IV: ZURICHSEE
Liveship Rayya (Migrant Fleet)
Valhallan Threshold
"And here we are," Tali said as she swiped a complex pattern upon the container door console with her finger. "Just need to get a couple of things and then we can leave."
There was a strained sound of aged metal and Shepard caught grease-laden locksets as the door slid aside. Tali quickly stepped into the open container while Shepard took a moment to observe his surroundings.
The cargo hold of the Rayya was deep and expansive, one of seventeen on the ship. The quarians had created a network of container ISOs and ladders within this particular bay—ramshackle catwalks spanned the thin spaces between the rows and maneuvered against the container columns, which were positioned in stacks of four. Against the walls of the hold, crates for materials and provisions had been netted in place. Lubricated overhead rails ran in highways, configured for easy cargo manipulation. The warbling chatter of Khelish warped around the area and the hollow pops of settling metal echoed from the interior populace.
The place was alive with activity, with plenty of quarians positioned upon all levels of the bay, though Shepard did not miss that everyone here was giving both him and Tali a wide berth. As if they needed to be out of earshot to share whispers or rumors.
One could easily spot the human's face tightening. Tali certainly did. She understood his masked anger. He had just spent the last half an hour yelling down the admirals of the Conclave back in one of the gathering areas after they had intended to try her for treason against her own people, supposedly for being careless with sending parts back to the fleet that could very easily be used to reactivate geth, which was a cardinal sin on the Migrant Fleet. The admirals had initially sounded pretty confident that they would be able to secure a guilty verdict and make an example out of her, despite her innocence and the lack of irrefutable evidence against her, but this supposed plan of theirs had hit a snag when Tali's commander had been appointed as her advocate in her defense.
Because of Shepard, Tali had been able to contain the rampant geth situation on the Alarei, the ship that had registered the containment breach. Unfortunately, they had not been able to save the crew, the only casualties of their collective mistake, one of which had been Tali's father. But the drives to the Alarei had contained the proof that the admirals had been seeking all along.
It turned out that her father, Rael'Zorah, had deliberately been activating geth in the hopes of experimenting new weaponry on them for use in warfare. This had been a direct violation of Migrant Fleet laws and would have meant certain exile if he had lived and had been brought to trial. Even Tali had been shocked at her father's work, for these were acts so flagrant that she knew that this was the worst kind of incident regarding geth research that had ever happened in the fleet's history. Exposing the truth would have meant the disgrace of the Zorah name and of her father. Tali had repeatedly pleaded with Shepard to bury the truth to protect Rael's name, despite knowing he was truly guilty.
So, armed without the slightest shred of proof that could exonerate her, Shepard had immediately launched into an all-out attack upon the admirals' strategy upon their return to the Rayya, rightfully calling out the trial as a sham, pure theater that was all a setup to gain political clout amongst the supporters of the individual admirals. There was barely contained venom in his words as he had to explain to the admirals, point by point, of how dishonorable it was to even dare of branding Tali as a scapegoat in their investigation. Essentially, Shepard had dared the admirals to follow through on their intentions, for they had no proof and he was not going to humor their politicking any more. It was as if he was intimating that exile would be doing Tali a favor, cutting her free from all of this pointless political bullshit.
And amazingly, to Tali's complete surprise, the decision had been unanimous. She had assumed the judgment had been rendered before the trial had begun, but it seemed the effect that Shepard naturally possessed could extend to even the most battle-hardened of quarian tacticians.
No one had even spoken like that for her. Ever. This had been a trial and all, but Tali had been surprised by the absolute passion and righteous anger that Shepard radiated as he had launched into his defense of her. For her. He had seen this trial for what it was immediately: a farce. He had been enraged—not at her—at the whole sorry situation for the emotional torment that had been inflicted upon Tali, from being accused of treason and having to live with the knowledge that her father was now dead from his own mistakes.
Wisely, Shepard had refrained from getting too personal when referring to Tali in the trial. He had repeatedly painted her as a valuable member of his crew, one that had earned her place. But even Tali had noticed the vigor in his body language. The forceful enunciation of every word as he lanced them towards the ones that could decide her fate.
It was not what he said that affected her so. It was how he had said it.
"I don't care if you've already made your decision," he had practically spat to the admirals as he made a point to look each one in the eye. "Whatever happens, I will always make sure that Tali has a place to call home, even if you won't give her one. A place on the Normandy will always be set aside for her. Because by putting her on trial today, you've relinquished your right to call her part of your crew. She's now one of mine and you'll have to live with that consequence."
Her heart had done a rapid pit-a-patter when he had shouted that. She had nearly swayed against the railing, certain that she had misheard the man.
Home. Tali had wondered if Shepard had truly known what he was promising. If he understood the implication what that meant for a quarian. She had to tell herself that he was being chivalrous and not at all making any insinuations that his species would not normally associate with anything else, much as her heart wrenched thinking about it.
But there had been even more he had promised her. A place on his ship. To be a permanent fixture on board, a part of the crew, indeed. There was an underlying meaning in his words that the admirals could not possibly detect, but she could. There had been a sad longing in his voice, a wounded timbre.
He was defending a friend. Not just someone in his crew.
Tali was had started to wonder then if she was truly starting to love the human.
But now, Tali was just looking at Shepard as he blankly stared into space, down the ribbed corridors between the container stacks. That distant look upon him. He had noticed that there were some quarians here were doing their best to steer clear of Tali, almost as if she had been exiled anyway. It was like he was contemplating heading over to a couple of them and barking at them to show her more respect. He didn't, obviously, for that would have not endeared him to the Rayya's crew and would have embarrassed Tali something awfully.
"Hey," Tali said, which had the effect of ripping his gaze back over to her. She beckoned with a finger, already halfway in the container. "Come in. I want to show you something."
Shepard complied and Tali hit the lights. A cylindrical bulb spasmed and lit the rectangular interior with a weak and dying orange light. Long shadows loped upon the ground from just the one lamp.
After taking a couple of steps inside, Shepard just stopped and placed his hands upon his hips.
"Oh, Tali," he murmured, so soft that she barely caught it.
Tali could only sadly smile as she watched Shepard take in what had been her actual home for the past two years. The container itself was barely four meters long, not a scrap of furnishing adorning any surface to advertise any individuality. But what was the most devastating aspect to Shepard was the fact that the container boasted six beds on either side—twelve in total. It was what Tali was used to, but she could tell that this was very different for the human.
She bent down, towards the bed on the right side against the far wall. Patted the thin blanket that lay atop a foundation of plastic sheeting and temporfoam. "This one's mine. Never used it much. I was always out on missions, running errands for father. I don't think I ever had the anticipation of sleeping here, to be honest. I think you can see why."
Shepard rubbed his jaw, like the beginnings of an ache was pulsating. "Tali. This is…" He bit back a sigh. "You shouldn't have had to live like this. This is just nothing but—"
"—Squalor," Tali finished with a nod. She looked at the man. "I know. Believe me, Shepard, I know."
As she was saying this, she slid open the drawer that was located under her bed. She reached in and took out a pistol, which she attached to a spare holster at her hip, and a small toolchest of specialized equipment.
Shepard struggled to move through the container—the beds were so close together that he had to shimmy sideways just to get close to Tali.
"They treat cadets at the academy with more space." Shepard continued to look upon the makeshift living quarters with a growing astonishment. "There, they never bunked more than four to a room and they gave us plenty of space to move about in."
"Yeah, well, they don't do that here," Tali suddenly snapped at him, perhaps more forcefully than she had intended to.
The human's mouth flattened, understanding his mistake. He looked like he was about to say something further, but decided against it. It was not yet the time. Especially since he had just unintentionally put down Tali's living arrangements, capping off what was likely the worst day of her life. He would apologize later, when it was not as fresh.
But Tali gave a savage shake of her head and stood. "I'm sorry, Shepard. You didn't deserve that from me."
"No, no. You didn't deserve that from me. I'm the alien here, ignorant to… well… to everything around me. I was trying to make a comparison, but it was done in poor taste. Poor taste and appalling timing. I'm just… seeing this, I'm just furious, you know?" He picked at a clear plastic tarp from a nearby bed that someone had undoubtedly used as a blanket. "Furious that you and everyone else has to live like this. That this is what you had to deal with. You've put up with so much, did everything for your people, and what do they do? Throw you on trial. The lack of loyalty that I saw today was… astonishing."
Tali sadly smiled under her helmet. The light flickered as a distant moon in her helmet. "Things aren't as simple as they should be, Shepard."
The man ruffled his shorn hair agonizingly. "Doesn't meant that they can't be. I mean, look at what they call bunks here. This container should only hold four, max. Yet, they're cramming you in here like livestock."
"There just isn't any space, Shepard."
The commander's face went blank. He sighed again. "I know you've said it before. I just can't believe it. I finally understand it now—what your people have been doing, whether intentional or not."
"What's that, Shepard?" Tali lifted her head.
He gave a laugh of disbelief. "The galaxy hasn't been the only one perpetrating the negative stereotypes about your people. The older generations are doing that themselves. Treating the younger quarians like this. Giving them access to very little resources. Putting on these shows to demonstrate what happens if you step out of line. Have you ever thought that they've been holding you back from your true potential, Tali?"
"It's part of finding our place," she assured him, but a note of unease had crept in. "This is the way that things have been for hundreds of years. Everyone knows this."
"Just because it's precedent doesn't make it right," Shepard seethed. He whirled in place (not easy to do in such cramped confines) as if he was looking for an object to hit in close proximity. He eventually succumbed to the notion that destroying anything here would be universally seen as a ingrate action. He swallowed down his rage with a few deep breaths.
Tali watched him, quietly observing the man wrestle with all of these contradictions. Maybe she could explain it better, given time. It would be like the old days, with her back in the drive core of the SR-1, explaining quarian society and her upbringing to him. Perhaps she thought—or had hoped—that the rudimentary basics of her people that she had outlined to him all those years ago would've been enough preparation. To see it in practice, apparently was something else entirely.
Shepard dipped his head, choosing his next words carefully. "I would've thought you'd be angrier."
Standing so close that their shoulders were nearly touching, Tali lifted up a hand. Her palm glowed yellow from the lamp's ruddy light.
The human saw the offered limb and took it. His armored gauntlet was solid in her grip, but she was able to squeeze his hand hard enough to make the alloy begin to creak.
"I am angry," she assured. "But that's not going to help me now. It won't change what has already happened, nor will it make any difference." She clung to his hand, like she was adrift at sea and if by letting go, she would lose him forever. "Please don't be mad for me, Shepard. I've been angry for so long… without you… but I don't want to be like that anymore. There's just no point."
The human was stone for a moment. His feelings were evidently difficult to disengage from. How easy it was to succumb to his innermost feelings and embody that rage, just for a moment, imagining that it was the justified path.
Yet, because of her plea, Shepard could not hope to muster anything contrary to that wish.
"Okay," was all he said, because there was nothing else he could say.
Something was ringing in Tali's chest. A pure resonation. She closed her eyes and slowly breathed out in relief. Her hand finally slid from Shepard's grip, fingertips brushing delicately over his. She willed her body to remember that touch, for that was a gesture that, no matter if things didn't pan out the way she hoped, had come from someone who truly cared about her.
She wanted to leave, but there was one last item in Tali's drawer that she had to get. Without further ado, she reached in and grabbed it. It was a lump of a grayish rock that had a dull sheen to it, barely bigger than the quarian's fist. She hefted it for a second and held it out for Shepard to take. He turned the rock over in his hands, examining it in the poor light.
He raised an eyebrow. "It's platinum ore. Several dozen troy ounces worth. You realize how expensive this is, Tali?"
"I do," she said as she took the rock back. "And I'm not selling it. My father gave it to me when I was a child. Said that Rannoch was made of the same base elements and that I could very well be holding a piece of the original matter that formed our homeworld, since he brought it back from the Perseus Veil on one of his missions when he was mining asteroids."
Shepard smiled politely and stared down at the greasy floor of the container. Tali swore he could see a flash of pride cross his face, but only for a moment.
The man straightened, eyes seemingly piercing Tali's visor. Seeing more than just a shrouded flicker of expression. Looking beyond the obvious. "You ready to get out of here?"
"Yeah," Tali said as she slipped the ore into a side pocket, which bulged and sagged against her. "I'm not coming back to this place."
Zurich
The ancient European bells chimed. At least three different melodies from three different churches.
The city at night rippled, the geodesics of the visible stars charting their courses through history overhead. Traffic honked and blared upon the streets, creating channels and arteries of light and noise, etching their artificial pathways upon the lapels and creases in the very landscape.
Tali stood at the water's edge of the lake that bordered the city. The opera house was close by—eddies of faces and silhouettes upon the flat gray plain in front of the building swept by in an endless stream. She was wearing her incognito apparel—one quarian in a crowd, virtually unrecognizable. No one stopped to question her or ask for an autograph. She could at least exist in her own private bubble, isolated from the rest of the galaxy.
A wan glow from lights at the other end sluiced across the surface of the lake. Tali walked along the path that bordered the water, lost in her thoughts.
She could walk until morning, she felt like. Just like this. Alone. Her anger unable to touch anyone but herself.
Zurich was quieter than places like the Citadel. People around here mostly kept to themselves, respecting each other's privacy. The smell of cooking dough and frying meat reached her nose as she passed by various restaurants as she walked over the rigid cobblestones of the pathway, though the smells that she could actually perceive were filtered by her helmet. Glowing green crosses marked pharmacies upon the buildings. The occasional hotel could be glimpsed, crammed in between a couple of markets, that were nothing but staircases that rose up to the stories above.
A thin wind blustered in from across the lake, Alpine gale, searing against Tali's thin frame. She was wearing Shepard's Yamamoto jacket, which protected her from the worst of the chill. She shoved her hand into the pockets of the jacket, her vocabulator barely disguising her rippled sigh as she hunkered closer to herself, trying to stay warm out here.
She told herself to stay. Just a little longer. Sometimes, the atmosphere of the hospital could get a little too overbearing for her. Moderation was required in order to keep her sanity. Hence why she tended to take walks at night, and partly because the reduced visibility helped camouflage her against the ever-present crowd of residents and tourists. Smells of local cuisine, mountain water, and a hint of evergreen were all so foreign to her here. But conglomerated into this morass of civilization that it was comforting, knowing that others had made their lives surrounded by such stimuli.
She walked until she got as far as the public bathhouse, which jutted out onto the lake upon a pier of its own. Tali could not, of course, take advantage of such an amenity, but she used the landmark as a sign for her to turn back around and make her way over to her apartment to turn in for the night. She was still a creature of habit and the unwanted locale of sleep always reared its head without fail around this time.
At least, she would have done so, had she not almost run headlong into the krogan that had been walking just behind her.
"I'm sorry about that," Tali held up her hands as she stumbled away, her voice lowering in the middle of her sentence to disguise herself from any gawkers. "I wasn't—" She only then looked up and recognition slammed into her like a concussive round. "Wait… Wrex?"
The sodium lights of the lampposts deepened the grooves of scars that trickled across the face of Urdnot Wrex. The krogan was several feet taller than Tali and his reptilian features tended to give pause for anyone not of his race. But the smile that snaked across Wrex's face, despite his judging and crimson eyes, was the sort of expression reserved for his closest friends, one that Tali inherently recognized.
"I was wondering when you were going to realize I was here," Wrex rumbled, his voice sounding like stones being crushed under a rampaging avalanche.
He was wearing a dark gray armor with crimson streaks upon the shoulders like a powerful chitinous creature had attempted raking him open with its claws. Not that his getup meant that he was in danger of being assassinated in this quiet city—every krogan had a disposition in favor of fighting and warfare. It was in their nature, and to a lesser extent, their upbringing. Wrex was no different, though he did possess a unique kind of savviness and ability to think in the long term. That turned out to translate well with political matters, which was rare for a krogan, who typically tended to diplomatize with weapons. Someone once affectionally called Wrex a "mutant" in that regard, which only made it natural that he found a means to rise above his people to become the overlord of all krogan, and of Tuchanka, their homeworld. He had led them through the Reaper War, thick and thin, and had presided over the cure to the genophage, the synthetically developed bioweapon that had drastically hindered the probability of successful live births that had been brought upon the krogan centuries ago. Through him, the krogan had found their former glory and had been set on the path to making themselves a united and powerful race once again.
Suffice to say that Tali was in the presence of the most powerful krogan alive.
Tali found herself enveloped in a krogan bear hug, though the massive alien took care not to crush her ribs from doing so. They broke apart, but Wrex could not keep the grin from sliding off of his face. He affectionally ruffled her head, moving her sehni out of place. After serving with her on board the Normandy, Wrex had grown quite fond of the quarian, developing a sort of patriarchal bond with her after all the scraps they had been through together.
"Not going to ask me how I found you, eh?"
"Liara, obviously," Tali responded as she moved her head covering back into its proper position. "Also, I don't think there are many quarians on this part of the world."
"Fair point. But you're right—Liara did tip me off. Same with the staff in that hospital up the hill. Seems they know your daily patterns. Said you'd be down here. Just had to look for the one person in the crowd encased in that full-body suit."
The quarian briefly scowled. Was she really that predictable that the hospital knew every single move she made? Sloppy of her—she made a note to switch her routine up in the future.
"So much for incognito," she said. "But it is good to see you, Wrex." A frown came to her. "Were you here to check in on Shepard?"
The krogan spread his arms magnanimously, like he was about to move in for another hug. "That was part of the reason why I was here. Didn't get far—just peeked in through the window of his room. Couldn't see much except curtains, which was how things were when I was last here. Wasn't much after that; damn nurses kept insisting that access to his room was for close friends and family. Clearly, they didn't believe me when I said I was the former. But mostly, I was here for someone else. There was a better reason for making a detour over here, to this… all-too-clean part of this planet."
"Who?" Tali asked, though the answer came to her before Wrex could say it.
"I'm standing in front of the reason right now," Wrex said matter-of-factly, his eyes betraying some semblance of confusion. "Come on. This old krogan's lived to be over a thousand—I've learned to appreciate the time we have with people who are only there for a fraction of my lifespan. Wanted to see what you were up to, perhaps impart some of my old krogan wisdom upon you."
Tali giggled, which she felt was uncharacteristic, but Wrex had a habit of stating things so succinctly that it came off as amusing to her.
"Wrex, the last bit of 'old krogan wisdom' you gave me was on how to tamper with a grenade's ignition system to overcharge its detonation radius. Before then, you taught me how to program a carnage shot in my shotgun. Are you saying that you have bits of wisdom in you that aren't related to warfare?"
"What can I say?" Wrex shrugged as he got into lockstep beside her, both now heading north toward the city center. "I'm capable of learning a few new things, even at my age. Some of the people I've hung around had the bad habit of changing my perspective."
That they did, Tali considered. With the benefit of hindsight, it was clear that Wrex's trajectory had been so plainly mapped by the interactions he had been roped into while on the Normandy. From ruthless mercenary to a somewhat benevolent leader, it seemed like Wrex's tale was the sort of rags to riches parable that Tali would have been riveted to read about as a young child. No doubt that legends about Urdnot Wrex, ruler of Tuchanka, were being submitted to publishing houses as they spoke.
They had to dodge a gaggle of passerby as they headed up the street. "Entschuldigung," one of them said to Wrex as they narrowly missed barreling into him.
Wrex partially turned in the direction of the near-miss. "Good thing my translator was malfunctioning. I wasn't just insulted, was I?"
"They speak different languages on Earth, Wrex," Tali reminded him. "Over here, it's German. But it doesn't work well with our translators. It's a very literal language. Doesn't translate very well to Khelish and it seems you're having just a hard time as I am."
"Explains a few things. Then are your optical implants also seeing some of the signage around here like they've crammed separate words together to form a singular word?"
"That's how they do things around here."
The krogan snorted. "Damn weird."
The city hummed and throbbed around them as they walked. The crossed the Limmat using the wide Quaibrücke and made their way up Fraumünsterstrasse towards the collection of churches in the distance. They passed by banks made out of powerful gray stone, monolithic and possessing an almost governmental righteousness. Oaken doors barred the way to trendy coffee shops past immaculate glass windows. Dark pipes crammed into nooks lightly gurgled. The chains on parked bikes gave gentle rings in the stiff breeze.
Along the way, they came across entire blocks that were covered by scaffolding and tarps, the workers having left for the night. Zurich had not come from the war completely unscathed and a few of its lovely buildings had suffered as a result. But the damage was being quickly repaired—as most of the city was intact, it had more resources to devote to its reconstruction. A holographic billboard upon the side of the site estimated that the finalized completion of one particular block of homes would be finished in less than a year. Impressive speed.
Eventually, they stumbled upon Münsterhof square, which was a wide-open area next to one of Zurich's many churches, nearly surrounded by medieval buildings. Restaurants and cafes lined the ground, with tables and umbrellas spilling out into the square. Patrons drank their cappuccinos or liquor, aimless chatting. A monument of a man riding a horse nearby wept with green copper.
Wrex turned in place, taking in the sights of the city. Even with the light of the town draping and molding upon his armor, it was still dark enough for him to go rather unnoticed to the population.
"Strange how they don't build them so tall here," Wrex nodded at the buildings as a whole which, with the exception of the nearby church, didn't rise above five stories.
"You know, I wondered the same thing," Tali added. "So I looked into it."
"Was there an answer?"
"A municipal building regulation. High-rises are limited in this area. They can only be built outside the boundaries of this district."
"Hmph," the krogan grunted in confusion. "That's what I don't get. This city was built to cram in as many people as possible, yet the bureaucracy around here would rather double down on its original architectural plans. Keep the design of the last few centuries instead of building something better."
Tali nodded sagely next to Wrex. "Liara had a similar observation when she was here. Said that it was the asari way to pave over the old with the new, if the end result was superior."
They headed up one of the thin alleys, with Wrex taking up more than half of the width of the path.
"Not unlike the krogan," he rumbled, then gave a pause. "At the height of our growth, that is. We were building cities like crazy back on Tuchanka, always levelling tired old ideas to make way for something better. Before the genophage, we were only beginning to come together as a species. Villages were falling out of favor, replaced by sprawling cities. Our world became more and more interconnected, congested with our people. Urbanization spread like a virus, spreading across the sand faster than a thresher maw."
Wrex craned his head upward as they headed up a staircase single-file. Noted the steepled rooftops. The painted shutters adorning each window. The metallic lattice of the lampposts that jutted out from the irregular walls.
"Hmm," the old krogan mused. "Yet the intent is no different. Humans built their cities to maintain these close connections, yet chose to keep remnants of the past as reminders of their heritage. Their history. Perhaps the krogan should have been a little more humble in that regard. It was our casual abandonment of our past that caused us to become lost for generations after we were plagued by the genophage. Maybe the humans understood those hidden ties better than we did."
The avenue widened, allowing the two friends to walk alongside one another again. "The humans found a way to intertwine bygone times with their need for togetherness," Tali said.
"And, for a time, krogan embraced the antithesis. Look where that got us."
"I'd say it worked out," Tali shrugged, a teasing note embedded in her voice. "Unintentionally so. You didn't have such lofty hopes until you met…"
She had to bite her lip to keep from saying the name. A cramp was already rising in her chest, her previous amusement now but a distant memory. Shards of carbon, burning in the marrow of her subconscious, rippling their blistering heat. A headache already cropping up and a dull ringing intruding in her ears.
To his credit, Wrex did not press the matter further, instead choosing to spend his time window shopping as casually as he could muster. They passed a boutique clothing store ("I don't get it"), a series of watch shops ("fucking ugly"), and an art gallery whose modernist offerings so hopelessly confused the old krogan that he could not even muster a disparaging word against them.
The city glowed with ancient neon and warm diffusion. The night sky was the color of an inkblot upon seawater, peppered with distant and shimmering buckshot.
They found themselves upon an irregularly shaped bridge, returning them once more over the Limmat.
"Are you going to be staying here for very long?" Tali asked.
"Not in this city," Wrex said. "There's some sort of powwow going on in a nearby town by the name of Berlin. They're gathering all of the galaxy's leaders for a little 'chat.' One more summit, I guess. Citadel still isn't considered safe, with all of the repairs they're doing to it right now."
Instinctively scanned the horizon, Tali reminded herself that she would not be able to see the Citadel at this time of night. Its rotation was not completely geosynchronous and it tended to revolve around Earth faster than the planet was rotating. Right now, the massive space station, formerly the seat of galactic democracy, was more than likely on the other side of the planet.
"Still holding those confabs, trying to maintain some semblance of order?" Tali rasped sarcastically.
This time, the krogan was the one to plaintively shrug. "The politicians know the score. If they don't want another krogan rebellion, they'll be quite eager to keep the peace. I'm still holding to our demand for getting our original territory back, you know."
"Wrex…" Tali sighed. "Just… try not to kill anyone, okay? You worked hard for this."
A toothy grin flashed in Wrex's mouth that Tali could not tell was mischievous or genuine.
"I know. I'm not going to screw things up. Not after we've got so far. Bakara would never forgive me if I became my usual belligerent self at the moment when it counted, right?"
Tali tilted her head. "How is Bakara doing, anyway? You two… uh… still planning for children?"
Children. She hadn't even realized what she had said before she said it. Keelah.
Wrex positively beamed, not noticing his friend's anguish. Bakara was his mate and a shaman of the krogan people. They had both met on the salarian homeworld of Sur'Kesh during the war, fought together while on the battleplains of Tuchanka, and had developed a tenuous friendship that quickly evolved into something more.
"We've gotten down to things rather quickly," he said with his trademark gravelly chuckle. "Actually, we just found out a couple of months ago. Pregnant. Twins."
The quarian's hands clasped together. A warm feeling rose within her and she bounced on her toes, momentarily forgetting her melancholy. "Congratulations, Wrex. If anyone deserves it more—"
"If one of them is a girl, we're naming her after you."
Tali winced behind her visor. A tight and panicked grin. "Please don't."
All of a sudden, there was a shuffling noise and a young-ish man scurried in close, eyes squinting as he gazed upon Wrex. Tali could hear the man's mates close by, giggling and chattering to themselves.
The krogan eyed the young human, his grimace making him look all the more reptilian.
"Excuse me," the man said as he pointed at the scars that marked Wrex's neck. "Are you—?"
"No, I'm not," Wrex firmly interrupted. "Now get out of here, or I'm going to knock you on your ass."
The man pulled a face, which was understandable considering that he had just gotten a telling-off from a rather sour-faced krogan. Meekly, he rejoined his friends, who proceeded to either question or mock him for this little stunt.
Wrex and Tali watched the group leave, allowing the flowing of the water underneath their feet to pick up the ambiance.
"Third time today," Wrex grumbled. "Gawkers used to have more sense in my day. Tell me something, Tali, do I even look approachable at all?"
The quarian leaned back and made a show of looking at Wrex from head to toe. Eight hundred pounds, seven-foot-four-inches, armed to the teeth, tooth-arrayed, red-eyed, and mottled skin. A pure warrior. One who had bested a thresher maw on foot, made a habit of divebombing dropships and bringing them down in monstrous body slams. That Wrex.
"I think you look downright huggable," Tali quipped.
Giving a disgusted but slightly amused grunt, Wrex waved a hand in Tali's direction. "I'll never ask you for a straight answer again. Maybe I need to take a page from your book. Get myself a new wardrobe."
Tali gave Wrex's arm a shove as she walked to the nearby railing. She watched as the moon billowed and distorted in the silent ripplings of the Limmaut. The thrum of the chattering populace was ignored behind her. She looked up where cotton clouds partially patched the sky, her eyes stars of their own within her visor. "Think I might have the edge over you." She gestured to her mask. "Quarian, remember?"
"But you don't treat that as a positive," the krogan's voice came from behind her. Lightly chiding.
"No," Tali agreed. "I suppose not." She turned away from the railing, giving her a full view of the massive warlord once more. "Will I see you again soon?"
The teeth from Wrex's grin were hidden from view by his massive lips. The sort of expression reserved for what constituted as a dear friend, as far as krogans could perceive. He stepped forward and placed his hand affectionately on Tali's shoulder. Much like a doting parent would to their child, or at the very least, a good-intentioned uncle.
Unconsciously, Tali nearly leaned into the krogan's grasp of her thin body. An ache, a distant yearning to be held, rapturously tried to take command of her. She looked up at the towering alien, her vocabulator deactivated just in time to conceal her sigh of longing.
Wrex did not notice this change in Tali and he dipped his head, his voice an octave lower.
"Sooner than you think, kid. Sooner than you think."
Ibiza
The glass walls polarized, warding off the glare of the hot Mediterranean sun that streamed through the transparent barrier. Qual stood with his helmet nearly pressed against the nearly-invisible glass, looking for a moment out upon the Ibiza ridgeline and the well-manicured golf courses off in the background before he finally turned back within the office.
Haas-Mase, desperate for Qual to have his work completed quickly in leveraging a solid plan to fool the Ryke/Saaven audit, had offered to loan the biggest office in his estate for the quarian's use. Qual had declined, seeking the corner office instead, where it was quieter. The room also lacked a lot of the exhibitionism that had so infected Haas-Mase's abode, as things were a little more minimalist here. A little more Bauhaus. Qual knew that such a sordid blending of stylings around the manor was every interior designer's nightmare, but knew better than to comment such a fact out loud since he himself lacked any sort of taste for that kind of thing.
He walked back over to his desk, which was a pill-shaped pane of thick glass placed atop twin columns of polished teak. A leather chair from the UNAS on rolling wheels, molded for ergonomics, awaited patiently. Behind the desk, a triptych of black-and-white photos of roads winding through a snow-covered forest. More dark wood shelves lined the walls around the pictures.
Qual settled into the chair and booted his holographic display back up, which spanned the length of the desk. The filtered glare from the sun glinted unevenly where the industrial hardwood floor of the office met the French limestone tiles upon the other side of the glass walls.
With the keypad also illuminated before him, Qual logged into the SolBanc database and began pulling files that pertained to his wildcard searches. He linked through several corporation extranet instances and partitioned financial spreadsheets, comparing them one after the other. On another section of the ultrawide screen, he had a map of Java Island sectioned off in the corner, where a red pin had been marked near the western edge of the landmass. That would come later—the makings of his plan were beginning to take shape.
What SolBanc desperately needed was an infusion of capital. Not just the bare minimum to satisfy the audit, the bank needed a steady cash flow that would ensure that it would remain solvent afterward. If Ryke/Saaven gave the audit the all-clear, only to find out they had been duped to the unsatisfactory financial situation afterward, Haas-Mase would still be liable for the initial deception. Whatever he came up with needed to be foolproof that would last for the rest of his natural life. Quite the challenge.
So far, Qual had come up with a few ideas for the cash flow problem. Already the bank was becoming more aggressive with the insurance policies it had issued, especially with regards to health sector. The premiums had already been boosted to a sickening degree, though it only affected corporations and individuals that could afford it. The bank was also heavily investing in infrastructure that seemed like sure bets all over the galaxy. Renewable energy, construction projects—everyone was in dire need of those. But that would not solve the thirty-three billion credit hole that Qual needed to dig his way out of before Ryke/Saaven could get wise. Some part of him resented in doing this work—he was not an accountant, why did Haas-Mase give this job to him? But in questioning the responsibility he was given, Qual knew that he was chosen because of how Haas-Mase trusted him.
That had not always been the case. The first few months of their introduction had not exactly been the start of a beautiful friendship. Haas-Mase came from a family that handed him everything on a silver platter. Qual had never had a scrap of land to his name. The differences between their socioeconomic situations were a gulf so vast that it might have seemed impossible for the two to get along, but eventually they had figured out a way to understand the other.
The revolver that Qual settled upon the glass desk was proof of Haas-Mase's trust for him. It had been a gift for "services rendered." It was a rare model—an N-Frame Model 627 V-Comp—one that had no mass acceleration drivers but shot actual bullets. Old tech, but just as effective as any other pistol currently being manufactured today.
Qual picked up the revolver and began turning it over in his hands. An insignia near the cylinder release catch featured a stylized "S" and "W" intertwined together within a tight circle. "Performance Center" had been stamped on the left side of the stainless-steel barrel. And on the right, ".357 Mag – V8."
The quarian slid his thumb forward and the eight-round chrome cylinder sprang to the left. Honeycombed glints of brass sang in the barrel—it was loaded. Unable to resist, Qual spun the cylinder with his finger, enjoying the click-click-click sound from the cylinder rotating mechanism. Haas-Mase had a few old-time cowboy movies in his library—from a genre called a "Western", for whatever reason—and Qual had been entranced at how graceful the gunslingers in those films had been with their weapons. They weren't just brutal tools on the screen. They were elegant statements. They were spun, flipped, holstered in leather, and treated with better care than some of the people that ended up shot in the dusty and dilapidated streets of those portrayed frontier towns. They were loud, spat ugly cones of flame, but there was an entrancing simplicity to the whole construct that Qual appreciated.
He snapped the cylinder back into place and set the gun down onto the desk once again. An idea came to him and he booted up another database search, this time on his own name.
To his surprise, the system had made some hits. Guess Haas-Mase meant it when he said he'd give me everything. Though it was a little intriguing to see that his employer had files on him on SolBanc's servers, as he was never an employee.
Qual opened the first folder, which was dated the earliest. By coincidence, he was amused to see that there was a video file in the folder dated a couple of years back. To his recollection, this was from the day that he had met Haas-Mase. He remembered that day quite well, yet he decided to play the file anyway, to see exactly what Haas-Mase had in mind by keeping this on hand.
On the screen, an image of Haas-Mase's office appeared. Stark and clean, in contrast to his mansion. This had been back when SolBanc had their headquarters in a place called New York City, a menagerie of concrete, glass, and metal the likes of which Qual had never seen before. Haas-Mase was sitting at his desk, in between conference calls, when the door suddenly opened.
Qual watched himself walk into the room. Still the same slender profile, only his sehni and the rest of his suit was considerably shabbier. He certainly cut the image of a beggar wandering the streets for scraps.
The camera was angled in the corner of the office, turning the image somewhat askew. "Hamilton Haas-Mase. At last."
From his desk, Haas-Mase looked up in irritation. "Who the hell are you? And… what is this? You weren't on the schedule. How did you get into this room?"
The Qual on the screen just shrugged. Then, there was a brief scintillation of light as his body seemed to zap in and out of existence, a filter of static jittering once before he seemed to turn to the clearest glass. Half a second later, he appeared back, looking very much solid.
"Think that answers your last question," he said as he took the seat across from the financier without being offered, the active camouflage no longer emitting sparks around his body. "As to your other two, I can address those now. I'm called Qual'Lhmarl. And this is your lucky day, Haas-Mase." He then saw the human move his arm slowly towards the underside of his desk. Instead of vaulting over the barrier, the quarian waggled a finger and clucked his tongue. "Don't bother calling security. I made sure to disable that before I walked in here."
Haas-Mase's arm slowly retreated backwards. "An attempt at blackmail, I suppose?"
"If I wanted to extort you, I wouldn't have risked the face-to-face contact. On the contrary, you're going to learn that I have more to give you than what I'm going to ask of you."
Even though the camera was angled away from Haas-Mase, Qual knew that the human was giving a slight grin. He had the memory of this day echoed perfectly in his brain and so far, the footage was confirming that his recollection was still intact.
"So. You do want something."
"We'll get to that in a minute," Qual said as he leaned forward and placed a tiny memory drive on the desk that separated them. "You'll want to see what's on that first."
Haas-Mase reached out and took the drive. Held it between his fingers for a moment. His eyes were undoubtedly shifting from the object he clutched to Qual's invisible expression.
"You probably know what question I'm going to ask next. Surely, you would have anticipated this, or did you think that I would be stupid enough to put a drive like this in my console without checking to see if you planted something on it? A virus, perchance?"
"Again, if I wanted to infect your databases, Haas-Mase, I would have done it from afar. Suffice to say that the drive contains something that'll interest you. If I may spoil the surprise, it contains firm evidence of rather notorious individuals using your bank to perform services of an indecent nature. Money laundering. Links to organized crime. The list of crimes is extensive, take your pick. The names are on the drive as are the exact dollar amount of their transactions."
There was a gentle click as Haas-Mase set the drive down in front of him, not bothering to look upon its contents. "I see. How did you happen to come by this information?"
On the screen, Qual spread his hands. "Trade secrets, but I'll clue you in partway. Right now, I'm affiliated with Alcon 24. Or at least, I may not be affiliated with them after today, but that all depends on you. Ever hear of Alcon 24 before?"
"Can't say that I have."
That was not all that surprising. There were a fair amount of crime-centric clans that vied for territory in the galaxy, with each one having their own sort of specialty that set them apart from everyone else. Alcon 24 was one such clan, though their influence was pitiful in terms of territory, they had been responsible for terrorizing a fair bit of the extranet. Several governments and financial institutions had been painfully wrecked by collective hacks undertaken by Alcon 24.
Qual had been with the group for the better part of a year at that point. He had led no big score himself, but had participated in some of the undertakings (called "raids") by the larger group to manipulate and drop the initial security ICE barriers of multiple companies. He had seen the leaders of Alcon 24 waltz on through the security gates in cyberspace, transfer the contents of the largest accounts to theirs, and input their digital graffiti into the source code directly, most of which was a combination of insults levelled against the board of directors and CEOs of the places they raided. Qual thought it had all been rather juvenile at the time, but he had no say in how these raids went down. He was there to keep the ICEgates open. To maintain the DDoS attacks without letting up.
"It's a collective of technomancers and risk-takers. They align to no one creed and take jobs for the clout."
"A gang, then." The disgust in the financier's voice was evident. "Though I suppose I would expect nothing less from a loose organization that chooses to name themselves after a potent twentieth century computer virus."
"You know your history, then." Qual sat up in his chair. "Not many people know of the Alcon virus. Impressive."
Haas-Mase ruffled from the insult. "It wasn't just my heritage that got me into this chair, you malfeasant. It would not be wise to underestimate what I know and what I am capable of."
Qual nodded in agreement. "Oh, I don't doubt it."
"Then it would do you good to make me believe that." He leaned forward and slid the drive into an open drawer and closed it. "Let's say I decide to do something with this data. Obviously, the very possession of such data means that I can get ahead of the media and act preemptively upon this by either reporting or expelling the members of SolBanc that have done… whatever they have done. Then what? You expect a thank-you? A bounty?"
"Not just yet. I have one more thing to offer you."
"Go on."
"Alcon 24."
"I don't follow."
"The financial data I gave you is gratis, but this next part requires a bit of a buy-in on your part, but it won't cost you a credit. Not at first. I'm offering you all the data that you wish on Alcon 24. Names. Coordinates. Everything."
The footage-Qual leaned back, smug. Chin raised. As if his entire presence had all led up to this one moment.
"But for that," he said, "you'll need to contract me."
To his credit, Haas-Mase did not even flinch. He just absorbed what Qual said before he moved his chair forward so that he could place his forearms on the edge of his desk.
"Help me understand. You're offering me all of the information on your gang… in exchange for a job?"
Qual matched Haas-Mase's movements, leaning over in a conspiratorial manner. "You haven't misunderstood me."
"I might be missing a piece of the puzzle, then. So… the inevitable question. Why?"
"Let's just say that my interests don't align with Alcon 24's. And they're deeply resentful of any member who goes corporate. Who sells out. Resentful enough to take action against such a thing. You're following me?"
"I am," Haas-Mase rasped.
"Then you'd sympathize with the fact that I'd rather not live with a price on my head. This is where you come in. You're my ticket to a clean break, you see."
Haas-Mase coolly tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk. "You assume much, my friend, to think that I might have a way to help you out of your predicament."
"I would not stoop to assume," Qual pointed. "I know that SolBanc has its own private security force, comprised of ex-soldiers that have moved to the private sector after finishing up in the regular militaries. You have the material and the troops to take care of the entirety of Alcon 24 in one fell swoop. I can show you where they're hiding. You won't need to worry about them harassing your company ever and you gain me as someone under your employ. I can be your auditor, your bodyguard, even your enforcer. Already I have proved that I am adept at hacking the most secure of databases and can infiltrate any business without being seen."
"Ah, so this is the part of the conversation that you've practiced," Haas-Mase chuckled. "It's a hell of a pitch, I'll give you that. But there is one glaring issue in your resume."
Qual lifted his head. "And that is?"
"I would just like to know why you think I would hire someone like you after you've shown, right off the bat, to be someone who does not possess a shred of loyalty. You've barged into my office and, within five minutes, offered to sell out your closest associates. It doesn't really inspire or reassure. How can I be absolutely certain that you won't hesitate to do the same for me? What guarantees can you offer?"
"Guarantees, then." Qual stood and folded his hands behind his back. "I can give you nothing except my word. Of course, if you're still uncertain, you can write my agreed-upon conduct into a contract, if you wish. But you're a man who's familiar with the need for talent to be recognized. My current situation does not provide me with that. I'm thinking that you can."
Haas-Mase also stood, matching Qual. "Again, you're quite trusting."
"I do have an innate ability to tell when I'm being taken advantage of. But at least you get to see what happens to people on the receiving end of my ability."
The human walked a quarter circumference around his desk. The camera was now able to pick up his expression for the first time. Inscrutable. Calculating. This was a very odd proposition that had been plopped into his lap and he was trying to figure out every angle before making a decision on this in such a short timespan.
But then, he leaned a little bit more on his cane, mouth pursed in acceptance, and gestured to a nearby door. "We all have our little pitfalls, Mr. Lhmarl. You've done well to show me yours, but I'll keep my own close at hand. Regardless, I'm perfectly comfortable in making a trial run, so that we—"
"Full employment," Qual interrupted, body rigid and defiant. "Non-negotiable."
"Even the best of us are recognized for our ability to compromise." A light chiding. The first that Qual would receive from the man.
"Then you've misunderstood my aim. I'm to be your solution when even compromising fails."
Haas-Mase pushed up his glasses, which winked in the artificial light, as if he were looking down crosshairs in the optics at Qual's head. "Then this will be interesting indeed."
The video playback ended there. In the office where he had been sitting ramrod straight in his chair, Qual leaned back, his own hands pressed together like how Haas-Mase had been doing in the footage. He was also amused to see that, in the same folder as the vid of their conversation, a news snippet about a violent C-Sec raid on a supposed hacker group had been included. It included pictures of a warehouse on fire, surrounded by private bank security forces, with no survivors pulled from the smoking rubble. The human had trusted Qual enough for that and the quarian had no regrets.
He waved a hand and brought the holoscreen back to the main page. It was time to get back to work.
"You're a sentimental bastard, Haas-Mase," Qual murmured without a shred of content. "Even I don't have the stomach for sentiment."
Zurich
The door to her apartment snapped open, throwing out a rectangle of light upon the floor. Tali trudged in, noting that the windows were beaded from an evening drizzle that had moved over the city. That was the thing with Swiss weather—even in this day and age, the geography of the area made it impossible to tell what the forecast would be on a day-to-day basis.
She had parted from Wrex about halfway between her place and the train station. After watching Wrex clamber aboard a tram that would take him to the nearest S-Bahn (displacing a fair amount of passengers in the process as he moved into the carriage), Tali had begun the trek back up the hill, each step feeling like it was codifying an emptiness deeper and deeper into her heart. The momentary absence of a friend weighed heavily. It was as if their very existence from this universe was bound to some cosmic requirement that she must lay sight upon them in order for them to become tangible. Otherwise, their presence was theoretical at best. For what certainty could she trust other than the assuredness of what her own eyes could confirm?
By the time she had gotten back to her building, clambered up the stairs to reach her floor, and moved through the door, Tali was back to living in a listless existence. Moving as if dictated by an automated program, she locked the door, reset the security systems, and begun exchanging out her sehni and other trappings for her original ones. The ones that made Tali Tali. But midway through redressing, she was seemingly struck by an urge to do nothing of the sort. Bare-helmeted, the quarian walked away from the drawers where her garments had been stored, looking frail and feeble without anything adorning her head anymore.
Taking a tube of nutrient paste from the fridge, she measured out a quarter portion for herself. Hunger had not yet begun to create pangs in her stomach. She knew she should be hungrier, but her body was giving out no signs that anything was wrong. She reheated her food and chowed it down dispassionately, staring off into space as she ate.
After polishing off the tube's contents, Tali rinsed it in the sink and left it out to dry. She thought about turning on the nearby console to watch something for mindless entertainment, only to realize that there was probably nothing on that would interest her.
In the bathroom, Tali dabbed a towel with polish and set to making the metallic parts of her helmet shine after being exposed to the elements for the day. Everything was routine for her. Nothing was performed ad hoc or by some whim of fancy.
She set her polishing kit aside after she was done with it, her helmet now possessing an illustrious sheen. The quarian briefly glanced into the mirror, marking the somber look that glowed through her visor.
The empty shower to her right then commanded her attention. She looked upon it with a thin sigh, her hand grasping the doorframe for support. In the months since she had been renting this place, she had never once used the shower. Ever. Yet, she could imagine the sensation all the same. Hot spray nearly scalding her skin. Fiery mists fogging the glass. The floor slippery against her feet.
And arms that were not her own hugging her around her waist, her neck craning around, eyes closed, and mouth open, hungrily seeking—
With a sharp exhalation through her nose, Tali turned away. The flash of memory had faded as quickly as it had arrived, but the aftereffects lingered in her mind like pulsing shockwaves.
Leaving the bathroom behind, she stumbled back over to her bed, the sheets still rumpled from this morning. Her thoughts were still rampaging their own private little war in the back of her mind, which gave Tali the indication that she was not going to get a restful sleep tonight.
Not if she took extra steps.
From the drawer in her nightstand, Tali withdrew a small syringe from a pack of ten similar objects. The syringe contained a micro-dose of ramelteon, enough to regulate her sleep-wake cycle. Originally, Tali had tried to nab a prescription for a popular drug on Earth called Ambien, which was supposedly a high-quality drug that knocked someone out into a powerful sleep, but since that drug was not rated for quarians, no one would provide her with access to it. But ramelteon had proved to do the job somewhat effectively, so Tali scarcely complained. It was now with one of those syringes that she positioned it upon her induction miters at her shoulder, locked it in place, and depressed the plunger. There was a quiet hissing as the syringe was emptied of its contents. She withdrew the empty device and set it in a plastic medwaste canister.
With the drug now in her bloodstream, Tali was feeling woozy already. Her eyes began to droop and her body was starting to sway as she sat upon her bed. Time was running out, so she swung her feet up upon the mattress and turned on her side, head upon the pillow—the atmosphere-regulating tubes that snaked upon the back of her helmet prevented her from sleeping on her back.
Slowly, she curled up her body until she was fetal. This time, she grabbed for the blankets underneath her and pulled them over her body. As if she was in danger of losing vital warmth.
The threaded curtains allowed a shadowed orange glow to seep into the room—it was almost like the city was on fire just past the window. Tali watched as the colors diffused and unfocused as her vision slowly succumbed to sleep. She lay there for what felt like an eternity, looking at the lights, and of that one sinister outline in the corner that continued to judge her in utter serenity, the aperture of ice-like illumination thrumming and flaring like a distant star, far away in that cold, dark black.
She tried to bring the image of the veiled being into focus, but her pale slumber finally overtook her and she went under with a tiny grunt.
A/N: For those of you wondering why the hell I've been concentrating on these two seemingly unrelated character arcs, all I can say is... wait for the next chapter.
Playlist:
Tour of Zurich
"Entrance"
woob
Lost Metropolis
Return to the Apartment
"Unbroken"
Gustavo Santaolalla
The Last of Us: Part II (Original Video Game Soundtrack)