"You can't tell the breeze where to blow. All you can do is sit back and see where it takes you." —Amanda Holliday
Reaching the door to her room, Meren pressed her hand against the access panel on the wall and waited for the device to run through the cycle of scanning her biometrics. After a second the panel chimed, the lock disengaged with a click, and the door slid open. Stepping inside, Meren brought up the lights with a wave of her hand and then froze, staring in mortification at the utter chaos that had overtaken her room.
Mounds of wrinkled, rumpled clothing were strewn across the floor, untouched since she'd hurriedly cast them off each night before retiring for bed. The state of her bed rivaled the mess on the floor, its sheets twisted and tangled, half cascading over the edge of the mattress into a heap on the ground. On the desk near the door, several of her hand-bound books were scattered senselessly across its surface, eclipsing all but a corner of her datapad buried beneath. If the mess itself wasn't already offensive enough, topping it all off was the stale bouquet of several-day-old food, wafting through the air from the stacks of half-washed dishes, teetering in precarious piles atop both of her nightstands.
Running a hand down her face, Meren groaned. She'd anticipated finding her room in a bit of disarray, but not to this extent. What had happened? How had it gotten so bad?
She didn't need more than a second to ponder it over, though, because somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew exactly how it had happened.
The truth of the matter was that instead of setting aside a few minutes each day to maintain order in her room, she had spent most of her waking hours consumed by Variks and their little project. By the time she'd left the Prison each evening, there had been barely enough time for her to grab a quick dinner from the commissary at the Vestian Outpost and bring it back to her room. Once she had been safely nestled away, it had practically become tradition to eat as she worked, then retreat to her bed, where she spent her last dregs of energy perusing through her pages of notes, occasionally jotting new information down, until sleep finally took her.
The self-destructive cycle of Prison-eat-sleep hadn't just repeated itself for a few days, however. No, it had gone on like that for weeks on end, with the mess building steadily around her, until Variks' proposition finally brought the cycle to a screeching halt. In the aftermath, she had sworn not to return to the Prison, and had successfully holed herself up in her room. But somehow, even that temporary reprieve had done nothing to improve the state of her quarters. Instead, all she had managed to do was spend a day and a half wallowing, oblivious to everything, including the bedlam of her own making.
Sighing in frustration at her own irresponsibility, Meren shut the door behind herself and stooped down to pick up a pair of pants and a tunic on the way to the closet. Upon reaching the wardrobe, she yanked its doors open, leaned inside, and rummaged around for a moment until she located her two bags, sitting all but untouched in a corner against the closet's far wall. Right where she'd stashed them over a month ago.
Pulling them free from the depths of her wardrobe, Meren shook one, then the other, to restore some shape to their lifeless forms. Then she unzipped the main luggage compartments and tossed them both onto the bare mattress near the foot of the bed.
With her luggage situated, Meren took a second to scan the room and allowed herself one last huff of annoyance as she resigned herself to her fate. Then she set herself to the task of getting everything cleaned up.
Weaving her way through the mess, she made her way to the far corner of the room where she leaned over to gather up the first pair of errant trousers. Tossing them haphazardly into one of the open bags, she moved on, grabbing a sock here, a tunic there, steadily gathering discarded items one by one, stewing as she went.
Continuing around the room, her already-dour mood only grew progressively more sour, and it wasn't long before the frustration over her slovenly lifestyle turned to outright anger - not over the mess, but over the memory of Zavala's words, which came creeping in at the corners of her mind to ring through her head as she worked.
"We are recalling everyone—including you, Professor Hale. Effective immediately."
The echoes of his command filled her chest with a searing rush of heat, and suddenly Meren found herself seething.
It wasn't fair!
After months of the Vanguard giving her the runaround, with their empty promises of access to abandoned Eliksni encampments and caches beyond the walls, they had finally, finally, seen fit to make good on their word and entrust her with a passable research opportunity. And just as she was finally getting somewhere, they were dragging her back to the City. After six weeks, barely half the time that had been promised, she was being sent home.
Now the rest of her sabbatical hung in the balance, and though she'd initially made plans on how she was going to spend her time off from teaching - working with Hiro drafting new Palamon dig site proposals, collaborating with Professor Halsey on an upcoming anthology of the years following the Collapse, among other academic pursuits - none of those options seemed particularly enticing any longer. At least, not compared to all the projects she and Variks had intended to pursue. Projects that would never happen now that the Vanguard had gone back on their word.
But they didn't care about those projects, or how she was going to spend her sabbatical, or how she felt about their decision to recall her. To them, she was just another cog in the machine, bound by contract, obligated to go wherever they saw fit.
In a huff, Meren chucked a mismatched pair of shoes at her open bag and made her way around the bed, simmering with the injustice of it all. As she moved on to the next heap of discarded clothing, however, that agitation with the Vanguard proved to be short-lived. Delving into the heart of the particularly noxious pile, her fingers brushed against something soft and silky. Meren felt her stomach sink, and all at once, what lingering anger she felt was instantly replaced by the smothering weight of dread.
Digging further into the pile, her fingers closed around a familiar ruff of fur. With a sharp tug, she pulled forth a dusty red cloak from the depths of her laundry and held the cloak out at arm's length. Grimacing, she watched as the fabric unfurled to its full length, revealing a vaguely arachnid form emblazoned across the back.
"Shit," Meren muttered aloud. The Spider.
With all that had been going on between her and Variks, she had given next to no thought to the alien crime lord over the past couple weeks. It hadn't helped, either, that he'd been suspiciously quiet of late, without so much as a word exchanged between them since she'd brokered the Queen's offer. But even in spite of his silence, Meren wasn't so disillusioned as to think that he'd forgotten about her. Not with whatever "partnership" they had still on the table.
As troubling as that partnership and its ramifications were, though, in that moment, that wasn't what troubled Meren. She could worry about that later. Her more immediate concern was the Vanguard's orders to return to the City, and the fact that she needed to break the news to the Spider. But how?
A more naive Meren might have considered composing a brief, courteous message and sending it to him over Variks' encrypted channel. But a now-wiser Meren knew better. The last time she'd tried that, he hadn't exactly taken kindly to her attempt. And he certainly wouldn't take kindly to it now.
A face-to-face explanation, on the other hand, was probably a much better bet. At least that way if he wound up being cross over the whole situation (as he almost certainly would be), she'd have the opportunity to personally address any concerns and try to placate him with the reassurance that she wasn't trying to skip out on her part of their bargain.
Yet as sound as that plan seemed, unfortunately, it wasn't going to happen. With the short notice the Vanguard had given her, there just wasn't enough time to make it all the way out to the Tangled Shore, explain everything to the Spider, and get back to the Vestian Outpost. Not without missing her rendezvous with the Vanguard's escort entirely.
And so, with no feasible way to deliver the news to the Spider, Meren found herself with no other option; she was just going to have to leave the Reef, as the Vanguard had ordered, without saying anything to the Spider at all.
And if she did that? Then what? Even if she didn't break the news to him herself, Meren wasn't so foolish as to think he'd never find out. No, word of her departure would eventually get around, and once it did, what was he going to think - or worse, do - when he realized that she'd up and disappeared without so much as a word of forewarning?
For an instant, the memory of the last time she'd seen him - his near-unfettered wrath - flickered through her mind, twisting her stomach with dread. Yet as she thought on his potential response a second longer, her fear quickly faded, and ultimately, Meren found she didn't care. Let the Spider bluster and curse and rage over the loss of his indentured servant. Beyond that, what more could he realistically do?
Nothing, Meren reassured herself. That's what.
The reality of the situation was that the Vanguard kept exceedingly tight wraps on both the City's defenses and its communication channels. Once she was back inside the confines of the City's walls, it would be nigh impossible for the Spider to pester her. Of course, he could try. Attempt to bypass the encryption on heavily monitored public comm channels or smuggle one of his lackeys in to forcibly retrieve her.
Neither of those scenarios seemed very likely, however; if either attempt ended in failure, he ran the risk of exposing not only himself, but his whole operation. And for all the Spider's tenacity, Meren knew there was no way he would risk the security of his criminal empire for what little utility she might have to offer.
With her fears momentarily assuaged, Meren wadded the cloak into a haphazard ball and shoved it down into the deepest recesses of her bag. Once she got home, she would hide it away. Out of sight, out of mind. Then, with any luck, she'd never be bothered by the thought of the Spider's existence again. Maybe one good thing would come of her departure, after all.
Picking right up where she'd left off, Meren resumed her task of packing with a now-calmer mind. Once she set herself to work, getting the remainder of her wayward garments gathered and packed away took the better part of half an hour, but after the clothing issue was sorted, it didn't take more than a few minutes for her to gather up the rest of her personal belongings - books, toiletries, and other personal effects - and tuck them neatly away in what little space was left in her overfilled bags.
With the last of her things squared away, Meren gave the room a quick once-over, checking for any items she might have overlooked. When nothing turned up, she shifted her attention to the only bit of mess that remained: the unsightly dishes piled up on her nightstands.
Glancing up at the chron on the wall, Meren checked the time as she gathered all the dishes into an ungraceful stack. According to the brightly illuminated display, there were still several hours before she was due to meet up with her escort. If she headed to the Vestian Outpost now, she'd have nothing to do, short of sitting there, bored, twiddling her thumbs for hours on end.
Stack of dishes in hand, Meren made her way to the washroom and deposited the whole pile on the counter next to the sink. Even with the time she had to spare, it wasn't worth the effort to try to wash them herself. They were better left for the Awoken's hospitality bots to deal with later.
Wandering out of the washroom, Meren glanced around the main living area, debating how to best spend the remainder of her time. Now that her things had been packed away, there wasn't much left in the way of entertainment. And she wasn't about to undo all of her hard work by digging everything out of her bags for the sake of retrieving her datapad.
Sinking down onto the bed, Meren lay there for a few moments, briefly considering the notion of heading to Outer Orbit for a parting drink, before she ultimately decided against it. She'd have plenty of opportunities to socialize when she got home (and with people she actually liked, for that matter). For now, after all of her sleep deprived weeks, it would probably do her more good just to stay put, relax. Maybe find a good documentary to watch on the HoloNet.
Shoving a hand beneath the sheets, she began fumbling blindly through the tangles and creases of the blankets in search of the display's controller. Yet after a few seconds of rummaging, what her hand found wasn't the familiar oblong form of the HoloNet controls, but the blunted edge of a much larger flat, rectangular object. A datapad.
An Eliksni datapad.
Pulling it free from the blankets, the HoloNet was all but forgotten as Meren stared down at the device, a momentary pang of despair clenching its claws into the center of her chest. Taking the datapad in both hands, she quickly shook the feeling off and gazed down at it for a second longer, idly grazing a single thumb along the edge of the display.
At the touch of her fingertip, the display snapped to life. Running through her biometrics, it authorized access almost instantly. Then the main interface filled the screen, promptly populating a dozen now-familiar access points.
/Kaliks-fel/, /Orbiks-fel/, /Sepiks-syn/.
The list of tantalizing files went on with weapon schematics, intricate blueprints, detailed tech breakdowns. A wellspring of Eliksni secrets, just sitting there, begging to be read.
The prospect should have excited her, but in that moment, Meren didn't have the heart to so much as open a single file, much less read anything. With a sigh, she dimmed the display and set the datapad down on her lap, instead finding herself unable to think of anything other than her courteous benefactor. The one who had so selflessly furnished her with all the secrets she now held in the palm of her hand.
Variks.
Closing her eyes, her mind drifted back to him, to everything he had done for her since her arrival here. Then, all at once, her mind snapped back to the decision she had made during her hasty exit from the Prison. What had she been thinking? Was she seriously planning to leave without saying goodbye?
The thought of disappearing without notifying Variks left her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. He had been such a gracious host, taking time away from his work and other responsibilities to ferry her around the Prison, tutoring her on old Eliksni tradition and regaling her with his people's stories.
Yet he'd been more than just a glorified tour guide, more than a mentor even. Ultimately, he'd proven to be a kindred spirit, and even in the short few weeks they'd known each other, she'd come to see him as a colleague, of sorts. A friend. And as such, he deserved, at the very least, the courtesy of a personal goodbye.
Staring down at the datapad, Meren took a second to run through her earlier logic once more. In retrospect, though, it hardly made sense. Sure, Variks had indicated that she wasn't welcome to intrude on whatever it was that he and Petra were doing. But given the situation at hand, the both of them would have certainly forgiven the interruption and ultimately overlooked any indiscretion on her part.
That was her hope, anyway.
Shooting another glance back up at the chron, Meren scrunched up her face. With the few hours that were left, she could certainly make it to the Prison and back. She could pop in, say her goodbyes, and return to the Vestian Outpost to meet up with her ride home, maybe even with time to spare.
But only if she hurried.
Fighting a rising surge of ambivalence, her eyes trailed back down to the datapad in her lap. Her mind floundered for a fleeting second. Then it struck her. She had to return to the Prison. Not just because she wanted to say goodbye to Variks, but because of the datapad.
She needed to return it.
Considering the amount of sensitive information housed on the device, it would be irresponsibility of the highest order to take it back to the City with her. Her apartment wasn't nearly secure enough, nor was her office at the Academy. No, there was only one place it would be safe. Back with Variks.
With her mind suddenly made up, she scooped up the datapad and bolted from the bed, making a beeline for the exit. Pausing at the door, she stopped just long enough to grab her cloak and satchel from where they hung on two sturdy hooks. After stuffing the datapad into her bag, she quickly donned her cloak and slung the satchel's strap over her shoulder. Then, she pressed a hand to the door's access pad and hurried out into the corridor, leaving the room behind to say goodbye to her friend.
The walk back to the Prison didn't take long. Fifteen minutes to the transport hub, and from there another ten before Meren found herself right back where she'd been just a few hours before: standing on the brink of the sprawling causeway, gazing out across the void towards the towering silhouette of the Prison in the distance.
Setting out across the bridge, she stared off slowly, making her way towards the Prison's front gate. Halfway across, a few Guardians crossed her path, heading back in the direction she'd come - under orders, just as she was, to return to the City at once. Yet the subtle reminder of what she was supposed to be doing didn't deter her in the slightest. Instead, it only managed to spur her forward all the quicker.
When she reached the Prison's entrance, Meren wasted no time in hurrying inside. The first order of business was to find her way down to loading docks. Level 2, Bay 27. That's where Variks had told Petra to meet him. Certainly, that's where she'd find them.
So she made her way to the nearest functioning lift, punched in Variks' access code, and began her optimistic descent to Level 2. When the lift finally came to a stop and the door opened, however, the loading docks were completely deserted, from what she could see, with Petra and Variks nowhere to be found.
Perplexed, Meren stepped out of the lift, eyeing the row of shuttered bay doors. Variks had mentioned Bay 27, hadn't he? Why weren't they here?
Baffling as it seemed, it didn't take more than a second for her confusion to sort itself out. At this point, it had been well over an hour since she had left Variks to tend to his duties with Petra. It stood to reason that by now, the two of them had wrapped up what they'd been doing, leaving Variks to move on to other chores.
Which meant he could be practically anywhere.
Great, she thought, retreating back into the lift. With the size of the Prison, it could take hours to figure out where he'd wandered off to. Hours she didn't have. (Not to mention the fact that she'd already gone on the exact same search once already, earlier in the day.)
Despite her frustration, Meren tried her best to remain optimistic. If the past few weeks were anything to go by, he'd likely be holed up in the control room. Even if she hadn't managed to find him there earlier, that's where they'd spent the majority of their evenings together. Hopefully, even in her absence, he'd follow a similar routine.
A short lift ride later, Meren reached the mezzanine level, where a few winding corridors were all that stood before her and her destination. From there, navigating her way through the familiar passages didn't take long, and after no more than a few minutes the familiar set of double doors came into view.
Still optimistic, she hurried along to the end of the hall and hastily keyed in the passcode. The doors barely had a chance to open before she squeezed her way inside and then stopped dead in her tracks, overcome by a wash of disappointment when for the second time that day, she found the space darkened and desolate. No Variks. No Petra. Nothing.
With a sigh, she turned and retreated back into the hallway, discouraged, but ultimately not defeated. There were still plenty of places Variks could be hiding, and she wasn't about to give up until she'd checked every last one. And so she began a selective sweep of the Prison's facilities, starting down in the security suite, then the solarium, then the medbay, searching each in turn before moving onto the next.
All to no avail.
When her search of all Variks' predictable haunts came up empty, she took a moment to regroup, considering where to head next. It was possible that he could be in one of the cellblocks, tending to the prisoners.
And Meren knew just where to start: the max sec wing, in the Prison's lowest levels. If that too proved to be a bust, she could work her way back up through the other cell blocks from there.
Making her way back down to the mezzanine, she returned to the central spire where she skirted the catwalk until she located the nearest lift and stepped inside. It was a different lift than the one she and Variks had taken down to the max sec wing weeks before, but that didn't matter. If she had her bearings correct, all she needed to do was hang a left when she reached the bottom of the central spire. From there, the auxiliary doors to the max sec wing would be impossible to miss.
No sooner was the plan cemented in her mind than the lift's descent slowed, its dull hum giving way to the shrill grinding of gears. As it came to a shuddering stop at the lowest level, Meren glanced down at her satchel. The strap had begun to dig painfully into her shoulder, so she adjusted it slightly as the door lock disengaged with a hiss. She fiddled with the strap for a moment longer, as she waited for the door to fully open, until it was situated more comfortably on her shoulder. Then she stepped forward, out of the lift, looked up.
And there, hanging in the gloom before her, was the Warden Servitor.
All at once, Meren came to an abrupt stop, her eyes fluttering in surprise. In her previous encounters with the machine, she'd never found it particularly frightening. But as it turned out, being around the Servitor with Variks at her side was one thing. Encountering it alone, in the dark, at the bottom of the deserted central spire was something else entirely.
Meren stood frozen as the lift door creaked shut behind her, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Wide eyed, she stared at the machine, and it right back at her. Their standoff stretched out for a moment longer, then the Servitor's sensor flickered in recognition and it spoke in a familiar, grating tone.
"You came back," it noted with a discernable hint of surprise in Variks' synthesized voice.
"Yeah, I-" Meren started hesitantly, pausing as an undulating cry echoed off the walls, some twenty levels above. The sound tapered off to a whimper before it was drowned out by the background thrum of the Prison's ventilation systems. Meren waited for an instant, and when stillness ensued, picked up right where she'd left off. "I came to, uh, see Variks."
Pivoting on its axis to look down at her, the Servitor regarded her statement with curiosity. At least, that's what it seemed to be doing. Judging the emotional reactions of sentient machines was notoriously tricky business at the best of times. And this was far from the best of times, given the fact that she'd had next to no interactions with living, breathing Servitors.
But even with her admittedly shallow grasp of Servitor behavior, Meren tried to double down, assuring herself that her assessment was correct, that the machine was simply intrigued by her words. That had to be the case, because the only other option to her mind was that her mention of the real Variks had sparked some sort of existential crisis and the machine was on the verge of short-circuiting.
And how was she supposed to deal with that?
Just as her mind began to race with the theoretical logistics of mitigating the machine's impending mental meltdown, the Servitor seemed to compose itself and slowly rotated away from her.
"This way," it purred.
For a second, Meren just stared as it drifted lazily across the chamber. Then she pulled herself together and went scampering after, quickly catching up and falling in step behind the machine.
When they reached the far side of the room, the Servitor came to a stop before a secured half-moon door. Not the one to the max sec wing, but another that led to some destination unknown.
For a moment, the machine just hung there, motionless in the air. Then, all of a sudden, its central sensor began to blink as it initiated an interface with the Prison's security network. Once the link was established, it didn't take more than a few seconds before the door slid open. The Servitor stirred to life once again, drifting off through the doorway and into the dimly lit hallway beyond.
From there, Meren followed as the Servitor led onward, guiding Meren through several forked junctions in the corridor. First left, then right. Then left again. The passage bifurcated several more times after that, leaving Meren at a loss for any sense of direction. Then as the Servitor took another right turn at what appeared to be the final juncture, the path ahead straightened out and gradually began to slope downward in a gentle incline.
Descending deeper into the bowels of the Prison, the occasional grunts and cries from the prisoners in their cells far above grew muffled. They grew softer and softer the further Meren and the Servitor went, steadily tapering off until the only sounds left in the stillness were the soft click of Meren's boot heels against uneven steel floor and the gentle swish of the satchel against her side.
After another thirty meters or so, the incline ended and the floor finally leveled out. Keeping pace, Meren trailed along quietly for a few dozen meters more before impatience finally got the better of her.
"How much further?" she asked, craning her neck to peek around the Servitor in an effort to get a glimpse of what lay ahead.
The Servitor didn't reply. Instead, it just drifted diligently forward until they came to a curve in the hall. It veered around the bend, circling back towards the Prison's center, and continued down the straightaway beyond with a sullen Meren in tow.
The wide-open corridor seemed to stretch out forever, but as Meren and the machine pressed onward, it wasn't long before the walls to either side started to angle inwards and the corridor began to truncate. The way forward grew narrower and narrower, funneling them towards some unknown destination, until the corridor got so cramped Meren began to fear that the Servitor was going to get itself stuck.
Thankfully, the Servitor had better sense than to let that happen. When the passage was no longer wide enough for it to safely go any further, it came to a slow stop, and then rotated back to gaze upon its human follower.
After scrutinizing her in silence for the better part of a second, all it said was, "Proceed."
Hesitating, Meren shot the Servitor an uncertain look. It wanted her to keep going? By herself?
But given the Servitor's lack of response to her earlier inquiry, she decided it was best not to ask any more questions, and without a word, did as instructed; she strode forwards, and with what little clearance was left between the Servitor and the wall, she pressed herself against the cold, steel paneling and squeezed on by.
Once she had made it through, she continued a few paces more and then stopped to cast a last glance backwards at the Servitor. When the machine offered no further instruction, she turned on her heel and continued on forward into the darkness.
Alone.
Leaving the Servitor behind, Meren didn't have far to go on her own before the corridor jogged off to the left. With nowhere else to go, she turned left along with it. No sooner had she rounded the corner than she caught sight of the corridor's end through the gloom ahead, where two silhouetted figures, vaguely humanoid in shape, stood guard before a small, rectangular hatch.
As she drew closer, the figures' outlines grew sharper until she could clearly make out the outlines of two standard issue defense Frames. Their carbonsteel chassis were streaked with the patchy remnants of peeling purple paint, and in their hands, each clutched a long, slender Wire Rifle.
Minus the Reef Queen's colors and Eliksni arms, the two Frames were the same models that could be found in the City, patrolling the lengths of the perimeter walls or standing guard at the base of the Tower. To the City's denizens, they were seen as quirky little machines, programmed with the capacity to learn, mimic human behavior, and above all, protect. Nothing to be afraid of at all.
But unlike their amiable terrestrial counterparts, Meren had heard that the Reef models underwent routine memory wipes, purging any acquired personalities, leaving them nothing more than cold, lifeless automata. Blank slates programmed only to do the Queen's bidding - whatever that might be.
Suddenly fearful, Meren's pace slowed to a crawl. Worrying the machines might perceive her as a threat, it took everything in her power not to turn around and head right back the way she had come. But the Servitor would never have led her this way if it wasn't safe, right?
Despite her anxiety, Meren kept inching forward. Realistically, it was ludicrous to think that Variks, or his Servitor by association, would knowingly put her in harm's way. Especially with the concern Variks had always shown over her safety.
Confident in her reasoning, Meren picked up her pace and continued boldly forward. She made it nearly to the end of the hall before slowing once again. Then closed the remainder of the distance, came to a stop front and center before the two Frames. Stood there. Waited.
And nothing happened; the Frames simply sat there, immobile, as if she didn't exist at all.
Meren's eyes darted from one Frame to the other. A second ticked by, then two, then three, without the Frames giving so much as an acknowledgement of her presence.
When they continued to ignore her, Meren cleared her throat. That didn't work either, so she tried the next idea that sprang to mind.
"7Æ1-" she began, reciting Variks' access code aloud.
Before she could finish, one of the Frames adjusted its grip on its rifle, and with a beep of acknowledgement, shouldered the weapon. The other did the same. Then both Frames shuffled aside, making way as the hatch door swung out and up.
Leaning in to peer through the open hatch, the adjoining chamber was a sight to behold. Countless metal crates tagged with illegible Eliksni glyphs were strewn about the space, some sealed tight, piled in tall, orderly stacks. Others had been left overturned and empty, their unknown contents long gone. Amidst the sea of containers, what appeared to be several large, concave pieces of a Servitor's outer housing had been cast aside in a pile. Littering the floor everywhere in between, were shorn lengths of conduits, twisted scraps of rebar, and other unidentifiable shards of misshapen shrapnel.
Her gaze panned slowly across the room, taking it all in. Yet even as curious as all the clutter was, what drew her eye wasn't the mysterious crates or even the discarded Servitor scraps, but what lay beyond all of it: a cluster of three oversized containment pods, sitting half shrouded in shadow at the chamber's far end.
Skirting between the Frames, Meren kept her eyes fixed on the curious assemblage as she ducked in through the hatch and began picking her way forward through the worst of the mess. By the look of it, the pods hadn't been just tightly clumped side by side, but had been partially dissected, then mishmashed and riveted back together, into one singular trilobate structure.
Sidestepping the Servitor scrap pile, her eyes trailed over the curious construct, appraising the clever, if not somewhat haphazard, engineering. Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble dragging the pods all the way down to the Prison's lowest levels and cobbling them together. But why? What kind of purpose did such a structure serve?
She didn't get much of a chance to ponder the possibilities before all of her attention was diverted to navigating her way through a particularly deadly tangle of conduits crisscrossing the floor. By the time she'd made it through, the curiosity was gone. Without giving the pods' purpose another thought, she proceeded onward, making her way through the rest of the clutter, dead set only on finding the scribe.
When at last she'd made it safely past the last of the debris, Meren walked on past the pod and then circled behind the structure, her eyes searching the chamber's far wall for the entrance to another corridor, or hatch, or lift. Anything that might give some indication of where she was supposed to go next.
Much to her confusion, however, there was nothing. No path forward. No way up. No way out.
Puzzled, Meren circumnavigated the pod the rest of the way, returning to the structure's front side. Once she'd made it all the way around, she came to a stop before the singular hatch, dead center of the middlemost section, and stood there for a moment, scrutinizing the strange, bulbous structure up close.
Was this where the Servitor had meant for her to go?
Only one way to find out, she reasoned, raising a hand to the door.
But just as she lifted her hand to knock, the door slid open, warm light spilled out onto the doorstep, and Meren found herself staring into the little pod Variks called home.
At first glance, the space inside was barely bigger than her own room. A couple tattered tapestries bearing Eliksni heraldry hung askew on the curved, otherwise bare walls. A stack of books, flanked by an assortment of baubles, sat atop a repurposed weapons container, upended to serve as a cabinet. In the far corner to the left, a heap of furs was neatly arranged atop a low platform in the fashion of a proper Eliksni nest. In the opposite corner was what appeared to be a designated kitchen space, complete with a low table and a stool, both cobbled together from pieces of Golden Age scrap.
Sparsely furnished though the pod's interior was, there was still more to see - odd little trinkets and fixtures, dangling from the ceiling, but Meren had only an instant to take it all in, because there in the center of the room, standing beside a twisted piece of shrapnel that vaguely resembled a chair, was Variks himself, unmasked, squinting incredulously back at her.
For a moment, the both of them stood frozen, regarding each other in silence. Then Variks shifted slightly, opened his mouth, and in the most matter-of-fact tone imaginable, said:
"You came back."
"Yeah," Meren replied, shuffling her weight from one foot to the other. "I know we'd planned see each other tomorrow, but something's come up, and I want- needed to talk to you…"
As her words trailed off and Variks' eyes narrowed to the point of incredulity, Meren suddenly became aware of how rude it was - by human standards, at least - to show up at his private quarters without invitation.
"I don't mean to intrude," she blurted out, desperate to save face. "If this is a bad time, I-"
"No, no." He held out all of his palms to stymie her rambling. "There are no intrusions among friends. Your visit is a…welcome surprise."
His words brought a relieved smile to her lips. At least he wasn't upset that she'd effectively barged in on him. "Well, then do you mind if I come in?" she asked.
"Ah, of course, of course." Variks shook his head. "How rude of me." Taking a step towards her, one of his mechanical hands found her shoulder as the opposite, lower arm gestured inside. "Please, come in. Make yourself at home."
Murmuring a "thank you," Meren allowed his hand to guide her from her refuge in the doorway into the inviting warmth of his little pod.
Crossing over the threshold, the humid air inside was rich with the crisp scents of earth and spice. Mingled with it was the faint tang of Ether, all at once subtle and sharp, but ultimately not unpleasant to her nose. Closing her eyes, she drank it all in for an instant, letting the pod's welcoming warmth envelop her body like a blanket, driving the lingering chill from her core.
Blowing out a slow breath, she paused just inside the doorway as she caught the sound of soft, alien strings, rising in a muted crescendo. The slightly off-kilter tempo pricked at her ears as it swirled through the air. Music, she realized, but not like any she'd ever heard back on Earth. Every note sounded strange and otherworldly, as if composed on some far-distant star.
Meren's eyes sprung back open as the music was momentarily drowned out by the sound of the door hissing shut behind her. Then, at Variks' behest, she continued a few steps further to the center of the room, her gaze darting from the tapestries on the walls, to the plush pile of furs nestled in the far corner, to the little ceramic washbowl and other trinkets that adorned the curio-covered cabinet.
She could have spent a good ten minutes just taking it in, but once again, there was no time to get more than a glimpse of everything before Variks' hand slipped from her shoulder and he repositioned himself in front of her, blocking the view.
"Can I get you anything?" he chirped. "A drink? Some tea, perhaps?"
"That's very thoughtful of you, Variks, but no, thank you."
"Are you certain?" He drew his mechanical hands in towards his chest, clasping them together in a practically obsequious display of servility. "I can make it any way you like."
"No, really," she politely deferred a second time. "You don't need to go to all that trouble-"
"It is no trouble, I assure you."
"Variks…"
"Meren," he purred back. "Please. You are my guest. It would do me no greater honor than to welcome you into my home with tea."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Did you really just bring honor into this?"
"Perhaps."
Catching the glint in his eye, she pursed her lips in mock annoyance. If he was going to invoke honor on her, then she had no choice in the matter, did she?
"Alright, fine," she relented. "Go ahead and make tea. But it doesn't need to be anything fancy. Something simple will suffice."
Acknowledging her stipulations, Variks bobbed his head once and scuttled off to the far corner of the pod that passed for a kitchen, where he set himself to pulling an assortment of supplies from a small recess in the wall. Pushing aside a dented can of peaches, he selected first a tall, cylindrical kettle, then a bulbous glass carafe that was already half-filled with water.
With Meren looking on, he lifted the carafe and filled the kettle nearly to the brim. Her eyes followed his lower left hand, the one she had tended to earlier, as he reached across the countertop to rummage through an assortment of vials. As far as she could tell, his hand didn't seem to be giving him trouble. That was a good sign. Hopefully it meant he'd be on the mend before long.
As Variks continued pawing through the vials, thoroughly engrossed in the task of selecting a suitable tea, Meren watched him work for a second longer before curiosity got the better of her, and her attention wandered away from the kitchen to the two tapestries hanging on the wall nearby.
The larger of the two banners, displayed proudly above the upended cabinet, had been woven with emerald green thread. An elegant brocade played around its fraying edges, glittering golden in the light. And at the tapestry's center, perfectly framed by the shimmering border, was the stark white sigil of House Judgement. All in all, a beautiful and fitting adornment for the scribe's private quarters.
The second banner wasn't in nearly as good a shape. It hung limply from the wall, the deep purple fabric torn nearly in two by a long gash that ran lengthwise through its center. On either side of the tear, embroidered silver tendrils radiated outward towards the tapestry's edges, swirling through the sea of violet before turning back in on themselves to converge at the center, completing the unmistakable sigil of House Rain.
Moving on from the banners, Meren's gaze panned slowly counterclockwise around the pod, over the pillowy nest of tawny furs to the squat metal chest sitting beside it. Then on, following the curved contour of the room, past where Variks had left his staff, leaning upright against the bare wall, and all the way back towards the entrance, where she paused as her eyes fell on an elaborate mobile dangling from the ceiling.
Suddenly curious, Meren shrugged the satchel's strap from her shoulder, letting it slide down the length of her arm as she lowered her bag to the floor, and wandered back towards the door to get a better look.
From a distance, the mobile, with its long strands of beads and crystals hanging down from a central ring, reminded her of the myriad windchimes that adorned the alleys of the Core District during the summer holidays. The handiwork of the City's finest artisans. Yet as Meren drew closer, the City's decorations paled in comparison to what she saw before her, and she knew better than to assume it had been crafted by human hands.
Reaching up, she brushed her fingertips down the length of one of the iridescent strands. The artistry was exquisite, like something out of a dream. Each strand had been threaded with such care, alternating between beads of glass and crystal and clay. At the end of each strand hung a single angular crystal, etched with intricate, swirling designs.
It had to be old Eliksni craftsmanship; she was sure of it.
Pulling her hand back, the crystalline strand swung from her fingers, colliding with the strand beside it, and it the next over, starting a chain reaction that filled the air with a melodic, glassy chime.
Turning a curious eye back to Variks, she asked, "Did you make this?"
Variks paused his steeping just long enough to glance over his shoulder at her. "No," he said, turning back to his work. "It was a 'gift' given to me long ago by a very dear friend. An artisan, back home. On Riis."
Meren's heart sank a little at the thought of how many friends Variks must have lost over the centuries. "Oh," she murmured. "Well, it's very beautiful."
"It is."
The note of reservation in his reply gave her pause. He didn't want to talk about the mobile, or his old friend, any further. And suddenly, neither did she.
"And what about the music?" she asked, attempting to draw attention from the mobile to the soft melody swirling through the air. "Is that…?"
"A relic of a time long past," he replied without bothering to look up from his work, "when Eliksni prized beauty over brutality - innovation over destruction." He procured a little strainer from somewhere on the countertop and with it, began fishing withered shards of herbs and leaves out of the kettle. "But those days are behind us. Now, as we toil through the ruins of our own failed ambition, our music has become nothing more than a bittersweet memory of...happier times."
Eyes widening, Meren stared at his turned back, aghast. Shit. She had meant to change the subject, not dredge up more unhappy memories. Now what was she supposed to say?
Variks, however, didn't give her so much as a second to fumble for a considerate response. "But you did not come here to listen to an old scribe ramble on about the past," he said, pulling two mismatched earthen mugs from a small shelf bolted above the counter. "You came to talk to me, yes? To tell me something."
Glancing down at her feet, Meren afforded him nothing more than a soft "Yeah."
"Mmm," he hummed, lifting the kettle and filling the two mugs to the brim with steaming, aromatic tea. "Then tell me," he paused to seize the glasses, one in each of his lower hands, and turn towards her, "what is this matter that must be discussed so urgently?"
For a moment, Meren could say nothing at all. Back in her room, the idea of breaking the news of her departure had seemed so simple. But now that she was here with Variks, that once-simple task suddenly verged on impossible.
"Well..." she finally forced herself to begin. But after that single word, no more would come. None seemed gentle enough, kind enough, to soften the blow she was about to deliver.
Giving her a curious look, Variks closed the distance between them and held one of the mugs out to her. Taking it, she clutched the mug tightly in her hands, allowing herself an instant to drink in the sweet, earthy scent before suggesting, "Maybe we could sit down first?"
"By all means." Variks inclined his head and motioned towards the table with a free hand.
Lowering her gaze to the mug in her palms, Meren dithered for a second longer, and then made her way over to the table and took a seat on the single rickety stool. It took a few seconds for Variks to drag his shrapnel chair over from the center of the room, scraping and squawking against the metal flooring as he went. Once he managed to get it settled at the table opposite her, he wasted no time lowering himself onto his seat, leaning in, and propping all four of his elbows up on the table's surface.
From there, he steepled his claws - the primary ones first, followed by the secondary six - and then proceeded to stare expectantly across the table at her, waiting for her to speak.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Meren held his piercing gaze. If she hadn't been hesitant before, now she really didn't want to tell him.
And yet, she didn't have any other choice; she had to. That was why she had come all this way. What sense was there in putting it off any longer?
Shaking her head, she hunched forward in her seat, took a second to center her thoughts, and then forced out the words, "You have a lovely home, Variks."
"A most flattering compliment," he replied with polished ease. "But not what you came to tell me, is it?"
"No."
Variks leaned in towards her, the pointed look in his eyes calling her out on her dodginess. "No need for further pleasantry, then," he said. "Speak your mind." He paused to flash her a toothy 'grin', then hastily tacked on an overly sweet "please."
Clutching her mug, Meren's mouth remained firmly shut as she struggled to fight back the nauseating wave of dread rising in her gut. He was going to be so disappointed. Or worse, upset. Or even worse than that-
"I am waiting," he said when she continued to hesitate.
In an instant, all illusion of continuing to avoid the matter at hand evaporated, and Meren heaved a sigh. "So," she haltingly began, "what I came to tell you is that...there's been a, ah, how do I put this…a slight change in plans, as far as my stay here is concerned, and unfortunately, it looks like I'm going to be returning to the City a lot sooner than I'd anticipated."
Variks' eyes narrowed. "How much sooner?"
"Tonight."
"What?"
The sharp staccato of confused disbelief in that single word wrenched her heart from her chest, and suddenly she couldn't bear to look at him.
"Yeah," she muttered, casting her eyes down to the table. "Right after I left, Commander Zavala called my comm and told me the Vanguard is, uh, recalling all personnel, effective immediately, as some sort of safety precaution." She twisted her hands around her mug. "He didn't really say much else on the matter, other than instructing me to return to the Vestian Outpost in a few hours to be escorted home."
Blinking back at her, Variks' mouth opened and closed once before he managed to shake the dumbfounded look off his face and reply, "This is...most unfortunate news."
When he didn't say anything more, she peeked back up to get a proper look at him, and there, in his eyes, she saw nothing but disappointment.
"I'm sorry, Variks," she started. "I didn't mean-"
"No, no." A reassuring hand reached out, stopping just short of brushing against hers. "Do not apologize. You are not at fault for this...disappointing turn of events."
"I know, but- It's just that we'd made plans, to continue our research with the Psions, and practice my Eliksni, and...everything else. Now I'm leaving you to do it all on your own, and there's a part of me that feels like I'm letting you down."
The hand he had extended in comfort lowered a few inches until it came to rest atop the table alongside hers. "No," he said again. "Do not say that."
"But I am."
"Meren." His voice was sterner than before. "Enough. There is no truth to those feelings. You did not make this decision to leave. Your Vanguard did. If anything, it is them who have let us both down."
Sighing, Meren offered him a faint nod. He was right. There was no sense in blaming herself for the Vanguard's decision. "I just wish they'd given me- both of us, a little more time."
"As do I," he replied gently. "But even so, what use is there in wishing? What is done is done. Your Vanguard has made their decision, and there is nothing either of us can do to change it."
Shoulders slumping, Meren lowered her gaze to her mug again.
"So," Variks went on, "let us not continue to dwell on this misfortune. Like wishing, this is senseless. Changes nothing." He paused, giving Meren a chance to interject, but when she didn't reply, he extended a claw and tapped her ever so gently under the chin, tilting her head up to look at him. "Instead, let us put it out of our minds, and make the best of what time we have left. Together."
As his claw fell away from her chin, Meren offered him a small, hesitant smile. He was right again. Better for them to spend the last few hours of her stay reminiscing about more pleasant times than to spend it lamenting the misfortune of her imminent departure.
Smiling a little wider, she momentarily envisioned the two of them sitting at the table, talking and laughing and carrying on over tea, just as they had so many evenings before.
But Variks apparently had different ideas about how they were going to be spending the remainder of her visit, and that blissful notion was instantly shattered as he popped up from his seat and began shuffling off towards the door.
Dumbfounded, she blurted out, "Where are you going?"
"To prepare dinner."
"What?" She blinked once, uncomprehending. Then she bolted from her chair and went after him. "Variks, no. That's really not necessary…"
"Nonsense," he cut in, dismissing her objection with the wave of a hand. "What more pleasant way to bring our time together to a close than by sharing a meal?"
"But you just made tea!" Meren protested. "Wouldn't it be equally pleasant to stay here and chat over drinks?"
"No. Dinner is better."
"It's so much work, though!" Enticing as the prospect of sitting down and having another meal with the scribe was, she couldn't possibly let him go to all that trouble on account of her.
"Please," he scoffed. "The preparation will be quite simple. Hardly a chore."
"Still," she said, managing to catch up with him, "I think our time would be much better spent enjoying the tea we already have."
Variks slowed to a stop and swiveled his head to look her straight in the face. "Do you...not want to have dinner with me?"
The tangible note of wounded pride in his voice made her stomach sink. "No! That's not it at all!"
"Why do you continue to object, then?"
Meren twisted her hands together. "I'm not objecting, per se-"
"Yes, you are."
Sighing, Meren put her palms out, fingers splayed, and in an effort to set the record straight, began, "It's not that I don't want to have dinner with you, Variks. I do. Really. But you've done so much already, welcoming me into your home, making me tea. I can't possibly impose on you any more than I already have."
"Meren." A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder. "While your excessive concern is appreciated, it is unnecessary. Your visit is hardly an imposition, and dinner, as I said before, is no trouble at all." He hesitated for a beat, searching her eyes, and then continued. "Truly, nothing would make me happier than to share one last meal with you, as a friend. If you would allow it, that is."
At that, Meren's protest finally ran out and her shoulders sagged in defeat. "Alright."
"You have no further objections?"
"No."
"Good," he clucked. "Now, go. Sit back down." Pressing gently on her shoulder, he turned her around and shooed her back towards the table. "I will not be gone long."
Offering him a single begrudging nod, Meren did as she was told and slunk back to her seat. Variks waited all of a second for her to sit back down. Then, from somewhere behind her, she heard the pod's door open and the soft tap of Variks' staff on the metal floor as he retrieved it from where it leaned against the wall.
The click of his claws joined the sound of his staff as he shuffled back to the exit. Just as he was about to step through the door, however, he stopped, drawing a questioning glance from Meren as she turned back to look over her shoulder.
"Just one thing," he said, a glint sparkling in his eyes. "If it is not too much to ask, please refrain from touching anything while I am away."
The playful warning against her curious tendencies brought a grin to Meren's face. Clearly, Variks knew her all too well.
For once, though, he had nothing to worry about.
"I'll behave," Meren chirped. And she meant it. Despite her curiosity, she had far too much respect for the scribe to go snooping through his things while he was gone.
Variks eyed her for a second before responding with a curt nod. Then he disappeared through the door, leaving her sitting obediently at the table, mulling over her tea like the courteous guest that she was.
AN: Thank you to Keltoi for the edits!
