22 – Polaris

One could not blame Commander Gorman for assuming that his typically snarky pilot was not being literal. Stretching the limits of the 'modern' human logic that kept Gorman sane for thirty-one years had unfortunately become a recurring event – like those bloody nightmares he'd been having since his first beacon encounter, or Kalu asking to go home. Throw in a hundred and seventy years of cultural, societal and linguistic development, not to mention potentially bizarre influences from other intelligent species, and the possibility of Gorman misinterpreting something was more or less a guarantee.

With all that considered, when Gorman had heard of the North Star, he believed it to be the name of a certain type of location...or thing. A nightclub that exclusively plays Nordic death metal, a luxury cruise ship line he'd never be able to afford, or one of those cocktails with a sparkler added for fun.

It was none of those – it was the North Star.

The Commander was once taught to pick its twinkle out of the night sky, to use its direction above the horizon to point himself north, just as the great astronomers and navigators of antiquity did before him. He much preferred using a compass – but the historical significance of seeing the star outside the Shackleton's front viewport couldn't be overstated.

'Stars' would be the accurate term. Firstly, a whitish-yellow giant burning in the distance off the ship's bow. It was bright enough to make the Commander wonder what kind of glass he was staring through to not have his retinas obliterated, much less look at a star with wonderous impunity. There was a second star, about a fortieth the size and whiter in color, in near orbit around it. Lastly, a similar dwarf was bright enough to also be included, although much lonelier in far orbit.

To say the Shackleton was 'close' would be laughable in astronomic terms, but Gorman still had the lingering memory of the quarian's heat safety lecture in the back of his mind…among too many other lingering memories to keep track of. The awe-inspiring view, however, was helping to melt away such fears. It was majestic. The three celestial furnaces were surrounded by a smear of stellar dust, a winding and bending tract of cosmic…stuff. Like a trillion grains of glistening sand suspended in motion. Couldn't be a nebula, he thought, not enough vibrant colors like those Hubble photos he saw on TV. On the other hand, he was in no position to assume anything anymore. Better to ask instead.

"Beautiful view," he laid a hand on the crest of the helmsman's recliner. "Makes you want to reach out and touch it." Immediately it swiveled around to reveal its occupant.

"Save that for when we get there, if you know what I mean," Blanc tipped his cap with a smirk.

"What do you mean?" Gorman asked. The smirk faded. "Never mind. So now that we're here, where is this officers' club?" He took another look out the window. Unless they were planning a surface expedition on a star itself, there was nowhere even remotely habitable in sight.

"Right…there," the pilot turned around again, pointing straight ahead. Gorman squinted. Against a white-hot backdrop was a small silhouette, and not just any sunspot. He blinked and it grew.

"It's a station?"

"Big one. Old one," Blanc explained, "Historic, really. One of humanity's first proper attempts at a true habitat in deep space. The Council races didn't like it one bit." He gave a laugh.

"First Contact," Gorman nodded, "The war, right?"

"What?" Blanc was taken aback. "No, no, the station came years later. They didn't like it because they thought it was unprofitable. A station in this star system? To them, a huge waste of money. No easy mass relay connection, no natural resources like element zero, no planets – habitable or otherwise – nothing."

"Zero elements?" Gorman struggled to comprehend. "That has to be impossible, or just really unlucky."

The Lieutenant's chair faced the Commander again. From the seat, there was a blank stare and a raised eyebrow. Undaunted, he continued the history lesson.

"Either way, what the Council failed to realize was the power of human ingenuity. Two dozen countries and companies, the best and brightest engineers we have, poured everything into Polaris Station. Look at it today." He waved his hand in the speck's direction. It was getting close enough for a vague outline to be seen – blocky, long, asymmetrical. Evidently not prebuilt, but a combination of years of additions as described. It reminded him of a souped-up version of the International Space Station. It was, of course, somewhat sad to know one of the modern world's triumphs paled in comparison to what the future held. Perhaps in size – but not in charm.

"Humanity's Citadel," Blanc proclaimed.

"So it's profitable?"

"Until recently, it was a financial disaster," Blanc admitted. "Half of those companies went bankrupt…as did one of those countries. But, unlike the Council, we learn from our mistakes." Realizing what he was implying, he went back on the defensive. He was putting in some serious effort for an imaginary argument between him and someone who didn't know about the Council until a few days ago. "We went back to the drawing board, refined our craft. Without Polaris Station, there would be no Arcturus Station, crown jewel of the Alliance."

"Is he talking about the Council again?" a new voice rhetorically asked. It wouldn't be an argument with Blanc if Kalu wasn't involved. The security guard of a much more modest station had arrived on the bridge to catch his own glimpse of the destination. "Give it a rest, Blanc. Have you let Polaris know we're coming?"

"Taken care of, Kabiru," Blanc bobbled his head with pride. He looked up to Gorman. "Thanks again for paying our docking fee, Commander."

"Docking fee?" Gorman was unfazed. "I didn't pay any docking fee."

"You didn't? But Sally told me…"

"SSV Shackleton, please proceed to docking bay F7", confirm," crackled a light voice from the helm's speakers.

After a moment of communal confusion, the pilot spluttered out a reply.

"Confirmed, Polaris. Docking bay F7, over."

With one question solved, another needed to be answered.

"This might be news to you," Kalu began, addressing the pilot, "But our Commander doesn't have any modern money. Saal'Inor must have paid on our behalf. With how much her Pilgrimage has already cost her, you should have known better, Pierre."

"I've got a hundred bucks," Gorman corrected, folding his arms. He was silently unwilling to go through his wallet again lest he go into another emotional spiral.

"That might just have covered it," Blanc instead scoffed, "Bay F7? Onboard computers told me it only went down to E. Let's see if this ship can fit in the shoebox we've been given."

The hulking station approached. From its sheer size, it could have gone to G. An interconnected series of massive blocks and thin couplers, prefab slabs half a kilometer long stacked on top of each other, next to a maze of thin levels with a particular shine. Up close, everything was colored Apollo white, but the countless windowpanes were Alliance blue. It was taller than it was wide, if one didn't include two large silhouettes at its wings. Sunbeams split them into a grid of squares – Gorman recognized solar panels. From this close to a star, the energy received would be unimaginable. It was being put to some use once the Shackleton got close enough to make out neon signs dotting its dark side. 'Polaris Station' the largest one read, with the subtitle 'The North Star'.

'Docking Bay A1' was inscribed on one lower level. Blanc flicked a switch and the ship spun around and down. He had relinquished control, but at the cost of no longer being able to take in the view, nor see which other ships were docked at that moment. The Shackleton's computers descended and banked towards the station at a much slower pace. A heavy thrum in noise indicated the ship's thrusters working overtime. The heavy metal infrastructure enveloped the view of stars as it backed into a bay.

Gorman broke off from the bridge, passing by Zaz and Saal'Inor faster than they had time to tell him anything. After a quick eyeball scan of the crew quarters, he found the Alliance blues he'd worn earlier for the Captain's visit. If he was to be heading for an officers' club, he needed to look the part. Quickly he threw the outfit together – even improving it upon last time by tying his bootlaces – and returned to the bridge. The crew was gathered and chatting amongst themselves, although they were two short.

"Hey, where did Pierre and Sally go?" Gorman walked in, performing a headcount while subconsciously deciding whether to roll up his sleeves or not.

"Blanc ran off ahead already," Zaz gestured to the decontamination tunnel. "Something about how for a 'budget' docking bay like this one, getting refueling sorted now saves us a few months."

"Sounds like him," Gorman nodded, wondering how much money the Lieutenant had to pay for something like that. Cash hadn't been an issue up to this point – probably for the best – but unless human nature itself had changed since the old days, sooner or later there'd be a bill racking up for his reckless adventuring. "And Sally?"

"I think she wanted to pay…again," said Kalu. "I did try to stop her." He shrugged, showing exactly by how much of a 'try' it was.

The Commander was smart enough to realize why. After Mavigon, after Feros, after the BlackBerry, she was desperate to repay him. Simply lending a hand on the ship, like she'd been doing all that while, was enough for him but not for her. For once, there was no rush to find her. They'd catch up in time.

"Fair enough," Gorman sighed. "Let's see what all the fuss is with this station, then."

It wasn't long before a gust of sterile air blew from an opening hatch. Three figures emerged from the ship and onto a gangway. The difference between Feros and here was similar in layout but wildly different in style. This place was clean, it was sleek, soft blue lights gave it an eternal nighttime vibe – not to mention the view of space out a sparkling window. Underneath a welcome sign with a smiling face were panes that gave the Commander a look at docking bays F1 through F6. There were the bow-ends of ships, unsurprisingly, but there were people. Many people of all shapes and sizes, military berets disembarking one vessel and two families with twice as many children stepping into the hatch of another. Also unlike Feros, these people were plentiful, clean and busy. Memories of airports, bus terminals and train platforms leapt to mind. It had been too long since Gorman was somewhere he recognized as civilization, beneath all the bright lights and spacy veneer.

He could even hear the sounds of footsteps from further ahead, down a corridor. In fact, they were getting closer. Soon a frighteningly tall man with a tired face and sideburns was goosestepping towards them. There was an omni-tool open on his arm, a tie clipped on his shirt and the unrelenting storm of bureaucracy in his eyes. He spoke guttural and clinical.

"Welcome to Polaris Station." He pointed to Gorman's very soul with a friendly yet precise palm. "You're the commanding officer of this vessel?"

"That's right," Gorman had dealt with men like this many times. There was one golden rule for bureaucrats – they will waste your time, but you must never waste theirs.

"Name and rank?"

"Kevin Gorman. Commander."

The man hummed to himself, tapping away with calculating pace on his tool.

"Service number?"

Gorman's mouth opened but nothing came out. Too late now – he was wasting the man's time. A frown grew. Quick thinking prompted the Commander to raise his own tool and mash the extranet button. A wave of relief washed over him to see his unfinished progress with the Alliance database still waiting for him. Over the unnervingly familiar figure on screen, there was a code. A bead of sweat formed at his brow – oh God, it was long.

"461. 11W. WUR. S2V. 1W4. TET. S11. 722. 114. 1WC. 91F. C" he recited.

The man effortlessly input the code to the letter into his own device.

"And where are you coming from today?"

"Uh…Feros."

This time the man made direct eye contact for an excruciatingly long second. The tapping resumed, thankfully for all.

"Any cargo classified as dangerous, as set out by Systems Alliance Regulation 2121/235, in particular Articles 8, 58, and 161?"

Gorman thought about it for a moment too long. The bureaucrat sighed with his eyes and was forced to specify.

"Your military firearms are fine, provided they remain on your ship at all times. Do you have any portable explosives onboard? Grenades, demolition charges, nuclear weapons, contraventions to the Citadel Conventions?"

"No."

"Any illegal substances?"

"No."

"Any unlicensed genetic modification equipment or artificial intelligence software?"

"…No."

"Have you, or any of your crew, traveled through batarian space, engaged anyone from the planet of Khar'shan or been involved with batarian or batarian-aligned interest groups in the last six Earth standard months?"

Gorman glanced left. Kalu shook his head.

"No."

The man gave the subtlest nod imaginable. With one last tap, the omni-tool fizzled out and he stood aside, presenting his other palm down the corridor.

"That'll be all, Commander. Thank you for your service, and enjoy your time here at the North Star."

His face snapped into a smile. Gorman felt honored to be in the presence of a true professional, but gave an appreciative smile in return and beckoned his crew to follow him down the hall, passing by the man's humble kiosk. Tidy to a tee. Now Gorman had to ask. He turned around. His crewmates shot him looks that tried to pull him forward, but he opened his mouth again.

"What's your name?"

The man was caught somewhat off guard, raising a singular eyebrow.

"My name is Didier Degand."

"Ah," Gorman tried to make nice. At the least, his superiors should know what great service their man in the field was providing. "French?"

"European." His reply was as dry as the dark blue paint on the hall's walls. Not the same attitude as before – a nerve had been struck. With such impeccable bureaucratic skill, it shouldn't have been a surprise.

"Elevator's this way, Commander," Zaz was eager to move on, tugging on his sleeve. They moved on.

Gorman and company then came upon a wall full of elevators, the focal point of the docking bay, where all paths down here led. One lift was cargo-only, as evidenced by self-trundling forklifts entering with crates and leaving empty-handed. People in their multitudes were similarly coming and going to the civilian-marked shafts. For those departing, a list of docking bays and their current occupants were listed on a holographic display center stage. It was cylindrical and spinning to give every inch of the terminal its information. Naturally, some unenviable people were trying to keep pace by walking around in dizzying circles. Gorman's focus was, however, dragged more and more to the walls, which were absolutely smothered in advertisements. Spaceship insurance firms, some salarian jazz band coming to the station next month, no down payment on whatever a 'skycar' was. Every few seconds the ads shifted to the next one in a merry-go-round way. Kalu and Zaz gave him yet another glance – he was the only one in the whole place actually looking at them.

The three of them entered one semi-spacious elevator for arrivals. Before the doors closed a family of three dashed in, two fathers and a son. Gorman did a double take. A child? Out here? Gorman himself was no father, but based on everywhere he'd been lately, there was nowhere he'd remotely have liked to raise a family in. Eden Prime was on fire, Mavigon was freezing, Feros was a living nightmare – he supposed Polaris was thus far tame by comparison, but still – he had barely considered the idea of children in deep space. The little boy's two big eyes were staring at him. His two parents were doing the same.

"Welcome to the North Star, Polaris Station!" lilted an upbeat broadcast voice from the elevator itself. "Whether you're stopping for some shore leave, ready to find great deals in our variety of shops, or just passing by, we hope you'll enjoy your stay!"

Including shore leave in your elevator pitch was an interesting choice, thought Gorman. Military officers must be a common sight, and the officers' club a common destination. Maybe the family were staring not at him but his Alliance uniform.

"While you're here, why not visit the award-winning Herschel observatory center? Whether you're taking in the sights of the flux nebula from the comfort of Dhruva's Diner, coming face to face with exotic wildlife at the famous Polaris Zoo, or catching the latest vids at the second-largest XMAX cinema in Alliance Space, there's something for everyone at the North Star! Brought to you by Synthetic Insights and the Fleck-Meier Corporation."

Gorman was listening to every line and nodding intently at every one he understood. The rational part of his brain intervened and stopped him. This was no time to get sidetracked. He needed to find an asari at the officers' club, and there was nothing that could stop him if he gave it his full attention.

That plan was hopeless the moment the elevator doors opened.

Bright lights, neon signs of every color imaginable, the view of a literal star out one window, advertisements in every nook and cranny, sounds of bustle, ambient synth music, and people.

Lots of people.

If the docking terminal was 'crowded' then the concourse up here was a mosh pit. Gorman was overwhelmed, he hadn't seen this many people in one place since his last Celtics game. There wasn't a stadium in front of him but onlookers gathered in a semicircle around the arrivals elevators. The Commander's head was spinning from all the instant commotion but it made out patterns wherever it could find any. Some were holding signs that said things like 'Welcome', some were holding their omni-tools out in his direction, some were wearing clothes with an arrowhead logo, and some were dressed like he was – Alliance blues. The crowd locked eyes with the Commander – and after a second someone started cheering. Then they all did. He looked to his crewmates, who were just as surprised as he was.

There was one woman, impeccably dressed in a toe-length gold outfit, that was not cheering. She stood out not just for her fashion but for the hovering sphere she was directing with her omni-tool. It advanced just behind her and a light in its center flashed red. Gorman now knew from experience once thing – he was being recorded. She fixed her perfect brown hair, donned a professional arch to her back and started speaking to her orb.

"He's saved untold human lives on Eden Prime, battled against vicious criminal cells on uncharted worlds, and performed a daring supply run to a colony in need in the wake of the geth incursions. He's an hour early to our interview on Polaris Station, but that's exactly why the Alliance puts their faith in him every day. I'm Reuter Hearst, Westerlund News, and standing beside me now is a man who these days needs no introduction. How are you doing today?"

Gorman was at first too gobsmacked to realize he'd been asked a question. She'd effortlessly listed his journey like someone had been feeding her information. Being recognized by the media for his efforts would be enough to get him fired in his old job. Operational security breaches aside, he couldn't help but feel quite chuffed.

"I'm…I'm doing fine," his eyes darted back and forth between the reporter, her drone, and his new adoring fans. "I'm still going."

"That's great," the reporter gave a calculated laugh, "Your heroic actions have not only inspired young people all across the Alliance, but earned you recommendations for the Star of Terra itself. Quite the honor! If it's not classified, of course, people are clamoring to know…how do you do it?"

The Star of Terra? Gorman didn't need to know what it was to know it was prestigious. He was still wrapping his head around how she knew any of what he'd gone through – he was as off the record as it gets. If he was truly, as wild as it seemed, an inspiration, this was not the time for humility. He placed his hands behind his back and puffed out his chest. He didn't need much effort to come up with his reply, what he was fighting for came to mind every single day.

"I was born on Earth," he began, but there was an addition he had to add. "Have you ever been?"

The reporter took a moment to answer – this likely wasn't on her itinerary for the interview.

"No," she replied. "Born on Terra Nova, spent most of my life on ships and stations. I've seen vids, though. Looks beautiful."

"Beautiful, sure," Gorman supposed. "I haven't been there in what feels like centuries. I've visited some wicked awful parts of the galaxy in that time, and let me tell you, Earth feels like a paradise in comparison. But the longer away I've been from Earth, the more it feels like I need to get back to it. To get back home. It's special that way."

Kalu was probably nodding behind him. He could list the things he missed for hours – but they were less specific to Earth and more to 2013. He got a feeling that wouldn't look good on camera.

"So when humans are threatened by something like the geth," he continued, "Earth is threatened. The home of humanity, everything we ever built and everything we ever dreamed of, it all started there. There is no greater motivation."

Some in the crowd clapped. The reporter seemed less enthused – if anything, curious. She raised an eyebrow.

"Strong words indeed. Interesting philosophy, given how sources said you were born onboard a military ship." It was Gorman's turn to raise his brow. What sources were she going off of? "There are many people across Alliance space who say the Council abandoned humanity when the geth crisis started on Eden Prime. Given your obviously Earth-first position, how much do you agree with that sentiment?"

"Well…I don't know about…"

"With the upcoming election for the Alliance Parliament's spacer seats, is it safe to assume you'll be lending an endorsement for the Terra Firma Party?"

Gorman was being outmaneuvered. Next she'd be accusing him of racism just like Ledra. There were several dialogue options available like spokes on a wheel, but he couldn't risk any strong opinions because he didn't actually have any strong opinions. Of course he liked Earth – it was all he knew – but to call himself a supremacist was too far too soon. He took the quick and painless option.

"No comment."

"I see," the reporter did well to hide any emotion, negative or otherwise. "Final question, Corporal, and then I'll let you go. Westerlund News is carried on just about all networks in Alliance Space, and even some select providers on Council planets. That's a wide reach, so is there any message you would like to pass on, as one of humanity's newest heroes?"

Something in Gorman's mind clicked. This was it, the moment he'd been waiting for. When the prothean beacon fried its message into his memory, there was one thing he felt the immediate and urgent need to do – tell someone. It was a problem above his paygrade, and despite how cryptic it was, he pieced together enough to recite its warning. A mechanical doomsday was coming, right around the corner. He'd be a town crier, but when the town is 'all networks in Alliance Space' there was no bigger audience he could possibly relay it towards.

Unfortunately, he'd been subliminally training his brain to avoid the vision ever since he saw it, if only to help him sleep at night. Therefore he first noticed a more pressing issue – she had called him Corporal.

"Corporal?" he repeated.

"Yes, Corporal," the reporter laughed again, this time barely hiding how fake it was. "You are Corporal Novak, aren't you?"

Gorman was stunned. Where had he heard that name before…

"No, I'm Commander Gorman."

The crowd was suddenly as confused as he was. The woman's expression fell, and she quickly tapped her omni-tool. The floating camera's light dimmed.

"If you're not Novak, get out of the damn way," she snapped. "The real one will be here soon."

"But…I'm the one who was on Eden Prime," Gorman tried to drag some sense from her. "And I took down the criminals. And brought supplies to Feros. Not…not this Novak guy."

"Feros? What are you talking about?" she retorted. "And you don't know about Novak? Ugh, will it kill you to read literally any news? Now move it, fraud, before we come back from commercial!"

Intent on salvaging journalistic integrity, and perhaps her career, she practically shoved the Commander out of his spotlight. His fifteen minutes – or maybe two at best – of fame had come and gone. He and his crewmates jostled their way through the crowd and could catch their breath.

Glistening holographic letters circling above told them where they were at the 'Arrivals Plaza'. It was like the duty-free section at an airport except with a tenth less gravity. A steel and plexiglass atrium where there was something new and shiny everywhere you looked. Gift shops, stalls, and of course, advertisements. Not a plant in sight – maybe they were all in the zoo. Gorman could see himself in his reflection on the spotless floor.

"Couldn't be the same Novak, right?" Zaz asked. "The one on Eden Prime? From the 213? I met him once or twice, seemed like a nice guy but if what the reporter said is true…"

"I hope McFinley doesn't see me on camera," was Kalu's concern. "So, what's our plan, Commander?"

"I'm heading for the officers' club," Gorman proclaimed, as if saying it out loud would prevent anything else from getting in the way. "You two should go find wherever Blanc and Sally ran off to."

"We can do that," Zaz nodded. She was giving Gorman a quarter of her attention. He hadn't noticed, but her face perked up when the elevator mentioned there was a cinema.

"Are you sure, Commander?" was Kalu's next concern. "You don't need to go on your own. Frankly, you look confused as all hell."

"I'm alright, Kalu," Gorman tried to reassure him. For once it felt sincere – there was something soothing about the on-station music that stopped the rest of his senses being wrecked by stimulation. "Besides, neither of you have the credentials to back me up," he tapped his tool-bearing forearm. "Go enjoy your shore leave. We'll meet back here."

With that, the crew split. Half reluctant, half eager, Kalu and Zaz walked down a path that branched off from the plaza. This left Gorman wandering somewhat aimlessly around. Between the sights and lights he was looking for a map. Just when he thought he'd found one such screen on a wall, he was startled by the sudden appearance of a holographic figure in front of him. The androgynous human was made up of the same orange glow of his omni-tool. Through their glow he could see that they had digital hands behind their back. They spoke in perpetual clarity that ironically made them less human-like.

"Welcome to the Arrivals Plaza, COMMANDER," they exclaimed. "It looks like this is your FIRST visit! Would you like directions?"

"Just what exactly are you?" Gorman felt compelled to ask. He was looking for a projector above and below, and all the while the figure was creepily following his eyes with an unyielding digital smile. A certain paperclip flickered in the back of his mind.

"I am DHRUVA, the VI assistant employed on this station. I am tasked with providing residents and visitors like yourself with all kinds of service! How may I assist you?"

"What's a VI?"

"VI stands for Virtual Intelligence. Would you like-"

"Virtual Intelligence? Not 'A' for artificial?"

"Virtual Intelligences such as myself are not self-aware in the way that Artificial Intelligences are," Dhruva was happy to explain. "Would you like more information about AI and its subsequent regulation?"

Gorman didn't know about any such distinction, but he supposed it made a sort of sense. The geth didn't offer him customer service, and Dhruva wasn't firing laser beams at him from their eyes. There had to be a line.

"No, I'm good for now. Maybe later," Gorman waved his hand dismissively. He then got an idea – if he was dealing with a supersmart computer that knows all about Polaris Station, then he could cut his search impressively short. "Dhruva, do you know where I can find an asari on this station?"

"Certainly! CHECKING…" The Commander waited with bated breath. "Check complete! Herschel Observatory Center, Beta Wing, 101.3 meters from your current position. Would you like more specific directions?"

Gorman clapped his hands together. Success!

"Dhruva, you brilliant…hologram! You have no idea how much time you've saved me. Tell me how to get there."