Chapter Fifteen

The shuttle ride goes by in a blur of acceleration and gut-wrenching turbulence. From inside the windowless craft James has no way to see what they're docking with, and when the shuttle finally stops moving and the door raises, it takes him a moment to realize what he's seeing. We're back on the Ariadne, he thinks. All around the shuttle are the familiar stacks of tarpaulin-covered crates and mining equipment.

"Alright, out," orders Joseph. He jumps down, beckoning to the prisoners with the vicious-looking bayonet at the end of his assault rifle. "Come on, don't waste my time."

As the miners clamber out of the shuttle, the man in the black armor swings lithely down onto the deck and strides up to Joseph. "Where do we put them?" he demands, and as he speaks his helmet retracts, folding away inside the neck of his suit, and suddenly James is looking at not a man but a woman.

The woman's head is shaved completely save for a single, dark braid hanging down the back of her neck, and there is a jagged scar running down the right side of her face, from above her brow to the point of her chin. She turns her head, stretching and cracking her neck, and James sees that the tissue around her right eye has been terribly mangled. The eye itself is gone, and a blackened metal photoreceptor glints wickedly in its place. "There's no room in the engine room," she continues. "And I don't want them hanging around near the shuttle." Her voice is changed entirely, and James realizes that her helmet's filter must have been responsible for the low, distorted growl she has been speaking with so far.

"Strap them into the impact seats up on the bridge," says Joseph after a moment of thought. "Not the biotic of course." He turns his head, looking straight at James. Their eyes lock through the predatory eye-sockets of the antique helmet. "My apologies for the inconvenience," Joseph says, his voice strangely level and courteous despite the harshness of his helmet's filter. "You will understand, of course, the necessities of our situation. Brother," he calls, and the grey-clad turian looks up questioningly. "Take our friend to the medical bay. He is not to strain himself until we're sure he has made a full recovery."

The turian nods curtly. He beckons to James.

James looks around at the faces of the mining crew. He is met with a landscape of resentment, fear and confusion. It's not my fault, he wants to say. I don't know what's happening, I didn't cause any of this! He looks up at McCormick, meets his eyes, and sees only bitter anger blazing back at him. James turns away and follows the turian out of the hangar.

…

They run down the narrow corridor of the brig, Tannea half-dragging Kal along behind her. The cold and damp have worked their way deep into Kal, and every time he bends his knees he can feel the joints creak and the muscles threaten to seize up. Still he pushes himself to keep pace, and with each step he can feel his mind clear further. Tannea shows no signs of stiffness, and Kal curses himself for neglecting his body during their imprisonment. He remembers now that he had heard her working at her exercises and stretches, but had been too far sunk into the cycle of nightmares and despair to follow suit.

Stealth has more or less been thrown to the wind now, but although their boots echo loudly against the steel deck, nobody seems to be around to hear them. At the end of the shadowy, cell-lined tunnel is a steep flight of stairs, faintly-glowing strips of light along each step providing the only illumination. Tannea takes a look up the stairs, then nods at Kal. Kal nods back. There's only one option. Just like always. No turning back. You fight or you die. Kal reaches back suddenly, hooking his fingers into the collar of his suit and disengaging the helmet seals. The useless mask falls away and he tears off his hood, pulling away the cables and hoses that he once relied on for life. Air hits his face, stale and damp, but electric nonetheless.

Tannea is staring at him, and Kal can imagine her expression. He tilts his head back, shaking out his hair, running his fingers over his scalp and sighing at the sensation. It feels good to be alive again.

"Kal!" hisses Tannea, her voice wild with panic.

"The filter's been broken since the lake," says Kal. He is suddenly filled with calm. "I don't need it," he says, and whether he's speaking to Tannea or to himself he doesn't fully know. "I should never have put it back on in the first place. Stupid lie. Wasn't worth it." Tannea is still staring at him, so he gives her shoulder a squeeze. "I'll explain later. We have a job to do."

Tannea nods back at him. This at least she understands.

You fight or you die. Kal smiles.

…

James sits on the edge of the hard cot as the grey-armored Turian searches through a drawer. "Let's see," the turian says, speaking for the first time since James has first seen him. "I would guess you hit the ground pretty hard back there in the cave. I'm going to check to see if you have a concussion. You don't know where the portable resonance imager is, do you?"

"I don't even think we have one," says James. "We don't have a medical officer." He watches the Turian sort through the drawer for a little longer before he blurts out "Who are you?"

The turian turns to look at him, his vizor staring at James blankly.

"I mean, your boss, the one in the blue and gold, he said you're not pirates. Are you slavers? Why did he keep calling me a biotic? Everybody knows I'm not, I don't know what happened down there, I don't understand what you want from me, I just wish someone would tell me what's going on!" James finishes all in a rush and realizes belatedly that he's yelling. He looks down, abashed, but his gaze is drawn back up again by the sound of the turian's helmet seals retracting.

James is no expert on alien anatomy, but the amused expression and dark, gently twinkling eyes are instantly familiar to him. "You," he breathes. "How?"

"Ways and means," says Darius simply, smiling a little to himself and turning back to the medical drawer. "I drift. I like to see a little of everything. Take advantage of what the galaxy has to offer me."

James shakes his head, finding himself much less surprised than he would have thought. "So are they pirates, then? I thought you would have had enough after being on Vin's crew."

"No, not pirates," says Darius. "Not exactly." He turns back to James, shrugging. "You were right about the imager. I suppose there's not much we can do about that, then. Do you feel concussed?"

"Not really," lies James.

"Alright," says Darius. He pulls up a rolling stool and settles down on it, resting his elbows on his knees and regarding James frankly. "Well, we're supposed to be up here for a while, and I suppose you'd like some answers."

"Yes, please," sighs James. He leans back on the cot, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the steel bedframe jabbing into the back of his neck.

"How much do you know about biotics, James?" asks Darius carefully.

James considers the question. "Not much," he admits. "It has to do with Element Zero, right? And dark energy. You can move things with your mind."

Darius laughs softly. "Yes, that is about the same answer you'd get from most of the galaxy. We live and walk among them, but they know almost nothing about us. Only the Asari have devoted much time to the study of biotics, and even their understanding is often very limited. The truth is, James, nobody fully understands this power. Nobody knows why it is stronger in some than in others, or why it never appears in some, no matter how much Element Zero they are exposed to. We are savages, playing with fire, dabbling with things we do not understand."

"But the Alliance uses biotics in the army," James remembers. "There are schools for biotics, aren't there? I've heard of one, Grissom Academy it was called."

"Tue enough," says Darius. "But the Alliance understands only destruction. These 'schools' are places where children are taught to take the vast, complex gift they have been given and force it through one tiny route as hard as possible. They know nothing."

James opens his eyes, and is surprised to see such contempt and anger on the turian's usually placid face. "I don't understand," he says slowly. "Biotics always join the Alliance, they say you're guaranteed a commision if you pass their tests."

"They are eager to snatch up as many of us as they can," says Darius. "Many of us do indeed receive commissions, and end up on the front lines, using our abilities to murder for the Alliance or the Council without ever truly understanding the nature of the power we wield. The most promising candidates are hidden away, experimented upon, frozen, burned, pitted against wild animals, pushed to the limits of their endurance to see just how much aggression can be squeezed out of them. They are taught nothing but hate and death, and their lives are short and full of agony."

There is something burning in Darius's eyes, and he looks away for a moment, staring off at something James cannot see. When he speaks again his voice sounds tired, and years older. "It is not an easy life we live, James, but there is more for us than what the Alliance and the Citadel offer. Some of us feel this truth, and we invariably become exiles. Our governments do not tolerate our existence outside of their control, and if we show ourselves for what we are we have been known to vanish, suddenly and violently. Some of us wander the galaxy, going from one home to another, never staying in one place long enough to arouse suspicion. Others give into their hatred, joining mercenary bands and criminal gangs to wage war against the governments that abused them. Still others bury their power deep within themselves, living with fear and denial for their entire lives.

"And then there is the Path."

"What path?" asks James.

Darius hooks a talon underneath his chest plate and draws out a golden medallion on a thin chain. He pulls it over his head, tossing it to James. "That's what they call themselves. I don't know who thought it up. Certainly not Joseph 'Lightbringer.'"

James cups the warm metal in his palm. It's in the shape of a circle, formed from the twined branches of a three-forked tree. "I've seen this before," he says.

"Really?" says Darius. "I'm surprised, few have."

"Yeah," says James, remembering a dingy cafe in the slums of Omega. He had been eating out of a styrofoam box, exhausted after a day spent crawling the ducts. There had been a television blaring a news broadcast, and he had craned his neck back to watch. "I remember, it was on the news a few years ago. They found one of these on some starship that was raided by terrorists. That was back before the geth invasion, when Commander Shepard was still alive. I remember, his crew boarded the ship, but the hostages were all dead. They took the necklace off of one of the terrorists."

Darius nods slowly. "Yes, that was long before I joined, but I heard about that raid. Hendrickson has great respect for Shepard, even though their paths have taken them in opposite directions."

James shakes his head. "Who's Hendrickson?"

"Gale Hendrickson is in charge of this ship," says Darius. "The rather pretentious man calling himself 'Lightbringer' is one of his lieutenants. We're headed back to his flagship now, and once we arrive he will be able to answer your questions much better than I can."

James bites his lip, digesting the information. "So you're terrorists, then," he says.

"To some," Darius admits. "Hendrickson is a brilliant commander. I have been with him for less than a month but I have already seen him act with more tactical skill than most turian admirals."

"But he targets innocent people."

"Choose your words carefully, James. Were the 'scientists' who imprisoned and tortured your mate technically combatants?"

James looks down at his hands.

"Those who inflict sorrow for personal gain are never innocent, James," says Darius gently. "Ask yourself who is more guilty, a terrified man in a uniform, acting under orders he does not understand, or a man in a white coat, who deliberately poisons an unborn child to see if he can cause a useful mutation."

James stares at the medallion in his palm. The yellowish metal glows gently in the cabin's dull light. "I don't know," he says quietly.

"Hendrickson believes he knows. For his certainty and conviction, I admire him. It was more than that, though, that convinced me to join him. The most important thing, James, the thing that made me certain I wanted to follow him, do you know what it was? He is not ashamed, James. He is not ashamed of his gift. He and his order revere the same gift that so many hate and fear. Where the Alliance sees only potential for death and destruction, he sees light and love. None of the followers of the Path wear implants. Instead, we're encouraged to enhance our power through meditation and self-discipline, to find constructive ways to use our gift. Some of us are warriors, true, but even more are healers, artists, farmers. I have seen our talent used to knit bones back together, to carve incredible sculptures from solid stone, to coax plants and saplings from the soil. There are temples, few enough now, but they are spreading through the edges of the settled galaxy, safe havens for our kind to gather and share peace and knowledge. The Path is growing, James, and it is giving people like us something we have never felt before, the thing that is more valuable to us than anything else. Hope."

"Why do you keep saying it like that?" demands James. "Why do you keep saying 'we' and 'us?' I told you, I'm not -"

"Do you remember nothing from before you blacked out in the cave?" asks Darius.

"I … I remember Jocelyn was threatening Andre," James says slowly. "She was going to shoot him." He frowns, brushing the shaggy hair out of his eyes. "No, that's not right. She was going to shoot me. But she didn't. There was … electricity. Heat. Something hot, I think, I can't remember. And when I woke up my nose was bloody."

Darius nods. "The strain of the first awakening can cause blood vessels to burst, and in some rare cases it even causes aneurysms in humans. But, ah, I think we would have noticed that by now, so there's no need to worry."

James chews on his lip again, his brow furrowing as he concentrates. The scene in the cave is hazy in his mind's eye, and there is something about his memory of the incident that he has been shying away from. As hard as he pushes, some part of his mind refuses to focus on it.

"When we got to the cave, James," Darius says softly, "The woman was firing at you from nearly point-blank range. And you were just standing there, stock-still."

James shakes his head in frustration. "I don't know, her gun must have jammed or something, I really can't-"

"You stopped those bullets, James. When we got there the entire cave was lit up, and your whole body was glowing violet, brighter than I've ever seen before. We couldn't even look at you, the light was so blinding. I knew you were going to kill yourself if you kept it up, and likely bring the whole ceiling down on us too, so I tackled you and that's when you passed out."

It all comes back so suddenly that James freezes, his eyes stuck wide open as the whole scene replays itself. Andre's pleading. Jocelyn's voice, so cold and emotionless. The click of the gun. And then light, so much light, spilling from within, pushing and forcing its way out, pulsating and burning and energizing. The crack of the gun, faster and faster, the old man's tearful face praying to his god, and James up above it all, floating …

Darius is sitting beside him, one arm wrapped around James's shoulders, and James notices he is shaking. He pulls his arms in tight, trying to stop the shivering, but it goes on, his teeth chattering like pistons.

"It's alright," says Darius, squeezing James's arm. "It was like that for me, too. It's such a shock when it comes late that your body doesn't know how to deal with it. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner though. Usually biotic ability manifests just after adolescence at the very latest."

James isn't sure how long they spend sitting there, Darius waiting patiently and James huddled up against him, but eventually the shaking stops and James manages to unfold himself a bit. He takes a breath slowly, blowing it out and rubbing his eyes. "What now?" he asks, rising and stretching his aching limbs.

"That's up to you to decide," says Darius. "We're due to meet up with Hendrickson and the flagship in a few hours. You should rest until then." He gets to his feet and turns toward the door.

"Wait!" calls James. "Your medallion."

Darius pauses in the doorway. "Keep it," he says, smiling back at James over his shoulder. And then he is gone.