Chapter Eight

The transport finally grinds to a stop, the engine gurgling and cutting out to blissful silence. Kal reaches out a hand and grabs onto Tannea's shoulder. He gives her three slow taps, then very slowly raises the corner of the camo tent.

The trucks have stopped outside a low, wide metal building. Shouts come from below, with the crunching of boots in snow, and then the whine of hydraulic ramps lowering. Kal inches forward, peering over the edge of the truck's roof. Three humans pace below, waiting for the ramps to lower. They rub their hands together, their breath pooling in clouds of mist. One man offers a cigarette to another. A lighter appears out of a fold of clothing.

Kal crawls back, pressing his head against Tannea's. "There are three at the end," he hisses. "We can drop down into the space between the trucks while they're all milling around." A silent nod is the only answer he needs. Kal listens carefully, straining his ears as the number of footfalls below increases. One of the humans starts shouting to the prisoners, and then the footsteps begin to move away from the trucks.

Kal sucks in a deep breath, fighting down the fluttering in his stomach. One. Two. Three! He rolls out from under the tent, half-climbing and half-falling down the side of the truck and landing in the snow with a crunch, followed by another as Tannea hits the ground behind him. Kal grits his teeth, waiting for angry voices to call out his presence, but nothing changes. He looks around the corner of the transport to see the ragged line of quarian prisoners moving shakily toward the squat building. Kal leans out a little further, trying to get a line of sight on the rest of the guards.

"Hey!" Something hits Kal hard in the shoulder blade and he tumbles face-first into the snow. A hand grabs him roughly by the arm and yanks him back up, propelling him onward toward the line of quarians. "These two were hanging back," yells the voice behind him. "Go on, ye sneaky bastards." Kal hears a thump and a stifled grunt behind him. He half turns to see Tannea regaining her footing, the human soldier behind them glaring at them both. Kal turns away and trudges on toward the line of quarians, Tannea falling in behind him. He smiles grimly behind his visor. No turning back now.

The ragged group of quarians display various degrees of injury and fatigue. Kal searches for Zarra among the assembled, but the familiar navy-and-gold suit of the commander is nowhere to be seen. A few visors turn as Kal joins the line, but no-one says a word. Kal presses his own lips together, aware of how shaky his hold is on the element of surprise.

One of the bundled-up humans shoves his way to the front of the group, pressing himself against the wall of the building. Kal stands on the tips of his toes to get a better view. The man is in fact pressed against an ancient-looking metal door, a great heavy thing with rivets pounded in all round. There's a scraping of metal and a deep human voice comes from within. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Garoth."

"Me, who?" prods the voice suspiciously.

"Bartholomew, with Charlie company. Come on Garoth, are you thick or what?"

"I ain't thick. Now you wait there, 'Bartholomew,' an' I'll go an' see if I'm allowed to let you in. Might take a while though, seein' as I'm so thick."

The metal scrapes again, and Kal imagines a slit in the door shutting with a clang. The human gives the door a kick, and there's a muffled "Shit!"

Kal rubs his hands together, wishing his suit's heating filaments were still working. A few chilly moments go by, then the human raps a knuckle at the door. "Garoth! Hey, Garoth!" There's no reply. "Look, Garoth, I'm sorry I called you thick." No reply. "I'm tired, and cold, and hungry. Fuck, we all are. I was insensitive. I didn't mean it."

The slit scrapes open. "Yeah?" says the deeper voice hesitantly.

"Yeah. So let us in, huh?"

The slit shuts, and there's a great clanking of bolts and locks, then the door slowly swings back with a tremendous creak. "Come on," calls a human, and all of a sudden Kal and the rest of the quarians are being prodded and pushed into the dim building.

The door shuts behind them, the slam echoing through the darkened space. Kal blinks, his eyes taking a moment to adjust after the bright midmorning light outside. A long room slowly fades into visibility. Hard plastic seats protrude from the floor in parallel rows. A few ancient solid-screen monitors hang from the ceiling. At the far end of the room is a small gate, beyond which a ramp leads upward into shadow. Kal turns his head, craning to see what lies at the other end of the space, but all he sees are a few more doors. Everything has an air of disuse and antiquity about it. Dust coats nearly every surface, and a trail of mud and snow down the center of the room is the only sign anyone's been in here in the last fifty years.

The human soldiers have clumped up at the head of the tattered column of prisoners. They murmur to each other in apprehensive voices too low for Kal to make out. One of them casts a nervous glance toward the captives, then makes a gesture to the back of the room. One of his companions shakes his head.

Kal leans closer to Tannea. "Just wait," he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. "I'm watching for an opening."

The sniper is beginning to reply when there's a click from the back of the room. The tiny sound, magnified by the fact that everyone has been waiting for it, snaps the humans to attention. The click reveals itself to be the unlocking of a door as the door in question swings open at the very end of the room. There's a pause, and then the sound of boots against metal decking as a human man strides out.

Kal gets a better look at the man as he approaches. He is of average height for a human, perhaps a little taller. He wears the light boots of a spacer, not the heavy, plated footwear of a soldier or shiny boots of a military officer. A dark jacket covers his lean frame, and to Kal it looks like real leather, although there are so many synthetic substitutes more cheaply available that there's no way to be sure. A similarly lean, clean-shaven face holds dark green eyes, roaming over the quarians from beneath lowered brows.

The man makes his way toward them with slow, even strides. He stops before the humans, giving the quarians one last look before turning his gaze to their captors. "We're leaving in three hours," he says. "Call down the shuttle. It will take us nearly that time to bring up all the power cells and men. And them," he adds, nodding towards the quarians. "They come with us. Any questions?"

"No sir," reply the men in almost perfect unison.

The man turns on his heel and walks away, back into the shadows at the end of the long, low room. The door swings shut behind him. It clicks.

The human soldiers let out a collective breath, their posture deflating slightly. "Alright," yells one man after a moment. "You all just sit your selves down there. Move out of the way of the door, just, I don't know, stay put." He turns to his friends. "You two watch them. If they try to get up, shoot them in the legs."

"In the legs?" says the man, sounding surprised through the layers of scarves and clothing. "But then we'll have to carry them onto the shuttle."

"Shoot them in the arms, then," cries the first man, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Do I look like I give two shits?"

"But …" protests the second man, turning to call after the first man as he stalks off. "What if I miss and hit them in the body? Their arms are skinny, it could be a near thing!"

"Just shoot them, alright?" yells the first man. "I'm going to get the power cells together." He pulls open a door, slamming it behind him.

…

"You don't look too good, boy."

James pokes his dehydrated potato mass with the plastic fork. "I'm alright. Just getting used to all this, I guess."

The man sitting across the mess table from him squints at him, deep brown eyes staring intently out from a sea of wrinkles. "You don't look too good," he says again. "But I'd be worried if you did. No one gets used to this all in one try."

James looks up, meeting the old man's eyes. "Have you done this long?"

The man blows out a funny half-snort. "Boy, how old do you think I am?"

James drops his gaze back to the potatoes. "I couldn't say."

"Old," says the man, leaning forward and emphasizing the word. "Old enough to have been in this since near its beginning, and let me tell you, we never used to do things this way. This," he gestures around vaguely. "Is an abuse. An abuse of power and an abuse of the worlds' bounties."

James shifts in his chair. "How did you used to do it?"

"Used, nothing. All decent crews do it the old way, the right way. You send down probes to sniff out the eezo, or the platinum, or whatever you're after, then you land men, men, not bombs, and the men dig away at it. It takes months, years even, but it's respectful and it's thorough and we get every last drop. After an explosion like that, how much of the vein is gone, vaporized or scattered? God only knows." The old man shakes his head. "Sawyer must be in some hurry to be so rash."

James stabs at a boiled carrot slice, which slips away to the far corner of his tray. "I wonder what he's in such a rush for."

The old man looks around carefully, then taps the side of his nose. "I couldn't say for sure, but if I were you I'd watch out for the woman."

James looks up, surprised. "Really? She hasn't said a word to me. I don't even remember her name."

The old man puts his eyebrows through a complex dance, like sparring caterpillars. "You'd best keep it that way, boy. I've got a bad feeling about that dame. Remove any less than professional thoughts you might have of her, that's my advice."

James raises his hands, bemused. "Consider them removed."

The old man rises, swinging his legs over the bench. He leans over the table, offering James a hand. "The name's Andre, in case you missed it. Pleased to properly make your acquaintance."

James takes the hand. Andre's grip is tight. "James. Likewise."

The old man gives James a funny look."I know who you are, boy. You watch yourself, now. There's something funny brewing on this ship. It'll come to no good end."

And with that he's gone, leaving James with a cold meal and no idea what to think.

…

The shuttle bumps its way into the larger ship's bay. Kal feels rather than hears the resounding clank as it locks onto its two runners. The thrusters slowly die, the metal tubes ticking as they begin to cool. The shuttle's occupants wait in uncomfortable, cramped silence until a voice comes over the intercom to announce the shuttle bay has been pressurized.

One of the three guards squashed onto the shuttle shuffles over to the door and deactivates the seal. With a hiss it slides open, letting out three humans and the remaining four quarians. The rest of the prisoners had gone up on a previous flight, Tannea being among them. Kal was forced to wait until the second trip. He hopes Tannea hasn't blown their scant cover by trying anything rash. Although, he thinks wryly. Based on what's happened so far, it seems like that's my department.

The quarians are pushed off the shuttle and toward an elevator in the back of the less-than-spacious hangar. Based on what he can see, Kal reckons that they're in a small frigate, smaller than the Ierra. The line is stopped in front of the elevator door, two of the quarians and one of the guards get in, and the doors slide shut.

By the time Kal's turn comes he's seething with impatience. Before the elevator door even opens he hears raised voices. He recognizes Tannea, leaning forward with her visor almost in one of the guard's faces. Shit.

"He needs medical attention!" the sniper is yelling. "Are you completely stupid? He's bleeding, he's been bleeding for the past hour! How long do you think he's going to last?"

"You think I give a fuck, you dumb bitch?" The human shoves Tannea roughly. "Sit the fuck down before I vape your ass."

Tannea springs back defiantly, shoving her visor back in the human's face. For a second Kal is afraid she's going to head-butt him, and then to his horror she does, slamming the glass of her mask into the man's face. There's a crunch and the man's eyes go wide. He claps a hand over his face, a thin stream of blood spraying out from between his fingers. Kal's rush of satisfaction turns quickly into dread as the shock on the human's tear-streaked face turns into fury. "You're dead!" he screams, spraying droplets of blood across the quarians and the nervously watching humans. His free hand lets go of his gun, letting it dangle from its strap, instead reaching for a large knife holstered at his side. "You're fucking dead, you hear me you little c-"

The human's words are cut short as a hand, blazing indigo, reaches out from behind him and grabs the side of his head. Before the human has time to draw breath the glowing hand smashes his head into the wall. It hits with a dull thud, and the human drops to the deck like a lead weight. Behind him stands the lean man from before, the glow around his left hand slowly dimming. He lowers his dark green eyes to regard Tannea and the rest of the quarians, then turns them on the rest of the humans. "Take the wounded to the med bay," he says mildly. "Bring the rest to the brig. But not that one," he nods to Tannea. "Take her down to my office. I will be there shortly." He turns on his heel and strides away without another word.

Kal turns to Tannea, opening his mouth to say something, he's not sure what, but before he can more humans are pushing in between them, separating the wounded from the hale and he's pulled away down the corridor.

…

Tannea is dragged into a small room by a pair of human men. Looking around the space she notes the absence of chairs or other furniture. The room's two tables are stacked with piles of books and small boxes and strange, unidentifiable objects. She stands uncomfortably, half-suspended by her armpits from the humans' arms, unable to do more than look around until after a few minutes the door beeps and opens again. Standing in the doorway is the lean, green-eyed man. He steps inside, waving at the two other humans. "Please, leave." The two men let Tannea go, nearly causing her to fall from fatigue, and without a word they leave the room. The door whooshes shut behind them.

The green-eyed man crosses over to a corner of the room, retrieving two rolls of green material. He comes back to the middle of the cabin, unrolling the two rectangular mats. As Tannea watches, he unzips his jacket, folding it and tossing it onto one of the tables. Clad in only a white undershirt, Tannea sees that he is well built, though not bulky. He lowers himself with a sigh, folding his legs and gesturing to the mat across from his. "Sit, please."

Tannea looks at him apprehensively. She can feel the knife's hilt jabbing her ankle, but she's hesitant to draw it. The man before her has shown that he's a biotic, of what strength she does not know. Besides, she thinks. He might be able to tell me something useful. She accepts the human's invitation, trying to silence the involuntary noises of relief as she gives her aching legs a rest and sits.

"I'd like to apologize for the behavior of Mr. Monroe," says the human, his eyes focusing on hers through her visor. "It was inexcusable. I do not train my men to act that way, and should he recover from his concussion he will find himself no longer in my employ." He blinks, as if remembering something, then rises and goes to a small locker at the far left of the room, returning with a canteen and two cups. He sits again, placing a cup complete with a straw in front of Tannea. "Water," he explains. "I've made sure your men have some down in the brig. I believe we may also have dextro-protein rations onboard, should your stay become extended."

Tannea allows the human to fill her cup. She raises the straw to her mask, carefully inserting it into the appropriate slot and drinking gratefully despite herself. The human smiles, filling his own glass and taking a sip. "I don't believe I know your name," he says.

"I don't believe I know yours," retorts Tannea, her tone more harsh than she intended. She bites her lip, regretting the outburst, but the human's smile only widens.

"Of course not, forgive me. I am Captain Gale Hendrickson. I am in charge of the ship on which you are currently a guest."

Tannea thinks for a moment, then decides she has nothing to lose by giving the human her name. "Tannea'rhoda."

The human extends his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Tannea." When Tannea doesn't accept the hand he lowers it, sighing and looking away. "Ah, what misfortune that discourtesy should be forced upon us. Personally I do not see how being on opposing sides necessitates rudeness, but of course that is an unpopular and uncommon stance."

"You wouldn't call killing us 'rudeness,' then?"

"That is what, with your help, I would like to find out." Gale raises his eyes, once more fixing them on Tannea's. "Why are you here, Tannea?"

Tannea blinks, feeling as if the layer of tinted glass between her and the human's strange, intense, green eyes is barely there at all. She says nothing, unwilling to divulge the nature of their mission, despite the fact that it seems surely doomed.

"Does it have to do with the research facility at the top of the mountain?"

"The one that you and your mercenaries are guarding?"

Gale raises an eyebrow. "I am not here to guard the place, and my men, while being at least partially brutish and stupid, are not all mercenaries."

"If you're not guarding the facility, then why are you standing in our way?" demands Tannea.

"But we did not even know you were here until you dropped onto our south flank! My men took you for the group of mercenary guards we were expecting to reinforce the guards at the facility. Obviously this is not the case, but as I still do not know the purpose of your mission, I cannot say that we are after the same goal."

"What goal?"

"I have come here to destroy the Solaris facility, to kill all guilty whom I find there, and to wipe all traces of its existence from this world."

Tannea's eyes widen slightly. The entire sentence was spoken in a completely serious and frank tone, but it doesn't make it any easier to take in. "Who ordered a mission like that?" she wonders, as much to herself as to anyone else.

"It is my own mission," says Gale, surprising her again by answering the question. "I have received aid from a benefactor, but the mission, and the cause, are my own."

"What benefactor would that be?"

Gale looks away, smiling softly. "He and I share a few basic goals, albeit with different motivations. He thinks I am going to bring him back research and schematics. Unfortunately, he will be disappointed."

Tannea shakes her head, intrigued although she knows she shouldn't be. "No. I don't believe it. One man doesn't just up and decide to level a research facility on some random planet in the middle of nowhere. There's just no way."

Gale turns the soft smile on her. He reaches a hand down the front of his shirt, drawing out a tarnished silver pendant on a black cord. Tannea's eyes trace the thing's curving lines. The pendant resembles a ring with a three fingered claw wrapped around it, or perhaps a tree, with one branch winding up each side of the ring and the third splitting it perfectly in two. "Do you recognize this symbol?" asks Gale. Tannea shakes her head. "I'm not surprised," says Gale, dropping the pendant back under his shirt. "Few know of us, and fewer follow our path. Someday, perhaps, our numbers will swell and we will be known throughout the known galaxy. Or," he says, the strange smile returning. "Perhaps not."

"What does it mean?" asks Tannea, trying to remember if she has ever seen the image before.

Gale rises, sighing again. "Shall I tell you my story, quarian?" He turns away from her, looking at the blank wall. "No, not today. Someday perhaps, but not today. I will return you to your men. They will be pleased to have their commander back, no doubt."

"You have Zarra?" blurts Tannea excitedly.

"Who?" Gale's brows knit together. "Oh, I see. I had taken you for a leader of men after the display earlier. No, I do not know of any Zarra." He crosses over to the door, giving the metal a sharp rap. The segmented surface slides open and the two human guards fill the doorway almost immediately. "Take Tannea down to the brig," Gale commands. He turns back to Tannea. "It was a pleasure to meet you." He reaches down to the table, picking up a scrap of cloth and tossing it to Tannea, who catches it reflexively. Gale waves a hand in front of his face, and Tannea's eyes cross as she focuses on the splatter of dried blood across her visor. "See that it stays clean," murmurs Gale, a hint of danger in his voice.

Tannea turns her head as the guards manhandle her out of the cabin. "Why don't you just kill us?" she demands. "Why even go to this trouble? We're not going to tell you anything."

"Perhaps because I wish to have hostages," replies Gale. "Or perhaps," he continues, his voice softer. "I am weary of killing. Goodbye, Tannea." And the door shuts.