Ericson walked into the Zakera Upper Precinct. The station had recently been renovated as part
of a Ward Regeneration Project. The reception area was clinical — white walls with blue
accents. To his right, a large waiting area bustled with at least twenty people of various species
waiting to speak with an officer.
He scanned the room instinctively. An Asari sat with her arms crossed, trying — and failing — to
conceal the needle marks on her arms. A human male paced at the back of the room, rubbing
the back of his neck. A Quarian sat patiently in the middle row. Ericson had never seen a
Quarian in person before, but he couldn't help but notice the elegance of her body suit. She was
reviewing an audio recording on her omni-tool, focused and still.
Dead ahead, an Elcor sat at the enquiries desk. His uniform was black — civilian staff, not an
officer. Ericson approached and flashed his badge.
"Constable Ericson, reporting for orientation," he said, trying to keep the pride from edging into
his voice.
The Elcor didn't look up from his console.
"Disinterested: Human locker room is on the third floor. Second right from the elevator. Sergeant
Vos has added your biometric data to the station's access systems. If there's nothing else, I am
very busy."
"Okay." Ericson pocketed his badge, feeling a little smaller than when he walked in. "Thank you
for—"
"Authoritatively: Please move on. There is a queue behind you."
He turned to find Malik standing behind him, smirking.
"Human lockers are on the third floor, apparently."
"I heard."
The pair took the elevator up and located the locker room. A single door led into an open-plan
area, complete with shower facilities, a drying store, and a laundry station. Female lockers lined
the right wall, male lockers to the left.
They were alone. From a quick glance, only a third of the lockers were in use.
After changing into their duty uniforms, they made their way down to the briefing room on the
second parade room was bursting with energy. Excited chatter filled the space, punctuated by the
soft murmur of radio traffic. Most officers were Turian or Asari, with a handful of Salarians.
Ericson couldn't help but notice — he and Malik were the only humans in the room.
As they stepped in, the room fell silent. All eyes turned. An Asari tilted her head slightly,
gesturing toward the front row. She smiled — a subtle warmth in her expression.
Ericson and Malik took their seats. The chatter slowly resumed, but Ericson's ears burned.
At 1400 hours sharp, the door opened.
"Good afternoon. Lots to get through."
The room stood to attention as a Salarian made his way to the podium. His uniform was
flawless, posture rigid, movements efficient. Polished silver chevrons glinted on his sleeve.
"Crew assignments sent to your omni-tools. Review recent intel briefings: anti-human sentiment
in the Third District is growing. Continue to monitor. Report incidents directly to me. If public
order deteriorates, do not engage solo. Wait for backup."
His eyes locked on Ericson and Malik.
"Also — extend a welcome to Constable Ericson and Constable Malik." He turned to the room.
"Ericson joins us from the Elysium Colonial Police Service. Malik comes from Noveria Internal
Affairs."
He returned his gaze to them. "Ericson. Malik. See me after briefing for proper introductions."
He scanned the room one final time.
"Stay safe out there. Dismissed. Armoury is open. Malik — you're up first."
Ericson followed the Salarian out of the room toward an office at the end of the corridor. A
plaque on the door read:
DUTY SERGEANT – ZAKERA UPPER
Inside, five desks were arranged in a row. Most were cluttered with trinkets and photos —
except one. The desk at the back of the room was spotless, positioned just out of line of sight
from the door. The Salarian took his seat behind it.
The door hissed closed behind Ericson. The magnetic locks engaged with a low hum. He
couldn't help but feel like he'd just been sealed in with a lion.
The Sergeant didn't look up. His terminal flickered to life, several files opening in quick
succession."Constable Ericson," he said flatly. "Sit."
Ericson sat down across from him — straight-backed, professional.
The Salarian finally looked up. Eyes sharp. Unblinking. Calculating.
"My name is Rennin Vos. Patrol Sergeant for C Section. I'll be your immediate supervisor." Vos
tapped his terminal, and several documents projected between them. "I've reviewed your
service record. Colonial Police on Elysium. Commendations for bravery, multiple successful
counter-insurgency operations. You were being considered for promotion to Detective."
A pause.
"Yet, you left."
Ericson met his gaze. "I wanted to serve somewhere bigger. Somewhere more… meaningful. C-
Sec offered that."
Vos narrowed his eyes. "You had purpose on Elysium. Familiar ground. Respect. Here, you're
another name on a shift roster. Why trade upward mobility for anonymity?"
"Because I believe in what C-Sec is meant to be," Ericson replied. "If I'm going to do this job, I
want to do it where it matters."
Vos tapped a few keys on his terminal. "You also maintain a relatively quiet personal profile.
Though your anniversary photos with your husband got a surprising number of likes. Sam
Ericson — former 111th Logistics, now with the Colonial Development Office at the Human
Embassy."
Ericson blinked. "That's right."
"Just making sure I have the details correct," Vos said blandly. "People don't always list
everything on their transfer forms. I like to do my own fact-finding."
He powered down the terminal and folded his hands.
"Three things. One: do the job properly. C-Sec doesn't have time for half-measures. If you
investigate, investigate. Don't play hero. Don't grandstand. Be thorough."
"Two: protect your colleagues. Every call you respond to could be a trap. Don't take risks just to
impress your superiors or defy your training officer. Nobody cares about your pride if it gets
someone else killed."
"Three: get home. Whatever you believe, whatever drives you — it won't matter if you're dead. I
want every officer who starts a shift with me to finish it."
He leaned back slightly. "Think you can manage that, Constable?""Yes, Sergeant."
Vos didn't respond immediately. He watched Ericson a moment longer — evaluating.
Then, finally: "Report to Jaxus. He's waiting for you in the vehicle bay. Don't let him lull you into
complacency."
"Dismissed."
—
After a quick stop at the armoury to collect his sidearm, longarm, kinetic barrier, and combat
module, Ericson took the elevator to the vehicle bay. As he walked toward the assigned patrol
vehicle, he adjusted his duty belt — the weight of the sidearm required some repositioning.
"Ah, there's our new probie."
A Turian stepped forward, offering a hand.
"Jaxus. Did Vos give you the chat?"
They shook.
"He's… very thorough."
"Well," Jaxus raised a set of keys and gestured toward a nearby skycar, "you'll be glad to know
my expectations are a bit more realistic."
He ticked them off with a claw.
"One: if it can be written off, it will be — we don't investigate shit.
Two: cover your ass. No litigation, no heroics.
Three: get home safe."
He pressed a button on the keycard. The skycar chirped, running diagnostics and a quick light
sequence while they loaded the equipment.
"Quick tour," Jaxus said, moving to the side compartment. "Storage bay: medkit, defib, and
traffic diversion gear."
He shut the panel with a solid thud.
Climbing into the driver's seat, Jaxus winced slightly. Ericson clocked the motion.
Possibly a duty injury, he thought."You'll see the rear compartment is for prisoner transport. Punters go in the back. If you feel
under your seat, you'll find a locked compartment."
Ericson reached down. Cold metal.
"That's the weapons locker. One Tempest SMG. Opens only with Control Room Inspector
authority or during an immediate threat to life. C-Sec patrols don't carry heavier kit. Apparently it
unsettles people."
"Far cry from Elysium," Ericson said. "We carried carbines everywhere."
Jaxus paused, visibly weighing a response.
"Probie — this isn't Elysium. I've seen your file, I know the record. But hero antics won't fly here.
The bosses want everything resolved with as little fuss as possible. On a station like this —
multiple species, cultures, beliefs — you need to be smart. Humans have an expression, don't
they? 'Be the gray man.'"
Ericson nodded, absorbing the advice.
Jaxus hit a few commands. The skycar's engine purred to life, gently lifting off the ground.
"One more bit of wisdom for you, probie…"
"Which is?"
Jaxus grinned.
"Coffee is your friend. Let me show you the best spot on Zakera Upper."