David Anderson stood in the dim, neon glow of the cargo hold of the last evacuation ship, his heart heavy as he surveyed the exhausted and hollow-eyed refugees getting. The stench of their fear and desperation hung in the air, mingling with the low hum of the ship's innards and the constant murmur of frantic chatter
Amidst the refugees in the ration line, children clung to their parents, their frail bodies shivering under tattered blankets, their eyes haunted by unspeakable horrors. He could practically feel the fresh weight on their shoulders, the impossible burden no child should ever have to carry.
Briefly, he remembered Kaidan, how he was kicking and screaming, sobbing and wailing until his eyes went red and puffy, and his throat went raw and bloody. And finally, turned away, unable to look at them any longer.
He clenched his fists. Damn it, no doubt, this conflict had scarred and brutalized the minds of countless innocents, leaving wounds that might never fully heal. Undoubtedly, it had sown the seeds of decades of generational trauma. Undoubtedly, it would have far reaching consequences he did not want to imagine. But...
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
This was the reality of war.
A brutal reminder of the horrors humanity hadn't endured since the Third World War.
Soon, humanity would have to face them all again, against relentless enemies incapable of mercy, compassion, or comprise. And they would be thrust into a struggle for survival unlike anything seen before.
He huffed through his nose, then clenched his jaw. Damn it, it would be a reality check that would change humanity forever, but one they had to endure if they wanted to live another day.
Suddenly, a notification popped up on his omni-tool. It was from Hannah, and already, a wave of dread washed over him. It was the casuality report for every soldier that had volunteered for this.
Briefly, he debated putting off reading it until later, but before he could make a decision, someone cleared their throat behind him.
He turned to see Jack Harper standing there, a sly smile on his face that immediately put him on guard. What could Jack possibly want? "Anderson," Jack greeted and extended his hand for a handshake.
He accepted the gesture with hesitation and noticed that Jack's handshake was unusually firm. "Jack..." he replied cautiously. "I was wondering where you were."
"I've been weaving through the remnants of my militia," Jack said, his eyes flickering with a hint of something unreadable. "A bit of strategic reorganization to keep the ship from descending into chaos."
"Ah," he said. "So I take it you're in charge now?"
"That would be correct," Jack said. Jack cleared his throat. "By the way," Jack's voice softened, "it was an unexpected honor, fighting alongside you during the evacuation. Not many can keep their head like that when everything starts falling apart."
Momentarily, he narrowed his eyes. Did Jack expect otherwise? "Thanks," he said. For a moment, he recalled all the missions in which he had fought alongside Mark, raiding the hidden bases of the Prophet's Hand in the asteroid belt. If only you were here. "I've seen combat before against the Prophet's Hand so.."
"I see..." Jack said. For a moment, Jack studied him, his gaze cold and calculating. And he couldn't help but wonder what the man was pondering. "Anyways, Zaeed, Shun, Ghor, and I have actually been sitting in the command center, discussing quite a few...interesting topics, and would love if you would join us."
Interesting topics? What could they possibly be discussing? "Very well," he said. "I could use a break right now."
Following Jack, he pushed through a crowded mass of refugees and weaved through a maze of corridors, surrounded by the nano-assembled habs in which they were staying. Within a few of them, some were sobbing, their cries echoing through the air, the despair within them seeping into his very bones.
A cold, heavy sensation gripped his chest, and he pursed his lips. Goodness, how many bedtime stories would go untold? How many empty chairs would there be at dinner tables?
Would the people of Mindoir ever find any semblance of their old lives ever again?
Briefly, he imagined what Mark would do in this situation. The man always had a soft spot for orphans or for kids who had lost a parent. And no doubt, the refugees would look up to him as their hero, as their beacon of hope, all while he remained humble.
He smiled. His heart swelled with pride, and he couldn't but feel immensely grateful to be friends with such a man. Once he saw him again, he'd relish telling him the full story of what they all endured throughout this campaign.
Eventually, they reached a nano-assembled structure, situated at the center of the makeshift town the quarians had assembled for the refugees. And within, he found Zaeed, Shun, and Ghor'Reegar sitting around a grav table, laughing, their spirits high despite all that happened. He laughed. Their mood was so infectious, and it looked like Ghor was telling a story that had Zaeed and Shun enthralled.
After a few moments, their attention shifted towards him and their eyes met.
"Anderson!" Zaeed said, with a sense of camaraderie. "Have a seat, mate."
Smiling, he sat right next Zaeed, whilst Jack stood behind him, crossing his arms.
"So what has you all so excited?" he asked.
"Our new friend," Shun said, "was just about to tell us the story of his pilgrimage in the Terminus Systems."
"To Omega." Ghor activated his omni-tool, inputting a series of commands. Suddenly, a hologram appeared before him and showcased a massive space station carved into the heart of a colossal asteroid.
Goodness...
The space station hung in the black abyss like a menacing jewel, its twisted design a paradoxical blend of beauty and savagery. Countless neon lights flickered and danced along its surface, casting an eerie glow that seemed to pulsate with malice. From the main structure, clusters of jagged spires jutted out into the void like sharp claws ready to strike. And surrounding it, streams of ships, appearing minuscule compared to the massive station, were docking and departing with frenzied activity.
"It is the center of all pirate, mercenary, and slaver activity in the galaxy," Ghor said, with a hint of disgust in his voice. "The nexus of all illegal trades...but also the seat of power for the Arch Reaver herself, Aria T'Loak."
The hologram's image flickered and revealed an Asari woman with purplish blue skin as alluring as she was unnerving. Clad in a suit of intricate nano-technological armor, she exuded an air of danger and sophistication. The armor itself was a masterful work of art, with countless interlocking plates as dark as the void of space and a regal red cloak with a furred white collar. But it was her piercing golden eyes and politician's smile that stole his attention.
Beneath her composed exterior, she exuded an icy, calculated aura, much like the hologram he had seen of the Ascendant. Like him, her ambition burned with a fiery intensity that could rival the core of a blazing star. The strength and determination in her gaze were palpable, radiating an electrifying energy that was impossible to ignore.
"Who is she?" he asked.
"Perhaps the most wanted woman in the Thessian Empire," Ghor said. "She rules the thirty-one star systems of the Omegan Freehold, one of the few places in the galaxy, other than the Urdnot Khanate, where my people can embark on their pilgrimage without getting persecuted."
He titled his head and narrowed his eyes. Pilgrimage? Yes, what kind of custom was it? And persecution? Why? "Without getting persecuted?"
Ghor nodded, and a solemn silence filled the room. "In Council Space," the quarian continued. "My people are on the list of 'condemned species'..." Ghor clenched his fists. His posture grew tense, and his words grew laced with acid. "Any pilgrim would instantly be labeled as an abomination, as a lesser being - a filthy fre'eg eating spy!"
Ghor's words weighed heavy on his chest. Briefly, he clenched his fists. "Those bastards just can't forgive you for creating the geth, huh? For standing against the Ascendant during their civil war?"
"No..." Ghor said, looking at the deck. Ghor's eyes met his. "No they can not. And they never will." Ghor took a deep breath, then input a few commands into his omni-tool. Again, the hologram flickered and displayed a quarian in gold cloths and a matching mask, shaking hands with Aria, within some kind of alien garden. Next to them stood a colossal krogan clad in a magnificent suit of red armor fit for a god of war.
Wouldn't want to get on that thing's bad side.
"Which is why we had little choice but to sign a treaty with the Omegan Freehold and the Urdnot Khanate," Ghor continued. "In exchange for granting us trade rights, and our pilgrims freedom from persecution, we only had to provide them with our technological expertise and..." Briefly, Ghor broke eye contact, then sighed, as though he was dreading what he was about to say next.
"And?" he asked.
Ghor met his gaze. "And occasionally, we must aid in Aria's piracy operations, as well as provide military assistance to the rebel groups she is funding in their operations against the Citadel Council."
Zaeed chuckled. "So that's where our fancy gear came from, huh? From this bloody pirate queen?"
Ghor nodded. From Ghor's posture, and the shame in his eyes, he could tell the quarian was not proud of this.
"Oh, well, well, well," Jack said, crossing his arms, his voice filled with scorn. "You're telling us this now? Damn it, how are we supposed to trust you quarians, if you only end up dragging us into their damn business."
A part of him couldn't help but agree with Jack. Indeed, aiding with piracy? With the operations of rebel groups? He couldn't shake the sick feeling in his stomach. He clenched his jaw, then huffed through his nose. Yes, with Mark, he had spent years hunting such scum in the Sol System. But maybe...
He shook his head, then huffed through his nose. Maybe the Ascendant pushed them to this? "An enemy of my enemy is my friend kind of alliance, eh?"
Ghor nodded. "Precisely. It is not an arrangement we are happy about. But now, with you humans, perhaps my people will finally have the opportunity to break away from them. Perhaps soon we will have true allies...true friends."
"Do you really believe that a psychopath like her will just let your kind go quietly?" Jack asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let out a frustrated sigh. "What have you roped us into?"
"Jack.." Ghor said. "I understand your concerns. But you do not know the Arch Reaver like I do. She does not need us as much as you think. To her, the treaty only served as a convenient arrangement, a way to access our technology and experts that benefited her operations. If we ever cut ties, she would simply shrug and move on, finding other ways to meet her needs. And besides..."
Ghor leaned forward. "There is nobody in the galaxy she despises more than the Ascendant. She has always seized at any opportunity to undermine him, no matter how small, so when war breaks out with the Thessian Empire, I believe we will have a potential ally, not a foe."
A long, heavy silence descended between them. During it, his heart raced, and the weight of the unknown, of the uncertainty ahead, bore down on him like a mountain.
Jack took a deep breath. "Only time will tell."
"Anyways," he said. "You never actually told me what a pilgrimage is, Ghor? What happened during yours?"
Ghor laughed. "Keelah, how silly of me."
Ghor typed a few commands into his omni-tool, and the hologram flickered, then displayed several holo-recordings from Ghor's point of view: from him negotiating with a beaked, tentacled alien in a high-tech e-suit, to him in a dark, neon-lit alleyway, engaging in combat alongside some asari and other quarians. "It is our people's right of passage into becoming fully contributing members of the fleet, how we prove to our clan that we will not be a burden to others."
As he watched the holographic recordings, he couldn't help but be in awe of Ghor's bravery and resilience. It was clear that his pilgrimage was no easy task, and yet he faced danger head-on. The images displayed a world of chaos and turmoil, a world that seemed far removed from anything he had experienced.
"Your pilgrimage looked...dangerous," he finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group. "What did you have to do?"
Ghor leaned forward in his grav chair, then looked right into his eyes. No doubt, the quarian was smiling under his mask. "Listen closely, my friend. And let me tell you the story of how I found myself in the service of one of Aria's top generals, Lord Saderis."
As Ghor began his story, he smiled. Around him, everyone seemed enthralled. Oh, this is going to be good.
On the MFV Az'khaelon, Hannah Shepard stepped into Zhoru's ready room, only to find him out of his armor, wearing what she supposed was the Malukor equivalent of officer fatigues. He was staring at the portrait on his wall and looked as though he was in deep thought.
He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the portrait. "Ah, Khanah. Come in."
What's this meeting for? She stepped up beside him, then looked at the portrait of the quarian woman she'd seen earlier. Goodness, for an alien, she had to admit...she was beautiful. Her amber eyes were mesmerizing. Her striped, lilac skin held an otherworldy charm, and her smile could melt even the coldest hearts.
But who was she?
Why were she and Zhoru wearing matching medallions?
Briefly, she hesitated. Did she have any right to ask? Was she invading his privacy?
She then recalled how Zhoru had kept his composure masterfully, even as the Silent Ones were throwing the worst they had at the defenders of Mindoir. Indeed, by human standards, the man was a master of his emotions.
So it should be safe.
"I take it that was your lifemate?"
A long, awkward silence ensued and seemed to stretch on for eternity...until finally, Zhoru huffed through his nose.
"She was..." Zhoru said.
"What's her name?" she asked.
Zhoru's jaw visibly tightened. And her heart melted at how he was staring at the portrait with such pain and longing.
For a painfully long while, it seemed that Zhoru was not going to answer her question.
But then the Malukor exhaled. "Nylah...Nylah'Larrik. Ancestors help me, it feels like a hundred lifetimes since the days I lived on the Old Homeworld, since before I made war my calling. Over the centuries, I have forgotten so much, but my memories with her..." Zhoru smiled. The Malukor let out a weak laugh and a tear rolled down his cheek. "They will stay with me until we are all but cosmic dust, until every star in the galaxy has cooled to but the smallest ember."
A cold, empty sensation gripped her chest. Zhoru had spoken those words with such overwhelming love, as though Nylah had been his eternal flame, his guiding light in the darkest of times. And yet, there was a sadness in his gaze that she couldn't ignore.
"Zhoru..." she said softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm. Goodness, she knew quarians pair-bonded for life, but perhaps only now was she starting to realize how deeply they connected to their partners. "I...I'm sorry for your loss. She must had meant everything to you."
"She was the soul of my soul," Zhoru said. "The only person in the galaxy I would had died for without hesitation."
Briefly, she thought of Mark and her precious little boys. Undoubtedly, she would do the same if necessary. "I can relate. I won't pretend to understand what it's like to have a lifemate. But to love somebody enough that you would die for them..."
For a moment, she recalled the sensation of Mark holding her in his strong arms, along with the sound of John and Luke's laughter as they played some silly game. But then her thoughts drifted to Governor Goto, how he had died choking on his own blood.
"Kas...Kasumi. Tell...Tell her I'm sorry. P-Please, look...look after her and..."
A sharp, icy feeling scraped at her heart and lungs, and she let out a bitter chuckle. She couldn't help but question why she was the one who survived, only to have to break the devastating news of his death to those he loved most. But another part of her, fueled by a burning need to see Mark and her boys once again, burned her doubt away.
Yes, she would survive, no matter the hardships ahead, no matter the burdens she would have to carry. "I know that sensation all too well."
Zhoru looked at her. "You have loved ones waiting for you to return?"
She nodded, and her eyes watered. She took a deep breaath. "I do. My hus..." Damn it, quarians had word in their language for 'husband'. So what should she say? "My...mate and our two sons, back on my colony."
For a moment, Zhoru remained silent, as though unsure what to say. Eventually, he huffed through his nose, then looked back at the portrait of Nylah. "The ancestors have blessed you with a treasure more valuable than anything in the galaxy. Rest assured that I will do everything in my power to ensure you survive to see them again."
She smiled. For a moment, she pondered Zhoru's words. What exactly had he lost for him to say something like that? "Thank you, Zhoru. That means a lot to me."
Once more, she looked at the portrait of Nylah. "She must have been quite an amazing woman. If you don't mind me asking, what happened to her?"
Zhoru's omni-tool beeped.
"One moment," Zhoru said, as he checked whatever notification popped up. Zhoru exhaled, then closed his omni-tool.
"Something wrong?" she asked
"It's time I showed you what I brought you here for," Zhoru said. "But regarding your question..." Zhoru put one hand on her shoulder. "That will be a story for another time."
Zhoru turned, then headed toward the holo-projector.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.
"It is Master Samara of the Justicar Order," Zhoru said, inputting some commands into his omni-tool. "She is ready to speak to you about some...important developments, about the information you will need to know when negotiations with the humans of the Sol System begin."
"Oh..." she said. Briefly, she recalled the first time she had seen that hologram of Master Samara, about how she felt like a hopelessly ignorant child whenever she looked into ageless, golden eyes. What could Samara possibly have to tell her? "Ok, then. Let's do this."
Zhoru nodded, and then finally the holo-projector hummed to life and displayed a life-like hologram of Master Samara before her. Like before, the asari was clad in a high-tech, armored skin suit, with a dark, hooded cloak draped over it.
And like before, the Asari bowed. "Hannah Shepard. It is a pleasure to finally speak to you without the need for a translator."
Frozen in place, she struggled to string together a single sentence. Goodness, Samara's presence commanded such respect and awe, an air of wisdom she found almost overwhelming. She took a deep breath. Damn it, get it together!
"I must commend you for your bravery during the battle for Mindoir," Samara said. "It speaks much about your character, about how you are well suited for the negotiations to come."
She mirrored the way Samara bowed, as best she could. "Thank you, Master Samara," she said, trying to keep the nervousness and excitement out of her voice. She gulped. "What does this meeting concern?"
"It concerns important developments that could change the course of galactic history," she said. She began to input a string of commands into her omni-tool. "First, after much research into the oldest records, we believe that the Creator Archive on the planet you call Mars is none other than The Armory itself."
"The Armory?" she asked. She broke eye contact with Samara, and for a moment, her mind raced with possibilities. She had always been fascinated with the Prothean Archive, but it seemed that humanity had no idea what was lying right on their doorstep. "And by 'Creators' you mean the protheans right?"
Samara nodded, then projected a hologram of Mars and zoomed in on its surface, specifically to the hidden Mars Archive. The complex was a sprawling wonder that extended for dozens of kilometers in all directions, with glossy black walls, with alien, cyclopean structures scattered all about,bathed in the green light of countless lumen strips.
"According to the most ancient records," Samara said. "This Archive is the grandest and most important repository of knowledge in the entire galaxy - a place of myth and legend."
Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open as she struggled to form a coherent thought. She had always been aware that after one hundred and fifty years since discovering the archives and deciphering the prothean language, humanity had barely scratched the surface of what they contained.
But for it to be the grandest and most important archive in the galaxy?
The implications were staggering, not just for human history but for the entire galactic civilization. She could barely fathom the magnitude of it all.
"Legend has it," Samara continued, "that this Archive contains schematics for the greatest technological wonders the Creators had ever invented, but mainly...for weapons of unimaginable power, capable of reshaping the stars themselves." Samara closed the hologram. "Since his rise to power, the Ascendant has been scouring every corner of the galaxy for it, and when he learns of your kind's existence..."
For a moment, Samara's face paled, and her eyes were filled with fear and horror, as if she was reliving some harrowing experience. Samara took a deep breath, then looked deeply into her eyes. "There will be war, Hannah. Not just with the Thessian Empire. But with the entire Citadel Triarchy."
The weight of Samara's words bore down on her with crushing weight, and her heart pounded. Her mind flashed with visions of the unimaginable death and ruin that might happen should the Mars Archive fall into the wrong hands. She gulped. "So what are we going to do?"
"As we speak, we are on our way to the system you call Alpha Centauri, along with...diplomats from various interstellar powers in the Terminus Systems," Samara said. "Once we arrive, the Grandmaster of the Order will meet you and ensure that negotiations with the Alliance go as planned."
She nodded, her mind straining under the gravity of the situation, under the pressure of the coming political storm. The fate of humanity rested on her shoulders. It was one she never asked to bear, but damn it, she would carry it with pride!
"Understood, Master Samara," she said, her voice steady and resolute. "I'll give it nothing but my absolute best."
For a moment, Samara's eyes softened with a mix of concern and admiration. "I have faith in you, Hannah. May the All-Mother watch over you."
She nodded. "We'll see each other soon."
Samara bowed. "Until next time."
With that, Samara cut the link. In the ensuing silence, she took a moment to collect herself.
"You handled yourself quite well," Zhoru said.
She turned to face him. "Thank you. It's good to know I'll have the Grandmaster of the Justicar Order right beside me, when the time comes to face what I have to do."
Zhoru smiled. "Indeed, Khanah. I have no doubt his help will be invaluable, and that you will not forget the experience of meeting him for the first time."
Her heart skipped a beat. Indeed, what kind of man would he be? Only time would tell.
"But anyways," Zhoru said, opening up a window on his omni-tool. "I have some matters to attend to. In the meantime, feel free to do as wish. When we arrive at our destination, we will have much to do."
"Thank you, Zhoru," she said.
He nodded, then left his ready room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Again, they drifted to Governor Goto and the promise she made him just before he had died. Closing her eyes, his dead face raked at her mind, haunting her. Her mind with reeled with scenarios of how Kasumi and Goto's wife would react to the news.
She exhaled. One way or another, they were going to find out, and better if she delivered the news instead of a stranger.
Finally, she opened up her omni-tool and began inputting the commands to create the necessary comm-channel. Let's get this over with.