25 – The Phenomenon

Ironically, the Commander did not need to ask Dhruva for directions to Dhruva's Diner. He had passed it by earlier, somewhere on his trek through Beta Wing. The hardest part of his current journey – leaving the Polestar Lounge – was easier than expected. He'd spent enough time scaring the living daylights out of an asari that Rear Admiral Mikhailovich and his buddies had gotten too drunk to notice him ambling out the way he came. Gorman twirled through the dancefloor, giving Aurora a parting nod and waiting only a moment for the rotating club to let him plant his feet on stiller ground.

Escalators and entryways, concourses and corridors – bombarding him from floor to ceiling with advertisements – were downright serene compared to the Lounge. He could think just that bit clearer, and reflect on what exactly happened back in there. Taylor wanted to help, so on one hand it was mission accomplished, exactly what he set out to achieve. On the other hand, he doubted a typical 'session' in that cabin usually ended with quotes from the Book of Revelation.

She needed time, but time for what? How many of his memories did she see? How come he never saw any of hers? Scratch all of that, just how in the name of all that is good and holy did she enter his damn mind in the first place?

Gorman shook away his thoughts. He was feeling as blindingly ignorant as when he stepped onto Tara IV. With a bit of luck, she'd be happy to explain soon.

The destination came into view at the end of a wide avenue. Shoppers were plentiful and mostly human, but standing outside a grand neon sign labelled 'Dhruvaloka' were a woman and an elcor. As Gorman got closer, his suspicion was confirmed. They were the same two he'd sat next to at the lecture. They weren't alone, loitering in a loose queue in front of an old-fashioned glass door.

Old-fashioned could be said for the glimpse of the diner's interior, too – even for Gorman. A retro theme, emulating the 50s, as all good roadside diners should. Railcar-style counters and barstools, unpainted sheet metal trimmings, red leather seats, there were even checkered floors. As happy as he was to see some good old Americana in deep space, he did find the theme a tad out of place. Maybe it was the fact that 'Dhruva' didn't strike him as a true Yankee name, or maybe it was that at this point, the 1950s were over two hundred years ago. For comparison's sake, to him it was like having a café themed around the American Revolutionary period…which wasn't a terrible idea, in fairness. Or maybe a teahouse might be more fitting for that era.

"Disappointment: Is the diner usually this busy." Gorman overheard a familiar droning voice.

"First the Zoo, now this," the woman was showing the emotion her counterpart could only verbalize. She was somewhere underneath a growing pile of merchandise like ornaments on a Polaris-branded Christmas tree. "No queues like this back on Mars. If anything, we could use more tourism. In Lowell City there's this great…"

Her explanation was cut short by the arrival of the Commander, who she turned and recognized.

"…Hey, it's you! Mister 'Twenty-first century'!"

"The very same," Gorman nodded. The elcor lumbered around to stare at him.

"Nostalgic thankfulness: The lecture got a lot more boring once you left," it stated.

"Yeah, after your spat with him, Saari only took safe questions," the woman laughed. "Total snoozefest. Still bought the book."

The Commander was going to ask them about the wait time, or if there was another place he could possibly meet the asari at. Judging by the number of people outside it, the chances of another diner were unlikely.

Before he could, a new voice emerged from behind.

"Commander! There you are!" Despite the words being said, it came from no member of his crew, nor his new blue acquaintance. Instead, when Gorman turned around, he saw a man jogging towards him in a black t-shirt and jeans. "Looking all over for you, man!" he arrived, bending over for a moment to catch his breath.

"Have we met?" Gorman dryly responded. He sized up the odd-looking fellow. He was tanned and tattooed, with a frankly absurd amount of hair on his head and face. The only parts that didn't have light brown hair on them were his ears, forehead, big round eyes and big round nose. Despite this he looked as well-groomed as one could, and beneath the beard there rested a wide grin.

"No freakin' way!" the woman exclaimed. "You're not…are you…DB?"

"The very same!" 'DB' chuckled, placing his hands above his hips. Gorman tilted his head in confusion. He'd seen this man before, but despite his superb performance at remembering key information recently, his mental merge with the asari left that part of his brain taking some much-deserved time off. He couldn't place the guy – but he was certain they'd never met in person.

"Can I g-get a picture?" the woman stuttered, unsuccessfully trying to hold onto several bags and break out her omni-tool at the same time.

"Maybe later, ma'am," DB raised his hands, "Got some important business with the Commander."

The glass entry to the diner shuttered open, and out stepped a waitress in a pinstripe dress. Happy customers scurried out after her as she scanned the crowd, quickly picking a certain hairy man out of the bunch.

"Your usual spot?" she asked him. DB gave an emphatic nod, and beckoned Gorman to follow him through the open door. The other woman was too starstruck to complain about the cutting in line, and if the elcor could enunciate its confusion it would, but the Commander took DB's lead, walking on in after him.

Gorman knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he had a feeling that he shouldn't let his guard down. All that time outside the diner, and indeed for his last few steps along Beta Wing, he had a gut feeling that he was being watched. It likely couldn't be helped at this point – if Mikhailovich saw his news interview then so did a lot more people – but for someone with a background in espionage he felt quite exposed.

DB led him through the diner. If a booth wasn't packed with people, then it was being cleaned and prepared for the next group. Busy or not, there was one long booth at the far end that was suspiciously vacant. It was next to a grand, rectangular window with rounded corners. Polaris itself was just out of sight, so taking up the whole pane were distant stars and the fine stardust that made up the nebula. If the view was replaced with something more earthly, the diner could pass for 2013, Gorman thought. There was a lack of futuristic technology, at least on first glance. Doo-wop music was playing from bulky wall-mounted speakers. At DB's request, he took a seat. DB himself shimmied into his end of the booth, leaning forward with his hands clasped together on the table.

"Tried to catch you earlier," he began. "Couldn't get past the bouncer at the Lounge. Guy was a freak. Built like a vending machine."

Gorman was about to speak, but the man's pauses between sentences were long enough to be mistaken for full stops.

"So, whaddya think of this place?" he took a good look around. "Always go here, always get this table. I'm no expert, but the style of this place? Cool as hell. Like something out of a history vid. People actually went to places like this all those years ago? Back when the USA was a thing? With human staff? And physical menus? It's bizarre."

"Big table for two people," Gorman wasn't paying much attention to him. He was more focused on the booth itself. There must have been space for at least eight.

"Well, full disclosure, I've got company coming in like, a minute."

"So do I, as it turns out."

"Bodyguard?"

"Asari."

DB's big eyes bored into the Commander's head.

"Fascinating," he exhaled.

DB's attention quickly switched to a passing waiter, snapping his fingers to get them over to the table. Strangely enough, even the waiter looked a little familiar to Gorman.

"What can I get you?" the waiter spoke. Now Gorman was getting slightly worried. He'd definitely heard that voice before.

"I'll take an extra-large kombucha," DB ordered. "Oh, and a large EuroBurger. Real meat if you have it, not that vat-grown junk."

"And for you?" the waiter turned to Gorman – and their eyebrows raised with recognition.

"I'll take…" Gorman started, searching around for a menu to no avail. He gave up once a more recent memory came back. "I've heard the milkshakes here are legendary."

"Any flavor, Commander?" the waiter's tongue slipped. "I'd, uh, um, recommend the double strawberry."

"Then I'll have one. Thanks."

The waiter scurried off, leaving an uneasy silence. Gorman was under enough stress – so he asked what he should of from the beginning.

"Just who exactly are you?"

"You don't recognize me?" the man's smiley expression drooped a bit with disappointment, before regaining his energy and placing a palm on his chest. "The name's Don Bodewell. Former DJ, nightclub comic, biotiball commentator and host of the best vidcast this side of the Skyllian Verge."

"…Huh?" was all Gorman could reply with.

"Come on, Commander. Surely you've seen some clips from the Phenomenon?" he enquired. Gorman shook his head. "You've never seen the Don Bodewell Phenomenon? Really? The last episode had just under a billion views. And that was without any special guests!"

"A billion?" Gorman was suddenly incredulous. In his mind, raking in that kind of viewership was impossible…unless you were Korean.

"You've got some catching up to do, Commander!" Bodewell laughed again. "But enough about me. Here's the thing: I saw you on that interview, Westerlund News. And then later, at that Saari lecture. Dude, you were murdering. Mur-de-ring." He leaned closer into the table. His accent was Midwestern at best, Milwaukee at worst. "My manager wanted me to talk to you. Says you'd be the perfect guest for the next episode."

Another interview? Gorman wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it.

"I don't know, Don…I'm busy. Boring Alliance duties. No more time for interviews."

"Bull-shit, Commander!" Bodewell whacked his palms on the table. "I don't believe a word of it. C'mon, I just know you've got some wild stories to tell. Please?"

"You want a story?" Gorman leaned back, crossing his arms. If he couldn't bore Bodewell, he'd bewilder him. "Ever hear about the explosion that destroyed Dublin a hundred and seventy years ago."

Bodewell's eyes somehow widened even further.

"Nuclear accident. Tragedy."

"Actually a coordinated attack from a spaceship of unknown origin."

"I knew it!" Bodewell shouted, almost leaping out of his seat. He frantically looked around for eavesdroppers, before focusing entirely on Gorman again. "What's your source?"

The Commander smiled.

"I was there. We blew the ship up."

Bodewell's jaw dropped. For once, he was speechless. Gorman realized his mistake too late – he was believing every word of it.

Before any word escaped DB's gaping maw, a tall figure marched to the side of the booth. Gorman glanced up, expecting to see a waiter carrying a delicious milkshake. Instead, he saw something that made him freeze with fear.

Shiny, deep crimson armor was covering the figure, from V-shaped torso to bent backwards legs and binary toes. The breastplate above their narrow waist was medieval, bowing low at the front and rising above the neckline at the back like a tilted bucket. Hands like talons were at their side. The head was the strangest sight – like some sort of cross between an eagle and a raptor. Bone was protecting skin, not the other way round, and there was black paint on it from the top of the skull, past a thin nose and down to a bent crack where a mouth should be. This mouth was in between thick and pointy mandibles. There was a similar coloring underneath two round eye-gaps in the carapace, like the eye black of a quarterback. The eyes themselves were pale green, with vertical slits for pupils. This towering creature was no cat, however. Gorman had seen armor like this before. He was looking at a turian.

"Is this him?" the figure looked at him, but spoke to Bodewell. The flanging in their voice was present, but the pitch was too high to be the one on the geth recording. He couldn't rule out whether it was the same he'd heard at the Saari lecture, however.

Whatever the case, Gorman couldn't help but stare right back at them. A turian. He was seeing one up close and personal for the first time, and the hairs on the back of his neck were rising. Therefore, he could only imagine what it must have felt like for those unlucky souls twenty-six years ago who not only saw one, but had it pointing a gun at them. The warlike paint, the heavy armor – Gorman's instincts were crying for him to grab a weapon.

"Take a seat, 'Casta," Bodewell budged along the booth, making room. "Commander Gorman, this is Jocasta Petronis, my bodyguard." The turian clambered into the human-sized booth as best they could.

"Your…bodyguard?" Gorman blurted. He couldn't see why a 'vidcaster' would need someone clad in that much plating.

"Yeah, she's great. She might not be allowed her gun on this station, but trust me, she can hit. She's a savage. There was this one time on Shanxi…"

One of the turian's mandibles twitched. Gorman turned a bit paler.

"That's enough, Don", she cut in.

"Right, right, 'We don't talk about Shanxi', I get it," Bodewell adopted a mocking tone. The turian, unfazed, was still looking at the Commander.

Another figure appeared at the booth. This time, an expected arrival. The waiter placed a mighty meal in front of Bodewell and a pink drink in front of Gorman. He took a sip. The Martian wasn't kidding – it tasted heavenly.

"Let me get this straight," Don tried to get back on track. It was hard for Gorman to focus on Bodewell when there was something much more interesting and intimidating sitting right next to him. "You're from the past? Like, all those years ago?"

"2013, to be exact," Gorman confirmed.

"In-cred-ible. I actually used to have a bit about that. I've got, like, a million questions I want to ask you…" Bodewell paused for a sip of kombucha. "…but the real question is, what are you doing in 2183? If what I've heard is true, you've been covering some real distance."

Secrecy was always a priority in the Commander's line of work – but he was facing the fact that maybe it didn't really matter anymore. Was this guy's 'vidcast' the actual key to getting the doomsday warnings out to those who need to hear them? No, he reasoned, there was no need to complicate things. He decided to remain vague.

"You're right, I suppose. Been travelling all over, fighting geth and criminals. Seen a lot of strange places."

"We live in strange times," Bodewell laughed. "I like your style, Commander. The Alliance needs heroes like you…or Novak…or Shepard, of course. The fact that you came all the way from 2013 to just, like, start getting into fights immediately? Effin' awesome. I mean, the things you must have seen that must have been completely messed up to you…I can't even begin to imagine. You have a ship?"

It took Gorman a moment to realize that Bodewell's stream of consciousness had ended with an actual question in his direction.

"The SSV Shackleton. We're docked in bay F7."

"Hold up," Bodewell interrupted. "We? You've got a whole crew? From 2013?"

"No, more recent," Gorman replied, still with a tinge of sadness. "A few friends I've made along the way."

"My guy, we've got to join you," he nodded intently at his bodyguard, who had barely flinched since she sat down, even with the revelation of Gorman's year of origin. Either it took something truly special to shake her, or turians measure time differently. Bodewell continued. "Don't care where you go next. We need to be there. Think of the views!"

Before Gorman could quash such an idea, he was startled by the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. It was blue.

Despite having fifty minutes to sober up, he was just as mesmerized as his first sight of the asari. The fact that something like her, with what she was capable of, could exist at all? Outrageous. He snapped out of it, budging up to make space.

"Your crew will be here shortly," she said, taking her seat. She had changed into a much less revealing outfit, puffy white jacket included. "Who are these people?"

She talked to his crew? That encounter had to have been something to behold. Gorman's eyes flicked between her and the two opposite. Bodewell and the bodyguard were equally transfixed on the new arrival.

"This is Don, a 'vidcast' guy, and Jocasta, his bodyguard," Gorman introduced. Bodewell gave a timid wave, the turian an acknowledging blink. "Don, Jocasta, this is the asari I mentioned. Taylor."

"T'Lore," the blue lady bluntly corrected. "Witta T'Lore."

"A pleasure," Bodewell blurted.

"Do you intend to recruit them for our mission?" the asari kept her focus on the Commander.

"Uh…um…" Gorman verbally stumbled. There was an intense pleading look coming from the man across the table. "I don't necessarily think that -"

"You look like you've had firearms training," T'Lore cut in, her focus switching.

"Yes ma'am!" Bodewell exclaimed, "If you count video games, that is. I've got over a thousand hours in -"

"I wasn't talking to you," the asari stated, again without hostility but factual flatness. She was addressing the turian.

"Law enforcement," began Petronis. There was a perceptible pride under the flanging. "Graduated from Cipritine Military Police about ten years ago. Then a stint on Taetrus, and then some more…specialized work."

The asari turned to face Gorman again.

"We'll take them."

There was a lot of 'we' that the Commander wasn't convinced of. He hadn't asked anyone here directly to join the mission – but until an hour ago the 'mission' was to find the asari herself. What came next was dependent on her 'plan', so he was still wary, but happy enough to let her make this particular decision.

"If you think so, sure, why not," Gorman nodded.

"All-right!" Bodewell pumped a fist in the air. "Cool! Good. Nice." He leaned in closer again. "So…what's the sitch? Taking down the geth? Finding a time machine to get you back to the past?"

"I wish," Gorman coughed out a chuckle, "It's more complicated than that, unfortunately. We should wait 'til the rest of the crew get here."

"Armageddon is upon us," the asari spoke again, the same matter-of-fact tone for a wildly different subject matter. "The war for heaven is lost, and the metal beasts that come from the abyss will attack, overpower and kill us. Before us is a pale horse, and its rider is named -"

"Like I said, complicated," Gorman interrupted her for once. Stark confusion was written on Bodewell's face and even Jocasta's carapace. Relief struck him as several figures were spotted weaving through and approaching the table. It sounded like a future joke he couldn't understand – a security guard, a spaceship pilot, a biotic and a quarian enter a diner – but he was happy to see them. They looked equally happy to see him, not to mentioned seriously confused themselves by the alien next to him and strangers across from him. There was another key difference: Zaz was now wearing a Polaris-branded hoodie. "Ah, here's my crew now. Make some room."

Gorman wondered if Bodewell's favorite table had ever reached maximum occupancy before, but they made it work. With everyone present, they all shuffled into their new booth positions, exchanging looks of various emotions with each other.

An awkward silence lingered.

The Commander had to be the one to break it. He straightened his back, making sure he could see everyone and that everyone could see him. He recognized the situation as one he'd gone through many times – a good old fashioned team briefing.

"There'll be time for proper introductions later," he started. All eyes and one visor were facing him. He assumed the classic briefing pose. Brows lowered, head cocked down, one hand on the table and the other raising a tactical pointing finger.

"These are the facts as I understand them. One – the geth are after the same thing I am, a prothean beacon. It gave me a sort of apocalyptic warning, God knows what it means to them, but they seem hellbent on attacking any human in their way." Nods erupted across the board. The most recent 'additions' to the team were understandably slower to grasp the magnitude of what he was saying. "And two – thanks to our quarian friend and magazine ammunition, we have in our possession an audio recording implicating an asari and a turian in orchestrating these geth attacks." More nods in response, and piqued interest from the turian at the table.

"We're going deep," muttered Bodewell with wide-eyed awe.

"Now, my new acquaintance Taylor – I mean, T'Lore," Gorman continued, undaunted, "She's agreed to help us." The asari gave him an affirmative look. "You said you had a plan earlier? We're all ears."

"The path to me is clear," she started confidently, "Our priority is to get this recording to the Council."

Everyone present readjusted themselves in their seats. Kalu was giving a smirk towards Blanc that was screaming 'I told you so'. The pilot therefore felt obligated to butt in – after, of course, gawking too long at the man and bodyguard sitting across from him.

"Tough luck, madame," he said, "Contacting the human embassy, forget the Ambassador, is a month-long wait at best. As for getting to the Citadel itself, we're short on authorization."

"I have connections," was the asari's response. "Friends, relatives, co-workers. A lot of them were recently deployed to a planet near Alliance space. Noveria."

"I thought Noveria was just a myth," chimed in Zaz. "Whole planet run by shady corporations who want to do research out where Council laws don't apply."

"It's worse than that," solemnly nodded Bodewell. "I have it on good authority that they're developing illegal human-salarian turbohybrids there under the codename 'Project Bonanza'. Can climb a tree in ten milliseconds and catch a fly with its tongue in two."

Even Gorman, a man surrounded by various sapient wonders, knew complete and utter nonsense when he heard it. He was much more interested in something the asari had mentioned.

"What do you mean by 'deployed'? he asked her.

"Asari commando unit. Toughest in the galaxy."

From a quick side-glance, the Commander could tell that neither Blanc nor Petronis quite believed that last statement. Gorman was tempted to join them – T'Lore didn't at first look the physically imposing sort – but if she could infiltrate his mind with ease, than he shuddered to think what she could do to the rest of him…and to think about what a male of the species might look like.

"Unfortunately, without proper credentials Noveria is off-limits for us," she confided. "Unless, Commander, you can bluff your way in like back on Mavigon, there's no chance of meeting my contacts there."

"How did she know about…" Kalu began, but Gorman waved him away with a flick of his hand. The asari wasn't finished.

"There's one last alternative," she explained, "An asari scientific research vessel will be passing close to Alliance space very soon on its way to a classified location. I have a contact aboard the ship that can reach the asari Councilor."

Heads across the table perked up. This was the breakthrough they'd been waiting for. Gorman held off on celebrating. It seemed a little too convenient for him.

"Can this contact be trusted?"

"Absolutely."

"The science ship, why is its destination classified?"

"Top-secret orders from the asari governments. Scientific expedition skirting the Alliance borders. I'm the only one who knows about the ship in Alliance space."

Gorman raised an eyebrow. She was nothing if not open with him and his crew – and in the presence of a vidcaster, a bit too open. She also seemed determined to avoid mincing words. Neither 'probably' nor 'perhaps' were in her vocabulary.

"There's always one other option," Saal'Inor popped into the discussion after silently observing for a while. "I mean, I like the asari ship idea, it sounds good, but we're forgetting about the place from the recording itself. Virmire."

"Virmire," Gorman snapped his fingers with recollection. "Ring any bells?" he asked the newcomers…to no response. Not even T'Lore knew anything, which by now he'd come to understand meant that it was a true unknown.

"Why would bells be ringing?" dryly queried the turian.

An unprecedented ninth person arrived to the booth. It was the waiter.

"Goro?" exclaimed Kalu.

"Kabiru?" exclaimed the man finally recognized as Goro.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur of conversations and subconversations, with varying levels of relevance and importance. Gorman struggled to keep an ear in as many as possible.

The McFinley corporation, as Goro explained, was going through trying times since the widely publicized discovery of a smuggling operation taking place in a few select outposts. Mr. Kobayashi elected to leave before the coming inquisition found out that half of his locker was complicit, and his current between-jobs state wound him up on Polaris of all places. Jenny Boxer allegedly jumped ship too, heading back to her home on Elysium once word of the geth attacks spread.

Zaz, Blanc and Sally were busy going back over their own Polaris purchases. The Shackleton was refueled by some miracle at a reasonable price, with a shiny new coat of paint to boot and even the letters of its new name tacked on. The black color of the hull was – much to the quarian's chagrin – maintained, at the cost of having to install several radiators on the underside to compensate for the accumulated heat. A top-up of the ship's dextro-amino acid food supply was ensured, and up-to-date star charts and guidance systems were bought to drag the ageing ship into the 2180s.

The shopping wouldn't quite end there, however. No matter how peaceable the rendezvous with the science vessel would be, T'Lore was going out of her way to take inventory of the firepower the full team now possessed. The turian had, in her own words, quite an arsenal tucked away in a locker by the docking bays. Grenades and demolition charges, but no nuclear weapons nor Convention contraventions. When Gorman admitted he was impressed, she showed the most emotion of the whole meeting, mandibles flicking around like a turian version of a smile. Conversely, T'Lore looked more and more stressed as the extent of their weaponry was laid out. Something told Gorman that she didn't think any of it was going to be enough to stop 'Armageddon'.

Bodewell, on the other hand, had barely touched his EuroBurger. He was bursting with ideas for the first 'vidcast' episode aboard the ship, which was sounding like a six-part documentary as opposed to a casual conversation. Gorman sighed inside, knowing he was definitely going to have to ask him to keep an uncharacteristically low profile with regards to an alien government's top secret science expedition.

The field of stars out of the window was marvelous, yet it did no favors to anyone trying to tell the time. Enough time had passed since the Commander stepped foot on the station that he was beginning to feel tired, even with the delicious energy from his milkshake. His sleep schedule was not an obvious concern in recent days, but he knew it was time to move on and get some rest. Despite the presence of hotels on-station, the asari was gravely adamant that there was 'no time to lose'. The eight of them eventually dismounted the booth and began making their way out of the diner, bidding Goro farewell.

There was understandably a lot going through Gorman's mind, but there was one concern he wanted to get sorted sooner rather than later. As the procession made for Arrivals Plaza, he slowed down, holding Kalu back with him.

"Kabiru, a moment?"

"Always," Kalu nodded.

"You know Bodewell? The 'vidcaster'?"

"Should have seen Pierre's face when we came towards the booth," Kalu chuckled. "He almost fainted – although maybe it had something to do with the fact that we're bringing a turian onboard."

"Don strikes me as someone with cash to burn, don't you think?"

"…Where is this going?"

"Kabriu," Gorman stopped both of them in their tracks. "He's certainly got enough for a shuttle to Earth. You can go home. See your son."

Kalu thought about it for a moment.

"You make a good point," he sighed. "But the truth is, we are in too deep. If that recording doesn't get to the Council, if what you and that asari are saying is true, if the geth…I don't know, our homeworld itself feels like it's at risk."

"We can handle it," Gorman tried to project confidence in the team, "You've already helped us – helped me – a lot."

Kalu held up his hands. He'd made a decision, and the Commander knew better than to argue against it.

"I'm sticking with you, Kevin. We'll get that recording delivered, we'll deal with anything that gets in our way, and then we'll be sipping ice-cold drinks on Elegushi Beach before you know it."

"I'll hold you to that," Gorman joked.

"Besides, Commander," Kalu continued. His tone got suddenly somber. Uh oh, thought Gorman, Kalu only uses rank when it gets serious. "I don't know what you told that asari, or what she told you, but you should know one key fact that'll serve you well. There are few things more frightening in this galaxy than an asari in a hurry."