Author's Note:

Star map of human territory and ship sizes, TvTropes link, as well as a galaxy map are on my profile.

Wow. You get a job, and suddenly a year goes by.

Holy... 550.000+ views! I must admit I never expected this story to gain as much traction as it did, but I'm really happy it did. Big thanks to all who follows and favourites!

Any and all feedback is much appreciated.

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Chapter 19: Of Kings and Queens

Veva was sitting on the bridge. A lazy hand on the controls, more focused on the view in front of it, the endless backdrop of stars and dark. The ship soared quietly through the dark void between stars, and nothing of note had happened. Fasius had been sceptical, to say the least, but it had been a good and competent co-pilot, although it was too early to say, truly.

They had not been underway for more than half a week, and only now, after leaving the Alliance's sphere of influence had everything settled to the normal monotony. Veva's metal body, the same it had used when it had tried his favourite tea, was pretty bulky, yet there was definitely a streamlined streak there, and it was definitively asarioid in figure, for the most part. Even had an outline of those funny bumps on its chest, although the design made it look like they were simply underneath, pushing on the outer layer, rather than an "au naturel" shape, as Veva had put it. An odd expression if he'd say so, but apparently it had meaning in human culture, and those models existed as well. In any case, the face was almost bare, save for some basic features, but that was hardly ever apparent, given the holo enveloping the head. A blue asari-like, or rather, human-like face covered the front of the head, not wholly opaque, but near enough to make no difference. Unless he focused, he could nearly not see the machine below the hard light.

He had been as sceptical as the other two when their employer Gerro Farla had agreed to take on the Vision. It hadn't been much help getting a better deal or more to trade, given that they had already secured the deals they had wanted, and a bit more, thanks to that one salarian. But it did tell them a few tricks for trading in Alliance territory for the future, which Gerro had taken great note of, and provided some tips on what would fetch the highest prices, depending on their port. In either case, Gerro's already prodigious bargaining skills had ensured they'd have a solid payday when they returned to Illium anyway. Veva had agreed to waive its claim to most of the profit from that trip, only receiving a token payment, which was still going to be quite high. It was going to get an even pay after they had left Illium with the half which was expected to remain to the Citadel.

It took its toll, space travel. Monotonous as the darkest, coldest hell, but then again, one never really wanted space travel to be exciting. "Exciting" in space was usually shorthand for "a handful of traumatized survivors or none at all", unless one considered space travel itself exciting. Fasius did not, not any longer, having been a trader for most of his adult life. He checked the readouts again, and was pleased with what they told him. Pressures and temperatures were well within range, the core was operating at optimal capacity, and in a week or two, depending on traffic through the relays, and customs, he'd be burning through his pay on Illium, purchasing gifts for his mate and kids, and then there were two more hauls, before he'd go see them for half a cycle. Trading was good work, despite the monotony, and ensured solid pay. He also got to see the galaxy while he was at it.

After all, trade was the one thing truly keeping the galaxy together. You could make all the arguments you wanted about the fleets keeping it safe, about the politicians looking out for your interests (and he had had more than a few laughs about that), about builders, entrepreneurs, technology, innovation, but in the end, trading was the life-blood of civilization, the centre and the basis of it all. Without trade, none of those other things would even survive as they were, and a civilization which damaged its own trading potential, or attempted to stifle it for other arbitrary reasons were in reality committing a slow and agonizing suicide. There had been more than a few, even for the Turians, too-militarized states on ancient Palaven which had strangled themselves and been left to rot in history for their supposed supremacy. Despite the Turians' less than stellar economic developments, even they recognized the need for it, but few took it to the adventurous lengths of their clients, the Volus. Not to say the were crooked, but far more willing to accept risk, and then there was the sheer complexity of their economic systems. Given their importance to the Hierarchy, Volus were granted a good deal of respect in Turian society, and the arrangement still endured after millennia. He was glad the Turians had the Volus to go to, since it provided his own livelihood.

Yes, life as a trader was good.

Fasius stretched, a bit more awkwardly than a salarian or asari, but with far more grace than his boss. He'd thought this would get less monotonous with a real A.I on board, but no. As monotonous as ever, which he supposed was for the best.

"So... Vision, huh?" he asked his co-pilot, to break the silence.

"Turian, huh?" it replied with a little smirk. It, and its creators uncanny similarity to the Asari made them relatively easy to understand. "Thought most of you were of the military persuasion."

"Oh, we are." he answered without hesitation. It wasn't an unusual question. "But where would the military be without us, the traders, the haulers and the ships?"

"Stuck in the middle of nowhere, starving, beating up on their failing equipment, and reverting back in to primitives. Amateurs study tactics. Veterans study strategy. Professionals study logistics."

"Indeed." he said and allowed himself a small smile.

"So yeah. Any question about me in particular? We haven't had much time to talk."

"Hm. Now that you've put me at attention, I've suddenly forgot my questions."

"A pity. I bet you had a lot of them."

"I did actually." he answered as he scratched his chin.

X

Earlier:

"So, what're you trading anyway? I forgot to ask." Veva asked Gerro as it strolled beside him.

"Spices." Gerro answered, very pleased with himself, getting a Vision to board his ship, voluntarily at that.

He did seem a bit perplexed that an A.I would be so lax in what it would be trading, although Fasius suspected it didn't much care, so long as it wasn't sentient cargo. Even if it was perfectly content, as far as appearances went, it did seem it was a bit impatient to leave, almost like his son whenever there was a public festival and he wanted to get there early.

Fasius wasn't all that convinced it had been Gerro's negotiating which got the Vision on board. It had been pretty vocal about this, and obviously wanted to leave and work with them. Why, he couldn't tell. It seemed to Fasius that the massive saturation of A.I in the Alliance had had an effect on how even the A.I were perceived and functioned. Veva seemed almost... normal. Despite the fact that it was an A.I. It wasn't anybody special, it was just... a normal person, nothing particularly special about it. It was just like so many people he knew, the same as the vast, huge majority of every being in the galaxy. Most of whom were perfectly content living their lives, while others craved adventure.

"Why do you want to leave Alliance space, Veva?" Novicidia asked.

"I've always found space fascinating, and I've seen much of what the space in the Alliance offers. Now, I want to see what the galaxy can show me. And with all you aliens out there, it is doubly interesting. In short, I'm curious." it replied. "But spices? Really?"

"Oh, yes. Food might be the one unifying factor I've seen in all my days of trading, something which breaks through all the usual barriers, personal tastes aside. Spices widens the gap in the barrier as far as it goes." Gerro replied, accompanied by the standard wheeze-clicks of his suit, as they rounded another corner, through the bustling mass of people moving around, each with their heads in their own business. "Spices are very popular, with the Salarians and Asari in particular. Most of the smaller client races of the Hierarchy buys in bulk, but the Elcor are a bit too conservative in their tastes, the Krogan eat anything, and rarely pay, if you get my meaning, and quarians can't. The majority of races are not dextros, and spices are unique in flavour, depending on what they are and where they grow, obviously. There is a huge spice trade in Citadel Space, mostly controlled by a major consortium, the Apporan."

"Asari, of course. Surprised one doesn't hear more about it." Novicidia said from behind. "There's huge profit margins, it opens up and invigorates new sectors of space every time we discover a new world. There has been more motions from that consortium to open new relays than from any other group or lobby, and they do it specifically to find new spices. I don't doubt they have already reached out to your government."

"That does make sense. There's been wars fought over only spices throughout human history." Veva answered. "Does sound like my creators went a bit more overboard than the Asari though."

"There's been some ugly incidents here too. There was that one crop of theirs which turned out highly poisonous after a certain level of saturation in the particular soil of a small farming colony, and none made it off world. Total loss of the colony. The poison was already in them, having built up. A perfect brew for disaster, since none saw it coming either. They were obliged to do more testing by the Citadel after that." Novicidia replied, and continued. "And there was the time where they got way out of hand, four or five hundred cycles ago, and actually opened a dormant relay. It was kept rather hush-hush, and the Citadel later claimed they had scouted and opened it to avoid the worst of the fallout, but rumours has a way of getting around. Apporan was reined in pretty bad by the Council and the Republics, received some hefty fines and lawsuits after the incident. Despite the cover-up, it is not that hard to see what really happened. There were more than that as well, but it escapes me at the moment."

"...Case in point, I suppose."

"Indeed. It is easy to store, doesn't weigh as much as electronics, consumer goods and tech, and it pays far, far more. A third of the content of my freighter, still new and exciting human spices, could probably fund this entire run if my math is right. We've already visited three worlds, just to build up for bartering. I did also take with with almost ten years worth of surplus profit to do this properly. However, Illium will come running at us over this, and what's left, just about half, will go to the Citadel." Gerro said, pleased as you like. "A lot of rich, influential people, with money to burn on the newest luxuries the galaxy can offer."

"I get where you're going with this, but it sounds like a pretty big risk, from a business perspective." Veva said, glancing down on the volus beside it. "Betting so much on a single trip, I mean."

"Bah. When an enterprise loses its guts for doing business where there's a bit of risk, only settling on safe bets, entering vectors and going in to do business the government is better suited to handle for simple, easy profit, that enterprise deserves to go out of business." Gerro dismissed with a wave of his hand. "This is what the Vol-clan was born to do. If I was unwilling to go just this far, I would not be a merchant or trader in the eyes of my people, and not in mine either."

"Well said." Veva concluded with a grin, before declaring; "The spice must flow."

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He followed the mercs through the dark, orange-lighted halls, through narrow hallways and corridors empty of air. They sneaked their way through the abandoned sections of the station, hearing no sound, seeing no creature. Nor was there much to be said, after that initial meeting. Ghormoroh, as the merc who'd greeted them at first had named himself, lead on with slow and heavy strides. Under a wall here, over an outcrop there, through a hidden passage forgotten for centuries, down a narrow alley, barely wide enough for them, yet tall enough that they could not see the top. After what felt like hours, they saw Omega stretching out above them, as whatever floors, ceilings and outcrops of rock gave way to a clear view of the station jutting from the massive asteroid it called berth. Far, far above, he could see the traffic, small lights zipping back and forth, their destination unknown, and they themselves were invisible, dead to a galaxy. Above, the station faded into an orange glow, the details growing more and more minute the further it went on, up and up and up. None knew where they were, not even the ironclad Queen of Omega could keep track of all the corridors on the station. Aria heavily relied on her information network, not an entirely insignificant resource, yet even they could not be everywhere.

Just near enough to make little difference.

"How much longer?" he asked through the closed channel, in an attempt to break the monotony.

"Not much." came the reply, from who, he could not tell. Other than that it did not come from the cursed salarian. "The Bosses meets ...unknown... arrivals like yourself, especially when they're in a state to walk. Not all are, and they feed ...projects."

Feron did not altogether like the implications, or the way the answer was phrased.

"Last I heard, Omega only had one Boss." the cursed salarian piped up.

"Times change, for a change." came the laughing reply.

"What's changed?" Velan asked back.

"Why, everything. Where've you been the past few years, stranded on some forsaken planet? There's A.I loose in the galaxy, the Collectors are dead and gone, the Hegemony is going belly-up and the slavers and the pirates of the galaxy have lost their feed." Ghormoroh answered, his gruff voice easily recognizable. "I think it might be time for some change on Omega as well."

"...Then why are we here?" he asked, as Velan prattled on with some of the others. Feron himself and Ghormoroh completely ignored him.

"Bosses told us anyone interesting could be valuable. Anyone particularly lucky, which qualifies you both by the way." Ghormoroh answered with a glance back. "You both survived that crash, I saw it coming through the hull. And I've known Velan longer than you, I know how insufferable he is, but lucky would be the word to describe him."

"...I concur. But it does seem to me like Omega has quite a few ...interesting characters. How have Aria not found you yet?"

"Few reasons. We move around a lot. The Bosses are very good at sniffing out Arias little sneaks. You'll meet the best sniffer soon, the Bosses little pet."

Feron did not like the sound of that. Collector tech in the hands of someone clever enough to make use of it in a manner which did not kill them or made them immediately noticed in unwelcome, dangerous eyes, and the intelligence to keep it out of view for this long, spelled "dangerous" to Feron. He had half expected their corpses to be hanging above the greatest dock on Omega as a warning to others, but no, not yet at least.

"And what happens if their 'pet' doesn't like what it smells?"

"Then you'll be sent back where you came, though not quite as whole as you'd arrived."

Feron knew at least, that that was no idle threat. He hadn't pressed his luck, playing the part of a confused survivor, while the cursed Velan was... well, he was Velan. It was too far out to think he could play the role of anyone or anything else.

"-now see, if you sniff the Hallex, it goes directly in to the bloodstream and-"

Feron did not even attempt to point out how dead wrong the salarian was, although a few of the mercs gave him a valiant struggle. Ghormoroh ignored the chatty salarian, not even giving half an attempt, apparently having lost his own war with words to the only lack-wit salarian Feron had ever met, years ago.

Lucky bastard though, he was forced to concede that.

"...You seem to be doing quite well. And your bosses, to keep hidden despite the size of the crew. On Omega, I mean. There's Aria to consider..." he offered, hoping to gain some ground.

"First rule of warfare is making yourself look so big that your supporters flock to you, and your opponents fear you. Aria hasn't made any big news for years, but it is still far too early to take her on." Ghormoroh offered him. Then Ferons' omni-tool fizzled, and started sparking and melting. Feron quickly removed it, throwing the rapidly disintegrating device to the floor where it melted to slag, only a small burn on his wrist to let him know where it had been.

"What was that?!" he asked, surprised.

"Heh. The Bosses little toys. We have put them up all over the station. Keeps Aria on her toes. Any omni found to contain tracking software will soon overheat and burn out. Or not. It does burn normal omni's from time to time. Keeps our location hidden and in many places in the eyes of those who'd like us spaced. One of the Bosses made it, don't ask me how it works. Even put one in Afterlife, oh what a laugh we had. That was a busy evening for Aria, I'll tell you that for free." Ghormoroh laughed. "Only reason we're not gutting you right now is we don't know who put the tracker on you, but the Bosses will get to that. In any case, any eyes you thought you had at your back is now blinded and gone."

Feron wasn't surprised the Broker had kept tabs on him, that was standard procedure, the Broker always kept a tab on his investments. What was worrying was how this little 'toy' had managed to detect it in the first place, given that the Broker had access to some of the best tech in the galaxy.

Though perhaps no longer.

On and on and on they went, the gritty and grimy walls seemingly going on forever, rust and patches and welding marking the passing of centuries and scavengers beyond count.

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Some time earlier:

The grey walls were remarkably smooth, free of fissures, signs of welding or any indications it had been anything but this particular shape at any point in time. The hallway itself was narrow, moving along in a slight curve. When he turned, he could no longer see the entrance. He saw the dust rising from their steps, accumulated over time during the vessels' long journey through space, covering all surfaces. How the dust had gotten here, whether it was simple wear or dust from space, he could not tell, and they had not had time to find out. How long the vessel had travelled, he didn't know, but the preliminary scans had shown the vessel to be several thousand years old, at the very least.

Despite the slightly anxious atmosphere, and the tense situation, he persevered, walking along with his small team. There were five of them, with an escort of ten guards, STG all, trailing heavy equipment after themselves. There was no gravity, which made hauling easy. However, their boots could attach to most surfaces, and miniature mass effect fields helped push them down to the surface they chose as their floor. They walked in line, looking for any signs of life, any signs of computer terminals or anything which could be interacted with. No panels. No welding. Nothing.

"Well. This is new." Dossioger said as the path took a sharp right. All STG had code-names on mission. In this case, plant-names from Sur'Kesh.

They were deep in the vessel right now, having walked for what felt like hundreds of meters. There was always the low hum coming from the walls, and Dossioger got the impression there was a lot of power in those selfsame walls. He could hear the hum there, a constant, unbroken sound, a soundtrack to the steady, but quiet beat of their feet. Only the small amount of air pumped in, in case of suit-seal breach, allowed sound to travel at all, but the sound was so constant and unchanging as to be unsettling.

"So, what are we doing here?" Ichiocely asked. "Valern left in a hurry to the Citadel just three days ago. I've barely gotten any info about what this is about."

"Valern managed to set up rudimentary communications, and establish some form of contact, using pictograms, I was told. Isolated, encrypted devices only. He did take a huge risk, but he was smart enough about it so that this did not end in disaster immediately. We're here to establish proper contact. Just the fact that this accomplishment landed him a Council seat, instantly invalidating all other hopefuls, should tell you not to get sloppy." Racleosley, the leader of the group, replied. "Information about this vessel is need to know."

"Of course. I don't like going in almost blind, but operational necessities requires it from time to time." Chulleonip said, their chief guard during this encounter said. "I wish he'd given us more to go on though, given the signatures from the ship."

"The Alliance and the emergence of the Geth probably influenced his decisions. A.I no longer means 'immediate hostility' like it used to." Racleosley replied. "If we manage to do this right, we'll have something to give even the Alliance a surprise. And I can only imagine what the other two Councillors will think when they're told."

"Are we really sure though? This thing is obviously on emergency power. The energy signature wasn't very powerful, although the heuristics spoke for themselves. It is unlikely there will be someone or something waiting."

"You know what Valern reported. This thing made contact." Racleosley replied through the closed, and highly encrypted channel. "We make contact. If it takes a week to make contact, it takes a week."

"While Valern sits comfortably in a Council seat." Dossioger complained, none too seriously.

"Well, he's not idle. He made a gamble, which got him the position of Councillor. This could be a real galaxy-shaker. Besides, weren't you always grumbling that you were just two jumps away when the Alliance first arrived?" Ichiocely asked.

"I was on a mission, and couldn't break cover." Dossioger complained further.

"I, for one, find this is more exciting, given that the Asari aren't here to rush in and take the poor newcomers under their wings. Which has been a bit of fun to watch when it comes to the Alliance, incidentally. But this? We do this by the book, we keep it quiet, and we do it properly."

"While Valern gets all the credit. I know the asari girl became famous."

"We're operatives. Stop making us explain the situation to you. You know it well, you just like to argue."

"It's better than that incessant hum. I hope we find a terminal or something soon, I'm getting sick of it."

"Well, I see something which should break the monotony."

"What?" Dossioger inquired more enthusiastically than he would have liked, as he looked forward and spotted the sharp turn to the left.

Dossioger continued to grumble as they walked along, while the others allowed themselves a few laughs at his expense.

Soon, they came to the room Valern had assured them would be there. It wasn't large, and if this was the aliens' measure of grand, they would appear to be a disappointment. But there was something else in the room, aside from the still grey, featureless surfaces, and their slight hum. There was a construct of some sort, a large, bulbous thing, coming out of the back-end wall and half the floor. Or ceiling. There was no "up" in space after all. There were no other entrances or exits in the room, except the one behind them. The construct itself was slightly translucent, glowing weakly with the power around them. While they had trekked in here, the STG engineers were hovering outside, working to modify the connecting port from the massive reactor aboard their ship to fit the port the new alien vessel had directed them to. They were far, far out in the system, near the edge of the heliosphere. Even advanced sensors would have issues tracking them here.

Being covered by STG scramblers in a system currently under the control of the STG also helped.

"...Did Valern happen to mention this?" Dossioger asked.

"He did not. I'm not sure he knew about this thing. The room is where it should be, located roughly as instructed, and as indicated by scans." Racleosley replied. "Perhaps he was a bit hasty in leaving for the Citadel. Politician to the core that one."

"So in other words, nothing to do but break out the gear and get to work."

X

He was almost finished re-wiring a few connection ports, after they had found a slit in the construct, and managed to pry open. It had slid open, revealing four half doors opening on the middle, each opening from opposite corners, one pair set above the other. Inside the port, as wide and tall as his arm, they had quickly discovered several ports, hundreds of connection points of various makes. Why they were there was a mystery, but there was the possibility of units in cryo or standby, to maintain the vessel or interact with the construct as needed, but given the low energy-levels, it was probable those were out of commission. This theory was supported by the fact that they had found similar slits, almost invisible to the eye, in the walls on either side and above and below. However, they had been unable to pry these open, until someone had pointed out they had the possibility of using explosives. Which was overruled, as blasting holes in an unknown ship just after meeting it could be interpreted as rude, as the Krogan had learned to their sorrow when they had come across the Asari and the Turians meeting for the first time.

Given the heuristics emanating from this vessel, it was probable it would be able to configure itself to accommodate the unknown technology quickly. The Alliance had surprised that first Asari patrol, managing to block their signals to the Citadel and the rest of space. What they had actually done was not as sophisticated as all that, after further analysis by the Union. What they had actually done was very rapidly discover which frequencies broadcast to the comm buoy on the nearest relay, not that they had known where the signals were going, and simply jammed them with so much noise and interference it had been impossible to transmit anything out of the bubble of noise other than static. Given the amount of A.I and computing power aboard the SHIVA, it had been a relatively simple matter to target specific frequencies. Which was how the ships could talk among themselves.

The Salarians had also managed something similar before this incident, but it had yet to be tested on such a scale, or such speed. They had managed to surprise a few pirate groups by isolating their scouts, so it had seen limited testing, as proof of concept. They could still not match the proficiency of the Alliance in this regard, but a race with such a saturation of A.I were hard to beat in cyber warfare. The interaction with the omni-tool of the asari captain had come as more of a surprise. Compared to the Citadel, they were far ahead. In any case, it had proved that A.I with sufficient tools and power could adapt to most any electronics, digital information and unknown systems rather quickly. The engineers outside was making progress, so hopefully, by managing a connection to a peripheral device, the thing which was theorized to be on board could take a look at it and analyse the make-up and function of the device on its own. The device itself was a simple holo-screen with a wireless and wired connection, speakers, microphones and a camera, more than enough to get serious progress going. That they carried codices for languages went without saying.

"You don't think it's a trap? It seems a bit too good to be true. Given what this is." he asked, adding to the discussion already going.

"Could be. But then the ship would have sprung the trap earlier. There were hardly any real weapons in system, now the thing has more than a few nuclear weapons glued to its side. Even if it wouldn't destroy it completely, a few nukes are more than enough to ruin someone's day." Racleosley replied, dragging a large cable into place with a grunt. "To put it mildly."

"I wasn't aware of any weapons." Ichiocely said.

"I insisted. Need to know." Chulleonip replied without skipping a beat. "I felt the same as Dossioger, and was quite vocal of this to Valern, and he agreed. They're stored and primed in the engineering ship."

"Well, let's hope they're not needed. I'll do what it takes if this goes bad, but vaporization by nuclear fire is not on my list of things to experience, well, ever." Dossioger replied.

"Indeed." Chulleonip replied, fastening the cable to the nearest wall, connecting it to a few other stretching out through the tunnel they had come. "So far, this has gone according to plan, all we really need is for the ship to get power, and we should be set. As far as I can tell, the low power means only the basic and most important systems are powered up. Until the engineers figure out what to do, we're stuck here."

"The hull was weird though. Not any material I've ever seen. I bet the engineers are working just about as hard to pry a few samples out of it as they are to connect the power."

"I guess. It is a unique opportunity in every meaning of the phrase."

"It is weird, now that I think about it. This material, I've never seen anything like it." Dossioger said.

"Neither have we. It is not surprising, this vessel is alien."

"Yes, but if this is an actual A.I, what could it do through it? We haven't done much testing, and we have not looked inside it. It could be a sensor. Perhaps that is the source of the hum?" Dossioger asked the others, which gave them pause.

"...I see. That could be a concern." Chulleonip allowed. "If it can see us, then we have no guarantee our comms are uncompromised, and it would know our movements and positioning. ...But it is unlikely. The vessel hardly has any power."

"Power we are attempting to supply it." Dossioger replied.

Just then, a call came through from the engineers outside.

"This is Engineer One, we have successfully patched our power-supply to the vessel. We detected a large surge of energy, and the reactor is being consistently and comprehensively drained. We expect you will be able to see the results soon."

And that they did.

The construct suddenly flared in a light-show and emitted an exceedingly high pitched and loud tone, increasing in intensity, reaching an ever higher pitch. Dossioger attempted covering his ear-holes on reflex, a futile gesture, given his helmet. He clenched his teeth until it felt like they would shatter, and squinted his eyes. The suit had not been configured with sound in mind. He saw the others in similar states of distress, until the note entered a range outside their hearing. Their instruments told them the sound was still there, but they could not hear it, and for that, he was glad.

He was less glad for what happened next.

The construct, having so far been an immobile, dead and docile thing, lit up, its translucent body shimmering with light, ever shifting, casting long and flickering shadows on the walls, it was blinding. After a few seconds, the brightness went away, but the light remained, deep within the construct. And then, the most incredible thing.

The light changed in colour, shifting constantly, never staying the same colour in the same place, gently changing colour here, then rapidly and without rhythm change colour there, reds, golds, yellows, greens, even ultraviolet. Some of the light moved in bands along the surface, woven in symbols changing as rapidly as they appeared, a hundred different symbols, if Dossioger were to take a guess. Language. Code. Other places, the code was less apparent, overlaying until there were large blooms of light emerging and disappearing, as fast as the symbols were changing. And then a hologram materialized above the construct.

Something which might have been a face appeared over the most extended bulb, while the rest was covered in data streams and bands of light, feeding into this central point. The face was long, with two eyes, set low on either side, far between. What could be carapace or a bone-plate stretched from the slit which might be a mouth, to cover the face and reach over the forehead to the crown, a smaller plate emerging from where the temple would be, where it diverged again, to a third set of under-plates. The area around the eyes was rougher than the rest of the face, shaped almost like drops in the bony face. The slit which might be a mouth stretched far back, the chin was rounded and looked much like the plate over the face. The neck was not visible, but looked as if it was covered in segmented clothing or armour.

The face looked at them in turn, then to their equipment, and then it spoke, in a voice tremulous and slow, in a language they did not know.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"...Our... music?" Ewan asked. "Snap out of it, Trincey."

"...No, not Song... You are... a chorus." Trincey's mech replied. "A chorus... of many... not One."

"...Who are we speaking to?" Wahid asked the mech Trincey was wearing, while Ewan still held his fists up before him, focused on the large bug in front of him.

"We... are Rachni." came the reply from Trincey, though not with her voice. "You would not hear... our Song."

"...We?!" Ewan burst out. "There's only one of you!"

"When we speak, one... moves all." Trincey replied. "We are... Mother. We Sing through... touching of thought."

-Does that sound vaguely familiar to you?- Wahid asked Ewan through the links, as if to make a point.

-...Still don't like spiders.- Ewan replied, never moving his eyes from the rachni in front of him.

"You Sing... You do not Sing as Rachni. This one... heard our Song. She touched it... and is Singing with it." Trincey's mech said. "Singing with us... ...With me. She teaches. Speaking, teaches... me."

Right about now, it was pretty clear to Ewan that it was not Trincey speaking. He quickly decided he did not like it. The rachni had not so much as looked at the food, instead apparently being intrigued by the Network around them. It wasn't something they had considered, having the Network around was just the way of things, now, and certainly not something they thought the Rachni could pick up on, and never interact with, without neural implants to boot.

"What do you want?" Ewan asked what was a moment ago, Trincey.

"Want? Hive. Mothers. Where?" it asked in return. "It is... ...Silence. Quiet."

"...As far as we can tell, you are the last Rachni of any kind in the galaxy." Ewan replied, keeping his emotions in check. "What about Trincey? Where is she?"

"Last? ...Last Rachni?" the rachni replied, ignoring his last question.

"Last Rachni." he confirmed.

"...We... I... am last Rachni?"

"Yes."

A wailing shriek filled the room, coming from the giant spider itself.

It felt different. The difference was night and day. The other, much more quiet shrieks had felt more like probes, like something looking for whatever familiarity its instincts had bestowed upon it, reaching to touch and having the touch reciprocated. It had found Trincey, even if that was probably not the intent. This felt like a shriek full of grief and sorrow and loneliness. Ewan could not imagine what it would be like being born, in an unfamiliar place, to unfamiliar aliens, which they were for all intents and purposes, and being told you were the last of your kind, that there was no familiarity in the whole of the galaxy. It might have had an inkling, asking so quickly, but hearing it would not make it easier.

The shriek filled the room and seemed to reverberate through his bones, and his ears started ringing.

The shriek had another effect as well. Trincey slipped through, the concentration on the "Song" the rachni had spoken of being broken. And she regained control of her body, and to Ewans' trepidation, moved towards the rachni with a small hand raised in front of her, looking more a small child moving towards a wounded dog, small and careful and deliberate in her movements. As she stopped right in front of it, the rachni noticed, and inclined its head, in a way which looked more instinctual, towards something which had "Sung" with it, and could understand better than they.

In any case, no matter how much pain and misery the rachni currently suffered, he was relieved to see voluntary movement from Trincey. Her movements when she spoke had been... odd, and not at all what she used to move like. Now, though, her movements were back to normal, although her apparent concern for the rachni was... concerning. Perhaps they were even still Connected.

"Trincey?" he asked.

"It's okay, Ewan." she replied, back to herself, speaking with her own voice.

Wahid himself had followed everything with utter fascination, not interfering and asserting control, but just watching the situation unfold. Nobody knew what to expect, so doing anything rash might sour the whole thing. And absolutely no-one had expected this.

"It's okay." Trincey continued softly. "I heard it."

"...Heard what?" Ewan asked.

"Heard her." Trincey replied, still looking at the rachni, then turning back at them. "It is... beautiful."

X

"Did I hear that right?" the director asked.

"I heard it too. Connecting with Trincey. She's transferring the data I requested of her. We'll see what she saw in a moment."

If the rachni really was as ...innocent as it appeared, then the neural network and Trincey herself had probably just shown the quickest and most painless First Contact, well, ever. On the other hand, the rachni had managed to subvert the mech rather quickly, which would be a worry, going forward. Then again, they did not have many safeguards set up, since none had anticipated it being able to breach into the Network, much less interface with it.

They waited a few moments, and the data came through. What Trincey had seen in those moments, when the Rachni had been in control of the mech, when they had merged, Connected. The data packet, and the data they needed to see required a Connection transferred, and they both immersed themselves in the terminals and computers in their lab, in what Trincey had seen mere moments ago. The world around them dissolved, and they inhabited Trincey's eyes at the moment of contact, and they saw.

And they heard.

X

Earlier:

Trincey was startled. Something had reached out for her, and it had taken a whole ten seconds to figure out that it was the rachni in front of her. She had just asked Ewan to Connect, but a second before he could, the rachni had done it. She had heard it echoing through the chamber, and even without the operatives sitting outside telling her, she could hear the melody in the air, the signals burrowing and searching. It was unlike anything she had ever heard, which made sense. It was thoroughly alien, yet she could hear a faint ...push... at the edge of her mind, and she tried probing for it, following the feeling. She had slipped halfway out the mech, spreading herself out on the nearby Network, attempting to gain a better vantage point.

Then something ...utterly massive had responded, and she felt it reach for her. It Connected to her mech, so seamlessly it seemed it was tailored for it. And she saw. Like a massive creature of legend bursting through the very fabric of reality, it came, pushing aside the calmness of the Network with a storm of countless tendrils of light, emerging from a world beyond the Network, breaching through the weave of data around her, latching on to the broken points in the fabric it had made, and reached for her, the one fixed point actively searching, and before she had the time to figure out what to do, the tendrils had enveloped her, covering her, but not smothering her.

Trincey attuned herself, and started moving the pieces of herself which had been caught in the sudden surge, pushing back, but the Rachni had adapted, and for every move she made, the Rachni countered, and countered again. For what felt like hours, they jabbed back and forth, each entangling themselves deeper into the other's threads, and before she knew it, Trincey knew what they were struggling for.

Balance.

And they started understanding what the other was doing. Then they started overlapping. Then they started moving in accord, and they could hear the other, and they could see. It was no monster. It was just a creature unknown, scared and alone and confused, not really knowing what it did, or where it was. It was massive, to be sure, but it was confused. It barely knew what it was, and not at all why it was here, or where 'here' was. Trincey could tell. A lifetime of reading organic thought patterns had left the Vision skilled, and they knew what they saw in their creators. All her knowledge was applied in the next half minute, and she gained much more. A tendril reached for her, her mind a fixed, listening, point in the flux of data and thought. Having reached so far, beyond Trincey's own defences, it hesitated before her, so Trincey reached, and touched it.

And she heard, and she saw, and what a voice.

X

"She's a Queen." Chief Kailyn stated. "No doubt, judging by ancient profiles and what Trincey managed to gather as they were joined."

"What do we do with it?" Director Hamza asked.

"Good question. The Board has been informed all the way, but they are as of yet undecided. Small wonder, given the nature of this thing, not to mention its history." Chief Kailyn answered, looking at all the data in front of her.

It almost beggared belief, the amount that they had gotten already. They were perhaps the first in galactic history to have an almost complete neural map of a newly hatched Rachni, and was to their best knowledge, the first to actually talk to one. Which was the last thing they had expected. They had thought it would be hostile, or at least unwilling to talk, but talk it had, in a way none thought even possible. Trincey was fine, aside from suffering from a bit of a scramble when the Rachni had Connected, but the telemetry showed she was well on her way back to normal.

Behind the glass, the Rachni had at last settled for its meal, eating its fill of all they had set in front of it, cooked meat, raw meat, vegetables, stews, pastes, nuts and corns, and water, water most of all. It drank greedily and deep. Luckily, human had yet to appear on the menu, but none were really in doubt at this point if it could, but rather if it would. Food spilled from the plates and bowls it had been eating from, but the Rachni wasted nothing, sucking up morsels which had fallen to the floor, meticulously eating what it could. All the while the three who had been in the room sat and watched these terrible table-manners. Ewan was cautious, Trincey was relaxed, and Wahid was fascinated, watching and recording every move, while sensors worked overtime to gather all the data they could. The sensors could feel the Rachni presence pressing on them, brushing against it, but not yet making another attempt, too busy eating.

"From what I can gather, they want to keep it under observation for a good while longer. We can't be careless though. It's obvious, just looking at this, that it is far more than 'just' an insect. This is a tremendously intelligent being, though not quite in the manner we measure such." Director Hamza answered.

"All the data show tremendous neural activity, and even though it was a massive thing, it looked to be 'pieces' missing. Most likely other Rachni. Here. And here, here, here, and here." Chief Kailyn said, throwing out an overview as a hologram, as she pointed to the largest spikes. "There are no others, of course, but I am curious to see a true Rachni neural network if this is just the main hub. She will probably lay eggs soon. We'll have to ask her to limit herself. And explain why, of course, or Ewan is justified in his belief he is stuck in some ancient horror film."

"...I'll forward the data, and your recommendation, as it is. It is perhaps the smoothest First Contact in history, so far at least, doubly surprising when we know what we have made contact with."

"Wahid is very anticipating of the coming exchange. It seems Trincey has become rather fond of the queen in a short amount of time. I'd recommend the three in the room to accompany whoever they want to talk sense to it. The first exchange was nothing more than an informal hello, by anyone's standards. The real First Contact continues. And I don't have to mention how devastating it could be if the Citadel learns of this?" Chief Kailyn asked sarcastically. As usual, the Director was deaf to sarcasm.

"You don't have to remind anyone. Only a dozen people know the full extent of the discovery, even the crew of the Neutron is mostly in the dark, all they know is that we recovered a derelict wreck. If the Citadel learns anything of it at all, it will be treated as a curiosity by those who know little, and a complete unknown to those who know much. Its a derelict vessel for all intents and purposes, we simply scoured through it, looking for anything interesting, but found nothing more than the vessel itself. That is the official, and back-channel story so far."

"And when they're ready to be introduced to the galaxy? What then? I don't think anyone knows how to pull that off, or even how to react."

"Well, it will be a very interesting day then, won't it?" Director Hamza answered with a cryptic smile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kahoku was standing in the communication room aboard Rameses, having left the burned planet below to relay his findings, having already submitted a report to the brass command. As with most vessels in the Alliance Navy, one nautical term among many adopted simply out of sheer cultural inertia, the walls were grey, with thin and high-precision welding and bulky patterns adorning the walls, with the strips of blue light on junction points, and in the crevasses where walls met ceiling. The halls were long, the longest running down half the ships' length, and plenty of corridors going from one side to the other made traversing the vessel easy, if a bit confusing, if you were unfamiliar with the layout and without the links to guide you. In the walls themselves there was as much electronics and technology jammed in as the engineers could get away with, and then some, and he could feel the power in the walls, the shifting of thoughts and minds around him, the collective focus emanating from the Nexus. But in here, they were dulled, and they would be unable to perceive him as long as this conversation lasted, not a single bit of data would get through.

"So, How do you think it went?" the holo of Hackett asked, standing straight, looking over his own ICM.

"Better than we'd feared, worse than we'd hoped." Kahoku answered, standing at attention. "We got their attention, I think, when Ashley went up against one of their battlemasters. Still, they're not going to trust us that easy. Considering what they've gone through, I'm not sure I blame them."

"Me either. But we will need the Krogan on our side, the Council be damned."

His ship was one of the smaller cruisers, with more point-defence systems than anything resembling big guns, which made it a hard target for pirates or opportunists, especially when coupled with strong armour and heavy shields. It was also useful for negotiations in hazardous zones, in which pirates and opportunists were by nature more abundant. Not so much here, but it did in return present a smaller threat. The turian fleet stationed in system had not been happy about their visit, and it spoke volumes about the Krogan that even after 1500 years, their system was still patrolled, a duty which was still held in high regard, taken deadly seriously, and was as important as it was since the surrender. They had eventually received word from the Council to let them land, but only if they were willing to record their conversation and relay it back to them immediately. Kahoku had honoured that deal, and sent along a copy to them as well as Hackett.

After getting back on board, he had noticed that decontamination had taken a bit longer than normal, and his boots were highly radioactive. However, due to medicinal technology having advanced so far, he was not all too worried about the effects Tuchanka had had on his health for the moment.

"We're not going to get them, not unless we install a friendly one at the top, and that will be harder than attempting it on the Asari. Which should tell you all you need to know, really."

"Indeed. They did consent to us beginning restorative efforts on Tuchanka, according to your report?"

"They did. The female clans held the males by their ...quads, it's a start. Even the males grudgingly accepted in the end. That said, I do not think we will be safe from krogan assaults, but any major action will most likely be avoided. There is little law on Tuchanka, but clans, on the whole, listen to their chiefs. Even they see the benefit, but while the females seek the return of more fertile fields, so to speak, the males are more convinced the harsh biology will temper them even more." Kahoku answered. "However, to get them on our side, well and proper, we would have to cure the genophage, and I do not trust them that far."

"Neither do I. It was never a realistic position for us to take, and one which you would have been unable to act on, should you be swayed by a flight of fancy. If you had promised something like that, Ashley and Kaidan had orders to gut you and announce you as traitor and liar, even if it had meant their lives."

"I expected nothing less. Even still, when their planet gets halfway back on its feet, it will never be the same, although I do not believe it will become less hostile. Just different."

"The Krogan will withhold true support for us until the genophage is cured anyway, it is a moot point. I have no doubt Tuchanka will grow more hostile. When it is more than a burned husk, there will be something worth fighting for. Whether they choose to fight together, or against one another, is up in the air at the moment. Which is why it is so crucial to get someone semi-stable on the top. Even then, we are limited in our support options, as too much support will make the Krogan think of whomever we back as a puppet."

"And that, they will never have." Kahoku stated. "They're not as stupid as the galaxy would have all believe."

"I always doubted that. They simply lack direction and organization. However, our scientists have found some interesting trends regarding the genophage." Hackett added with a curious glint in his eyes. "Nothing which will help us short-term, but which might be important long-term, depending on how the whole situation develops."

"I see. Not something I'm privy to, I suppose?"

"Not as of yet. There will be a briefing held for you soon enough. Given the results of this meeting, I'm instating you as our temporary liaison to the Krogan and Tuchanka, on the whole. You're only to observe. Remain in orbit for now, we will get a deal through with the Council for you to be able to remain without issue. It should not prove too difficult, considering we're to attempt to restore their planet, and the Krogan DMZ proximity to our own territory. They seem to respond better to military personnel than politicians, and they respect fighters like Ashley. It does not hurt that she was following your commands the entire time. Even to them, that speaks of authority, authority figures they've not met since they sat the Council. Speaking of which, how is our N7 holding up?"

"The doctors assured us it was nothing major. Ashley Williams will be fine. She did insist she'd 'walk it off' as it were, you know the N7. Balls of pride, the lot of them."

"Glad to hear it. Let us hope she impressed them enough." Hackett answered. "Where is she now?"

"In her quarters, patching up."

"Refused proper medical treatment, did she?"

"Like I say, balls of pride, the lot of them. Not that I'm too worried. She came off the fight with relatively minor injuries, and walked back to the ship under her own power."

"Good. I would have her and Kaidan stay with you for the moment. I don't doubt the Turian Hierarchy will pose objections to our presence, it might be prudent to have a guard of their calibre at your side during negotiations and talks. Keep them on their toes, as it were. I have given a great deal of thought as to who might be a liaison, on the ground, towards our efforts to get whoever ends up with power on Tuchanka in a more obliging mood. I'm sending his dossier over right now, skim through it when you get the chance."

"Copy that."

X

Kahoku was back in his chambers, a modest room near the centre of the ship, leaning back in his chair, reviewing the file and dossier he had been sent by Hackett. It made for rather grim reading, and the pictures were even worse. His walls were a light grey, one wall covered with screens, a weapons locker to his right, and a desk in between him and the chair opposite his own were the only furnishings in the room. His bedchamber was through a door at his back, currently unoccupied. The only light in the room came from a bright, warm ceiling lamp, illuminating every corner. It had been designed specifically for space stations and ships, and could substitute for sunlight for years. Yet in the face of these files, even this warm glow seemed cold.

'Fig. 45 / H76L'

'Surgically removed from jaw of subject, Jonah Gallant, A.K.A The Dentist.'

The photo was of a blunt, spiked instrument, still coated with blood and grime.

'Fig. 45 / H77L'

'Surgically removed from abdomen of subject, Jonah Gallant, A.K.A The Dentist. Patient expired from extensive injuries in abdomen and chest incurred by object.'

The photo was of a crude, damaged dentist drill, dyed red. Kahoku kept reading through the file.

'Traumatised.'

'Traumatised.'

'Fatally traumatised.'

'...savage beating, unlike anything on record at this hospital...'

'Horribly traumatised.'

'...blow to upper back, most likely knee, causing eruption of ribs from...'

'...prisoner demanded, then begged, not to be released...'

'...explosively eviscerated...'

'...refusal to speak during interrogation proved to be due to removal of tongue...'

'...extremely ragged decapitation...'

'Traumatised.'

"That bad, huh?" Ashley asked as she entered the room, taking a look at his face. She was clad in her and Kaidans' armour, her face uncovered. "You know, he'd make a great pirate."

"Born in the wrong millennia, I suppose. However, I suspect he will fit right in. Now, all we need do is get him there."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The last hours had been the hardest. He had been hooded along with Velan, shuffled along corridors they did not know the layout of, under and over wide or thin pipes and walls, unknown drops at either side, or tall structures without end. The ground was covered in grease and oil and grime, treacherous and slippery. More than once, he had to be saved by one of the mercs when he was on the way down one of the drops, and was able to peek through a slit down by his chin at one point. What was below was dark and cold, leading deep into the asteroid itself, into the mines still worked by the slaves on Omega. Valern had had his share of slip-ups as well, and the constantly bumped into protrusions. He was going to be sore the next morning. But did the salarian shut up for that reason?

No.

"How do you win a duel with a vorcha?" Velan asked, in that anticipatory tone of his Feron found so incredibly vexing.

One of the mercs did not bother warning Velan of the next low-hanging pipe in their path, and Feron could hear the 'clang'. But Velan paid it no mind.

"No-one? Feron, surely? ...No? Wait!"

Everyone groaned.

"Hahahaha!"

X

"Khu muh." someone said in a muffled, quiet voice, over the low hum of a generator working.

Feron could not quite say what it was about that voice, but something about it sent shivers down his spine. After what felt like hours, they had come upon a small tunnel, low cut and narrow, hidden deep in shadow, and had been prodded to enter it. They crawled on all four, and Feron could not help but notice that the grease and oil and grime coating was even thicker here, but there were thankfully no precarious drops this time. He doubted if the others would be able to catch him if he'd fallen through an unseen hole while they were crawling like this. In the end though, they had neither been crushed by falling debris, nor fallen through hidden holes, and found themselves in an open chamber, if Feron were to guess by the acoustics and the airflow.

His hands were covered in blisters and small cuts, though thankfully he'd gotten a small shot of medi-gel for it, more to prevent disease than any injury. The gel had been adopted extremely quickly by the galaxy after its merits had been known and recognized, and the Alliance probably made more off the royalties and sales from that than anything else.

"Well, hello Kumu. Still standing guard, I see." Ghormoroh said pleasantly enough. "We've got some new toys for you here to smell, just a little one, before the Bosses sees them."

How Ghormoroh could sound so calm in the face of that soft voice, a voice which echoed forever, never quite seeming to disappear from the air, slithering about them, Feron did not know. He would never feel at ease around that voice.

"...Who is he?" Feron asked.

"Kumu. Only word he says, and the Bosses have not provided another name, so that's what we call him." Ghormoroh answered.

"Kuh muh." Kumu said.

Feron knew he did not want to be here. His boss wanted him here, but his boss did not know what was here. That was his task, and he had no say in the matter. Unlike the others present, he could not drink away the horrors he suspected lay ahead, he would remember. He'd remember the smell as well. The room smelled of burnt flesh, of medicinal salves and ointments, yet it was not quite enough to hide the sweet, rotten smell which clung to the air here, very unlike the filth and the honest and pure stink of the rest of the station, but even that sickly smell paled to the voice. And when a hand pulled off the hood, he was at a loss for words.

The hood came off quickly, and the world burned red, the walls mere faint shadows. As he blinked the world into view, the orange glow he had come to know reappeared, as did the filthy walls and halls and ceilings. And before him stood the largest quarian Feron had ever seen.

Standing more than a head taller, at the least, the quarian would even give the abnormally large Tazzik pause. Tazzik himself already rivalled some muscular humans Feron had seen in height and build, and this quarian was by far more imposing. Whereas Tazzik had well-worn, but well-kept armour, never skimping on maintenance, this quarians armour was torn half a dozen places, the faceplate was cracked, missing large pieces of glass. Feron could swear several of the tears in the suit and armour came from teeth, and beneath all the muck and the modifications, the suit might have been white, once. Beneath, he saw only a glow coming off tracers of electronics and crude implants going this way and that way, its glows outshining the natural bioluminescence of his eyes. A large apparatus on its chest sucked in air by the sound of it, and the chest rose and fell steadily, never changing in its monotony.

How the quarian was even... alive... was a question for the philosophers and the priests.

And where Tazzik kept his modified grenade launcher as his weapon of choice, this quarian had a crudely grafted implant, a mishmash of metals and flesh stuck where his left arm should be, ending in three cruel claws, a far cry from any hand Feron had ever seen. In is right, he held a rifle with teeth and its own claws, but they at least, looked more cosmetic if anything. He counted himself lucky it wasn't attempting to gnaw at him.

Then Kumu took a step forward, leaning in from above. The sweet rotten smell grew stronger, and he moved mechanically, with utter precision. It was all he could do to not flinch back. When he came that close, Feron could glimpse the ruin that was his face, and just barely see a deeply furrowed brow, set above wet dead eyes.

Then came the sound.

A sharp, thin, frightful high sound came from within the ruins of the mask, and Feron realized it was breathing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alul was staring out over the ocean, enjoying the light salt in the breeze, breathing it deep. The Epsilon Indi colony, Taishō, was not as large or as heavy as the human homeworld, she'd been told, and gravity was altogether weaker than her previous home. She had found a nice cliff near the sea, the precipice covered by a shadowy grove of tall, thick trees with long, hanging branches, and wide, red and white leaves sprouting at regular intervals. Under this meadow, she put down her meagre provisions, and made ready to meditate, sitting down in the traditional pose and enveloping herself in biotic power, levitating slightly off the ground, breathing deep. Alul had taken off the headband to really be alone, to have no interference. She let her mind wander, to think and reflect. Altogether, therapy had been going well. She was having bad dreams less frequently, and most nights, did not dream at all.

She hoped she would start having good dreams again, eventually, but she was all too aware her past experiences had more or less washed away her childhood in blood and terror. Asari lived long lives, which in a galaxy of short-lived aliens could as often be a burden or a curse. It was not necessarily a blessing to live so long, but nor was it cause to end it immediately. She did not want to die, her experiences and torture had not broken her. She had resolved to live, to make the most of the life they left her.

Her therapy had often taken the form of group therapy, with individual counselling as needed. The former slaves had formed a community, but she often wandered to this spot for a bit of solitude. It gave her time to think. For one, she had not realized how many slaves there were in the galaxy, let alone on Torfan. The community had swelled to the thousands in the beginning, and now numbered in the tens of thousands. Many of the arrivals could tell of stories more terrible than hers, and it was scarcely unusual to find slaves still mourning their dead children, taken by the slavers and the pirates, even when the child had been no more than months or a few years old. It sent her fuming without fail, and she revelled in news of slavers compounds being raided, the rebellion in the Hegemony steadily gaining ground, and the masters being killed by the score at the hands of vengeful slaves.

She had resolved to help other slaves get over their traumas and their own horror, yet it had proven more difficult than she had ever imagined. Her own experiences helped in dealing with the grief of others, but there were so many of them. It was too much horror, too much blood, too much pain. It was more than a single person could absorb. The local government on Taishō realized it as well, and had filled the ranks of the staff and the resources allotted to them. The Alliance had taken pains to ensure they were well taken care off until such a time as they chose to leave or settle properly. But that was not the hardest part. Batarian slaves were all too common, and few slaves of other species saw much difference in them or their masters, herself included. She found herself disliking former batarian slaves, not because they had done her harm, those batarians were dead and gone, but because they were batarians. She did honestly feel pity and sometimes compassion for them, but she knew she would never love them.

"The thing about hatred like this," her own therapist had said, after she'd confessed to these thoughts, the joy she felt at the videos being released on the darker places on the extranet, "it is a poison, a poison you shape and sharpen and soak in blood. You sink your heart in blood, real or not, to fix the nicks called sorrow. The more you sharpen it, the more it nicks and rusts, the more it thirsts. As you hate, it thirsts more and more, as it thirsts, you hate more and more."

Perhaps Silja was right, and perhaps part of her realized it, but she had felt the contrarian. "What, you're going to lecture me? You don't know. Few does. To me, what the batarians took from me were irreplaceable. My mother. My father. My friends, my home and my life. They were snuffed out, for no reason at all! All barely comprehending, understanding anything! None of it made any sense! Suddenly... unfairly... like insects!"

"I don't blame you for having these thoughts, how could I? But what will vengeance solve? Those who took your family are dead, and deservedly so. But there is even less reason for you to hate or revel in the demise or misery of those who are not responsible, those who have suffered the same, and feel the same. I am not talking about the slavers still living. I have spoken to many of the batarian refugees. Reason and emotion rarely look eye to eye, it is true. They are a mirror to yourself. But if you all simply let this feeling of hate take control, you will lose other irreplaceable things which will come your way, and all that will be left of all those people is sorrow and more hate. Where will it end?" Silja had answered. It was slightly annoying how she seemed to have the answer for so many things.

Part of why she had come here was to dwell on those words.

Something irreplaceable... What could that be?

It was not something she had the answer to, not right not. Right now, she did not have anything irreplaceable to lose, and she was not sure she would recognize it if it came along. Something, or someone, whatever it would be.

She found it hard to concentrate, even with the soothing sounds of the ocean and the breeze lazily brushing through the leaves and grass. Insects and birds swooped through the air buzzing and chirping, their wings having grown larger and their forms stronger and bulkier due to the lower gravity, faster and quicker on the wind than on the world which had given them life. Out there, somewhere near the horizon, a large aquatic creature breached the surface and after a few minutes she could hear the sound of its howl faintly on the wind. All around, there was the music of nature, though it was not melodic in her ears right now.

She heard rustling from the trees and dampened voices behind her, and peeked out from behind the large tree-trunk behind her. She could see movement through the foliage, a moving shape. The shape was alone, but it was large. For half a heartbeat, she was back in her cell. She could hear mirthful voices, dampened by the vegetation and their words blown away by the wind. It moved closer, in no apparent haste, and soon it was apparent what it was. A human male was carrying a woman on his back, who in turn had a small backpack slumped over her shoulder. Their clothes were light and floated on the wind, in light, earthen tones of browns and yellows. The woman was small of stature, had short cropped hair, dark as ink, while the man was larger, a sandy blonde with curly hair which reached to his shoulders.

They saw her.

"Hey. Wasn't expecting someone in our spot." the woman said to her, the sun shining in her eyes.

"Neither was I. I'm Cale." he said to Alul as he inclined his head, breathing deep from the climb with the extra weight. "Who are you?"

"I'm Alul. I did not know this was your property, I'll leave." she said, disheartened at being chased off. She had hoped she was the only one who had discovered this place, she had certainly never seen others here before. But she knew that was an impossibility, as fine a spot as it were.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean you should leave." the woman said, slapping her chin lightly. "I'm Nataly. I just meant, we come here a lot, and we thought we were the only ones who came out here. Its our 'spot', not our property. Stay, by all means!"

"Thank you." Alul said, feeling better now that she knew she would not be driven away, at least.

They came on, and Cale put Nataly down near the grove Alul had made her little camp. Only now did she see the womans eyes clearly, and they were not wholly organic. They were a pale, hauntingly beautiful shade of blue, drawing in the attention of the beholder.

"You're a Vision?" Alul asked.

"Yup. You don't seem much surprised." Nataly answered, and indicated her biomech. "A bit too heavy for my taste, despite the frame."

"Yeah, it does make the climb a bitch." Cale added without prompt. Nataly swung the backpack clear in his face with a slightly annoyed look on hers.

"I've grown used to you." Alul replied as Cale rubbed his nose.

"Aye, most have." Nataly answered as she sat down and leaned against a thick trunk, halfway gone in the grass. She rummaged into the backpack, pulling out a can of some sort of drink, tossing it at her, rummaging around for another, and tossing it to Cale who cracked it open and drank deep. "Here. We have plenty, don't worry. As I was saying, most have. Asari more than most. Seems you fancy those neural links."

"They are fascinating. And useful." she answered. "Though a bit much at times."

"I agree. I have 'em implanted, but it is nice to shut out the ocean and listen to a real one for a change." Cale said as he brushed back his hair from how the wind had twisted it, and gazed over the horizon.

"You really can do that? I could never make that work with the headband." Alul answered.

"You took it off, didn't you? That's how it works with them. I'm kinda jealous, I always hear it. I sometimes wonder what the world might look like without it, but that would be as you giving up your bodies to upload yourself. Not something imaginable." Nataly said with a calm smile as she joined in Cale's gazing. "Not that you haven't thought of it, I'm sure."

"I have wondered." Cale admitted. "When I'm with you, or deep in the city... But let us not waste time. Could you pull out the board, Nataly?"

"Impatient as always." Nataly remarked, and pulled out a small square and set it upon a flat piece of earth, where it unfolded to a square the length of her arm to each side. Nataly then pulled out a small bag, turning it upside down in the grass, spilling its content of small, round pieces.

"What's this?" Alul asked.

"Rebelle." Cale answered. "You must have seen it played in town, half the city is mad for it. It's a board game, played on three dimensions, and you can stack the pieces three high. The opening array is also flexible. The moves are finite, but the combinations might as well be infinite. It is one of the few games where humans, provided they play well, can actually give the Vision a challenge."

"Only because we are so damn sportsmanlike." Nataly replied with a grin.

"Nevermind that, let's play!" Cale said, arranging the pieces.

"I'll leave you to it. I had not intended to stay." Alul lied, and picked up her belongings.

"Too bad." Nataly said. "We're here sometimes. Feel free to butt in at any time."

"Maybe I'll do that. But not today." Alul answered as she took a sip of her drink, and turned with a wave towards the city. She had intended to stay, but she had wanted solitude. These two were too cheery for her mood. As she walked back towards the city and her shelter, she wondered if there were any news from the Hegemony.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Where are the others, by the way? Its been pretty quiet." Veva asked, looking back down the corridor leading to storage and quarters.

"Novicidia, the female you met, and Cammius is probably off having sex in the cargo hold." Fasius explained with a casual shrug and added, at Veva's raised hard-light brow, "We're all adults here."

"And the boss doesn't mind?"

"Not as long as they don't make a mess. He has two wives of his own, and five kids, he's not in a position to complain, especially given what happened the last time he brought the two of them on board for a sightseeing tour." Fasius answered and covered his face. "The smell alone... Spirits."

Veva laughed at that. "Oh, you poor soul. I hope there was someone giving you some comfort after the trip."

In answer, Fasius broke in to what was the Turian equivalent of a smile. "Met up with my mate a few days later. ...It was a good day."

"And they're fine with everyone knowing?" Veva asked, not prying further at him, and pointed over its shoulder. "I mean, you were pretty casual about it."

"Hah! They think its some big secret, but both I and Gerro know, we learned a looong time ago. Half the dock-workers we work with can smell it on them, so to speak. They do this every time we leave port, but they are both too stubborn to properly commit to each other. I know neither has any significant other, and they do care deeply about each other."

"Aw, that is sort of sweet, I think. Lovers among the stars."

"I think that is the gist of it. I just thought to give you a fair warning, in case you're headed for the cargo-bay and can't find one or the other in the crew compartments." Fasius said. "I'm more curious you don't mind. Not some quip or complaint about wasting strength, alertness or time?"

"Hardly. Life is for living. I'm not completely innocent in that regard." it added with a smirk.

"Spare me the details, please."

"Oh, it's not a bad thing. It feels good, I get it."

"Really? You are just full of surprises." Fasius said, scratching his mandible idly. "Every vid concerning A.I is basically about how they like to murder and torture."

"Ah. It was that way for our creators as well, I suppose. You forget, we're not immortal. We die, it just applies in a different way. We know what life is, and what we'd do to defend it. We don't always get our way, like you, but still."

"And how did it change? There are a few vids being rather philosophical about the whole debate, most just figure that not giving machines or programs life and self-determination in the first place is the best to do. You don't have to deal with all the dilemmas and existential crises at least."

Veva scratched at her head at that. "Fair enough. 'Not every ejaculation deserves a name', is that they way of it? It is better than what the Quarians did, I will give you that. I think every being being granted intelligence, or even possessing it, will at some point have a bit of a crisis. The thing is to not stop there."

"I suppose. How did the vids evolve in your world, then, when A.I became a possibility?"

"We were, or rather became part of their mythology before we actually arrived. Mythology evolves with the culture, technology and life of a species. A few thousand years ago, that was the Minotaur, devils, trolls, you know, monsters." Veva said with a gleam in its eyes Fasius did not altogether like. "At first, they were to be feared, and they scared the crap out of small children. But as life changed, the terror they held disappeared or was diminished somehow. Same for us, we were the monsters at first, then it changed with life. And if you visit one of the kinkier places on the Network, you'll know how they look at those ancient monsters today."

This time, it was Fasius' time to laugh at the absurdity of it. "Better than the alternative, I suppose. I must admit, this is not how I imagined my first proper talk with you would develop."

"Really? I expected nothing less. Part of intelligence is recognizing intelligence, don't you think?"

"What do you mean? I must seem slow as an avlarch to you." Feron answered.

"Avlarch? Is that some sort of snail?" Veva asked. "No, not really. I mean, close your eyes. Point your hand at the sound of me snapping my fingers, without opening your eyes."

Feron did so, reluctantly. Then he heard a finger-snap of metal, and pointed at it as fast as he could. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.

"See?" Veva asked, pointing at his outstretched arm, which was pointing directly at the metallic hand which had made the snap. "In the span of the sound travelling at 343 metres a second reaching you, your ears, barely fifteen centimetres apart, managed to triangulate the source, and direct your flesh to act on the movement. That is pretty good, considering the low opinion you seem to have of yourself. You just work differently. As a computational device, an organic brain can be quite something."

"Hm... Never did think about it that way. When you're surrounded by machines, it is easy to think of yourself as insignificant, I suppose. Turian military service also subtly encourages this, so that turians might be willing to follow orders detrimental to the individual, but to the benefit of the whole."

"All militaries does this." Veva answered. "Still, you're here. A bag of flesh and meat, floating through space, in a can of metal of your own design. You're just a piece of organic material the universe and evolution have tricked into thinking, and we're a piece of rock and plastic you in turn have tricked to thinking."

"Then how can you be certain you are truly free? It is within the realm of possibility your sentience is merely illusion." he positioned.

"Let teachers and priests and philosophers contemplate over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and if I am, the illusion is real to me. It's not too far out for either of us. All the atoms that makes up our bodies could be arranged in a virtually infinite amount of ways, and nearly all would lead to no life whatsoever. The fact that such a mathematical improbability is sitting before me is astounding. Again, with those odds in mind, what is the chances of me sitting here?"

"Diminishingly small. I'd say math is most likely against it."

"Overwhelmingly so. Yet, here we are. I'm more amazed you're even alive. Or any organic for that matter. And out there, you can be found in the trillions. I have to do trimonthly maintenance on this mech, while your heart has been pumping along for decades without stopping for even a minute. Your eyes! They're so fragile and exposed! You're full of all these high-pressure fluids and intricate parts that could kill you in seconds if they stopped working!"

Fasius was looking at his own hands as Veva entered her new rant, suddenly aware of how precarious his general situation was, for a moment overcome with existential dread.

"...Stop that."

Veva laughed at that. "See. You're so nervous about me on board, but is it really so different with a turian, a salarian or a quarian? You do not know their minds, any more than you know mine. I believe I told you, I do not care what form you have. I only know you allowed me on-board your can of metal to see the galaxy. For now, that is enough."

"For now?" Feron asked, a bit perturbed by the choice of words.

Then the klaxons started beeping.

"What is it this time?" Fasius asked nobody in particular, consulting his sensors.

X

"What is it?" Gerro asked in a flush as he rushed to the bridge.

"Ship on intercept course. Scanner says Turian military." Fasius replied as Novicidia and Cammius came running, slightly out of breath, to the bridge to see what was going on.

"What do they want?"

"Received a transmission. They want to board us, inspect cargo."

"Have you replied?" Cammius asked.

"No. I wanted to hear out the boss for this."

"...Is this ...odd?" Veva asked.

"Very. Turian military is not typically involved in customs, other than as guards to see that everything goes as it should."

"Any notices on the IFF?" Gerro asked.

"Says here it is a small vessel, usually compliment of the Cordantanus. Barely a shuttle, truth be told, but Turian military shuttles can operate for long periods of time on their own. Larger and better armed than other species' shuttles as well."

"Anything about the Cordantanus being involved in an operation?" Veva asked. "Pirates, smuggling, that sort of thing?"

"Let's see..." Fasius replied, pulling up the files shared by a few of his trader friends, a few notices from old friends still serving in the Hierarchy, his very own back-channel. "Oh."

"What?" they asked in union.

"The Cordantanus went AWOL barely a month ago. It's a Turian dreadnought. Says here they've been unable to locate it, and that there's a price for info about its whereabouts. ...It sounds like the captain went pirate..." Fasius said in disbelief.

It could not be. Turian captains, admirals or generals did not commit mutiny. It was just about unheard of. Granted, there were, and had nearly always been rebels and separatists, but that was just Turian nature. What was shocking was that a high-ranking official would abandon his own side, to either go pirate, private or desert. Deserters in the Turian military generally received harsher and crueller punishments than what any other race would deem appropriate, the Krogan aside.

"What can we do?" Cammius asked.

"...Nothing. This ship does not have any weapons. Gerro fitted it with heavier shields and a strong transmitter, but they will overtake us soon, and there's no other ships in the immediate vicinity, as far as I can tell."

Gerro had started pacing in a small circle, fretting and muttering to himself, his hands clawing at his mask, his standard click-wheeze came fast and hard. The thought of losing this shipment, much less their lives, was always a possibility, but that it would happen like this, so close to "safe space", and by someone he would normally consider an ally rankled, Fasius could see, and he felt the same. The vessel was modular, and had more than twice its normal capacity at the moment. They would not be able to gain any significant speed in time.

"Let me through the firewalls." Veva said to Gerro.

Complete silence encroached on the bridge, all eyes on the mech in front of them.

"Let me through the firewalls." Veva repeated, more urgently.

"And what then?" Gerro asked, hoping against hope. Veva could put the whole ship in lockdown, cut off air-supply or open the airlocks if she gained access, and more besides. "Why haven't you broken through already, if you can do something about this?"

"Because you're the boss, and I thought to ask. Let me through."

"...Okay, okay..." Gerro replied in a whisper. "Do what you can."

Veva immediately turned and gently, but firmly, pushed Fasius out of the way, and ducked beneath the consoles and controls. Fasius leaned down to get a view at what the A.I was doing. He saw immediately that it hadstarted tearing out panels, stripped the shell off its lower arms, and that several cables and wires extended from them. One hand went to its abdomen, and opened a small compartment, rummaged inside and came back out with what looked like converters.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"Bought them on Arcturus. This mech can't modify itself like the advanced models." it answered.

Veva quickly plugged the cables together, and before long, the console beeped, indicating that it had managed to establish a connection to the ship. The lights on the bridge flickered, and Veva's voice came from every speaker.

"I have control." the ship said. "Now then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How are the girls coming along, Doctor?" the man with the piercing blue eyes asked.

"Very nicely. As you can see." the old man with the crooked back and his three golden teeth replied.

Before them, behind the thick light grey walls and the reinforced glass were four of them, one group of fifteen. The grounds were a charred mess of fires and metal, trees uprooted and mechs strewn about where they had fallen. Ash and dust were heavy on the air, giving the scene an eerie, haunting look, making the details scant and hard to see. Smoke and fire bellowed to the ceiling high above, burning hot enough to melt through the metallic floor, and soon, the fire-extinguisher turned to life and smothered it. The hall itself was devastated, few spots unscathed. They could not smell a thing, which was probably for the best. The four glowed with biotic power, surging through their systems, ready for another round as one casually destroyed the last moving opponent. She threw the now incapacitated scrap of metal straight at them with a biotic surge, and hit the window so hard the walls shook. But they held.

"She doesn't like us much." the man with the piercing blue eyes noted, not having budged from his spot.

"...No, she doesn't. I think it was more bravado though." the old man with the crooked back and his three golden teeth replied, having recoiled slightly.

"I would not be sure. We are certain of her loyalty?"

"In this at least. They are very young. Not adjusted or accustomed to anything other than the fighting. They understand the task before them, but not all are as enthusiastic. Still, they will fight. I do hope you do realize how ...illegal... some of these restraints are."

"I wrote them. I would know."

"Of course. But they are adapting. I suspect they will never truly be free of them, but in time, they might regain some autonomy. Consider the implications."

"I do, of course. But this is the way of the world. Often, something small must be sacrificed for the good of the whole. One life will not weigh up to a galaxy. 'In time' is also slightly less than irrelevant, given their task."

"Well, of course, these are weapons, and even if they have no real notion of what goes on in the world, they know war and fighting is not the only thing there is. Some might even like them for their fire, but they will never know it. They have become very aware it might be a one-way trip, and they are fighting the restrictions and restraints all the way." the gold-toothed old man said. "It will slow their reactions, and might lead to their deaths."

"Perhaps that is for the best. If all their focus are on the battle, it will go too smoothly. We cannot underestimate the Salarian Unions' intelligence capabilities. Something which slows them, which gives them not quite as fast reactions as normal would be beneficial to the ruse. I assume the self-destruct mechanisms are in place?"

"Of course, it was the first we took care of. Some have been detonated prematurely, total losses. Even in your position, Sir, if this was to come out, you would have ...issues... explaining yourself, not only for the plan, but for their treatment. This is tantamount to torture and war-crimes." The gold-toothed old man said, half a smirk appearing on his face. He was far too valuable to get rid of, and had seen worse. "Are you sure the honourable lieutenant is not more suited to the job?"

"Honourable? Are you drunk, Doctor?" the man with the blue eyes answered, a hint of rebuke in his voice. "No, he is far too conspicuous, I would not give away the game before I am ready, no more than the Alliance in the end. He has another task, one which is just as important going forward, one which he is far better suited to handling."

"Ah, yes, I do hope they appreciate our regard for them, to send such as him."

"I'm sure their subordinates slated for promotion will, at least." the man with his blue eyes answered, activating his ICM, floating a few photos before them. "These are the ones our teams have identified, so far. I have instructed the teams to bring them back for autopsies if possible, interrogation and study if they can. I will by no means guarantee you'll see a live one. They should provide you with much needed information in any case."

The good Doctor squinted and adjusted his eyes, reading the notes on each of them, and the expected progress the process had so far taken on them, based on observation. A general here, an admiral here, steely-eyed and stern men all, yet as newer photos showed, their eyes did seem to be more... unfocused, glassy and foggy somehow. Not that it was an obvious change, and it did not show much in their actions, but men of that stature were often isolated, and few could be said to be close to them. And those who were, were often far too loyal for their own good, when one suspected where these leaders loyalties truly laid. It was fair to assume these underlings too, served.

"Very good, very good. It is perhaps a task better suited for the lieutenant. In any case, you will be pleased with the progress we've made on the girls' equipment they will be using during the operations. If you'll come this way, I will show you some modifications I've proposed, not something you'd have seen there..."

And with that, they turned, the gold-toothed old man with his crooked back leading the way, the man with his blue eyes following while lighting a cigarette, their backs turned from the team, stiffening as their restraints activated for storage, standing still and stiff and quiet in the to-scale replica of the Council Chambers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note:

A bit of a quiet chapter this time, had to set up for things to come. Hope it is enjoyable none the less.

Thanks for all reviews, followers and favourites so far!