Author's Note: This is my entry for the July contest, over at Aria's Afterlife forum — this month presided over by Aria herself. The goal is to create an unlikely 'ship'. Hopefully I've managed to achieve that.

Nos Astra Nocturne

The drone of a thousand X3M contragravity skycars filled the air of Nos Astra like the hum of Thracian bees swarming between their hives. Lilihierax drank in the sight, eyes now past their prime feasting on the swarm of skycars, each with its own occupants, all going about their evening as the setting sun painted the sky in beautiful crimson. One sun. Hundreds of buildings. Thousands of skycars; and this was only one city on Illium.

I bet this place is a mechanic's dream. One skycar equals a yearly maintenance check, and a full overhaul interval of thirty-thousand kilometres. A guy could do well for himself, with this many machines to service. And to think, I wasted the best years of my life tuning ground vehicle engines on Noveria. What a frigid, ancestor-forsaken hell that was.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth that simply begged to be cleansed by something sweet. It seemed an act of providence when he lowered his gaze from the bloodied sky and found himself looking at a bar. Nothing like Port Hanshan's lounge, of course; that place had been all corporate professionalism, cloaking devices and daggers, men and women of every species looking to climb the ladder of progress without giving a damn about who they stepped on to advance.

His long legs carried him forward, a little ache in his joints causing him to briefly wince. Yep, he was definitely starting to feel those years spent on a planet where no sensible turian would even consider setting foot.

Give me a hot evening on Palaven any day.

As he approached the building he patted his pocket, felt the familiar bulk of his credit chit. Fine asari world Illium might be, but every city attracted undesirables, those with plenty to gain and little to lose. A broadcast in the transit hub had warned about a recent spate of pick-pocketings, the pretty asari lady dutifully advising all visitors to Nos Astra to keep their personal effects close.

Music, some sort of synth-melody with a tempo just fast enough to be called 'upbeat', spilled from the open doorway into the street, calling to passersby to come in and sample what was on offer. The name over the door seemed, to Lilihierax, both ironic and prophetic.

Eternity.

Inside, he found a place as well-maintained as Hanshan's lounge, but with a much more relaxed atmosphere. Nobody, it seemed, was using this bar to conduct business. No corporate ladder-climbers glanced around furtively before quietly talking into their own communicators, no business administrators vied for the best tables in the room (though why anybody would choose to sit by windows from which the only view was snow, was beyond Lilihierax's comprehension), no bored ERCS guards drowned the tedium of their lives in rivers of alcohol... the atmosphere in here seemed much more fun than Port Hanshan's.

An empty seat by the bar immediately caught his eyes, and he claimed it before anybody else could. An asari barkeeper appeared, a weary look on her soft blue face.

"What'll it be?" she asked. Her voice was pleasant; deep-timbred, not like most asari voices. Immediately, Lilihierax felt at home.

"The finest dextro-brandy you have," he replied. He very nearly said 'and a round for the whole bar,' but stopped himself just in time. His credit chit wouldn't last forever, and he had a lot of things to see before the galaxy violently imploded.

"It doesn't come cheap," the asari warned.

"In that case, I'll have two."

One blue, hairless eyebrow arched up. "What'd you do, win the Palaven System Lottery?"

"Something like that," he agreed.

She didn't pry, merely poured him two glasses of something from a bottle he didn't get time to read, and accepted the credit transfer as payment. Then she went to serve another customer, leaving Li with his two glasses.

The first burnt as it went down, the smoky flavour oozing across his tongue before heating the back of his throat. The second one went much easier, and as he waited for the warmth of the liquor to spread through his body, he took a look around the bar, curious about the strangers who'd be his unwitting drinking partners for the evening.

Over here a group of salarians talked, their voices high-pitched, fast, little more than a babble to Li's ears. By the door a couple of human men lounged, chatting to an asari patron. A turian and a volus had a seat in the corner of the room, their conversation lost over the gentle melody of the synth-music. Nos Astra, it seemed, had it all. People from every world, from every species (there was even a Batarian, drinking on his own by the window! Rare it was, to see a Batarian out of their own systems these days), from every walk of life. Party-goers and relaxers, those who lived for the weekend and those who just wanted a change of scenery, men and women looking to make new friends, and others just spending time with friends they already had.

"You want another?"

He turned at the barkeep's question, and when he realised she was talking about drinks, he nodded. A third glass of the very fine brandy slid across to him, straight into his waiting hand.

"Has anyone ever told you," he said, allowing his words to be dictated by the mischievous confidence conveyed by the first two drinks, "that your features are very handsome? Was your father a turian?"

"Does that pick-up line work very often?" she shot back.

"You tell me. I've never used it before."

She shook her head, rolled her eyes. "You oughta go head over to Rixia, on the other side of the city. That's where all the asari go to dance. You'll have more luck with your lines over there."

He could've let the subject lie there and then. He should have. But alcohol and a sense of freedom spurred him on. No self-respecting turian could back away from a bit of sparring, and sometimes verbal sparring was just as gratifying as physical.

"Nah," he said. "That would've been enough for me, at one time. Twenty or thirty years ago, when I was a bit younger, you couldn't have kept me away from... what'd you call it, Rixia?" Ancestors, even the name sounded dirty! The way it just rolled off his tongue, with that Rrrr and the Xxx. And just how strong was that alcohol the asari was plying him with? He hadn't felt this good in years. "But the novelty long ago wore off. Seems asari dancers come ten to the dozen these days. And where's the fun in spending time with someone who sheds their clothes at the mere suggestion? Where's the challenge? By the way, it was a genuine question. About your father."

He suspected she didn't believe him, but she answered anyway.

"My father was a krogan warlord."

Ouch.

And then she was off serving another customer, and Li was back to crowd-watching.

Despite his newfound good mood, his thoughts wandered back to the events that had brought him here. He wasn't the only one to have quit his job at Port Hanshan's garage recently. Reginald Starkie had been a good mechanic. Human. Thirty-something. As straight-forward as they came. Until the day something had gone pop inside his head, and poor old Reg had started ranting about Armageddon (nobody had known what that was, until another human was brought along to explain that it meant the end of the world or the end of creation... something with religious connotations) and quit his job, abandoning his wife of eighteen months and disappearing on the next shuttle away from Noveria.

But, amidst the ranting about giant space monsters, and 'God' wiping the slate clean, and something called a 'bucket list,' a few nuggets of what Crazy Reg had said actually did make sense. "I'm going to die, and I haven't seen even half the things I want to see whilst I still have time to appreciate them." And, "I've never told anybody this, but I hate my job. I hate being a mechanic. I only did it 'cos my parents couldn't afford to send me to business school. What I really want to be is a professional wrestler." Then there was Li's favourite little nugget of crazy; "I work, day in, day out, to earn credits, to tell myself that I am free. But really I am chained, to this job, to this planet, to my own complacency. Well, no more! From now on, I'm going to live as I mean to die; doing what I love and regretting nothing."

No doubt Reg needed professional help, but his words had stayed with Lilihierax long after the man himself was gone. Every day brought an engine clogged up with ice, or a slipped wheel, or chassis damage caused by minor avalanches. Li had done his job, without complaint, and never received a word of thanks. Not one single 'cheers', no 'good job!' or 'lemme buy you a dextro-beer for your trouble.' Nothing. And that... that was when Li came to the most spontaneous decision of his life; time in the mortal coil was too short for a tired old turian to sit on a frozen wasteland fixing vehicles.

Of course, it wasn't the only reason he'd decided to pack it all in.

"What brings you to Nos Astra?"

He turned back to the bar. The asari had returned, watching him with an expression half calculating and half amused. Li, of course, rose to the occasion.

"I got fed up of my job, decided to see something of the galaxy before... well, there are a lot of things worth seeing. Or so they say."

"Friend," she quipped, one corner of her mouth pulling into a smile, "I can guarantee you won't find any of those things in Eternity."

"Have you ever heard of a 'bucket list'?" he asked.

"No, but we've got a vomit bucket behind the counter, for the light-weights who can't make it to the bathroom in time."

"A bucket list," he said, hoping he sounded wise and knowledgeable, "is a list of things you plan to do before you die."

"And drinking in this pisshole is on your list?" She rested her arms on the bar, leaning forward, excluding the rest of the room from their conversation.

"No, but I figured I should see some of the finest asari planets before I go. I mean, I've already seen all the turian treasures. I plan to immerse myself in salarian culture after I've been to Thessia. Who knows, maybe I'll even make it to Earth, see what all the hype is about."

Her eyes bored into his, and the rest of the bar fell away. The music, the patrons, the chatter... it all faded into the background, and his entire world became her face. A trick of asari mental prowess, or strong alcohol, or his own sense of freedom... he didn't care. All he knew was that, right now, this blue-skinned beauty was the most intoxicating substance in the whole place.

"You're dying?" she asked.

"We're all dying. Speaking of which... another drink? Oh, and get yourself one, too. Whatever you like. It's on me."

Again, that half-quirk smile. She poured him another brandy, and something levo and neon green for herself. When she offered her glass in silent toast, he clinked his own against it, and they both downed the contents of their glasses in one. Which made Li feel really good. Clearly he hadn't lost any of his suave or charm, in the years since he'd last pursued a woman.

"So, you're not dying anytime soon?" the asari asked.

He leant forward, lowering his voice, knowing how some asari found that attractive in a turian.

"I hope not. But I got this... itch. Don't know how to explain it. There's something happening, out there..." here, he waved a clawed hand in the air, indicating outer-space in general, "...something weird. People actin' strange. Reports of strange ships seen briefly before disappearing without a trace. Unusual fleet deployments, not just from my own people, but the humans too. Batarians getting antsy, Terminus Systems getting noisy, geth making their presence known, quarians popping up all over the damn place. And, y'know, I hear things. People like to talk to me, 'cos I'm a good listener. Like you, I guess. You must hear a lot, working in a bar."

She shrugged, and even that looked an elegant gesture. "I hear plenty. What 'things' have you been hearing?"

"People say there's change coming." He ran a taloned thumb around the rim of his empty glass. Why was he even bothering this charming semi-krogan woman with memories of the half-whispered rantings of Port Hanshan drunks? But then, she had asked. And now, it was Li's turn to shrug. "I just got a feeling. And if I got a feeling, out in the middle of Nowhereia, cut off from the ebb and flow of galactic life, then other people gotta be feeling it too. It's like... I dunno, like the whole galaxy is holding its breath."

He looked at his host again, saw the same amusement, this time intertwined with speculation. Abruptly, he cleared his throat. She'd heard enough of his nonsense!

"What about you?" he asked. "What brings you to Nos Astra?"

"Work."

He felt his mandibles flare in exasperation. He'd opened up to her, told her of his own potentially crazy musings, and the only way she responded was with a curt monosyllable? On the verge of excusing himself, he caught the flicker of challenge in her eyes. Ahh, to pursue a woman! He'd almost forgotten the steps to this dance! Of course, there would be the verbal sparring, and then The Chase; that period of blood-pumping, mood-lifting action in which a man proved his stamina. And, if he was successful, and a bit lucky, then would come The Catch.

"You've tended bar on other worlds?" he prompted.

"A few. But that's not the work I came here to do."

He lowered his voice even further, impossible as that seemed, leant in a little closer. Her perfume was heavy, musky, rich... it suited her voice, and her handsome face, the scent creeping into his brain, filling his head with all sorts of naughty thoughts.

"What other work do you have to do?"

She looked at him for a long moment; trying to decide whether to confide in him, judging by the conflict in her eyes. At last, when she spoke again, her voice took on a timbre of sadness.

"The government of my people want me to spy on my daughter for them."

He nearly chuckled, but stopped himself in time. The image of a little asari girl surrounded by monitoring devices and dark-clothed, masked asari spies blossomed in his mind. But only one word left his lips.

"Why?"

"Because her mother made some bad choices."

Now it was his turn to shrug. "So? The sins of the mother do not automatically become the sins of the daughter."

"Not on your world," the asari replied. "Let's just say that amongst my people... traits... can be passed on. Not all traits are desirable."

"Then why not just talk to your daughter? Work it out like sensible adults? Why all the subterfuge?"

"Because my daughter has some very... questionable acquaintances. She makes friends of people who may not deserve her friendship, and who may take advantage of her because of who she is and what she does."

Li nodded. "So you spy on her for your government because they're worried about what she may become, and you spy on her for yourself because you're worried about her wellbeing?"

"I don't spy on her. Not for anyone. Not at the moment. I'm still trying to decide whether I should."

"Would it make you feel better, to spy on her?"

"I... I don't know," she admitted. "If I agreed to do this, then I would know everything that she does, what she says, who she talks to, what kind of a person she is. But I'm not sure I want to know those things. If I decline the 'job', I could merely watch from afar. She can live in my mind, exist forever as the innocent, brilliant girl I imagine her to be."

His mandibles flared again. "You speak about her as if she's a stranger."

The asari smiled, one of the saddest smiles he had ever seen; and that was saying a lot, given that he'd worked on Noveria for the past ten years. "What did you say your name was?"

"Lilihierax," he replied. "Though most people call me Li."

"Li," she nodded. Then, she pushed herself up, out of his personal space, and straightened her shirt, the very picture of barkeeper professionalism. "My shift finishes at ten."

She moved away to serve another customer, and Li swivelled around on his chair, barely able to hide his satisfaction and elation. The beat of the music returned, the chatter of the patrons flooded the room, but the four glasses of fine brandy he'd consumed kept him in a happy, self-satisfied haze.

Lilihierax, he thought to himself, you still got the touch.