Chapter 3: Recruitment

Sixteen hours after the Relay Chase incident...

Location: Utopia System; near Mass Relay.

Up close, the alien cruiser was an impressive sight. Angular in design and shaped like a bird of prey with hull arranged in overlapping patterns as if to give the impression of a coat of scales or feathers.

"Like a predator that swoops through the stars in search for its prey." Jealousy observed from behind the pilot's seat, taking pleasure in the view as their shuttle approached from the newly built frigate that ferried them hereto, a construct decidedly less aggressive in design with its more oval shape, as expected when the one in charge of designing and building their fleet happened to be one of the virtues; Pardonner, the Aspect that represent human capacity for Patience. "How high would you rate the chance of Vice losing his temper if I brought back a picture of this thing just to show what he missed out on?"

Once again the pilot and their two escorting soldiers were rather surprised at how casually he managed to address the dôji at the core of their mission. It was something that only fellow eldest of dôji could do with ease. For minor dôji on the other hand it was like addressing a living breathing divinity. To refer to him with due reverence came naturally to most of them. To some even more so when taking the church that established itself early on, which Regula joined as its head to keep it from going out of control.

All three waited with some anticipation for the silvery Grand Aspect Milieu's answer when those lips of his parted, "I would ask of you not to bother, if that is your intention."

Dejectedly, Jealousy slumped. "Okay. Just one for the road then."

Milieu subtly rolled his eyes.

"Five seconds to dock, my lords." the pilot reported as he steered them alongside the cruiser, steadily slowing to match its current orbit around the relay before he initiated a fly-in to the ship's opening hangar. Milieu watched with wrapped fascination how the new cockpit system now inimical to dôji-produced craft.

It was sort of reminiscent of how humans drove ancient motorcycles, with an elongated narrow seat on which the pilot sat with a strong frontal lean, legs and arms both extended into and interfaced with control sockets used to control the craft like it was an extension of his body. Alongside this was a harness that wrapped around the dôji and held him in place – though offering slight freedom of movement in how he rose from the seat and tilted to the side, willing the craft along as they finally came into the hangar and set down. "Landing... complete." their pilot continued with an expression of bliss as he relaxed his posture. All impression given that he loved his new job.

"Good work." Milieu smiled as he rose and slowly advanced to the hatch as the guards hastened to open it even as people crowded together outside. It looked like Regula's crew had the place fully under control.

Jealousy stepped out first, and the respectful response from the crowd was to be expected. They however did a double take once Milieu extracted himself from the craft and all as one collapsed to a knee.

Milieu acknowledged them with a brief glance at each. Some would have taken advantage of such devotion, but he did not – never letting his complete authority go to his head. Occasionally though he felt a tinge of amusement, such as this case as they completely did not expect to get such a visitor even after Ultimo did so not that long ago. Jealousy looked away at an opposing wall like it held something of interest, an upward tilt of his lips almost impossible not to notice, sharing in this mild hilarity.

Regula's adjutant approached, head held low, "What do we o-owe the honor of your visit, my lord?"

"Be at ease. I do not plan to devour you." Milieu giggled quietly, a dôji of rather tall stature he towered over the other even if he had chosen to stand straight, "Where may I find Regula?"

"H-he's up on second deck my lord. It holds the crews' quarters, mess hall, training room and infirmary. So it's where we are keeping the organic crew."

"Thank you."

"Of course sir. I am at your disposal should you need further direction."

"Appreciated, but I believe we can take it from here." Milieu politely declined with an oblique look to Jealousy who immediately fell to his flank. "Guards, stay with the shuttle."

The respective minor dôji both nodded, and the aspects moved on to the only apparent way up that did not involve physically ripping a hole upward; the elevator.

Inside there, Jealousy stabbed at the buttons to take them where they wanted to go – no impatience meant as except a number of his sons, he was the only dôji whose gauntlets were made entirely of one curved spike each. An odd design-choice courtesy of Dunstan that Jealousy never had a problem with.

By the time they finally arrived upstairs, Milieu had come to fully expect the second floor to be chock full of people, but the population density was still rather surprising as they advanced to find wherever Regula's currently at – best way to do so except to ask being to follow where the crowd's attention was concentrated.

There were aliens everywhere, sitting on whichever surfaces were present, including the floor. Most of them were turians, with a few individuals that were quite unlike those he had seen so far. Neither Quarian, nor Asari. He picked up the name 'Salarian' from those he passed. But no matter which species, they were all under the effect of Regula's Noh, unresponsive to most stimulus and had to be cared for by the dôji around them – a few of which even tried to feed a bunch of aliens some properly labeled rations in a corner of the mess hall in a show of effort that was positively paternal in its dedication.

Still, finding the aspect of Discipline turned a bit complicated really swiftly as it was downright impossible for one such as Milieu to pass through the crowd without notice and reaction. Something akin to the whole notion of an elephant trying to sneak through a horde of mice. Meaning literally seconds passed before the collective attention in here jumped and span around to face him like it had been electrocuted.

"Honestly, I wouldn't even put a penny on your success in a stealth mission." Jealousy cackled as they came to be watched with an astonishing mix of surprise and amazement.

Milieu sighed, "Very funny Jealousy." and took brief stops every now and then to quietly appraise the work of the minor dôji around them until they came to the infirmary where they finally found Regula, deeply engrossed in the digital contents of a computer.

The bald dôji looked up from the holographic patterns, a blank disinterested stare that transformed instantly into a grin. "No wonder there was such a sudden change of pitch out there. I did not expect my next visitor to be you, Milieu."

"Good to see you, old friend."

"What am I," Jealousy raised shoulders, faking his hurt, "canned beef?"

Regula cleverly smirked, "Would give sense as to why many so often try to corner you... Heh, it is good to see you too."

"Damn right it is."

"I'm guessing you two came here for a surprise inspection."

"In part, but my business lay elsewhere." Milieu replied honestly, "Mostly I am here on behalf of my own curiosity. And for its sake, I would like to know: How long until this ship must leave from here?"

The aspect of Discipline clucked his tongue, "There is no specific time-limit here. These were sent to undertake a kill or capture mission of the rogue cruiser – expected to last until they either complete their objective, lose track of target or runs out of supplies."

"No problem on that side," Jealousy felt the need to mention, "what with that ship's recent demise."

"And these ones' minds and ship logs will reflect the event accordingly," Regula sighed, "except with the knowledge that they shot it down and confirmed that no crew escaped. How is Ultimo doing by the way? He was quite distraught over what happened."

"Still sad, but is now leading recovery efforts with a laser-like dedication." Milieu deeply sympathized with the colleague as he had the wreckage searched in the hope of finding sealed compartments or escape pods with survivors on board. Said people were criminals, but being the kindest of dôji he was always the type to give second chances. At the very least, he would have put them in jail and attempt rehabilitation.

"I sincerely hope he finds what he is looking for." Regula said in concern and turned to him, "But back to the subject of this craft. Since you asked... I'm guessing you need this ship to stay for some more time."

"Just so." Milieu confirmed, his gaze held low, "I wish to loan one of the aliens for an experiment I wish to go through."

"An experiment?" the other frowned.

"Nothing harmful, Regula. It has to do with our ability to perform full-body transformation. I spent centuries studying how to trigger this, only to recently see Vice pull it off by accident with Saren's assistance."

Jealousy smirked devilishly, "Grown into a little bit of a sore point?"

"A little bit, I must admit." the silvery dôji ashamedly confirmed with a shake of his head, "I have no idea why Dunstan placed such a requirement. Almost like he expected aliens to eventually come on over and help us."

"Quite strange, but our honored father never did hide his eccentricity." Regula chuckled heartily, "So with this alien you want to study the transformation in detail?"

"Not just study it, I wish to experience it personally."

"Sounds really dangerous to me." Jealousy involuntarily shivered, "I shudder to think of how powerful your ICON might be, and who knows what the alien might do with that kind of power in its hands..."

Milieu put a reassuring gauntlet on the aspect's shoulder, "Precautions will be taken."

"Well, gather 'round then." Regula nodded at the computer after a few seconds of consideration while rapidly counting with his claws, "We have sixty aliens here, whichever you choose is yours for the duration of your little excursion."

Ultimately he wanted to not randomly take an alien but find a suitable one, so he was glad to see a list provided. Milieu motioned to stand behind his friend and read over the holographic display, filled with names and short summary of information. Carefully he looked over the profiles, intent and deep in his analysis till one finally caught his eye. One that just sort of clicked into place, like a piece of a puzzle. A little grin crossed his expression as he raised a gauntlet to the display and pointed at the name Kasic Khalk.

"That one."

Location: Utopia System; Eden Prime; Oinari village.

When he finally woke, he expected to still be surrounded by the escape pod in which he used to escape. Instead, he found himself in some blank room with a couple of childish drawings on the wall that he could not find a reason to examine in detail. Of more interest was the soft bed, and the mug of crystal-clear water that sat on the shelf next to it.

But what is more, he still wore the armor. Whoever brought him in here had not bothered to remove it, or maybe he or she simply did not know how to. Damned bumpkins.

Lips dry, he released all the seals keeping the helmet in place so he could take it off and toss it onto the floor gracelessly and took the mug, brought it close and drank greedily off of it. Water was not at all what he liked, booze was always the better choice in his opinion - though he always made the point to not drink before a mission. Lack of a broad choice however made him do the pragmatic one.

There was a headache in place, one he tried to flatly ignore as he slowly pushed himself off the soft surface and onto the floor knee-first with a loud thud made all the worse by his heavy armor.

Irritation crept in because of this show of weakness, one he suppressed by taking pleasure to recall his latest exploits in the verge. A region of space the hegemony wanted for themselves... and to claim it discreetly hired crews willing to do what they cannot do officially, such as vast slave-grabs and raids against whichever colony other races have there in order to make them pack up and leave.

Work that went on despite the current buildup of military strength across the galaxy. The hegemony joined in for a good image to the gallery, while keeping a knife on their back sharp and ready. No progress without ambition, and the batarian people has that in spades.

Balak himself was no different.

However it is no excuse for neglect and idiocy. Through a bout of both, his subordinates attracted the turians' direct attention and they ended up fleeing till their ship was ready to fall apart. It was then that they came across an inhabited system and he ordered a beeline made for the habitable planet in the system, during which he covertly made the damaged reactor go critical and abandoned ship amidst the chaos of their arrival.

Doing so, his crew went down with the ship. A sacrifice made to protect the gene-pool if nothing else.

And now here he is, all that is left is snag a transport rated for FTL and go home where he can get a new ship and hopefully a better crew.

Grinning at the perfection of his plan, Balak finally found the strength to rise then left the bedroom to find this place to be quite the cozy little abode. Barely large enough for a small family. The batarian walked across the living room to look out the window, from which he gleamed a brilliant green landscape dotted by enclosures, plowed earth and native animals he found quite unfamiliar in the strictest sense.

Blinking each of his four eyes, Balak frowned and tried to find the kitchen – ignoring furniture that included pictures on top that would have warned him plainly about what this home belonged to along the way – in quest for some food. He did not quire realize till now how hungry he was.

From the door that led into the kitchen, he finally found something of great interest. A familiar and intensive fragrance in the air, coming from a collection of bottles of colored fluid stacked in a crate. Having seen, smelled and drunken every kind of beverages across the galaxy except for the krogan liver-killer called ryncol, he just knew this had to be some sort of ale.

Intent on getting some of it, Balak approached the crate. And was just arms' reach from the nearest bottle when he was finally addressed to by someone just outside his field of vision.

"I know what you're thinking, and I recommend you reconsider... or something or unfortunate will happen."

Balak was caught by surprise and whipped around to see a diminutive figure sit at the table a little further away, and like the case with the animals outside found himself struggling to recognize the species. It was a slender and delicate being with long flowing dark mane, lower in height by at least six inches, and covered by a richly colored robe. The alien's arms were hidden by the table, presumably resting on its legs. It having only two eyes triggered a sense of superiority in his being however as batarians looked down on species with fewer than four eyes, which lent strength to bring up a question of his own:

"And why exactly... would you deny a thirsting man a sip of ale?"

The being smiled, "That which you see there is a liquid that those gas bags outside bloats their outer hides with, and is the only reason they aren't extinct as a species. It contains such a high percentage of natural alcohol-equivalent that any beast stupid enough to try and take a bite off of one will die of alcohol poisoning. Drink from one of those bottles only if you have a distinct desire to depart for whatever afterlife you believe in."

As one could expect, Balak grimaced incredulously and backed away from the crate like it was about to blow.

"Wise choice." the alien continued to smile much like an angel, a devious one. "Assumption can sometimes be more dangerous than ignorance. That said, if you're looking for food... there is a package for you here. So sit down."

Hungry as he was, Balak did not really feel like arguing. So for the moment he accepted the hospitality and sat down in front of said package, fiddling with it for a moment till he found out how to open it. Inside was not a cold or lukewarm patch of food, but a hot meal.

Again he found identification difficult. None of its ingredients really rang a bell except that some parts of it might had come from some plant.

Slightly apprehensive, he fished up a provided utensil within the package and began to feed on it. But surprisingly, he found it to taste quite good. "So," Balak started to voice another question, "can you tell me where I can find the local spaceport?"

"I could," the being replied, "but you won't be going there."

He stopped eating – an act to which his body cried 'foul!'. "What?"

"You'll be staying with me for a while. A pretty long while."

"Is that a joke?" Balak growled, "I have places to be."

"Places to bomb, people to kill." it nonchalantly stated, much to his surprise, "Don't make that face. Your nifty omni-tool told me quite a lot about your choice of... work."

"So what," he defied, "you intend to mete out justice on me?"

"Exactly. You came here fleeing from justice, but you will find no solace here. My people have no extradition treaty with the Citadel – or good relations to speak of for that matter. So I will personally mete it out till that change."

Enraged by such audacity, Balak shot up from his chair and struck the table with both of his fists, to which the being did not even bat an eyebrow. "Impudent creature. Do you want me to break those twigs you call arms?"

To many, such a threat would have been enough to cow them into silence. But to the batarian's utter bewilderment, the alien actually started to laugh. Not a weak one to disguise fear, but genuine amusement. "Batarian. Did I not tell you of the danger of making assumptions?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You really don't comprehend what I am, do you?" it asked in amazement and finally raised its arms into view, to which Balak's eyes turned comically wide. All four of them.

Either of the aliens' arms terminated into the embrace of humongous green and sharply-edged gauntlets wider than the owner's torso, each ending in a quartet of pointed manipulators that spread wide as the alien shrugged, "Here's a hint." it continued and flaunted those gauntlets in front of him.

Staring at it, Balak simply gaped as something clicked into place in his brain together with a growing sense of utter horror. When he first saw this system, he thought it was his best chance to escape – instead he had delivered himself straight into the midst of the very synthetic enemy almost all the powers in this galaxy are arming themselves to fight.

But that fear was not nearly as great as the realization that he, right now, is in the same room as a Dôji. A synthetic he just threatened. It set off something primal inside of him, and Balak unceremoniously screamed in a manner that could only be considered undignified as he whipped around and tried to wildly flee from what could crush him into a ball of mush if it felt properly inclined.

"Guess you finally know. But hold on," one of the great gauntlets extended and grabbed him around the waist, dragging him back and down onto the chair while he flailed like a madman, "we're not done yet..."

Utterly overpowered by the dôji but refusing to give in, Balak clawed like his ancient ancestors at the gauntlet that now held him firmly in place without a stop to his screaming.

"Get a hold of yourself." it quietly demanded over the organic's noisiness, whatever amusement used to be there replaced by boredom with an embarrassed air to it, "Or I'll start to squeeze till you behave or faint – whichever comes first."

At first, Balak did not respond like desired and the grip grew a little tighter – enough that his loud yell was turned into a pathetic squeak. At which point he finally decided to shut up, but stared fearfully at his captor.

"Let's start over again." it spoke slowly, "Don't try to run and I'll let go."

He nodded in compliance and watched as the gauntlet unfolded and withdrew in relief.

"First, introductions." the dôji gestured to itself, "My name is Lyta Lyle. For the duration of your stay you will refer to me with due respect. Now, let me hear your name."

"... I will not give any of my peoples' secrets." Balak stated, body coated by sweat.

"Not interested in that. Give me your name."

"... Ka'hairal Balak."

"Mind if I just call you Balak?"

"Do as you wish..."

"Good." Lyta Lyle smiled, "We are making progress. Now as to your sentence."

"And what..." Balak rose in a dramatic manner from his chair, only to bumped over the head and back into the chair by a quickly brought claw courtesy of the dôji, "Ow... what do you want from me? Betray my people?"

The dôji folded his arms patiently, "No..."

"Rip me into pieces to see how long I will survive without parts of my body?"

"No..."

"Turn me into an obedient cyborg lackey?"

"No..."

"Seal my mind in an artificial world while you use my body to empower your machines?"

"No..."

"Then what. What do you plan to do with me?"

"Make you into my farmhand."

…

…

…

…

"... Huh?"

"Farmhand. You'll be working on my farm with me and do whatever other chores I come up with." Lyta Lyle curtly summarized, "I'll work you to the bone. And at the same time provide sleeping space – the room you slept in that my son used to have – as well as food."

Farmhand? Balak thought incredulously, so far beyond confused his mind was spinning like a top – fueled by the thousand questions that now plagued him. Come to think of it.. they're synthetics, so why in the hell do they have farms? And what the hell did he mean by 'son'? Why is there even a house... or bed?

"By the way, as I understand, slavery is the big thing among you Batarians. Let this experience serve as an eye-opener. As for your armor, throw it away."

Balak did not answer immediately, momentarily struck speechless. "... And what am I supposed to wear?"

With a shrug, the dôji reached into a bag on the floor and extracted a big suit made of thick cloth along with a pair of hard-toed shoes. "This will be your work-suit from now on."

He accepted it with some reluctance, staring as the dôji's expression softened.

"Now go and change your clothes. I'll show you around the place after." Lyta Lyle ordered and clapped his gauntlets together with a strong finality that allowed no further protest, "Now... hop to it!"

Author notes: Yeah, that Balak.