Xabiar A/N: I've been looking forward to this one for a while - and what is coming next.
LP A/N: This is the closeout of this series.
THE HANGMEN OF THE TERMINUS | CHAPTER 4
The muted sounds of Afterlife thumped against the walls of the suite upon which they could look out atop the highest floors of the club. Hundreds of people oblivious to the revelations that only a small number of people now knew; wallowing in their innocence and blissful ignorance.
Golo sometimes wondered if life was more enjoyable that way; without the need to think so hard about everything. Such boring, simple, and uneventful lives so many of them led, but of course they never amounted to anything worthwhile.
No, that simply was not the life for him, nor for any others who wished to leave an impact – for better or worse. Such was the blessing and curse of the worthy. Tonight, it seemed to be more of a burden.
Aria took a sip of her drink; a vicious-looking purple beverage that Golo didn't bother to guess at. Her sharp eyes looked out over Afterlife, her face stern and expressionless; a deliberate effort to reveal her true feelings. She was silent for a long time, with the only sounds the sounds of the rhythmic music.
Aria did not often drink, and when she did, it was never early into the night, nor when there were important matters at hand. That she was doing so at all was perhaps the largest hint that something wasn't quite right with her.
In these circumstances, it was understandable. A pity he didn't have the immune systems of his apparent brethren, else he would have been tempted to join her. Or perhaps not; he had no willingness to dull his senses right now.
It was an interesting feeling; to be one of the few who knew the truth of such a monumental, consequential, piece of galactic history. No one was immune to the weight of such revelations, it turned out. Not him, and not even Aria. For her, she had even more reason to react as she was.
As it was her who would bear the consequences of another power so close to her own empire. A revelation that did, truly, have the potential to upend everything. Still, he was not overly concerned by the prospect.
Many had attempted to dislodge, destroy, and undermine Aria before. Perhaps none like this Black Admiral, and his hidden Quarian civilization, but he was certainly not going to bet against Aria right now.
Her omni-tool flashed, activating projections of various points of the Terminus Systems. Regions of territory controlled by various warlords; trade lanes that were patrolled by mercenaries and her Black Fleet. Omega Station. The Hangman's Relay. The Omega-4 Relay. Critical locations; reviewing and monitoring.
Thinking.
Strategizing.
Preparing.
Golo's lips parted under his mask.
Yes, the Pirate Queen was preparing for war.
Most excellent.
The blue-white light of the holograms flashed as she reviewed the maps, documentation, and stratagems; lighting upon a stern face, and cold eyes. The star maps vanished then, as the videos and images which he had shared with her were replayed. The Geth and Quarians marching; the clashes between the Aristocracy forces and revolutionaries.
It wasn't the first time she'd replayed the proof he'd shown her.
Now her expression was one that had morphed into something that he had seen before; one that many of her inner circle had doubtless seen as well. The look of a woman who was quietly plotting.
With a tap of her fingers, the omni-tool was turned off, and she turned to face him, her voice deceptively quiet. "What do you intend to do?
Golo rose from the lounge he'd been resting on, quite ready for the next phase of this conversation to begin. "You first, if you don't mind. I suspect your plans are a touch more important than my own."
Her eyes fixated on him, narrowed ever-so-slightly, and her lips pursed. "Answer my question, Golo."
Her tone was one best to not argue with. Very well then. "I intend to meet this Black Admiral, as I mentioned earlier. I intend to gain something useful for the ideal, as there is a decently high chance that I've served my purpose for them. Tori has made no secret that they wish to kill me."
"They used you," Aria stated.
"Of course they did, everyone uses everyone," Golo flicked a wrist. "They certainly didn't seem to expect me to find them – but they did make the choice to engage, in what I can only presume is to ensure you know of their existence."
Aria's face darkened. "Using you as a middleman is unnecessary. Their approach is what leaves questions."
"Using me, I expect, is part of that message," Golo noted. "They aren't interested in formally reaching out yet – but they want you to know they exist. Which is a…curious approach to put it mildly."
"Almost insulting, in a way," Aria commented. "That I am beneath their attention, only fit to dripfeed knowledge through an associate."
"Perhaps," Golo demurred. "They do not appear to act without reason, though."
"Or," Aria mused. "They want to get in my head. If everything you said is accurate, then these Quarians have almost certainly been operating in the Terminus and beyond for a long time. They have operatives; infiltrators, and spies everywhere."
The unspoken implication that Omega itself was infiltrated hung over them, which was to say nothing of the rest of the Terminus and perhaps even Citadel space. "Or," Golo pointed out. "They don't, and they, as you said, want to get in your head."
Aria fixated him with a stare. "Do you truly expect me to not confirm one way or another?"
"That's your business, not mine," he said. "What this tells me is that there is soon to be a new player in this dangerous game within the Terminus. One side has started to make moves, and when the revelation reached beyond our little circle…"
He trailed off.
Aria exhaled. "There will be chaos."
Golo's smile under his mask was humorless. "Upheaval. Fragility shattered. Histories rewritten. Questions answered, and new ones arisen. Imagine, if you will, the impact this will have on the Migrant Fleet, so recently risen to prominence. Even given a Council seat. And now the truth comes out…"
Aria shook her head. "They'll deny it. The Citadel will back them."
"I wonder about that," Golo said with a shrug. "However, I feel that is less important to these Quarians than what they plan to do in the Terminus."
"The puzzle revolves around why now," she swirled the drink in her hand. "They could have set this into motion at any point – but they do so now. And anything we do now, they are doubtless accounting for. I am in this game, on their terms, playing under rules I do not know. That none of us do."
It was a stark admission from her in front of him, which either betrayed her own uncertainty around all of this, or she was gauging his own reaction. Either were possible, though he had no intention of meddling further in this than he already had. As far as he was concerned, Aria was his patron on Omega, and colleague in the Circle to whom he owned his position.
He didn't especially care to keep Aria in the loop on all his endeavors, but there were certain lines he couldn't cross. Keeping knowledge like this to himself? Aria would not forgive him if she found out, nor should she. He had no interest in, or bond with these Quarians.
If there was a side to join, it was hardly a question to whom his loyalty, such as it was, was owed.
That these Quarians were openly willing and wishing to kill him made the choice just a tad easier as well. "Then if I may offer a piece of commentary – one you can take as advice or not – that is what they expect."
She waited for him to continue. "You are not playing by any ruleset, there is no ruleset," he said. "There may be preparations or expectations, but the Black Admiral has no more leverage over you than you do over him. Last I checked, you rule the Terminus. Act and plan accordingly. Paralysis is as much a threat as acting 'as expected' in the minds of these Quarians. Act intelligently based on what is known – in these situations, that's the only reliable option."
She didn't speak right away, only finishing the last of her drink. "For now, I have additional work to do, and evidence to verify." She glanced in his direction. "I don't disbelieve your story, but others will, and I want the evidence verified as much as possible. I will have a plan of action soon. For now, keep this to yourself. Nothing with the Circle, nothing with that Broker contact you speak with."
Golo nodded slowly. "As you insist. No reason to give the Broker this kind of knowledge."
"If the Broker knows it…" Aria considered for a moment. "I'm curious how he would handle it. This is the kind of knowledge that might be best kept under wraps. It can create too much upheaval even if the Council were to know. Ironically, Thin'Koris' presence complicates matters too much."
How very ironic indeed.
"If you must speak to the Black Admiral," she said. "Be careful. These people do not seem to be fools."
"I think," Golo said. "That if they wanted to kill me, they would have. And if they try, well, they wouldn't be the first."
"Invoke my name if you must," Aria stated. "They do not have authority to execute my associates. Not on Omega, if they are bold enough to establish themselves here."
"The thought is appreciated," Golo inclined his head. "Though again, I suspect the time to kill me has passed, assuming I do not provoke them to action. Do not worry, I do not intend to fight them, as tempting as it is."
"Good," her own returned nod was sharp. "When and where will you meet?"
"To be determined," Golo answered. "Within a couple of days, in a place they have yet to send me. I'll tell you all about it when I get back."
"I expect you will," Aria said. "Do not underestimate them."
He chuckled. "Touching, Aria. Do not worry about me."
"Good, then I have work to do," finger and thumb rubbed her temple. "This will be several long nights."
"Then I will leave you to them," Golo turned to leave the Pirate Queen to her musings and plannings.
"Golo."
He paused, glancing behind him, and met Aria's eyes.
"Thank you for telling me," she said. "I will remember it."
He returned the nod. Little time for levity or bravado here, Aria did not say such things lightly, and there was a gravity he would respect. She'd said all she needed to say, and that was enough.
The door closed behind him, as his mind turned to the upcoming meeting.
One he needed to make sure he prepared for any eventuality.
It seemed like it was over.
Verona finished editing the final words on the report; the last one that she would be submitting to the Network for the foreseeable future. A strange feeling arose in her as she wrote; a sensation that something was missing. It hadn't even been like her 'last' time she'd finished an assignment. Then had felt like closing a chapter and the start of something else.
This just felt…unfinished.
She wasn't even sure that word was comprehensive of her mixed feeling; it wasn't as though she hadn't made a few tangible steps towards her goal, but everything had petered off in an unsatisfying was. Tetrimus had promised her the chance of getting answers to the strange fleet in the Terminus, but even with Golo's help every lead seemed to have turned up empty.
He'd said that the trail had gone cold, and that was the end of the most promising thread throughout all of this. It was unfortunate, she mused as she sent off the report to both the Network and Shifter. She'd really thought she'd been onto something, but maybe some things were destined to remain mysteries.
Now what?
She was, ultimately, back where she'd started. A new retirement to start and enjoy with her modest wealth and desire to do…what, exactly? The more she'd been working over the past months, the more she'd realized that the conventional retirement sought by most people simply wasn't going to work for her.
Sitting still and sipping whisky on some high-end bar just wasn't what she wanted to do. She didn't want large houses, luxury furniture, or choice foods. She was an intelligence agent, a wetwork operative, and she still loved doing it.
Maybe retirement wasn't something she wanted, but it was also the problem – she didn't really know what she wanted. She knew what she enjoyed doing, but working for the sake of working – that had definitely lost its appeal. The Broker paid well, but as she'd spent her time writing, and documenting the shifts and factions in the Terminus, it had helped highlight the real problem.
She was aimless and lacked a true purpose or mission; something to really work for or believe in. Even criminals these days seemed to have a higher goal than just themselves, and she wasn't nearly self-centered enough to consider her own comfort the means and ends. She'd already gotten everything she could want materially.
And it wasn't enough.
Not really.
Not anymore.
There was a ping on her omni-tool indicating that a sensor outside her door had been tripped. Her musings faded away as she tapped the omni-tool with one talon and brought up the video link. A moment glimpsing the image was all her body needed to fall into immediate defense mode. There was a face outside her home that she'd become very familiar with over the past few months.
A well-dressed Drell in a blue-grey trenchcoat standing idly in front of her door, with green scales, and a smile that knew too much. His hands were clasped together before him, and he stood motionless; waiting.
He was here.
Verona exhaled sharply. It wasn't the first time that she'd been hunted by people she'd tracked down or collected information on. It was, however, the first time that it was by someone who she knew she wasn't going to be able to kill. Eiron – or Uiorian as he really was – was one such individual.
She didn't know how he'd managed to find her, but that wasn't important. What puzzled her was that he was making himself known to her – which raised questions as to his intentions. Perhaps he wanted to talk before killing her, or perhaps it wasn't what she thought. At this point, she figured she might as well know, before a decision was made for her.
Grabbing her shotgun and a combat-tuned omni-tool, she descended down the stairs to the door, and set it to open with a short delay. She readied the shotgun at the door, not fully certain that it would be fast enough if he decided to strike. The door opened to reveal the Drell, watching her with an almost bemused expression.
His eyes flicked to the barrel of the shotgun, before meeting her own. "May I come in?"
Her weapon didn't waver. "It depends. Why are you here?"
With a deliberately slow motion, he reached into one pocket of his coat and withdrew a physical letter which appeared laminated from the silver glint from the light above. "To deliver a message, Verona Xis, and to talk, if you would indulge me."
Her head cocked to the side, on edge for any sudden movement. "From who?"
"It is a discussion best kept out of the ears of anyone who can hear," he indicated the hallway he was in. "May I come in?"
She thought for a moment, then gave a sharp nod and took a few steps back as he entered her home without fear. The door closed behind him, as he took stock of the small apartment she'd been calling home. He turned back to her, a question in his eyes. "You understand that if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have tripped your alarm, yes?"
"Acutely aware."
"But you hold a gun to me all the same?"
"I take issue to people like you arriving unannounced," she answered evenly. "How did you find me?"
"A friend divined your location," the smile reappeared on his face, as if he'd just shared an inside joke. "I'm quite good at finding people. Almost as good as you are about finding the secrets of the Terminus powers. Impressive work, I must say. I'm surprised it took the Broker so long to take an interest."
"An interesting time for flattery, Uiorian," she said.
"I'm not flattering you. I'm acknowledging the skills of a professional," he took a seat on her couch in a fluid motion, smoothing the creases on his leggings. "That you discerned my true identity is a testament to that fact."
"The connection was a little too obvious once I knew the story about everything," she said dryly. "The Principles, the Circle being your perfected experiment, and a Drell as the origin point for the Perfect Circle - and that you are a Paladin."
"Oh, you did learn quite a lot," he mused.
There was a brief silence. "Did you find what you were looking for?" She finally asked.
He considered his answer for an almost uncomfortable period of time, looking unblinkingly at her, as if deciding what to say. "In a manner of speaking…yes," he answered. "But you'll forgive me for not divulging details, even if you'd doubtless appreciate them."
A short nod followed. "Fair enough. Connecting the dots wasn't easy, but it is obvious in retrospect."
"You'd be surprised what is obvious to you or me, is not so obvious to those oblivious, willfully or otherwise," Uiorian said. "Be it a lack of curiosity, or a lack of care, I've not bothered to determine which, nor am sure it would change anything anymore. It seems these days we're always finding long-dead relics. I'm pleased you learned it on your own. It's easier to speak when the truth is not something to keep hidden."
A new thought came to her, one that clarified a few things. "You knew I was poking around."
"Of course I did. And that you had some deal with the Shifter," the corners of his lips turned up. "There wasn't another explanation for why the Circle of Intelligence was so quiet concerning the sudden interest of the Broker Network. But I digress - you want to know why I didn't do anything."
"The question had crossed my mind."
"Because nothing you do matters," he said, the words clearly enunciated. He leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes as his head tilted towards the ceiling. "You've seen the trends, but what you have not seen is that it's end has been determined for a very long time. It doesn't matter how much you learned, how much you know – what can be done to stop what is coming?"
His voice was strangely soft as he spoke the next words. "Nothing. Not that the Broker would do anything substantial with the knowledge you have provided him."
He went silent for a moment. "It's a pity when I see someone like you working for the Broker. An individual with no ambition, no purpose, no true drive. An empty husk who could change the galaxy if he wished, yet he wastes it in pursuit of his own ego, glory, and inferiority. All to preserve a rotten, degenerate status quo."
Verona chuckled at the characterization; the absurdity was too much for her to be silent at. "You say that, but he's one of the most powerful men in the galaxy."
"In a certain sense, but what does he do with that power beyond ensuring his own entrenched position?" Uiorian wondered without missing a beat. "What does the illusive figure of secrets and lies believe in? What does he seek to build?"
He let the question hang in the air, chuckling for a moment. "Nothing of any consequence. The Broker is ruled by a fear of irrelevancy, a sensation of inferiority, like many figures who hold absolute power, yet are paralyzed to use it. A disappointing lack of vision, but he is as blind as anyone else. Nothing he does matters, the same as you. In this way, he is like so much of the galaxy, under the great equalizer of irrelevance."
Verona realized that her weapon had lowered of its own accord. She looked at it, and internally sighed. No, she wasn't going to use it, and she still didn't think it would matter much if she did. She set it against the wall, and sat down opposite the Drell superman. "What about you, Uiorian? What was all of it for? The first experiment, the Circle, all of this? Is it all irrelevant? Was it only to pursue your Celestials?"
His eyes opened and fixated on her. He straightened, his voice contemplative. "Would you believe me if I told you it started because I was curious?"
She rested her elbows on her knees, hands hanging idly. "About what?"
"About people, about their minds, about the values and ideologies that drove them," he answered. "Drell do not think like other sapients of the galaxy. And we of the Six Hundred do not even think like other Drell. We comprehend patterns and people in ways you simply cannot grasp. Our lives play out in perfect clarity at our will."
He paused, eyes becoming glassy in the light above. "I live in the past and present simultaneously. I perceive reality as it has been shaped, and see the design behind it. A thousand systems working in perfect harmony every second, completely oblivious to yourself and billions of others."
He trailed off briefly. "Comparatively, everyone else is so…" he searched for the word. "Simple. That was what I wanted to know. Was everyone as simple as I believed? Or were there others who transcended their simplicity as we had?"
His eyes cleared, and he spread his arms. "And I got my answers."
"Which were?"
"That nearly everyone in this galaxy is a simple being, with simple motivations, and whose individual natures allow them to be used like puppets with proper effort," he answered. "The Broker understands this, I am aware. So do the Salarians. So do the Asari. The arts of manipulation and exploitation. Know a person's desires, their fears, and their flaws, and they can be controlled, with or without them being aware of it. Even easier if they all but declare it to the world."
A note of disdain colored his voice. "The trash I used in my little experiment confirmed this presupposition. I was their enemy, I positioned myself as the clear source of all problems, and did not hide this. Yet with the right words I kept them fixated on people who I convinced them to hate. They rejected the evidence of their experiences, they rejected the empirical evidence that I was their enemy, because they wanted it to be someone different."
His tongue clicked. "Sadly, criminals are not special in this regard. It is a common theme I see repeated throughout the galaxy, by politicians, by corporations, by the blind leading the puppets. What separates the leaders from followers is if they realize this truth, and when they do, how they choose to use it."
"When put like that," Verona said. "It sounds like free will is a myth."
"Mm, It is, but not in the way you think," Uiorian said. "The masses are dictated to by the whims and wills of those who transcend their simplicity. The masses have never decided anything. Sometimes they have been allowed to influence the ruling order, sometimes it is imposed on them – but it is driven individuals who chart the course of histories, and shape civilizations.
He lifted a finger. "That was what I found the most curious. That which can drive the masses. What the key to affecting change is. What is the mark of a society that is more vulnerable to change and upheaval, and one which can keep the simple in line? Would you like to know what I learned?"
She hesitated, then nodded.
"I have found there is one straightforward test of the strength of a people – adversary," he explained. "War is best, but any conflict is sufficient. Strife. Hardship. The potency of the ruling power is strained and exposed. Those who were mere tyrants and violent despots are overthrown, or collapse after everything had is lost. Those who were too benevolent or dominated by competing interests and infighting stagnated and decayed until one interest displaced the rest."
He paused, leaning forward, to emphasize his point. "Purpose, Verona. That decides the outcome. What do the people believe? What do they value? What do they live and fight for? This is a feeling I believe you understand. You work for the Shadow Broker, and you've worked for many others. But you're not consumed by selfishness, lust or the materialism so endemic of the mercenary class. Are you satisfied? Are you happy?"
She didn't answer.
"There is an interesting perception that transcends species that unlimited freedom is the ideal life," Uiorian mused after a moment. "Individualism, where everyone is their own master and god. Where the end goal is wealth and power of years of work. And yet, how many actually achieve this dream that is sold to them? How many who do are unsatisfied with what they have, and believe the solution is to just acquire more?"
He tsked. "Work is not an end in and of itself. Luxury is not either. The Human is a slave to their government and corporations. Salarians live in paranoia and navigate their lives in schemes and puzzles. The very lives of asari are dictated before they are born, for they are of the Thirty, or they are worthless."
His eyes grew intense, as his voice became low. "The galaxy is a cruel, vapid, and meaningless place because it has been made as such by the powers that rule it, and the architects who created it. They are ruled by people who care not for cultivating a state, a culture, or a reason to live. They are inhabited by people who believe in nothing but their own individual ambitions, where patriotism and pride is cynical and fake."
He clasped his hands together, his voice became soft, if still low. "There is more at play than merely this, but even if the divine were to fall silent this very moment, it would not change this galaxy we find ourselves in. Do you want to know why the Reapers will win?"
She suddenly whiplash made her almost start; a cold sense of foreboding went down her spine. Not that he knew the Reapers, she somehow wasn't surprised at that, but that he'd changed the topic so suddenly to that. "They want to kill everything. They will not win."
Uiorian's smile turned melancholy. "Is that what you believe, or that you tell yourself?"
Silence followed.
The Drell seemed to accept it, then continued. "Your perception of the Reapers is flawed. You expect an invasion. You expect a grand war. You expect the conventional. In the sense, this isn't wrong, but you fall into the trap the leaders of the galaxy have already succumbed to. The Reapers are not brutes, they are not simple machines, and they are not idle."
He lifted one finger. "Remember that a single one managed to convince one of the best SPECTREs alive, and a powerful Matriarch, to bring about Armageddon. Come now, you know that they are not fools. You know better."
"I'll play along," she finally said. "How will they win?"
"They'll give something that no power is willing to give the masses," Uiorian said. "Purpose. Recognition. Security. Something that can be perceived as real. It doesn't matter if it is ultimately a lie or not; there are billions who are bereft of purpose, who live empty lives abused by the powers that be, and who might be more than happy to see everything burn, if their masters burn with them."
He lifted a hand, as if anticipating an answer. "And if you think that I exaggerate; that these sentiments aren't there, let me point to what the powers that be are doing as we speak. Allocating trillions of credits to military forces. Stashing billions more in funds, setting up hideouts and contingencies in the cases of defeat. Expending their resources and interests on internal power plays."
She frowned at that last claim. "What?"
"Ah, you wouldn't know, would you?" He smiled sadly. "With crisis comes opportunity. The Thirty and Lords of Sol are being particularly vicious with each other. Internal realignments are taking place where old powers are having to defend themselves against upstarts. A grand, fabulous, and gloriously selfish waste of time and resources. But such is the nature of those who are concerned first and foremost with themselves - and neglect to give a purpose that gives people reason to follow them."
Uiorian leaned back again. "The Reaper converted Saren not just with whatever sorcery it used – that it only employed to secure its domination. It lured him to join with a promise of a better galaxy, one that he would have a hand in shaping. It gave him a purpose that the Council had failed to do. It is not even unprecedented - the Reapers would not be the first to give purpose to those who join them, they would only be the first to do it at the scale of a galaxy."
Verona shook her head, beginning to feel overwhelmed. "Where are you even going with all of this?"
"Because you asked why I'm doing all of this, why I'm bothering at all," he answered. "The answer is that there are precious few options before me. I could live my life as an empty, purposeless husk like the rest of those who are above the mundane, wallowing in the truths I have discovered, and abandoning all hope. Or I could change the galaxy with the power I possess. I could transcend the framework which we are imprisoned within. Thus, I choose the latter."
"The Circle," she stated.
"It is the most direct manifestation of my work, yes," he nodded. "Though I will not take all of the credit. Venethix built it. I merely guided her along the path, after I saved her life."
"When did that happen?" She frowned, not recalling that
"In a manner of speaking, more than a direct intervention," he corrected. "I'd met her long before our first encounter when she was already known as Six Sins. I've worn many faces, and held many roles, as I wandered the galaxy. I met her in the Hierarchy when she was likely to become a ranking figure within it. And of course, fate could not allow such a thing to pass."
His smile and voice held tinges of bitterness. "She was an individual consumed by rage and pain when I met her. I knew that there was only one end for her. She didn't want to live, much as she claimed otherwise. She merely wanted to cause as much pain as possible before her death. She would have ended in a last glorious stand, or by ramming an asteroid into Palavan, or something equally outrageous."
He chuckled. "I didn't want to see her become that. Not when I'd seen the woman she was before. So I gave her something to devote herself to. I guided her to embracing a mission; a purpose of her own choosing. And the results are seen today."
Verona appraised him closely. "You really do care about her, don't you."
"Is that surprising?" He asked in a tone she couldn't read. "You see her after everything she has done and will continue to do. The deaths of the simple and meaningless do not bother or concern me, I cannot bring myself to care about those who would have changed nothing. She is not like that. She is one who has transcended into a figure of change. In only decades, she has already brought change to the Terminus, through the purpose I gave her, and which she has embraced."
He paused. "I have laid every foundation for the next evolution of this region. The rotten empire of Omega will crumble, as Aria herself has fallen into the same trap as many previous despots. The Terminus yearns for someone to give them reason, cause, and purpose. The Circle drew those who wanted to achieve something; who believe that they can be more than petty criminals supporting despotic and selfish rulers."
"You really intend for her to turn against Omega," Verona murmured.
"It is not quite as simple as that, but I am confident she will make the choices necessary to unite the shattered Terminus," Uiorian answered. "Aria won because she convinced the people that she would bring change to the Terminus; that she would fulfill Terena's vision. Instead she has failed, and apathy reigns. Venethix's reputation or supposed crimes mean little when what she offers to the Terminus is more than Omega has provided before."
"So that is what you are," Verona said slowly. "A revolutionary orchestrating the Circle to become the center of Terminus power. Which you will then wield."
"While I understand how you arrived at that conclusion, I consider my role simpler," Uiorian's voice was bemused once more. "I am merely an instrument to bring about galactic unity. No, this is bigger than the Terminus Systems. There are certain others who intend to give what this galaxy lacks – and if fortune strikes, they will do so before the apocalypse comes."
He placed the letter which she'd forgotten about until now on the table between them and slid it over. "And if I understand right, you've been looking for them too."
She froze when she laid eyes upon the letter, and saw the inverted pentagon with the glyph emblazoned on the center. The one that she'd shown to Golo all those months ago. She looked up at Uiorian, who nodded once. "Open it," he said. "I was asked to make sure it was personally delivered."
She delicately picked up the letter, and opened it.
Verona Xis,
There are two things I will state immediately. I know that you are currently in the employ of the Shadow Broker, and have been gathering information on the major powers of the Terminus Systems. I know not why the Broker has decided this information is necessary now, nor is it particularly relevant, suffice to highlight that your work is not yet complete once you conclude your report on the Circle of the Fallen.
I am also aware that several decades ago you encountered an unknown fleet near the Hangman's Relay, which resulted in the deaths of people you knew and cared for. You are owed an explanation for this, as that fleet answered to me. You have been searching for answers, unknowingly searching for us. We are now aware of this.
You have unwittingly stumbled upon a secret of the galaxy that we have worked to maintain since its inception, which neither the Shadow Broker, nor the powers of the galaxy are aware of. A civilization that has established itself within the Deep Terminus, beyond the Hangman's Relay.
The galaxy has remained ignorant of us since this establishment, per our design, but we have been preparing for many centuries now for what will come next. We have not been idle. We have not isolated ourselves completely. Our people walk the galaxy under all raised banners, and our agents lie within every structure of power. We know about the Reapers. We know about the actions of the Citadel powers. And we know the truth of how this galaxy is shaped, ruled, and manipulated.
You do not know any of this. You have been a tool like billions of others, one whose actions are meaningless, yet one who seeks the truth despite this. Nothing of what you understand about the galaxy, or about what is coming, is correct. To understand what must come next, you must understand the truth, and see it with your own eyes.
I extend to you a formal invitation to visit me and the civilization I have made beyond the Hangman's Relay. Write your report on the final great power of the Terminus, and deliver it into the Broker's hands. It is time that the galaxy begins to comprehend what is coming, and if they will scramble to react, or continue their apathetic ways.
I am confident you are the right one to ensure that this truth is delivered. Give your answer to my associate and friend Uiorian, and he will tell you what to do next. If you must consult with the Broker, do so. But you, and only you, are allowed to cross past the Hangman's Relay. Subterfuge will not be tolerated, and consequences will come to any who seek to exploit this generosity.
I look forward to meeting you soon.
- Somnum'Erea, the Black Admiral of the Darhas'Quariclavar tas Terminus
Verona slowly lowered the letter, a multitude of questions blazing through her mind, and conflicting emotions surging within her. She reread the signature; the Darhas'Quariclavar tas Terminus. It took her only a moment to work out a rough translation.
The Terminus Conclaves of the Greater Quarian Dominion.
Everything she'd thought was out of her reach was now back, and answers were so tantalizingly close – yet she knew there was going to be a price to them.
But that didn't matter right now.
She had a path forward now.
"Well?" Uiorian asked her, seeing that she had finished. "What do you say?"
Perhaps, there was a time where she would have hesitated; where she would have considered what was truly best to do. But she knew she couldn't even pretend that her answer required serious thought.
She knew what she had to do now.
And find her answers, no matter where they led.
The location to meet was not quite what he'd expected.
It was almost suspicious.
Almost.
It was not particularly isolated, even if it was certainly on the outskirts of livable Omegan space. Here there were mostly industrial plants, factories, and the occasional outpost or run-down apartment. Certainly not a place with a lot of traffic, but not so isolated as to be desolate. A smart decision the most he thought about it.
Not too isolated as to be suspicious, but not to crowded as to risk any but the destitute dregs stumbling upon something they shouldn't. Golo paid such dregs little mind as he walked through the area.
His focus was on who or what was watching him.
He had a good sense for when he was being watched – and the suite of sensors into his suite helped with validating and contextualizing his instincts. Anyone unfortunate or foolish enough to encounter Golo would have wondered if he was larger than they expected - and they would have been correct.
One did not walk into the den of dangerous creatures unprepared. Based on what Tori had told him, and how he had been treated earlier, he was not unconvinced that they would decide his usefulness, as it were, would come to an end.
At least, they would try. An amusement.
If these Quarians tried something questionable, they would find out exactly what he could do, and what precursor weapons he'd managed to get working again were capable of. Even a Techmarine would think twice before taking him on now, much less anyone with a semi-functioning understanding of the precursor technology openly displayed throughout his warsuit.
And since his talk with Aria, Golo had developed a very deliberate plan of how he was going to approach this.
Ultimately, while he had prepared to fight his way out should it become necessary, he remained unconvinced that they would actually initiate it without provocation. This meeting, such as it was, was likely to be unfruitful more than anything else.
These Quarians weren't interested in working with him, and were reaching, or at, the limits of what they wanted to do with him. Nor did he particularly want to associate with them anymore either, much less whatever 'cause' they thought they were promoting.
No people was owed his allegiance on something so trivial as shared species, not the Migrant Fleet, and not some brethren from a civilization he'd never heard of before now. He was content with his own life right now, and had no intention of pledging it to the 'right' Quarian power, nor any so-called Black Admiral.
Still, he was wary, and there was a certain point as he approached closer where the first tingling of a bad feeling emerged. It was almost as if he had crossed an invisible threshold, where there was an acute sense of being watched; an eye of judgement upon him that peered exceptionally deep.
The germ of a soundless noise pricked his ears, white noise which had no origin, but made his skin crawl uncomfortably.
There was certainly a rational reason for this. Given that this area was likely controlled by them, he was certain that they were watching him – and he too was on the lookout. He had a map of the area, and if it remained accurate, then…yes, exactly as he'd hoped.
There was a small, non-descript starship parked in the small dock. Unimpressive to anyone else, but Golo was quite confident that was what they used, and if that was one of their ships, within it was exactly what he needed to safely cross the Hangman's Relay. With a few covert instructions, the quiet VIs he'd made were deployed towards the ship's detected network.
Go forth and conquer.
The fact that they immediately hit several hardened security layers told him this wasn't an ordinary smuggler ship. By the time he was finished here, they would be done, and he'd have what he needed with them none the wiser. He didn't intend to waste his conversation with the Black Admiral either, and was gearing up another very complex and expensive tool that would identify the coordinates of whoever was calling a specific terminal.
It did rely on the Quarians having a relatively standard-to-high-end two-way holocommunicator, but he doubted that they had reason to employ anything else, especially in this part of Omega without drawing unwanted attention. Investing too much into any safe house was a bad idea, and these Quarians seemed to be professionals in at least a few respects.
In addition to the drones flying overhead, there were others that were likely observers or spies in the crowds or among the destitute. People who watched him a little too closely, or whose heads turned at just the right time. No Quarians, but that didn't matter since they had the resources to handsomely pay a few desperate people on the streets.
He knew what was going on. It wasn't as though he'd not been in situations far more complex and dangerous than this before.
So why did he feel so strange?
The noiseless sound in his head, the pervasive feeling of vulnerability, and skin that was slick and making him less comfortable. With a frown he made sure his vitals were normal. The perspiration was strangely high, but there was nothing else which justified this strange biological reaction.
If he didn't know better, he would expect he was becoming ill, but the onset was never this fast, nor was it really like this. He didn't feel ill, he felt off. He was not tired, he wasn't drunk or high, and he certainly wasn't nervous. It was a peculiar sensation that didn't make sense at all.
Why then, do I feel like this?
Well, he still had a job to do.
He set his suit to compensate for the biological abnormalities as best he could, as he approached the entrance to the building he was expected in. Tori was already waiting for him, wearing a mask to blend into the population. Even through the mask he could tell the Quarian was giving him a once-over. "[Expecting a fight, Golo'Mekk?]"
"[One cannot be too prepared,]" Golo answered. "[You've made no secret of your distaste for me. I feel it would be foolish to ignore such…confessions.]"
A part of him hoped that some kind of reaction would emerge from the stoic Quarian, but once more he was disappointed. A shrug was the most reaction he got. "[Fair. Before we continue, this is your last chance to walk away.]"
Golo gave a humorless chuckle. "[I'll take my chances.]"
"[As you insist,]" Tori swiped his omni-tool over a scanner and the door behind him slid open. Golo could immediately see the contrast from the grimy, battered, and decaying outside to the clean interior. His sensors detected the significantly improved air quality, and he picked up no fewer than three different defensive systems that had clicked on.
It wasn't a true clean room by any means, but on Omega it might as well have been. The building was also bigger than Golo had expected from the outside. The living space was devoid of much decoration or furniture; it was the sparse conditions of any safe house, but with a certain order and cleanliness to them that Quarians specifically adopted.
Several other rooms, and a kitchen, branched off from the main room, likely refreshers and bedrooms. There were no other markings or indications of who might live here. He couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by the operation. It was as professionally-managed, if not more so, than ones he'd seen from the AIS or even STG.
The temperature was colder than the exterior, yet his skin still felt slick, and his body felt hot as if he was running a fever. His vitals this time didn't show that – his sensors told him his body temperature was normal, but he was decidedly not. It was unlike any fever he'd felt like before either.
It was not as much a physical sensation as an ethereal envelopment that was like an itch he couldn't scratch, or a wound with no discernable origin. He realized his mouth was parted slightly, trying to breathe a bit easier.
The fuck is wrong with me?
He made sure to keep any indication that he was growing more unwell from Tori. Had he been drugged somehow? No, his suit would have prevented that, or at least been able to detect tampering, and it was showing nothing.
Tori pressed a few buttons on a nearby panel, and Golo heard a lock click, and a part of the wall slid open to reveal a staircase that descended. Tori entered, and wave him to follow. They soon entered an equally-clean and sparse room, where more Quarians were awaiting them.
Unlike Tori, none of them were masked, and their glowing eyes seemed to stare at him with unrestrained judgement. That feeling of being watched suddenly seemed to magnify, to a degree that genuinely made him uncomfortable; as did their expressions of clear contempt.
Two of them, both men, were dressed similar to Tori, in attire that would allow them to pass for regular Quarians on the outside, only with different colors. They likely often went out into Omega in disguise, for reasons he could only speculate on.
However, one of them was dressed unlike any of the others.
Golo found it reminded him of proper civilian attire than anything else. It was loose clothing, lightly armored and modulated. He doubted there were many, if any complex systems within it. It genuinely just seemed to be simple clothing; a light robe of sorts that fell behind her legs to her ankles, and a familiar shawl covering her head, under which her eyes stared out.
She smiled at him.
There was something in her eyes that seemed to be just a bit brighter than they should be.
That noiseless sound changed into a light, near-imperceptible rhythm.
He had a sudden, strong, and overpowering urge to take out his shotgun and turn her face into brain matter, bone, and flesh. An irrational, emotional urge, which didn't change the fact that he felt a deep conviction that this woman was unnatural.
He could only guess what her role really was, because it seemed so out of place here.
He crushed the urge, even as his skin became slicker, his body grew warmer, and the noise wormed its way deeper into his mind. This was not how any of this was supposed to be going.
Something was very, very wrong here.
A floor-level holoprojector rested in the middle of the room, which all of them stood around. The robed woman turned to Tori, a rather melodic voice emerging from it. "[This is him?]"
"[It is,]" Tori answered. "[Alone as well. No others were detected.]"
She nodded in return. "[He stands by.]"
Tori took off his own mask, and hooked it on his belt. For the first time, there was an undercurrent of…anticipation? Nervousness? It was difficult to tell, but the Quarian's voice betrayed none of it. "[Make the call.]"
None of them seemed thrilled with the order, but they obeyed. One of the Quarians tapped his omni-tool as the holoprojector initialized, and they waited. Long seconds passed, before the image materialized and the demeanor of the Quarians turned from one of apprehension to near-reverence.
The figure within the hologram was one which elicited a strange reaction in Golo; an emotion that had been dormant so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like. Unlike the strange reactions which had plagued him since stepped into this building, this feeling was one that was genuine and had an origin he could pinpoint.
Uneasiness.
The Quarian standing opposite him was a figure that anyone would instantly recognize as a commanding authority. His very stance, expression, and attire held a gravitas that could not be fabricated or replicated. The quills of his head hung down to his shoulders, his facial features were stern, his skin a pale blue.
He wore a suit that seemed primarily a mixture of armor and robes – similar in ways to the strange woman, but one that was clearly designed for war. He had no other insignias or symbols on his clothing or armor, and unlike other suits there was no obvious mechanisms or places for a helmet or mask. Besides the face, every part of his body was covered by the sleek armor-robes.
Yet the source of his uneasiness didn't come from the attire, but from a particular detail he'd immediately noticed which he had to reassess to make sure he wasn't seeing things. There was a symmetry throughout the Quarian; as if his body and face were perfectly mirrored with one another. He saw no flaws, differences, or imperfections whatsoever.
It was if he was seeing some kind of entity divorced from the reality they lived in altogether.
It was unnatural.
"[Golo'Mekk, Black Admiral,]" Tori stated, indicating him. "[As we expected.]"
Even throughout the sensations and illness that had befallen him, Golo began executing his program to track where this call was coming from. He exhaled in a slightly raspy breath, feeling like he was in some kind of thick soup.
Here went nothing.
The Black Admiral slowly turned his eyes directly at him, into his own behind the mask which Golo was grateful for right now – not that it seemed to really matter to the Black Admiral. He said nothing for a prolonged period of time. Then he nodded to Tori, who left without a word with the rest of the Quarians.
His eyes returned back to Golo, the uncomfortable silence seeming to stretch.
"[You shared the revelation with the Pirate Queen, did you not?]"
His voice was even, with a smooth, cultured tone as if someone who came from the old Aristocracy. He reminded Golo of how some of the Admirals spoke, with each word being clearly enunciated and with a weight behind them. A voice of an individual who held authority - and knew it.
While Golo had wondered if this question would be asked, he hadn't expected it would be the first one. Further evidence that it had been expected. "[Something you accounted for, no doubt. You wouldn't have let me learn if you didn't want it spread. Why, I wonder?]"
"[Explanations are owed to subordinates, not tools and parasites,]" the Black Admiral answered in a cold voice. "[You performed as expected. Nothing more. Nothing less.]"
Golo snorted. "[You really think you can use me without consequences? That you can use Aria similarly?]"
"[You are a criminal. A parasite. A tool,]" there was a strange lack of venom in each word, but the weight of each cold declaration was so strong that it caused whiplash. The Black Admiral's expression didn't change, but his eyes reflected the intensity. "[You hold no loyalty to any but yourself. You are driven by desires and schemes. A base, emotional, mortal creature; an example of what our species has been allowed to degenerate to.]"
The corners of his lips curled up. "[I use you without consequence, because you are a creature of no consequence. You are not special. You are not unique. You are nothing. Aria is no different. Nothing separates you from her on the scale that matters. Mortals and creatures who are slaved to their instincts and realities that forever constrain them.]"
"[Ah,]" Golo lifted a finger. "[You are a good liar, but that I know is simply not true. Perhaps you can claim that I am nothing, but to apply that to her?]" He shook his head. "[That is a level of arrogance even I cannot reach.]"
"[And you know arrogance, Golo'Mekk,]" came the answer. "[You cannot abide the idea that there can be any you do not understand, or are greater than you. For there is nothing you have not seen, not experienced, not comprehended. You know nothing, else you would understand what I speak of.]"
"[Then do enlighten me; indulge my curiosity,]" Golo said. "[Educate this ignorant soul.]"
"[No.]"
"[Why?]"
"[You are not worthy,]" the Black Admiral answered simply. "[You are not one of my people. You are not even an individual who performs basic decency. You are a criminal. You are a parasite. You are a degenerate. You are arrogant. You are blind. You are worthy only of dismissal and irrelevance.]"
The corners of Golo's lips pulled back, everything seemed to be worsening in how he was feeling; his feelings surging wildly and he was struggling to keep control over the sheer insult he was hearing. "[You could at least say you want me dead, like your people do.]"
"[I do not want you dead. You have not earned death,]" came the cold answer. "[I look at you and feel nothing. I see a creature to be pitied. Nothing you have done inspires me to hate you more than any other ruined being in this galaxy. Be grateful you have not earned my hate, Golo'Mekk. My hate is reserved for those who matter.]"
Golo sneered. "[Do not pity me. Convey that sentiment to your people, one they do not share.]"
"[My people hate you because I taught them what to hate,]" the Black Admiral answered. "[You embody the worst sins of this galaxy; in the eyes of the law and living, you deserve death. Your life is an aberration of a cruel galaxy, one that inflicts terror, pain, and horror upon itself.]"
His voice became…contemplative. "[Your life inspires the hatred of my people, and so they hate, not knowing where my rage is directed towards. You are a consequence, a symptom of the disease. My people treat symptoms, they mitigate consequences. Only I can cure the disease.]"
"[This disease being?]"
"[If you do not know the answer, then it is not something you can grasp.]"
The sound in his head had grown to be something that Golo could not ignore anymore, and no more was it a simply rhythm, but some maddening melody that was making all of the sensations worse around him. His blood was boiling, his skin leaking fluid, his vision seemed to be swimming, and none of his implants were helping.
He realized his weapon was in his hands, yet every word of the Black Admiral was heard with absolute clarity. It was the only time when the noise did not seem to become overpowering in its nothingness. His control was deteriorating, his fury at the dismissal and condescension, his confusion and uneasiness over his physical state.
"[You think that you are in control of everything,]" Golo managed. "[That everything that can be done you have prepared for and orchestrated. I've met men like you before, so sure of their infallibility before their downfall. What will you do if I act in a way you do not expect?]"
"[Do you intend to use that weapon in your hands?]" Was the returned question. "[To murder my people? To destroy this place? To claim lives and souls in a shout to the galaxy that what you do matter? That by an act of violence you foil my plans, or prove your autonomy.]"
The Black Admiral smiled. "[How well can you fight, I wonder, when you body is revolting against you. When your flesh burns, your instruments fail, and a Song echoes in your mind. Very well. I will grant you what you want.]"
He knew.
All of this he knew.
Golo knew he needed to leave.
Yet his limbs had become heavy, his body was inflamed, it was all he could do to remain standing as every noise and sensation was drowned out by the maddening Song that had morphed into something even more potent.
He knew.
What had he done?
His vision became blurry, as he struggled to remain conscious, an internal roar tried to force him to remain, which did nothing against the Song.
Then it faded. He could see, hear, and feel again. He was still standing, but now the Quarians were before him again, standing in orderly lines, two on each side of the holoprojector. All but one of them were serene, but the other female soldier's face betrayed her internal conflict, though of what he couldn't determine.
The Black Admiral looked down at him, his voice with just a hint of dismissal. "[My people are before you. Execute your butchery as you desire. Kill them now. Prove that what you do matters. Prove that you have choice. Prove your autonomy. Prove that you are something more.]"
He saw the female soldier swallow. The woman in the strange attire placed a hand on her shoulder, her voice just loud enough for Golo to hear.
"[Do not fear. It will be quick.]"
He looked at Tori, whose smile was wide on his face, and eyes filled with joy. For whatever reason the affliction that had gripped him had receded enough for him to think, and he didn't know what to do now. To act under the orders of this Black Admiral – or to refuse. Which was what he was expected to do.
He looked at Tori. "[Is this how you want to die? Like this? For him? To merely prove a point?]"
Tori's smile remained the same. "[Nothing you do matters, Golo'Mekk. I live and die by the will of the Living Ancestor. If today is my day to die, it will be because I serve His purpose, and do so willingly. You will not understand.]"
His choice was made.
Better to kill these zealots now.
Four shotgun blasts killed each Quarian, splatting the walls and floors with blood and flesh. The room was silent, as the Black Admiral did not once look at the people he had condemned to death.
The sensations seemed to be gone, even the sounds. He felt normal for the first time since he'd stepped foot in this place. Was it over?
"[You may leave now,]" the Black Admiral finally said. "[You have done all you wished to. You are satisfied.]"
Golo remained in place. "[No. You have a point to make. Make it.]"
The Black Admiral was silent for a long time, long enough that Golo wondered if he was giving him one final chance to walk away. No, he had gone through all of this, he was dealing with something he never had before, and he was not going to leave without getting answers on what this was all about.
Then he became aware of something new.
A new sound in the air, but this was not one that was just in his own head, but one which he heard.
"[Tori spoke truly,]" the Black Admiral stated as the Song seemed to rapidly swell. "[My greatest soldiers serve, live, and die as I command. Their lives are mine to control, their souls are mine to harness, their wills are mine to command. Only I can permit their final rest. Only I will allow mortality to claim them.]"
The Quarian's voice rose, as he looked upon the carnage Golo had wrought. "[I deny them death. Let them return.]"
The Song reached a crescendo, so powerful that Golo found he was unable to move, as the air itself rippled and shifted in ways he struggled to follow – yet he saw the results of them instantly. Wounds that closed over themselves, blood and gore which vanished if it never existed, fabric and mechanisms repaired as if they'd never been broken.
With incredulity and horror he saw the Quarians he had executed – who he'd made sure were dead – slowly stand up as the distortion around them faded as did the pervasive Song. Tori rolled his shoulders with a chuckle, and faced the holoprojector. "[Black Admiral, I return to serve.]" He met Golo's eyes, taking seemingly great pleasure. "[Nothing you do matters, Golo'Mekk. Not without His command.]"
Golo looked back to the Black Admiral, who seemed to tower over him, and a new sensation wormed its way through him.
A dawning fear.
What is this?
This shouldn't be real.
"[Admiral,]" the robed woman asked. "[Is he to be Attuned?]"
"[No,]" the Black Admiral answered. "[He remains of no consequence, nor a threat. Leave, Golo'Mekk. Do not interfere in our work, lest this change. Leave, and indulge in your empty life, and wanton violence. Live, and take comfort in knowing that nothing you do matters.]"
The hologram vanished.
The Quarians merely watched him, seemingly content for him to act first. There was no sense of fear, no sense of impatience, they were more curious than anything else.
Because nothing he did mattered.
He couldn't do anything more here.
He spun on a heel and quickly made to depart. He didn't bother to check if his programs or tools had succeeded, because that meant nothing compared to him witnessing people returning from the dead. The moment he burst out of the compound it was all he could do not to break into a sprint to get away from whatever the fuck he'd experienced as fast as he could.
Once he was decisively away from that location, and on a shuttle back to Afterlife, did he risk typing in a very long string of digits for a secure line that he was only supposed to use in absolute emergencies. If there was ever a time where it was justified…it was now.
Within his mask, the face of Seras'Jorr jas DELTA appeared. His voice betrayed some surprise – no doubt this was one of the last people he expected to be dealing with today. In fact, Golo thought he'd only spoken with the leader of DELTA Operations within the Circle of the Fallen a handful of times.
"Golo," Seras said slowly. "This is a surprise."
"For good reason," Golo answered. "Meet me as soon as you can. There is a situation. We need to talk."
There was a slight pause. "Understood. I'll be in contact soon."
The call ended, and Golo exhaled in…relief? Satisfaction? Instinct? No matter the reason, he felt he'd been lucky to escape with his life today.
Somehow, despite all of the odds, this situation had become decidedly more complicated.
Be grateful you're not caught up in this, Verona, Golo mused to himself as the stop for Afterlife approached. Let it not be said I do nothing for my friends.
But he was committed now.
This was a mystery that he intended to finish solving, and perhaps a power that was unlike any other.
And when he learned it, the Black Admiral would learn a lesson that so many had learned far too late.
That was his promise.
See you soon.