"The best voices - voices that truly matter - never allow themselves be heard. This lesson is worth learning again and again. Forever."
-Dreams of Alpha Lupi
An idle cursor waited in the top corner of the screen, blinking away. Incessant. Unremitting. Infuriating.
The document was blank, save for an embedded header, which simply read FILE/SITREP: AMYTIS/4VES MHALE-1999. Meren glared at the display, and the empty space glared right back, the nothingness there mocking her. Daring her to begin again.
In her mind's eye, she could envision the lines of text that had been there just minutes before. It hadn't been anything extraordinary. Just a concise recount of the past months' events, a handful of anecdotes, and a few key observations. A standard situation report.
Every word had been a lie.
It had taken two and a half days to compose the damn thing and another six hours to edit it, paring away any vestiges of truth. In the end, the result had been a blatant work of fiction. Not a word of which the Vanguard would believe.
Thus, every last line had been deleted.
A sigh escaped her, and Meren flopped back in her chair, letting her head lull against the backrest until she was staring at the ceiling.
What a disaster. All that work gone to waste, and the deadline was still looming. In less than two days, Zavala expected the finished report on this desk. She needed to put something on the page. Fast.
But what? What the hell was she supposed to write?
That she'd arrived in the Reef and had promptly wandered off to the Tangled Shore? That she'd stumbled upon an Eliksni crime lord and had almost gotten herself killed? That, in order to save her own skin, she'd surreptitiously acquired a non-public map, had abetted in the pilfering of a Post-Collapse Earth Heritage archaeological site, and had somehow still wound up in indentured servitude? That afterwards, she'd then befriended an Eliksni turncoat scribe, who'd been the one that had baited her into seeking out the aforementioned crime lord? A turncoat, who had then done an about-face and had furnished her with a dangerous amount of Eliksni secrets? Oh, and that she and said turncoat scribe had sat down for dinner on several occasions and had wound up falling into bed together?
Not to mention the minor detail of how she'd brokered a deal between the very same Eliksni crime lord and the Awoken Queen in the face of an impending Hive invasion. The foreknowledge of which had been conveyed by a certifiably insane Eliksni Kell, housed in the Prison of Elders. The same prison where she'd spent the majority of her second month, indirectly participating in morally and ethically dubious scientific experimentation on the resident population of captive Psions!
Yeah. All of that would go over wonderfully with the Vanguard.
Meren closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, the cursor was still there, still blinking, still waiting.
"Screw it," she muttered, pushing away from her workstation.
It was time for a break.
Rising from her chair, Meren stretched her arms overhead, her joints popping in relief. The motion brought a twinge to her shoulder, but the ache was manageable. A far cry from the searing pain she'd endured just a few days before.
The day after she'd arrived home, Meren had woken feeling like someone had shoved a hot iron through her shoulder. She'd gone to the washroom, peeled back her nightclothes, and had found the bite wound to be a vivid, angry red. The skin surrounding it had been hot to the touch, and when she'd pressed her fingers against it, the pain had been agonizing.
There had been a moment, then, that she'd considered going to the nearest emergency clinic. But the idea had quickly been dismissed. How would she have explained her injury to the doctors? 'Oh, I fell into the Northwest Reservoir and was bitten by a shark.' There weren't even sharks in the City Aquarium, much less the freshwater reservoirs!
No, there would have been too many questions. Questions she wouldn't have been able to answer.
Thankfully, an alternative had presented itself.
She'd called a friend, the Vanguard Director of Health, Doctor Declan Reeves, and had explained the situation in vague terms. He'd listened intently and had asked a few questions but hadn't probed too much. Dr. Reeves specialized primarily in Exo health and repair, and though his area of expertise was more mechanical than physical, his knowledge had been sufficient. He'd prescribed a course of antibiotics, painkillers, and anti-inflammatories, all of which had arrived that afternoon via courier bot delivery. Along with the medications, there had been a handwritten note, the paper crinkled and worn at the edges, the ink smudged with oil stains.
"Take care of yourself, Hale. Call me if you need anything -DR," it read. Scrawled underneath was his office commlink code and a nearly illegible PS: "Let's catch up soon."
She'd smiled at that.
In the days following, the medication had worked wonders. The pain had mostly abated, and the inflammation had subsided, leaving only the puncture marks, which were healing nicely. It might not even scar if she took Variks' advice and kept the area clean and adequately moisturized.
Meren rolled her shoulder as she plucked her empty mug from the desk and padded her way across the common room to the kitchen.
Admittedly, being back in her own apartment had felt strange at first. Those first few hours especially had been like stepping from reality into a long-forgotten dream. The space had been just as she'd left it: sparsely decorated, somewhat organized, and utterly unremarkable. A bit of dust had collected in her absence and a few plants had wilted. All that had been easily rectified, though. After a bit of cleaning and a few carafes of water, the place almost seemed like home again.
Almost.
At the sink, Meren rinsed the dregs of coffee from the mug and shook off the excess droplets. She set the cup on the counter, and her gaze drifted to the rack of spices mounted on the wall nearby. The jars were neatly labeled and precisely aligned in alphabetical order, except for one. A small, cylindrical phial, stoppered with a cork.
Without thinking, Meren reached for it. The container bore no label, but its contents were unmistakable: a shimmering substance, shifting between shades of cerulean, violet, and indigo.
Variks' tea.
It had been sitting in the rack, untouched, since she'd arrived home. She'd meant to drink it, she really had, but between the debacle with her shoulder and the situation report, it had completely slipped her mind. Now, though…
Setting the phial aside on the counter, she flicked on the kettle and busied herself gathering the remaining ingredients: a tea bag, a spoonful of honey, and her mug.
Minutes later, an iridescent lavender concoction was steaming away in her cup. It didn't look like any tea she'd ever seen, but then again, it wasn't a typical Earth tea, either. The brew smelled sweet and floral, with an earthy undertone. She stirred the liquid a few times, watching as the honey dissolved, shifting the color into a gradient of pinkish hues.
Cup in hand, she made her way back to her desk, taking a sip along the way. The tea was lovely. It lacked the astringency of most terrestrial varieties and had a smooth, delicate flavor. Sweet, but not too much so, with a pleasant, herbal aftertaste. Once swallowed, its heat seemed to linger in her throat, warming her from the inside out.
Settling back into her chair, she set the mug alongside her datapad, and her eyes returned to the impatient cursor.
"Come on," she urged herself. "Get it together."
The cursor continued to blink.
She tapped her fingers against the desktop and then her nails, the sound rhythmic and sharp. The situation report wasn't going to write itself, and she wasn't getting any closer by sitting there and staring.
Her fingers slowed. Then stopped as her gaze flitted across the desk, landing on a certain carved crystal. It was still sitting where she'd left it, atop a stack of books in the corner, its funny snaggletoothed smile grinning back at her.
Meren picked up the Reef gem, studying it for a moment, turning it over, watching the way the light caught the carved grooves and furrows. A thought tugged at her.
How desperately she wished Variks was there! He'd have helped her think of a solution. Or, at the very least, he would have provided some encouragement.
Most likely, he'd tell her that she was overthinking things. That the words would come in time. If they didn't, and she was particularly stubborn, though…well, then he'd probably threaten to write the situation report himself. Without a doubt, he would do a far better job than her. He'd weave his own tale, one full of half-truths and omissions. The result an exquisite narrative that would leave the Vanguard none the wiser.
Meren chuckled softly to herself, a melancholy sound, and set the gem back in its place.
Admittedly, she missed his perspective. His wisdom. His guile.
But most of all, she missed his company.
Her mind drifted back to their evening conversations over tea. She recalled the ease of their camaraderie, their banter. How warmth and humor would fill his voice, his eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief. He'd tease gently and in good fun. It was the way he listened, however, that struck her most. He'd always given her his full attention, his head tilted, hanging on every word, as though what she was saying was the most interesting thing in the cosmos. In those moments, she'd never felt more at ease with someone.
Still, it would be a lie if she said there weren't other aspects of his company she missed, too.
She'd had her fair share of romantic encounters in the past. Most quick and casual, but there had been a few of the more serious variety. Her recent dalliance with Variks, though, had been unlike anything she'd experienced before. With him, there had been a unique, effortless intensity that had caught her by surprise. The element of the forbidden was undoubtedly a contributing factor, but it had run deeper than that. From the moment she'd met him, he'd challenged her intellectually, pushing her boundaries. Physically, he'd done much the same, testing her, teasing her, drawing out a wholly unfamiliar hunger. For the first time in a long while, he'd made her feel alive.
And after that, how had she repaid him? By leaving without a word...
Guilt tugged at her, and Meren tried to shake it off. There was nothing she could do about it now. Besides, he'd known she was leaving. They'd said their goodbyes, albeit a bit prematurely. Variks would understand, she was sure of it. He knew, better than anyone, how often duty superseded personal desire.
Still, a part of her couldn't help but wonder what might have been had circumstances been different. In another time, another place, another life, perhaps, could whatever was between them have continued? Could it have become…something more?
The question was moot, but it lingered all the same.
As it was, her focus needed to be on her work, not fanciful what-ifs. Meren heaved a sigh and forced her eyes back to the display, determined to make some progress.
She typed out a few lines, then deleted them. A few more words were added, then swiftly removed. She went back and forth like that a few times, committing nothing of substance to the page. The words were there, just at the edge of her consciousness. She could feel them, but every time she reached for them, all her mind offered up was...Variks.
It was no use.
With the scribe occupying her brainspace, thinking was impossible. Locking the display, she pushed herself up and away from her workstation. The situation report be damned. She'd deal with it later. Or maybe she'd try to blame Reef Brain and beg for an extension. Either way, that was future Meren's problem.
Right now, she needed to get out. Go for a walk. Something.
Anything to clear her head.
A few hours and several kilometers later, Meren was beginning to wish she'd stayed home.
She'd gone for a walk, alright, but not the relaxing stroll she'd envisioned. No, the trek had turned into a long trudge through the Core's commercial district in search of early Dawning gifts. The seemingly endless slog had continued past row after row of storefronts, each selling the same mass-produced kitsch as the next. The crowds had been especially bad in anticipation of the upcoming holiday, with hordes of people out, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather.
Meren had never particularly enjoyed shopping. Especially in places like those, where the stores were large and impersonal, the wares mostly useless, and the vapid staff all too eager to assist. If the uninspired commercialism wasn't bad enough, every step she took had been a fight against the press of bodies to get from one shop to the next. It had been a test of her patience. One the crowds had nearly won.
She'd been ready to call it quits and go home. But, as fate would have it, she'd spotted a sign for the nearest transit station, and in a moment of impulsive desperation, she'd boarded the first maglev train that had arrived.
Now, she found herself on an all-too-familiar route, hurtling through the City towards a destination that, quite honestly, was the last place she wanted to be.
Within minutes, the train lurched to a halt, and a chipper voice announced the name of the station: Core East. The doors opened, and a handful of people streamed past her, exiting the car. Meren waited a few seconds, then slowly followed them out.
"Last stop for civilian access to the Tower," the automated system chirped. "Please proceed directly to the security checkpoint. Thank you for choosing the City Transit System."
The message repeated several more times as the train's doors slid shut. Its repulsors hummed, and then it was off, zipping away in a blur of grey steel and electric blue light.
The flow of foot traffic pulled her along, and in short order, she'd arrived at the security checkpoint. Her credentials allowed her to bypass the standard civilian queue. A few moments later, a Frame waved her through the last of the security scanners.
"Welcome, Dr. Hale," it greeted. "We hope you enjoy your visit. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you require assistance."
Meren nodded and mumbled a perfunctory "Thanks" as she passed, making her way across the entryway and into the Tower proper.
Inside, the main atrium was bustling with activity. Civilian tourists, Guardians, and a plethora of Vanguard support staff milled about, their chatter a cacophony of noise. Some were standing idly, talking amongst themselves. Others were moving briskly, clearly on a mission. Everywhere in between, Ghosts seemed to be flitting around, eagerly offering unsolicited advice on everything from how to waterproof armor to borderline-illegal Sparrow modification.
Still, none of it fazed her. The frenetic energy of the space was the norm, not the exception.
Sidestepping a small flock of excitable Hunters clutching miniature Tower models, Meren maneuvered through the crowd, weaving her way towards the atrium's north end, where one final security checkpoint was stationed. Access to the bank of lifts that lay beyond was strictly controlled. Only authorized personnel with the appropriate security clearance were permitted entry.
Just before the checkpoint, Meren slowed, picking her way around a cluster of oblivious civilians. Most were school-aged children, accompanied by a handful of instructors, all wearing the telltale green and white uniforms of the Riverside District's Unified Education System. All their attention seemed to be focused on an array of plaques and interactive displays that dominated the wall, detailing the history of the City's defense towers, the battles that had been fought, and the heroes who had risen up to defend humanity.
It was a display that, by now, Meren had viewed a dozen times, and she didn't give the plaques a second glance. A thirteenth read-through wasn't likely to be any more insightful than the first twelve.
As she neared the checkpoint, the armed Frames on duty gave her a brief once-over, their crimson optics flicking from her head to her toes and back again. She'd barely flashed her digital credentials before one waved her forward with an electronic trill.
"Welcome back, Dr. Hale," it droned. "You may proceed."
Without breaking stride, Meren dipped her chin and crossed the threshold. There was a short corridor beyond, ending in a set of reinforced doors. The portal was flanked by another pair of heavily armed sentry bots, both of which paid her no mind as she scanned her badge for the final time and strode on through.
Immediately, the din of the atrium was left behind, replaced with the muffled buzz of fluorescent lighting and the thrum of the ventilation system. Ahead, a long hallway stretched before her, its walls painted in an institutional shade of grey-blue. At regular intervals, the passage was broken by recessed alcoves, providing maintenance access for the various systems and utilities that ran throughout the Tower.
Meren took a deep breath and headed down the corridor.
It was the same path she'd walked countless times before, but this time, the journey seemed to take twice as long. Each step felt heavy and deliberate, as though her feet were trying their best to root themselves to the floor. The sensation only seemed to grow stronger with every passing alcove. By the third, she seriously considered turning back.
But no. She couldn't.
There was someone, or someones, she needed to see. It had been too long.
At the end of the corridor, the space opened into a large, octagonal hub, which housed a number of lifts. Each door was marked with the words 'Authorized Access Only'. To the side of each, was mounted a placard designating possible destinations:
1 – OPS/SECURITY
6 – MAINTENANCE
13 – R&D
22 – CRYP. ARCHIVES
31 – COMMUNICATIONS
0 – RESTRICTED
Meren hesitated for a fraction of a second, then made her way to the nearest lift. Inside, it prompted her for clearance, which she again provided.
"Destination?" a pleasant female voice inquired.
"Level Zero."
The words sounded flat, even to her ears.
"Acknowledged," the voice confirmed.
With that, the door slid shut, and the lift began its descent.
Meren exited the lift into a small, dimly lit vestibule. The room was eerily quiet, its silence broken only by the occasional drumming of fingers from the space's only occupant: a bored-looking Titan seated in a too-small security booth just ahead. Behind a thick layer of clouded plexi, he was leaning back in his chair, two of its metal legs resting precariously on the ground. His posture was the picture of apathy, with a datapad propped loosely in his hand. He wore a full set of uninspired matte black armor. An equally unimpressive helmet sat perched on the desk before him, its faceplate a featureless, flat expanse of glossy obsidian.
As she approached, his gaze didn't leave the datapad's display.
"Credentials?" he droned, his voice tinny over the booth's intercom.
Meren held up her ID and waited. The guard didn't move except for his eyes, which flicked from the datapad's screen, to her badge, and then to her face. His expression instantly shifted from indifferent to alert, the chair's legs falling to the floor with a heavy clunk.
"Nuh-uh," he said, stabbing a finger in her direction. "Nope. Not happening. Get back in the lift, lady."
Meren blinked, taken aback.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said: get back in the lift," the Titan reiterated. "I'm not letting you in there."
"I'm afraid I don't understand. My authorization level-"
"Don't mean squat," he interrupted with a slash of his hand. "So unless you want to wind up in holding for the rest of the day, I'd suggest getting back on that lift and pressing the 'up' button."
Meren fought back a scowl, a flare of annoyance kindling.
"Maybe you should take another look," she suggested, pressing her badge against the plexi so he could see. "My clearance is at the top. Right there. With the red lettering and gold border. See it?"
"I got eyes," the guard groused. "That don't mean I'm letting you through, lady."
"Dr. Hale," she corrected.
"Fine. Doctor. Whatever. Just get lost."
Meren bristled.
"Listen," she began, struggling to keep her voice even, "I don't know what your issue is" -she paused, squinting through the foggy barrier to read the name on the badge he wore- "Crozier. But as a contracted consultant to the Vanguard, I'm authorized to be here. So, why don't you run my badge through the system and-"
"Look, doc," Crozier cut in. "I don't care what the system says. I know exactly who you are, and I ain't risking my ass letting you in there. Not after that stunt you pulled."
The stunt in question, she surmised, had to be her little outburst following the Consensus' sham trial. In her opinion, it had been a pretty reasonable and justified reaction. Still, she wasn't about to admit to anything.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said.
"Right. And I'm Lord Shaxx."
The sarcasm in his voice was so thick even an Eliksni would have caught it.
Meren lowered her badge, her lips pulling into a tight line. "All I need is ten minutes. Please."
"No can do."
"Ten minutes," she repeated. "That's it. You'll never even know I was here."
Crozier snorted. "Oh, I'll know. Now, take a hike, doc."
She eyed him, weighing her options. The sensible part of her said to turn back and try again another day. It was obviously a losing battle, and a confrontation wouldn't help her case any. Another part of her - the stubborn, reckless part that had landed her in trouble more than a few times - was determined not to go quietly. A shrewder part of her, however, reached into her bag and pulled out a programmable currency chip, flashing it at him.
"Ten minutes," she said, placing the chip on the ledge of the booth's counter.
The Titan glanced at it, then at her. For a split second, she saw something flicker in his eyes. The barest hint of interest.
"Keep talking," he said, a note of caution in his voice.
Ultimately, it took a bribe of twenty-five hundred Glimmer to convince the Titan to let her in. A small price to pay, all things considered. Besides, she could always try to itemize it on her next expense report.
With a final warning from Crozier not to "try any funny business," the reinforced door beside the security booth hissed open, and Meren stepped inside.
The space beyond was darkened, with nothing but the dim glow of emergency lighting lining the main walkway. The light it cast was barely strong enough to illuminate the floor, much less anything else. This was by design, though. Most of the inhabitants within didn't appreciate bright, artificial lighting around the clock. Still, it wasn't ideal for a human.
Not that it mattered. With a single step forward, a host of motion sensors detected her presence and activated the overhead halogen tubes, one by one. As the fixtures warmed up, they slowly increased in intensity, gradually chasing away the shadows.
Meren took a few steps further into the room, her eyes scanning the area.
Ahead, the main walkway branched off in three directions, each leading to a separate detainment module. Two were secured behind imposing, heavy blast doors, while the third was cordoned off by a semi-transparent energy barrier. Each of the two doors was equipped with an ID scanner and biometric lock, requiring additional clearance for access. The barrier, on the other hand, could be disengaged remotely from the terminal nearby.
Meren made her way to the terminal and entered a quick sequence, releasing the energy field. It fizzled and faded, then blinked out. With the way now clear, she strode forward, stepping through the open doorway and into detention module A.
Compared to the Prison of Elders, the Tower's subterranean cellblock was a modest affair, housing no more than a handful of detainees. The demographics of those detainees weren't nearly as diverse as what she'd witnessed in the Reef, either. There were a few unlucky Eliksni who had been caught trying to sneak into the City or had come too close to its walls. On occasion, she'd seen an Uluran Legionary, but they didn't seem to last long in Vanguard custody. Otherwise, that was it.
At a glance, the majority of the cells seemed to be currently unoccupied, their energy barriers disabled, revealing empty recesses of concrete and steel. The exceptions were the two holding cells near the rear of the room, their barriers shimmering with a pale blue glow. In each cell, the lights were dimmed, shrouding the inhabitants in shadow. It was quiet, save for the muted hum of the containment fields and the steady drip of condensation somewhere overhead.
Every time she visited, there seemed to be fewer and fewer occupied cells. Once, months ago, she'd dug into the Vanguard archives and pulled the cellblock's occupancy records out of curiosity. It had been an eye-opening read. The heavily classified documents were packed with reports of prisoners who had starved, died of exposure, or had fallen victim to nonnative disease. From what she could tell, the losses weren't malicious or intentional. They were simply cases of bureaucratic neglect. For the better part of a year, the Vanguard's focus had been on more pressing issues, like the sudden appearance of a Hive Prince on the moon or the Vex's continued meddling on Venus and Mars. It came as little surprise that the well-being of a few alien detainees had fallen by the wayside.
Of course, once she'd learned about the conditions, Meren had gone straight to Zavala and demanded that the issue be addressed. In hindsight, her delivery could have been more diplomatic. It didn't matter, though. Her concerns had been heard, and prisoner welfare had been improved. At least marginally.
Meren made her way towards the occupied cells, her pace deliberately slow, her footsteps echoing loudly against the concrete floor. When she was a few feet away, a form stirred within the first cell, shifting atop the thin bedroll in the far corner. An angular head popped up a moment later, and four glowing blue eyes locked onto her, unblinking.
"Itrik," Meren murmured, stopping just shy of the containment field.
The Eliksni in the cell slowly pushed himself up, his long, lanky body unfurling as he rose. He was clad in scraps of yellow bannercloth, draped and cinched haphazardly about his torso. The remaining fabric was threadbare, the color faded, its edges frayed. Even so, the embroidered sigil of House Kings was still recognizable. He'd been stripped of all other adornments.
He moved closer, his mandibles twitching in recognition, and cocked his head. For a moment, he just stared at her. Then, he raised a hand, gesturing with two fingers towards the comm relay mounted just outside the field.
"Oh, right," Meren said. "Sorry."
She moved over to the relay and entered the access code. A series of clicks followed. Then, the sound of static crackled to life over the speaker.
"Meren Hale, you return," came the familiar rasp of a voice, its cadence stilted, the consonants awkwardly accented. It was a fair attempt at the human tongue, considering the difficulty imposed by his alien physiology. "Long time."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Too long."
"Too long," Itrik echoed in a simple, low form of Eliksni as though confirming it for himself. "We believed you...gone. Forgotten Itrik and Yalsis and Spekkis."
"No," Meren replied, lowering herself into a cross-legged position on the floor. A more respectful posture. One that put the two of them on more equal terms. "Never."
Likewise, Itrik crouched down, his gangly primary arms looping around his knees. He seemed to relax, his shoulders dropping.
"Why does Meren not return, then? Why not speak with us?" he asked.
Now that he was still, Meren regarded him. Despite the low light, she could see that he'd grown gaunt. His chitin and skin had taken on a greyish cast. His once-brilliant eyes had dulled, and the crest atop his head had thinned. His secondary arms had been docked, but that was nothing new. Still, even with the docking caps long removed, the limbs weren't attempting to regrow. The stumps just hung limply at his sides, dead weight.
"There was some business I had to attend to outside the City," she explained. "But it's taken care of now, and I'm not going anywhere for a long while."
For a second, she'd considered telling him the whole truth. That she'd been away in the Reef, in the company of Variks. But in the end, she'd decided against it. In their past conversations, Itrik hadn't held the scribe in very high regard. If anything, he'd view her choice in company as an insult.
"Good," he chittered, bobbing his head. "This one prefers to see your face. And hear your voice."
Meren's expression softened. "Likewise," she said. "How have you been, Itrik? Have they been treating you well?"
The Dreg tilted his head from side to side as though trying to determine the best way to answer. Or maybe he was simply trying to parse the meaning of her question.
"Every day, Guardians come," he finally began. "They look but do not speak. Every two days, a machine. Always. It gives food and Ether. Removes refuse. It makes few sounds. Never speaks."
Meren nodded absently. "The Ether, it's enough?"
Itrik hesitated, his mandibles clicking together. "No," he finally admitted. "Not enough. It tastes of blood. Of death. It is...weak."
It had been a stupid question on her part. She'd known the moment she'd looked at him that the Ether rations he was being provided were insufficient, both in quantity and quality. The fact that he wasn't dead already was a testament to his resilience.
"I'll see if there's something I can do," she promised.
Itrik gave a low chirrup. "You do us a great kindness."
Meren felt a pang of guilt. It was a promise she had no guarantee she could uphold. Still, she could at least try. Though she wasn't looking forward to another protracted argument with Commander Zavala. She was on thin enough ice as it was.
"And the others?" she asked. "How are they?"
Itrik raised a hand, pointing with three clawed fingers to the other occupied cell a few alcoves down. Meren shifted her attention, her gaze fixing on the lone figure inside.
Curled in the far corner, Yalsis lay on her side, facing away from them. From the rise and fall of the threadbare Devil-red fabric that swaddled her, Meren could tell the Vandal was breathing, albeit shallowly. She appeared worse off than Itrik.
"Yalsis sleeps," Itrik said. "Nothing else to do most days. Not even the sound of the machine wakes her."
"She hasn't spoken to you?"
The Dreg's inner eyes narrowed. "Itrik has tried. But Yalsis does not wish to speak. Not anymore. She wishes only for silence. And sleep."
Meren wetted her lips. That didn't sound good.
"And Spekkis?" she asked, glancing at the other empty cells.
"Transferred to higher security," Itrik said, following her gaze. "Spekkis became difficult. Made the Guardians angry. It was a long time ago."
"But he's alive?"
Itrik regarded her oddly, his head canting slightly. His eyes darted around the interior of his cell, then back to her.
"If you name this 'alive'" -he spread his hands, indicating his current state of existence- "yes." He made a sharp chuffing sound. "Life-urge is strong. But perhaps it would be better for Spekkis to be dead. And Itrik."
"No," Meren said firmly. "Don't say that."
"What use is this life? To live only to be...this? Caged? Without purpose? Without kin?" he challenged. "No. Better to go to the House of Silence. Perhaps soon-"
"Itrik, listen to me. Please," she cut in, struggling to keep her voice low. "It's not over. There's still a chance things could change. Just...hold on a little longer."
Itrik's eyes fixed on her, unblinking. His posture slowly slackened, the fight going out of him.
"Meren Hale, your heart is good," he murmured. "Your mind-desire" -he lifted a hand and tapped the side of his temple with two claws- "impossible. We will die here, in this place. This, we know."
"Itrik..."
He offered a palm, stopping her. "At least when the time comes, our passing will be beneath the Great Machine. A privilege long forgotten. Then, the House of Silence will welcome us - Itrik, Spekkis, Yalsis - together."
His words broke her heart, and for an impulsive instant, Meren considered breaking him out right then and there. If she could somehow deactivate the energy barrier, they could make a run for it. They'd have to incapacitate an armed Crozier on their way out, but maybe, if they surprised him, one of the Eliksni could take him down. Maybe.
After that, she'd need to figure a way to smuggle them out of the Tower without anyone noticing. A feat that obviously bordered on the impossible. Even if, by some miracle, they pulled it off, what was she supposed to do with them, then? Hide them in her apartment until she could find some way to get them out of the City? She didn't exactly have a supply of Ether on hand. If they didn't die in the attempt, starvation would claim them in her home before long.
"It won't come to that," she replied lamely, realizing how feeble the assurance was.
"We shall see," Itrik said, a note of finality in his voice. "Until then, we wait. Yes?"
Meren swallowed thickly and gave a single nod.
"We wait," she agreed, this time in Eliksni.
The Dreg seemed satisfied with her answer, a quick blink crossing all of his eyes from right to left. Then, he settled down, joining her on the floor, his legs splayed out before him.
"Your speech improves," he complimented.
A smile tugged at the corners of Meren's mouth. "Well, I haven't been practicing, but thank you."
"We practice now, then."
The suggestion was a welcome one. She'd missed their exchanges and even the occasional frustration that came with it.
"That would be nice," she replied, "but-"
Before she could continue, the overhead PA system crackled to life, a distorted voice echoing through the cellblock.
"Time's up, doc," Crozier announced. "Pack it in."
"Shit," she muttered, pushing herself to her feet. She hadn't even gotten a chance to speak with Yalsis.
"Meren must leave?" Itrik inquired.
"Unfortunately," she replied, watching Itrik rise from the floor, bobbing his head, seemingly understanding her predicament. "But don't worry. I'll be back just as soon as I can."
Itrik dipped his muzzle, then raised it. An acknowledgment.
"May the Great Machine guide your path," he said.
"And yours," Meren responded in kind.
With a glance back at Yalsis' cell, she reluctantly turned away and headed back the way she'd come. She'd nearly reached the module's barrier when a sudden thought sprung to mind. She'd almost forgotten.
"Itrik!" she called back.
A split-second later, the Dreg was at the edge of his cell, peering through the containment barrier.
"One more thing," she began. "A few months ago, the Vanguard took custody of another King. A Vandal named Revys. Do you know if..."
"Revys," Itrik echoed, drawing the word out. "Yes. He is here. Detention B."
Meren let out the breath she'd been holding. It was something, at least.
"And he's alright?" she pressed.
Even at a distance, Meren could see the hardness that settled in Itrik's eyes, his mandibles drawing tight against his jaw.
"Revys is...'alive'," he responded curtly. "Like Itrik. Yes?"
Meren couldn't bring herself to reply. She simply nodded at him faintly.
With a final, lingering look, she turned away and hurried towards the module's entrance. Behind her, the hum of the security barrier re-engaged.
"I haven't got all day, doc," Crozier's voice buzzed again, impatient.
"I'm coming," she snapped, though she knew he couldn't hear her.
A spike of bitterness twisted her gut. How could the man be so cruel? If it wasn't bad enough for the Eliksni to be denied decent Ether and left to languish in dark, miserable cells, the Guardian-turned-security guard seemed to take perverse pleasure in denying them any form of company. Didn't he realize they were intelligent, thinking beings, just like him? Probably to a much higher degree than him, honestly.
Then again, Guardians like Crozier were only a symptom of the larger problem. One that was the fault of the Factions, the Speaker, and not least of all, the Vanguard. An anti-Eliksni agenda had been pushed by those in power from the start. Humanity had been conditioned to see them as no more than monsters and threats, not as refugees and survivors. Now, the whole of the city, from the most decorated Guardian to the everyday civilian, was a monopoly of hatred and fear.
It was a cycle that needed to be broken. But that wasn't going to happen until the Consensus got over their collective xenophobia and acknowledged the truth. Until then, innocent Eliksni like Itrik, Yalsis, Spekkis, and Revys would continue to suffer, all for the crime of merely existing.
Behind her, the overhead lighting fixtures in Module A began to dim, one by one. She hesitated just beyond the barrier, glancing back over her shoulder. In the distance, the shadows of the occupied cells were growing thicker, their inhabitants fading from sight.
She stood there a moment longer, feeling an uncomfortable pressure building behind her eyes. Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms.
It wasn't right. None of it was.
Meren turned her back on the cellblock, her jaw set. As she forced herself forward, leaving the Eliksni behind in darkness, a single thought repeated over and over again.
This has to stop.
Meren was nearly to the exit when the thought faded, and it struck her.
Suddenly, she knew exactly what she was going to write.