Chapter Seventeen

Two eyes stare back at James from amidst a mess of carnage. Screams echo hellishly in the confined space, and James has the impression of a large armored form hurtling past him. Slightly below his field of vision a human man writhes on the deck, both hands clasped to his throat. All this is inconsequential; the dying men and struggling bodies are all motion and chaos, and James's entire world is focused on the only still point in the room. From the other side of the airlock, two silver irises remain locked with his own, shining out from a wild face streaked with grime and blood.

"JAMES!"

The single syllable rips James out of the trance. The sounds of violence rush back into his ears, and just as he begins to push himself up from the deck a heavy body crashes into him. The impact knocks the wind out of him, a savage burst of agony reminding him of his cracked rib.

"Get back, get back!" The ferocious voice comes from overhead, and through the white haze of pain James sees Joseph step over him, fully armored and brandishing his antique assault rifle. "Darius!"

James can't see the turian from where he's pinned to the deck, but he feels a sudden wave of pressure, as if his ears might pop, and a purple shimmer appears over the entrance to the airlock. "Kal," he tries to scream, but as he draws in the breath to shout something shifts in his chest and everything goes white.

The pain obliterates everything, all sense of time is lost, and when James finally opens his eyes again with tears streaming down his face Kal is gone. The hatch between the two ships is closed, its solid metal face belying the gruesome scene behind it.

The weight on top of him is gone, and when James finds that he can raise himself up on one elbow without losing consciousness again he does so, taking a bleary look around at the aftermath. Joseph is at the fore end of the bridge, hunched over the computer console. Darius stands next to him, gloved hands splayed and crackling with violet energy.

Something moves softly behind him and James cranes his neck, twisting as far as his damaged ribcage will let him to see the woman in the sleek black suit. She stands very still, watching him placidly through her reflective black visor. "Are you hurt, brother?" she asks, her voice cool and monotone, without any trace of real concern.

James winces, pushing himself into a more upright position. "My ribs … broken, maybe, I don't know how many." He catches sight of the body lying next to him and jerks back in surprise. "Zael!"

The armored woman doesn't turn to look at the fallen quarian. "Not broken, if you can move like that. Cracked, maybe. You'll be fine."

James isn't listening. He grabs the quarian by the shoulder, turning him over with a grunt and a stab of pain that leaves spots swimming in his vision. "Zael," he says again. "Come on, wake up!" Desperately he raps on the quarian's visor with his knuckles, remembering how much this annoyed Kal but unable to think of anything else to do.

Zael stirs, and the foggy outlines of glowing eyes appear behind the visor. "James …" he murmurs, turning his head to face the human. "I knew you wouldn't leave me."

James grins despite himself, wrapping his hands around Zael's helmet. "You're gonna be alright, you hear me? You got knocked down pretty hard, but you're gonna be alright."

Zael's eyelids droop, and he raises a hand weakly, brushing James's face with one gloved finger. "I … knew you'd …"

"Take it easy," says James, lowering the quarian's hand. There's something in Zael's voice that makes him slightly uncomfortable, but he's too happy to see the younger man alive to dwell on it right now. James looks up to find that the woman in the black suit hasn't moved. "He's hurt," he says, "but I can't tell how bad. Isn't there anything we can do for him?"

The narrow visor returns his gaze, impassive as ever. "Why don't you heal him?" she asks, her voice flat and distorted through the helmet's filters.

"What? What do you mean? I'm not a doctor, I barely even know anything about mining. I know maintenance, computer systems, not medecine."

"Why don't you heal him," she repeats. "Use your gift if he matters so much to you." She turns, striding up the deck toward Joseph and Darius.

James watches her go, mouthing silently the words that would surely get him killed. I'm not a biotic. I have no gift. He scans the rest of the bridge, his mind a scattered mess clouded by pain. The airlock had opened up, and there had been more quarians, hostages from some conflict on the planet below them. Then confusion, a burst of terrible, primal violence, and, just for the briefest moment, Kal.

Could it really have been him? Kal was supposed to be far away, serving out the rest of his tour of duty aboard some quarian dreadnought somewhere. To think that he would appear here, now … the odds are unthinkable. And yet, James knows without a shadow of a doubt that he knew those eyes, that face, the voice that had called his name before he was swept under the wave of chaos. It couldn't have been anyone else.

James's eyes drift from the sealed airlock to the fore end of the bridge, fully noticing his surroundings for the first time through the veil of doubt and grief. Keith McCormick lies in a pool of blood, his once jovial face nearly unrecognizable. He is breathing slowly, each inhalation a harsh, bubbling sound that sprays flecks of red foam from his lips. His space suit is torn and bloody, his midsection a mess of torn cloth and oozing red. James doesn't need a doctor's education to know that the man is at death's door. On the other side of the cabin the old man Andre and the Anderson boy are huddled against the wall along with two unfamiliar quarians who must have made it through the airlock before the fighting began. The old man has his eyes closed, lips moving silently. Anderson sits by his side, staring at nothing with a glazed expression that James has seen before on the faces of much older men. He can't be more than seventeen, James thinks absentmindedly. Just a kid.

At the front of the bridge where the biotics are gathered it seems that an argument has broken out. Joseph is brandishing a finger in Darius's face, while the turian stands cooly with his arms crossed. James has seen that look before, too, moments before a man had his own bullets biotically forced through his skull. Joseph must not know Darius too well, because he continues waving the finger, bellowing through the heavy distortion of his helmet's vocalizer. "We don't do anything until we hear from captain Hendrickson! Am I getting through to you, you damned xeno? The captain makes the calls here, not me, and sure as hell not you!"

"The captain has his own problems," says Darius. "His ship is clearly in a state of open rebellion. Our best option is to unlink and head for the rendezvous. Hendrickson would tell us the same thing if we could raise him on the comm."

"Are you actually proposing we leave the captain behind?" roars Joseph. "That's not just mutiny, that's blasphemy! You would forsake your brothers to save your own skin!"

Darius doesn't speak, nor does he seem to move, but James can feel the pressure in the room begin to rise again. The hair on his arms bristles, and his eardrums strain and then pop painfully.

"Come in! Ariadne, come in! Are you there, Joseph?"

Both men turn toward the console, and with the sudden release of pressure James lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Joseph glares at Darius, then leans in to the console. "Captain, this is Joseph Lightbringer. What is your bidding?"

"Drop the formalities, for pity's sake man. What's your status, any casualties?"

Joseph clears his throat. "No sir, just a few prisoners."

"Fine, fine. We're having some difficulties with our hostages, it would be best for you to take your squad down to Catreus and wait for us at the rendezvous point."

Joseph glowers at Darius. "Yes, sir."

"And, Joseph," says the captain's voice. "The situation planetside is very sensitive. You are to refrain from taking any action until you receive further instruction from myself. Understood?"

"Understood," the big man growls.

"Very well. Over and out."

Joseph slams the end button on the console and spins around, jamming a finger under Darius's nose once more. "This isn't over! You will answer for your insubordination before the council of elders, and you will atone for your blasphemy!"

James winces, expecting to see a sudden burst of light and energy, perhaps a messy splatter as Darius causes the bigger human to explode from the inside out. Instead, to his surprise the turian only sits back on his heels and smiles, regarding Joseph with an expression that looks to James like amusement. "As you say," he replies, and James realises that as gravely as Joseph may have misjudged the turian, James knows almost nothing about Darius himself.

Joseph gives a final grunt of displeasure and turns away, motioning to the black-clad woman. "Sister! We will need your help to pilot this ship."

The woman nods, stepping over McCormick's still form and making her way around the bulkhead to the Ariadne's cockpit. A few moments later the ship lurches, and James knows that Kal and the mysterious captain Hendrickson have been left behind.

…

The scent of blood is maddening. It sprayed like rain when he had sunk his knife into the human's throat, and now its metallic stench coats him from head to toe, plastering his knotted hair to his shoulders and sticking the soles of his boots to the slippery deck. The needles that pierced his skin and spread their vicious serum through his veins did far more than heighten his immune system. Kal has felt the rage of the beast coursing through him before, has given into the primal bloodlust and the terrible rage that the chemicals unlocked deep within him. Even now, standing in the ruin of the airlock with his pulse thundering in his ears and the beast just barely under control, he can see shadowy images of things he's never known. Running, night, moon, cool air. Trees and grass, scents too vivid to be real, other bodies moving alongside his in the darkness. They had wanted to create some sort of supernatural creature, something more than a super soldier. A living nightmare, the embodiment of primordial terror taken from the annals of human mythology. James had tried to explain it to him, told him about human folktales of men transforming into beasts. The scientists, he reasoned, wanted to tap into a fear that spanned millennia of human civilization to craft a new kind of genetic weapon. Kal knows little of human history. The names of forgotten old-Earth predators are meaningless to him, and all he knows is that freedom from his suit has come at a terrible price. The rage he feels burning his muscles and clouding his vision is not his own, nor is the impulse that sends his tongue snaking out between his lips to taste the human blood spattered across his face. The beast is within him, alive and happy, and Kal doesn't know how long he will be able to keep it in check.

These thoughts nag at the back of his mind, an insistent whine that he refuses to acknowledge. There is no time for caution now. The human's face hangs in his vision, as if its afterimage has been burned into his retinas. There is no question, James is on that ship. As soon as Kal had seen him he had frozen, and after that brief moment had passed there was no time left to react. A biotic aboard the other ship had put up a barrier, the hatch had come crashing down, and in a few quick seconds it was all over. Kal had heard the hiss and the rumble as the other ship had repressurized and pulled away from the link, back into the black ether of space and carrying his mate with it. There was no one left to kill, nothing to chase, just the impenetrable wall of the airlock hatch and the twisting agony of distance growing greater with every second.

Kal paces down the airlock deck, mindless of the carnage beneath his feet. A voice gurgles an incomprehensible plea, fingers grasping at his boot heel, and Kal wrenches his foot away and delivers the only mercy he's able to give. The man sighs, lungs releasing their final breath, and Kal yanks the knife free.

Tannea. The name rings through his hazy memory, reminding him of something important. Where did she go? He pounds the wall, gritting his teeth and trying to force his mind to remember. The rage clouds everything, all thoughts and memories becoming secondary to the beast's desire. The bridge! The other marines, oh Keelah, where did they go?

Kal looks around, blinking the sweat and blood from his eyes and forcing them to focus in the harsh, artificial light. The corridor that led up to the airlock is still empty, although Kal can hear the patter of boots echoing up the hallway. He casts around quickly, searching for a better weapon. The human's discarded rifle still lies at his feet, and Kal picks it up, checking the thermal clip and the sights. The boots are growing closer, and the beast is ready for them. It wants to rip at their throats, to shred skin from muscle and bone and rejoice in the spilling of blood. Kal takes a shaky breath, then a deeper one. No. Have to find Tannea. Got to get out of here. Find James. James! This thought pierce through the scarlet fog, landing in Kal's conscious mind and finding traction. With a quick look down the hallway toward the approaching footsteps, Kal turns in the opposite direction and lopes off toward the bridge.

…

The Ariadne shudders, a deep, violent tremor that throws James against the wall where he sit with the rest of the hostages. At the front of the cabin Joseph staggers, letting out an oath and grabbing at the bulkhead. "Sister," he calls, looking up toward the cockpit. "How do we fare?"

There is an ominous pause, and then James thinks he can hear the faintest touch of anxiety in the woman's voice as she replies. "This ship may not be not as sound as I had thought. We're entering the atmosphere now, but …"

"But what?"

The ship rattles again, with increased force, and below the deck there is a muffled boom. Claxons begin to wail somewhere in the ship's bowels, and James can feel Zael tense up beside him.

"The heat shields might not hold. They've already taken damage, the shields … oh no."

There is real fear in the woman's voice now, and Joseph beats on the cockpit wall. "Remain calm, sister! The cause will prevail. Keep us steady."

"We're coming in too fast," murmurs Zael, wringing his hands. "Keelah, Keelah Se'lai, we're not going to make it. They'll kill us, James, the Ariadne is an old ship. She's not made for direct entry at this speed."

There's another muted explosion from beneath the deck, and somewhere in the walls steam begins to hiss. James feels a gut-wrenching shift of gravity, and as one the hostages begin to slide toward the aft end of the cabin. McCormick's body glides slowly down the deck slick with blood, red droplets cascading up into the air in tiny, perfectly round spheres.

Joseph curses again and slaps at his leg, engaging the magnets in his boot and locking them to the deck with a dull clank. Darius grabs onto the bulkhead, hanging at a strange angle. "We've got to slow down," he says, agitation slipping into his usually calm voice. "We're going to tear the ship apart."

"He's right," blurts Zael, rising up and then falling back on top of James as the ship's deck rattles again. "You're putting too much strain on the gimbal bearings, that's why the gravity shut off! If you push them any farther the capacitors will blow and we'll be in total axis lock!"

The owl-like eyepieces of the monstrous helmet pivot slowly to face Zael. The dark, mirrored glass shows no understanding or mercy.

James grabs Zael's arm, desperately willing the young quarian to shut up, but panic has already taken hold. "Not only that," Zael babbles, waving his hands wildly, "but the heat shields are going too, ask your pilot! They're old Mark Twos, they'll never last through reentry on reserve power! There's a procedure to these things, this reactor is ancient and there are too many systems running, the impedance of these ancient power lines …"

The helmet's eye sockets remain trained on Zael, its metallic war-mask betraying no hint of emotion as Joseph's right arm shoots out, in almost comical isolation from the rest of his body, and strikes Darius a glancing blow to the skull with one heavy, armored gauntlet. The turian lets out a quiet sigh and crumples to the deck as Joseph retracts his hand, letting it drop to rest calmly on the butt of his rifle.

Zael's mouth continues, racing onward as his mind reels back in shock. "The, the impedance, to, to, to boost the power flow to acceptable levels you, you have to, it's, oh Keelah …"

"Are you finished, quarian?" Joseph's voice is truly terrible in the confined space, shredded and amplified by his suit's speakers, echoing over the whining claxons in the ship's cockpit.

"I, I, I," Zael stutters.

Joseph turns away, hefting his rifle with no apparent effort and raising its barrel to address the remaining prisoners. "Glorious is the day, my friends. Today is the day of your redemption, rejoice! Yesterday you were but filthy parasites, pillaging the bounty of sacred life force from the veins of innocent worlds. Today, fate has decreed that you shall become martyrs! Your insignificant lives have coincided with ours, and it seems you shall be spared from another cycle of fruitless reincarnation. Make your peace with your false gods, and prepare for eternity!"

"He's mad," breathes James, a chill running down his spine.

"You too, brother!" Joseph swings the barrel of the gun around to face James. The bayonet under the barrel is stained a dark crimson with McCormick's blood. "It's a pity you were never able to fully reach your potential as one of us, but how glorious is your premature salvation!"

Zael collapses, hugging himself into a small, quivering ball. James can hear him still muttering to himself about gimbals under his breath.

"You think this empty death will save your soul, boy?"

The rifle swings around, its wicked blade pointing this time at the old man Andre.

The old man rises slowly, taking a moment to balance himself on shaky knees. "Plenty of men have died for holy wars, son," he says, straightening up to look Joseph in the face. "Plenty of them bigger, stronger, and more zealous than you."

In his suit of armor Joseph towers over the older man. "What do you know of glory, old man," he growls. "What do you know of sacrifice? You've wasted your time in this life. Since my awakening, I have devoted every waking moment to training for the cause. There is nothing empty in this death, far from it! To devote a life to truth, from birth until death, that is the best life a man can ask for! You are undeserving of this end, give thanks to providence for your chance at redemption!"

Andre smiles grimly. "'For whoever seeks to save his life shall lose it, but whoever loses his life for me shall save it.' Recognise that, boy? I didn't think so. That's a passage from a book, an old and dusty book that not many alive today can claim to have read."

"Your sacred texts won't save you, old man. There is but one true path, and one true cause. Embrace your death with dignity."

"'To do what is right and just is more acceptable to the lord than sacrifice.'" Andre raises a quivering finger, leveling it at Joseph. "That's from the same book. It's funny how zealots always pick out the parts of faith that justify their whims."

"Enough!" Joseph raises his rifle. "You have been given enough chances for a glorious death, heretic. Shut your mouth or be cut down like a dog."

Andre takes a step toward Joseph, finger raised accusingly. "Can you say you've led a truly righteous life, boy? Do you have any idea what is right, or just? Look at these hands, look at them!" The gun doesn't move as Joseph looks down at Andre's outstretched hands. The man's palms are a light pink, in contrast with his nut brown skin, and creased over with hundreds of fine white lines.

"These hands have travelled light years in this 'wasted' life, boy," he says, taking another step. "These hands raised houses from the ground, they have sown seeds and helped newborn children into the world. What have your hands done that is right or just? What will you show for yourself when you stand before god?"

"Your false god has no power," hisses Joseph. "You have wasted your days truly, old man. You have sinned grievously, and even now you squander your only chance at absolution."

"There is no power in death," says Andre softly, taking one more step toward the larger man. "It is only the end of life. Martyrdom is attractive to the young. Your head is filled with lies, with violence and anger. You are the one wasting your chance. To die now, after a short life so full of bitterness, would be a tragedy." He looks over his shoulder to James and Zael. "I will take the lord's hand when the time comes. But you, and these boys here, your lives have only just begun! You know nothing of true love or loss, nothing of the nuanced complexity of life that dogma is so adept at concealing. Your time will come, as it will for all of us, but that day doesn't have to be today."

Joseph holds the older man's gaze for a long moment. And then, with a slight twitch of his shoulders, he drives his bayonet deep into Andre's chest. The blade sinks into the old man's ribcage with a wet crunching sound, sticking for a second before Joseph tears it free and pushes Andre's frail body down to the deck with a pathetic thump.

"No!" James leaps up, staring as Andre rolls over onto his side, letting out a hideous, choked cough that sends viscous blood splattering over the deck. James's fists clench and he grits his teeth, furious at his own impotence. "You're insane!" he yells. "You're all insane!"

Joseph's helmet turns slowly to face him. "Are we, brother?" He raises his bayonet to the helmet's eye socket, watching as Andre's blood slides down the jagged blade. "No, he had his chance. We shall be saved, yes, those of sound heart and firm conviction shall be saved. It is certain."

"No one's going to be saved," screams James. He can feel the events of the past twenty-four hours bubbling up inside him like fiery spirits, twisting his stomach with an intoxicating mixture of anger and fatigue. "You've all completely lost it! There's no one waiting to give you a gold fucking medal for killing each-other! There's no god that would condone this shit!" Spittle flies from his mouth and his vision begins to cloud over. This isn't real, none of this can be real. It must be a fever dream.

"You're in shock, brother. That is understandable. If you require sedation-"

"I don't require anything from you!" James backs away, his head spinning. He can't tell if it's the Ariadne's faulty gravity or a mixture of sleep deprivation and concussion, but he's having trouble staying upright. "I'm not your brother! I'm not a biotic! It's a mistake, it's all a mistake!" James stumbles, fails to catch his balance and sinks down to the deck. "It's all a mistake," he mumbles, and the harsh light of the Ariadne's cabin seems very far away. "Kal'Reegar …"

"Lieutenant!" The woman's voice from the cockpit sounds tinny, surreal. James struggles keep his eyes open, but his mind keeps drifting back to his last night on the Citadel with Kal. They had been out on a balcony somewhere over the Presidium.

"What is it, sister?"

"Lieutenant, the main reactor's showing ninety-percent overload! We've got to pull up now, or it'll go into meltdown!"

There had been a space between them for the past week, an almost tentative gap. Like two docked ships. …

"I don't want you to go," he had said.

"Just keep the ship steady, sister." Joseph turns his back on the hostages, bracing his armored bulk against the bridge console. "Glory to the cause, may justice and eternal light prevail."

"I don't want to go," Kal had said, and he had put his hand over James's. Somehow, after a week of sleeping in the same bed and indulging in all the frenzied intimacy of the recently traumatized, that one simple gesture sent the greatest shiver of all dancing down his back. When Kal held him in his arms later, still in the shy hours of the morning with James's face buried in the furrow between shoulder and neck and breathing in the scent, both alien and familiar, that he had come to know well over the past week, in that moment of stillness and quiet James had closed his eyes as tight as he could and willed himself to commit every detail to memory. He had raised his fingers to Kal's back and, with his eyes closed still, he had traced over the scars that left pale contrails over the canvas of his lover's skin. There were so many of them, and James has wondered from time to time what he could learn about Kal by memorizing their jagged calligraphy. A lifetime of roughness, roughness at odds with the tender vulnerability James knows he is the only one privileged enough to see.

"I don't want to go," Kal had whispered again, much later when he had thought that James was asleep. He had run a single finger down James's face and then pulled away, suddenly. When James had awoken, he was gone.

"We're locked in." The pilot's voice is faint, and it comes to James as if from the end of a long tunnel. "We're breaking through the exosphere now. Thirty seconds until reactor meltdown."

James pulls himself upright. There's an orange glow coming from the front of the ship, seeping in around the bulkhead from the cockpit. As James stumbles up the deck it grows and grows until he has to shield his face with one arm. A terrible heat prickles against his skin, and as he forces his way forward the deck tilts until it seems to be almost vertical.

Joseph's helmet tilts to face James, his misshapen silhouette thrown into harsh relief against the light. "This is your moment of truth, brother. Will you embrace glory with us? Or will it be the blade for you, too?"