When he returned to the mess, he found the unexpected. Crew members cleaned up all the used dinnerware and cooking implements. The rest remained seated around the mess tables, communally filling the dumpling wrappers with the filling and chatting as they did so. Ansel sat slumped in a chair, hat over his eyes, stealing a nap before they continued.

Shepard waved him over. "Arius. Over here," she called out to him, motioning him to sit in the vacant seat next to her.

"You don't have to do it all alone, you know," he told him as he sat down. "We're more than happy to help. Besides, I requested the dumplings, and this," she said, motioning to the others, "was my favourite part."

Wrapped dumplings were time-consuming to make by hand. Usually, entire families would partake to speed up the task, giving a forum for conversation. He sat and looked around at the others seated. Liara was showing Traynor how to crimp the wrappers. Vega and Cortez were holding a contest to see how many they could fill. Engineering was talking with the specialists. There were smiles and gaiety in the faces of those present and chatter about topics other than war.

Yes, he thought to himself; he had more than just memories.

"Grunt's furious, by the way," Shepard whispered, leaning over, showing him a message from the krogan, "He sends his regards from the hospital."

In poor spelling, Grunt insisted that he was fully recovered regardless of what the doctors had said and was outraged that Arius had been cooking again without him being present.

"A mole on the Normandy must have leaked it. Dalatrass again, do you think?" she joked, closing the message.

Arius tapped at his chin thoughtfully. "Let's think… Who would be the prime suspect? Who on board had the most to gain from Grunt's frustrations?"

Shepard and Arius simultaneously looked toward Garrus, who sat leisurely eating from the large spread in front of him. Being the only dextro creature, he had all the dextro food. Feeling eyes burning into him, the turian turned toward them, sensing an accusation. "What?" he asked them, "I can feel your stares."

Shepard hid her cracking grin under her hand, putting two and two together. "Garrus never did forgive Grunt for eating all his food the last time."

"Open and shut. I'd say we found our mole."

While they sat and chatted, Arius looked around, looking for and failing to find a face. "Say, did Javik come up at all?"

"Oh, he did. Hung around for a while but didn't say much. Said the food this cycle was, and I quote, 'adequate'."

"Wow, that's high praise."

"Tell me about it."

.

After the crew had filled the dumplings, he placed them in steamers. While they cooked, he made a large container of oolong tea, which we placed beside the cups in the mess. He poured himself a cup, and the tea's slightly sweet, woody, roasted flavour filled his head.

Arius' eyes shifted to the bottle of honey he had used earlier, salivating at the prospect of squeezing some of the golden sugars into his cup, but sensibility prevailed, not wanting to destroy the subtle flavour of the tea.

Having woken from his rest, Ansel stood with a fresh apron, sharpening the kitchen blades on a fine-grit whetstone. "Proper marathon," he remarked, sliding the blade's edge along the abrasive. "I had heard some crazy rumours about the Normandy floating around, but I never believed them to be true..."

"I do love a good rumour. What did you hear?"

The cook pushed the blade away from him, scraping it along. "I had heard that the ship ventured to places in the galaxy where no ships dared go - to fight monsters never before seen by mortal eyes. I also heard that after being destroyed, the ship and its commander were resurrected to take revenge on its foe, crewed by souls bound to the ship until her mission is complete."

Arius took a slow sip of his tea. "I can see how that would be problematic."

"And why is that?"

"Because now no one will believe you."

Ansel laughed knowingly. "I am not disappointed, to be sure." He raised the knife and tested the edge. Satisfied, he nodded. "Ready when you are, capitán. Let's finish this."

Arius nodded. Now recovered from his early bout of disorientation, he readied to dive in again. He put earbuds into his ears and pressed play.

.

The steamed dumplings were served with black vinegar, chilli garlic oils, and other sweet sauces. Peking Duck that kept marinating earlier and was removed from the oven, its skin roasted to a crispy, golden brown. It had been earlier glazed with a mixture of soy sauce, five-spice powder and sugars. He cut into the succulent flesh, arranging it on the serving platter. Bit by bit, the smells and sounds pulled him back into his memories, moving him to a different time and place. The rice paddies, the hills steeped in mist. Red lanterns. Dragons.

Then, salt water spray, and a red sun rose over a mountain. Flash-cooled fish was hoisted out of the coolers: salmon, skipjack tuna, yellowfin, and sea bream. The flesh was bright, healthy and supple, and a long blade was produced, slicing into the yielding meat in sure strokes - only the most essential preparation was required, for such was the simple enjoyment of such fine food. Shashimi served, he turned back to the range and made a roux, adding spice powders and vegetables until thick and rich in flavour. Pork cutlets were breaded and thrown into hot oil, frying it to a satisfying crunch. The rice cooker was opened, and the three were married in one bowl. He rang the bell. Katsu-Kare was ready.

Adobo came after; seafood and vegetables were marinated in vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, and black peppercorns, then browned in oil and simmered in the marinade. Tteokbokki, spicy rice cake, was served with sides of kimchi and thinly sliced meats marinated in fruit-based sauces. His pace began to pick up. Tsuivan, handmade noodles stir-fried with vegetables in a rainbow of colours. A milk tea, suutei tsai, was served alongside. Pho, a combination of rice noodles, herbs and meat. Pad Kee Mao, rice noodles, basil, with its spicy and savory flavours. Rendang, coconut stew.

He fell backwards into the snow and floated upwards to the highest mountaintops. Coloured flags. Prayer wheels. Incense. Sandalwood. Myrrh. Momo, bite-sized dumplings stuffed with meats, cheeses, and vegetables, rolled off his hands and off the world's edge.

Then came the curries. The wonderful curries. Spices abounded, suffocating him with their heavenly fragrances. Cumin, coriander, cloves, cardamom, red chili powder, ginger, mustard seed, fenugreek, turmeric, saffron, and others. One after the other, they arrived in fits of passion: The sweet and sour dhansak. The tandoor tikka masala. The spinach and mustard green saag. The cardamom enveloped korma. The burning hot vindaloo. The gentle fragrance of basmati rice filled the air. His mind was swept away by that sacred river…

… and he washed up ashore on the fertile banks. Fresh figs and dates dropped from the trees and fell into his lap. Biryani - marinated chicken, caramelized onions, and saffron rice cooked together were raised and scooped onto plates. Dolma and yalanji were piled high - grape leaves stuffed and rolled together. Kafta and falafel, deep-fried patties made from ground chickpeas, herbs, spices and onions, were removed from the oil and placed with fixings and garlic sauces.

He was close, so close to the end. He stumbled onto the plains again, running. The sun was high. The sky was cloudless. It was dry and hot. His mouth felt parched. He slung his bundled load on his back, and under his calloused feet ran the endless ground.

He had returned to the rivers.

.

The crowd was back and they stood close by, watching the cooking. The marathon was nearly over, and they wanted to see the end of the arduous task Arius had taken on.

"He really does go into another world, doesn't he?" Vega remarked.

"How do you mean?"

"We try to get his attention every now and again; he hasn't noticed us once. His eyes look completely unfocused too, look… like he's not even here. Wonder what's going on in there."

"Probably wherever the food is from. What's the last thing that came out? The falafel? Somewhere in the middle east would be my guess."

"Wherever it's from, it's damn delicious," Joker interrupted from the table, shovelling a pile of dolma into his face. "Didn't even know what these were an hour ago. EDI is seriously missing out."

Vega turned back to watch the cooking when he heard the tapping of fingers on a datapad. Curious, he looked over Traynor's shoulder, spying on what she was doing. It was a map of the surface of planet Earth, and she was annotating it, linking foods to different parts of the world.

"Traynor, are you… charting Arius' life?"

The specialist spun around in surprise, caught off guard. "What? No!" she insisted, raising the pad away from prying eyes. The rest of the group looked at her skeptically; her reaction had readily admitted her guilt. Found out, she lowered the datapad again.

"Well… yes. Come on, you haven't been curious yourself? It fits a path, I think. Look," she turned the map to them. "We started in the North Americas, then we travelled due south. Made a hop laterally over to Africa and travelled north, straight into Europe. Continued east on that latitude…. all the way to the edge it seems, then a bit south into Asia, and now… back a tad east, right into the Levant."

"What's the Levant?"

"Roughly the eastern Mediterranean region of western Asia."

"Oh. Hmm. I wonder why he chose that path. So that's the end of his journey, then?"

"No, it's the start," Liara corrected, "Arius told me once he startedin the near east and worked his way around. He's been cooking backwards, chronologically speaking. I think he's ending where he crash-landed," she explained, pointing to the near east on the Specialists data pad, "which means the region he started this marathon is where he finally left Earth from."

"Huh." Vega turned back to watch Arius work on the range. On it was a large pot of soup, simmering. He picked up the course list left on the mess table and quickly scanned its contents. "I think this is the last item," he declared, holding up the list. "It's a soup served with unleavened bread. Looks… simple."

"It probably is. Remember, this was perhaps one of his first meals on Earth. We are talking thousands of years ago. It would be ancient."

"And it's served with… beer?"

They watched Arius grab a can from a case of beer on the counter and snap the thin metal of its aperture open, then pour some into the soup pot and stir it.

The marine grabbed one from the case to look at. It was a simple barley beer. "Looks like beer is the secret ingredient for the last dish."

.

The beer went into the soup, and he stirred it. Arius scooped a tiny amount into a tasting spoon and brought it to his lips. He paused.

The smell stirred something distant yet profound within him, like the rumblings of some far-off storm. Hesitant, he tasted the liquid, and as the spoon's hot contents touched his tongue, it brought forth a sharp pang in his chest like it had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Assailed by sudden emotion, he lowered the spoon, exerting the utmost effort to prevent himself from succumbing to the wave. The mental effort was unnatural, and it broke him out of the flow and yanked him forward thousands of years into the present moment, back into the kitchen of the Normandy.

He blinked, finding himself the source of the stares again. He looked over to Ansel. The bread had just come out, and it was piping. "The last meal," he announced, but his voice was tired and weary.

Those present lined up, and he scooped the soup into the bowls, setting them out to be taken. He thanked Ansel for his invaluable help and finally dismissed him to rest. Once all had been served, Arius ladled some of the soup into his own bowl and tore himself off a piece of bread from the loaf. He stared at the meal in front of him, watching the steam rise, not eating it, unable to claim his hard-won prize.

Shepard walked over to the island where he leaned motionless, with her bowl in hand. "Want some company?" he heard her ask him. Her tone was kind, even hopeful. He wanted nothing more, but he could not bear it.

"Thank you, and you know I adore your company… but I'd like to have a moment to myself. Perhaps a bit later?"

She nodded. "Sure."

While the crew patted their overfed bellies and languished in the mess hall chairs, he took his bowl and quietly returned to the starboard cargo hold. He closed the door behind him and sat alone with the unleavened bread and the simple soup.

Finally, his marathon had ended. He put his hands together to give thanks, but this prayer differed. The last time he uttered it, he had been a man of the Earth whose bare feet connected him to the unspoiled planet and the unveiled stars in his eyes. He soundlessly affirmed his gratitude in a bygone way, remembering his once visceral connection to the natural world with fellow mankind and acknowledging his place as a drop in the circle of life.

He dipped the crude bread into the soup to moisten it, placed it in his mouth, then chewed it slowly. Once the morsel was eaten, he picked up the bowl to drink from it, gulped, and the sustaining meal filled him. He lowered the bowl back to the table.

He stared emptily ahead into the leaden recesses of memory and leaned his forehead against his clasped hands. The echo of five hundred human lifetimes came flooding back; the full recollection of his journey finally overcame him, and the tears came at last.