Chapter Thirty: Histrionic
"If fate means you to lose, give him a good fight anyhow."
Athria sat on the bridge in her captain's chair, staring at the star-speckled void outside the viewport. Her fingers tapped absentmindedly on the armrest, the quiet hum of the ship's engines providing a backdrop to her racing thoughts. They were waiting to meet up with a Quarian vessel, hoping to secure some much-needed help. But as the minutes stretched on, Athria's mind was elsewhere.
The image of Rinn's near-lifeless body haunted her, replaying over and over in her head. The sight of the young Quarian, her suit torn and blood leaking from her wounds, had been burned into her memory. The guilt gnawed at her, a persistent ache that refused to be ignored. Rinn had made her choice, defecting in an attempt to trade the artifact for a chance to return to the flotilla. Athria understood that now. She had been so angry at first—furious that Rinn had betrayed them. But as the adrenaline faded and she had time to think, the anger gave way to understanding.
Rinn hadn't hurt anyone in her defection. Unlike Velpia, who had caused nothing but chaos and violence in her betrayal, Rinn had only wanted to go home. Athria couldn't hold that against her. The Quarian had been exiled, cast out from her people. The artifact was her ticket back, and Athria understood the desperation behind that decision. She couldn't stay mad at her. In a strange way, she respected the courage it must've taken for Rinn to make that choice, even if it had cost her everything. Athria's chest tightened at the thought. She hoped, wherever Rinn was, that she was being taken care of. That she was still alive.
Athria let out a slow breath, trying to push the memory of Rinn's broken body out of her mind, but it lingered like a shadow, refusing to leave her. Her thoughts drifted, as they often did in moments of stillness, to Martin.
The memory of his kiss was still fresh, an unexpected gesture that had caught her completely off guard. She wasn't sure what to make of it. Was there something real behind it? Or had Martin done it just to get under Velpia's skin? Athria wasn't naïve; she knew the kiss had infuriated Velpia. But was that all it was? A distraction? Athria sighed, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips as she remembered how Martin blushed when they'd been in her quarters together. It had been a rare moment of vulnerability from him, and it had amused her at the time. Now, though, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it.
Martin was... complicated. He was a soldier or something different. Over their time together, even through his bad humor and constant deflections, she began to see the error of his dossier and her judgment of him. It painted him as a mindless runaway outcast, hellbent on violence for the sake of it. But as the days and weeks, maybe even months, passed, She saw something softer beneath the surface. Something that made her think there was more to him than the words on the PDA. She could start seeing things from his perspective. She saw tiny bits of his trauma and how it influenced his actions. His violence was extreme, but to him, his violence was a cry for help.
Her mind focused back on their relationship. And wondered if he was attracted to her. It seemed obvious enough, given the way he had reacted in her quarters. But was that all there was? Or was there something deeper, something he wasn't ready to acknowledge? Did he hold back from her?
Her thoughts spiraled further, and soon, her mind was consumed by darker worries. What if Martin was already lost to her? What if, even as she sat here thinking about him, he was already dead? The Turians could have executed him by now. They had taken him without hesitation, and the Turian military wasn't known for mercy or forgiveness. Was she already too late? Were she and Dez chasing after a ghost?
The thought of losing him made her chest tighten painfully, making it hard to breathe. She had already lost too many people—her commando squad, her friends, her comrades. The memory of their deaths flashed in her mind, brief but powerful enough to shake her. The sound of gunfire, the smell of blood, the sight of their bodies scattered across the battlefield on that backwater planet... She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the memories away, but they clung to her like a second skin.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, hoping Dez hadn't noticed. But when she glanced over, she saw Dez watching her quietly, her eyes soft with unspoken understanding. Dez had always been perceptive and able to read Athria's moods, even when she tried to hide them.
Athria quickly averted her gaze, staring down at the floor, trying to steady her breathing. She couldn't afford to break down now. Not when they were so close to a potential solution. Not when Martin's life was hanging in the balance.
The sound of Dez's voice snapped her back to reality. "Quarian vessel incoming," Dez said, her tone matter-of-fact but tinged with caution. "They're closing in fast."
Athria sat up straighter, wiping the last traces of tears from her face. She couldn't afford to show weakness now. Not when they were about to ask for help. She stood beside Dez, straightening her posture as the Quarian ship came into view on the main screen.
The vessel was massive, a cruiser-class ship that dwarfed their own. Its sleek, angular design was distinctly Quarian, with dark metallic plating and sharp edges. The ship glided through space with the grace of a predator, its engines burning a bright blue as it halted in front of them. Its exterior was dotted with patches of older, worn hull plating—a testament to the Quarian fleet's constant need for scavenging and repurposing parts to keep their ships operational. Despite its age, the cruiser looked formidable, bristling with weaponry and reinforced armor.
"They're hailing us," Dez said, her fingers moving over the console.
Athria nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself before answering the call. She couldn't afford to show any hesitation. Not now.
The screen flickered to life, revealing the image of a Quarian captain, his face hidden behind the reflective visor of his helmet. His posture was stiff, his voice cautious as he greeted them. "This is Captain Gato'Colan nar Caepal. State your business."
Athria stepped forward, her voice steady and authoritative. "I am Athria Kyrsan, Captain of the Titan. I'm here because I believe we share a common interest." She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Go on," The Quarian said. "I want to go after the people who hurt Rinn."
The captain's posture shifted slightly, a flicker of emotion passing through him. He was clearly intrigued. "The exile," he said sharply.
Athria nodded. "Yes. A large group attacked her. They have a ship, and they've also taken one of my other crew mates, and" she paused, taking in a worried breath, "They plan to execute him; it's imperative we recover him."
Captain Gato's voice darkened. "I see." He paused, looking away from the screen for a moment. "Rinn may be exiled, but she's still a quarian. We don't take kindly to the mistreatment of our people."
Athria allowed herself a small sigh of relief. The captain seemed more agreeable than she had expected. This could work. She continued, "It's a Turian Colonel who ordered her assault. His ship is... stronger than ours; we need assistance with disabling and boarding the vessel; I'm down to a crew of two."
The captain's visor tilted downward as he processed her words, but the moment she mentioned the Turian military, he pulled back, clearly hesitant. "A Turian military leader?" he repeated, his tone suddenly more guarded. "That complicates things. I can't risk my ship becoming involved in a conflict with the Turian Hierarchy."
Athria felt a surge of frustration rising in her chest. They were so close, but now he was backing off. She had to think quickly. "If anything goes wrong," Athria said, her voice firm, "I'll claim full responsibility. I'll tell them I hired your crew without your knowledge while on Illium. Your ship doesn't have to be involved at all."
The captain was silent for an uncomfortably long time. Athria could feel her heart pounding in her chest; the silent pause made her feel uncomfortable as she began to sweat. Dez shot her a nervous glance, but Athria kept her eyes fixed on the screen, refusing to blink.
Finally, Captain Gato spoke. "Send me the list of what you need. We'll provide what we can, but my ship will not be directly involved."
Athria nodded, grateful for the small victory. "Understood, Captain. We'll send the details shortly."
The screen flickered off, and Athria let out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. They had a chance.
Dez glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You really think this is gonna work?"
Athria didn't answer right away. She wasn't sure if it would. But right now, it was the only option they had. She straightened her posture and gave Dez a determined look. "We'll make it work. We make do."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''
Colonel Galtus Dexicolus stood in his quarters, methodically washing his hands in the basin. The cool water splashed against his pale, grayish skin as he rubbed his hands together, ensuring that every trace of human blood was rinsed away. He watched the water swirl down the drain, turning slightly pink, then clear again. His sharp, predatory eyes narrowed as he thought back to the last few hours.
Torturing humans was usually a tedious task, but Winters had been different. Resilient. Stubborn. The Colonel had expected nothing less, given the man's reputation, almost respected him for it. Galtus had taken his time, pacing his interrogations and punishments carefully, making sure Martin felt every ounce of pain, both physical and psychological. But now, the Colonel needed a break. His hands needed to be clean, not only for himself but for the call he was about to make. Appearances, after all, mattered.
He finished washing up, dried his hands with a crisp towel, and examined himself in the mirror. His uniform was immaculate, as always. He smoothed out the creases, making sure every detail was perfect. He glanced down to confirm that no blood had splattered onto his uniform—just in case. Satisfied that he was as presentable as ever, he turned to leave his quarters.
As he approached the door, the intercom crackled to life. "Colonel Dexicolus, Admiral Hackett is available on vid comm."
Galtus nodded to himself. Timing was everything, and this call was crucial. The Systems Alliance needed to be made aware of the situation, or at least his carefully curated version of it. He left his quarters, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss. His steps were measured as he walked down the narrow corridor of the Turian frigate, the low hum of the ship's engines reverberating beneath his boots. Each footfall echoed his thoughts, which were already turning to how he would handle this conversation.
It took only a minute to reach the comm room. The door slid open smoothly, revealing the dark, windowless room where the communications equipment was located. A single projector sat in the middle, casting a faint glow across the metallic walls. The Colonel walked up to it and stood at attention, waiting for the connection to be established. His posture was straight and rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. He knew that every detail mattered when dealing with the Systems Alliance, especially with someone like Admiral Steven Hackett.
The projector flickered to life, and the holographic image of Admiral Hackett appeared before him. The aging Alliance officer stood tall, his face as hard and steely as ever, the lines of countless battles etched into his skin. His uniform was pristine, a testament to his unwavering discipline.
"Colonel," Hackett said, his tone flat and formal. He didn't waste time with pleasantries. "What is the purpose of this call.?"
Galtus bowed slightly, a gesture of respect but also one of calculated submission. He knew Hackett valued straightforwardness, but there were still protocols to follow. "Admiral Hackett," the Colonel began, his voice smooth and measured. "I wanted to inform you that I have a human aboard my ship. Unfortunately, the man has recently passed, and I wish to set up a transfer for his body on Elysium."
Hackett's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the only outward sign of suspicion. "A transfer, Colonel? And why Elysium?" Galtus didn't flinch. He had prepared for this question. "The deceased man requested that he be buried on Elysium. It was his final wish, and I gave him my word that I would honor it." His voice was calm, unwavering as if this were a matter of mere formality.
The Admiral's gaze remained fixed on the Colonel, but his expression gave nothing away. "And have you identified the body?" Hackett asked, his tone sharp and probing. Galtus could feel the weight of Hackett's scrutiny, but he was ready for it.
Galtus' eyes flicked to the side for a brief moment as though considering his words carefully. Then, with calculated smoothness, he replied, "The individual identified himself to me before his passing. He had a... complicated history, but his final wish was clear. He wanted to be laid to rest on Elysium, and I wish to see that his request is honored."
Hackett didn't break eye contact, his face still unreadable. "And who is this individual?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. Galtus felt pressured to maintain his composure, knowing that the slightest hesitation could unravel his story. He finally relented, deciding to reveal just enough. "The man's name is Martin Winters."
The reaction was subtle, but Galtus caught it. Hackett's brow furrowed ever so slightly—a movement so faint that most wouldn't have noticed. But Galtus was trained to read these things, and he knew that Hackett recognized the name just as he had hoped. Perhaps not the full extent of Winters' past, but enough to make the Admiral pause.
For a long moment, the Admiral said nothing. His face was steely, his eyes hard, as if weighing the Colonel's words carefully. Galtus kept his stance firm, waiting in silence. He knew Hackett was processing the information, considering the implications.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hackett spoke. "I'll send a ship to Elysium to retrieve the body." His voice was cold, formal. "The Alliance will handle the burial arrangements from there."
Before Galtus could respond, the hologram flickered and disappeared. The call was cut off just like that. The Colonel stood in the empty comm room, his face a mask of calm. But inside, he was pleased. Everything was set. His grand finale beautifully coming together before him.
Hackett knew Martin Winters. The slight movement of his brow had betrayed it. And that meant the Systems Alliance would take notice of his death. It meant that Galtus' actions wouldn't go unnoticed that the Alliance would feel the sting of losing one of their own. Perhaps they would finally learn to respect the power of the Turian military and maybe spark something greater. His glory was at hand. The final pieces had his hand in his talons; they just needed to be placed.
The thought pleased him greatly.