Truth is, I didn't know why I was there at all.

I stepped out of the docking arm attached to the ship and into the port, took a deep breath of Vallum's stale air, and wished like hell I had a cigarette.

Of course I hadn't been allowed to keep them. Thirty years and two wars and customs was still as tight on Taetrus as it ever was. Figured I could get a pack when I landed, but it had been far too long and my palms were itching.

The crowd of the port was filled with the usual types - mostly turian, with a few asari, some volus, and a handful of krogan towering above the rest. No humans, no quarians. No one who had anywhere else to go came to Taetrus. Why would they? It's off the main traffic lanes. Its major exports are cheap metals, manufacturing, and sleaze, and if you wanted any of the above, they were nicer places to get it. Like Omega, or Illium. At least Omega was honest about itself, and Illium was cleaner.

Not that I cared. I wasn't here looking for work, or money. I had plenty of both. It wasn't family. I didn't have any left. It wasn't even homesickness. I grew up in the north, in the more temperate climes. I'd only done a few years of a tour in the capital, working the bomb squad.

All the places I could have picked for a vacation, and the first thought I had, the one that wouldn't let go, was Taetrus.

But I didn't dwell on it at the time. I was too desperate for a smoke and too jetlagged from the trip. Sun was nearly set and I needed to find a bar. I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jacket and marched through the crowd.

Taetran markings were on nearly every face, in every color. Simple lines and hard angles. The marks on the jaw and mandible let you know who was from which continent, which region, and which city. Most were from the capital, on the western continent. A few northerners, like me, with a pair of marks along the mandibles. Even a few from out east, Eluria and the Diluvian Wildlands.

They let you size someone up. In the port, if you were from Taetrus, no one gave you a second glance. Even a scarred up old man with a broken fringe didn't merit examination. It was the off-worlders who got stared at. The ones from Palaven, or Thessia, or Irune. They got looks. What do they think they're doing, coming here? Taetrus is for Taetrans. That's all there was to it.

Once you got out of the port, though, that's when even the vaguest sense of unity disappeared. Because when you were walking the broken sidewalks and dirty streets of the capital, if you had the wrong colors or the wrong markings and you took a wrong turn down the wrong alley, you could be in a whole galaxy of trouble.

Taetrus was a black hole. You stayed here long enough, it sucked you in and you never got out.

If I knew what I was walking into… hell, I probably would have kept walking anyway. I've always been stubborn. Maybe that's why I was there. Felt like I owed that place. Or maybe I felt like I deserved whatever was coming.

I didn't really know. Still don't.

But I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?

The port was new, same way a lot of the city was new. A major terrorist attack followed by a galactic war meant that there wasn't much left that was immediately recognizable.

But when I stepped out onto the street, it felt like nothing had changed. There were still street vendors hocking their wares to the offworlders, old-model public shuttles, licensed and unlicensed skycabs jockeying for position, and the familiar stinging scent of engine exhaust dulled by recent rainfall.

I didn't pause to admire the view. The skyline had changed too much, and it never interested me anyway. Just big, grey buildings against a big, grey sky. I kept walking, past the vendors who ignored me in favor of asari or volus, past the cabbies who tried to encourage me to hitch a ride, past the public shuttles which were already filled to capacity, and down the main thoroughfare.

Vallum tried to fool you into thinking it was a prosperous, well-behaved city. Take a walk for a while, though, and the pretense gives way. Clean paths and storefronts turn to broken concrete and dirty glass. Tags from local gangs start appearing, growing larger the further you get from the starport. I didn't recognize any of them. Turf changed with the tides, and the gangs themselves with the seasons.

I didn't really have a destination in mind until I hit a corner and realized I was close to Nid's. Figured stopping in for a drink wouldn't hurt. And if nothing else, he'd have a beaten up old cigarette machine I could use.

It took me another ten minutes to get there, and by then, the sun had set in earnest. Alleyways darkened, and I kept my eyes forward as I walked. I wasn't from Vallum, but I had Taetran markings and a nasty scar. That would keep all but the most desperate or stupid off my back, and I wasn't in the mood for any trouble.

When I caught sight of Nid's, I almost laughed. Vallum had been leveled twice in the last thirty years, and somehow that place hadn't changed one iota. The window was still so dirty it looked frosted, the paint was still peeling in all the same places, and the 'S' in the static holosign still flickered at exactly the same rate. Stepping inside, the feeling was even stronger - the place was nearly empty, but for a handful of sleeping drunks and the usual suspicious types talking quietly in booths in the back. And there was Nid himself, standing behind the bar, cleaning a glass and looking as large as life. He glanced up at me as I entered, stared for a moment, then returned to his glass.

No one knew his exact age, but I guessed him in his fifties last time I saw him. Apparently I was wrong, or the old man aged gracefully, because apart from some growing thickness around his shoulders and waist, dulling of his already grey plates, and the tip of one finger missing, he looked exactly as I remembered. Big, tall, and barefaced, with long, low-hanging mandibles. The guy looked like the villain in a old vid, like General Ord or Targ the Tyrant.

Back when I worked the Boom Patrol, this was a popular place among the bomb techs, and there was all kinds of speculation on what Nid's story was. Some said he was an old, washed-up actor. Others said he used to be military, broke protocol in a big way and had to do hard time. A long-running theory had it that he was a big shot in the local syndicates, and this was his quiet retirement. Nid never confirmed or denied anything. He never said much at all. When I left, the pool to make him laugh was up to three thousand credits. I wondered if anyone had ever collected.

But I had other concerns at the moment. I headed for the corner and the old vendor that sold tobacco. I took down the 'OUT OF ORDER' sign that looked like it had been taped there since the war, took out a credit chit, shoved it into the slot, and punched in the number for my brand.

The machine thudded and whirred, then went silent. 'RESTOCK,' it prompted on its LED screen.

I kicked it once, hard. When that didn't work, I sighed and put in the numbers for another brand, some asari cloves. The vendor thudded, whirred, then clanged and banged and a small pack of cigarettes fell into the tray. I set to opening them, trying to ignore the layer of dust on the plastic wrap, and lit up as I headed for the bar.

I sidled up and took a seat on one of the stools. "The usual."

He looked up. For a second I thought he didn't recognize me, or if he did he wouldn't remember, but then he turned around, reached for the bottle of Epyrus brandy, poured two fingers into a glass, neat, and set it in front of me.

This time I did laugh, quietly. Nid went back to cleaning his glass, paying no attention. I thought about being funny, asking him 'what's new,' but I didn't. I wasn't feeling particularly conversational. I was feeling much at all, come to think of it.

I was finished with my drink and ordering another when she walked in. I checked her reflection in the stained mirror over the bar. Silver skin and shiny plates with forest green Taetran markings, with a second mark on her chin that said she was from Eluria, probably the Wildlands. Short fringe accented with numerous bright green feathers, flowing backward in the typical style. Yellow clothes, tight and hugging her waist, with a red shawl tied and draped across her chest and over one shoulder. She was young, no more than thirty, and pretty in a done up sort of way.

She took a seat at the end of the bar, furthest from the door, and tapped her fingers twice on the surface. Nid went over, pulled out a bottle of almost-decent wine, and poured her a glass. Figured she must have gotten stood up for something, because no one dresses that well to drink alone, and the expression on her face said she clearly wasn't looking for any company.

That was fine with me. I was too busy trying not to wonder what I was doing there to care about her problems.

By the time I finished my second drink and was starting to feel a pleasant buzz behind my eyes, a group of noisy boys entered the bar, waking the sleepers and drawing irritated glances from the half-cut patrons in the back. They all had bright colorful Vallum markings and were dressed in local militia uniforms. The oldest couldn't be more than twenty one, the youngest something like eighteen. They were celebrating something. Some kind of promotion. Or maybe one just got laid.

The four of them piled into a booth, slapping each other on the back and making entirely too much noise. I decided this third drink would be my last, and then I'd head out. Find a hotel or something nearby. Didn't matter what, so long as it had a clean bed and bathroom.

I tapped the bar, and Nid added another three fingers to my near-empty glass. He kept looking at the militia boys and frowning. I glanced over at the woman at the end of the bar. She was pretending not to notice our new arrivals.

After a moment of hushed murmuring and stifled laughs, one of the four pushed himself up from their booth and headed over to the bar. "Four Spaedar ales for me and my friends," he said loudly. "Extra pale."

Nid stared at him before he moved to the back to pull them out of the refrigeration unit. The boy tapped his fingers on the bar, down at the girl, and sidled over closer.

I already knew where this was going. I took a sip of my drink and settled in to enjoy the show.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a dive like this?" he asked her.

I bit back a groan and rolled my eyes. Children.

The woman stared straight ahead, into the mirror above the bar. "Drinking," she said, mandibles twitching.

The boy laughed, a little nervously. "Yeah, uh. I can see. You mind if I buy you a round?" He puffed up a little. "I just got promoted. In the-"

"The militia," she finished. "I know."

He blinked stupidly, already a little drunk. Probably kicked out of an earlier bar. He opened his mouth to speak and she cut him off.

"If I wanted to fuck a militiaman, I'd aim a little higher than a petty officer," she said calmly, turning to look at him for the first time. "But to be honest? I'd rather fuck a volus."

He gaped. She didn't look away, and kept staring until Nid returned with his ales. While the boy gathered them up and retreated to his booth, she returned to staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Nid glanced reprovingly at her. Personally, I thought she was alright.

The boy returned to his compatriots with the drinks and at first they laughed at him, but as he whispered, their humor disappeared. They started throwing ugly looks at the woman at the bar. Nid started polishing the surface with a rag right above where he kept that old snub shotgun I'd seen him use to end fights and chase out troublemakers.

It was right around then that I finished my drink, and I was glad to be leaving. I stubbed out my cigarette in a cheap plastic ashtray, threw down a credit chit worth twice what I'd drank and walked out, hands in my pockets and pointedly not looking back.

I crossed the street as a single skycab flew overhead. You couldn't see the stars in the city, but the twin rocky moons of Taetrus lingered overhead, one a crescent, the other full. They lit up the streets where the lamps were out, and I started walking slowly down the cracked sidewalk while I considered my options. There was a decent apartment complex a couple miles south of here. Figured I could rent something furnished if I paid for a month or two up front. I didn't intend to stay that long, but then, I didn't really intend to come here in the first place.

I turned around and started south, opposite where I'd been heading. The door to Nid's opened in front of me and the woman stepped out and started walking the same direction, on the opposite side of the street. After about a half mile, I heard Nid's door open again. I knew who it was, but I still glanced over my shoulder.

The boys from the bar were heading her way. Moving with purpose.

I turned away and kept walking. Ahead and to my left, the woman quickened her pace.

Another half mile and the boys had almost caught up to her. They were saying things like "Wildland bitch" and "fucking Facinus." I saw her stick a hand in a pocket and pull out something that might have been a knife. Then she stepped decisively into an alley.

I kept walking. The boys ducked in after her. I kept walking. I heard the beginnings of a fight, cloth tearing and yelps of pain that were definitely male. I kept walking.

Not your problem, I told myself. Just another awful thing happening in an awful town on an awful planet. She can handle herself. You're not a cop anymore. You stop for every beating or mugging and you'll never make it to the hotel.

I was parallel with the alley. My pace slowed. Just keep walking.

One of the boys shouted, "Hold her!" and despite all my better judgment, I turned and looked. Saw three of them struggling in a heap on the other side of a dumpster, with the one she had insulted standing above. He was undoing his pants.

I was halfway across the street before I even knew what I was doing.

The boy started to crouch down behind the dumpster as I got up behind him. I grabbed one hand on his fringe and the other around his throat and heaved. He flew across the alley and knocked over a few broken-down recyclers. One of the other three let go of the woman's leg and threw a wild punch in my direction. I ducked left and let him run into my knee, which sent him crumpling to the ground.

One of the other two smashed the woman in the face with his fist. She was already bleeding from the nose, he was just making sure she'd stay down. The other rose, tried to tackle me. I managed to stay upright, wrapping one arm between his neck and cowl and squeezing. That's when the one I threw smashed me across the back of the head with something. Probably a piece of one of the recyclers. I fell on top of the one beneath me, who threw me off and clutched weakly at his throat.

I rolled and one kicked me in the side. I kept rolling, coming up long enough to barely catch one punch in an open hand, but not the other. Pain shot through my ribs and I cringed, then spun and pulled his arm and flung the boy away from me. He staggered, lost his balance in a puddle and fell.

I spun back and found a gun in my face. Newer model Aquitus, standard issue small caliber pistol for state police and militias. The turian holding it, the rapist, snarled while one of friends came up his side. The fourth held a small blade to the woman's throat. Maybe the same one she'd had earlier.

"Van," the other said, "calm down-"

"Fucking Facinus," the rapist said, spitting out the word through heavy breaths. "Women and old men, think they can treat us like dirt. They don't own Vallum!"

"Van-"

"Put the gun down, boy, or I put you down," I said, a lot more confidently than I felt.

He laughed, pistol shaking in his hands. "You think so? You fucking think so?"

The one beside him reached out for his shoulder. "Spirits, Van, let's just get out of-"

The pistol jerked as he turned his head to shout something at his friend, and I took the chance. I shifted left, wrapped one hand around the gun, the other around his wrist, and pushed forward. He staggered back, I tripped him up with my foot, and we fell to the ground. I landed on top of him, shifted the pistol beneath his chin, and pushed down on his finger.

Blood shot from his forehead as the bullet exited, spattering on my face. The muzzle flash was close enough that it blinded me, and I could barely see as I yanked the pistol from his dead hands. Van's friend tried to wrestle the gun away. I put three rapid rounds into his stomach.

I threw him off me and got to one knee, wincing. Felt like a rib had broken at some point. The one with the knife was shaking, trying to drag the woman to her feet. I shook my head and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots from my eyes.

"I'll do it," he stuttered out, trying to move towards the street. "I'll do it if you don't-"

Once I could see, I raised the pistol and fired. A clean shot, through one eye. He collapsed and the woman fell forward, crawling away and shoving herself up against the wall of the alley.

I turned around. The one who had fallen in the puddle had apparently laid there and watched all this take place. He gasped when I met his eyes, then scrambled to get to his feet, tried to run. I took my time aiming my shot and got him in the upper thigh before he exited the alley, which sent him careening back to the ground again.

He was breathing fast as I walked over, breath hitching and gasping. Hyperventilating. He tried to crawl away. "Please, no," he sobbed. "Please, spirits, help me, please, please-"

"Spirits won't help you, son," I said as I stood over him. "Spirits don't help."

He rolled onto his back and raised one hand, palm out, pleading and shaking his head. "Please, no, don't-"

The shot echoed off the walls of the alley and out into the night. The gun vented steam and beeped in my hands. I remember thinking it was typical of the Hierarchy to give sub-standard heatsinks to Taetran militia.

I sighed, and clutched a little at my side. Fear, anger, and adrenaline were all excellent painkillers until they were gone. I gingerly touched a hand to the back of my head and it came away blue. At least I didn't have a fringe to stub anymore. Always a bright side.

I limped back towards the woman, tossing the gun off to the side and wiping some of the blood from my face. She was fully conscious now, looking shellshocked as she held up the tatters of her shawl to cover her bare waist. I didn't get too close, just enough to be away from the bodies and pooling blood as I sat heavily on the ground and shook out another cigarette.

"You hurt?"

At first she didn't hear me. I asked again, and she nodded, then shook her head.

I grimaced. I lit up, took a drag, then offered it to her. She reached out, haltingly, and took the cigarette, shaking a little as she smoked. She coughed, a broken sound.

"Could you do me a favor?" I asked. "You don't have to if you don't want."

She looked at me and said nothing.

"Cops are gonna be here soon," I said. "They're gonna wanna know what happened with…" I trailed off and gestured vaguely at the scene around us.

Slowly, she nodded.

"I'd rather not spend my twilight years in a Taetran prison," I said, shaking out another cigarette from the pack. "If you could tell 'em it was self-defense, I'd say the same thing. There's not enough evidence to say otherwise.

"Course, you could tell 'em the truth," I said, lighting up and taking another drag. "I've made my bed. I'll lie in it if I have to."

"It wasn't?" she asked in a dull voice. "Self-defense?"

I stared at her dumbly. Smoke hung between us.

"Not the last one."

I heard the beginnings of sirens in the distance. I looked out at the other end of the alley, past the body laying in stagnant rainwater.

Welcome home, Sorono. Been a long time.