Betrayed. Violated in every conceivable way. The woman who would become known as Astraea the Justicar knelt on broken knees in the expanding pool of her own blood and bowed her once proud head.

Around her cackled the minions of her tormentor. But, helpless to stop herself, she focused on the high-pitched screams that came from somewhere close at hand, but utterly out of reach. An amused hum from her daughter's torturer followed every shriek, every pained cry. If her broken and useless arms had allowed it, Astraea would have brought them up to cover her face.

For shame burned at her heart. All of this was her fault. If not for her sins and selfish ambition, none of this would have come to pass.

She started as Silva, once her closest friend, touched her cheek and spoke in warm alto tones, "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Did you think you could keep this little nest secret forever?"

Astraea licked cracked and bloody lips and rasped through vocal cords worn ragged by continuous screaming, "Leave her alone. This-you and I, has nothing to do with her."

"No, but it does have everything to do with what I want. It was fun, while it lasted. Our little partnership. But now, I want your share, too. I'm done with only getting your leftovers." Suddenly, Silva filled her field of vision. Astraea reeled back in unthinking terror, only to be yanked back into place by Silva's henchmen. Agony coursed through her broken body. She choked on the bile that rose in her throat. Her tormentor laughed, gloating as she pulled Astraea's face back to meet her gaze. "And all it took to pin your slippery ass was finding the right leverage."

"You want the crown. Take it. Kill me. Do whatever you want. Just please. Let her go."

"Bring her here," said Silva to her men. One, a crafty old krogan named Mogul, threw the tiny asari child into Silva's arms.

At the sight of her bound and bleeding daughter, Astraea struggled anew. A kick from Silva on her broken hip quelled the last of her rebellion. Silva thrust the child close to her mother, their faces only a few inches apart. The girl tried to fling herself at Astraea, but the mercenaries kept the pair apart. Astraea didn't even have strength left to curse them for their cruelty. She tried to project calm as she spoke to her daughter, "Cassia. Cassia, look at me."

"Maman! They-they-" Too young to know the right words, the girl's overwhelming fear for herself, her mother and their grievous injuries stole her voice. Cassia shrieked anew when Silva grasped the girl about the neck and started twisting her head to an untenable angle. She fought and clawed at Silva's arm, but what could a child do against an adult's strength?

"Sh, sh. I know. Just look at me, okay?"

And she tried so hard to do as her mother asked, though panic suffused her features. Her wail climbed in pitch, so high, so full of fright.

"Dear heart, I love you. Maman will always love-" A sharp crack resounded through the suddenly silent room. That sound wove its way into Astraea's soul and seared itself there amid the ashes of her heart. Ragged and wet pants fell out of her gaping mouth as she watched Cassia's eyes go dim. Nonsense thoughts flitted in the horrified emptiness of her mind. This can't be real. A bright light like Cassia could not just go out like that. Impossible.

"Damn, that's cold, boss," chuckled Mogul.

Astraea tried to summon something, but she had nothing left to comfort her, not even hate. Only the great and terrible guilt remained, riding atop the wave of profound grief that so bled her dry. Far deeper a cut than the many wounds inflicted on her flesh.

Silva dropped Cassia like just so much rubbish. "You know how much I hate secrets. We were supposed to share everything. But no, you just had to start hiding things from me, kjære." (My lover)

Astraea cringed away from the awful words and managed to whisper, "End it."

"No. I think I'll leave you here for the vorcha scavengers. I hear they like their meals still breathing when they start to gnaw on them." They threw her to the ground and left, chattering and laughing as they went.

Astraea's eyes never left Cassia, and despite the agony, with what will she had left, she reached out and covered the little girl's hand with her own shattered one. So wrong. How could it have ended like this?

If she had the power, she'd take it all back. All her ill-gotten riches and ruthless reputation, she'd abandon-no, never seek to begin with if only the Goddess gave Cassia back to her. How to even begin to make amends? A thousand apologies, a million restitutions would never be enough. And though it was infinitely too little and far too late, she pulled Cassia's cooling hand to her lips and kissed the tiny knuckles, whispering, "I'm sorry."

Shivering, Astraea sat bolt upright in her bunk with a choked gasp. Tears stung her fevered cheeks as they coursed down her face. She wiped them away with her palms as she considered her nightmare.

That particular vision, her darkest memory, hadn't visited her in a long time. Doubtless triggered by the small and strange companion she's somehow gained on her voyage. The ship hummed around her, comforting and presently real. It dispelled the last of the horror.

She swung her legs off the bed and stood, wincing as the motion pulled at the wound in her shoulder. The bullet went clean through, in and out, but even medi-gel could not heal instantly. It still took time to completely recover.

Astraea dressed in casual robes and walked to the small lounge of the vessel she'd commissioned for the trip. A tiny freighter that hauled spices, the captain of it had been glad to have her aboard. A little extra protection in this dangerous part of the galaxy never hurt.

The small window in the common area that opened on the universe beckoned her to sit before it, which she did. Perhaps some meditation would help calm her spirit and clear her vision. She still did not know fully what compelled her to take the child, Sister, with her. Three days later and she still didn't know if it had been right or wrong to do so.

It wasn't that the girl had become problematic. Quite the opposite, in fact. Quiet and ever respectful, Sister had slotted herself into the justicar's life with very little fuss. She didn't run. She didn't yell. She didn't play as other children ought at her age. Astraea realized she didn't even know the girl's age. The girl may not even know her own age. She looked around twenty by asari standards. Astraea's foraging for information on human children had uncovered the startling information that twenty in asari years equated about five in human years. Such strangeness. It unsettled her that she didn't know anything about the care and feeding of human children.

Luckily, Sister seemed just fine taking care of herself, though getting her clean had been a trial. As had the medical check. But everything had turned out alright there. The girl had been remarkably healthy, despite evidence of past trauma; broken bones, punctured spleen, all taken care of at the time of the event. Despite the brutal ends, whoever had been responsible for her health took care of her. She must have been quite the commodity. There hadn't even been a control chip attached to her brain stem. Though that made sense. Those devices sometimes interfered with kinesthesiology. A fighter had to move well to fight to their utmost ability.

Some time later, a cup was placed near her hand. The distinct clatter of plastic on metal gave it away. Astraea breathed in the scent of the green tea, her favorite kind, with a sort of gratitude mixed with exasperation. She spoke to the silent presence at her side, "Thank you, Sister. But you did not have to bring me tea."

She could almost hear the girl become crestfallen and let go of the higher vistas of her meditational reverie to see just what she expected. The human girl sat at her side and looked down at her bare toes in dejection. Even clean and dressed in civilized attire, the former slave still looked savage. With her messily shorn hair and many scars, she'd never be taken for a normal child. Not to mention she refused to wear shoes. Ever.

Taking pity on her, Astraea reached out and patted Sister's knee. "It was a kind thought."

Shining eyes in a suddenly joyous face lifted to hers. She couldn't help but echo that infectious smile with a small one of her own. Astraea sipped the proffered tea, then settled back into her trance.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Sister.

"Meditating."

"Why?"

"To see myself from the outside. Center my thoughts on the Code and how well I have and may continue to follow it."

"What's the Code?" Curiosity, ever an endearing trait. Then, Sister exclaimed a short "Ah!" and brought thumb to middle finger. With a twist, a short, percussive sound issued from those digits. "Somethin' to do with Cap'n callin' you a-a jus . . . a justick-"

"A justicar, yes." Astraea pondered the girl's hand for a moment. How had she made that noise? "I am a justicar. And a justicar follows the Code."

"So, what is it?" How could she say no to that hunger for knowledge that lurked behind Sister's eyes?

"An ultimate Code of Justice, above reproach and beyond the laws of governments. The unjust must pay what is owed." She filled her words with her faith in her path, the awe she'd felt on first discovering it, and the humility with which she strove to keep it.

Now a light of a different sort filled the girl's gaze, something like hero worship. Her mouth opened to utter one word, "Cooool." Somehow that conveyed everything such a silly little word normally could not.

Astraea found the interest in her life's work strangely appealing. Most would not wander near enough to ask. Justicars were admired, idolized even, from afar, but feared when they passed close. She understood. For if she witnessed an injustice, she would be forced to act. To the degree it merited. Whole planets had been scorched before for their indiscretions. Back when justicars numbered in the thousands.

At her side, Sister emulated her posture, sitting cross-legged before the porthole. Astraea thought about stopping her, but saw no harm in it. Meditation could be quite a useful tool when one's heart became clouded by doubt.

Only a few moments passed before Sister said, "So, I just sit here."

Astraea sighed. "It is meant be a time to reflect on one's thoughts."

"What do I think 'bout?"

The justicar felt her lips stretch in a faint smile. "What do you want to think about?"

"I dunno."

The asari rolled her shoulders to loosen them. "I suppose if you are set on doing this with me, every day, then you must do it right. Meditate on this Sutra: True justice can only be seen from behind the veil of self ignorance. To be conscious of one's self and one's needs is to be tempted to poison the root of impartiality."

By the way the girl went still and silent, Astraea felt a wash of warmth at how seriously Sister had taken the Code's profundity to heart. Then, Sister said, "What's 'ignorance' mean?"

Chagrin colored Astraea's cheeks. Of course, a regular child would not know certain words, let alone an uneducated slave child. "It means 'to not know'."

"Oh." A few more minutes passed, then another query filled the silence. "What's imparsh-i-, imp-ar-shalloty mean?"

Shaking her head, the justicar chuckled. "Perhaps we should work on your vocabulary first."

"I talk good!" Indignation made the girl draw herself up like a queen.

" 'I talk well.' No matter. We'll have plenty of time before we get to Kahje to understand each other better."

"Kahje's where the big ocean is?"

"The hanar call it the Encompassing, and yes, there's leagues upon leagues of it."

Sister mused, "Fought a hanar once. They're really squidgey. All goo and gross stuff. Takes forever to find the new-rawl nexus."

One could almost forget that the girl had trained to be a killer. Until she said something like that. "How old are you, Sister? Do you know?"

"Course I know. They keep track so's they know when to send me on." Sister waved out at the stars that whizzed by. "Gotta know how to bracket der fights. The real fights. Not like on that boat. Those sad boys wouldn'ta lasted a min in the real 'rena." 'Boys,' so this child would call the grown men that had littered the floor of that pit.

"An interesting topic we will soon revisit, but not the answer I was looking for," she chided, with gentle humor.

"Oh! Sorry, Pret-I mean, Astraea." Sister's ill-use of common turned her name into 'Aster-ee-a'. The justicar pursed her lips to keep from smiling as the girl continued in all seriousness, "I's seven, but 'Gan writed me at five so's to keep me from gettin' thrown in with the big lugs. I's small and can act younger."

Astraea did a quick calculation in her head to translate the number to something analogous to her species. Twenty-eight or thereabouts. At thirty, asari start secondary schools. Start aligning themselves with a lifepath. The future, Sister's future, seemed an untenable place. Where could such a child find a good, fulfilling life? Could she ever learn to be 'normal?' She interrupted this unpleasant chain of thought with a question, "Big lugs?"

"Yeah, the league's dominaterated by krogan. Always had trouble with those boneheads. They's too big. Gotta stab deep, all over, 'cuz they got lotsa redund-redunda-" Sister fought with her limited understanding of language, but her waving hands illustrated her fervor. She clearly enjoyed the challenge of taking on so great a foe.

"Redundancies."

"Yeah, those. Redund-an-cies," she sounded it out, wrinkling her little nose in a way Astraea found far too adorable. "Gan, um, Kei-gan showed me a picture of their insides once. So many back-ups. Had to spend a whole day looking at it to 'member it all."

"The quickest and safest way to kill a krogan is with gren-" Astraea started as she realized what she was saying. To talk so frankly about killing and the methods thereof with a child . . ..

But is Sister really a child?

The Code held that a child who murders is not a child in truth. The protective cowl of innocence may be pierced early, but it can never be regained. Where, then, is the correct path for her in helping Sister find a place in the cosmos? She had to think it over. Find reason amid this chaos.

The girl seemed to read her mood, standing and saying, "I gotta go to the bathroom." It sounded more like a request than a statement.

"Go ahead. You do not need my permission. You are no longer a slave."

Sister grinned at her as she scampered off. She tossed back over her shoulder, "Cleaned your gun! Even the fiddly bits!"

Astraea sighed in exasperation, shoulders dropping. She called back, "We talked about this. You do not have to serve in any capacity."

The girl looked around the doorjamb and smirked. "Wanted to." Then she disappeared from sight

The justicar wanted to stand and follow her for a more serious discussion, but let it go with another sigh. What harm was there, really?

Meditation irrevocably broken for the time being, Astraea decided to update her log. Every justicar kept an account of their deeds, their reasonings and their judgments. The recordings downloaded to the Archives on Thessia every seven-day. A week by the galaxy's reckoning.

In her mind and memory, she heard the soft, dry voice of her Didaskala, her mentor, 'For we are held accountable to ourselves before any other. An unjust justicar is dealt with by the others quickly and thoroughly.'

Her response then had followed, 'But the Assembly does not appoint justicars in any official way. Why would they turn from their own quests to put down a transgressor when they could just as easily decry her publicly?'

'For just that reason, the actions of one must be the actions of all, or it is the actions of no justicar. To let one stray from the path and still call herself justicar would reduce the whole of us to thugs and assassins. We stay above personal gain, we eye the line between justice and vengeance with a wariness bordering on paranoia. Thus it should be.' Her mentor looked at her with raised brow. 'When I found you in that alley and asked you who killed your daughter, what was your answer?'

'I did.' In memory and in present, Astraea shivered.

'I saw in you the repentant, even as the Code demanded your life once I found out who you were. The Code is not merciful, nor forgiving. Do you know why I spared you?'

'Because a justicar does give her life. To the Code.'

'All that you were is dead. Astraea Corso, the Corsair, leader of the Dire Corbies mercenary band, is dead. All that remains is Astraea the justicar.' Her mentor stood tall above the kneeling Astraea. 'We are not chosen, we choose. We are not appointed, we either are or are not Justicar, singly and all. The Code abides no faltering, no given quarter. No choice without responsibility-'

"No crime without punishment." She finished the litany aloud, an echo of this hallowed remembrance.

Her mentor demanded, 'Is your cause just?'

'Yes.'

'Do you pursue this Silva with vengeance in your heart?'

'No. She is wicked and many will suffer if she is not stopped.'

'Then you have my blessing and sorrow, for there is not one of us that is unstained. Wickedness lives in every justicar's heart. Be vigilant against it. Or fall.'

Astraea wished she had her mentor to call upon for guidance, but knew well the answer would be: Look to the Code. Follow the Sutras and you cannot be unjust. She wondered how the exalted justicar fared, out there among the stars chasing her own demons. She hadn't seen her mentor in nearly two centuries. Justicars only gathered when something large enough to require the Assembly's attention came to light. And woe unto whoever might be the focus of their fury.

It is said that one justicar is a massacre, but an entire Assembly of justicars is an annihilation.

That had more weight when there had been more than a few dozen of them, but Astraea could not help a tiny welling of pride at the prevalence of her kind's fearsome reputation. Even with their small numbers, few would think to trifle with them.

She felt a pang then, for in all likeliness, in a few generations, there would be no justicars. It was a lonely road and one that seemed likely to only get lonelier.