Chapter Text
~Dal’Zerit nar Bessarius~
Omega is a meat grinder.
But discarded meat – like anything else – has value if you’re willing to work with it. That’s one of many things I’ve learned here.
“Dal!” Shia’Lan nar Qwib Qwib calls across the pile of bloodied corpses. “I’ve got something!”
“What?” I call back, my gauntlets up to the elbows in viscera.
“Looks like a disruptor ammunition module – it’s still intact.”
I shake the offal from my hands and wade across a tangled heap of putrefying vorcha, batarians, and the occasional krogan. Shia holds up a small device, and I look it over.
“Yeah – for an assault rifle. Great find! That should net you decent credits if you clean it up.”
“I hope so. I haven’t found anything else today.”
“Keep digging,” I encourage. “I’ve found lots of great salvage in here - nobody else has the stomach for it.”
“I’m not sure I do either, Dal,” Shia groans, but she keeps digging. Shia has only been here two weeks, but she’ll get used to it.
This isn’t how I’d envisioned my pilgrimage, but from what I’ve heard, that’s a common complaint. It isn’t glamorous, but sifting through the broken remains of the arena combatants has been lucrative. I’ve nearly saved enough credits to complete the payments toward purchasing a decommissioned turian freighter. She’s in rough shape but spacious, her armaments heavy for a freighter and salvageable with some elbow grease. In a few more months, I’ll return to the flotilla, my excellent find in tow, ready to present my offering to Captain Tay’Liel vas Lancet.
I turn back to the pile of remains I’d been searching, pulling the body of a decapitated vorcha onto her back to search her makeshift armour and holsters for anything of value. As the body squelches to rest upon the corpse of a batarian I’ve already searched, my breath catches in my throat.
Below the vorcha lies a young human woman. I reach down to lift her from the shallow hole I’ve dug. Her body is stiff and cold – decomposition has not set in yet. She can’t have been dead more than a day, two at most. It’s hard to tell what might have killed her; she’s covered in the decapitated vorcha’s blood and intestines, but I can see tracks of older, dried blood from her eyes, ears, and nose. Her eyes are solid black.
“Shia!” I call. She wades over, her footsteps squelching and crunching as she approaches.
“Keelah,” she exclaims. “I’ve never seen a human that small in the pits before.”
“Neither have I – and I’ve been digging through here for three years,” I continue to examine her. “No weapons or armour…not a lot of muscle to her. Her hands are soft. She’s not a fighter.”
“What’s she doing in here?”
“I don’t know – but she’s the third body I’ve found in two weeks that doesn’t belong. And look at her eyes,” I point.
“Human eyes are never that colour,” Shia’s subharmonics bend downward in contemplation.
“Someone’s killing them somewhere else and dumping them here,” I infer. “I wasn’t sure with the first two, but now I think it might be the same killer. The others were turians, so they could have been arena combatants, but they didn’t have armour either; their eyes were black, and they had the same dried blood marks around the eyes, tympana, and nose.”
“This is Omega, Dal. People get murdered every day. Look what we’re standing in.”
“I know, Shia – but something doesn’t feel right.” The young human woman’s frightened, dead black eyes stare right into me. “We’ve got to tell Bray.”
~Samara~
I am the void.
I gaze out at the vast expanse, the pinpoints of stars punctuating the deep black. I am the emptiness in between. I am nothing.
Her face persists. Her voice. It intrudes each time my awareness begins to ease into the quiet. Again and again, she haunts me. Her eyes so like mine, even in infancy. Her small child’s laughter, the mischief of her grin.
I close my eyes, breathe, open them. I try again.
I am the void…
Her lanky, knobby knees scraped and bruised from her latest adventure, she runs into the living room, Rila and Falere trailing her like goslings. “Mother, look!” she withdraws something with both hands. A bird’s nest, three eggs nestled in the center. “I found it at the top of a tree - one baby for each of us.” She doesn’t realize the eggs will never hatch without their mother. I do not tell her this. I cannot bear to scold the smile from her face. “What a treasure you’ve found, Mirala,” I praise her.
I close my eyes again. A long breath escapes me, trembling more than I’d like.
I lift my face upward, eyes still closed. “EDI,” I address the unsettling omnipresent entity inhabiting the ship’s vast networks of circuitry and hardware.
“Greetings, Samara. How can I assist you?” her voice echoes in the space around me.
“Inform the Commander I would like to speak with her,” I request.
“Commander Shepard is en route from Bekenstein with the point squad,” EDI informs me. “I will notify her when she arrives.”
“Very well,” I dismiss the A.I.
I open my eyes.
~Shepard~
My breastplate sits across my knees as the docking bay doors yawn open to admit the Kodiak. I’m still trying to buff out the scorch marks from Donovan Hock’s gunship, my undershirt soaked in blood and medi-gel. Sweat stinging my eyes, I run the back of my hand across my forehead.
“Sorry about your armour, Shep,” Kasumi smiles, her voice wistful.
“It’s seen worse,” I assure her, buffing harder despite knowing I’ll probably be wearing it back out before the work is done. There hasn’t been a lull between missions in days.
As if she’s read my mind, Tali tries to stifle a yawn and fails. Beside her, Thane stretches his arms over his head and cracks his back, rolling his neck before settling into his customary forward lean. I look up from my ministrations and catch his gaze. He blinks back at me, his eyes shadowed and grave.
He’s tired. They’re all tired, I note.
“I’m taking you three off point for a couple of days,” I decide.
“Shepard, that’s what you said yesterday,” Tali groans, shaking her head.
“She’s correct, siha,” Thane admonishes, but it is gentle. He’d volunteered to come along, even though he and Tali ended up on the sidelines monitoring Hock’s estate and passing intel to our comms.
“I’m sorry, Tali,” I sigh. “We needed your backup on the external surveillance grid.”
“It’s all right, Shepard,” Tali straightens up. “I’m glad we got Keiji’s graybox back.”
Kasumi gazes down at the hardware clutched in her hands. “Yeah, me too. Thanks…you guys don’t know how much this means to me.”
“I can fathom it,” Thane murmurs. Kasumi casts a glance aside at him.
“Yeah, I guess you can,” she muses.
“We’re clear,” Garrus calls from the cockpit, keying in the sequence to open the hatch. It lifts upward, and Kasumi is the first to disembark.
“I’ll see all of you later - I need some time alone,” she calls, clutching the graybox.
“You’ll get it…!” I call as she slips toward the elevator, then sigh again. “Hopefully…”
“I’d better get back and check things out in the main battery. I’m sure something’s slipped out of alignment since I’ve been gone,” Garrus clears his throat, darting a sidelong glance at Tali.
“I’ll help,” Tali offers, and I stifle a grin as the pair clamber down the docking ramp together.
“How many adjustments can that gun require?” Thane quips as they pass out of hearing distance.
“Right?” I snort with amusement. “I told you - it’s just a cover.”
“You do not appear to resent it,” he observes.
I toss the breastplate aside and cross the shuttle interior to sit beside him. “No, I don’t. If they need a pretext to spend time together, I’m happy to look the other way. It’s too bad we can’t seem to find one,” I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite work. I reach down and take his hand.
He looks down, troubled, but runs his thumb along my knuckles. “I regret that.”
“So do I.” The light caress sends a thrill through me, but I feel an odd sense of disquiet. Something’s been off with him, but he keeps insisting he’s all right when I press him. He hasn’t been avoiding me or even distant - not precisely. But a hurricane of movement had been raging between us, building up force, and now we’re standing in the eye of it, frozen. It’s looming, just out of reach, but the air around us has grown still.
“Thane,” I begin. Tentative, I reach over and touch his cheek, turning his face upward toward me. His black eyes soften, and his inner eyelids give that gentle, shy flutter. “I keep thinking we’re going to pick up where we left off after Atlas Station, but it feels like there’s something in the way now, like–”
“Shepard, Samara would like to speak with you in the starboard observation lounge,” EDI’s voice, melodious as ever, cuts through my sentence like a chainsaw. I groan and sag forward, burying my face in my hands.
“Urgh…we’re not even off the shuttle yet, EDI,” I protest. Usually, I can make it up to the C.I.C. before Kelly sandbags me with another crisis.
“I apologize, Shepard. I promised Samara I would alert you once you returned from Bekenstein,” EDI explains.
“Tell her I’ll be right there,” I grumble.
“You were saying?” Thane squeezes my hand, a hint of irony in his soft rumble.
I stand up, grimacing, and he rises with me. With my free hand, I pick up my breastplate.
“I was saying…” I shake my head. “I don’t know, Thane. I’m just hoping we’ll get more than five minutes alone at some point before we hit the Omega 4 relay.”
“I wish for that as well, siha,” his eyes stir at the notion as we disembark the Kodiak.
“I’ll go see what Samara wants. If I’m lucky, it’ll keep until tomorrow. I’ll come see you later if I can – try and get some rest in the meantime.”
“Arashu willing. I’d planned to contact Kolyat as well. It has been two cycles since we last spoke.”
“Good idea – tell him I said hello.”
We ride the elevator up to the crew deck in silence, then part ways when the doors open, his eyes lingering on me for a long moment before he turns.
~Bray~
“Who the fuck taught these hanar how to dance?” Aria snarls, throwing a datapad listing the latest entertainment lineup on the floor. The screen cracks, and I flinch. Not again…
“Bray – find me another datapad, and get those damned hanar off my stage,” Aria demands.
“On it,” I nod, starting down the stairs. I touch my headset to open a comm channel. “Marl, Aria doesn’t like the hanar. Get them out of here and bring in the next act.”
Marl sighs. “How many more can she reject tonight, Bray?”
“Beats me,” I shake my head. “Whoever’s left in the lineup’s got shit luck, though. She’s in a bad mood. We just received word that Styg’s freighter got hit by pirates. He lost a whole shipment of red sand. Try to send up…I don’t know, something that’ll make her laugh.” I head toward the storage room.
“I’ve got an elcor a cappella group…”
“That might do it,” I say, opening a cupboard and retrieving a new datapad from a high stack. I unwrap it and boot it up.
“I just hope she accepts them. Morose elcor are the biggest buzzkill…”
“Heh – yeah,” I agree. I close the channel and turn back the way I came.
“Bray!” a raised quarian voice resonates from my right, and I spot Dal and Shia hurrying toward me.
“Shit – give me a minute,” I hold a finger up to the approaching quarians and run the datapad up to Aria. She scowls at me for failing to upload the roster, but I shrug her off and head back down the steps.
“What’s going on?” I ask. The gangly pair of scavengers are coated in blood and guts, but that’s not unusual.
“We’ve noticed something…disturbing,” Dal says, his voice low. “This is going to sound laughable, but we’ve found three corpses down in the pits that…don’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?” I demand.
“They don’t belong there,” Shia insists. “We think someone’s been using the pits to conceal murder victims.”
“People–” I begin.
“I know; people get murdered on Omega all the time,” Dal cuts me off. “Bray, these ones are different. They’re pretty young, none of them were armed. They’re all dressed up like they were at the nightclub. One’s a human woman, just a slip of a thing – no way she was an arena combatant. And…their eyes are black.”
“What, like they got punched?”
“No – their eyeballs,” Shia clarifies.
“Huh…” I frown. “That is different.”
“They’d all been bleeding out orifices, too,” Dal adds.
Shit. “Did it look like a disease?” The last thing we need is another damned plague.
Dal freezes. “Keelah, I never thought of that…maybe it was a disease.”
Shia jolts, looking down at her suit in alarm, scanning for ruptures she probably knows aren’t there. I can’t blame her for double-checking – their suits have alarms, but quarians can’t afford to be complacent.
“Can you guys pull all the corpses – get them down to the clinic in the slums? Tell them Aria’s asking for autopsies.”
“Sure,” Dal nods.
“See if you can find more bodies that fit the pattern. You’ll be compensated. Keep me informed.”
“Great – come on, Shia, let’s see what we can dig up.”
“Urgh…” she groans but follows Dal as he leaves.
I look up at Aria as she glowers at a group of five elcor arrayed on the stage.
“With a rich baritone: My love for you is a burning fire…”
Shit.
~Thane~
“Father?”
“Hello, Kolyat,” I greet my son via my omni-tool’s FTL comm channel. His face wavers on the display.
“Hi,” he rasps, allowing a small smile. “How are you feeling?”
I am pleased to see him smile. Our first several conversations following his rescue were fraught, but they are becoming easier now. A connection is beginning to form, and I cherish it.
“I am well,” I assure him, then relent beneath his scrutiny. “Also, tired.”
“You shouldn’t push yourself too hard, father,” he scolds.
“I am at more risk for decline if I stay idle.”
“As long as you don’t get killed in the process,” he grumbles.
“I have managed to avoid a violent end for nearly forty years,” I assure him. “In that, at least, I am skilled.”
“Is the Normandy headed back to the Citadel soon?”
I check our current course on my omni-tool’s readout. “We were just at Bekenstein. I’d hoped we might stop at the Citadel before our next relay jump, but it appears we are already on course for Omega,” I say with regret.
“Arashu’s tits, Father, Bekenstein is so close to the Citadel…”
“Kolyat,” I scold him for his curse.
“Sorry,” he flushes. “I had a favour I wanted to ask, but I’ve been waiting until you were here.”
“There is no need to wait. Name your favour, kianh,” I insist.
“Well…Mouse is having problems down in Zakera. The break-ins are getting worse, and the last time, the duct rats swarmed him. They broke his arm and bruised him up pretty bad.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “Did they steal his money?”
“No, Father. He put that into investments. He knew it’d get swiped if he kept it in chits.”
I sigh with relief. “That is fortunate. Mouse’s injuries are not. I mourn his situation, Kolyat.”
“I don’t like it either. I wanted to ask if he could stay here with me,” Kolyat admits.
“That is a most thoughtful idea,” I raise my brow.
“Are you okay with it?”
“Of course. I ought to have thought of it myself,” I grate.
“You were…pretty distracted last time you were here,” he looks down.
“Yes. We must deal in the present,” I decide. “Please encourage Mouse to stay. He may use my room. Perhaps…put my spare firearms in storage first, and do not neglect the security protocols.”
“What if you come back after…you know, the Collectors?”
“We shall cross that bridge when we reach it,” I tell him. “For now, let us do what we can to help.”
“Okay,” he smiles.
“How goes your work with Captain Bailey?”
“Really well – I like him a lot, Father. He’s tough but practical. He said once I’ve worked off my community service hours, he’ll start to pay me if I want to stay on.”
“That’s excellent, kianh,” I feel my lips tugging into a smile of pride. “You have impressed him. For what it is worth, you have impressed me, as well.”
He flushes, and his eyelids give a subtle flutter. “Thank you, Father.”
“Thank you, kianh, for being the soul you are,” I return.
“You should get some sleep,” Kolyat urges. “I’ll talk to Mouse and help him gather up whatever stuff the duct rats haven’t carried off yet.”
“Very well, Kolyat. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to contact me. I can transfer funds if you require them.”
“We’ll be okay for now,” Kolyat insists. “Be careful out there, Father.”
“I shall, Kolyat. Be well, and may Arashu watch over you.”
He closes the channel, and I deactivate the omni-tool, clasping my hands before me and closing my eyes.
He is whole again, Irikah.
It is more than I’d hoped, more than I’d dared to ask. My soul is soothed by the knowledge that I have mitigated what damage I could and by knowing that all Kolyat needed was a nudge in the right direction.
He is such a soul.
Yes, shif’ra, she agrees. I grieve that you’ve so little time to know it.
As do I, siha.
Do not squander the time you have left, she warns. With him – or with her. The echo of Irikah that still stirs in my soul gives voice to my turmoil.
I will not turn away from her, but I fear to encourage more.
Why do you fear?
Is it better to pass beyond her reach before she grows to love me or after?
For you, or her?
For her. Perhaps for us both, if my soul is not to be broken on the wheel.
I know not her heart, shif’ra, but my loving you was neither a choice nor something I could set aside. It simply was – and is…Irikah’s voice trails away, leaving me to fight my internal battle alone.
My fists clench together. I had only just succumbed to the notion of pursuing Shepard in earnest when my lungs collapsed, forcing me to face the reality I’d long accepted but lost sight of in the captivating light of her being. No matter how alive I feel in her presence, I am still dying. Leaving her is an imminent certainty. Leaving her bereaved is a soul-breaking sin.
I flush with shame at my recent behaviour toward her. I am not naïve to her intentions, not shy at the prospect of obliging them, and most assuredly not lacking the desire to do so. I could pursue her now with all my fervour, my naked wanting laid bare – and merciful Arashu, how I want. I could have taken her in the shuttle, EDI and the justicar be burned. I could have done so dozens of times since I’d recovered.
I’ve encouraged her to believe that continual interruptions are the barrier between us. The true barrier is my dread of what must come.
Is it better to pass beyond her reach before she grows to love me or after?
I let out a slow breath, my question weighing upon me unanswered, perhaps unanswerable.
As if she’s heard my thoughts, the doors to the life support bay slide open behind me, and her light footsteps approach. To my surprise, another set of footsteps accompany them.
“Siha?” I call out, turning toward her. She stands at the threshold of my alcove and beside her towers the justicar, cold and regal.
~Bray~
“This had better be good, Bray.”
Aria marches toward me, her face a thundercloud.
“Pretty sure it’s not,” I shake my head. “That’s why I called you.”
She rolls her eyes, and I beckon her into the clinic’s slapdash morgue.
Five bodies are laid out on metal tables – looks like Dal and Shia were thorough. Daniel’s bent over one of them, a drell woman. He’s removed the top skull plate from her indigo-scaled head to collect tissue samples from her brain.
My eyes widen with alarm. There are so few drell on Omega; those who live here enjoy near-celebrity status. That’s largely owing to Aria’s well-known fondness for them. Whoever killed this one either has a quad the size of a planet or the brain of a Thessian sunfish.
Aria approaches the drell woman, recognition and horror crossing her features.
“Selys. Shit!” she barks, biting her lip. “Bray, what happened to her?”
“It’s not just her – it’s all of them. Dal and Shia found bodies with unusual backgrounds and injuries in the vorcha cadaver pits, so I had them brought up here. I wanted to make sure we didn’t have another plague on our hands. Daniel – what have you found so far?” I prompt the human medic.
Daniel looks up from the drell woman’s body. “It’s not a disease. I ran full blood analyses on all five. No viruses, no bacteria. They all have hallex in their systems, and the drell also has traces of pink widow – but none at toxic levels. All I can say for certain is that the cause of death is massive neural hemorrhaging, but none show external blunt-force cranial trauma or signs of vacuum exposure. And their eyes…I have no idea what happened there. I have to run more analyses.”
“What’s wrong with their eyes?” Aria asks, her voice sharp.
“They’re black,” I tell her. “Well, the first three Dal and Shia reported – Daniel, what about the other two?”
“The other human’s are black. The drell’s, too, but many drell have black-ish eyes, so I wasn’t sure about her.”
Aria’s fingers are gentle as she pulls open one of the drell woman’s eyelids. “No,” she murmurs. “Selys had red eyes.” She is tense as she turns to examine the other bodies. She stops at each one, opening the eyelids and peering at the rivulets of dried blood streaming from their eyes, noses, and ears.
Her eyes narrow, and her fists curl into balls. Then, she begins to pace with a hand raised to her forehead.
“Bray,” Aria looks up at me. “We might have a problem.”
~Thane~
“Thane – do you have a minute to talk?”
“You know you needn’t ask, siha. Please, join me, both,” I gesture to the chairs and begin to rise from mine, but Shepard shakes her head and settles onto the cot. I pull my chair back to the wall to gaze upon them both. “May I offer some tea?”
“I’ve got my coffee,” Shepard gestures to her mug.
The justicar shakes her head. “No, assassin, I’ve no need.”
“Very well,” I nod. The justicar has seated herself across the table, erect and tense.
“Go ahead, Samara,” Shepard prods.
“I must ask your assistance, assassin,” the justicar lets her proclamation hang.
My eyes flit to Shepard, who is watching with a complicated expression on her face – something between dismay and…amusement. I settle my gaze back upon the justicar, waiting for her to continue.
“I have tracked my quarry to Omega. She has made a hunting ground of the nightclub known as Afterlife. She is treacherous and evasive. We must draw her out of hiding with the utmost stealth. I have revealed all to Shepard, yet I… implore your help in this, as well,” she appears reluctant.
“You have found your daughter,” I furrow my brow. “I understand the urgency of your request, justicar. An ardat-yakshi loosed upon Omega could do immeasurable damage – there are none to protect the vulnerable from her clutches.”
Shepard’s eyes widen. “Thane – you knew about Morinth? How?”
My mouth opens with dismay, though I promptly close it again.
The justicar elaborates to spare my chagrin. “The assassin and I were known to each other before our recruitment, Shepard. He had many eyes on Illium and discovered my purpose there. Yet he has kept his oath to guard my shame from others. I honour that.”
Shepard shifts her eyes between us for a moment, then shakes her head as if to clear it. “Okay.”
“My apologies for not informing you sooner, siha,” I murmur, but she waves it off. “Very well – what would you have of me, justicar?”
“Shepard and I are like to be recognized on Omega, so your assistance gathering information from the shadows would be welcome. However, there is more I would ask of you, and it is of considerable weight.”
“Thane, I’m not ordering you to do this,” Shepard emphasizes. “I can do it if you’re uncomfortable with it – you’ve taught me some of your infiltration skills, so I could even handle the recon. But Samara thinks you’ve got a better chance of succeeding, and I can’t argue with her reasoning.”
“Speak your need, justicar.”
“You are aware, I am sure, of the allure your kind hold for many asari.”
“All too aware,” I grate, beginning to form a notion of what she wishes of me. My stomach twists.
“Morinth is no exception. We must lay a trap for her, draw her out of hiding to take a victim. She is drawn to violence, talent, and grace. She is a hedonist who revels in the aesthetics of artistry and flesh, in the intoxication of her senses. She hungers to claim these for herself in taking her victims. She will be unable to resist you.”
I look at her for a long time, unblinking. “I have lured targets with my body before, justicar. Many are attracted to drell, and I use that when I must. But I must infer your daughter will want more. She will want my venom.”
The justicar gives the barest of nods, but Shepard starts, nearly spilling her coffee.
“What? Wait, you didn’t mention that part, Samara…” her voice is reproachful.
“She will crave your venom and more,” the justicar ignores Shepard’s protest. “The mind of a drell is a feast for an ardat-yakshi. The richness of your sense memory would flood her with the most powerful euphoria she can know. The venom will only enhance the experience. She has preyed upon your kind before.”
“Shepard,” I turn to her, my mouth drawn in a tight line. “May I speak with the justicar alone, please?”
She appears even more alarmed now. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, siha. My apologies,” I lower my face.
“It’s okay, Thane,” she reassures me, but her expression is hurt. It pains her that I wish to conceal something from her. But I misgive her learning of it in this humiliating way, under the judging gaze of an asari justicar who wishes to exploit it.
“I vow my wish for privacy is borne of chagrin, not mistrust.”
“Okay. I’ll be in the mess hall if you need me.” She turns, and I watch her leave, silent until I hear the doors hissing shut. I turn to face the justicar.
“How much do you know of drell venom?” I put the question to her with a sharp point.
“Enough to understand the position it will place you in, should she wish to claim the full effect of it. Worse, if she takes you in her sway, you will want her to.”
I flush with mortification. “And you wish me to let her?”
The justicar gazes at me. “The venom will weaken her, leave her unaware of her danger, vulnerable to our strike. The venom in your neck may suffice.”
“I can expel it from my mouth, as well, if I wish to,” I grate. “Yet that method is also less potent.”
“It may be preferable to the alternative – if it proves enough.”
“Far preferable.”
“The harm to you lies in losing your will to protect your dignity, assassin – and you shall.”
“I have read of ardat-yakshi, justicar – I am aware of their abilities.”
“Perhaps not the scope of them. Her seductions will overwhelm you, and you will welcome it. She will promise the fulfilment of urges you’ve never dared to indulge, perhaps never knew you had. She will intuit your deepest-held wishes and your most fragile insecurities and play them like a harp. Her manipulations are centuries into maturity and grow more irresistible with each victim she takes. Only the most powerful of minds could resist. I know the weight of what I ask. Know that I do not ask it lightly.”
I am quiet as I ponder these dangers. I am sickened at the notion of indulging Morinth’s perversions, at the prospect of all she might move my body to do, at placing myself in the grasp of a demon. Moreover, I am stricken with fear at the depravity she may find and use within me. I have done many things – unfathomably vile things I’d never known myself capable of before Irikah’s end. I fear for Morinth to re-awaken the soul-broken monster I’ve fought so hard to silence.
But then I consider the countless others who have met their ends in that hideous manner, the innocent lives she has sundered and cut short, and the grief of those left behind. I am not innocent, and the conclusion of my life draws near. If we were to succeed, I would be Morinth’s last. I hear the charge of Arashu in my soul.
Your body is a weapon, shif’ra – it can be used to end her. It may bring you turmoil of body and mind, but your soul is bound to me, to Shepard, to Arashu, and to Kalahira – it can never belong to a demon. But be wary – you must abide for our son and for Shepard.
The echo of Irikah rings true.
“I believe I understand the risks, justicar. However, I have pledged myself to Shepard’s cause, and I cannot fail her in that. I have a son I must provide with love long owed to him. Will you be capable of bringing yourself to strike when the moment comes?” I demand. “There will be little room for hesitation. She is your daughter, and I know what it means to bear responsibility for the impending death of your child. I fought to prevent it with Kolyat, with all my soul. How will you do the opposite?”
“With every tool at my disposal – and every fibre of my being.”
I am chilled by this sentiment and by her conviction in it. Yet, I am also reassured. I cannot fathom how, but she means what she says.
“I believe there will be sufficient time to intervene,” she continues. “Morinth will wish to bathe in her experience of you as long as she can.”
“She enjoys toying with her food,” I deduce.
“That is a good way to put it, yes.”
I watch her for a long time, still churning with ambivalence. What she asks is monstrous – the surrender of my body, of my will to resist. More, for siha to bear witness to all of it. Still…
“I proposed to you once that we might aid each other in seeking redemption, justicar,” I recall. “This would be such an opportunity for us both. Ending Morinth would spare the fates of many souls. Your cause is just. Such a loss of my dignity is…an abhorrent prospect, but there is much I’ve yet to repay.”
“Please understand your dignity is not trivial to me. However, you may lose less in choosing to set it aside, particularly in service of such a cause,” she suggests.
“Perhaps,” I nod. “We shall see. I give myself over to your quest, justicar.”
In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, she closes her eyes and lowers her face. “I…thank you, assassin.”
“I shall summon Shepard back now,” I offer. “EDI,” I call out.
“Hello, Thane,” EDI’s mellifluous voice echoes through my alcove.
“Could you please tell Shepard we are ready to speak with her?”
“Of course,” she affirms with harmonious cheer.
“My thanks.”
The doors slide open again nearly at once, and I chuckle. Shepard must have been poised right outside them.
“Siha,” I greet her again.
“Everything sorted out?” she asks, sitting once more upon my cot.
“Yes, Shepard. I have agreed to assist,” I inform her.
She studies my face. “You’re sure?”
“The justicar’s need is great, and her quarry a menace I cannot allow to persist. Arashu’s will demands it of me.”
“Okay,” she relents. “How the hell do we pull this off?”
“The infiltration component will be straightforward – yet we must be thorough,” I offer.
“Yes, in that, I trust in your discretion. For the lure, some preparation will be required.”
“Like what?” Shepard creases her brow.
“You must present as an exciting conquest, assassin,” the justicar muses.
“Doesn’t he already?” Shepard argues, then turns to me. “Thane, you’re head-to-toe in leather and weapons.”
I sigh. “My armour is pragmatic, not aesthetic. A more…alluring disguise will be required.”
“I promised Kasumi we wouldn’t bother her – and nothing in her wardrobe will fit you, anyway.” We’ve sought Miss Goto’s help with disguises in the past, but Shepard had been her subject.
“We shall need to improvise with what we have on hand,” I frown.
“There is one more thing,” the justicar interjects, her voice grave.
“Name it,” I allow.
“Do you know how to dance?”
~Shepard~
We sit in a semi-circle in Thane’s alcove, heads bent in deliberation.
“Demonstrating proficiency with erotic dance will draw Morinth to you as a moth to a flame. It is one of her preferred art forms – she excels in it. You possess the physique, grace, and eidetic memory to master the skill quickly, assassin. If I’d danced in the past five hundred years, I would instruct you,” Samara informs Thane. “However, I doubt archaic pole-dancing techniques will serve in this instance.”
“Maybe that would work, though – it would be unique?” I offer.
“It would if you had breasts and a more generous backside, assassin,” Samara deadpans.
I bite back a giggle, trying to stay serious.
“Given that I possess neither, we need to find another instructor,” Thane grates. “My apologies, siha, but I’m afraid you don’t qualify.”
“Hey…” I protest.
“He is correct, Shepard. You are known for your grace and prowess in battle. You are equally known for lacking it on the dance floor.”
"Hey!” I protest with more heat. “Come on, I’m not that bad…”
Neither of them rush to my defence. I cross my arms, frowning.
“Okay, fine – who do we ask, then?”
“Kelly may know of a candidate,” Thane suggests.
“Yeah, outside Kasumi, she’s gathered the most dirt on everyone,” I nod.
“Is anything more required to prepare, justicar?” Thane levels his gaze at the asari matriarch beside him.
“This shall do, to begin with. Our journey to Omega should allow sufficient time to ready yourself,” she returns with solemnity.
“As I must,” he inclines his head.
“I shall take my leave of you now,” Samara rises. “I must meditate upon this matter. I place my trust in you, assassin.”
“I shall not fail it,” he asserts.
My eyes drift back and forth between the two of them, mesmerized. Thane’s rare interactions with Samara are unlike his dynamic with anyone else on the Normandy. Thane never abandons his articulate courtesy. It’s as much a part of him as his penetrating eyes. But with the others, he shows hints of humour, camaraderie, kindness…warmth. Well – except Jacob, but that’s Jacob’s fault.
With Samara, Thane appears caught up in a contest of grim chivalry, in a tense gravity that hangs heavy between them. I never thought Thane could be more formal than he is by habit, but with Samara, he is overflowing with it.
“Please seek me out when you are ready,” Samara requests, then turns to exit the life support bay. When the doors hiss shut again, I notice a visible loosening of Thane’s muscles.
“Okay, what is the deal with you and Samara?” I ask, studying his relieved expression.
“She mentioned we had met prior to our recruitment,” he begins. “Now that she has revealed her secret, I may explain the circumstances. The first time we met, she attempted to kill me.”
Halfway through a long sip of coffee, I aspirate some of it and spray the other half out of my mouth in a hail of droplets that rain onto his table.“What?!” I choke.
He glances at the speckles of coffee and saliva now staining the cover of an old book. “Miss Goto will be displeased,” he murmurs. He retrieves a washcloth from a hook on the wall and begins to blot at it.
“Sorry, Thane,” I try to stifle my coughing fit and set my mug down. “Samara tried to kill you?”
“When she arrived in Nos Astra, she learned of my presence and history – I still do not know how. She began to hunt me while I tracked Nassana Dantius. She cornered me in an alleyway as I met with one of my drala’fa. Fortunately, Petrey and I both emerged unharmed – but it was a near thing. I threw Petrey clear with my biotics and fled beneath my tactical cloak. I escaped through an air duct, then charged my network of drala’fa with obtaining information regarding her movements and business in Nos Astra. That is how I learned of Morinth.”
“Jesus! Thane, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” I frown at him. Whenever I think I’ve figured him out, he drops another bombshell. If mysteriousness weren’t an essential part of his magnetism, I’d be infuriated by it.
“When we joined you, we both swore we would not disclose our prior altercation to preserve the integrity of your mission.”
“That’s what you two were doing while I was pulling Conrad Verner away from matriarch Aethyta. I thought you both looked…intense…when we came back with the drinks.”
“Yes, siha,” he frowns for a moment, gathering his words. “However, even had I not given my vow, I would never dare cross the justicar. There are very few souls I would confess I find…frightening. She ranks among them.”
My eyes widen with surprise. “Why? Well, other than trying to kill you – but lots of people have tried to kill you.”
“Fewer than you might think, siha, particularly before I joined you – you tend to draw a lot of gunfire. My reputation has served to deter most attempts on my life. But asari matriarchs are among the most powerful and fearful beings in the galaxy,” he explains. “I have never accepted a freelance contract against one for that reason – and to my fortune, the hanar never required it of me. Nassana was at the beginning of her matron phase, which was peril enough. For all my capabilities, a matriarch could sever me in half with her biotics before I could blink.”
“I haven’t seen many in action aside from Samara – I think most of them stay on Thessia – but the ones I’ve met are pretty impressive,” I allow.
“You have witnessed the justicar’s power for yourself, but it is heightened by the rigidity with which she exercises her moral code. She cannot be turned aside by reasoning, mercy, or circumstance. She is judge, jury, and executioner, a juggernaut of axiomatic, rigid law. She sees no gray and holds no quarter. She is…the closest thing I could conceive to an angel of Chey’aula.”
“Chey’aula? She’s the bad goddess, right?” I squint.
“Not precisely bad, siha. Chey’aula is the destroyer of lost souls. Some souls cannot be allowed to persist, and these she breaks on her wheel of fire. However, she is indiscriminate in her sundering. Souls whose bodies die before making amends to existence are also broken. Chey’aula is the death of redemption.”
“You’ve cursed to Chey’aula a lot,” I remember. “I should have asked more about her sooner. You think she’s going to break your soul.”
He nods, looking down. “If I fail you, fail Arashu’s call, she will break it, and I shall cease to exist. My soul will not return to the sea. It will scatter to the void, to oblivion.”
“It’s funny – a lot of humans already assume that’s what will happen when we die. Our religions argue against it, offer ideas of the afterlife to…well, to prevent having to face the terror of nonexistence.”
“I have read much on Earth’s religions since I joined you. I have never asked if you ascribed to any. You have rarely uttered oaths or prayers indicating faith, though religious curses seem part of common human parlance.”
“I’m…a hopeful agnostic,” I smile. “I have trouble knowing what to believe because knowing anything for certain is impossible, and blind faith is hard for me after everything I’ve seen. But I hope when I die – well, when I die again – it won’t be a fade to eternal nothing. I don’t like that idea much.”
He nods, watching me with compassion. “Acknowledging the impossibility of knowing is a Socratic philosophy – and a wise one. Faith is a source of grounding for me, siha. For you, perhaps your grounding is in your soul.”
“Heh – maybe. Or maybe I’m just too indecisive to pick a team.”
“You are anything but indecisive, siha,” his eyelids flutter as he watches me, and his admiration incites a familiar surge of painful wanting. I grit my teeth against it because, once again, we don’t have much time, and the situation he’s about to face concerns me.
“Thane – I know you’re determined to make amends for your past. But what you’ve just agreed to sounds disturbing. Samara explained the risks to me, but I didn’t know about the venom thing. It got me thinking…I know how close I had to get to you for that to work.” I’m torn between arousal and chagrin at the memory of burying my tongue in his neck and my subsequent trip to the medbay. “I don’t think I’d fully grasped how far this might go.”
“The justicar asks much of me. I have told you before that drell see no shame in sex, and that holds true for me. It is the exploitation of my venom in itself that most disturbs me – it has been a source of suffering for many of my kind. But as I told the justicar, the cause is just, and Arashu’s will impels me to answer the call. To end Morinth is to spare the lives of countless innocent souls.”
“Thane, I’m having second thoughts about it. This seems…too close to a violation of consent for my liking,” I admit.
“It is an informed choice – the justicar made certain I knew enough to make it so. I am consenting for my body to be used as it must, much as with my assassination contracts,” Thane reasons.
“No…it’s more than that, and you know it. It won’t just be your body – she can fuck with your emotions, your will. How far do we let her take you before she’s distracted enough to move in on her? What…” I swallow hard. “What will you have to do?”
His eyes are troubled, and he reaches over to take one of my hands in both of his. “I do not know, siha. She may want all of me, and if it goes poorly, I may die.”
“I’m not letting you die, Thane,” I insist. “Samara be damned, I’ll pull the trigger early myself if it looks like it’s headed that way.”
“I must trust in that, for I am assenting to this mission knowing I cannot turn back once I've committed. But it…pains me that you must witness my attempts to seduce another.”
“Thane – I’m no more prone to jealousy than you are,” I admit. “We talked about your beliefs when you told me you didn’t care if I kept seeing Jacob. I should have mentioned it then, but…it was a little embarrassing.”
“Why would it embarrass you, siha?”
“I’ve…been in a couple of three-way flings before, and…well, I like to watch.” My cheeks burn. “Some people think that’s…creepy.”
Something flickers in his eyes, and he lowers his face - but I can still see his mouth pulling into a smile. “I know you enjoy watching, siha. I’ve had opportunities to notice, and I’ve had to intervene when your voyeurism’s placed you in danger.”
“Like the time my oxygen ran out infiltrating Harkin’s highrise because I spent too much time gawking through the window at that asari fucking the drell guy...” I can’t help grinning at the memory, though it wasn’t funny at the time – not the suffocation part. I push down the amusement because the current situation is serious. “Thane – this feels different. It feels…degrading. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I have been used for many purposes in my life, siha. Whatever I must do to lure Morinth in, what acts I may commit – these will be of my body, even of my influenced mind, but my soul's intention is not to enjoy her. It is to end her.”
“That’s what makes it disturbing, Thane,” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“A multitude of troubling dilemmas cross us, siha,” he murmurs. “Yet there is one thing I do know.”
I look up at him. “What’s that?”
“That I am yours,” he says with conviction. Then, raising his hand to the back of my neck, he pulls me toward him, kissing me with a fierce insistence that pulls my breath from my lungs. He takes things no further, but he doesn’t need to. The kiss tells me enough.
~
Kelly looks back and forth between me and Thane, smiling. “Dance lessons, huh? Shepard, uh, are you sure you’re not the one who needs them?”
“My moves are just fine, Chambers,” I narrow my eyes, and I can see she’s trying not to laugh.
“Okay. I’m not terrible at dancing, but at least a few crew members are better.”
“Such as?” Thane prods her.
“Well…Jacob,” she winces.
“No,” I say, and Thane grumbles, “Never.”
We look at each other, and Kelly and I chuckle. Thane favours us with his short chuff of a laugh.
“Doc has formal dance training, but it’s classical dance,” Kelly continues. “Jazz, tap, ballet. She’s up-to-date with it and uses it in her workout routines.”
“We’ll keep that one in our back pocket, Kel. Who’s the third?”
Kelly hesitates a moment, then submits.
“Jack.”