Note: Read at your own risk. This is your only warning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Wanderer
Arcturus Station, Age 14.4 (Years. Months)
From a distance of centimeters, Kara found herself staring into complex brow eyes, rich circles flecked with soft grays and oranges. Black eyelids closed. Lips pressed against hers, dry and warm, wonderfully soft, a darting tongue leaving a trace of moisture. She was being kissed, by a girl. An uncool girl, one she had pointedly ignored, at that.
Kara didn't like girls. She liked boys. She had told herself that for years, every time she found her eyes lingering on the bodies of her dorm mates. It didn't change the fact that the healthy young curves of Yejide's body, pressed lightly into hers, were more arousing than her tedious encounters with the opposite sex.
She pushed the girl away. "What the fuck was that?" And when can we do it again.
Yejide took a step back. Was that terror on her face? What had made her take such a chance? She was not part of any of the more unpopular groups, simply isolated, ignored by everyone not looking for a laugh at her expense. "Sorry, sorry…"
"Don't walk away. Answer me."
"I just though…" Yejide muttered. "You invariably look so lonely…"
Kara scowled, folding her arms defensively across her chest. She often felt isolated, even amongst her friends, her smiles and laughter a show to let her fit in. She didn't, though. If any of them had noticed her discomfort, they would certainly have expressed it, but their narcissism limited their perception of other people's pain, except when their cruelty made them the source of it. She did not, for the most part, join in those game, but she had seen Yejide driven to tears by them. Shamefully, she had not intervened either, preferring to target known gays as if to hide the truth about herself. Should her friends ever discover it, she would find herself ostracized as well.
"I should go…"
"Wait…" Kara breathed.
Yejide turned back, uncertain.
"What—" Kara paused. Was she really going to do this? It would hardly help her popularity, and she knew nothing about Yejide, aside from seeing her around for the last four years. Despite her narrow self-definition, she could not deny the warmth that spread through her, as she imagined another kiss. It was a delightful feeling, one which she longed to explore. "Would you like to… to do something? Together? With, uh, me?" Dammit, she was making a fool of herself.
Yejide grinned, just the sort of unrestrained expression of emotion that earned her the mockery of her peers. "There's nothing I'd rather do, than stand with you," she said, her sonorous voice lowered still further, as though she were delivering a line, one so awful Kara could only imagine it that it came from some cheesy comic book.
She felt oddly out of control, her hand placing itself on the other woman's side, as if subject to some separate will, and her legs moved her closer. The ice queen, as one of her previous boyfriends still called her, and the antisocial nerd, they were incompatible, a total mismatch, an impossible couple. That belief didn't stop her from smiling as she finally moved in for a second kiss. It didn't make the taste of Yejide's lips any less sweet, either.
Earth, Age 15.2
"Happy birthday, darling."
Kara frowned irritably at her mother, despite the elaborately wrapped present in the woman's hands. "A bit late, aren't we?"
"I'm sorry, Kara," Hannah sighed, "but we already went through this. I couldn't get away. Someday, you'll understand that life doesn't let you spend as much time as you'd like with the people you love."
As if that was supposed to make everything better. "You didn't even call."
"So we should have another fight? Can't we just talk for once?"
Kara shrugged, and walked over to the nearest window. Their tiny, rented cottage had a good view of a small part of New Zealand—apparently, the ancestral home of the Shepard family—though there was little good to see. "The weather is beautiful for this time of year." Hot and humid, actually, and the brisk wind tasted of industrial waste. This was her second trip to Earth, the first being to the History Museum of Beijing, with class, and she found that she hated the so-called blue marble. It was dirty, and it stank. The people were bigoted and rude, and there were far too many of them. She would have preferred a visit to any of the colonies, some of which had lovely, temperate climates, and snow. She had never even seen snow, let alone watched it fall, or played in it.
"That's what you consider talking? Why don't you tell me something about school?"
"We're learning about the protheans. The turians are so much more interesting."
"The gift of the relays—"
"—Makes galactic civilization possible, I know," Kara recited. "That doesn't make for a very long lesson."
Hannah joined Kara at the window, putting her arm around her daughter's shoulder. "Well, I haven't studied the protheans in twenty-five years, at least. They must had taught you something interesting that I don't know."
"Prothean ruins were discovered on Eden Prime just last year, but they haven't dug anything up yet. We still don't even know what they looked like. Oh, and we haven't a clue what happened to them. I've no idea why anyone would want to study them."
Hannah laughed. "Well, so, alright. Maybe I had those same thoughts, twenty-five years ago. How about those turians?"
Kara returned to the small dining table, sliding her present closer. To Kara, the label read, Love, Mom. "It's fascinating, really. I remember hearing how brutal they were, when I was growing up, and how ugly, with their bug-like mandibles and beady little eyes. How they attacked us without provocation, and would have dropped asteroids on Earth from orbit if we hadn't beaten their fleet at Shanxi. Now they're a constitutional oligarchy with a subculture based in service to the state, that attacked us to prevent the illegal opening of a primary relay. They wouldn't have really hurt us, even if the Council hadn't stepped in."
"You have an explanation for this?" Hanna asked, sitting across from her.
"Propaganda?" Kara asked. There were so few of her fellow students that she could really talk to. They were more interested in pointless gossip about sex than xenocultural studies. "Ten years ago, we needed an enemy. Today, we have the Batarians, the four-eyed xenophobic race of brutal space-pirates. I am curious, though. You see, I read Doctor Rvets' treatise on turian culture, and the truth is something else entirely.
"The turians are an imperial power, and if you count raw numbers than they have the most powerful fleet in the galaxy. Nearly ninety precent of their population serves in the military for fifteen to twenty years, with the most promising receiving a free university-grade education and working R&D. Officers are selected from the ranks during basic training, and taught leadership and strategy. Their admirals are chosen by the civilian government, which takes recommendations from the Primarch, their version of—"
"Wait, Kara, slow down. Doctor who?"
"Sila Rvets. The asari sociologist?" Kara frowned. She was one of the Asari Republic's leading experts in the field, popular among those segments of human society who were most interested in learning about their new allies.
Hannah gave no sign that she recognized the name, but her expression darkened. "You'd trust an asari over a human?"
"Well…" And how did she answer that? Sometimes, certainly. Humans did lie. So could any other sentient being. "Yes."
"I'm sorry, Kara. I should have been there for you—"
Kara slapped her palm against the table. Their conversations always went like this. She showed a glimmer of independent thought, and her mother expressed shame. "Don't you dare apologize to me. I'm an intelligent human being, not a fucking VI."
"Who believe alien propaganda—"
"Instead of our own?"
Hannah let out an angry breath, and Kara, frustrated, turned her attention to the package. The paper was a soft pink, decorated with a flower motif. Pink and flowers might have been her favorite things, when she was six. She had since moved on to more adult things.
Tearing the paper away sharply, she stared in shock at her gift. Rather than the juvenile nonsense she had expected, she recognized the most advanced omnitool manufactured in Alliance space, the latest in the Ariake Technologies XT series. Even military tech specialists and spies were issued cheaper models. "Mother, wow," she whispered, as soon as the initial shock passed. "Thank you."
Opening the box, Kara dug through layers of foam packing and plastic, finally reaching the device. The personal computer and electronics suite fit into the palm of her hand, and could be worn strapped to her wrist, or set on a surface, where it would generate a holographic interface. In her attempts to limit her biotic training, she had thrown herself into technical studies, and shown some talent at them. It was an unfortunate tradeoff, in a school that clearly expected its students to follow their parent's path, and join the navy. Of course, she had no intention of doing so, but at least it was a useful skill.
"It's my pleasure, darling."
Arcturus Station, Age 15.4
"Hi there."
The asari was sitting in the civilian-section mess, sipping at a mug of steaming liquid as she studied an Alliance-issue tablet. Her clothing appeared to be a uniform of some sort, which might have made her a military officer. Though it looked comfortably loose, it did not hide curves luscious enough to give every adolescent boy on the station wet dreams. Kara hadn't fared much better. There was simply something exotic about her, the soft-looking skin, the color of the glacial lakes they'd seen in historical documentaries, and wide grey eyes, piercing and keenly intelligent. "Is there something you need, miss…?"
Some of the other students told stories, learned from the soldiers and civilians who passed through the station nearly every day. Tales of wild sex that made Kara flush with lust. Some of the older boys even claimed to have slept with the asari already, but she dismissed such as testosterone-fueled bragging.
Kara was determined to be the first. She had somehow managed to keep her relationship with Yejide a secret from the rest of the students, as they pawed at each other with increasing desperation, in whatever quiet corners they could find. Was it love, when she feared her own desire more than anyone else finding out? Asari reportedly oozed seduction; some claimed it was mind control. Even the straightest girl couldn't be expected to resist that sort of charm. She could have and enjoy without fear. "Kara."
She waited patiently for the asari's seduction field, or whatever it was, to take over. She even leaned forward, just in case she had sat too far away. Nothing. The alien's grey eyes were oddly disinterested. "I'm not looking for company."
Kara wasn't interested in being friends, and she wasn't much good at flirting. She stood, leaning over the asari. "Neither am I," she whispered, and kissed the alien's full, purple lips.
Biotic feedback ripped through her nervous system, agonizing in its intensity. She fell back into her chair instantly, her limbs unable to move. She struggled to breath, as the world spun before her eyes.
"Because you are young, human, I'll let you walk away with some dignity," the asari said quietly. "Next time, they'll have to carry you out."
Kara whimpered her agreement, or tried to. It took everything she had. Thankfully, the asari relented. She gasped for breath as the feedback faded from her mind. "Sorry, sorry," she managed. Even after so short a time, she could easily see how her actions were a violation, and she was grateful that the target of her abuse had brought it to a swift end.
She tried to stand, but a throbbing migraine had arrived in the wake of the retreating feedback. It was the worst she'd experienced, even after hours of forced biotic training. She swayed, uncertainly; she didn't feel her legs buckle, but she saw the deck plating approach, almost in slow motion. Something caught her, before everything went dark.
Age 15.5
Kara stuffed a few sets of clothes into a new travel bag. The last month had been closer to hell than any sentient being deserved to experience. Rumors of the incident with the asari had spread quickly through the student body. Even an asari wouldn't sleep with that bitch, sneered one of her old boyfriends. She didn't pass out like that when I shoved my cock in her mouth, lied another. Her best friend called her a disgusting lesbian. Yejide had refused to even speak to her. Had I said no, would you have tried to force me, too? She felt dirty.
After she passed out, the asari had carried her to the medical ward, and remained at her side until she recovered. That denouement had been uncomfortable, as the person she'd assaulted apologized for hurting her. She blamed herself, her ignorance and arrogance. Her self-loathing. They had driven her forward equally.
The asari were not as humanity, men especially, represented them. It had taken only five minutes of actual experience to discover that, and only a little longer to find a reliable extranet site about their culture. They regarded sex as a necessarily consensual experience, and even minor violations were treated harshly. In their view, she was beneath contempt. As she was in her own.
Kara hissed, tossing in a bag of toiletries. Her basic needs were provided for by the Alliance, under the terms of their her mother's employment contract, so she had few personal items, aside from a few trinkets made in the classroom. She strapped on the one thing she did own, her omnitool. She had modified it with several illegal programs, including the best hacking tools available, and trained herself in their use. They would get her off the station. After that… well, she didn't know. The galaxy was vast, and she would go as far as necessary.
With everything packed, she shouldered her bag. The small dormitory was dark and quiet, the five other girls asleep. The would be no witnesses to her flight. She made her way to the door.
"You're just going to leave?"
Kara's heart stopped at the sound of Yejide's voice. Not all of them had been asleep, then. "It's what you want, isn't it?"
Her lover's soft hand descended on her shoulder. "Don't be daft, Kara-chan. Am I not allowed to get angry my girlfriend?"
"I betrayed you," Kara breathed, turning around. "And what if you were right? What if I tried to rape you, too?"
"You just made a mistake. The rest of us do it all the time," Yejide snapped. That was surprisingly resentful, coming from someone far more intelligent than her. "Look, no one was hurt. The asari didn't even file a complaint. There's no need for you to run away."
"I'm not—" of course she was running away. "I have to face this in my own way."
"By running away. Leaving me?"
Kara sighed. "I love you, Yejide, but I can't stay. There's so much out there for me to learn. You must see that."
Yejide stepped closer, brushing her hand suggestively against Kara's thigh. It had been more than a month since they had sex, and it was tempting, but—
"No. Stop that." Her lover's hand dropped away. Kara sighed in relief. "I'm leaving. You know how stubborn I can be."
The dark silhouette of Yejida's head nodded, the tears in her eyes catching the light. "I'll miss you," she whispered.
Kara pressed the door control, and backed through. In the light from the corridor, she caught one last smile gracing her lover's beautiful round face, before the door hissed closed again.
Summoning her determination, she switched on her omnitool, and began moving through the corridors. It scanned the traffic control computer as she walked. There was a freighter docked to the next section, due to leave in an hour. It was destined for the Citadel. She intended to be on it.
Citadel, Age 15.5
"Excuse me," Kara said, smiling at the batarian sitting across the table from her. His attention was so focused on the holographic console projected by his omnitool that he hadn't noticed her arrive. She hadn't exactly encountered many of his species, but he was not as ugly as she expected. His face was pale, yellowish in color, while the skin that covered the rest of his skull was a reddish brown. His trachea split off at his throat, separating his mouth from the rest of his face, and meeting again at a nose made of multiple folds and four sets of nostrils. Above them, two pairs of eyes, both solid black, focused on his work. The upper pair appeared to shift, turning to her instead. "Another human, come to poke fun at the pathetic batarian exile? Get lost."
This time, Kara had done her research in advance, and tilted her head respectfully to the left. She didn't know the full intricacies of batarian social ritual, but she hoped it would at least show her interest. "How are we ever going to learn, if we don't talk to each other?"
"You're not worried that I'll call in my slaver friends and have you carried off?"
Kara shrugged. "It's my understanding that only rogue groups enslave non-batarians. I don't know how much unofficial support they get from the Hegemony, but no. I'm not afraid of you."
He shut off the console. "More, now that the Alliance has started baiting us. The Hegemony sees it as a deterrent to your illegal colonization efforts. This is all just rumor, of course."
"Just like the rumors that the Alliance is funding Cerberus' campaign of terror?"
"You're interesting, human," the batarian said. "Have you got a name?"
"Kara," she said. It was just that, now.
"I'm Kleth, the poet, and general embarrassment to the Hegemony."
Kara smiled faintly. "Yes, I know. I've read some of your work."
Kleth studied her for a long, and silent, moment. "You aren't full-grown, are you, human?"
"No," she said, raising her chin defiantly. Her former teachers on Arcturus Station had an irritating tendency to treat their students like children, while the aliens on the Citadel treated her as just another self-absorbed human. She was tired of both.
For the first time, the Batarian smiled at her. "Curiosity is a prime virtue of the dissident, and should always be encouraged in the young. That, and skepticism. Don't undervalue what you have; without both, you wouldn't be here now."
Did he really see through her that easily? It wasn't just curiosity that had brought her to him, but her sexuality, and the self-loathing that had come of it, and her stupid, arrogant assumptions. She was determined to accept herself as a lesbian, and to correct her ignorance. He could help with the latter, at least. "I didn't come with questions, just to talk. I'm sure I'll think of some as we go."
Kleth laughed. "Well, I can do nothing if not talk."
Age 15.6
The lower wards were dangerous, a fact of which Kara was well aware. The one she had chosen for a home had a majority turian population, with just enough salarians to support the little café in which she worked. Humans were almost unknown, which didn't really help her blend in, but no one had objected to her presence, and she was fairly certain that CSec didn't even known she existed, at least officially. Aside from that, she kept a close circle of friends, beginning with her boss, an asari matron, and her female turian lover. And Kleth. of course.
She had expected that, if anyone were to attack her it would be one of the turian gangs that occasionally worked the area, many of which were known for antihuman atitudes. That, though, would be too obvious. "We's seen you hangin' round with that filthy bat'rian," drawled a male human, probably about forty-five years old, his pasty white face dark with beard stubble. "Sniffin' round that 'sari whore, too. You sum kinda alien lover?"
Of course, Kara was alone, on her way to the tiny room where she slept at night. Vulnerable; that was always when bullies struck. She raised her face defiantly. She did not answer to a smelly thug. "Get out of my way."
"Me and me buds thinks you need a lessin' in manners," he grinned. So there were five smelly thugs. Kara had every reason to believe her self-defense training could hand one, or maybe two, attackers, but those were too long of odds. She could give in, but that wouldn't make his 'lesson' any less unpleasant. She would have to fight.
Rushing forward, she landed a blow on the speaker's jaw that sent him stumbling backwards, and rounded on the next man, catching him with a hard blow to his gut. She turned on the next, but he caught her arm in mid swing, as one of his friend's grabbed the other.
"Get the fuck off me," she snapped, struggling to break free, but they were too strong, and the other three were closing in. Their leader punched her in the stomach, leaving her gasping for breath. She could endure a beating, if she had to. She worried more about theft—her omnitool was extremely valuable. She met his gaze undaunted at first, but the look in his eyes was disturbingly aroused. She shuddered, and looked away, as she realized what he intended.
He laughed, cruelly, and tore open her shirt. "Shit," he mocked, eying her breasts. "I'd better not find a cock in your pants, girl."
She closed her eyes, her face hot with shame. Her classmates had teased her for her breast size, but she had maintained enough popularity for it to stay gentle enough to endure. To have to some fucking pig-faced rapist suggest that she wasn't feminine enough for him, though? And the rest laughing along with him? She renewed her struggle, her face wet with tears, but she was trapped.
Unless… it wasn't something she wanted to attempt. The alternative was far worse than a passing headache, though. She bit her tongue sharply, following the pain, forcing it to help her focus through her the chaos of her emotions.
"Get her clothes off," the man ordered. Kara had to distance herself from the rough feel of their hands on her skin, to hold back the terror. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but as he approached her, his pants pushed down around his knees, she hit him with the strongest biotic attack she could muster.
The field took him unaware, and he flew twenty meters down the corridor before rolling to a halt. He lay there, motionless. The clawing terror lessened it's assault, as the men around her back away in shock. They had probably never seen biotics in action, and their fear gave her an opening. She did not intend to miss it.
Struggling to her feet, she knocked the nearest man out with a biotic-enhanced punch to his jaw. A third ran at her; she pulled his legs out from under him, and he slammed face-first into the floor.
By then, the only thing she still felt was fury. A fourth man had his hands up placatingly, when the last struck her from behind. She stumbled, hardly feeling any pain, and rounded on him, hitting with a field that slammed him into the nearby wall. He left a smear of crimson on the dull grey surface as he slid to the floor, but she hardly noticed.
One left, she realized, backing away from her in terror. She didn't care—he was as much at fault as any of them, and she rushed him, lifting him into the air with her hand around his throat.
He was whimpering something. Begging for mercy, she realized, as she might have done mere minutes before. It washed away her anger, and she dropped him, suddenly feeling small and weak again. Covering herself as best she could with her torn clothes, she fled.
"Kara?" Lixandris said, her expression going from surprise to horror as she took in Kara's torn clothes and tear-stained face. The alien-ness of her richly resonant turian voice was oddly comforting. "Spirits, what happened? No, just come inside."
Kara stepped tiredly across the threshold, allowing the turian to take her arm, and guide her to the couch. She had made the journey to the small suite on instinct and adrenaline, any possible attempt at coherent though pushed away by terror, and a migraine that pounded across her brain.
"Narelle," the turian called out, wrapping a blanket around Kara's shoulders. "Narelle!"
"Yes?" replied Kara's boss, a pale purple asari with darker radial facial markings, which accented the roundness of her face. "Oh, Kara, what are you—what happened?"
Lixandris had kept a comforting hand on Kara's, but Narelle sat beside her, and put an arm around her shoulder. She felt her body tense, at first, but she trusted the couple, and tried to relax into the asari's embrace.
"Lixa, would you make her a cup of that tea she gave me? The ginger?"
"Sure," the turian said, moving away.
Narelle touch her cheek, gently. "I don't know who did this, Kara, but you're safe. I won't let them hurt you."
Though she knew it, hearing it still felt good. Calming. Only, as the fear and tension faded, the migraine seemed to spread into the vacated space. She whimpered softly, and pressed her hand against her temple.
"What's wrong?" Narelle asked softly.
"Had to use my biotics," Kara muttered. She had already explained about the headaches.
"Let me try to help?"
Kara pulled away, studying Narelle's face. She saw only compassion in the asari's brown eyes, and nodded softly. "Yes."
Narelle raised her sturdy hand to Kara's forehead, keeping eye contact as she did. "Try to relax."
Slowly, Kara became aware of the asari's mind. Not thoughts, just a sort of pulsing warmth that washed over her like gentle waves, washing away the hurt. She felt inexplicably drowsy. Someone with strong hands was putting her to bed, and tucking her in. The air smelled of ginger tea.
Lixandris and Narelle were both waiting for her in the kitchen when she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a set of the asari's clothes. They were several sizes too big for her, but still serviceable, and she had no cause to complain. The turian smiled at her kindly, and pushed a mug of tea in her direction. It smelled of ginger, and Kara took it gratefully.
"How are you feeling?"
Kara smiled in return. Clean and safe, though still tense, and a little vulnerable. Whatever Narelle had done to her, it had effectively eased her migraine, and allowed her to sleep.. "Much better, thank you."
"CSec picked up five human males last night, not far from where you're staying," Lixa said. "One of them had his pants down. It seemed like they'd been tossed around by biotics. Was that you?"
She hesitated, briefly, between denial and the truth, but the turian had been more than kind, and she had no reason to hide. "Yes."
The turian nodded. "I need you to tell me what happened, and then I'll make sure you aren't bothered further."
Kara sighed. She'd forgotten that Lixa worked for Citadel Security, but the turian had made a point of not pressing her for information, the mysterious human girl who refused to give her name, and who had slipped by customs without anyone noticing. "They surrounded me in the corridor. The one with his pants off said he'd seen me around, with Kleth, and he… he insult Narelle. He said I needed a lesson in manners. I hit him, and the others caught me. That's when I realized what they intended. I just couldn't let them touch me, so I—"
"That's enough, Kara," Lixa said firmly, looking down at her hands. "I accept that you acted in self-defense. I'll see the case is closed without bothering you further."
"Why are you protecting me?" Kara asked. When the turian talked about her work, she always stressed the necessity of impartiality, of following the rules.
"Because you're the first human we've met that she likes," Narelle smiled teasingly at her lover. Lixa's mandibles twitched in annoyance, but she didn't deny it.
Kara grinned. "Lixa, really? That's so sweet of you!" she squealed, hugging the turian from behind. It was terribly silly of her, but maybe she needed to be a child for once, taking comfort in the solid presence of what almost seemed like a surrogate parent.
"Sweet?" Lixandris grumbled. "I'm a trained CSec investigator. I've seen things that would haunt your dreams. I am not 'sweet'."
"She's sweet," Narelle said, with one of her innocent smiles.
Releasing the still-muttering turian, Kara approached the asari. "Narelle, what you did last night… what was it?"
"A meditative technique, leaned when I was about your age. I led you in it, in a way."
"Could you teach it to me?" Kara asked. "I mean, I am a biotic. I thought I was prepared to ignore it, but… I'd rather learn to use it safely."
Narelle shook her head. "Four hundred years is a long time, Kara, and I haven't really kept up. You'd be better off with someone else."
"I've always wanted to visit Thessia," Kara suggested. There was no better way to learn about a species than to visit its homeworld, after all, but the asari were fiercely protective of the planet. As they had managed to build a spacefaring civilization without ruining it—a feat shared only with the sedate elcor—she could hardly blame them.
"It is the perfect place to learn asari meditation techniques," Lixa pointed out, as Narelle hesitated. "Don't you think?"
The asari nodded in agreement. "I'll make the arrangements, Kara."
Thessia, Age 15.6
Rough winds buffeted the passenger shuttle as it passed through Thessia's upper troposphere. The forward-facing cockpit windows had a beautiful view of Serrice from six kilometers up, the city's towers rising in graceful curves to their pinnacles, two or three kilometers high, their wide bases surrounded by multicolored vegetation and open plazas. It hardly resembled Earth at all, even discounting the different aesthetics; it was spacious, alive, and no industrial haze obscured the view. For her, it seemed a refuge from the vulnerable feeling that had hung over her since the attack.
"So what do you think, Kara?" the pilot asked, as the city passed beneath them, and out of sight. The young asari maiden had responded to Kara's enthusiasm in kind, quickly forming a bond of friendship between them, enough to keep her out of the passenger compartment during their descent.
Kara leaned forward, taking the in rural landscape as eagerly as she had the city. "Breathtaking," she said. She had been practicing her Thessié, as well. She had talked Narelle into helping her learn not long after they met, and, as she understood it, the diverse language groups that characterized Thessia in the early years of asari civilization had slowly amalgamated, forming a core group of common words, with peripheral regional dialects, each with their own set of unique and semi-unique vocabulary. She had learned only part of the core group so far, but it allowed her to communicate most things without a translator. "I'm looking forward to seeing it close up."
"I wish I could show you around," the asari said. Her name was Ular, her skin blue-grey and her eyes almost sapphire, "but I can't back out on my flight schedule on short notice. You'll stay with me tonight, though? There's a spare room at my block, not far from the spaceport."
The shuttled turned about, lining up for final descent. Narelle had described something about asari living arrangements, as well. Private dwellings were not unheard of, but most of them preferred to live communally, sharing a living space, but with private sleeping quarters.
"I'd like that," Kara said. It would provide her a chance to dive straight in, immersing herself in a new culture. She hoped it might also set her on course for what she had come for, and even if it didn't, she expected much of interest to come from it.
Age 15.8
A wave of biotic energy swept over the tall asari matriarch. Kara gasped, dropped to her knees by the wave of agony that burned through her mind; not the pain of a backlash from the disrupted field, but like a wounded shoulder, defiantly used to heft a weight. Another migraine lingered behind her eyes, waiting to take over.
The suréathe watched her, curious. She had trained and wielded biotics for a thousand years, and could shift a single mote of dust as easily as she threw a krogan battlemaster. Kara's limited and unfocused talents were unlikely to concern her. "Why should I train you?"
"Tsamakira callis dema[1]," Kara managed, the soft syllables of the asari language passing easily through her lips. To a people who prized the wisdom of centuries, hers was almost a sacred declaration.
It gave Suréathe Ilthaea pause, at least. She extended a blue hand to the pale, thin girl, prostrated at her feet. "I can feel your agony, kenanda," she said. "You would never survive."
Kara gritted her teeth, and struggled to stand. Movement sent the pain arcing across the eezo nodes spread throughout her body, but she endured. The pain was a figment, an illusion pressed upon her mind by crude technology, and she was tired of running from it. It would have to be conquered.
Hannah Shepard had volunteered her daughter, then but a small collection of cells, freshly conceived, for the Alliance's experiments. Exposure to Element Zero-eezo-during fetal development was the only known method of creating human biotics, and a process more likely to end in stillbirth than success; and even survival did not guarantee biotic potential in the future child. They were rare, despite the convenient exposure of entire colonies when eezo freighters exploded overhead-no accident, despite Alliance claims. Hannah Shepard had conceived of her daughter as a weapon, to further the interests of a government that sanctioned the poisoning of its own citizens. Given such constraints, and the twenty-odd year history of human biotic studies, it was no surprise that their technology and techniques were both crude.
She only hoped that the asari had some knowledge that could help her. "I'm already dying."
Ilthaea frowned. Kara stood straight, ignoring the pain, and focused on the ancient depths of her eyes. They were… astonishing. Rich brown, intense. Cold. "What is your name, human?"
"Kara."
"Is it not customary for humans to have two?"
Kara raised her chin defiantly. "My presence here is no business of the Systems Alliance." Or her mother.
It was difficult to read any emotion through Ilthaea's calm expression. Did she know, or guess, that Kara had run away, and did not want to be found? Perhaps. Probably. "Very well, Kara. We will see that you are trained." The matriarch extended her hand, her warm fingers pressing into Kara's cheek.
The pain retreated to the back of her mind. Kara could feel… an echo, or the faintest shadow, of Ilthaea's mind. It was a quite different experience from what Narelle had done. The deep brown eyes softened.
Age 17.8
Kara admitted some pride in her skill, but she had pushed herself hard, too hard according to Salaya, in her attempts to control her migraines. They had become less debilitating of late, perhaps because she had learned to accept the pain. Still, it wasn't just asari she fought in the practice ring, but her own mind. She could accept defeat against a superior foe, but not against herself.
Her present partner, a pale blue asari with striking golden eyes, that blazed with passion like twin suns, certainly offered a challenge. Her name was Valla, and they had done more than spar, once, but they had been two curious youths, exploring the possibilities that appeared in their path. She was only ninety-seven, had just entered her maiden stage, and nearly finished preparation for a commando's life. Kara wished humans had the same six or seven decades to make their choice of career, instead of a scant few years.
Kara used a pause in their fight to wipe her face on her sleeve. Her hair had started getting in her eyes again, a minor annoyance, but she needed to have it cut. Salaya would do it, if she asked; the results would not be the height of fashion, but she had dumped girlish long hair years ago, and never regretted the decision.
"What's wrong, human? That stuff on your head causing your brain to overheat?" Valla mocked, grinning cheerfully. She showed all the signs of equal exertion, her face flushed and her breathing heavy. "Maybe I should go easy on you?"
The asari barely ducked the first swing of Kara's renewed assault. They were not using biotics today, a test of pure physical skill, but that did not give either one of them a distinctive advantage. She succeeded, if only just, in keeping Valla on the defensive. It worked for a while, but she misplaced her footing by half a step, and found herself on flat her back. The young asari loomed over her.
"Had enough?"
Kara was about to make some attempt to escape from her disadvantageous position, when a younger asari, a twenty-five year old kenanda called Naema, who accompanied her parents to the Hall, interrupted.
"Excuse me, Kara, but Ilthaea would like to see you in her chambers," the girl said. She was almost full grown, in height at least, but the asari developed only a little slower than humans, mentally and physically. Although it could be six to eight decades before she finished maturing sexually, she was a young adult in every other aspect.
Kara allowed Valla to help her up, and pulled her sweat-soaked shirt over her head, using it to wipe her face. "We'll have a rematch later," she told her sparring partner.
"You know I always look forward to beating you," Valla grinned.
Kara laughed. She had scored her share of victories, at least when biotics weren't involved. The young asari outclassed her, when they were. "And here I was, thinking overconfidence was a human trait."
Valla caught her in a tight hug. "My kerta always taught me that its important to say these things, and I haven't yet, so; Kara, you're my favorite human, ever," she whispered softly.
Kara squeezed the asari back. "I'm the only human you know."
"And you're a good friend, a gracious opponent," Valla smiled, backing off. She crinkled her nose. "And you smell funny."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Valla," Kara said, smirking slightly. "And I return it. I'll see you this evening?"
"I wouldn't miss it," Valla nodded. "Now, you'd better go."
Kara gave her asari friend a last smile, before making her way out of the room. The last thing she heard was Naema begging Valla for a lesson, and the older asari's cheerful agreement.
The chambers of Muar Ilthaea were on the second floor of the building, alongside rooms for the other masters of the Way of the Huntress. The Way was the favored military doctrine of the famed asari commandos, an ancient mode of warfare updated and adapted to firearms, and finally combat armor and kinetic barriers. Other schools taught starship tactics, and frontline warfare, or divergent commando skills, but Kara knew little about them.
She made her way down the central corridor to the stairs. The ground floor contained the training facilities, kitchens, and a dining hall. The first, quarters for the students, her included, washrooms, and common rooms. The stairway followed the side of the curving building, narrow windows letting in the mid-afternoon daylight.
At the second landing, the stairs opened out on a round room, with comfortable chairs set around a small table, a partial kitchen, and along the side wall private rooms, complete with bathrooms and offices. Ilthaea's room was on the south side, overlooking a forest of gorgeous dark reds and greens. Kara knocked on the door; it slid open for her.
Matriarch Ilthaea sat behind her curved desk, dressed as usual in functional clothes, resembling ancient asari battle garb. Across from her sat a second asari, with dark blue skin, dressed in more modern clothes, a comfortable white coat. Both asari turned to face her.
"Kara," Ilthaea said, "this is Ilya Tanral. She's been working on a special project for some time, and I felt it was time you met her."
Kara smiled. "Ilya. Pleased to meet you," she said, bowing lightly before offering her hand. Ilya took it firmly.
"Sit, please," the deep blue asari said, gesturing to the spare chair as she released Kara's hand. "Muar is a friend of mine, from my own commando days."
"She was never the best soldier," Ilthaea continued, "but she's since become a neuroscientist of some repute, and ever in search of a challenge."
Ilya nodded. "Muar came to me a year ago, with something interesting. She asked if it would be possible to modify a Serrice Council implant for the human brain."
Kara could feel her eyes widen. "You mean…?" she asked, tapping her head lightly.
"Yes," Ilya smiled. "I do. Some friends and I have devoted ourselves to studying human neuroscience. We believe we can modify the implant."
"And the surgery?" Kara frowned. Human surgeons had made several attempts to replace L2 implants with newer L3s, operations which tended to result in catastrophic failure. She was not interested in ending up brain-dead, even if she had to live the rest of her life fighting migraines.
Ilya nodded. "I've studied the results of your surgeon's attempts, but our techniques are well in advance of humanity's. We regularly replace implants, as the technology becomes outdated, or begins to fail. Your brain structure has several major differences, but we believe we can adapt."
So, what did she do? At times like this, asari society seemed so foreign; how many hours had gone into preparing something for just one young human, and not even anyone of note. On Arcturus Station, millions of credits would have changed hands to achieve the same results. Credits that she would have been expected to pay. She doubted that Ilya expected anything from her.
Ironically, she felt more respected by an alien society that, and not unfairly, viewed humanity as a child race, than she did among her own kind. She recalled, to her shame, cruelly teasing a girl who did not shave or wear makeup; she no longer did either, and no one cared. She had conversations about neuroscience with strangers while topless and stinking of sweat. Rather than forcing her to fight for every scrap of respect, they gave her space to earn it. She knew now what equality felt like, and would not easily tolerate less.
Ilya reached over and brushed her hand across Kara's cheek. Her fingers came away moist with tears.
Kara sniffed, and wiped more moisture from her face. She had last cried when leaving Yejide on Arcturus Station, more than two year earlier. It almost seemed like another life, she had changed so much. Ilya's expression was concerned, perhaps slightly uncertain, but not judgmental. She clasped the asari's hand firmly, in both of hers. "Thank you, Ilya. And you, Muar." She breathed deeply, her tears slowing as she composed herself.
"There are risks, Kara," Ilya continued, her grey eyes warm. "I'd like a chance to explain them. We will need scans of your brain, as well, and time to study them. None of us can afford a mistake."
"Kara," Ilthaea added, smiling fondly at her student. "There is one other thing. If things go ill, we should have a name, so your body can be returned to your family."
"Kara Kyrandé," she said softly. Kara Shepard was already dead, and best forgotten. "I'd rather lie here."
Age 17.9
"I liked you better with hair," Salaya said, sliding her deep purple hand against Kara's bare scalp. Idly, her fingers traced the lines of fresh scars, just a few days old and sealed with surgical medigel. "It brought out your eyes. Now you look like a pale asari with a deformed head."
Kara gave the grinning asari eskareta a playful shove. "If I weren't supposed to rest…"
"What?" Salaya teased. "Ilya gave you a new implant; she couldn't give you any skill."
Kara scowled. "I can have you on your back any time I want," she declared.
The asari took Kara's words precisely as they were intended. She stepped closer, and pulled the human against her with an arm about her waist. "Was that a threat?" she whispered, her voice deepened to a warm rumble.
"A promise," Kara whispered, tasting Salaya's full lips. They were warm and soft, and responded gently.
"I wish you didn't have to leave."
"I got what I came for. More," she added, kissing the asari again. She sighed, and leaned their foreheads together. "I'm not ready for a daughter."
Salaya smiled. "She'd be beautiful. Like her muse[2]." They shared another soft kiss. "I forget, sometimes, how young you are."
Kara laughed. "And you don't seem a day over twenty-five."
It was difficult to imagine the Salaya had over two centuries of life experience on her, and just as hard to guess what the asari saw in her, but she had never felt coerced, or treated as less than an equal. Even if, by Alliance law, she was still a child. If she cared about that arbitrary line, though, she should have refused surgery to upgrade her implant, without her mother's permission.
Salaya stepped back, her smile fading. "So how are you feeling, Kara?"
"Good," she said, taking Salaya's arm and walking with her along the corridor. "I haven't had a headache since the operation, but my biotic control is poor. Ilya said it might take a year or more for my brain to adapt fully to the new implant."
The corridor let out onto a balcony, facing south, away from the city of Serrice. Below them ancient forest swayed slowly in the warm wind, carrying the fresh scent of wilderness and the whisper of leaves. "Where will you go?"
"Sur'Kesh, I think. I'm not sure," Kara said. She hadn't give it much thought, but she had time. "We have a month or two." Time to rest, and relearn, and to make sure nothing had gone wrong in surgery.
"To say goodbye," Salaya sighed.
Kara leaned back against the tall asari, whose arms circled her waist and held her close. A perfect moment, calm and quiet under Thessia's warm sun.
"Kara," Salaya whispered. "I would like… before you go, would you like to meld with me?"
The question took her by surprise. Salaya had never offered even a casual mind-link, though they'd been together for nearly a year. To meld, though, and share not just thoughts but consciousness… it terrified her, and enticed her. She could even imagine what it would be like, or what it might mean, but there was still only one choice. "Yes."
Salarian Passenger Cruiser Isk'Kratel, Age 18.0
"I guess you could say I'm on a pilgrimage of my own, Tama," Kara said, smiling in her best friendly manner at her fellow passenger, a quarian in a reddish-brown environmental suit, its cloth hood decorated with curving patterns, symmetrical on either side of her head.
Tama'Ilen nar Ayana's shining eyes blinked behind her transparent mask, though opaque gasses hid her face. "I didn't know humans did that sort of thing."
"Most of us don't," Kara explained. "I'm here by choice. Seeing the sights, meeting new people. I just came from Thessia."
"Really?" Tama sighed. "I wanted to go there, but they're very restrictive about who they let visit."
Kara remained grateful to Narelle for making the arrangements for her. The Isk'Kratel had left the asari homeworld three days ago, and had picked up Tama at a transfer station between asari and salarian space. "They've worked tirelessly to keep their world pristine. You can't blame them for being cautious."
The quarian nodded. "No." Their own homeworld was little more than a myth to them, lost to their own creation more than ten generations ago, and their return a central goal of their society. No doubt she understood better than Kara what such a thing meant.
Of Earth, Kara recalled little of interest, though she had visited with her mother when she was fifteen, and earlier, with a class, when she was fourteen. Smog, hazy air, and the constant noise of ten billion people, half of them struggling just to find food enough to survive. She had not understood the why of it, then, but Thessia had helped with that. Greed, self-interest, and contempt, traits promoted by a system the asari had discarded as absurd even before humankind had learned to write.
"So, do you know what you'll do on—"
The soft bleep of a ship-wide announcement cut off her sentence. "This is the Gashtog Iftril," a voice declared; the name had no meaning to her, but the voice was too slow and measured to be salarian. "We've taken command of the ship. Any passengers who don't want to die slowly, should return to their cabins."
"That was a batarian," Tama hissed. "Keelah, what are we going to do?"
Kara grabbed the quarian by the arm. "My cabin," she said. "This way."
Tama followed her without protesting. They kept to the side corridors, away from the terrified passengers. Kara had assumed it safer, until they walked straight into a batarian. "Don't move," he commanded loudly, backing up his words with a dangerous-looking assault rifle.
"I've always wanted a pyjak-slave of my own," he leered. "Damn suit-rats aren't much good for anything, though."
He turned his weapon on Tama; Kara hit him with a biotic pulse that somehow made it through his barriers, tossing him five meters down the corridor and slamming him into a bulkhead. Though her biotic strength had not fully returned, she hadn't experienced a migraine since the surgery, and she no longer felt reluctant to use it at need.
"Hey, thanks," Tama squeaked. Kara could feel the same terror pounding through her, but she forced herself to think clearly, disarming the fallen terrorist before he could recover, and dragging her new friend off again. This time, no one interrupted them before they arrived at her quarters.
"I don't think we can stay here," Kara said, locking the door behind them. She dug through her scant possessions, pulling out a personal barrier—a gift from Salaya, traded for a promise to stay safe—and fastened its belt around her waist. If they ran into another batarian, it would give her a few precious seconds to react, but not much more. Her companion's suit had similar protection built-in, if she remembered to activate it. "I haven't seen many other humans on board, and I'm sure he'll come looking for us."
"Yeah, but what are we going to do?" Tama repeated.
Never engage an opponent on their terms, Ilthaea had taught her. Trapped in her quarters was definitely their terms, as was in an open corridor. "Find somewhere to hide," Kara decided, attempting to punch up the ship's schematics on the computer console. The entire system was in lockdown, and it spat her back out. She could probably crack it, but wasn't sure they had time for her clumsy efforts. "Dammit. Tama, can you hack this thing?"
"Uh, sure, Kara," the young quarian nodded anxiously, taking her place. "What are you looking for?"
"A map of the ship. Crew areas, crawl-ways, everything."
"Shouldn't be too difficult," Tama muttered, the need for focus overriding her fear. Kara watched her work, curious to see if the quarians' reputation for producing the best tech experts in the galaxy had any truth. In this case at least, it seemed to. She worked quickly, using her suit's integrated omnitool to bypass the password, somehow keeping her presence in the system from the batarian hackers, who were surely keeping an eye out for attempts to retake the ship. In what seemed like no time at all, she was uploading schematics to both their omnitools.
Kara's first thought as to where to begin was a maintenance crawlway. It'd get them out of the open, and provide access to multiple parts of the ship. It was also the logical place for a pair of fleeing passengers to hide, and so the first place the Batarians would look. "There's a maintenance hatch at the end of the corridor, see?"
"It's probably code-locked," Tama said.
"Not a problem for you," Kara grinned, grabbing her friend's arm again. "Come on."
They found the hatch easily, and Tama quickly got it open. Kara followed her, but a noise in the corridor kept her from sealing the hatch; she left it open just wide enough to hear through.
"You sure this is the right human?" said a smooth Batarian voice.
"There aren't that many on board. Fucking moron," said a second, his voice rougher and deeper. Kara recognized him as the one who attacked them.
"If I were taken out by a pyjak and a suit-rat, I'd be more careful about who I insulted. Shit, you fight like a girl."
Kara scowled, and suppressed the impulse to attack them right there. More males using her gender as an insult; it was almost like being back on Arcturus Station, and that was no pleasant association.
"They're not here, damn," the second Batarian growled. "When I catch them, I'm gonna rip the rat's suit off, and let the pyjak watch her die."
"We can always use another slave," the first said, sounding as though he was grinning. "Maybe Galgav will let us keep the human, though I suppose he'll want to break her himself."
"That uptight bastard always takes the fun jobs—"
Kara closed the hatch carefully, cutting off the conversation. There was no way in hell that she would let them enslave her. She'd make them kill her first. "Is there a way—"
Tama was shivering slightly, her eyes closed. "I don't want to die."
"Tama, listen to me," Kara whispered, putting her arms firmly around the young quarian. "You are brilliant and brave, and I will not let them hurt you."
The firm material of the quarian's suit pressed uncomfortably against Kara's chest with each panicked breath, but she was calming down, if their falling frequency was any measure.
"They will not hurt you," Kara repeated, softly. In her head, it sounded harder. Colder. She would do whatever it took to protect her new friend.
Kara planted her foot firmly on the chest of defeated batarian leader, waving his captured assault rifle in his face. "So, Galgav," she inquired cheerfully, the thrill of victory superseding her former irritation, built up over four hours of crawling through ducts, "are you going to call off your terrorist friends, or do I have to shoot you?" It was the right tactic for dealing with someone of his rank, according to what she had learned from Kleth. Establish dominance quickly, and do not let up until he submits.
"Who the fuck are you?" Galgav demanded.
She slammed him against the ceiling with a biotic field. "I'm in charge here, so choose quickly."
The batarian snarled. "You'd better watch your back—" The field holding him dissipated at her command, and he fell the two and a quarter meters to the deck.
"Move and you die," she declared flatly. He started to push his way up. That had been foolish of her; if she failed to enforce her ultimatum, she lost any chance of forcing his cooperation, which she could hardly get if he were dead. In truth, she didn't have the stomach to kill him, just as she hadn't killed his two companion when she took the flight deck. Knocking him out, that she could do. She kicked him in the head, and he went limp.
"So much for that," she sighed. "Tama, how are you doing?"
"I managed to drop us out of FTL, but I had to overload the reactor coolant system in order to do it. Wherever they were taking us, though, we're off the comm network. We can't request help."
Kara bent down, and pulled the omnitool off Galgav's arm. "See what he's got on this," she said, tossing it to the quarian.
"Sure, Kara," Tama grinned. The thrill of victory had also overridden her earlier terror, though not so much that she failed to keep a close watch over their unconscious prisoners.
While she waited, Kara quickly stripped her third captive of his armor, then tied his arms and legs with electrical cord—the only thing they could find—before shoving him into the corner with the others.
"Can they fix the system? And could you reverse course without them knowing?"
"It'll take them a day or so, and they'll need to force the crew to help. After that, sure, if we can keep control of the flight deck."
Actually, that was better than she expected. Batarian terrorists trying to watch salarian engineers working on the delicate systems of their own ship were distracted, easy targets.
"Oh, damn," Tama hissed, furiously typing on both Galgav's omnitool and her own. "I triggered a cascade virus. It's wiping the memory… if I can just… feh, it's gone," she huffed, leaning back in her chair with a despondent sigh. "Batarian bosh'tets. I'm sorry, Kara."
"Tama, you've been amazing," Kara said firmly, leaning against the edge of the engineering console. "I'm not sure why you trusted me, but I know I wouldn't be here if you hadn't. Thank you."
Tama's gloved, three-fingered hand found Kara's. "I've had a really hard time since I left the Ayana," she admitted. "Most people don't much like quarians, and I'm not very personable, I guess."
Kara smiled softly. "I think you're sweet," she said, "but I guess I can flirt with you later. Can we track the other batarians from here? And are there any security personnel on the crew?"
Tama's glowing eyes had widened at the word 'flirt'. "What?"
Her smile broadening, Kara shook her head. "Neither of us will make it out of here if we can't retake the ship. We need to recruit some help from the crew or passengers, and round up the batarians. How much can we do from here?" So, flirting with quarians, now? She knew next to nothing about them, beyond the basics of the AI rebellion that drove them Rannoch, and that they lived in exile aboard their fleet. Then there was their alternate protein structure, and their weakened immune systems. She had no idea how they regarded interspecies romance, or even what their faces looked like.
"There were a group of turians who boarded the ship before me," Tama said. "They have compulsory military service. The batarians are sure to have the armory guarded, but we're better equipped now."
One of the downed batarians was about her size, or close enough that she could try wearing her armor. Even if uncomfortable in places, it would be worth it for the added protection, and maybe even a chance to escape a tight spot without a fight.
"Good thinking," Kara said, bringing up a passenger manifest on the secondary console. They were easy enough to locate, and not too far from the bridge. "Okay, we have a plan. Tama, can you hold the bridge until I can send you some help?"
The quarian glanced down at the prone batarians and shuddered. "Just hurry," she said softly.
Sur'Kesh, Age 18.3
Kara smiled softly at the reversal. Now she was the one trapped in a pressure suit while Tama stood in the open air. The suit provided by the salarians was not large, but was reasonably comfortable, and tightly sealed. No breath of outside air or bacteria escaped through the cracks. On their home ships, quarians also walked free, but their susceptibility to infection rarely allowed them the opportunity on their pilgrimages. "So, how are you getting on?"
"Good. I've had to work hard to catch up, but it's exciting stuff. The other students ignore me most of the time, but I guess I'm used to that."
By other students, Tama meant the primarily asari and turians, but also volus and elcor, participating in a cross-cultural educational exchange. The sealed suites were provided mainly for the benefit of the vols, who could not otherwise survive outside the ammonia-based atmosphere of their homeworld, Irune.
"Did you tell them what you did on the Isk'Kratel?" Kara asked.
Tama shook her head. "I can't, Kara. What you did for me is amazing, and I… well, that was your triumph, even though you told the salarians it was mine. I can't lie about that."
Kara, not wanting her image plastered all over Alliance news, had kept out of sight of the cameras, talking Tama into taking the role of heroine. Convincing the salarians that a scholarship for the quarian was a suitable reward had been easy by comparison. Knowledge or skills that would aid the Flotilla were worthy pilgrimage gifts, and an advanced education certainly qualified. "That victory was as much yours as mine. As I told you then."
Tama smiled oddly, an expression Kara took for grim determination, showing teeth evolved more for breaking up vegetation than tearing meat. Had the same look graced her face when they faced down the batarians together? They had not, before their exile, been an aggressive species, dedicating themselves to art and music under the protection of the Council.
Kara saw nothing wrong with their peaceful focus. In fact, she admired it, as it reminded her a little of the asari. She hoped it hadn't been lost, like so much of their culture, when they fled the geth. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Tama almost whispered. "I just wanted to—" cautiously, she reached up and undid the seals on Kara's helmet.
From what Kara knew of quarian culture, unmasking was a gesture of close friendship or intimacy, generally reserved for family and close friends. They did not often breath the same air as anyone not from their home ship. She caught Tama's hands gently. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes," the quarian said, smiling shyly. "I've, ah, become accustomed to, um, seeing your face. It's, um—" she was flushing, Kara realized, as she struggled to finished the sentence—"very pretty."
So… Tama was flirting with her? She was certainly attractive, looking up with her stunning, bright, orange eyes, set in her narrow face. The differences between quarian and human were fairly small; nictitating membranes, to protect the eyes from dust, and a more pronounced brow ridge. Her short nose rose more subtly from her face. Still flushed, her golden skin taking on a red-brown hue, flaps of scale-like skin rose from her scalp, in fascinating swirls that may have inspired the patterns on her suit's hood.
"Who am I to question someone as sweet and brilliant as you?" Kara grinned, helping Tama remove her helmet. With it off, they stood, smiling foolishly at one another. Maybe neither of them knew quite what to do. Did quarians like kissing? Was that even what Tama wanted?
"You're Kara," Tama said, as though it were some sort of self-evident point. Her three fingered hand brushed across Kara's cheek, its texture surprisingly rough.
"What does that mean?" Kara asked, beginning to remove the rest of the pressure suit. She had pulled it on over the rest of her clothes, a silky green shirt she had brought from Thessia, and black pants.
Tama shrugged, retreating to a boxy sofa. "It means I trust you, I guess. It's like, you know… you bring out those things I like about myself? And when you're gone… well, I spent a lot of time dreaming about what we'd do when you came back."
Kara tossed the pressure suit in the corner by the door, and sat beside the quarian. "Dreaming, Tama? That sounds interesting."
"Well, sure," Tama breathed, taking Kara's hand, and caressing it softly. "Was it foolish, to think you might be interested in me?"
"No," Kara said, as she leaned against the thin alien female. She did not know a thing about quarian sexual anatomy, but she would happily learn through experience. It was more fun that way.
Tama laughed, a sound of mixed nervousness and relief. "Good," she whispered, nuzzling Kara's neck in place of a kiss. It was just as well. They both needed injections to protect themselves from their incompatible biologies, before they becoming more intimate.
Age 18.5
Talat, like most salarian cities, was not well lit, a design that suited the inhabitant's excellent night vision, rather than the weaknesses of their tourists. Kara compensated with an infrared headset, which tinted the world in green, but at least let her get around after dark; it was also a gift from Tama. She had commented once on how much she disliked the environmentally-imposed curfew, and the young quarian had pressed it into her hands a few days later, whispering the words; 'so you'll always find you way back to me' with a light flush.
Much like the medieval-tech level fortress-city it had evolved from, Talat was built in layers, defined largely by their access to fresh water. At the top, the palace of Dalatrass Linrael, head of what was currently the most powerful House in the Salarian Union. Back when her ancestors had founded the city, thought to be during the early bronze age, the site had featured a natural spring, which provided fresh water to the palace. By the time a rare tectonic shift shut down the supply, mechanical pumping was available to take its place. The nearby river, the widest on the continent, supplied fresh water to the lower city, and the heavily farmed fens that surrounded the river delta.
Historically, as in the present, the wealthy had occupied the upper city, surrounding the palace, while the successful merchants and artisans lived in the lower city, near the river, leaving the middle levels and docks to be occupied by the working poor, primarily sailors and dockworkers at first. During the industrial era, when the mechanization of farming pushed people off the land and created the Salarian proletariat, low wage workers dominated these sector. This 'dry district'—an adequate translation of what the salarians called it—had once been a buffer for the heavily defensible palace district and its noble families. Now, instead of a wall, a band of parks isolated it from the government centers of the upper district, and water was plentiful enough. Still, much like Earth's inner cities, it remained a slum, a home of the houseless and the dispossessed; the salarian proletariate.
In fact, Kara found herself much more comfortable around them, than she did the more important, upper levels of salarian society. They were slower, less hasty; the pace of their lives did not demand the hyperactivity of the wealthier classes, which, of course, justified their place at the bottom. According to some, at least. This exercise in poli-sci bigotry was directly contradicted by two millennia of neuroscience, which showed that salarians maintained a high degree of neural plasticity into their early thirties, well into the last decade of their average lifespan. They could adapt with relative ease, a contributor to their famed lateral thinking. As always, political concerns were more important than truth.
"Kara."
She paused, turning toward the speaker. An unusually burly Salarian stood in front of a nondescript, run-down residence, vanishing through its rounded door almost as soon as she spotted him. He was unfamiliar, and she wondered how he knew her name; curious, she followed him. Cautiously. Dry districts were as dangerous as any slum on Earth, though thefts were usually perpetrated against targets of opportunity. This was planned.
"Hello?" she said softly, stepping through the door. The interior was better lit than the street, and empty, so far as she could see, though she could hear someone… several someones… moving about. That did make sense, but forced her to question the wisdom of proceeding. With her biotics at full strength, she could reliably handle four or five common thugs on open terrain; more in the close quarters of the house, where she didn't have to watch her back. However, they knew her name, and would know of her talent. She had to assume that they were armed.
Her retreat through the door was cut off by a second salarian. "Inside, now," it said quietly, its voice, like all salarians, androgynous to her human perception. It pressed what felt like a gun barrel into Kara's back.
"You know me well enough to set this up," Kara said, turning around as soon as they were both inside, and the door closed behind them. Aside from their voices, salarians had a high degree of sexual dimorphism, and this one was female, shorter and thicker about the torso than a male, to better accommodate the dozen eggs, about five centimeters in diameter, she would lay every fourteen and a half months of her adult life. "You must know I'm not carrying anything of value."
The salarian merely waved her pistol, a clear gesture for Kara to proceed down the main corridor, her expression almost… afraid?
Kara frowned. She wasn't entirely sure of her ability to read salarians, and this was her first encounter with the rare female of the species. She didn't know if that made a difference, or not. "If I've done something to offend you, please tell me. That way, I won't do it again."
"Through the door on your left."
Kara complied, walking into a living room that was familiar in function, though quite distinct in style. A half dozen male salarians all stared at her, as surprised and uncertain as she felt.
"Sit, there," the female said, gesturing at an empty chair with its back to the door.
There wasn't much else to do but sit, so she did, but she did think that she was beginning to understand the situation. "Hello," she said, smiling at her hosts. "My name is Kara."
"You've been snooping around, human," the female said impatiently. "You're working for the STG?"
"Was that a question, or an accusation?" Kara asked. Either way, she had evidently stumbled into a suspicious bunch, which seemed to confirm her assumptions. She had been snooping around, after all, and picked up on a few rumors about subversives. Considering her background, yes, she was curious; Thessia had felt like a paradise, compared to Earth and the Alliance, and a part of her had expected the same of Sur'Kesh and the salarians. She could have accepted the comfortable illusion set up for the benefit of the tourists, or those that didn't want to see, but she still preferred the truth.
"Both," said a second female, rising from her seat at the back of the room. "You behave like you're hiding something."
"I am," Kara replied bluntly, "but I'm not working for anyone."
One of the younger males shook his head. "She doesn't look very dangerous, Miræl."
"My sources say she helped a quarian take out a dozen batarian terrorists," injected a third male.
"Enough!" the elder female snapped. Was she Miræl? Tama had spoken enthusiasm of a salarian scientist by that name, and she did look to be the right age. Meeting her in run-down house in Talat's dry district, though—that was almost unbelievable.
"Miræl… Miræl Tanare?" Kara asked, leaning forward slightly. The salarian stared at her in shock. "A quarian friend of mine was studying your career. She claims you're the brightest salarian in ten generations."
"Intellect… not easily quantifiable," Miræl shrugged. "Someone learned to make fire… discovered agriculture. Split the atom. Am I smarter than them because I advanced a few fields? No. Better educated; a matter of time, and place. Ilare—" the aging scientist gestured at the younger female—"grew up knowing my theories. She's brilliant, understands them; better than I do. Could put them into practice, but… small family, poor. No resources."
"I'm also female," Ilare interrupted. Her words came slowly, next to Miræl's staccato speech. "We go into politics. As the saying goes, females run the world; they don't change it."
Kara nodded. "I'm not opposed to changing worlds, Ilare," she said, "and I am sympathetic to your cause. You've nothing to fear from me."
"See?" said the young male who had spoken before. "Harmless. I say we let her go."
Kara glared at him in silence. She was not, and would never be, as skilled as an asari commando, but she was far from harmless. Somehow, though, she could not imagine that calling herself a threat would go down well in her present company.
Another male, even older that Miræl, Kara guessed, nodded slowly. "Yes. No threats, no violence; that's supposed to be our way. Change through peaceful resistance."
Ilare and Miræl exchanged a look. "Fine," the younger female said. "Kara, you can go."
"I'd rather stay," Kara said, quietly. She was, after all, there to learn.
Age 18.11
Like the asari, the salarians had been an industrial civilization for over two thousand five hundred years, but they were, overall, more human in temperament. Shortsighted and factionalized, they pursued advanced technology without regard for the potential consequences, accelerated by the constant shadow wars between feudalistic ruling families. Like Earth, Sur'Kesh became a polluted wasteland, saved from complete collapse by the discovery of mass effect technology, and the establishment of off-world colonies and industry; in the millennia since, some of their homeworld's natural beauty had been restored, the jungles once again verdant and filled with life. It would never be what it was, though, with so many species of plant and animal lost. In a thousand years, Kara wondered if Earth would feel the same, its restored beauty shadowed by an existential emptiness, perceivable only by those who knew their history.
Before industrialization had caused mass extinctions of native species, Sur'Kesh's jungles had been dangerous, full of predators and prey. As she had seen more than once, they were still no place for the unwary, if one strayed outside the highly maintained, park-like bands that surrounded the cities and their agricultural zones. Even so, she found that she preferred the wilds to the fast pace of salarian life, the constant motion and noise, with so little time to stop and rest and enjoy. No time for lying on cliff under the stars, enjoying the relative cool of the evening. Across the valley, some fifteen kilometers distant, the tall, square towers of Talat rose up against the stars. At the center, the round, tiered spire of the Salarian Union's capital building, brightly lit and beautiful.
Kara's eyes moved to the outskirts, where a small collection of buildings was only just visible. In one of them, trapped in a sterile room by her own biology, sat a quarian. Studying, perhaps, or pining for her distant lover. They did not spend a large amount of time together, just a few days at a time, with the periods between getting longer as Kara ranged farther afield. Tama felt differently, perhaps, but she no longer believed herself in love, their relationship having settled into a routine of excited greetings and quiet farewells.
Rolling over, Kara stared up at the sky. Sur'Kesh lay much closer to the galactic core than Thessia or Earth, and the densely packed band of stars lit the night for half their long year, making up, in part, for the absence of a moon. She had grown up in the darkness of space, and sometimes it called to her; she was tired of being hot and sweaty all of the time, of wandering in the wilderness when there were other worlds to explore. She had seen enough of the tense contradictions that pulled individual salarians in every direction. Their feudalistic social structure, where blood was as important as knowledge or skill, made her seethe. Psychologically imprinting hatchlings on their head-of-family? The situation invited abuse, and she had seen some of the results.
She had learned what she wanted to learn, seen salarian society for herself. The only thing holding her down was Tama. Even if they weren't in love, she still cared about the quarian, and didn't want to hurt her. The protectiveness she felt might even have been the source of the problem, more suited to a relationship with a little sister than a lover. Salaya had always treated her like a respected equal, despite their multi-century age gap.
She held the blame for initiating their romance, as well. In hindsight, she realized that her actions had been motivated by curiosity and desire, rather than a strong emotional attachment. While not bad in itself—her brief affair with Valla on Thessia had started from mutual curiosity, but their emotional relationship had never grown past close friendship—Tama had wanted more. If she had taken the young quarian's feelings into account, she would have tried to remain friends. Now, she feared, she would have to leave the young quarian in tears.
"Tama, I've booked passage on a transport off Sur'Kesh. It leaves tomorrow."
"What?" the quarian gasped. The shift in her expression, from excitement and happiness to horrified disbelief, almost made Kara reconsider right then. "Is this… what… why?"
Kara was not one to practice conversations, but she had made an exception for this one. She had wanted to be absolutely sure of her decision, and her ability to explain it, not willing to hurt her sensitive and timid quarian lover. "I've given this some thought, Tama. I hoped that our being together, your seeing, feeling how I feel about you, would make you more confident. I don't… I mean—" she was already departing from her plan, it seemed—"that's not why we're together. I do love you, but… I'm not sure I'm good for you, and I don't mean our incompatible biologies."
"Good for… shouldn't that—that's my decision."
"It isn't that simple. Relationships are a mutual experience—either one of us can withdraw our consent, for any reason." You're running away. Again. The words flitted through her head in Yejide's sonorous voice. All of her carefully constructed arguments trembled at the blow to their foundation. What did it say about her, that she was always the one to walk away?
"But… why? Kara, I love you!"
"I know," Kara said. Despite her own dimmed feelings, hearing the words sent a thrill racing through her, another threat to her resolve. "I had hoped you'd become less isolated, though. I talked a little with the other students… Tyral said she reached out to you, and you ignored her. Tama, she think you're brilliant."
Tama slumped into the nearest chair. "She was… I didn't… didn't want you to think—"
So, yes, Tyral had used some flirtatious adjectives in her description of the quarian, but that seemed to be her character; she had flirted with Kara, too.
"Tama, if I walked in the two of you having wild, passionate sex, I'd just be glad you were enjoying it," Kara said. It was, perhaps, not the whole truth, but more what she aspired to. "I never needed to own you. Even if I did, I'd still want you to have friends."
By then, there were tears running freely down Tama's face. She didn't understand, of course, and how could she, when Kara had never taken the time to explain. They both had good reason to feel wretched.
"I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you," Kara said softly, as she sat beside the quarian. "If I can do anything to make this easier…"
Tama stiffened, at first, and drew away, but then she whimpered, and pressed her face into Kara's chest.
Palaven, Age 19.0
"Hey, who let the pyjak in here?"
Kara rolled her eyes. It wasn't the first time that someone had referred to her as one of the xenomammalian[3] creatures since she'd arrived on Palaven. The salarians had at least been polite, and hidden their prejudices long enough to get to know her. Overall, she found that a casually humorous response worked best, winning the sympathy of the onlookers, and sometimes the speaker. "We do get everywhere," she replied, turning to face the latest arrival. He was short for a turian, at about her height, and his white and black face paint, along with his muscular build, gave him a menacing look. "But you have only yourselves to blame. Proper sanitation is essential for keeping vermin away."
"Ha, she's got you marked, Taelus," laughed Illataer, one of the more friendly occupants of the small pub, a clear-faced young female. That was unusual in itself—Kara understood the paint as a clan-marking, something that few turians went without, but Aralatei had a reputation for being a gathering place of artists and free-thinkers, for which it had earned the derisive label of 'the crackpot capital of Palaven.' As she had learned on Sur'Kesh, though, nothing illuminated a culture quite as well as its contrary notions.
Taelus snorted. His face was freshly colored with the red and blue pattern of Aralatei, marking him as a native by birth, if not opinion. "I should have guessed. You're the type who can't resist stray lexta. Are you bringing her home, too?"
Illataer folder her arms aggressively across her sturdy chest. "I hadn't got around to asking. Why? You think I should invite you instead?"
"Spirits, no. I'm allergic to lexta, the foul little beasts. I'd rather live in a house full of pyjaks—I mean the real thing, human," Taelus added, glancing in her direction. Lexta were the most common household pet on Palaven, similar to dogs in the number of breeds, and their historical roles.
Kara claimed her glass of water—the only human-safe beverage the establishment served—from the bar, and moved to sit in the empty chair at Illataer's side. Taelus had been eying it surreptitiously, perhaps planning to take it himself. "I prefer the company of sapient beings myself," she smiled, placing her hand on the turian female's shoulder. "What they look like doesn't really matter."
"Oh, Taelus isn't so bad," Illataer said, "he just jumps when he's told to." And thought what he was told to? That was a trait turians and humans shared in abundance, received wisdom masquerading as free thought.
The older turian scowled. "Just because I don't listen to that Separatist filth you talk. The Hierarchy benefits us all, including you whining radicals. You don't even know what it is you want."
"Old argument, Kara," Illataer laughed. "What Taelus won't tell you is that our benevolent government has destroyed whole cities in its 'antiterrorism' campaign. Anti-choice, more like."
Turian cities heavily reflected the militarism of their culture, both on and off their homeworld. Beneath the sprawling urban landscape on the surface were shafts sunk as deeply into the ground as asari spires rose into the air, carefully designed for easy defense, and stocked to withstand a siege. Even the best equipped modern army would hesitate to attempt their capture. That did not justify an orbital bombardment.
"That's what you do in war. You destroy your enemies, and you don't show mercy to terrorists."
"Or their families? Children? Neighbors?"
There were rumors of government atrocities, some of which were definitely true, but it was Separatist crimes that frequently made the news broadcasts. Just two days ago, they had reported that a bomb had destroyed a government building on one of the outer colonies, killing the governor, and quite a few minor functionaries. Collaborators, they were called, as though it justified their deaths. "So what do these Separatists want?"
"It depends upon the group," Illataer shrugged. "Some are just after power, and they're usually the worst. Not that the mighty Hierarchy cares—"
"Why should they?"
Illataer's mandibles flared, but she continued despite Taelus' interjection. "Some, you know, like the Front for Colonial Independence—they destroyed the Governor's Palace on Averae two days ago—argue that the Hierarchy is exploiting the colonies to prop up a corrupt and stagnant empire. They want a loose affiliation of world, more like your Alliance, and to convert to a limited capitalist economic system. They say that if we don't change, we'll end up as a subsidiary of the Vol Protectorate within the next millennia."
Kara frowned. She had spent most of her time over the last four years learning about alien cultures, and finishing up the basic eduction she had skipped out on, rather than studying Alliance history and politics, but the turian's assertion did not fit with her understanding of human society, either past or present.
In theory, as she had learned from a young age, every human colony was automatically admitted into the Alliance upon its establishment, complete with one or more representatives in Parliament, depending upon their population. In this system, the Alliance governed humanity's trade, diplomatic and military interests, while individual worlds were free to establish their own social and economic systems, within the framework provided by the Declaration of Rights. In practice, most colonial attempts at protectionist or socialist economics were immediately appealed by one of several corporate front groups, and taken down by the Alliance court system. Their local elections were flooded with corporate money, and, despite biased numbers, including a cap of twenty Members of Parliament per world, the interests of the homeworld heavily dominated the discussion.
"I don't think it works that way," she said softly. "We do a lot of pretending, I guess. I don't know." Perhaps that was a gap that needed filling. Humanity was her species, after all, so she needed to know a few things about it, but all she really knew were a few old propaganda points, and some alien perspectives. Perhaps it was time she went home.
"Huh? You mean the Alliance? I thought that freedom and democracy was the human religion," Taelus mocked.
"A collective delusion, maybe." According to some atheists, that was an adequate definition of religion, but she did not care for such oversimplifications. Though the atmosphere on Arcturus station had been firmly secular, some of her fellow students were devout, and she had seen what faith did for them, providing meaning and direction, informing their choices, and easing grief. Turians were also a somewhat religious people, many of them practicing a kind of vague animistic pantheism, which had already begun incorporating the major human faiths.
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Illataer asked, turning in her chair, a crude attempt to edge Taelus out of the discussion.
Kara frowned. She could think of only once example which the turian would easily understand, and it wasn't the best topic to raise. "We learned about the Relay 314 incident in school. The unprovoked attack on our ships at the Relay. Our retaliation, and the subsequent occupation of Shanxi by a Hierarchy fleet. How we drove you back with our unconventional carrier tactics. What we don't learn is that, overwhelmingly, people on Earth wanted to attempt a diplomatic solution. The Alliance waged a propaganda war to change their minds, from exaggerated reports of atrocities on Shanxi, to a grotesque 'reconstruction' of a turian corpse, recovered from your patrol fleet."
All slanted eyes and sharp teeth, his elegant sweeping crests converted into demonic spikes, it had played into cultural stereotypes from around the world. Her history teacher had insisted that the distorted corpse had simply been a mistake made by humans being led by their fear of the unknown, but Kara hadn't accepted that explanation. The work had been done by professionals, not frightened children, and, with plenty of bodies to choose from, the result was clearly deliberate.
That discrepancy had led her to study the entire sequence of events in more detail. The discovery of prothean ruins on Mars had filled humanity with an odd mixture of eagerness and dread towards the possibility of alien contact, but for the most part there was hope that it might bring a new age of peace. The unfortunate events at Relay 314 cast that hope into doubt, but had not destroyed it.
"My father was in officer training during the war," Illataer said, shaking her head. "He told me about the government press statements; 'A new enemy from out of nowhere,' and how all turians had to unite to face the threat you posed."
The irony was, dislodging the turians from orbit of Shanxii had taken everything the Alliance could muster, and, despite outnumbering the enemy by two to one, they had come close to losing the battle. There would have been no great war, just a swift and crushing defeat.
"So what does that tell you?" Taelus inquired. "The Hierarch ordered that we try and talk with the humans before any fleet engagement, and we never got any response. They didn't want peace. We were willing to negotiate."
Kara had to agree. There were officers and crew from Alliance ships that had come forward with evidence of turian transmissions that were obvious attempts at communication. They remained forgotten by history, but she considered them proof that the Alliance hadn't wanted peace, until the battle for Shanxi gave them their first real look at what they were up against. That intervention by the asari had come before the next turian attempt at peace was incidental, however much face it let the Alliance's leaders save. "Maybe both our species are flawed," she suggested.
"Then both our species should work to improve themselves. I mean, look at the numbers. Sixty percent of tax revenues from the Empire's economy goes into the military, right? That leaves forty percent for things like the passenger service, parks, utilities. Aralatei is falling apart around us so that some inbred Admiral can have his own chef."
"We provide security for all of Citadel Space—"
"And what do we get in return?" Illataer demanded, slamming her first against the table to accent her point.
Taelus sighed. "It's about duty, and honor. Serving something grander than yourself. You've missed something important by not joining up, and the same goes for your wretched Separatists."
"I have a better answer," Kara smirked. "Peace. The turians haven't been involved in a major war since they joined the Council, and that's certainly worth a few sacrifices." Although, from what she had seen, they had sacrificed more than their share. Despite the glaring social problems of the Salarian Union, the cities of Sur'Kesh were mostly well-maintained. And Thessia… nearly a paradise. There were costs to Empire, not the least of which was neglect of the homeland.
"You're right, Kara," Illataer replied, turning a mocking smile on the older turian. "We're not what we once were, though. I mean, Volus run most of our industry, these days, but the days of the Vol boost are long past." Any serious analysis of turian society had to include the Vol Protectorate. While all of the Citadel races had benefited from turian protection to some extent, the Vol had accepted client status to the Hierarchy almost fourteen hundred years ago.
"Not the Vol conspiracy," Taelus laughed. "They trade resources for protection, Kara; they don't run the turian government from behind the scenes."
"I thought you had a state-capitalist economy?" Officially, a central planning committee, with VI aid, allocated resources based on needs and long-term cost/benefit analyses.
"We do—"
"We did," Taelus insisted quickly. "Most of the wealth is now in the hands of arms manufacturers and investors, and that is thanks to the Vol, but the solutions isn't to split ourselves up, and let them dominate us one by one. It's to take back that power for ourselves."
Kara smiled, and sipped at her water. "Careful, Taelus. That's rebel talk."
Above Palaven, Age 20.1
Kara waited in the shadows of the transfer station's embarkation lounge. Through the view port, she could see a blandly utilitarian turian passenger ship, waiting for the tourists and travelers waiting in the lounge to begin boarding. She did not have a ticket, more to keep the next leg of her journey secret than for lack of funds, though that too was an issue.
According to the 'hero' Jon Grissom, everything on Palaven was made of silver, except the turians, who were made of steel. Kara found it amusing how quickly humans were able to stereotype anything different. 'Asari make love. Turians make war. Salarians make master debaters,' went the joke. Crude, painfully unfunny, and just as prejudiced as the twentieth century habit of claiming that non-caucasians, and women, were inherently inferior to white men. Even her first impression of the turian homeworld was of a society rich with history, much as Sila Rvets's writing had described. No doubt their broader culture promoted concepts like discipline and service, but that was only the surface.
Unfortunately, Palaven's unusually weak magnetic field allowed high levels of radiation through to the surface, to which the native species were well-adapted. Kara was not, and that kept her close to the major cities, where nearly everything was shielded for the benefit of tourists. Odd as it seemed, that was not a role she was completely comfortable in, and she had quickly fled Cipritine, large parts of which were more suited to alien visitors than turians themselves.
For a while, she had hooked up with a gang of freshly graduated officers, taking some leave before shipping out on their first assignments, seeing the sights in a battered but well-shielded troop shuttle, borrowed from their training base. Natural wonders were not really her thing, but she had enjoyed walking through forests of pale green trees, and talking about things like honor and duty. Discipline she knew, still practicing her biotics and the vanan ithal, the mental and physical exercise she learned from Muar Ilthaea. Honor was more foreign, and she had openly rejected the idea of duty to the state, and perhaps too quickly. Turians often spoke about finding meaning in service.
Kara sighed. Across the room, where most of the passengers were gathered, another viewport looked out on the planet below, pale green and dusty brown continents broken up by grey-blue oceans and white clouds. One of the frequent tropical deluges was forming over Cipritine. Aralatei was a northern city, and not visible from where she stood, though the skies were clear and full of stars when she left. Was she really going home? To serve? As absurd as it sometimes seemed, she was not immune to the romanticism of the concept. To live in service to the greater whole; to save lives, to protect the weak. Everyone single one of those turian kids had spoken of heroism; of how they hoped to win honor and glory on the battlefield.
One of them, an attractive, bright-eyed female, had recited an old turian epic, while they all sat around a fire in the dark of night. It had been almost mesmerizing, the silence of their surroundings, and the intensity with which she spoke. Battle and loss, courage, death and damnation crossed by life and lust. Victory, won against overwhelming odds.
So yes, duty. Kara didn't have a taste for the sciences, but she could think on her feet, and didn't let fear stop her. The military seemed like a good match for her skills.
An announcer made the call for boarding. She hefted her pack, filled mostly with food for the two-day journey, and slipped into the throng of people.
Citadel, Age 20.1
"You're a biotic, you said?" asked the man behind the desk. His face had the soft quality of a man who spent too much time behind a desk, a wore a bored expression as he studied his display. His cold, brown eyes avoided hers, as though uncomfortable with her presence.
"That's right," Kara agreed. "I have one of the old L2 class implants."
He frowned, as much expression as he'd shown since she'd entered his small office. The projected holographic image was difficult to read from behind, but she could tell he was looking at her profile. "An L2r3. You still get the migraines?"
"Yes," she said. It was another lie. The L2 implant had been replaced, but she preferred that he not know it. She did not want a gaggle of scientists poking about inside her skull, trying to figure out the asari technology wired into her brain.
"Well, they aren't a disqualification. The marines are always in need of skilled biotics." He scrolled down through the records. "Hm. Would you care to explain where you spent the last four years, eight months, and twelve days?"
"Around," she shrugged dismissively. There was too much that she had seen and done that she didn't want the Alliance to know about, and she fearing that giving them a single thread would allow them to unravel the whole. She had slipped past Citadel customs again, just so they wouldn't be able to find out that she arrived on a transport from Palaven. Also, it gave her an excuse not to talk with her mother, who would bitterly disapprove of her wanderings.
He leaned forward. "Miss Shepard," he began. It had been, apparently, four years, eight months, and twelve days since anyone had called her that. It made her uncomfortable, as though it belong to a different person. "You skipped out on three years of school. We don't even recruit grunts with that poor an education, and you think you can be an officer?"
"They let you in, didn't they?" Kara retorted.
He scowled at her. "That smart-ass attitude won't help you either."
She frowned. The entire exercise hardly seemed worth the effort. Service and sacrifice, they had felt important on Palaven. Part the very air. A duty. She was as determined as the ranks of turian children she'd witnessed, running through their drills. Or perhaps she had grown tired of wandering. "You recruits kids from Earthside gangs, and they don't even have schools. The smaller colonies don't either. You have tests for that very reason."
"I could arrange a test, for a small fee."
He was lying. Kara had studied Alliance recruitment policy before she arrived, and there were no fees. "Are you asking me for a bribe?"
"A mutually beneficial arrangement, miss," he shrugged. "You want to sign up, and I want to let you. Surely you must have some sort of, ah, asset I'd be interested in."
Perhaps she rushed to an unwarranted conclusion, but she recognized the scene. A helpless young woman, alone in an office with an older man. He had, or so he believed, power over her. And because power invited abuse, he propositioned her.
Any normal human who assumed they could physically overpower even a badly trained biotic was foolish in the extreme. She, however, was well trained, though hardly a master, and had him pinned against the wall with even before she leapt over the her. "What are you suggesting?" she demanded.
"Nothing, ma'am. Nothing," he said quickly. Too quickly to be believed. He was nothing more than a bully, judging by the fear in his eyes. It took the edge off her anger, but she did not feel inclined to let him off easily. How many young women had simply given in? Clearly none had resisted enough to make him cautious.
"You wait there," she told him, righting his chair and sitting down. It took relatively little concentration to maintain a simple biotic field, with her VI-assisted amp, a dated but effective Armali Council model, taking up most of the burden. He wasn't going anywhere, until she let him down. Wisely, he didn't struggle, either a sign of some experience with biotics, or that he was simply too terrified to move.
The recruitment office's computer system was not particularly sophisticated, and easy enough to find her way around. She found a copy of someone's test results, and altered the data fields to fit her own aptitudes. She tried to be honest, not modest, in her self-assessment, though she downplayed her hacking skills. She even added a recommendation that she be placed in the advanced program. She considered filling in the gap in her record with a depressing but plausible story about getting stuck on an outlying colony world, and struggling to survive, but that would be falsifiable, she preferred to leave it a mystery.
"So, what do you think?" she asked the officer, as she patched up the graphs and updated the metadata. It was good work, if hasty, but she only needed to fool a cursory examination.
"I'll tell them," he managed.
She shook her head. Yes, the video feed would confirm his story, but she could shut that off, and delete the everything after his proposition. Anyone investigating the case would quickly leap to the logical conclusion, which she would confirm; that she had given in to his demands, and he had bought her silence with the modified test results. Grinning to herself, she silently thanked Tama, a group of batarian terrorists, and an STG team for the extra technical training. Deleting the feed was easy, though she took care to make the data unrecoverable. Making it appear to be accidentally corrupted was less simple; but again, she didn't need perfection.
"You aren't going to tell them anything," she informed him. "That'd just confirm my story, and you don't want that."
It occurred to her then that she had forgotten something. It was obviously not in her character to accept harassment meekly, and a skilled investigator would realize that. How would a rusty biotic, who tried to avoid using her talents, respond to an unwelcome groping? Of course, she grinned, releasing him from his imprisonment. Then she punched him in the face.
"Now, what happened here?" she asked, pulling a tissue from the dispenser on his desk and slapping it on his bleeding nose.
"N-nothing," he whimpered, avoiding her gaze. "I-I let you t-take the test, just as you asked. S-something went wrong with the vid feed."
"And next time you think about victimizing some innocent woman, remember me."
[1] Tsa + makira:
Tsa: first-person pronoun: I
Makira: to want, to desire. There is a strong undercurrent of necessity; and to demand.
Callis: to learn, though as a process, rather than an action.
Dema: used to make a polite request between equals.
Translation: Please. I want to learn.
[2] A literary translation of the Thessíe term 'ilatra', meaning the biological parent of an asari child, who does not carry her to term. See Ch. 17 for more details.
[3] Popular xenobiology was called 'reasoning by analogy' by Professor Rona Mackenzie, the premier Scientific Xenobiologist of the Terra Nova colony. It is the classification of extraterrestrial life based upon superficial characteristics, such as mammary glands, feathers, hair, and facial shape.
Scientific xenobiology is an involved process that begins with tracking a planet's evolution path, gradually building a unique set of taxonomic classifications.
The defining characteristic of xenomammalian life is the dependence of young on their parent(s), one or both of which have glands that produce and secrete nutrients for their consumption.
Note: I tried out several new additions to this chapter, but ultimately decided against them. However, some sections have been significantly altered, and Kara's age lowered by about six months, mostly to give her more time in the marines.
Anyway, enjoy, and leave a review.