the glove.
"Would you?" Oleg's free eye darted down to his hand. Jack expected the same sensation from before, of tendrils of himself reaching out and enveloping the hand, changing the flesh. But nothing happened. "You would have us become two heretics in full, both mind and body altered through his influence?" Oleg smiled a sad smile. "I think not, Jack."
"You will wear the Heretic's Brand upon your face until the end of your days, Oleg." Jack furrowed his brow, brought his face close to Oleg's. "This would even the odds, better your chances-"
"I have you for that." Oleg pulled his hand away, flexed his stiff fingers. "Jack … you took his mark, knowing you would likely die for it. This was balanced against saving the lives of everyone in that building. If I accepted that mark … what is it balanced against? Whose lives am I saving. My own?" Oleg laughed, a dry wheeze painful to hear. "Not enough. Not nearly enough. I will have no part of him, even if it is only secondhand."
Jack retracted his own hand, feeling filthy and wrong. The mark grew dim beneath his glove, but its shape still glowed within his retinas after fading. Jack nodded, breath feeling funny in his throat without him fully understanding why. In a way … he is refusing to be dragged down to my level. He accepts the status of heretic without any of the privileges … the bottle of Serkonan rum suddenly looked enticing rather than enraging.
"There will be others, I am sure." Oleg shrugged. "But not overseers, I think. I am yours, Jack, as long as you will have me. We are brothers still, as far as I am concerned."
"…thank you." Jack only half-meant it. He turned away from Oleg, shutting his eyes and trying to control the sudden throbbing in his temples. "The captain is handing off her cargo to another whaling vessel tomorrow, just outside capital space. Then we're bound for the Rim. Intai'sei, specifically."
"Right on the edges." Oleg sniffed. "Well? Have you given some thought on what to do once we're there?"
"Work with the whalers." It was the best Jack had at that moment. "If there is war, find some way to contribute. As you said, my … gift … can only be justified by saving the lives of others." You can do anything, he told me. "There are also … other talents I have yet to realize within myself. I plan on hunting for runes. It will let me protect you and Miranda better." And now I must root through the city, digging up the shrines buried within the filth. Jack shivered despite himself. Oleg reached out with a shaking hand, and Jack clasped it without hesitation.
"Whatever else might be said, you had the best of intentions from the very beginning." Oleg's single eye locked with Jack's. "Do not doubt yourself just because I cling to a few of the teachings. Do what you feel is best. We will follow."
Reina Azerah made a point of avoiding the salarian.
The asari she met, Tevos included, would smile and comment on the way she wore her "hair" (the way they said the word with such unfamiliarity … still, it had not taken them long to stop calling it fur) or sometimes ask her strange and seemingly asinine questions about her shoes or choice of trousers. It was easy to hear where the questions grew more pointed and less innocuous, and it was also easy to maintain her cover as a simple servant for the Abbey, growing airheaded and vague on certain matters, or pretending to misunderstand entirely.
The handful of turians were even simpler. They would stiffen at her approach, hands twitching towards their pistols and sabres. Reina would greet them timidly, they would grudgingly reply, and she would go about her business. Truth be told, the way their demeanor seemed torn between pants-shitting fear and mouth-frothing rage at her mere appearance sent up all manner of alarms. Her neck prickled every time she turned her back to them … but they never did anything more than act stiff, angry, and very occasionally confused.
The salarian, however. The salarian would only watch with his large lizard eyes, usually over a book of some kind, face devoid of any expression she could recognize. It would not have been so difficult to deal with in small amounts … but every time Reina left her cabin, she would inevitably find the salarian leaning against some corner, languidly reading a book with one hand and eating fruit with the other, eyes flicking to Reina for just a moment before returning to the task at hand … but Reina knew her every movement was being watched, and that this "Kel" had singled her out. Moreover, he did not seem to sleep.
Her partner in crime, the official "representative" for the Empire, was of little help.
"I do this for the Empress and for the Abbey," Ramon Boyle had said, knuckles gripping tightly against his pen as he wrote out yet another report in impressive, flowing cursive. "I understand your importance … but these deceptions shame us, and will win us no friends. Could you at least contain your prowling until we arrive at the Citadel?"
"We need to learn everything we can," said Reina, folding her arms and staring Boyle right in the mask. "The fact that they hate the Outsider just as much as y- as we do is of scant comfort when we resemble him. We need to make sure that this is not a ploy, and that we do not end up exploited through our own beliefs."
"I have seen into the hearts of these turians, Reina." Ramon turned from his writing and stared her down, the mask appearing to snarl in the candlelight. "I have not found them lacking. I will leave the judgment upon their allies to you, and I will not assist in your little game. The Abbey has already jeopardized its character for the good of the Empire. It will not do so again just for you."
Jeopardized its character … if he were not so integral to her plans, Reina would have sniggered at him. Even aboard an alien vessel, bound for distant and virtual shores, Overseer Boyle remained primarily concerned with maintaining the Abbey's image. The pretense of him and his requiring a servant for the voyage had not gone over well, and the soreness of the deception apparently remained still.
"Servants are for those with restless hands," Boyle had remarked with an unusual sharpness, especially considering he was addressing the Empress. "The Abbey's bricks were laid by the overseers. Overseers kept its gardens. Overseers swept its halls. We have no need…" And so he droned on. But it was not about his need, but the Empire's. He had at least conceded that point with some mild grace.
But he refused to be of further assistance, so Reina played a game of hide and seek with the bleeding salarian, doing her best to "accidentally" overhear conversations between aliens as they spoke to one another, an irritatingly infrequent occurrence. She suspected they were on strict orders to remain as tight-lipped as possible to the guests on board their vessel.
All too often, Reina found herself returning to her quarters just to review her notes, most of which involved what she would do upon her return. Jack Harper remained at large – the Cerberus had wisely avoided making port on the homeworld – and contacting the man the Citadel's Inquisitors hunted for even now seemed unwise given the circumstances. Nevertheless, contacting the man remained a top priority … upon her return.
The rest of her notes split down the middle on either observations of the aliens … or of the Abbey. The aliens, at least, had proven surprisingly easy to deal with, suspiciously so. Even if they opted to betray the Empire's trust, something Reina found increasingly unlikely, all they would earn was the High Overseer (easily replaced as he himself would admit), seven warfare overseers … and Reina. She probed for the hollow molar with her tongue at this thought. All I have to do is bite down hard, and then the aliens have eight seconds to interrogate me. We should be fine. If anything, the latter group kept proving the greater cause of alarm.
The general brought five turians bearing masks of dull gray steel today. "Palvanus" I heard them called. For many hours they conversed with the High Overseer and his seven men, their tones urgent and conspiratorial. They did not act as men of different species who, only days ago, cut each other apart on the streets of Shanxi…
"Fanaticism breeds swift solidarity," said Reina aloud, staring at the bare ceiling above her quarters, fit only for a servant. Murphy would have put that better … less poetic, but more accurate.
"Right fucking lunatics, the lot of 'em." Sometimes you really do just have to play the piano really loudly.
As for the ship Reina lived upon, she could only guess at the design of its engines. She was no engineer, and what she could see of the vessel felt familiar enough in terms of design. It had been designed for bipeds of a similar height to humans, perhaps a bit shorter given the average size of the asari, who apparently saw in the same spectrum as they did. The hum of the engines sounded just the same. Despite the odd hull design of the asari ship, which inexplicably carried a massive hole in its center, the interior of the ship remained composed of familiar hallways, catwalks, and ladders, composed of the same mix of polished metal, shining wood, and occasional stretches of rubber.
With two exceptions. The first being the asari's strange love of the color purple, the second being their love of … ostentatious appearances. Judging from the reactions of the turians Reina had seen, the asari's impeccable style of dress and outright gaudy recreation and dining areas was unique to them alone, not the Citadel as a whole. Reina's first visit to the Ventress's dining hall (yes, the cruiser had a dining hall) felt as surreal as if she had strode through the door to find herself overlooking a vista within the Void itself.
For one, soft indigo lighting shone from every electronic light and suffused the massive room with a gentle glow. Burnished copper candles decorated the walls, all of which sported myriad art pieces that displayed alien landscapes or impressionistic works of other (equally well-dressed, if distorted) asari. The burnished onyx dining table ran approximately eighty feet long, a staggering length given the typical economies of space within spacefaring vessels, let alone warships. And the asari themselves … had Reina less context, she would have thought them all officers, accustomed to luxurious privilege. But no, the rank and file bore the same smart caps, the same pearl-inlaid pistols (retired at the entrance in neat rows on a sweet-smelling rack), the same golden buttons running down unwrinkled waistcoats of crimson, lilac, and turquoise.
In a sense, it was intoxicating. The way the asari moved did not help either, each of them treading as if trained to dance rather than make war, light on their feet and slipping past one another in crowded hallways as if they were water rushing across stones in a river. They smelled so sweet too, enough to bring the blood to one's face … but in Pandyssia, the fruit that smelled the sweetest often contained the foulest poisons. Look closer. See the splotches of purple on the petals there, the off-color of the orange skin…
She had caught them at work in one of their training areas, ostensibly off-limits. Fortunately, she was "lost" and the incident blew over without too much concern. But she had seen them. Arms lifted, arms glowing a bright blue, lifting metal weights over their head without ever touching them, turning them in the air, crushing them, hurling them aside. Dangerous. Far more dangerous than mere cunning. They can back their words with some kind of magics. Not Outsider magic, though, Boyle could confirm that. But the confirmation was of no help. It just meant they would be even harder to understand.
"We dock with the Citadel today," one of them announced one "morning," voice chipper and harmless, poking her head through the door of her cabin with a toothy smile. "You have been invited to the bridge to look through the viewports. Just think, you will be making history, the first of your kind to see the Citadel!"
It was all true, of course, but the tone still reeked of condescension. As if speaking to a child. Nevertheless, curiosity still blossomed over just what this massive space port looked like. The closest the Empire had come to extra-planetary development were a handful of hollowed out asteroids on the Rim, most of which came with horrible reputations for piracy and heresy.
The walk up to the bridge hummed with far more activity than the days previous. Asari moved to and fro from post to post, most of them striding with purpose to their destinations. In side rooms, officers dressed in purple sharply addressed waiting gunnery crews who stood stiffly at their posts, while black-clad marines (or the closest equivalent) patrolled in groups of two, stopping to make regular reports over radio. Excitement hung heavy in the air, but Reina guessed most of it was directed at the impending shore leave rather than the formal first contact between mankind and the Citadel. That's for Tevos to worry over.
On the bridge itself, however, humanity again became the center of attention. Her eight associates, all in masks, waited patiently for her arrival, flanked on either side by a combination of wiry salarians, opulent asari, and stiff turians. As Reina entered with only partially feigned hesitance, Kel finished typing something on an omniscroll before glancing over to her, still inscrutable.
"Just in time," said Tevos, smiling at Reina and beckoning her towards the nearest view port, which of course gleamed with golden trimmings on the frame. "We are making the approach now." She turned to her helmsman. "Slowly, now. Let them take in the sights."
Through the viewport, Reina could at first only see the distant swirling purple (sigh) clouds of a nebula. As the ship turned and angled itself, however, the engine slowing from a constant hum to a mild intermittent and muffled chug, some distant structure began to loom in the distance, surrounded by gleaming specks.
"All relays lead to the Citadel," said Tevos, pointing to the structure with an unwrinkled blue finger. "This is not the physical center of the galaxy; we're still working our way towards that … but it is the center of the relay system. The beating heart of our galactic government." Tevos smiled, but Reina sensed it was a smile intended for herself alone. "A heart of clockwork."
The distance closed, the swirling gases of the nebula losing their lustre as the station loomed larger. They passed by ships, some recognizably asari, others turian, a few unknown, all hanging in loose formation around the station. As for the station itself … well.
Again, Reina was no engineer, but she was familiar enough with what could be considered "feasible" when it came to constructing space stations and vessels. Past a certain size, the cost jumped so dramatically with each additional square foot that it became impractical to continue. Reina counted herself among the few who could list the exact cost of the Apex Imperium, and it was never a cheering thought. Maintaining comfortable temperature, keeping the vacuum out, propelling the ship at reasonable speeds or keeping the station in orbit – costs could not be cut when it came to battling nature at her most unreasonably hostile.
Whoever built the Citadel had not received the memo. The Citadel grew larger … and larger … and larger in her vision, utterly swallowing up the already reasonably sized Ventress. Four arms surrounded, dazzling her vision with a multitude of lights, surrounded a distant sphere that bound all arms together in one station. Great swarms of ships big and small flew from glimmering port to glimmering port, bees dancing amidst splendid metal honeycomb. Tevos did not lie; this was a spaceport, the largest Reina could conceive of. The clockwork heart of a galaxy.
"Its origin is unknown," said Desolas to his overseer entourage, all of whom watched with rapt attention. "There was a civilization here before us – the protheans – but there is considerable uncertainty regarding if they were its builders. The Citadel features its own race of custodians, the keepers, who make sure the clocks remain wound and all visitors comfortable. As the good ambassador said, the Citadel is composed of clockwork, and there are sects among the Palvanus who believe one day the bell will toll…" Desolas stopped, stiffening. Reina caught a nearby Palvanus give a sharp jerk of the head.
"…forgive me. This is not the time or place to discuss that. I am sure you understand."
"A time and a place for everything," replied Boyle, head turning slightly to catch Reina's eye out of the corner of his own mask. "I am eager to see the inside of this station."
Tevos clapped her hands together and smiled. "Then let's not waste any time. Shall we?"
Kel roused himself from the wall while the overseers and turians fell in line behind the asari. Reina, feeling almost forgotten, trailed after them. No one spoke. They simply marched through the now-emptied steel halls in tense anticipation. Reina's heart skipped a beat as they reached the (opulent) airlock, flanked by black-clad asari on either side.
"You will be met by the Citadel Council," said Tevos, striding to the door and turning to face them all. "The servant – Reina – will be escorted to appropriate lodgings by Kel while the rest of you meet. I do hope you find your stay pleasant – this was perhaps the worst way to be introduced to the galaxy proper, and I hope we can put it all behind us."
The casualty numbers from the dockside districts flashed through Reina's mind, click, click, click. The smoke rising from the city, corpses choking the streets. She speaks like a choffing tour guide … Reina could not tell if Boyle, still and masked as he was, felt that same creeping dread she did, the sensation of being sucked into some smiling vortex, but she hoped so. Be as friendly as you like with the turians, but pay close attention to the other two! She glanced at Kel, who stared pointedly at Tevos with arms folded. At least I'll be rid of you, soon enough.
The airlock hissed, pistons gliding as the door unlocked. At last, with a click and the faint sound of metal grinding on metal, the airlock opened. The others filed forward, slight gasps escaping the masks of the overseers. A pity I will be the last to see…
The temperature changed as Reina crossed the threshold. Before, the air felt close and warm, a little stale, a natural consequence of tight quarters and recycled oxygen. As she stepped into the Citadel, everything … opened, became cooler. Reina suddenly realized she was holding her breath, and when she exhaled and sucked in, it all felt so … alive.
From above, the purple of the nebula could still be seen, making everything look neon. They stood on an enormous metal lip overlooking the boundless precipice below, chains and magnetic locks steadying the asari ship behind them. Elsewhere, likewise ledges jutted into the emptiness, other ships tethered to them by humming magnet and linked chain, attended by small hordes of maintenance crew. Hooks traveled overhead, great whales hanging upon them, their frozen carcasses departing into the bowels of the station.
Away from the splendid Nebula, the arm of the Citadel awaited. Beyond the waiting entourage of alien politicians and armed guards, light and life leaked from the station. From every dock, aliens both familiar and strange marched towards the humming energy beyond. Great gears ground above and beneath their feet, turning docks this way and that as needed, the bound ships following like baby razor geese.
Alone and unheeded, a single four-legged green creature turned a crank at the far end of the dock, its small green hands rotating the handle at a steady if unimpressive speed. At each dock Reina could see, more creatures like it bent to their own inscrutable tasks. No one else paid them any mind.
As for the politicians, Reina could not see through the wall of overseers that had subtly yet definitively formed around Ramon Boyle. Through the roar of the many engines and the groaning echoes of many dead and dying whales, Reina could not make out what they were actually saying, hearing only the muffled tail-end of shouted sentences. Nevertheless, the overseers shuffled forward in unison, and Reina hesitantly followed suit, gaze wandering all the while.
Whalers. Even among other species, they were easily identifiable. They whistled to one another, called out drunken shanties, laughed as a docking tether came loose and sent one of their number sprawling. Just as their human counterparts, they wore full body suits that almost hid their alien natures, grasped strange-looking gaff hooks in their gloved hands. And like our whalers, I suspect many of those suits are stained by old whale blood. It felt oddly reassuring to know that these species would have at least something in common, even if it had already led to a conflict of interest and swift tragedy.
"And this is the servant?" asked a haughty-looking turian as Reina fell in line with the overseers, stopping them with a sudden raised palm. Unlike the other turians Reina had seen, this one wore robes of deep burgundy, with a face covered in heavy blue markings. "You will have little need of her here, I think. And this is not for her ears. One of yours will escort her?" The question was directed at Tevos, who nodded and prodded Kel forward. The salarian scowled at the turian, but nevertheless jerked his head at Reina, who followed.
While the rest of them followed the main pathway of the dock, Kel and Reina took stopped at a winding ramp that led below. The light darkened slightly as they strode under the main dock, bound for a glowing blue tube beyond. Another strange green creature worked a crank to its side. The grinding of gears grew louder.
Kel flipped the green switch to the elevator's right, and the glass doors slid open immediately. He gestured for Reina to enter, which she did, hesitantly, eyes on the salarian's hands at all times. The back of her neck prickled, but Kel followed her inside. The doors shut, and all outside sound ceased.
"Not to be rude, but you are no simple servant." Kel's eyes locked with Reina's, and she could not help but shrug in guilty acknowledgment. There was little point in lying at this stage. "An observer then, to be charitable? A spy, if not? Or perhaps a handler for the esteemed High Overseer?"
"There's no handling him," said Reina, meaning it in multiple senses. "I think he's thrilled to have found an entire species that shares his line of thinking."
"Not all turians are alike," replied Kel, but Reina sensed an implicit (and weary) agreement. "And I remind you that I, myself, represent my people's Mundane Faith, which seeks to combat malignant Void influences."
"To the same degree as the others?" asked Reina, wondering if she would end up plumbing more information from the salarian as an exposed spy than an undercover one.
"The Union is made of many houses, all of whom seek to gain an edge over the other." Kel licked his lips, frowning. "We are sometimes known as his "favorite people" for a reason. The Mundane Faith aims not to purge, only to contain. And even then, our efforts only extend as far as necessary to keep the turians from intervening."
The elevator clanked and whirred, suddenly shifting downwards. Bright lights and deep shadows went by in a blur, making Reina dizzy.
"I will be blunt – I am glad you are here, and I am glad you are no simple servant. Your High Overseer sees only what he wants to see." The salarian licked his lips again. "I would like to come to an understanding, and know that I speak as a representative of both my people and to some degree, the asari's. Just as you speak for your empress. To reach that understanding, I will answer your questions."
"Honestly?" asked Reina, shooting the salarian a sideways glance.
"With all the honesty I can muster, given my background and upbringing. I will decline to answer where I feel the urge to lie. I ask that you do the same."
"Agreed." Reina considered extending a hand, but thought better of it.
"I need to know the size of your fleets. How many, and how many ships?" Kel watched as Reina remained silent. "Very good. I would have been disappointed by an answer."
The elevator stopped, the doors opening to let bright white light shine in. Again, the breath vacated Reina's body in a sudden puff.
A great simulated blue sky above, vast rivers stretching along splendid paved pathways below. Flocks of what looked like white gulls flew by in great congregations above, their high and clear gulls muted by the sound of simulated wind and all too real running water. The clear air now tasted sweet in her mouth. She guessed few whalers ever set foot here.
"This would be the Presidium," said Kel, extending a hand and allowing Reina to pass. "The clockwork heart of the clockwork heart, as it were. Even as a "servant," this is where you will remain." Kel produced a small strip of cloth from a back pocket, proffering it before him. "I ask that you wear this, please. Until your species becomes a common sight here, I fear you will be mistaken for the Outsider. Hooded, it will be easy enough to be mistaken for an asari, given the similarities in physiology."
Reina accepted the hood with as much grace as she could muster, pulling it about her face with the blood rushing to her face. She pulled it down almost to her chin, keeping her head lowered. Kel nodded in satisfaction.
"It is quite a walk. I arranged it to be that way." Kel sniffed, turning and moving at a brisk pace. "Look. Listen. Ask."
"The asari," began Reina, "what is their stance on the Outsider?"
"The Outsider is male. The asari, universally, are not." Reina thought she caught a smirk at this. "They claim to have actual historical record of a time he did not exist, but this is still in dispute. The hanar – I will point one out when we see one – contest this in particular. The asari refuse to acknowledge the Outsider's total power. In recent years, even the old faith in their Goddess has rekindled, and the Temple of Athame is now host to many splendid gardens and works of art where it had long stood empty..."
Kel pointed to their right. Several pillars upheld a balcony above, beneath which a bustling marketplace gathered. Salarians, asari, and turians, yes, all of these hawked their wares and spoke to each other in a great hubbub of alien chatter, but there were others, too. A few elcor, always given a wide berth. And … floating purple creatures, tendrils hanging from a gelatinous body, four scabbards jutting from their form.
"That's a hanar. They come from an oceanic world." Kel sniffed. "Strange creatures. The turians suspect them of nigh constant heresy, and it is true that the oceans of their world hold many secrets, even buried civilizations whose bone charms remain potent to this day … but they are polite enough. If a bit inscrutable."
"The small ones?" Short, rotund creatures clad in full body respirators stood at many of the stalls, each inexplicably guarded by a glaring turian Palvanus.
"Volus." Kel sounded dismissive. "They tried to do something very unwise about five hundred years ago. Ruined most of their homeworld. The Ecclesiarchy holds dominion over them now. Most of them are forbidden to bear arms." Reina could not help but note that both the volus and their turian guards followed her movements with their head, as if seeing through the hood. The sound of grinding gears could be heard from above.
"Keepers," said Kel dismissively, as they passed another one of the green creatures, this one fiddling with a small mess of wires and cogs. "They maintain the station. They cannot speak. Most learn to ignore them over time."
Reina was not there yet, however. She watched the little green creature twist and reassemble the odd contraption and slot it into the hole in the wall before it. Then it padded off, its black multifaceted eyes dull and docile.
They continued along the waterside, many others passing them by without a second glance. Air carriages whizzed by above at such speeds that Reina could not help but wince. Yet, despite moving far faster than any carriage in the Empire could ever safely match and in far greater numbers to boot, no one else shared her anxiety. So. They're keeping that well-managed.
Following along the trail of traffic did lead to something perplexing, however.
"What is that?"
Kel followed Reina's finger. "Ah. That." A vast clock embossed with unfamiliar symbols around its rim watched them from far above, attached to a great pillar of white that rose upward and out of sight. All of the hands, of which there were more than two, stood stiff and tall to the left of the clock. "Hundreds of years ago, that clock still ran. Then one day, it just stopped. It's been frozen like that for all of living memory, now. The keepers refuse to go near its workings."
Reina could not place why, but staring at those frozen hands filled her with tension, like a taut bowstring. It was if that tiny space between the final hour and where the hands lay were filled with an inscrutable menace. What was it Desolas said about tolling bells?
Nevertheless, they carried onward, although Reina could not quite shake that sense of unease from before. The clock followed her every motion. That sounds mad. I won't be reporting that to the empress.
"The krogan memorial," said Kel shortly, waving an airy hand towards a vast marble statue of some angry-looking bipedal turtle creature rising from the water in a menacing pose. A creature that resembled it sat on a bench before it with its back to them. "In memory of a proud race, now gone to rot. It only has historical relevance now."
The real creature, a krogan, snorted and rose. Reina bowed her head immediately, but kept her eyes on the krogan as it rounded on them, revealing a scarred and yellowed face of leathery flesh, eyes of deep crimson, and far too many wide, blunt teeth. It tromped towards them, and Reina heard Kel heave a heavy sigh.
"Come to laugh at my ancestors' sacrifice, salarian?" The krogan's voice was low, low enough to be a growl. It turned its head this way and that, casting one eye first at Reina, then at the salarian. He sniffed. "Ah. Something new. Do you have time for a history lesson, alien? Or do you wish to join the others in denouncing my people as no longer "historically relevant?""
"She does not have time for this," said Kel, but Reina noticed the distance the salarian kept, as well as the slight note of panic. This was not on the agenda. What lies beneath the Council? What does the iron fist look like beneath the smiles? Reina nodded hesitantly. The krogan grunted.
"See this?" The krogan turned to present its side, flexing its muscled left arm. Strange smoldering markings appeared along the triceps, the krogan tracing the smoking orange lines with a heavy finger from his other hand. "Our reward. Our curse. The Mark of the Eaten. From the inside, we are devoured. So sayeth the Council."
"You earned it several times over." Kel folded his arms and glared. "And … it was still a last resort, forced by the turians."
"Part virus. Mostly magic. Every krogan has it." The krogan smiled at Reina with absolutely no humor, the nail of his finger digging into the flesh now. "Slowly, it claims our race, drags us into the Void." The krogan grunted, jerked a head towards Kel. "Hypocrites, every one of them, condemning black arts until it becomes necessary to save their skins. The Outsider granted Kredak his mark, it's true, but what of the eight who stood against him? Those forgotten heretics? Three salarians, two asari, a volus, an elcor … a turian." The krogan ran a pink tongue against the outside of his mouth, hungry and sly. "We have not forgotten."
"The situation is … a good deal more complicated than that." Oh, I am sure it is. But you were hardly going to explain it like this, were you? Reina kept her eyes on the krogan, who laughed softly.
"Don't believe everything they put on the pamphlet, alien." The krogan lumbered off with a muffled chuckle. "They don't even advertise our people's monument, anymore. Take care not to end up similarly forgotten … or leashed like the volus."
"Gross overgeneralizations," said Kel calmly, but with no small amount of stiffness. "If you wish, I can draw up some of the old casualty reports from their rebellions, among other things. What we had to do to survive … horrific. But the alternative?"
"I will take the time to review all available information." This time Reina gestured for them to move onward, which the salarian did with a roll of the eyes. "It's all ancient history, right?"
"For us, yes. For the krogan and asari, who may have lived to see that history? For the turians, who record everything in chant?" Kel's hands clenched. "I will … make sure you have everything you need. To make a judgement for your empress."
Kel did not point out anything else for the rest of the trip, instead stewing in some amount of distress. Reina, for her part, kept an eye out for more krogan. Surprisingly, she saw none. Plenty of the big three, though. And plenty of shops. Bells rang overhead, and turians began marching in unison out of the shops, towards elevators and up steps. And places of faith, too.
"This is the hotel." Kel paused. "The staff have been warned of your appearance, and you should experience no trouble." Kel looked either way, to make certain no one stood near. "I would ask you, please … when you look to our history, try to accept our explanations. The situation is precarious."
"How so?" Reina kept her voice impassive, relishing the discomfort in the alien's voice. It's nothing against you, personally. I'm just sensing that we might suddenly be privy to a better deal than could otherwise have been expected…
"There is a race known as the batarians, no longer a part of the Council." Kel closed his eyes, thinking for a moment. "They are … Void worshippers. Practitioners of black magic anyone would blanch at. They seek allies, and I believe they will come to you and yours. Do not accept their gifts. Do not heed their words. They will bring destruction to those who listen, as surely as the volus did. And it will rile the turians."
"I can think of many who would approve of riling our would-be conquerors," said Reina, thinking to Murphy first and foremost. Kel ignored her.
"At the same time, do not let your Abbey clamp down on your peoples." Kel stepped forward, gripping Reina suddenly. "Even now, the turians probe your High Overseer for like-mindedness, and I assure you, they will find it. Given what happened at Shanxi, they will attempt a purge. Where once they were lax, now they will be spurred on by their peers in the Ecclesiarchy. I urge you – walk the line between acknowledging the Void as something not to be feared, and destroying everything associated with it."
Reina nodded, then shook off Kel's grip with as much strength as she dared. The salarian did not back away.
"And the wire charms … you will know them when you see them." Kel took a single step back, looking suddenly uncertain. "Curtail their purchase and usage. Do not compromise on that. The Terminus will come to you bearing gifts. Refuse them. I will bring you all relevant information when next I see you." Kel nodded, backed away, pointing to the watching receptionist. Reina turned to face her.
"And … your man. The one with the gift. I would account for him quickly, before either your Abbey or the Palvanus do."
When Reina turned back to reply, Kel had already gone.
"Here we are. Sunny, beautiful Intai'sei." Captain Jiang clapped Jack on the shoulder, a broad grin plastered over her face. The newly christened Weeper's Tears clanked into place below them. "Take it in. We'll be safe here."
Jack took it in. He did not feel safe. A vast array of dark and narrow pre-fab structures stretched into the angry red horizon. A harsh, dry wind blew in through the dust-choked streets, bringing the scent of urban decay to Jack's nostrils. Here. Here is a place in dire need of the Abbey. And yet, they had chosen it for that exact reason.
"Not much worry of running into your "brothers" here," said Jiang, as if reading his mind. "Intai'sei pretty low on the list of places that matter. Last time I came, pretty sure there were only about three dozen of your guys in the main colony, and only another half dozen elsewhere on the planet." She shot Jack a sideways glance. "You know … this would be a good place to pick up bone charms and runes. If you're up for it."
How did it come to this. Jack stared at his gloved hands, left eye twitching. But this time, the guilt soon subsided. Restless hands...
"I am up for it." Jack looked out over the edge of the vessel, this time taking a deep breath. With a sigh, he swept his left middle and forefinger before his eyes. The world changed.
The wind became muted, replaced instead by the distant screech of the Void. The angry red faded into a timid blue, while the grays of the buildings turned into an ominous black. And through it all, the people moved, alive and golden.
"There." Through the scream of the Void wind, a humming pulse. Jack pointed, feeling out with his mind in a way he could not articulate. A rune, close by. "Another." His finger swept far to his right, in the basement of some distant building. "And again." By the unseen waterfront, beneath the cresting waves. His heart beat with them.
"Well. I'll take your word for it." Jiang scratched the back of her neck. "We'll be staying here until we get word from Udina. Shouldn't be too long. You plan on taking the girl with you?"
"The girl." Jack looked back to the steps leading downward into the ship proper. Somewhere below, among the golden figures, Miranda thought back to what she had lost and sulked. It was by your choice alone. Jack's fists clenched. "No. She and Oleg will stay."
"Oleg doesn't have much choice in that, his face being what it is." Jiang frowned. "And if he really doesn't want that mark of yours, well … not sure why you want to keep him around, to be honest. The girl at least can pull that little vanishing act of yours in a dicey situation…"
"They both stay," said Jack firmly. "I owe them both too much. The same goes for you."
"Aw, thanks sweetheart." Jiang gave Jack's cheek a pinch, making his heart lurch in surprise. "But no need to worry about me. You get on with your little hunt. Just stay out of the Watch's way and get back by nightfall."
"Right." Jack felt his face, which still stung slightly. He looked to the nearest rooftop.
"Go on. Let's see it."
Jack clenched his left fist and felt the mark burn. Even through his glove it shone, showing just where the Outsider had touched him in both spirit and body. Then Jack released his grip and was gone, vision tunneling as time and space temporarily bent to his will. Then he stood at the lip of the rooftop, staring down at the opened deck of the ship below.
"Stay safe!" called out Jiang, and Jack offered a salute. Then he turned to face the world before him. How different a city looked from the flatness of its rooftops. The people wandered below in ones and twos, moving about the streets, buildings, and alleys with their vision flicking this way and that, the trash gathering about their feet. Here, there was only dust. Well, that and bird shit. It felt oddly thrilling, like the time he had climbed atop the Abbey and looked down on the sparring brothers below, relishing the sensation of being atop a forbidden vantage.
Where his feet could not travel, Jack leapt. Where he could not leap, he called upon his mark and flitted from roof to roof, momentum unabated. The howl of the Void gave way to the sound of a beating heart, growing louder and louder as he locked on to the rune.
There it was, far below. To Jack's slight surprise, it lay forgotten in a closed steel dumpster, a single urinating vagrant its only company. As Jack watched from above, the vagrant wiped his nose and left the alley, his piss drying in the hot sun. With a grimace, Jack descended, reappearing before the dumpster and trying to ignore the stench to his left. He pushed the handle back and stared at the rune within.
Such a small thing. He reached out and took it, the thrumming temporarily taking hold of his body before fading. The rune's light faded like an ember racing towards the stars, leaving the outline of the Outsider's mark lifeless and dead. Jack dropped it, leaving the rune where he had found it. I wonder who placed it there … or who made it? Jack shook his head. Hmph. Assuming I live long enough, I'm sure I'll become quite familiar with the habits of heretics. With a glance cast skyward, he returned to the rooftops.
"There." Despite being the only person present, Jack still pointed to the next rune, nestled in some three story building's basement not sixty feet from where he stood. He checked his shield and omnibow, the weapon glowing hot against his wrist. All good. He felt for the hilt of his overseer's saber. Still … still here. Still mine. Even Oleg, the noble fool, could not claim an overseer's saber as his own.
The building Jack sought stood on its lonesome close to the edge of the city wall. Foot traffic in this area in particular seemed rather low, with no watchmen in evidence. In fact … Jack edged closer to the building, letting the Void take hold of his vision again. Two rather rough looking gentlemen lay directly beneath him, hugging either side of the alley.
"…choffing Abbey showed up here yesterday. Again." Jack leaned in closer, carefully studying what he could make out of the two men's outfits. Cloth wrapped around their mouths, likely to keep out the dust. Thick, uncomplicated looking blades in their meaty fists, at the ready. Pistols at their belts. No shields, however. Likely gang members of some kind. All the cities had them. All the colonies had it worse. Wherever watchmen fear to tread…
"Think they know about it?" It did not take a natural philosopher to figure out what they meant by that. The rune is likely part of a shrine. He glanced back up at where the rune lay, buried below, shaking his head at the corruptibility of men.
"The whole choffing town knows about it. But these gents are fixin' to do something about it." The gentleman on the opposite side of the alley from Jack sniffed and wiped his nose. "It's those fucking aliens everyone keeps goin' on about. They shoved a bloodfly up the Abbey's ass, and now they're going berserk. You see what the High Overseer video on the extranet last night?"
Jack's eyes narrowed. He crept closer, straining to listen.
"No. What happened?"
"Bunch of ranting. I dunno what that trip did to him, but I never seen an overseer act like that before. The empress was there, but she didn't look happy. It was all about, what was it? "Uprootin' the foundations of heresy" or some shit?" He sniffed again. "Thing is, people took it serious. Real serious. And now we've got overseers snoopin' where they didn't used to snoop."
"Well. We'll learn 'em all right. We'll learn 'em real good."
We'll see about that. Part of Jack was tempted to teleport behind the two of them and put an end to their nonsense for good, but in all honesty, they were likely better alive as a distraction. He let them be, focusing on the balcony of his target building, directly opposite. He paused before the sliding glass door, wondering if this were someone's home. Well. I hardly intend to take anything aside from the rune. He reached for the handle and pulled. Unlocked. And why wouldn't it be? He let the Void guide his vision again.
Despite its size, much of the building looked uninhabited. Two women smoked cigarettes in a bedroom to Jack's immediate right, their muffled words creeping under the door. He snuck by with the softest footsteps he could manage. Their quiet conversation went on without a hitch.
The stairs creaked slightly under Jack's weight, making him curse. Others stirred in other bedrooms – it seemed this was some wretched apartment building, and the Outsider shrine was likely communal. The overseers were right to come here. Root it out, put it to the sword. Jack gingerly stepped downward, nose wrinkling at the scent of rat droppings and stale beer. Someone laughed loudly from behind closed doors, and Jack winced. Nevertheless, he cleared the second floor without difficulty.
Televisions and radios blared from within locked rooms. Jack thought he could hear the High Overseer ranting through one man's locked door, but it might have been wishful thinking. The world goes on, even through alien invasion. Even through my heresy. Distant Shanxi still burned, but Intai'sei was yet to wake up, it seemed. Save for the overseers. Maybe.
Ground floor, covered in empty beer bottles and crushed up paper bags, enough to make Jack shake his head again. Should lead the Abbey here. Clean it up. Clean it out. An unmarked white door led downwards, to his prize. And, surprisingly, there was someone down there, lying on a couch and reading a book. And paying no mind to the shrine…
The basement door opened with a creak, but again no one paid it any mind. Jack descended the steps carefully, keeping his Void-enhanced gaze fixed on the woman on the couch, who turned a page lazily as he watched her through a wall. The air turned even thicker with dust, and the stench of rat droppings grew stronger.
Jack reached the last step. The wood of the stairs turned to the stained concrete of the basement. His heart thrummed and pulsed with the nearby altar, the purple light shining through a nearby door. Down here, all he could see were clothes strung up and drying, more empty bottles, and a few running laundry machines. The height of mundanity. Jack flicked his vision off, keeping his eye on where the woman would be when he turned the corner, readying his omnibow. The idea that an Outsider shrine can just be kept in a regular basement like thi-
As Jack crossed the threshold, the woman stood up with a shriek, her book falling to the floor. Jack would have reacted, but his foot had snagged on something and he tumbled forward, catching his fall with an outstretched arm. Something metal tumbled to the floor behind him. He turned just in time to see the chokedust canister falling from the ceiling.
"By the O-"
The canister burst, and Jack's lungs caught fire. He lowered his head, eyes watering, desperately trying to find some corner of the room where the dust did not reach. With each wracking heave, it became more difficult to breathe. Of the woman, there was no-
Jack fell. It became hard to say why at first, but then his head exploded into stars. The pain felt like – like something hot and bulbous pressed against the back of his skull, the heat pulsing with every heartbeat. His lungs sucked in rancid air now, the chokedust fading, but all he could focus on was the pain, his vision flashing red.
"By the Outsider," said a female voice, distant and unimportant. "Is that – he's got a shield. And…" Scrawny, hesitant hands felt at his belt, tugged away things he knew were important. He groaned and reached down, but something smashed across his face, slamming him back into a world consisting only of pain. Rough hands grabbed at his wrists, prying things loose. The woman exclaimed a few more times, but Jack could barely open his eyes, his breathing sharp and rapid, lungs burning.
"Banes," said the woman, and Jack had no idea what that meant. "Banes, I got another one. Not a noble this time. He had a shield! And a…" But Jack could not focus. Things were being taken away, but gradually the pain was subsiding. It was an even trade, at least for the moment.
Jack could not recall just when the relief came in a burst of sweat, only that he rose slowly, groggily, head pounding and face burning. The woman was gone. Jack felt for his belt. As were his sword and pistol. As was his omnitool and shield. While the woman might have left him his clothes, they were hardly of any use.
Banes. He remembered that word, that name. The one in charge. Has to be. He felt for the back of his head. An ugly lump greeted him, smarting even as he brushed over it with gloved fingers. Shit. The door!
Abandoning the shrine, Jack slid through the dust and dashed up the stairs. The door did not yield to his frenzied turning of the knob, nor his pushing against it. He imagined himself on the other side, mark burning … and reappeared on the same side of the basement to no effect. Magic stopped by a blocked door. Preposterous! Jack kicked the door hard, only to add his foot to the list of body parts in pain. Damn it!
Jack returned to the shrine, fuming, trying to hold on to that anger, trying to keep it from turning to fear. Okay. Okay. I am not defenseless. I am not defenseless! He did, however, appear to be trapped. The basement did not possess any windows, nor any other entrances he could see. All there was, flickering an otherworldly purple. Even his void gaze revealed nothing. None of the residents upstairs had even budged to check on the racket. I did not want to ask him for advice. With a heaving sigh, Jack stepped forward, checking for any further traps. But no, the rune remained, pulsing. Jack took hold of it, and let the darkness take hold of his vision.
"Now, Jack. This is just sad."
He appeared in a puff of purple, arms folded, face without expression. Still, Jack bristled, not just at the barb, but on instinct. The black eyes, the floating … you are just wrong, you know that?
"I have been called many things, Jack, "wrong" among one of the less insulting. And imaginative." The Outsider waved an airy hand. "So you have come to Intai'sei. Not for long, I think. Your journey lies elsewhere, and others move to claim you."
"The Abbey?" It would be bitterly ironic if Banes, whoever that was, elected to send his brothers to the shrine. And if they brought a music box…
"Among others, not all of them human." The Outsider smirked. "If they knew you so easily mugged and trapped inside of a basement, perhaps they would rethink their efforts. Did you think yourself invincible? Infallible? Even I do not stoop to such arrogance."
"Get me out." The words were spoken through gritted teeth, the pain inside surpassing the pain outside. "Get … get me out."
"I do nothing for anyone." The Outsider's words made it clear there would be no argument. "Reach within. Look to your talents. Two runes dwell within you, now. More avenues open. And now, Banes sends his men." The Outsider leaned in, smirking. "How will this clumsy heretic handle this, I wonder? Will the night end in slaughter, as thug and false overseer spill one another's blood? Or will the dawn find Banes still alive, but wishing it were not so?" The Outsider leaned back, still smirking. "Or perhaps you will trip over a doorstep and break your neck. It's all a possibility. But I strongly suggest you look within … and think fast."
It all came snapping back. Jack gasped, jerking away from the altar, head pounding again. Footsteps. Above. Instinctively, he brought his fingers across his eyes again, staring through wall and floor to the golden figures above, approaching from the street.
Two. Man and a woman. Both clutched crude swords in their hands and pistols at their belts. Jack felt for his own belt, forgetting for a moment, and then cursed. Banes' thugs made for the door.
Reach within. The mark on Jack's hand burned. The shadows leapt and blurred at the corners of his vision.
"All right. Lock it behind ya." He could hear them now, tromping down the steps in heavy boots. The same kind of people of Shepard's family. They lived hard, drank hard, fought hard. And now … they die. Jack raised his hands over his head, both of them clenched. His heart stilled in his chest. What he was about to do, parts of him still couldn't fully accept it. And yet…
"Alright choffer-" said the man as he turned the corner, pistol pointed at Jack's heart, hair disheveled and greasy. He stopped as he realized Jack had already surrendered. "Never mind. You got the idea. Blissy! Tie 'im up. I got ya covered." He looked Jack up and down. "Whalers getup, sure as she said. They always pay to get their guys back." He threw a sympathetic glance at Jack, who just stared back blankly. "You're probably gonna get a taste of the cat for this, knowing them. Still, you should know better, blundering in like this. How'd you even get in here? The lookouts said no one came in through the front door."
A woman, colorful tattoos running up her arms and neck, strolled in with sword drawn. She sheathed it once she saw Jack yielding.
"Nice and easy now." She stepped forward hesitantly, pulling a small spool of rope from her belt. As she approached, Jack breathed in. His mark pulsed.
The shadows gathered and reared. From behind the man, darkness consolidated, threw itself together in the shape of a man, standing. In the shape of a blade, sharp. In it, Jack thought he could see himself, the shape of the rippling nose, the height of the forehead. An abomination. It cast no shadow, itself, instead bending the light around it. Where it stepped, there came not a sound. It reached for the thug.
"That's it," said the man, watching Jack's every movement. "This don't have to be anything more than a bad memory, got it? Just take it easy, now."
Jack nodded, but not to the man. The shadow took another step forward. With a single motion it brought a midnight hand about the man's mouth with one hand, pressed the flickering blade into his throat with the other. The man gave a muffled yelp that soon turned to a gurgle, but the shadow did not relent, and the man's flailing was to no avail. The woman stood before him now, rope outstretched.
Jack reared back suddenly before thrusting his head forward. With a sharp crack, the woman staggered with a cry, the blood blossoming from her nose while she scrabbled for her sword. Jack reeled momentarily, but then plunged forward to his shadow, reaching for the corpse's own scabbard. The woman stared at her compatriot in horror and confusion, face contorting.
"How – you!"
The shadow released the thug, advancing with silent purpose. To the woman's credit, she held her ground. Bravery, in the face of this.
"The key." Jack extended his free hand, still gripping the sword with the other. "Give me the key and we can forget this."
"You killed him." She still sounded in shock. She shook her head, cheeks turning from white to red. "You're dead, you're both dead!"
The shadow faded, and with it, Jack felt the sudden pang of exhaustion, the same sense he got when he told time to slow. The woman lunged, and Jack brought up a clumsy parry, his blade catching hers and snagging. She pushed forward, snarling, revealing pointed teeth. Jack pushed back, throwing his weight against hers, trying to ignore the pain in his much-abused head, the way his muscles now ached and his eyes watered.
With a lurch, Jack forced his weight forward and threw the woman backward. He stepped forward, but she recovered with an admirable quickness, ducking to the side and swiping quickly, making Jack step backward in shock. I have no shield! Do not forget this. She hissed at him, a curiously inhuman sound, and went on the attack again, forgoing strong slashes for quick lunges and swipes, trying to get a cut in. One blow nicked his shoulder, making it sting.
Jack grunted falling backwards, trying to keep an eye on his footing. The floor behind him felt strange, alternately sticky and slippery, and Jack realized it was the thug's blood, pooling steadily upon the floor. Jack gritted his teeth, parried again, trying to remember his training. Footwork. It's all in the footwork. Of course, if he had his pistol it would be so much simpler, the bitch clearly did not have a shield…
With a cry, the woman jumped forward, blade flashing down in a deadly arc. Jack, without fully meaning to, vanished, vision turning to a tunnel of purple. The woman's sword crashed down where he once stood with a clatter, sending up sparks. Jack stood behind her, blinking, her back exposed to him. A shameful waste. You fought so well.
Jack stepped forward smartly, hand wrapping around her neck as he pressed the blade inward, close to the shoulder blade. The woman gasped as the blade came out her chest, pale pink at the tip, the blood popping and bubbling out of her like champagne from a bottle. Her sword slipped from her grip, falling to the floor with a painful finality. With a final shudder, she went limp, and Jack withdrew the blade with more than a small tinge of shame. And so I stain his shrines with blood, like some barbarian.
But this was Jack's doing alone. He stared at the bodies, wondering if he would have spared them if they had not taken his darts and his omnibow. Of … of course. He had been deprived of options, and it was clear their master was his enemy. But … they inhabit shrines and prey on the defenseless. Do a few valorous final moments make up for a lifetime of sin?
The corpses had no answer. They so rarely did.
Captain Jiang did not take to Jack's return well, mostly because she took exception to human blood on her deck. Despite Jack's protests to his physical wellbeing (barring his head) they still ushered him down to the ship's surgeon, who regarded Jack with no small amount of panic.
"Sit," ordered the captain while Oleg and Miranda looked on silently. To Jack's surprise, he could see concern on both their faces. "What the hell happened?"
"Some idiot named Banes is kidnapping nobles who visit shrines," growled Jack. The surgeon proffered a small pack of ice which Jack swiped with an irritated thanks. "Killed two of his goons, but not before they robbed me blind. They took my shield. My omni tool. My sword." The last stung the most, and Oleg nodded as he said it. "I'm going to get them back. Give me a shot of Addermire's Solution."
To the surgeon's credit, he looked to Jiang for confirmation first. She gave it. Jack winced as the needle went into his arm. The warmth that followed did not feel entirely natural.
"He has your omnitool," said Jiang dully, exchanging a glance with Oleg. "He's going to know who you are. And chances are, seeing as you just killed two of his guys, he's going to hand it to the Abbey. And they're going to find you … and my ship."
"I'm going to find him." Jack's hands clenched and unclenched, mark sparking. "The colony is small, and I have little to lose."
"You won't have to look far. I know who Banes is." Jiang shrugged. "Colonies have gangs. Most are small. Banes's isn't. There's not too much of Intai'sei to fight over. Not this part, anway. Someone had to come out on top."
"So I'll be doing the Empire a service, in addition to myself." Jack looked up to Jiang, then to Miranda. "Give me what you can. Sword and pistol, some Addermire Solution. I'll handle this." He jerked his head to Miranda. "You're coming."
To his surprise, Miranda smiled.
"This is what I signed up for."
Night fell as they prepared, the angry sunset replaced by the lighting of lamps. Jack's new belt felt uncomfortable, the blade heavy, but he could hardly complain he was fortunate to have anything at all. There was no replacing his omnibow for the moment, nor the sleep darts loaded into them; Udina kept himself abnormally well-stocked for an unassuming guild representative. The pistol, at least, appeared of good make.
Miranda looked a good deal more intimidating in whaling leathers, armed to the teeth. While she buckled her belt with some hesitation, Jack had seen her spar with a few of the more bored whalers. Either she had been trained well, possessed a natural gift, or some combination of the two. Her footwork more than made up for her lack of reach and comparative lack of strength. And that is temporary. She is only fifteen. He watched her fiddle with her shield, slightly worried at the lack of his own. Only fifteen.
It worried him, a little. But the Abbey made killers of initiates younger than that, when it needed to. And perhaps, only he would need to do any killing. Miranda still had her darts.
"I still can't slow time," Miranda complained, pulling a whaling mask about her face. "And I can't … split myself … like you can. Maybe I should try one of those runes?"
"I think you'll have to be content with what you have." Jack pulled his own mask over his face. The air tasted sweeter with it on. "Oleg?"
Oleg looked up from the table, several maps splayed out before him. He dipped his quill in ink and circled the upper level of the building plan.
"He has an upper level terrarium, where they're trying to grow some Serkonnan plants. A bit of home." Jack joined Oleg, watching him draw lines and arrows. "There is an entrance here, leading down to the lower levels. Fast access to his study and bedroom, even. But make a racket, and the lower levels are swarming with his people, and the watch stays clear of his streets."
But not the Abbey. Not anymore. Jack felt for the reassuring solidity of his hilt, wishing it were his familiar saber.
"He might not have taken your stuff to his room, however." Oleg shifted the papers, revealing the lower levels. "Jiang says he has a vault, mostly of occult crap, but also of some of the more expensive stuff. If he hasn't decided to try on your shield, this is where it would probably have ended up."
"I need that shield." Jack's eyes narrowed. "We're going in through the terrarium, working our way down. If we get spotted, if things get dicey, he dies. They all die."
"You would work such a retribution on them?" Oleg raised his eyebrows. "In the heat of battle, such decisions can be forgiven. But … all of them, Jack? Are you resolved to do this?"
Jack remembered the Outsider's words. Is it truly the only option, if we are caught?
"I would rather bring him in to the Abbey, if I could," Jack admitted. "I'll see if I can work that in to the schedule. Mostly I need that omnitool back. For Jiang's sake, as well as mine."
"Then you best get a move on. I've looked over things as best I can."
Jack rose, took Oleg's hand and shook it. "We'll be back before sundown, body and honor intact, omnitool on hand. Count on it."
"Do try to be careful."
Jack followed Miranda out on to the deck, the whalers shoving themselves against walls in their passing. None seemed to want to look at them, and a few clutched bone charms against their chests tightly in their wake.
"They're right to fear us," said Miranda, staring out over the deck to the city they were about to hit. "Aren't they?"
"More right than wrong." Jack pointed to the closest rooftop. "Let's go."
They flitted from rooftop to rooftop, two Void spirits haunting the dead of night. Below them, watchmen went about their patrols, shoulder lamps blazing in the arid night, occasionally whistling a jaunty tune. And, far from where, Shanxi still burns…
Banes's house did not take much difficulty to spot, making Jack's blood rise. Criminals belong in the mud, scrabbling for sustenance. They should not lay claim to … this.
As the plans indicated, the building was an impressive four stories, topped by a greenhouse thick with vegetation. When Jack looked through the Void, he could see the house alive with life, many guests occupying a dining hall thick with chairs and wine. Music drifted up from below, and looking down Jack could see a thick stone wall, guards patrolling below. And, deep within the building, something pulsed, heavy and hard. Banes owned many bone charms.
"Have you ever killed before?" Jack asked, not turning to his companion at his side. The wind howled as she paused.
"Only with my wit."
"But you know where the blood flows thickest? Where to strike to disable a man's arm?" Jack turned to Miranda. She nodded, but only after several moments of staring. "Are you prepared to, if need be?"
"Y- yes."
Part of Jack hoped she was lying. Few were born to be natural killers, and those that were made unpleasant company. At the same time, his safety demanded she told the truth. It is different, though. In the heat of the moment. Jack shook his head. Perhaps it will not come to that.
One final teleport, and their feet scrabbled against the concrete outside the terrarium. No sound emanated from within, even though Jack half-expected birdsong of some kind. The door inside stood unguarded.
"Quietly now." The entrance opened without a squeak, and Jack strode through, eyes blazing blue. Below them, two dozen people milled about in what must have been some kind of dinner party. Others patrolled the halls and grounds. Nearly all of them possessed swords belted to them, pistols across their chest. And shields, maybe? Armor? At least there were no clockwork soldiers. Banes' influence did not extend that far.
The lively green vegetation seemed so out of place on a world so orange and brown. Thick purple fruit grew on vines, ripe enough to eat, and Jack felt his mouth water under his mask. Rampant Hunger, brother. Rampant Hunger. He turned away from them only reluctantly. Vengeance would have to fill his belly instead.
"Watch the floors for tripwires," said Jack, wincing at the memory. He would not be taken like that again.
A small trapdoor stood out of place at the center of the terrarium, surrounded by foliage. Jack pulled it open with only little difficulty, setting it down on the grass softly. He looked down the ladder and scoffed, clenching his left hand and reappearing at the bottom, striding forward. On his right, the bedroom. On his left, the study. Just behind him, the stairs down.
"No one in either room," said Jack as Miranda appeared behind him with the sound of rushing wind. He tried the study door. "Locked." The bedroom proved no better.
"So we have to find Banes," said Miranda, hand on the hilt of her sword.
Jack glanced back at the stairway. This is probably going to be a bit harder than the apartment from before. The sounds of revelry echoed from below.
"Follow my lead. Do as I say without hesitation." Jack did not wait for an answer, walking past Miranda, trying to stay on the tips of his feet. They descended the steps in fearful silence.
On the left – life, glorious life. Men and women toasted one another, discussed politics in small groups, glasses in hand, ate Serkonnan grapes out of little bowls. On the right, a balcony up a small flight of steps, overlooking both the dining hall and the streets below. Three guards stood, sweating even in the night.
"Heading right. Three guards." Jack licked his lips. "Use the darts. Stun who you can. I will … handle the rest."
It did not feel right, sneaking about like some assassin without honor, some thief in the night. Taking the lives of these men, from the dark, without warning? They are criminals and heretics. Jack paused. The same as I. We were born to kill one another, like this. I just have the better weaponry.
There was no door out to the balcony, whose floor was made of wood. Chairs and tables sat scattered about the deck, a single umbrella folded above one of the tables. Two guards stood at the edge, glowing cigarettes in hand, staring out over the colony. The other hung near the back, looking out at the dining hall through the slats of a wooden window.
Jack pointed to the gentleman at the back. Mine. With a rush of wind, he appeared behind him, arms at the ready. With a quick lunge, he brought his wrists around the man's throat and leaned back, squeezing.
The man grunted, hands frantically lashing backwards, trying to find some part of Jack to grab. For several long seconds, Jack held his breath and his grip, feeling the man's Adam's apple bump against his wrist. Slowly, the man's flailing slowed, then stopped altogether. Jack let him gently down, then pointed to the heedless man to his right, then to his own neck. Yours. He pointed to the one on the left, then at himself. Mine. Miranda gave him a thumbs up.
We were born to kill one another, you and I. But not today, if I can help it.
Jack crept forward, content to use his own two feet this time. The guards muttered to themselves, about their boss, about the weather. Miranda readied her omnibow.
Now.
Jack reached forward and pulled the guard back. The poor man uttered a muffled yelp, one hand flying backward to glance Jack's face while the other went for his sword belt, fumbling as his grip was pinned. His friend gave a snort in surprise, only for the omnibow to go off. The man grunted in pain … and then shouted, voice thick with the poison but all too audible.
"Attack! We're under attack! The balcony! Get to the balcony!"
Miranda, panicking, fired again, striking the man in the chest as he turned to face her. He fumbled with his sword before falling, legs turning to jelly. Elsewhere in the building, alarms sounded, and Jack involuntarily lost his grip. With a sudden lurch, the man reared his head back and slammed it into Jack's face, knocking him to his knees.
"Balcony! Two choffers on the balco-" The man screamed, wrenching himself away from something in a spray of blood. He fell to the ground. Miranda stood behind him, clearly paralyzed, a blade with a bloodied tip in her hands.
"The neck," growled Jack, trying to control the thudding of his heart as the world went mad around him. "To put them down quickly, you have to aim for the neck."
"Oh." Miranda watched her victim convulse in a spreading pool of blood beneath her. "I aimed for his heart on the thrust."
"You found it. Well played." Jack readied his weapon. "Back to back now." None of the rooftops were close enough. As his fingers brushed past his eyes, it also became clear the stairs were blocked by a rising tide of enraged scum.
"Two on how many?" asked Miranda, voice growing shrill, gaze fixed on the now stilling body of her victim.
"Not just two," said Jack, hand glowing. I hoped it would not come to this. Two spared among how many? Better than he had expected going in. Hopefully Banes had not done a runner. "And time is on our side."
They stood back to back, Miranda feeling so small next to him. Her blade trembled while his remained still, clenched in a meaty fist.
The first man to came through did so on Miranda's side, and took a sleep dart for it. He fell with a slurred yell, coming to rest on the ground before the stairs. The next two came together, and Miranda missed with her next shot. From Jack's side, three barreled up the stairs.
This is going to be painful.
With a sigh, Jack let the shadows flow from his fingers, let them leap and congeal. A man comprised of ribbons, now black, now purple, rose from behind the door. Then, still reeling from the effort, Jack reached out and told time to slow.
It felt different this time, louder as by slowing time, others could now listen in. But it was fine. Miranda was not slowed. Nor was the shadow. They moved free from time's strings, blades in hand, advancing on their baffled enemies, who observed men moving at speeds unheard of. And Jack, Jack was not slowed. Nor did he have cause to hesitate.
The first man was raising his blade to strike, but did so as if fighting his way through molasses. Jack grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled the blade through him, working it up through the ribs and into the soft matter beneath. Then he pulled it out with a slight pop, all red. The man fell in slow motion, the glassy shock already settling on his face. Next.
Jack could hear the quick work of Miranda's blade behind him, along with heavy breathing and the distorted shouts of men moving many times slower than normal. The next closest man looked heavy-set, a cleaver in each hand. Jack moved to the side, reached out for the neck and drew it close. Where everywhere else on the man was so thick with muscle and fat, the neck proved as soft as always, the blade driving inside with sickening squelch. Jack retrieved it half a second later, the blood spraying out in an impressive burst as the man reared and clutched at the freshly opened wound.
Then, with a frightening howl, time snapped back into place. Two bodies lay behind Jack, three more before him. His shadow offered a rough salute with its blade and vanished, leaving a panicked-looking youth at the top of the stairs. He dropped his weapon with a clatter and raised his hands. Jack nodded. Run. Run from me, do not look back.
"Shit shit shit!" Screams from below, bellowed curses at the inexplicable onslaught. Jack smiled, only to jerk back at the sudden crack of a gunshot from below, breaking through the wooden slats of the window close to him and leaving a faintly smoking hole. He looked to Miranda, whose whaling slicks now possessed a fresh coat of blood.
"Dining hall. You take the stairs." Jack took the lead, kicking open the closest window and staring down at the emptying hall below. The shooter cursed and reloaded her pistol, the faint flicker of a shield about her. Jack took a few steps back and then dived forward, hand glowing. As he fell, belly first, he released his grip.
The woman screamed as the distance closed in less than a heartbeat, her pistol dropped in favor of a blade. Not quick enough. Jack made a quick thrust at her throat, feeling the faint bubble about her give way to the pinpoint pressure. The blade entered the front of her neck and stuck, blood issuing from the wound in fearsome quantities. Jack tried not to focus on the way her eyes widened as he pulled the weapon free.
"Left!" Jack's head snapped left, dripping weapon readied. Another gunner, pistol drawn, now stumbling with a green bolt lodged in his own neck. Fine shot, Miranda. He was almost certain that was the last sleep dart, however.
The alarms still issued and people still ran in all directions, screaming. Void Gaze revealed nothing beyond the expected chaos, golden figures running about, most of them unarmed. Although … one did linger below, where the bone charms dwelled.
"Follow." Jack motioned to Miranda before pulling his pistol free with his left hand. If anyone jumped on the stairs, shield or no, they would be sent for a bit of a tumble. The two of them descended the wooden steps, breathing heavily. Outside, people screamed for the Abbey. For the Abbey.
The basement door had been flung open in great haste and footprints remained visible in the dust on the stairs. The heady stench of wine wafted from below, making Jack's blood boil. Of course. Keep the heresy close to the alcohol. Do you revel down here, Banes? Do you make drunken overtures to the Outsider to show himself?
"Show yourself!" bellowed Jack, descending into the darkness, weapons still drawn, his enhanced vision fixed on the figure fiddling at something within the vault. "Banes! Is that you?"
Wheeling around a heavy wine rack, Jack came face to face to the vault door, light streaming out from it. A figure stood at the entrance, weapon drawn, a curious device on the breast of his buttoned up jacket. Banes. He faced Jack with a mocking grimace, blade raised – Jack's blade! – brushing the long black bangs from his face. Handsome for a crime lord.
"You're the one they're looking for, aren't you?" He spoke with an accent seasoned with Serkonos, white teeth flashing as he held his ground at the entrance. A shield rippled about him. "It's all they talk about, the overseers. That, and their new friends. Doesn't that just make your blood boil?"
That last part made little sense to Jack, who simply watched, waiting. Banes chuckled, an edge of madness to it.
"What do you want? You've eclipsed my efforts at heresy, summoning shadows like that. Moving like a man possessed." Banes paused. "Oh, but of course. This is your sword, isn't it? You're the one we robbed."
"Give up the blade, and we can settle this." Jack paced to and fro, circling the entrance, hoping Banes would make a move. The man only stood there, eyes flicking to Miranda as she fell in behind him.
"And the duke's daughter," breathed Banes. "Of all places, you came to Intai'sei. To me." Banes took a small step forward, assuming a ready duelist's pose. "As for the blade … no. It was never intended for my hands, that is true … but to give it to a heretic?" Banes saluted with a flourish. "If I kill you, bring Lady Miranda back? That'll make back all the damages and all the death, plus extra. And it'll be a tale for the grandkids, as a bonus."
"It's two on one." Jack placed his feet carefully, watching Banes's every motion. Miranda stood at his side now, pistol aimed at Banes's chest. "And I'm far more than you will ever be."
Banes tapped the strange talisman on his breast, which glowed first bright blue, then a deep, unsettling red.
"We'll see."
Jack pulled the trigger, but the shot flew into empty air, ricocheting somewhere inside the vault. He brought up his blade instinctively, meeting Banes's stolen saber just in time. Banes moved at speeds unimaginable, already disengaging, flinging an errant wine bottle at Miranda, causing her to duck as it shattered against the wall, spraying it purple.
"Come on then, heretic!" Jack threw his pistol aside, clenched his fist. Banes's next blow whistled through thin air, and Jack faced his back, sword whipping in a deadly arc. The noise it made as it caught nothing was maddening in both its loudness and its futility. Banes danced out of reach, the stolen saber glowing in the light of the strange bone charm upon his breast.
Jack reached out to time and pulled. Miranda struggled to her feet as the world turned gray, and Banes laughed, voice distorted, but not to the expected degree. Jack grunted and charged him, and saber met sword in a shower of sparks.
"Swing harder!" demanded Banes, the blades locking, his face shaking in slowed laughter. With a surge of red, his mouth contorted, and he shoved Jack backwards with improbable force, sending him jerking into a wine rack.
Jack fell, the glass bottles moving momentarily as if propelled normally before freezing in midair, many of them in the process of shattering. The rack splintered, and where Jack's glove pushed himself upward, he felt the pinprick of an uncomfortable number of shards.
Already Banes was upon him, unslowed by time, which again resumed its normal course. Miranda fired, her bullet knocking Banes sideways as it pushed against his shield, the heavy bullet making him gasp, winded. When Miranda charged him, however, he righted himself with a heavy backhand, sending her sprawling and making Jack wince.
"You made yourselves the Outsider's bitch, and you can't even win a fair fight?" Banes grunted again, the red light shining brighter, and he clutched his chest as if in sudden pain. "Heh."
Jack reached out for the nearest wine bottle neck, gripped it tight, hurled it with force. It smashed harmlessly against the wall about a foot to Banes's left. Jack grimaced, while Banes strode forward, saber glinting. Jack stood and readied himself again while Miranda groaned on the floor.
Jack blocked the first cut, his blade clashing against Banes's with a noise like a ringing thunderclap. He dodged the next, retreating neatly as he had been taught, the blow catching only air. Banes paused, aimed the third cut at the neck. Jack brought up his blade, realizing a hair second too late the attack never came. Feint! He twisted, grunting as his own saber raked his side, ribs partially turning aside the blow. He backed up, the blood running freely from the wound.
"Heh." Banes grinned again, only to look down at the bone charm in sudden shock, clutching at it with his free hand. "I … heh."
Jack lunged, trying to ignore his own agony in favor of taking advantage of Banes's. With a strangled yell, he brought his blade down at Banes's skull, left hand clenching. Banes deflected it with a grimace, sword barely coming up in time, arm juddering at the impact, preparing for the second strike, which Jack directed … at his back, releasing his grip. With a puff of smoke, he returned the favor, smiling at the satisfaction.
A deep red cut, weeping red. Banes jerked forward with another choked scream, red light blooming from his chest … from his mouth. As Banes wheeled on Jack, it was to reveal sockets of bright orange-red, the charm upon his chest latching on to it with wires.
"The clock will strike twelve!" It still sounded like Banes, but his movements now looked distinctively insane, limbs twitching, head jerking at odd intervals. The bone charm. It must be. But Jack had never seen or heard of any charm acting like this. "Outsider!"
Banes's blade flashed, but Jack had already vanished, unwilling to face this thing head on. This time, he swung too quickly, the shield catching the weapon and flinging it out of his grasp. Oh. Damn. Banes turned, a fist flashing. It struck Jack in the jaw full force, making his vision go dark momentarily. A second later he awoke, on the ground, Banes clawing at his chest.
"No!" The cry became strangely electronic, static raising in the air and making Jack's hair stand on end. "I-"
Out of nowhere, Miranda stood, blade drawn and unwavering. With a few neat steps forward, she ducked under the raging Banes's flailing limbs, and thrust for the bone charm. The blade met it in a small scream of red sparks, and the distorted cybernetic scream turned to recognizably human agony. Chunks of steaming metal and broken wire fell to the ground, Banes quickly following it. Miranda stepped back, covered in blood and dust, a gasp escaping her throat.
"You did it," Jack said numbly, struggling to his feet, all too many wounds making their presence felt. "He lives, even."
Miranda nodded, panting, face obscured by the mask. "I aimed for the heart…"
Banes did not stir, his breathing only barely visible. With a grunt, Jack retrieved his saber, noting the fresh nicks on the edge. Mine. For as long I can carry it. He looked down to Banes, then to his vault. The Abbey's. For whatever purpose they desire.
"Lock him in. The Abbey will be here soon enough." The watch might have been bought off, but there was no stopping his brothers. And there was no excuse for being found in a room full of bone charms.
"A key." Miranda, thinking ahead, had searched his body and found a small silver key. "For his room, remember? And another … for the vault. We need the omnitool." She cocked her head. "We didn't … we didn't come here for the sword."
"Right." Jack shook his head, trying to clear it. "Sorry." A quick glance inside the vault gave no sign of the omnitool, however. Jack gave Miranda a meaningful glance before gesturing to Banes.
Between the two of them, it was no difficult thing to haul Banes's unconscious form inside the vault. When it closed, it did so with a reassuring click as the locking mechanism slid into place, and Jack made sure to leave the vault door key hanging very obviously from an overhead hook. He won't starve in there. He will not suffocate.
The house now stood empty, but distant alarms told them it would not always be so. Doubtless the air carriages already filled with warfare overseers, their radios blaring with the ancient mathematics. That is not a situation we want to be caught in. He increased his pace up the steps, worked the lock as quickly as he could.
"You take the study," said Jack, flicking the key to Miranda, who caught it with trembling fingers. "Find my shield, too, if you can."
Banes's room clearly reflected someone desperate to return to Serkonos, or someone trying to recreate it as best they could. A titanic king-sized bed took up the center of the room, its blankets strewn about it along with what suspiciously like a woman's undergarments. Leafy plants sprouting small purple fruit hung from above on hooks, filling the room with a sweet fragrance. A few rather fat cigars sat atop a small food stained card dealer's table, which Jack examined with a wrinkled nose. Disgusting. Looking about the room, only one thing immediately caught his interest; a small polished golden medal atop the bedside desk.
"Blade Verbana, third place." Jack snorted. That would explain the duelist's stance. He was talented even without the bone charm. Probably more so than me. But it didn't matter. The alarms grew louder, and the bedroom was a dud.
"Found them." Miranda entered with two small devices in hand, which Jack took gratefully, slotting them into place on his wrist. Ah, there's the shield. "Is that … a Verbana trophy?"
"He could have made something of himself. Something other than this." Jack shrugged. "The Abbey will demonstrate his failings. At length. We have places to be." He made for the door, before pausing. "And … thank you. You acquitted yourself well."
"I always hoped I would." Miranda did not sound entirely convinced of this. She's covered in blood … at least most of it is not hers.
They staggered back up to the terrarium, eyes bleary, hands shaking. Jack's mind raced during the return trip, but they said not a word to one another.
"Retribution is swift."
Jack stood among the crowd, arms folded, smiling, his compatriots at his side as the people gathered at the center of Intai'sei's capital. The Abbey gathered in strength, in greater strength than Jiang had thought they possessed, a pillory already in place. The watch too, gathered in the square, their hoods flapping in the light breeze, scalps and faces protected against the sun above.
"But is it warranted?" Oleg watched pensively, the hooded fashion of Intai'sei affording him some protection from scrutinizing eyes. "What has he done that we should not hang for?"
"Faithful! Gather here, now! Witness the beginning of a new age! An age of iron will and unyielding reason!" The lead overseer stood before the pillory, mask shining in the sun. "Behold, the heretic who has evaded us for so long!"
Banes, hair shaved, hands bound, and clad in rags, held between two broad-shouldered overseers. Jack watched with narrowed eyes, hands on hilt. For all he knew, the man would without warning spit fire and throw his captors free. Yet all he saw now in the man's eyes was pain. And fear.
"We found him, trapped within a vault of his bone charms, beaten senseless by one of his fellows." The overseer looked over the crowd, who remained silent. "In past days, we might have been bought. We might have been lenient. But now comes the age of steel, and all will falter 'neath the accusing gaze of the Abbey. For in these dark days, brothers betray their oaths, and hellfire rains from the sky upon our colonies. But no longer. Now we gather our new allies and our redoubled strength. Step forward, Palvanus!"
The overseer stepped aside, and someone tall and … No. No!
"You knew us as enemies, but we are united against the Outsider." Three of those things, turians, standing in robes and clad in steel masks, the same as before! Shanxi … Jack's blade slashed in his mind, meeting the turian's in a scream of steel. Valor never made it to the abbey. Hounds followed the overseers even now, regarding the turians without ire. The crowd muttered and shifted. "We come here at the Abbey's invitation, as well as the empress's. Do you deny the Abbey's past leniency? One of their number fell to his influence. Never again. No more of your number will bear his mark. We will bring fire. We will bring steel. We will bring reason. You will be forged into something greater."
"Remember Shanxi!" shouted someone, and the crowd's muttering grew louder.
"Remember the blessedly short reign of Delilah!" called back an overseer. "Look to the extranet and see the hell the Outsider has wrought upon this galaxy, and know we have been fortunate to escape most of his interest!"
The center Palvanus drew a blade, thin and silvery, studied it in against his hand. Jack's breathing grew sharper.
"Our only enemy is this man, here. Armistan Banes. He terrorized you, and consorted with foul energies." The Palvanus looked over the simmering crowd, expression hidden beneath the mask. "You must prove yourselves to us, to all Council races. You bear the Outsider's face. You bear responsibility for his creation. This debt will be repaid." The Palvanus turned to the waiting Banes, now forced to his knees. "One heretic at a time. The penalty for your transgressions is death. I will send you screaming to the Void."
"Didn't take long for the Empress to sell us out to aliens," muttered Miranda, but she made no move. The Palvanus drew the blade overhead. The crowd sucked in a breath, some muttering darkly…
"No."
Shadows from nowhere, taking shape at the Palvanus's back. The crowd roared and the overseers screamed. The Palvanus turned, just in time for the rippling blade to be thrust through his chest. The turian screamed as the blue blood sprayed, and the shadow whipped around only to be silenced in a hail of gunfire.
"Enough!" Jack strode to the front of the scattering crowd, saber drawn, voice commanding. "How have you forgiven Shanxi so quickly, brothers?"
"It's him."
Hounds barked, overseers formed lines, and the remaining Palvanus tried to staunch the bleeding of their compatriot in vain, small red syringes pressed against his arm. Jack stood before the platform, framed by the sun. Banes whimpered and watched with wide eyes.
"We held the line against these devils on Shanxi at dire cost!" Jack's eyes flashed, and he stared down each overseers as they dared approach, guns fixed on him, but unwilling to shoot just yet. The Palvanus glared down from the pulpit, eyes predatory like a hawk's. "We stood against them even as they cut down our hounds and besieged our temple with cannons! We stood firm as they fell about us like rain, swords in hand! And now you stand beside them, and you dare call them allies?"
"You are heretic scum," called out an overseer, a hand about his dog's collar. "You forsook everything you professed to hold dear for the sake of power."
"No. I did it to save my brothers. Your brothers." Jack held an arm high. "I did it so that I could better destroy the enemies that threatened to destroy us. The same enemies that stand on that pulpit, telling us we will have to earn their love! We do not want their love, do not need it! We stood firm on Shanxi, we must stand firm now!"
"The High Overseer wills it."
"We will not stand with heretics."
"You cannot understand … you are beyond saving."
"I accepted the mark because I placed my fellow humans before my honor." Jack stood in the harsh sun, blinking away sudden tears. The overseers closed in, all around. One of them bore a music box, which he cranked slowly. The sound it made … it was enough to drive a man mad. "You cannot kill this man at the behest of aliens. You cannot. The blood shed at Shanxi must be answered for."
"Remember Shanxi!" Someone else screamed it, and a bottle arced over the pulpit, struck a watching Palvanus in the head. Without warning, the crowd, previously scattered, surged, some watch among them. "No blood for aliens!"
Guns went off. People screamed. Blood spattered against sand, and the hounds were loosed. And now, far in the distance, klaxons sounded. A riot. I started a riot.
Banes still waited on the pulpit, bleeding about the temple, hands and mouth bound. Jack teleported to him, undid the restraints with a sharp swipe. A Palvanus lunged, talons flashing, only to bounce off the shield. Jack aimed high, and the head parted from the shoulders easily enough. He sheathed his blade with blue blood still stuck to its metal.
Wait. Those aren't regular klaxons. Jack shoved that thought to the back of his mind, taking Banes under his shoulder and pulling him off, not even sure he would get that far supporting the man's weight. He kept a pistol at the ready in his free hand, warding off anyone who drew close. I will not harm my brothers … even as they go astray.
"Ship!" Miranda, running forward, her own blade drawn, Oleg behind. "Ships above! It's-"
Screams, but not from the crowd. A noise, immense and hideous, erupted from the clouds above. Jack gasped, the breath stolen from his throat at the volume, hands to his ears, reddening from the sound…
Hounds screamed. All about him things fell to the ground from a great height, and Jack stumbled on one, felt the bones crunch. Birds. Birds rained from the sky, stone dead from whatever it was. A music box burst into flame, the overseer carrying it frantically undoing the straps. The remaining Palvanus stood atop the pulpit, pointed and hissed.
A ship. A black ship, of unfamiliar make. The sound ceased at its approach, replaced by engines. As it closed the distance, Jack felt that same sensation from before, on the hull of the Cerberus, as if something were staring back at him. The ship stopped directly above, and ropes fell from the deck.
"Hargaz! Humah!" Guttural noises from above, humanoid figures sliding down the ropes, hooked spears tied to their backs. Their faces were obscured, and their armor black as pitch. One turned to Jack immediately, extended a hand.
"With me, Harper."
Jack stopped. He looked back to Miranda and Oleg, who only stared at the figures, hands still to their ears, eyes glassy with shock. People moving to claim me … not all of them human.
"By all that you once held dear…" An overseer, bleeding from half a dozen stab wounds, crawling towards Jack with an arm outstretched. "…do not go with them. Heed your own words…"
"It's us or him." The masked being, whoever he was, pointed to the pulpit. The Palvanus stared him down, unblinking even as a brick sailed by his head. "Choose, as your Abbey did. We will not harm you, Void Friend."
"Take my friends." I hope Jiang gets the right idea and runs for it. Jack pointed to Oleg and Miranda, budged Banes. "And him. Do it."
"Kamaz!" The creature jerked to its compatriots, who grabbed the two of them. Jack extended a hand. The creature grabbed him, secured Banes about the waist, and jerked the rope twice.
Jack ascended, Intai'sei vanishing below in a haze of violence. The riot looked even more fearsome from above, weapons discharging from both sides, the clash of steel on steel … the hellish sound had done little to subside it, it seemed.
The deck was made wholly of smooth steel, its hardness reassuring under Jack's feet. The other three humans watched in blank shock as their rescuers bellowed instructions to get underway. The ship climbed into the atmosphere, the atmo-shield sliding into place over the deck. The foremost rescuer turned to Jack, head cocked. He reached for his mask.
"Ka'hairal Balak," he said, revealing four eyes and a mouth full of needle teeth. He gave what was an unmistakable grin. "You made the right choice, Void Friend."
Two invasions. One to kill him, one to save him. Jack stared back blankly at the strange creature and felt for his saber. Still here. The others coughed weakly behind him, still in shock. Jack pulled the glove from his left hand, revealed it to Balak. The smile grew larger.
"Oh, yes. You made the right choice. We … have a great deal to discuss."
Harsh plateaus of purple. A whale floating in the emptiness, its hollow cries echoing through the cold. Jack had hoped sleep would bring relief from the batarians and their overeager smiles and slave-run ships, but it seemed there was no escaping just what he had done. By all that you had once held dear, do not go with them.
"And so it comes to this." The Outsider stood at the edge of a jagged landscape, the wind whipping about him, making his clothes ripple violently. "The batarians claimed you, as I thought they would, and you resolve yourself to simple vengeance."
"You take issue with me killing people who despise you?" Jack folded his arms, unwilling to back down. "They saved me, because of your mark."
"They saved you because you are a valuable piece on their board. A piece they now position against their foes." The Outsider turned, eyes black as onyx. "You could be so much more, Jack. Instead, the Abbey runs to the turians, and you to the batarians."
"It is my choice to make." Even though Balak's words reek of honey, his dinners are all too bloody, and I have seen the slaves working the engines … "I have find meaning in your gift. I will use it to repulse this "Council" and kill their agents. Humanity will stand without their influence. Without the turians. I will serve the Abbey still, by severing their bond with those things."
The Outsider stared at him with what might have been disappointment.
"It is fortunate that, through your making, I got all that I needed from you." He waved a hand. "Go. It is likely we will not speak again. I can scarcely imagine you doing something of consequence, blinded as you are."
"Sooner or later I'm going to kill someone important." Jack clenched a fist, his mark flaring. "And I don't need eyes anymore. Not with these gifts."
"How quickly humans turn from horror at my mark, to glee at what they can now do."
"So I have disappointed you? Good."
"It's nothing to be proud of." The Outsider frowned. "Jack … I can see so many possibilities in your future. You had to pick the one that would always end at the point of a blade, one way or another."
Jack felt for his saber, but it was absent in the Void. The wind picked up again.
"There is nothing more to discuss." The Outsider's voice echoed. "Go then. Lash out. Kill those with no means to stop you, as those in power always seem to. But just remember…"
Jack's vision blurred, head suddenly heavy as true sleep took hold of him.
"…the clock will soon strike twelve."
A/N: Alright, narrative should get more straightforward from here on out, and the chapters should not get this long again. Imagine the Dishonored DLC and you'll get a good idea of what to expect. Big time skip imminent!
