Chapter Twenty-One: Dum Spiro, Spero

"A coward believes he will ever live if he keep him safe from strife: but old age leaves him not long in peace though spears may spare his life." - Havamal

Martin awoke to the hum of the ship's systems, the sound reverberating in his skull like a distant, persistent echo. His head felt like it was on fire, less so than before, but still in pain. His vision blurred as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The lights of the bunk room dimmed so as not to offend his eyes. He felt a dull muscle ache and a heaviness in his limbs that refused to dissipate no matter how much he willed it. The memory of the massive amount of food he had just finished eating an hour ago still lingered in his mouth. His stomach wasn't too happy about the sheer volume he forced down so quickly. Just sitting on this boat made him feel slightly queasy. The memories of the last few days began to surface, and the confusion added to the twisted feeling in his gut.

The memory of his nightmare resurfaced. He remembered the vague details before being knocked out, but not like this. Martin wasn't sure if it was what actually happened or something his mind conjured up. It felt right but was too vivid to have been a memory. But that's how these things work. Martin dwelled on it longer than he was comfortable with, quickly pushing the thought away.

Martin lay still for a while longer, his eyes tracing the faint lines in the ceiling of the bunk room. The hum of the ship's systems had become background noise, blending with the dull ache in his head. He felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him, making it hard to focus on anything beyond the immediate discomfort. His body felt sluggish, and moving seemed like an unnecessary chore. Yet the unease inside him, the disorientation from the nightmare he couldn't fully shake, lingered.

The soft sound of the door opening barely registered at first. Only when he heard a quiet voice he turned his head, squinting through the dim lighting.

"Martin? You awake?" Rinn's voice was gentle but had an unmistakable note of worry. She stepped in cautiously, her lithe frame moving through the small space toward his bunk.

"Yeah," he managed, his voice rougher than expected. He shifted slightly, though the ache in his muscles protested, not sure if he even wanted to talk.

Rinn approached, sitting down beside the bunk but keeping a respectful distance. Her eyes studied him carefully as though she were assessing his condition. "You've been quiet since you woke up," she said softly. "I thought I'd check on you."

Martin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if it could clear the fog in his mind. "I'm alright. Just... tired."

Rinn gave a small nod, though her expression didn't shift from its worried state. "It's just... you don't usually stay this quiet." She paused, her gaze flicking to the side for a moment. He lay there still, trying to understand her meaning completely. "You seemed angry when you woke up. Athria said it looked like you saw a ghost."

Martin hesitated. The memories were still tangled in his mind, and part of him wasn't sure if he wanted to dive into them. But Rinn's patience was steady, and after a few long moments, he gave in with a sigh.

"Yeah, it was a nightmare or something, I don't what you'd call it," he began, his voice low, eyes unfocused as if the words were dragging up something heavy from within. "It felt like a memory."

Rinn frowned slightly, leaning in. "A memory?"

Martin's jaw tightened. He didn't know why he had told her this much. Maybe it was because she was the only one who wanted to listen. He swallowed hard before speaking again. "Back during the War. My unit... we were loyalists. We were out in Ohio backing up some Army units," He paused, the bitterness clear in his tone. "Our commanding officer defected and left the rest of us without asses in the wind. Half the battalion went with him during a battle and the rest of us... We got labeled as traitors, which was not completely their fault, but it wasn't good for us. The loyalist army turned on us, it was damn near a slaughter. I lost two companies in five hours."

Rinn's expression shifted, a look of quiet understanding settling on her face, though she remained silent, letting him continue.

"We had no way to prove we weren't part of the defection," Martin went on, his voice rougher now. "Media blackout, no way to get our story out. We tried running east, pleading for someone to listen. But no one did. We ended up having to hijack a Military train and we headed east to D.C., trying to find a way to reach the only broadcast stations still running. But by then... they hunted us down. My second in command fled and leaked our intentions."

Rinn inhaled softly but still said nothing, waiting.

Martin's gaze dropped to his feet. "I thought I died there. Hell, I felt like I died there, probably did, being honest. When I woke up earlier... that was in my head."

The room was quiet, save for the steady hum of the ship. Martin could feel his chest tighten and his chin begin to rumble. He swallowed the feeling and cleared his throat. Rinn's voice was soft when she spoke again. "I'm sorry, Martin. That sounds... Horrible."

He gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, the weight of the memory still clinging to him. "Yeah... Don't know why my brain thought it necessary to remember that then, but we aren't exactly on speaking terms." he tried to joke.

Rinn motioned by tilting her head slightly. It seemed sad but almost reassuring. "Trauma doesn't care about timing. It just comes out whenever." Martin's lips twitched at the corners, an attempt at a smile that quickly faded. "Yeah, well, it picked a hell of a time, just had to get my brains bouncing around my skull for me to remember everything," he muttered, leaning his head against the pillow. His muscles tensed again, the ache in his limbs never fully fading.

"It sounds like you've been through a lot, probably more than most people, but you're still alive, and that has to count for something, right?"

Martin didn't respond at first, his thoughts tangled in the mess. Surviving had always been a matter of instinct, not a conscious choice. Now, lying here in the quiet, he felt the weight of that survival in a way he hadn't before. It was heavier than he expected. Martin wasn't sure if it was always there or if he was just realizing it. Either didn't feel comforting.

"I guess; doesn't always feel like it." Martin shifted himself, trying to make small movements, more out of the uncomfortable conversation than out of any want to move.

Rinn watched him closely, sensing the discomfort in his words and the weight that lingered in the air. After a long pause, her voice broke through the silence, quieter than before.

"You know, you're not the only one who's been betrayed by their own." She hesitated momentarily before continuing as if deciding whether to share something she'd kept close to her chest for too long. "That's... why I was exiled. I was framed for smuggling stolen Turian military tech onto the Flotilla. Never knew it was there. But that didn't matter."

Martin turned his head toward her, squinting slightly through the dim light. His exhaustion was still heavy, but the words seemed to cut through the haze in his mind. "Framed?"

Rinn nodded, her gaze distant as if the memory still stung. "I was part of a trade crew, moving supplies in and out of the Flotilla. It was routine until one day, it wasn't. Some traders had hidden stolen tech in the shipment we were bringing back. The Admiralty Board did a surprise inspection, and they found it. And me... I was the one in charge of overseeing the cargo."

Martin let out a quiet, mirthless chuckle. "Let me guess. They didn't believe you."

"Not for a second," Rinn replied, her voice tight with the frustration of old wounds. "I was just a scapegoat, someone they could point to and say 'she did it' so they wouldn't have to dig any deeper. Even though I had no idea what was going on, they didn't care. I was responsible, and that was enough."

Martin's expression softened slightly, though the weariness still weighed heavy on his features. "That sounds familiar. Nothing like being screwed over by your own people." Rinn gave a small nod. "Yeah. They didn't want to hear my side of the story. I was guilty by association. And the Flotilla... well, they're not exactly forgiving. They exiled me without a second thought. I had a feeling for years most of the crew were in on it."

Martin let the words sink in, his mind drifting back to his own experience of betrayal. He could see the echoes of his own story in hers—the feeling of being abandoned, of having your entire life twisted because someone else decided you weren't worth saving. He gave a slow, tired exhale. "That's a tough break," he said quietly. "You ever try to prove your innocence? Clear your name?"

Rinn shook her head, "I did, for a while. But I realized pretty quickly that no one cared. The people who set me up made sure they covered their tracks, and the Admiralty Board didn't want to reopen the case. To them, it was easier to just forget about me. If word got about back to the Turians, the fleet would come under harsher sanctions. So I gave up. There wasn't any point in fighting a system that was never going to listen."

Martin's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he spoke again. "So, what now? You just live with it?"

"I live with it, yeah," Rinn replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "I've made a life out here. It's not easy, but it's mine. I won't let them take any more from me than they already have." The room fell into a heavy silence again, both of them caught in their own thoughts. Martin shifted slightly, wincing as the ache in his muscles reminded him of its presence. "At least you weren't shot for it." Martin shrugged, trying to break the tension.

"Yeah," Rinn said softly. "Guess that would have would have been worse." Martin nodded. He wanted to let the conversation fizzle out of curiosity, and began to crawl through his head. "Why would you want to go back to that?"

Rinn hesitated before answering as if she'd never asked herself that question. She looked uncomfortable as she leaned back a little and used her fingers to fidget with the fabric on her sleeve. "It's not... easy to explain," she began slowly, her voice soft but steady. "It's home. It's where I grew up and where my family is. The Flotilla isn't just someplace you leave and never look back. It's... everything. It's our whole world."

Martin raised an eyebrow, his mind spun in confusion, "But they exiled you, left you out here with the ruffians. I saw the way they talk to you, around you..."

Rinn sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I know. But that doesn't change what it means. Quarians don't have planets to go back to. We have the Migrant Fleet, and when you're part of it, it's more than just a home—it's your people, your culture, your identity. Even after everything they did, I still feel like I belong there. Like I should belong there."

Martin frowned, his expression softening with an empathy he didn't often show. "You think you can just go back after all that?" Rinn kept her head low and kept up her fidgeting. "No. I know I can't. At least... not like this. But I've thought about it. Sometimes, it's all I think about. What if I could find a way to prove my innocence or find something important enough to bring back, like a second pilgrimage? Then maybe I could go home again."

Martin paused before speaking. He could feel her quiet desperation in her voice, even hidden behind her mask. He could probably picture a sad face behind it.

"But you said no one would listen," Martin pointed out. "If they didn't care then, why would they care now?"

Rinn shrugged, her smile turning a little bitter. "They probably wouldn't. But it doesn't stop me from hoping, even if it's a long shot. The idea of walking onto the Flotilla again, seeing my family, and being accepted... it's hard to let go of that."

Martin nodded slowly, understanding in a way he hadn't before. "I get that. I get wanting to go back to something that feels like home. Even if it's broken."

Rinn's gaze softened, and she looked at him with quiet gratitude. Martin gave a faint smile, his eyes still tired but holding a hint of amusement. "Chasing ghosts seems to be a theme these days." Rinn chuckled softly, the tension in the air loosening just a bit. Yeah, it seems that way."

They both sat silently for a moment, the hum of the ship filling the space between them. The weight lingered, but there was a strange sense of peace in sharing that burden, if only for a moment.

"""""""""""""""

On the bridge, Athria stood with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the expanse of space visible through the cockpit. The stars streaked by as the ship limped forward on auxiliary thrusters, but despite the sluggish speed, there was something oddly comforting about being back in control of the vessel. Her fingers drummed on her arm absently, her mind still reeling from the chaos.

Dez was hunched over one of the consoles. Her brow furrowed as she scrolled through the ship's diagnostics. "Surprisingly, we're doing better than I expected," she muttered, half to herself. "Auxiliary power's stable, life support's functioning as normal, and thrusters are operational, albeit at reduced capacity. The ship isn't as bad as I thought."

Athria turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Not as bad? After everything we've been through, I'd call that a miracle."

Dez grinned at her, wiping her hands on his pants as if she'd done something impressive. "Don't get too excited. We've still got major calibrations to make. But at least we're not dead in the water."

Athria nodded, but her expression remained tense. "I don't like it," she said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of frustration. "The ship should have been in better shape. This is an Initiative vessel, after all. Why didn't they give us something more reliable?"

Dez glanced at her, the easy smile fading. "Budget cuts? Lack of priority? We're not exactly at the top of their list of concerns. And if I'm being honest, this ship is ancient by Initiative standards. They probably thought it would be good enough for a simple mission."

Athria exhaled sharply, uncrossing her arms and pacing toward the main console. "Good enough isn't going to cut it, Dez. Not with what we're up against. We've barely made it this far, and I don't know if we can keep going like this."

Velpia, who had been standing by the viewport in silence, finally spoke up. "We've survived worse," she said coolly, her arms folded across her chest. "The ship's holding together. We just need to be smarter about how we handle the next steps."

Athria glanced at Velpia, her eyes narrowing slightly. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken mistrust lingering from their past encounters. Velpia's calm demeanor only served to irritate her further. "Smarter, huh? And what exactly do you suggest?"

Velpia met her gaze evenly, her tone measured. "We stop mindlessly wandering around the galaxy and actually do what we came here to do. The more stops we make, the more chances we have of getting hurt."

Athria bristled, but she forced herself to hold back her initial retort. Velpia wasn't wrong. The reckless path they'd been on wasn't sustainable, and deep down, Athria knew it. But that didn't mean she had to like hearing it from Velpia.

"We'll see about that," Athria muttered. Before Velpia could respond, Rinn entered, glancing between them.

"Martin's awake. He's... still a little out of it, but I think he's doing better. Says he's fine," She quietly said. "Typical." Velpia joked while shaking her head.

Athria's curiosity gave way to her statement. "What did he say?"

"Not much. He mentioned a dream—more like a memory—of something from his past. He won't tell me everything." Rinn frowned, clearly uneasy. "I don't think he's as okay as he says."

Dez snorted from the console, not even glancing up. "Typical. Gets punched by something bigger than him, and he has a bad dream. This whole situation is overly dramatic. I don't know how you people put up with this."

Rinn shot Dez a look. "He's been through more than you think."

"Yeah, sure," Dez replied with a smirk. "He's got a sob story. The only surprise here is that he hasn't dropped sooner, given his track record." Athria's eyes narrowed as she shot Dez a glare, her tone cold. "Enough, Dez." The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the hum of the ship's systems. Finally, Athria spoke again, her voice quieter.

"Rinn, can you help Dez with the system calibrations?" Athria's voice cut through the tension as she glanced between the two. "We need this ship fully operational." Rinn gave a quick nod. "Yeah, I'll take care of it."

Dez, already back to tapping on the console, rolled her eyes. "At least someone around here can focus. Let's see if we can make this bucket fly at more than a crawl."

Rinn glanced at Velpia, who had been standing silently, her arms crossed. Velpia's expression remained impassive, but Rinn could sense the underlying friction between her and Athria. Without a word, Rinn stepped toward the console beside Dez and got to work. Athria turned her attention back to Velpia. "Come with me. We need to talk." Her tone left no room for argument.

Velpia's brow arched slightly but didn't resist, following Athria toward the Captain's quarters. The door slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, and the air between them thickened.

Athria wasted no time, spinning to face Velpia, her arms crossing again. "I want to know your honest opinion about Martin. Is he going to be good enough to finish this mission? Or are we risking everything for a lost cause?"

Velpia's eyes narrowed. "You're asking me? Since when do you care what I think?"

Athria's voice sharpened; truthfully, she didn't care about her opinion but still wanted reassurance. "I don't trust you. But you know him better than anyone else here. I need to know if he's going to crack under pressure."

Velpia's mandibles twitched slightly, a sign of her own irritation. "You don't trust me? Fine. I don't trust you either. But let's get one thing straight—Martin is tougher than he looks. He's survived more than most people could handle."

Athria's eyes flared with skepticism. "He's already slipping. Bad judgment calls, the hidden exhaustion issue, and now whatever Rinn was talking about—he's barely holding on by the sound of it."

Velpia moved closer, her voice lowering, though the intensity remained. "And whose fault is that? You dragged him into this mess. He probably just needs a few more days to get back on his feet. He's been stabbed, shot, thrown, tortured, got ran over by a Krogan, and survived a Skycar crash into a building. I doubt a concussion is going to stop him."

Athria's jaw clenched. "I don't have the luxury of waiting for him to recover. None of us do."

"You mean you don't care if he burns out, as long as you get what you need," Velpia shot back, her voice sharp with accusation.

Athria's gaze hardened, but she didn't back down. "That's not what this is about."

"Isn't it?" Velpia pressed. "You want to know if he can finish the mission? And yes, he can. He will charge right at the Geth holding his own severed arm if you asked him to." Silence fell between them, both staring at each other with barely contained hostility. Athria's voice softened, though the tension didn't leave her. "And what about you? Can I trust you to follow orders and not interfere with the mission?"

Velpia's eyes flickered with a mixture of frustration and something deeper. "I will do what I need to do. Nothing more, nothing less." Athria stood there unmoving for a few moments, trying to decipher her statement as the ship jerked, forcing them both to catch themselves.

The ship's intercom crackled before screeching slightly. "Ships primary engines are now online." Rinn celebrated over the comms. "About damn time," Velpia commented. Athria refocused herself back on the conversation. "Don't make me regret allowing you onboard." Athria sternly added while walking past her.

Athria opened the door and returned to the cockpit, seeing the two celebrating their success. Consoles that were of a few moments ago started lighting up. The ship seemed to hum louder and smoother, starting to sound like a normal ship.

"Status?" Athria asked the two, settling back into their chairs. "All systems are reporting at or above optimal." Dez excitedly reported. The cockpit door opened as Velpia and Martin walked in. Athria turned slightly as he met her eyes. His hair was wet, maybe from a shower or so she suspected.

"Are you alright?" she asked as the others turned to him. He wiped his face with his hand and took a deep breath before answering. "Yeah, just on the back end of a migraine, I'll be fine. What's with all the smiles up here?" he asked.

"The ship's finally operational." Athria quickly responded, holding back her own excitement. Dez cut in, still excited, "Kinetic Barrier output has been increased by thirty percent, primary engines by twenty percent, and the updated Guardian systems' power can be increased by forty percent, and that's with the two additional we've added." Rinn waited patiently for Dez to finish, "Drive core power also has been increased. I think we can do this."

Athria's frustration over the last week seemed to fade away; they had everything they needed to move on, or so she thought. She let out a smile she could no longer contain. The other two's excitement was rubbing off on her.

"So now what do we do? Head for the coordinates?" Velpia asked. Dez spun around in her chair, still smiling. "We have enough fuel to make it to Omega. We can fuel up there and then make our move to the Pylos Nebula." The thought of returning to Omega troubled her, and the last thing they needed was some mercs trying to force their way into the ship, but seeing as they might not be there for long, Athria wasn't as worried. "Do it."