Chapter Text
Councilor Alana’rae Tevos was just settling into a mid-afternoon meditation session when their omni-tool went off, soft chimes breaking into the otherwise quiet air of their office. A headache threatened, one of those miserable pounding things that made every fabric uncomfortable, and every noise an irritant.
Piiiing~
The sound of the chime was not in a priority pattern, so surely it could wait.
When the last tone finished, Tevos breathed in, held it for a moment, and released. Again, breathing in, breathing out, and trying to embrace tranquility.
Piiiing~
Breathing in… breathing out…
Piiiing~
Their next exhale was more frustration than relaxation. As the Asari Councilor, Tevos was held to a high, no impeccable , standard of poise by the Matriarchs of Thessia and the galaxy at large. To be the Asari Councilor was to be the absolute definition of level headedness and grace, in a position where an incredible amount of politicking was required to keep some forty billion odd lives, comprised of dozens of species, in relative stability.
… and it would be very nice if they didn’t have a headache this afternoon.
Ping ping! Ping ping!
…and that was a priority notification.
With a sigh, and quick prayer to Athame, Tevos uncoiled from their meditation pose and went to check on the messages.
Piiiing~
Another one? What could be so-
Piiiing~
Each chime made the tension in their shoulders ratchet tighter, the pounding in their temples that much heavier. They plopped down behind their desk, and opened up the communications app.
Eighteen new messages, one priority. That was… a bit much for having spent half an hour away from their work station.
Piiiing~
Nineteen. Tevos sighed.
Whatever was happening, it wasn’t going to stop, was it? Before opening up the priority message, they slipped a hypo from their desk drawer. A stimulant cocktail they had on prescription, kept for just such occasions. No more headache, plenty of energy and positivity, at the cost of exhaustion later.
The stims hit like a refreshing breeze, and Tevos reached out to the haptic keyboard with delicate blue fingers to open their communications panel. They began to read a series of quick notes, fresh from ST&R’s Intel Labs, that read like the plot of a science fiction novel.
One of the joint Citadel Council aides rushed into the room, “Councilor! There’s-”
Tevos held up a hand, a gesture for ‘wait’, and continued reading the emergency debrief. The aide shifted in place, standing silent but visibly anxious just inside the door.
The intel described first contact with a new species, discovered on the edge of Salarian Union space. An ark of sorts that had escaped a dying sun, bringing ten billion lives across the stars. This would normally be a wonderful event, worthy of international celebration even.
However.
Faced with the impossible task of housing, feeding, and entertaining a population of billions, this race had gone to extremes. Rather than choose who could and couldn’t go, they built a single megastructure and uploaded the consciousness of each and every citizen to the servers onboard. Empty bodies were left behind on the mass grave of their homeworld as the newly digital race escaped into dark space. They now lived in an artificial reality governed by an AI that was their functional god.
Goddess… wasn’t that insane?
To complicate matters, the media were already aware of the sensational new race, and had dubbed the vessel ‘The Ghost Ship’. Something of a joke, considering that the entire population was disembodied.
Tevos flipped to the communique from Valern. A joint fleet of Hierarchy and Union ships were escorting the Ghost Ship to the Citadel, hoping to make use of the Destiny Ascension’s large, free floating dock. They needed permission from Tevos and the Council of Matriarchs on Thessia for this, but there weren’t any other options. Even the Turian’s largest dreadnought docking station was too small by far.
The ship also came with its own ambassador, a consciousness who had been communicating with the Salarians since the beginning. Both this ‘Ambassador Sygan’ and STG commander Hokin Vis had mutually assessed the level of scientific advancement of the other’s race for several hours before the virtual aliens had seen fit to deliver a treaty proposal.
That seemed… rather fast, in Tevos’ professional opinion.
They paused in reading, and turned to the aide. “Yes?”
“I’m just here to make sure you were getting your messages, Councilor. Do you need anything? I’m on my way to check on the rest of the tower staff if not.”
Tevos shook their head, gesturing at their work terminal. “No, I’m still digesting this. Can you arrange for the larger conference room on the fifth floor to be prepared? And issue an invitation to the relevant diplomatic staff? Catering, as well.”
“Of course, I’ll get that done right away. What time would you like the room ready?”
The Asari Councilor eyed their message screen speculatively. Another ping went off. “Twenty minutes, if you please.”
The aide bowed quickly and sped off, leaving Alana’rae to continue taking in the situation. Sifting through the many messages turned up a copy of the treaty proposal itself. The broad strokes of their terms were most enticing, and immediately controversial. Not to mention dire, as the Ghost Ship was at five percent power and falling.
The virtual aliens requested three things, and offered much in return. To start, they wanted rapid development of an energy production facility that could output a hundred and fifty three quadrillion joules a second.
“By the Goddess,” Tevos muttered to themselves. “That’s half a star’s worth of energy, and they want this produced every second?”
The proposal called their power systems ‘worn out and dated’. Fortunately for the Ghost Ship aliens, what was dated by their standards was revolutionary for the Council Races. On top of all the knowledge needed to build their facility, they also offered the long-sought-after solution to the entropy equation that put a cap on the lifespan of element zero based drive cores. That little treasure would be given upon completion of the energy facility.
This was merely the first of three offers. Tevos had never heard of a treaty so potentially groundbreaking. The half-life of element zero was the last great limiter on intergalactic travel. Truthfully though, the Councilor lamented that the situation had already gone semi-public. Many of the arrangements could have been accomplished without pushback or setting unwanted legal precedence, if only it could have been negotiated behind closed doors.
But what was done, was done
“Councilor!”
“Yes?” They replied automatically. It was their primary aide coming through the door, who deposited a cup of tea on their desk. Oh, it was freshly brewed Thessian heartleaf, their favorite. Tevos sighed and left the drink where it sat, too stressed to really enjoy it.
“I’m sorry for shouting Councilor, but I had been calling your name and you didn’t reply.”
“I was… very engrossed. What did you need?”
“Councilor Valern and his staff, as well as the dignitaries from the Illuminated Primacy and Systems Alliance, are in the conference room already. The Ambassador from the Courts of Dekuuna is out of the office today. Their security team says they’ll be in within the hour, but I told them we would not be waiting on them. However, Councilor Sparatus and the Volus Ambassador are also going to be ten minutes late. I thought you’d want to know that you do have a few extra minutes if you need it.”
“Wonderful, thank you. I’ll use that time wisely.” The aide left, and Tevos returned to speed-reading the treaty. On to the second proposal.
Some of the virtual aliens wanted physical, organic bodies of their own regardless of whether the Ghost Ship’s energy needs were met. They were asking for clones. Over two thousand requests were listed in the documentation, dossiers included. For every fifty citizens provided for the virtual aliens offered one data packet of choice from a long, tantalizing list of advanced technologies. Some of the highlights included improvements to stasis technology, and inertial dampeners that could contend with significantly greater kinetic forces than current generation equipment.
Tevos leaned back in their chair to ponder what they had learned so far. A thousand hidden dangers surely lurked in the details. With the eyes of every major government in the galaxy on this, including the Terminus Lords, the situation would require… compromises. It would be paramount to ensure that the myriad new technologies didn’t upset the galactic balance of power. New tech in the wrong hands would be like dropping a frozen stone into boiling water.
Tevos stood, locking their terminal down and reopening the message app on their omni-tool. They continued to process and read en route to the fifth floor, heartleaf tea forgotten on their desk.
Notes:
Author's Note: Chapter lengths will vary, wildly. I don't pay much attention to chapter size, so much as good pause points. :P
Chapter Text
The pre-recorded voice message from the Ghost Ship’s Ambassador Sygan was on it’s second playthrough via the conference table’s holoprojector when Alana’rae stood and murmured excuses of heading for the restroom. In truth, they were headed for their favorite nook in the tower, one with almost no foot traffic and a lovely view of the nebula.
They strode from the room, two aides in tow while a third automatically took up a spot by their chair and continued taking notes.
When Tevos made it near their intended nook the two other aides took up casual idling down the hall, giving them space without needing to be asked, Goddess bless them. The Councilor took a seat on the lone bench and stared out into the misty purple skies to think.
Sygan described their world as a surreal place, where years could pass in minutes, where life and death were nothing more than a game. A place where scientific discoveries unlike anything seen before lurked in data nodes at the edges of the Ghost Ship’s energy capacity. Most of it’s citizens had long since fled from these edges, congregating in only the most stable of servers. But long ago they had run billions of simulations. Left pi to calculate for millenia. Ran through the genetic anomalies of every species of animal on their lost homeworld, seeking answers both spiritual and biological.
These abandoned data nodes were being lost, more every minute… and their secrets were on offer.
Before their proposed facility was even begun, they asked for emergency energy from the power cores of existing vessels connected via hardline. In exchange, the Ghost Ship aliens would allow unlimited access to a handful of ‘diving stations’ onboard the ship. Nearly any species could be hooked up to the precursor tech that had been used during their homeworld’s calamity, even some intelligent animals. Except the early diving technology wasn’t intended to be permanent. So long as their bodies were maintained, they could return anytime.
With any knowledge they had acquired.
Granted, Ambassador Sygan had focused more on friendships and cultural exchange, an amusingly familiar line for the Asari Councilor to be hearing from another party. He’d gone on for quite some time about how many of their people would just love to visit the Citadel, and tentatively touched on the idea of body swapping for cultural exchange. Tevos rolled their eyes, to an audience of none, at the idea that they would be doing ‘digital tourism’ any time soon.
So, what they needed was a counter proposal. Not civilians, but perhaps ‘ambassadors’. If the definition of ambassador could be reasonably stretched to include military professionals. Tevos preferred to send Asari of high enough rank that they would have been granted access to the Temple of Athame soon. Perhaps within the century? Those who didn’t yet know about the Prothean becon’s secrets, and couldn’t lose that knowledge to alien tech, but who had also proven to be trustworthy enough to soon be allowed in.
However, Sparatus, even as flexible as he usually was about ‘Asari secrets’, would likely have a few things to say about sending commandos -and only commandos- on such a gambit. Really, the finer details could be worked out later, they just needed whoever went diving to have discretion.
That is, if the invitation wasn’t actually a trap to lure well-informed Council citizens into a virtual world to be mentally datamined, and have their body sent back as a sleeper agent or re-occupied shell.
Yes, or that.
Tevos’ stress headache tried valiantly to overcome the soothing coolness of the medication they’d taken earlier. A vidcall from Palaven began chiming on their omni-tool. They took a long, deep breath as they stood back up, taking the hallway to the conference room at a leisurely pace. Alana’rae plastered on a politician's smile and accepted the incoming request.
“Primarch Enterus, it’s lovely to hear from you, circumstances notwithstanding. Tell me, what can I do for you?”
Notes:
[LATEST NEWS: Breakthrough in Communication with Antilin "Ghost Ship"]
“A breakthrough today in the case of the mysterious "ghost ship" in the Antilin System: Famed exo-biologist Jordan Detweiler from MIT's Extraterrestrial Studies Group traveled to the ship, now held in quarantine. Detweiler engaged the ship's AI system, which has been piloting the craft for an undetermined number of years and appears to be the sole sentient lifeform onboard. Given previous failed communication attempts, Detweiler explained how he succeeded: "In rudimentary terms, it was an I.Q. test. The ship's AI was determining that we weren't some band of dullard space pirates, that we understood things like quantum string theory, emergent systems, and a host of other advanced concepts. I was able to satisfy its demands and gain access to the interior. I need to do more analysis, but I think this is the exo-archaeological find of the century. I will say that the ship appears to be at least 8,000 years old."Author's Note: For those of you familiar with my main work Either Die a Hero, I just want to let you know now (before you get your hopes up for relationships and fanon from that work) that this universe is by-and-large unrelated. The inherent characters are the same, but there's utterly no way to make the timeline fit. At all. It's an AU of and AU? Haha.
Chapter 3: It's always a trap
Notes:
[NEW LEAKED INFORMATION: Alien "Ghost Ship" Saga Under Veil of Secrecy!]
“The saga of the alien "ghost ship" has made a surprising turn. Earlier today, reports surfaced that the Citadel Council was prepared to rule against saving the ship, fearing its AI system was sophisticated enough to pose a "security threat of unknown dimensions." In response, chief scientist Jordan Detweiler inserted himself into the virtual alien world to warn its citizens of their civilization's imminent end. He returned one minute later -- apparently equal to several days within the accelerated timeline of the alien world -- bringing a treaty offer from its inhabitants. At that point, details turn sketchy. One inside source claims the virtual aliens offered scientific advancements "far beyond anything we have" in return for assistance. A veil of secrecy was immediately erected, with Citadel intelligence agencies classifying the matter as top-secret. Rumors now have Jordan Detweiler embarking on a Council-sanctioned mission into the virtual world to make diplomatic contact.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s probably a trap,” mused Sparatus.
“Very possibly, yes. I did consider that. My question in return is ‘does that change anything?’ ” Tevos asked breezily, chin perched on a light blue palm.
“Even if it’s not a trap, then there’s more they aren’t telling us.” Arms crossed under his keel, Councilor Sparatus leaned back in his chair. The lighting did no favors to his plates, giving the appearance of older, more washed out colors. The effect made him look severe.
To his left, Valern was staring off into space. That usually meant the Salarian was thinking at computer speeds, and would contribute something useful to the conversation soon enough. In the meantime, Sparatus watched his other coworker get up and start preparing drinks at the sideboard.
Normally an assistant would be doing that, but no one was currently allowed in the room as they discussed the finer details of what he’d already termed in his head as the ‘Ghost Ship Debacle’. An entire race of people who turned themselves into synthetics . Spirits.
Tevos opened several different boxes, sniffing each before deciding what to serve. “My previous question remains relevant.”
“Yes, I know,” he sighed. “I would still like to know what their race is even called. I’m already getting sick of calling them ‘the virtual aliens’ or ‘the citizens of the ghost ship’. Needlessly dramatic, don’t you think?”
Tevos’ lip pursed, trying to suppress a smile. “A bit. Perhaps if you ask Sygan in writing it won’t get brushed aside again?”
“Mmn. So I assume you’re still in favor of sending a team in there…” he thought aloud.
He knew without a doubt Tevos wanted whatever esoteric scraps of data that could be had from the new species. Strange circumstances or not, it was just like any other Prothean dig opportunity, if you looked at it sideways.
The Asari Councilor set a clear glass cup of fragrant silvery tea in front of him. “Their technological developments stalled out eight thousand years ago, when this species left their home system and ceased testing new ideas outside of their digital worlds. That liveship is more advanced than anything we have… and inside of it are servers with eight thousand more years of theoretical advancements past that point.”
He hummed and took a sip, gaze lingering on the fluid ripples of the fluid’s surface. “Nearly half of the Senate of Primarchs want to destroy the ship entirely, and the Council of Hierarchs are talking ‘conflict preparedness’ instead of ‘first contact protocols’. Technically, the entire race is AI… and the laws on that are clear.”
Valern chose that moment to speak up. “They were alive once. Organic. Chose to become synthetic to escape extinction… to judge them with laws that existed before such a situation was even a theoretical possibility in our minds is unjust and small minded.”
Sparatus and Tevos both paused at that. Their third, generally the most scientific and critical of the three councilors, made a very good point.
Large black eyes narrowed as Valern continued, “They have nothing to offer us except information. Our scans confirm that their vessel is low on power. Of course data is what they will bargain with. Is it high risk? Yes. Not insignificant odds that they will send back body-swapped aliens instead of whoever we send in...”
“However?” Tevos prompted when he trailed off, setting a second cup of tea before him.
“However,” Valern continued, elbows on the table and fingertips steepled in front of him, “if we perform robust brain scanning of those we send in, and they come back changed unacceptably? We would know more about what kind of threat they pose before completing this energy facility. We would have insight into their level of trustworthiness”
Sparatus tapped a talon against his tea cup, making more ripples. “You’re saying we should use the offer of sending a team into their servers. Treat it like a-” he paused, mandibles flexing, “-like a litmus test.”
“Precisely.”
The Turian Councilor mulled on that, quickly weighing pros and cons. Clever, he decided, circumspect and clever.
“Tevos?” Sparatus asked, finding himself somewhat more onboard with it.
The Asari made a soft, indistinct noise and turned to go stand by the windows with their own drink, gaze overlooking the Presidium. It was a beautiful day outside. The weather randomizer was on ‘sunshowers over the parks, with scattered rainbows’. He waited, knowing that every Asari liked time to think, and his fellow Councilor was no exception. Opposite the view onto the presidium were the windows looking out into the Serpent nebula, where the Ghost ship sat in it’s makeshift dock, surrounded by two full fleets of warships on standby. It loomed, round and massive, silver, faintly wood grained in texture.
Eventually, Tevos stepped from the window and returned to the table. “Have we considered who to send in?”
Mentally, the Turian Councilor started flipping through the personnel they had available. In the spirit of cooperation, he offered a starting ground that might appeal to everyone. “I think we’d all prefer to send only Council representatives, but with the pushback lately, I doubt we could get away with that. What do you think about one operative each from STG, the Huntresses, Blackwatch, and the Spectres? A team of four would be a good number to send.”
Tevos made a face at him, but it smoothed out quickly. “I suppose, though we will certainly need individuals with discretion. Not all of the information retrieved may be… safe. An information leak could do such immense damage to galactic peace.”
Valern hummed in displeasure, “Imagine if the terminus systems got their hands on it and we did not?”
Sparatus grunted, not liking that possibility whatsoever. “I say we request each nation select several candidates for us to choose between? It would give us more control over who goes.”
Valern, with a touch of sly amusement, offered a complication, “You’re both forgetting something.”
They turned to him, waiting for it.
“With the ten-year economic forum coming up, the accessory races will all want representation, and they’ll be willing to burn a great deal of leverage to ensure they have it.”
Sparatus groaned, palming a hand back over his crest. “Spirits, I can already imagine the Hegemony delegation up in arms about not being included from the start. And the Systems Alliance? It doesn’t matter what you do, they’ll find something to feel upset and entitled about.”
Tevos sighed expansively, mumbling one word, “Hanar.”
Valern drained his tea, and settled back in his chair, “So, we need to figure out who to send, who we really do not want to include, and how to enforce this. We also need to choose a Spectre we’re willing to risk, who’s most likely to comply with off the record orders about potentially dangerous information.”
“Yes,” Sparatus replied slowly, thinking, “We’ll need someone that can and will take out other agents, if it’s for the greater good.”
“Agreed,” Tevos chimed in, “Anything else?”
“Yes. Next we need to decide-”
The endless meetings continued on.
Notes:
[UPDATE: MIT Exo-Biologist Claims Astonishing Antilin "Ghost Ship" Discovery]
“The scientific community is abuzz today after the latest report from MIT exo-biologist Jordan Detweiler was filed last night from the Antilin System, where he's currently investigating a mysterious "ghost ship." Claiming a breakthrough, Detweiler writes, "What I've discovered is nothing short of astonishing: This so-called derelict ship isn't derelict at all. It appears that an alien race has downloaded its consciousness to a massive array of quantum computers onboard the vessel. It's my belief these aliens now reside entirely in a virtual world and have been there for at least 8,000 years." Detweiler estimates the population of the virtual world numbers close to one billion individuals, but with the nature of their existence the real number is unknowable. He explains: "The ship's AI is something of a caretaker to these people, or even a god depending on how you look at it. More importantly, the AI is now requesting our help. It says a power failure is imminent and threatens the entire virtual civilization."
Chapter Text
The priority communication ping went off in his aural implant just about halfway into the night cycle. Avitus groaned softly, caught between the sleepy desire to ignore it, and the professional understanding that he couldn't.
Piiing piiing.
Piiing piing.
Avitus hated waking up to that particular chime; it was basically the worst of all possible disturbances to a night cycle. Tonight especially he was so comfortable it was a struggle to open his eyes, what with a warm pile of limbs curled around him like an eel, and plush, talon-resistant pillows half burying them both.
It didn’t help that the abominable sound of that particular ping during shore leave generally only meant one thing: removing the other Turian from his spot, and heading out on fresh orders.
Like the fool he was, Avitus brought up his omni-tool on low-light mode, and prayed to the spirits that he was just mistakenly CCed on a priority memo for someone else. Or that it could wait the three days off he had left.
As expected, it was for him, specifically, and demanded attention, right now.
---
[PRIORITY:Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 16:49:22:84:52360
Nihlus has been selected for what seems to be a multi-organization suicide mission. I was not consulted. Do you still have that contact at Blackwatch? I am going to speak with the Council on his behalf, and I need an alibi we can burn to explain how I know. Reply immediately.
-S.A.
[End Message.]
---
Avitus palmed his face, trying to wake up the rest of the way. He wasn’t going to get Macen into ‘capital punishment’ grade trouble just to satisfy Saren’s need to have his talons in everything. Then again. Saren’s habit of pessimistic worrying had the curse of being very nearly precognitive in it’s accuracy. If his former mentor was demanding something be done as soon as possible? Eh… odds weren’t in their favor that it was nothing to worry about.
“Macen? Wake up luv, I need your help. Mace? Come on, stop trying to burrow into- don’t bite me, you menace.” Avitus made a noise of complaint and tried to detach his attacker. “I need to know if you have any coworkers you’d like to get rid of?”
The assault on his side stopped, and sleepy but curious eyes came up over his keel to peer at him. “Murder?”
“I want to say no, but getting someone killed incidentally still counts,” he offered with a shrug, then moved his omni-tool to where the other Turian could see the message from his mentor.
“Hmm… who’s Nihlus?” he was asked, Macen’s sharp eyes reading and rereading the words for context. He probably got a lot out of it, too cunning for his own good.
Avitus rubbed at Macen’s lower back idly. “That’s Saren’s only other surviving apprentice. He’s a good guy.”
Macen hummed. “I can give you a name, and the files to spoof a server hack, for someone who probably has an in on this. They’re high enough in the chain of command that they probably won’t get anything worse than a hefty demerit on their files. Probably.”
“Seriously? That’s… exactly what Saren would need to walk up to the Council with pointed questions.”
“Arterius is willing to throw random strangers to the klixen, on your word that a name I give you deserves it… no questions asked?”
“... I’ll be honest, pretty sure Saren would accept any name that checked out, if it was Nihlus or me on the line. He’s a very specific breed of asshole.”
Macen’s face did a thing, mandibles pulling into an unimpressed expression. “Lovely. Sounds absolutely par for the course at ST&R.”
“Hey now, you including me in that?” Avitus complained, though his grin ruined the effect, “I’m super nice, not an asshole at all.”
Macen gave him an unimpressed look, then turned back to the message, squinting at it thoughtfully. “Truth be told, I want to get you away from your horrible career choices a lot more than I care about saving your Spectre buddy, but…”
“But…?” Avitus asked hopeful.
“But I’m too tired to figure out how to use this to my advantage to leverage or blackmail you out of the special tactics program. We’ve only slept, what, three hours?”
The Spectre huffed a laugh, nuzzling the other man’s forecrest. Macen looked tragically cute when he was grumpy. “Help me figure this out, and I’ll put in a request for a long vacation next month, especially seeing as this one got interrupted?”
Macen’s nasal plates scrunched up judgmentally, “Sir, you are taking me on a proper vacation for this. I want alcoholic drinks with little umbrellas in them. I want my plates buffed while I lounge on the sand and breathe planetary air.”
“Beach vacation, spa treatments… you’ve got really fancy tastes for a ‘colonial administrator’,” he teased. What an underwhelming technical title for Macen’s permanent deployment setting up Hierarchy bases in dangerous locations.
“I’ll show you ‘fancy’, Rix.”
“Oi! Stop biting me! What are you, a cannibal?”
---
[Encrypted Message from A. Rix]
1QLSS:000245/224297* // 17:03:01:88:45283
My contact isn’t one I’m willing to burn, but I reached out and they’ve got a better idea. Meet us at that kava cafe on the presidium? The one with the weird plants.
Take it easy,
Rix
[End Message.]
Notes:
[UPDATE: Galaxy Remains Riveted to Ongoing "Ghost Ship" Saga]
“The galaxy remains riveted to the ongoing saga of the AI-driven "ghost ship," now in danger of perishing because of dwindling energy reserves. Evolutionary biologists have jumped into the fray, with one claiming the extinction of the virtual alien race is the natural order of things. "Face it," Turian scientist Elgus Paramon argued, "these aliens were clever, but they weren't clever enough to build a better battery. Their lack of foresight is a failure to adapt to changing conditions. Their species represents an evolutionary dead-end, and their civilization should be allowed to perish." Responding, the chief exo-biologist investigating the ship, Jordan Detweiler, said "Mr. Paramon would have us commit genocide by turning a blind eye to the situation. We can save this civilization. The power requirements to preserve their virtual world are manageable." The matter has been left to the Citadel Council to handle.”
Chapter Text
Weird. It felt… really damn weird. Being incorporeal, that is. Or digital, or whatever the technicians were calling this.
The first few hours of Nihlus’ digital life involved a lot of getting lost in thought. It didn’t help that he was in an endless space lit with a nondirectional glow. The briefing had described this. He had been told not to leave the ‘welcome zone’ until he felt ‘normal’. Whatever that all meant.
No physical body meant he had no neurochemistry reminding him to eat, yet the habit of wanting food remained. He didn’t have hormones making him think about sex, but the conceptual desire for closeness and fun still drew him to the idea. All the aches of old injuries were reduced to an echo, though the psychological pain of his personal demons were as strong as ever.
It took him the better part of ten hours, digital time, to get a handle on manifesting himself solidly and constantly, keeping his thoughts firm and his sense of self anchored. Almost the second he started to feel okay, a floating green panel appeared, glossy and made of hardlight. On it was handwritten script, done neatly in the Hierarchy’s trade language.
[Wow, hi~! Your cohesion state is unusually high for a newcomer?? Your people like names right? I’m Essi-ami, and I’ll be your guide! Try speaking out loud? I should be able to hear you.]
“Uhhhhh hi?”
The text faded from the panel like smoke off a campfire, replaced with a new message even as it disappeared.
[Hi! I can hear you just fine. How are you feeling? Any distress?]
Nihlus’ form fluctuated. It didn’t feel unstable, exactly, but more like his entire being was trying to change every split second to fully and completely suit the flow of feeling that made up things like tone of voice and subvocals and physical expressions. He took a breath, thought of nothing for a moment, then focused hard into doing everything here that he would normally do… out there.
He smiled at the panel in a friendly way, scratching at the underside of his chin. The hide was soft and supple. His talons were sharp and lacquered. “I’m feeling… like I’m made of… you know what? I don’t think I can put it into words, but I’m alright for now.”
[Great! Would you like to start the training module I made for you? I’ve been studying Turian biology and psychology for two decades now… I know that probably doesn’t seem like much, but I made these modules custom just for you and they’re really good, I promise!]
Yes, two decades was such a paltry amount of time to dedicate toward xenostudies. They were very upbeat about it too. Nihlus snorted. He’d been assigned a baby AI he supposed? Er…not-AI. Semi-AI?
“Sure,” is what he said out loud, trying to come across as polite and friendly. He wasn’t ready to become the reason the second ever contact with non-organic intelligence went sideways. “Thanks for your hard work.”
[You are so welcome! Here goes nothing…]
Suddenly, he was home.
Nihlus blinked hard, looking around at the familiar deserts of Triginta Petra. It looked and felt real, down to the dusty orange soil, and murky clouds on the horizon. He didn’t recognize the mountains or seashore in the distance, but they looked right at home.
“Wow… you were going for Tri, right? Where I grew up?”
[Yes! Oh I am so glad you recognized it right away. I’m sure you can still go home anytime you want, but ah, oh well… none of us can? An emulation of home is a special thing to us. So I made this as a present!]
“Ahh… I get that. Thanks. Quarians are like that too… they say ‘you can never really go home’, but it’s entirely literal for your people. That must be hard.”
[I do miss it, but the emulations aren’t bad at all! We can go there after the acclimation modules if you like. Our world was very nice before it evaporated, but the server version is an idealized paradise!]
Okay, cool, fine. He was talking to someone over 8,000 real-years old. He didn’t even want to think about what that translated to in digital-years. So. Not a baby AI.
“Is there a reason why you’re only talking to me via text?”
[Oh absolutely! Your consciousness is only about 37% cohesive? Which is really impressive! That’s higher than anyone else except Dr. Deitweiler, but you’re still so new here that I don’t want to hurt you by being anywhere nearby. It would be kind of like trying to whisper to yourself while at a music concert?]
“Oh. Uhhh, okay, thanks.”
[You’re welcome! Now, let’s get started. First, try to manifest a cube in your palm? Or a sphere if that’s easier!]
It was a very long, very strange couple of days.
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 09:05:22:14:33002
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
Nihlus. I found the OSD. The included briefing said that you should be able to receive messages after you master ‘cohesiveness’ and ‘object non-permanency’. When you get this, reply with your status. Use the cipher I taught you during the Artesia mission.
[End Message.]
--
Sitting on a mental replica of his own ship, Nihlus followed the convoluted instructions from Essi-ami on how to send messages through the Ghost Ship’s servers and out into the outside world. It involved an aggravating amount of mimicking what he would do on the outside to send a message. From the way he sat in the pilot’s chair to the feel of the ship’s haptic keyboards, he had to imagine and make real every little detail… but at least it was intuitive.
It took him longer to send a few sentences than it took to reimagine his own physical arm, scales and all, when he’d first arrived.
Worth it though, hearing from the outside world was… really reassuring.
--
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 03:15:39:10:85201
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
- i am theoretically alive, and currently performing the absurd task of typing on an imaginary holo keyboard to send into actual existence a couple hundred bits of data to message you. ‘surreal’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. but i am pretty sure i am me, and not just a really good copy meant to reassure you, so there’s that.
[End Message.]
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 09:09:20:16:33002
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
How can either of us be sure? You are most likely a mere construct of Nihlus now.
[End Message.]
--
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 03:09:22:16:85201
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
yeah, thanks for that. your reassurances and support mean so much to me. try not to be so sentimental though, i’m on an official mission. we can hug it out later.
[End Message.]
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 09:09:20:16:33002
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
I stand corrected. You are entirely too annoying to be a fabrication.
[End Message.]
Notes:
[GHOST REP SPEAKS: Virtual Alien Ambassador Petitions Citadel Council for Asylum]
"Long ago, our people lived in your universe of physical matter. When our sun went supernova, we sought refuge in a virtual world free of needless pain and suffering, climate disasters, disease, and many other ills faced by creatures of solid flesh. Some now feel that remaining in this world after the danger had passed was a mistake. We realize that distress can sometimes provide a catalyst for evolution. We miss the turmoil of physical existence. As such, I formally petition the Citadel Council for asylum. I no longer wish to return to my former world."
Chapter Text
One moment Macen was thoughtfully spinning a salt shaker back and forth between his fingers, slightly anxious about meeting Avitus' well loved mentor for the first time. The next, Saren Arterius was sitting across from him with glowing blue eyes and the most exotic fringe he’d ever seen. His zygomatic plates were as long as his crest, curved slightly, with vent slats for some sort of augmentation. Was that dramatic facial structure natural?
“Arterius,” he offered cooly, pretending that he hadn't been caught off guard.
“Barro,” the other man replied in a smooth rumble.
Avitus sighed like they were both ridiculous, and opened up his omni-tool to send Saren the necessary data. The other Spectre’s gaze flicked erratically left, then up, then straight, then up again. Ah… an optical interface, probably with interactive features. Avitus’ device chimed, the transfer accepted and now running. It went off again only a few seconds later, finished.
Macen looked at the ‘tool pointedly, then back at Saren. “You owe me.”
One of his browridges rose, then relaxed. He flicked his crest in a nod. “Very well. Tell me what you want.”
Macen paused. They’d talked about this on the way here, and Avitus had advised he could hold the favor, which Saren would not like but would accept. Or, he could ask for something right away.
Well there was really only one thing he wanted.
“If the opportunity presents itself for Avitus to get honorably discharged from ST&R, or whatever your organization’s equivalent is, nudge things that way? I want him to retire.”
Avi scoffed, having already shared that he never expected to retire. The Spectre oaths didn’t have a cut off, and the Council didn’t release anyone from them once taken.
Saren though… Saren looked back at Macen with those electric blue eyes and gave another nod. “If the opportunity presents itself.”
Macen exhaled, “Thanks.”
“Thank you, as well.”
And then he left, as quickly as he’d come.
Macen leaned back, settling into his seat for a moment before cocking his head toward Avitus. “Is he always like that?”
“Dramatic as fuck? Oh yeah, all the time.”
--
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 03:19:42:12:88891
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
hey saren. welp, it’s been less than a week and i’ve managed to piss off the representative from the illuminated primacy. if i get assassinated by this drell for talking shit in the group chat about prothean tech that i helped recover in the first fucking place , please avenge me. his body is like twenty feet from mine, it should be easy to find him.
[End Message.]
--
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 03:24:17:05:32257
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
are you busy out there? i expected a pithy remark about letting myself get zeroed during amatuer hour. which by the way? this guy is not an amatuer. he’s terrifying. she’s terrifying? i don’t know what pronouns they even use, just that even the ghost ship aliens are also weirded out by how drell brains work.
oh by the way, they’re called, very roughly translated mind you, ‘the watching world’. the aliens, that is. i cannot, under any circumstances, pronounce it with my mouth. there’s more ‘w’ sounds than vowels in their language, it’s horrible. winwainoniaw? whenaywhywnoneya? It sounds like win-eye-whi-no-aw-ya, but who the fuck knows how they’ll spell it.
p.s. can you check on my fish?
[End Message.]
--
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 03:27:19:44:85623
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
helloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo??
[End Message.]
--
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 03:27:19:01:74581
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
okay, sorry, i just remembered that while i’ve been living days in here, it’s been minutes out there. no wonder you haven’t answered. ffs, sorry i’m an idiot.
for real tho, check on my fish?
[End Message.]
--
Valern stood at the window bank in his office while his fellow councilors, and a handful of minor species ambassadors, went back and forth about everything and nothing. The public Council Chambers were below, quiet and calm beneath the everblooming trees. It was the perfect spot to watch trouble coming, and so the Salarian just happened to be forewarned when Saren Arterius strode into the hall at brisk walk.
He looked purposeful, one might say. Focused.
Hmm.
Feeling benevolent, Councilor Valern turned to the room at large and cleared his throat. “Pardon the interruption, but this might be a good time to break for lunch? I need to speak with Councilor Sparatus about a separate matter, and I’m sure Councilor Tevos would like to catch up on it as well.”
The room looked at him with a collective sort of confusion, but no one was brave enough to ask what was really going on.
He gestured toward the door, not impolitely. “It’s seafood day in the food court, if I might make a recommendation? Yes good? Excellent, see you all in an hour.”
The moment the last ambassador had toddled out (a volus somehow radiating skepticism and suspicion), Valern turned to Sparatus who met his gaze with a raised browridge. “I believe we have forgotten something again, though this time I too failed to take it into account…”
Tevos huffed, gesturing to the sky with a manicured blue hand. “Don’t be obtuse Valern, what is it?”
“Saren just walked into the tower,” he shared, then pointed at Sparatus, “and I vote that he’s your problem.”
Tevos stood. “Oh yes, I second that motion. Majority rules-” Sparatus made an aggravated trilling noise. “-and I do actually want lunch. I forgot to eat breakfast. Or dinner yesterday.”
From lively galactic meeting, to abandoning Sparatus to deal with ST&R’s star agent on his own, took less than a minute. Without otherwise discussing it, Councilors Valern and Tevos rode the back elevator down instead of risking the main entry.
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 04:13:44:24:45261
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
Considering the temporal detachment, you may message me at your normal frequency for the foreseeable future, though I will not reply as often as I otherwise would.
Provide me with a sitrep. Continue with encryption. I am on my way to speak to the Council about the situation. I have sufficient cover for being informed.
Refrain from aggravating the Drell.
[End Message.]
Notes:
[CELEBRITY SPOTTED?: ‘Ghost Ship’ Researcher Jordan Detweiler Sighted on the Citadel]
“The famed "virtual ghost ship" is back in the news today after a reported sighting of MIT exobiologist Jordan Detweiler. This follows weeks of rumors that Detweiler had embarked on a diplomatic mission into a virtual alien world that he discovered on the ship's supercomputer. It is now understood that Detweiler's body remained in a controlled coma while his consciousness explored the artificial civilization. However, multiple eyewitnesses on the Citadel claim to have seen Detweiler visiting the Presidium recently. A Council spokesperson would only say, ‘We do not comment on internal Citadel matters.’ This fueled speculation that Detweiler was indeed acting on behalf of the Council in his logins to the virtual world.”Author's Note: UGH. I am dead. 2bfrank's art has killed me. LOOK AT MACEN. alsdjflasndfansdflans;dfl
Chapter Text
Nihlus had been more or less alone in a void for long enough that just the idea of having a visitor to his partition of the welcome zone soothed a cloying anxiety in his chest. Sure, he’d been talking to people on the outside every few hours, Dr. Arventus especially, but that just wasn’t the same as being physically present with another person. Interacting in real time.
So when Essi-ami finally walked in -through a recreation of his ship’s airlock- he felt… viscerally better. That, however, did not change how indescribable it felt to stand next to them digitally.
Wow, wow , it was odd to be aware of another person here. It wasn’t just their physical presence you could sense. It was their… surface? Their location…? Something he didn’t have words for.
Essi-ami appeared to him as a crestless Turian, in a floral nightgown, with improbable high heels and an alien headdress. Krogan maybe? Weird, but alright. Clearly they were trying their best.
“Hi… Essi-ami? I hope I'm pronouncing that right…”
“Not in the slightest, but that’s totally fine. Haha,” they replied with an odd shimmy motion.
Nihlus side-eyed them, “Ookay. How do you say it?”
“Essi-ami.”
He couldn’t tell the difference. “Right, I’ll do my best. So, uh, welcome to my ship? If that applies here.”
“It does. This is a very interesting vessel! It can really travel faster than light?” He could sense/feel/hear the skepticism in their voice.
Nihlus laughed, unoffended. “Absolutely. Parts only fall off occasionally!”
The recognizable horror on their face was entirely worth the following hour of trying to explain sarcasm.
--
[Encrypted Message from Sparatus]
[CC: Tevos, Valern]
1QLSS:000245/220025* // 04:27:00:04:85236
The both of you owe me lunch. A nice lunch.
[End Message.]
--
After a few days as a Turian in a headdress, Essi-ami dropped the ‘mask’ and hung around in their ‘latest form’, which was thirty percent Turian and seventy percent… several something elses. There were two eyes, two legs, two arms, etc etc. All the usual features that nature commonly developed during convergent evolution, resulting in the common bipedal form with a head on top and symmetric features.
Beyond that? He’d be a bit hard pressed to really describe them. Not all of their physiology would work when physics were hard rules instead of suggestions.
After he got used to Essi-ami, Dr. Jordan Deitweiler visited. Just a normal human, easy going but passionate. He spent a lot of time waxing poetic about the nature of consciousness and the responsibilities of objective observers. That was… interesting. After that, they held a small group session of guides and divers, all learning how to collectively create and change a shared reality.
There were ways to leave your creations flexible, and ways to harden them so the space wouldn’t respond to others. Sufficient pressure from multiple other people could override that though, allowing group majority to overrule individuals.
It was great in a public area, but their guides insisted that it was horribly bad for the sentient mind to have no safe space, and for nothing to be personal or private. To compensate, everyone had their own server zone, and the AI that ran everything was militant about protecting each one.
Nihlus ended up leaving his own zone looking just like his ship. Which he filled with things he actually owned, recreated in painstaking detail. Then he renovated one of the guest rooms into a spa room, with a hot tub and sand bath. Then he turned his second armory room into a hydroponics setup. Then he used the mass fabricator in his kitchen to make some acrylic paints, and tried putting emotion on canvas. Or, as the case may be, disembodied emotion on a digital canvas. He even found himself going through his usual calisthenics, even though there were no muscles to be maintained…
He… didn’t handle idleness well.
Soon though, the entire squadron of myriad special forces were all competent enough to venture out beyond their personal spaces and the welcome zone, and actually travel around the digital world here.
There was a party waiting for them right ‘outside’, with hundreds of the aliens absolutely thrilled to meet them. They wanted to hear everything about the outside world, from the annoyance of dealing with the Citadel’s traffic control officers, to the way paint took time to dry. They were all, each and everyone of them, suddenly celebrities to a crowd that resembled no singular identifiable species.
The Blackwatch girl handled it well, an immediate rockstar. The Drell handled it less well, leaving often to return to their personal zone. What followed, for a solid week of further ‘acclimation training’, could be summarized with ‘what happens on the Silver Sun Strip, stays on the Strip’.
---
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 06:19:19:42:12456
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
sitrep, yeah okay. i’ll do my best? let’s see here…
alien race identified as friendly. culturally similar to quarians, if you mix in a lot of hanar politeness, and a moderate dose of halex. we’ve finished training on how to exist here. yes, that required training. like learning how to swim, only instead of drowning in water if you can’t get the motions right, instead your mindscape is subsumed in the thoughts, feelings, ideas, and surface expressions of others. possibly by their sense of landscaping design, or how much they like fish.
everyone has a sort of personal-trainer-meets-local-guide that was assigned to them, to help us figure this stuff out. mine is an alien named essi-ami. very cheerful. doesn’t understand sarcasm, unfortunately.
we all have some personal server space too. mine is set up like my ship. but you can go to anywhere, from anywhere, in a matter of seconds here? so like, i can exit my airlock and be on digital-thessia if i want to. or in a volcano. or on your ship, if i took the time to reimagine it panel by panel.
everything you can think of a bored ancient race wanting to try or see exists here. watch a time lapse of a black hole being born? yep. you can even poke the black hole. it will still try to black hole you, but you can resist getting black holed by will alone.
wow, that sounds sexual. i don’t think there’s any getting around it when you use plenary phenomena as verbs tho. i tried describing nebula and white dwarves and it still sounded saucy.
anyway, we’ve got a couple more days of training, and then we’re going to head to the edge of the stable server space. essi-ami, me, and three other pairs are going to try and retrieve some data just beyond the safe zone. for the first few tries, our guides are coming with us. we get to decide what data we want to bring back, and what doesn’t matter. then we’ll go from there.
wish me luck.
[End Message.]
--
Rain poured down on the balcony outside, a common deluge in the Thessian summer. “So what are your thoughts now, Paramon? The Council’s recovery attempts are already in progress.”
Elgus snorted, mandibles pulled into a scornful expression. “As I said in my interview. These aliens were clever, but they weren’t clever enough to build a better battery. Their lack of foresight is a complete failure to adapt to changing conditions.”
“I agree,” the first voice replied, blue cracks in their skin glowing faintly in time to the emphasis in certain words. “Their species represents an evolutionary dead-end, and their civilization should be allowed to perish .”
A third voice chimed in, soft and sorrowful. The figure stood out in the downpour, under the safe zone of dryness created by a weak energy field. “It is a sad thing that their ways led them to this. If they were not so eager to influence and share themselves with the Council Races, perhaps it could even be overlooked.”
Elgus pulled his expression back, offering a more mild hum. “I suppose you have a point, Matriarch. And we haven’t even touched on what an immense danger the ship represents, just in terms of being unchained A.I.”
“Yes. Goddess protect and guide us. Such danger.”
The first person spoke again, metal in their voice. If one paid attention, other voices echoed at the edge of hearing, a song from far away. These singers didn’t like the Ghost Ship in the slightest. The room’s occupants didn’t seem to notice.
Elgus headed for the door. “Let’s get going on this. We all know what to do, and we’d best be quick about it, before any of the morons plugged into the thing come back.”
“Indeed.”
Notes:
[LATEST NEWS: Kyra Detweiler Claims Her Father Is Being Deliberately Endangered]
“An unusual twist today in the case of MIT exobiologist Jordan Detweiler: acting on recent rumors that he was seen visiting the Citadel, Detweiler's daughter, Kyra, traveled to the galactic hub and demanded a meeting with him. Although she signed a confidentiality agreement, Ms. Detweiler claims she was repeatedly denied access. "They only let me see my dad after I raised hell about it," she said. "I can be prosecuted for speaking to the media, but I don't care. He's in danger. There's something wrong with him and the Council knows it." Council representatives continue to refuse to comment on the matter.”
Chapter Text
Saren exited the transport shuttle and strode onto the floating dock that housed the Ghost Ship like he owned the place. The vessel itself was large, shaped much like a giant seed pod, painted in hues of silvery sky blue and accented with ropey, sandy brown architecture. It was nearly twice as large as the Destiny Ascension, which was four times as big as the average dreadnought.
The ship was, by all accounts, massive .
Guards, scientists, and various diplomats littered the semi-circular platform, all very busy. The Spectre ignored them, and made his way up to the vault-like airlock. At the side was an embedded sphere in murky green, which brightened at his approach. Sparatus had said that this was an interface for the ship’s AI custodian.
The contents of the orb swirled, forming into a smokey question mark.
“My name is Saren, I am a Council Spectre, here to check on the proceedings.”
The green swirled more, giving the impression it was thinking. Or perhaps communicating with someone else. Then another message appeared, in the slashing script of Turian writing:
[Wait]
“Very well,” he replied blandly.
A minute or two passed before the text swirled away, replaced by new.
[You are authorized : Follow the lights]
The vault doors slid aside like they were merely curtains, silent and sleek. Saren strode forward, observing the antichamber-like entry space on the other side. It was beautiful, with wood grain on the pale walls, and nearly organic trimming in pleasant shades of blue and purple. Broad, decorative ribbons of white metal looped around the space, framing walking paths and doorways.
A chill went down his spine. The last time he had encountered artificial intelligence with an eye for grand aesthetics it had gone…
Well.
One of the ribbons was glowing, a soft stream of light, and it led to an archway. The Spectre followed the obvious path, which wandered down sweeping corridors and past bottomless elevator shafts, before letting out in a large room full of medical beds and doctors.
Curious, that the ship accommodated all of this. What use were hallways to a massive server nexus? The air was breathable, and the temperature mild. Strange. Things to consider another time.
He moved into the room and glanced about. There, in the middle row and off to the far right, was a familiar set of dark plates and white colony markings. Saren drifted around the edge, observing the goings on while the staff failed to notice him. Nihlus laid still, armor and guns stacked to the side, wearing nothing but a meshy black bodysuit. His slax form was lit by the myriad orange holo panels around him. The same equipment a coma patient would need surrounded the bed, and more, cables going from a hefty half shell that cradled his head from cowl to crest.
“What! Who are- this area is off limits!” A Salarian bustled over, trying to lay hands on him. They stop short at an unfriendly flash of teeth.
“Saren Arterius, Spectre. Debrief me on this participant’s status.”
The doctor blinks nearly ten times before stepping awkwardly back and over to the far side of the table, putting it between them. “This one in particular? Well. I, maybe I need your authorization codes, I really don’t know…”
He’s just about to start rattling off a one time use cryptographic key for Spectre Authority verification when a Turian voice with amused subvocals interjects.
“That will be unnecessary, Dr. Hatho,” called his own physician. “I know him, they’re friends.”
“Oh. Spectre’s have fr- I mean, um…” Saren ignored them, turning to the recognizable face.
“Nerra.”
“Sticking your talons in everything still? I thought I told you to take a vacation,” she teased.
Saren glanced pointedly down at Nihlus’ still form.
Dr. Arventus huffed a laugh, and patted their Salarian coworker on the shoulder before nudging them away. They seemed perfectly happy to vacate the area. “He’s doing just fine. Better than fine, actually. The liaison acting as his guide says he’s very mentally flexible, and is handling the acclimation training exceptionally well. You can stop worrying now, hmm?”
Saren hummed, turning away to access the holo panels and ascertain that himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that assessment, but…
Well, he didn’t trust anyone, really.
“Elaborate.”
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 04:13:44:24:45261
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
I can only imagine the terrible communication problems you would have with someone that does not understand sarcasm. Are they capable of humor? If not, you may as well leave, as I doubt you could be effective under such circumstances.
[End Message.]
Notes:
[SPECIAL UPDATE: Kyra Detweiler Releases Statement to GBC News]
“Kyra Detweiler, daughter of famed MIT exobiologist Jordan Detweiler, has released a statement to GBC News alleging the Citadel Council is covering up her father's deteriorating medical condition. "He didn't even know who I was -- his own daughter! I got five minutes to speak with him before security whisked him away. Is he sick? Is he brain-damaged?" Council representatives declined to comment on the situation, fuelling speculation that Dr. Detweiler was profoundly changed by his visit to the virtual world inside a derelict spacecraft. "Silence is a terrible answer," wrote columnist Urla Dhen. "The public doesn't know much, but it knows that anything relating to AI or synthetic life is something to fear. Refusing to comment leads us all to assume the worst."”
Author's Note: Pfffft, Saren is such a jerk.
Chapter Text
No one needed to tell Nihlus to go around the freaky static ball in the middle of the grassy field. It was, in fact, implicitly understood by all of the guides and divers in the group. The ball was larger than a person, and everything near it looked broken and black. The ground below and the sky above it seemed to stretch, disappearing into opposing gravity wells. Reality pulling apart at the seams.
“Oh, it’s a fracture. We’re getting close everyone, when we start to see more static make sure you move carefully!” called one of the other guides.
The Salarian operative, Alhorin, stopped to scan the anomaly with a curious hum. The huntress, when he was done, tossed a flare of biotic energy at it. The wispy blue stretched like taffy between earth and sky before fading away. Michelle Rivita, the N7, let out a whoop and asked them to do it again.
While Essi-ami acted rather blasé about the oddness, most of the guides shifted nervously, staying very far away from the static ball. The rest of the divers, like the elite special forces they were, remained calm but were variations of curious, wary, or both. Nihlus tried to take the freakiness in stride. The static seemed dangerous in the same way a fire was. It could burn, but only if you got too close.
“Hey Essi? What exactly is that static stuff?”
His guide spun around to walk backwards, particularly Asari looking today. “I think the closest concept I could give you would be a registry error? Whatever was in that exact spot when our servers were whole called on data that’s been either destroyed or misplaced. So when the systems try to render that spot, there’s an awful problem. We can fix them, and so can the ship’s AI, but it’s a bit like debugging… you have to track down each individual problem, and hope your fix doesn’t bother anything else.”
Nihlus hummed in acknowledgement… and gave all of the void spots a very wide berth.
When the alien trees started merging with rocks, or doing especially strange things (like dancing a freaking jig, or flapping in the breeze more like cloth than wood) several of the agents didn’t take that so well. The soldier from Blackwatch especially, she kept hissing lowly when something behaved wrong. He felt similarly, but it was what it was, and he kept on. Months of surreal experiences here had somewhat numbed him to oddness.
Soon enough, the group reached the edge of the world. Or what felt like it at least.
The ground broke into sections, floating in the sky, slowly drifting away from solid earth. Clouds melted like hot cheese, dripping in smears from the sky and landing on things. Animals, which had before been plentiful and while certainly alien to his experiences were fairly normal, now…
Birds too big for physics. Bushes that sang and buildings that breathed. A large herbivore flipped between skeletal corpse and living being, chewing on a bush for a few seconds before rapidly decomposing.
The word ‘surreal’ gained greater meaning. This. Whatever this was.
Their guides set about fixing the area somewhat, creating bridges between islands and removing the stranger flora and fauna.
“Okay so…” Nihlus turned to Essi-ami, who was idly watching a cloud in the distance rain lamps. “The lost data is out here? How do we get it?”
The cheerful alien turned to smile at him, and it looked very natural. This time. “How would you expect to acquire data?”
The Spectre shuffled in place, scratching at his side while considering it. “I would expect there to be a hidden data terminal? Where I could… download it onto my omni-tool?”
Essi-ami gestured around vaguely, so Nihlus looked.
There was a data terminal now.
Laughing a bit (really he should have expected it to work like that), the Spectre jogged over to the metal post and began interacting with the interface on top. It looked and functioned just like any other haptic panel.
Savisia from Blackwatch noticed the find first, and she appeared at his side, inspecting the terminal with a suspicious hum. The Huntress Mirali followed, watching him start a data transfer. “How did you find this, Spectre Kryik?”
“Uh, well… my guide just said ‘how would you expect to get data,’ and this is what I expected, I guess.”
“It just… appeared?” Savisia asked skeptically.
“Mmmyep. Okay, I’m going to try and accept this downlo-” Nihlus cut off, with a gasp, lurching backwards.
He could now tell you how to make an excellent soup made from alien ingredients that once grew on a homeworld, now long since destroyed.
“ Fuck. ”
“What? What is it, what’s wrong?” The other Turian asked, hearing the distress in his subvocals.
The Asari was no less worried, though more stoic about it, grasping his shoulder in concern.
“I,” Nihlus started, pausing while he processed how fucking weird that was, “I know how to make soup.”
This only alarmed them further.
“Spectre Kryik?” The huntress started pulling on his arm. “Perhaps we should withdraw…”
He resisted the pull, scrubbing a hand over his face and trying to articulate it better. “No, no I’m fine. Wow, that was a trip. The data here? It was just a recipe. For soup. But when I downloaded it, I just… suddenly knew it.”
They stared at him, thoughtful and maybe a little unnerved.
“Uhhhh okay, why wouldn’t it work like that…” Savisia said with a shrug, looking up and around. “Oh! There’s another one over there. Welp, spirits guide me. My turn.”
What followed was several hours of learning things the easy-but-draining way. Like studying random entries from an encyclopedia. Though it seemed that while the learning itself took moments, the more complex the information, the longer the person ‘downloading’ it took to regain their senses.
Nihlus learned the words to the top ten most popular songs in their 6000’s greatest hits. The best way to make a set of home appliances work together. Several more recipes, most of which were for stews (this species was big into soups, he guessed?). A fair bit of woodworking. Some math he already knew, but now knew better. The plot of a graphic novel, but not any of the other details.
Oh, and the basic operating principles of a sublight engine that was unlike anything he’d ever heard of. That too.
--
[Encrypted Message from N. Kryik]
1QLSS:000245/224247* // 06:19:19:42:12456
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
hey saren, you want some hot, fresh classified intel???
>:]
[File attached: fosoii bread recipe (dextro adaptation).txt]
[End Message.]
Notes:
[LATEST NEWS: Council Spokesman Responds to Cover-Up Allegations]
“A furor has erupted over the recent GBC News conversation with Kyra Detweiler, daughter of noted MIT exobiologist Jordan Detweiler. Ms. Detweiler alleged the Citadel Council is covering up her father's deteriorating medical condition, triggering a media backlash from all quarters of the galaxy. In response, the Council held a hastily arranged press conference to manage damage control, at which spokesman Anton Galer said: "Acting on behalf of the Council, Jordan Detweiler did indeed visit the virtual alien world he discovered. Yes, Dr. Detweiler was seen on the Presidium recently, but this was his body, not his mind. He has, for lack of a better term, 'swapped' with an alien consciousness in the virtual world. This procedure was the most stable way for their ambassador to gain access to our physical universe for diplomatic discussions." A stunned media corps quickly erupted with questions, but the Council spokesman declined further comment.”
Author's note: If you're enjoying my horrible sense of humor, you can get more on my dedicated Mass Effect shitposting blog on tumblr. ( Link ) It features cast from all the games, but it's probably 50% by volume of various Turians and Shepard communicating affection through assholery and comedic violence. )
Chapter 10: Minimal Tolerance for the Public
Chapter Text
Sparatus groaned, sinking down into the hot tub like a man of fifty more years than he’d managed yet. Press conferences would do that to you.
The heat felt amazing, sinking into feet tired of standing and a back tired of perfect posture. It did not, however, do much for the councilor sick and tired of press staff and their endless questions. Spirits preserve, so many inane questions, and pointless ones too.
He couldn’t help mimicking the Volus from Core News that had been the worst offender, asking ridiculous questions with no regard for patience, galactic security, or even just common sense. “When will the Ghost Ship… pssssht… be open to the public? pshhhhht . Is there a conspiracy to keep the knowledge recovered… psshhhhht… for only the three main council races, pshhhht . Will the aliens be given cloned bodies or are you giving them coma patients? pshhhhhht .”
The urge to throw something was slow to fade, no matter how relaxing the UV lamp, hot water, and bath salts were. It was starting to go away as steam rose and plates soaked. Maybe after this he could buff out some of the rough edges, cover himself in plate balm, and take a nap in the tub after the water drained.
Just… a bit a break from the demands of the galaxy was all he needed. It wasn’t hiding. His tub was just very comfortable for naps.
The bathroom door picked that moment to chime.
Really? Really? He couldn’t have an hour to bathe without another crisis happening? Sparatus pressed a few buttons on the wall, and with only a guess at who would even dare, called his head assistant.
“Is that you at the door?”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“What.”
Their subvocals were apologetic, but they still opened their mouth to speak instead of closing the call. “We have a developing situation.”
The Councilor sighed, deeply. “Unless people are about to die, or will die in the fall out, it can wait.”
“It’s the Ghost Ship sir. It’s been boarded by terrorists.”
His bathroom, Sparatus discovered at that moment, had fantastic acoustics for cursing.
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 09:33:24:00:52468
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
I spoke with Nerra. Your physical body remains in acceptable condition. Avitus and I have been back to the ship twice, and everything appears to be in order. I was informed that your team has begun data trawling out past the safe zone? I presume that is where your previous information came from. I surely hope you find something of more value than that.
(Breaking mission info sec to send me a bread recipe, Nihlus? Really?)
[End Message.]
--
Saren was on Bahrajet ward shopping to resupply his ship’s kitchen. Rare was the day he had both the inclination to do his own shopping rather than order online, and also to not be far too busy for such a leisurely activity.
Also rare was his tolerance for being out in public, risking getting spotted by a reporter or someone with an agenda.
The ping of his omni-tool went off.
He’d sent a message to the more obnoxious of his two protégé not ten minutes ago, so he assumed it was Nihlus replying with some bratty nonsense, or perhaps another alien recipe.
Instead, it wasn’t from Nihlus at all.
The notification was from the app he used to track his personal medical information. A complex endeavor with him being biotic, augmented, and having prosthetics. But why would the medical app send…?
The notification said, simply, “[HELP, UNDER ATTACK. -NERRA.]”
Saren wasn’t one to steal things unless a mission called for it, his investments on Noveria meant he had plenty of credits regardless of mission pay. However, no one said a thing when a well known Spectre ran out of the marketplace at full tilt, a half filled grocery basket still in hand.
Chapter 11: Enmity Unknown
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was week thirteen, and the entire group was out at the edge of the digital world, past where it was safe and without guides. This area in particular was more post-industrial volcanic base, with pipes running between buildings and a shimmery pink field pressing back against the encroaching lava.
Learning how to expect to not be too hot had taken only a few minutes. Nihlus was pretty sure he would need to take time off after this mission, until he unlearned this new habit of trying to think his reality into whatever he pleased. But for now? It worked.
So far today the useful information they’d collected amounted to the coordinates for two Prothean ruins, the intimate knowledge of how to create a very small jet pack that would work better on methane worlds than anything current, and also a design for a neat magnet based light source. They’d had worse luck earlier in the week, but after discovering yesterday how to get a jist of the data before having to viscerally know it? Well that had sped things up significantly.
It still didn’t expedite the need to take a minute to process new knowledge.
Which is what he was doing at the moment. But one minute Nihlus was having himself a sit, letting the knowledge of a Prothean ruin and -admittedly- a book of poetry he’d chosen to take on himself process, and the next he was not.
There were not the right words, from any world, to describe the rending of time and space that occurred in that instant.
When Nihlus managed to get a hold on himself again, he was lying prone in a field of flowers, and felt more like air than person. The quality of light shifted constantly, as if there were billowing clouds above the land, speeding across a sunny sky. But there wasn’t. The sky was a white void.
He sat up and looked around, still dazed but hoping for a familiar face. Not a living soul stirred around him, no sign of the other soldiers or even the malfunctioning animals. As far as he could see was a carpet of rich blue blossoms with barely any leaves peaking through.
“Essi? Hello? … Rullis? Rivita? …is anyone out there?”
There was no reply, just endless flowers.
--
Saren stared into the green mist of the Ghost Ship’s interface. “Open the door.”
It’s reply was slow for some reason.
[Danger]
“I am fully aware.”
[Danger]
“I am going to remove the danger. That is my profession .”
The green mist swirled, as if thinking.
“Open. The door. Or. I will acquire explosives.”
The door opened.
“Saren!” yelled Avitus, running up from the arrival area with Jondum at his heels. Two more shuttles with the Citadel Security logo were still landing off behind them.
He spared them a glance but didn’t hesitate to move inside, following the previous path through corridors, the lights shuddering as if losing power. Saren made it to the room of diving beds in record time. It was clear of hostiles, and eleven different guns trained on him the moment he leaned around the edge of the door.
“Don’t shoot,” someone yelled, “I recognize him, that’s the guy from ST&R.”
Avitus and Jondum used the delay to catch up, sliding into the doorway with shields glowing and firearms at the ready. The small defense team and supporting armed doctors briefly raised their weapons again, but recognition seemed to hit everyone and the room settled down.
Saren stalked the rest of the way inside, “Sitrep, now .”
The room of trained professionals shrunk from him. He blinked, confused.
Avitus swanned in and clapped him on the shoulder, “You’re making the floor vibrate, hoss. Take a breath, eh?”
Jondum moved forward, returning his heavy pistol to the maglock on his hip. “Spectre Arterius is correct, however. We need to know the situation. Who’s in charge here?”
While the other Spectres got answers, Saren went to check on his primary goal. Dr. Arventus stood between Nihlus’ bed and a second one bearing a female wearing casuals with the Blackwatch insignia.
The doctor’s head was down, a pistol held loosely in one hand. The other palmed her face, cradling it as she leaned against one of the beds.
Saren paused a few feet away. The monitors looked… normal. The life support equipment was running as usual.
So why…
“Nerra. Status.”
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 10:12:11:43:66218
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
The ship has been breached by hostiles. Enemy location unknown. The diplomatic and medical staff are struggling to re-establish communications with the internal team. Verify your status as soon as you receive this.
[End Message.]
Notes:
[EDITORIAL: Scientific World Still Absorbing Jordan Detweiler "Mind Swap" Revelation]
“The scientific world is still absorbing the news that an ambassador from a virtual alien civilization is currently visiting the Citadel. An inside source reveals that during his travels within the virtual civilization, MIT exobiologist Jordan Detweiler agreed to allow the virtual consciousness of Ambassador Sygan to use his body as a conduit to interact with our physical universe. It is unclear to what extent Dr. Detweiler maintains control of his body. "It's complicated," said the source. "We aren't just talking about diplomatic ties between two planets or species, but between two universes: one physical, the other virtual." The source has refused to divulge details on the nature of the virtual alien world.”
Chapter 12: Keep those promises
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The flower field was pretty, if confusing, right up until Nihlus realized he couldn’t think anything into reality anymore.
Door? No. A rock? Nope. A simple nondescript cube? Notta.
“Fuck me. Okay, what now, Kryik what now…” He turned in place, looking in all directions, both palms on top of his head as he tried to stop feeling like smoke instead of Turian.
“There’s nothing here, and I can’t do shit by thinking it real anymore… Okay. So it’s more like home. And if I got stranded somewhere normally I would… start walking. Right. Yeah.”
He started walking. There were no landmarks though. When the anxiety of the situation kept ratcheting up he decided to run instead. With his lithe frame, Nihlus was normally a better sprinter than other Turians. But his blood was still blue, copper based, and copper sucked at transporting oxygen.
But it seemed he’d been in the digital world just long enough that he’d naturally begun accommodating belief into capacity, and some of that still worked. The Spectre didn’t realize it at first, but ten minutes past the point that even a heavily augmented and genemodded Turian would’ve dropped or slowed down, he was able to keep going at a full clip.
Some kind of structures appeared on the horizon and he felt the first faint stirrings of hope. Hours had passed. The light didn’t change, so beyond that approximation he couldn’t say how long he ran, but just seeing something different spurred him forward.
Soon the Spectre began to be able to make out large chunks of soil that were drifting up and apart, trailing up into the sky. Some of them were carrying the buildings he’d seen from far away. Everything from skyscraping arcologies to village huts.
Another couple long -but less depressing- hours of running, and the jagged floating islands were in front of him. Blue petals fell freely, flowers tumbling off of their gravity-defying platforms.
Past the spot where the land started to break apart and rise, the ground itself ended. Down looked like a chasm with no end, overlaid with a faint visual effect of static on a black void. Nihlus stepped back from it, and looked up at the platforms.
It looked like the only way forward was up.
“Double fuck me. Okay. This is fine. They’re not all that far apart. Just… don’t fall. You’re five years old and the floor is deep water, that’s all Kryik. Find a good angle and jump.”
It wasn’t hard to find a relatively close platform, and make a small hop over to it. He landed, and everything tilted sideways, righted itself, then suddenly he was on solid ground.
Specifically, he was on a dirt road in the middle of lovely but unrecognizable countryside. A cute little house made of straw and sticks stood on the hill, not a half a klick away. There was no sign of the broken earth or floating structures. Nihlus rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Yep. Still a charming countryside.
“Sure, okay, you know what? This is better, I’ll take it,” he told himself, and started toward the house.
As he approached some sort of pink skinned alien leaned out of the door, bearing a frying pan and visibly shaking. “A-a-a-are y-you here to… to… d-destroy our house??”
“Uhhh no. You can understand me?” he asked, assuming their form was yet another strange creation the Ghost Ship aliens had come up with.
The person looked offended, round nose scrunching up as they stepped more fully out of their little ramshackle house. A red apron with white polka dots was their only clothing. “Of course I can!” they squeaked, “I am perfectly literate, thank you very much!”
Nihlus raised his hands in the universal symbol of surrender. “Sorry, sorry. No offense intended. I’m from, uh, the outside world you know?”
The alien peered at him, before lowering it’s frying pan. “I don’t know what you mean, no. But you’re sure you don’t work for the Wolf?”
“I’m sorry,” the Spectre repeated, “the who?”
They regarded Nihlus like he was missing a few brain cells. “The Big Bad Wolf.”
--
It took the better part of the hour to find the intruders, thanks to the size and composition of the Ghost Ship’s hull.
“I’ve located them,” came Jondam’s voice over coms, “they’re in a much lower area of the vessel. Possibly the bottom level."
Avitus made an about face, immediately heading back down the corridor for the last elevator he'd seen. He was alone, since they had spread out to try and find the bastards. So was Spectre Bau.
"Do they have you pinned down?" he asked, concerned.
The Salarian's voice was amused when he replied.
"The opposite, rather." The sound of gun fire came across behind the words, "I estimate five targets. And none of them are a good shot."
"I am almost to you," Saren remarked into the chat. "I recommend keeping one or more alive for interrogation."
"Copy that, wilco" was Bau's reply, followed by the sound of a kinetic shield breaking, and then a scream. Human. "One target disabled."
Avitus came up on the elevator, a series of small wooden platforms floating in mid-air above a black abyss, with no apparent machinery. Thankfully he'd already figured out that stepping on one and looking in the direction you wanted to go would send it that way.
Down, down, down. Still down. So many floors, and most of them not really accessible to pedestrian movement. It was several minutes of falling before Avitis' radar picked up on Jondam's ping. Nearly the same moment, he heard the first distant sounds of small arms fire impacting walls.
Hopefully their firefight didn't damage anything important.
"Second target disabled, possibly bleeding out."
Avitus was just hopping off the elevator and throwing himself down the hallway when that particular 'voop' sound of a biotic pull went off, echoing off the walls. He made it to the hot zone just in time to see five Humans sprawled out at the feet of his former mentor, four of them bleeding.
Saren picked up the most intact one by the throat, lifting them high and holding them there steadily. "Explain what you have done to the ship and why."
The Human, wearing some sort of mercenary tech suit with high end elkoss combine gear, spat in his face. It landed with a wet splat against the Turian's sharp cheek plating. No other reply was forthcoming.
"One more chance. Comply, or die here," Saren offered, subvocals terrifically mellow as he wiped the spit off with a sleeve. "Surely whatever you are being paid is not worth your life?"
One of the guys at his feet tried to take a swipe with an omni-blade, but Avitus stopped that with a casual stomp on their arm. Bone crunched, and the merc wailed. The raised hostage watched, the spark of fear growing in their eyes as the rebelliousness of adrenaline began to wane.
Then, Saren started to squeeze. Slowly.
Amid the desperate choking noises, one of the other forms on the ground called out a pained and gasping, "Wait! ughh… fuck. Fuck."
The three Spectres turned to watch as they sat up, one hand cradling a bleeding bicep. "The pale skullface is right. It's not worth our lives. We want amnesty, okay? In writing by…by the Council. We'll tell you everything we know if we can get off free. No charges, no penalty."
There was an exchange of meaningful looks, head tilts, and the low rumble of subvocals as the soldiers conferred without words.
Everyone knew Saren didn't care if they lived or died, only that he got the intel.
Jondam was honorable. Tried to be just, save people, keep his promises.
Avitus tried to be like the latter, but honestly felt more in tune with the former. Nihlus being in a coma tilted him firmly one way. "Tell us everything, and if our peers wake up? I'll drop you off on the planet of your choice myself."
Notes:
[BREAKING NEWS: No Decision Yet Reached in "Ghost Ship" Case, and it’s been HACKED!]
“With time running out, no decision has yet been reached in the case of the alien "ghost ship" found drifting in salarian space. Exo-biologist Jordan Detweiler estimates the energy reserves currently powering the virtual alien world are down to 4% and will fail soon. Meanwhile, opportunistic explorers boarded the ship last night and managed to hack into the virtual civilization. Before they were caught, the hackers spent six hours interfaced with the ship's computers. In that relatively short period of time, it appears that several weeks passed within the virtual world. Connected individuals are currently in deep comas and doctors are unsure as to their recovery. "The interface was too much for their systems to absorb. Trying to re-connect their minds to their bodies after being "away" for so long mentally was too large a shock. Physically they're fine, but I'd wager scrambled eggs have more consciousness. We’re working on it now, but they may be trapped there, permanently."
Chapter 13: Motive is yet to be established
Chapter Text
"I told you it would work! Ha!" Nihlus settled his hands on the armored crests of his hips, grinning broadly.
Around him the aliens danced, jumping and clapping and spinning around the bloody corpse of their large, furry, former adversary.
Nihlus had been settled at their kitchen table when the asshole had come knocking, threatening to use the strange and mutable physics of the digital world to destroy their home and eat them. Some kind of wind-based ability?
Yeah, no. Fucking psychopath.
The Spectre still didn't know where exactly he was -or where any of the other special forces team were- but the galaxy was down one more violent bully, so Nihlus felt pretty good at the moment.
"Oh thank you Mr. Kryik!"
"We're safe now!"
"We're free!" the oldest of the pink skinned aliens squealed, coming over to hug him.
The little guy only came up to his hip, and Nihlus patted their head as they pulled back to smile up at him.
"Well this has been fun my dudes, but I have to get going. I gotta look for my missing friends."
"What do they look like??"
"How big are they?"
"Where did you last see them?"
He hummed, answering in order. "Uh, well. Bipedal? Blue, light brown, um… various. Big as me, ish. I last saw them… wherever I was before I saw floating islands."
"Oh the islands!"
"Where the flowers grow?"
"We know where those are!"
Nihlus cheered, tossing his hands up. Their happy, child-like energy was a bit contagious. "You do? Wooo alright! Can you take me there?"
"Of course!" echoed back at him, three times over.
--
"Spirit tales and folk stories. You're serious?" Sparatus asked, and he couldn't help the incredulous notes in his tone.
"Yes sir." The small holo image of Saren looked calm, but there was an infrequent twitch in his left eye. "The infiltration team we apprehended received dead drop instructions and half payment up front. The Intel labs are working on tracing that as we speak. However, the team are all colonial Humans, and the AI virus they uploaded into the ship's computers is based on their particular breed of mythology. Using irregular logic and arbitrary rules, the virus' programming has essentially fragmented a solid third of the ship's system by altering critical data registries."
Sparatus understood half of that, but he didn't like a single word. "Alright. Alright fine, but why?"
Valern, snorted about who knows what, interjecting. "More importantly, what can be done about it?"
Tevos cut in as well. Their eyes were shimmering blue in anger. " Most importantly , can you get our people and the data out? How are the digital civilians being affected?"
Saren adjusted the hood of his cloak before speaking. "No motives have been established. An STG science team is en route to support the medical team in trying to reestablish communications. We have no information on the status of divers or the alien civilians, but the ship's intelligence is cooperating with us. We should have more answers soon."
Sparatus took a long, deep breath and nodded. "Thank you, keep us informed. Footage of the infiltration from outside the hull has already leaked to the public, and we have a press conference in two hours. The more information we have before then, the better."
"Understood."
"Very well, dismissed."
The holo call went dark. The three Councilors and the present tower staff felt that particular sense of the calm before the storm. This was going to be a political nightmare.
Chapter 14: Just jump
Notes:
[LIVE INTERVIEW: Questions Raised About Dr. Detweiler and Amb. Sygan's Fates]
“After the stunning events aboard the ‘Ghost Shop’, Ambassador Sygan has been placed in a secure wing of the Presidium while the Citadel Council deliberates its course of action. Questions have arisen about the legal, ethical, and physical implications of allowing the emissary to remain in Dr. Jordan Detweiler's body while the exobiologist's mind remains in the virtual alien world. When asked what the Council should do if the aliens were to hold Detweiler hostage. Detweiler's daughter Kyra cut in, "Pull the plug. Remind them who's really in control." The Council has already ruled out this option, citing the moral implications of wiping out the last remnants of an entire civilization.”
Chapter Text
The little pink aliens had found more floating islands for him, right at the edge of another staticy void. They wouldn't come anywhere near it though, and he didn’t blame them.
Nihlus waved goodbye to the friendly trio, and strode at the cliffside to weigh his options. One of the land masses was just a little higher than his current height, but it… felt… right. If that made any kind of sense.
Yeah, no, it didn't. He jumped anyway.
The moment his boot touched the carpet of blue petals the world tilted again. He had the impression of a long, senseless amount of time passing. The feeling of drifting became so immensely strong for an instant that it pricked his sense of danger. Mentally, he recoiled.
When Nihus came to there was a plush surface below him. Above was a cobblestone ceiling, framed by jewel tone drapery. He sat up, blinking hard as he tried to orient himself.
"Oh good, you're awake! Was quite pleased when you appeared, but then you immediately fell over. That was distressing."
Alhorin stood from a rickety wooden chair at an uneven table, and came closer while messing with his omni-tool. Nihlus waved lazily, going to stand up to meet him, but instead found himself lurching sideways with dizziness. The STG agent caught him, easing Nihlus back down onto the bed.
"Mmnnnngl," the Spectre groaned, unbalanced by a feeling that was the ghostly cousin of nausea. “Are we moving?”
"No, however your eyes are exhibiting a bit of nystagmus. I would suspect you have a concussion or something similar, but I haven’t the slightest idea how that could translate to a nonphysical body.”
“Uhng,” he replied eloquently.
“Spectre Kryik? How did you get here?" Alhorin's tone rose at the end in a question.
Nihlus scrubbed both hands over his face, trying to get himself together. Why was he dizzy? He shouldn’t be, right? No inner ear, no sense of balance.
He told himself firmly that he was not dizzy.
Ahhhh, there it was. Sweet relief via belief.
…he was going to be very strange after this mission.
Nihlus held up a hand in front of him and focused on a ball shape, checking to see if he could also make things again… but it didn’t work. He clicked his tongue, displeased.
“Kryik? Are you well? Hello?”
Nihlus looked up, feeling better and waving the hovering Salarian back with a smile. "Sorry, sorry. I was just getting my bearings. Can you make spheres and stuff…? I can’t seem to…”
The older STG agent shook his head, “No. I can’t seem to affect things that already exist either. Haven’t been able to find a door… so you can imagine my confusion when you appeared in midair. How did you get here?
Nihlus squinted, looking around the room. It was cozy, filled with eclectic medieval decorations and floor to ceiling bookshelves. There was no door, though one wall was almost entirely consumed by a big open window frame in the cobblestone wall. Outside was sunny, and the breeze that came through smelled sweet.
“Uh, well… I just jumped from one of the other… islands?"
Alhorin blinked at him, slowly. "I see. Yes, you should keep resting and I will continue to look for a way out of this tower."
The Spectre huffed, "I’m fine now. Come on STG, we’ve been here for months. Island jumping is just another… uh, literal metaphor."
"Literal metaphor," Alhorin mumbled with a sigh. "Yes alright. So you jumped between what appeared to be islands and ended up here. Do you know what happened before that? One moment I was looking for datanodes, and the next… Have you seen any of the others?"
"No, and you're the first non-local I've run into. I tried sending a message to the outside and it wouldn’t go through. Also tried raising Mirarli and Rullis on vidcall, and it wouldn’t connect."
The Salarian made a face, lips pressing together firmly.
"So,” Nihlus said after a second of open silence, “what's with this tower that has no doors…?"
--
[Encrypted Message from S. Arterius]
1QLSS:000245/224233* // 14:08:23:03:6633
[Message decoded with Cipher A-261]
Hostiles have been neutralized, and the ship is secure. Confirm your status.
[End Message.]
--
"Kryik..?"
"Ya?" he replied absently, focused on the knots he was tying.
"Why are you weaving the fibers of that, er, drapery?"
"Pretty sure this is called a ‘wig’. Humans wear them over their original head fur to make it look different.”
"Oh. Yes I see.” Alhorin crouched, inspecting his progress. “That makes some amount of sense. When I woke up here it was on my head. However… they are not normally this length are they?"
"Yeahhhh, I don't know why this one is like ten meters long, but I’m thinking it'll make a decent rappelling line. Maybe a little bulky, but serviceable."
"Oh,” the Salarian perked up, “to climb down via the window, yes? Clever."
--
The delighted shout of nearly twenty experts in various fields was pleasing to hear, though it did single handedly ratchet up the headache pulsing at the back of his skull by several degrees. Saren pushed forward, unapologetically removing people from his path until he was in front of the patchwork device the scientists had gotten running.
On screen was a soundless, choppy visual of the Asari Huntress. The environment was more static than not, but the Huntress and the people around them were whole and cohesive enough to make out details. At the center was a throne-like dias where their agent was sitting, with a variety of alien species crowding around. A few closer to the center were clearly discussing something, mouths moving and looks being traded. One was gesturing wildly, while another looked ready to fight.
The silent vidfeed went on for some time, until another triumphant shout from the scientists precluded a burst of autotuner gibberish, and then voices started coming through as well.
"No…. so then he…. it's a lie! … They bit me?!? … stole my hair comb!!! …considering th- … impossible to… she left the box at… no he didn't! … took my very favorite… It’s their fault! …"
The Asari's sharp expression traced the room as the aliens argued about… it wasn’t fully clear, but as best he could gather, it revolved around a series of thefts, offenses, and lies.
The audio cut back out again, amidst much groaning. Thankfully Saren’s optical software could read lips, including non-typical alien ones it seemed. Mirali's mouth formed the words, 'start from the beginning'. They looked deeply unimpressed with the crowd.
An unholy blast of audio fragments layered on top of each other split the air, and the staticky shouting resumed. With a wince, he decided to leave before headache turned into a migraine. Hopefully the science team would improve the situation while he took a break.
If the Huntress was still alive, then Nihlus was most likely still in there as well. Saren paced himself back up to the docks, finally retrieved his basket of illicit groceries, and sat down on a bench to put some calories into his system. With any luck, that would help his head as well.
--
" Why is this house made of soluble carbohydrates ?" Alhorin asked, in a voice that Nihlus had come to think of as his 'I am very displeased by this nonsense world' tone. The Salarian agent stared down at his omni-tool scan, his face twisted in an expression of immense judgment.
"Well, it's kind of pretty?” Nihlus tried, crouched down as he inspected the crystalline sugar gems embedded in the sidewalk. He dug a yellow one out with a talon, licking it curiously. Yep, sweet and mildly citrus. Bleck.
Agent Vesper paced around the building they’d found after using the flower islands to travel again. The roof appeared to be made of layered cookies, held in place by creamy frosting in rainbow colors. "Glucose is water soluble, Kryik. What happens when it rains ?"
‘Nothing’ he thought to himself, considering the aliens that lived here probably turned that weather feature off. He dropped the citrus gem, straightening up to consider the creative landscaping job, which featured more kinds of hard candy than a Krogan had bullets.
"Hmmm… homelessness?"
Alhorin exhaled sharply through his nose. Nihlus assumed he’d be better at handling surrealism by now. Apparently not. It was probably the lack of control they were dealing with, unable to make or change anything besides their own self after months of being Titans in a world of pure will.
"Why hello there boys!” called a gravelly voice. “Gracious, it's so rare to get visitors all the way out here. Come in, come in! I've just put on a spot of tea."
An elderly human leaned out of an open window, waving at them.
Nihlus perked up. "I like tea."
Chapter 15: No smoke no sparkle
Chapter Text
“Anything from Nihlus?” Avitus asked, briefly patting the knee of said friend while sitting on the edge of his bed. The body was unresponsive, monitors showing perfect vital signs but almost no brain activity.
"Hmmm," Saren resisted the urge to manually check his inbox for the third time today. "No."
Avitus sighed, pulling out the hefty mexta blade from the sheath attached to his shin armor, and setting it on his lap. Saren glanced over, but soon went back to what he was doing. Which was currently very little of worth. There was nothing pressing to do besides work remotely on his intelligence network and wait for progress with the server situation.
The other Spectre poked around on his omni-tool for a moment before his forearm lit up with the orange glow from a monomolecular sharpening feature. The mexta was dipped gently into the cheery band of energy, and drawn through repeatedly in slow, methodical strokes.
There was a minor rustle of voices when a bit of problem or progress was made, but otherwise the two of them sat there, working remote and waiting.
After a few minutes of quiet Avitus piped up again, "Has Intel managed to trace that merc payment?"
Saren deleted yet another status-quo update from Virmire, and started on the next message in his low priority backlog. "No."
Avitus lasted almost ten minutes in the quiet. "Do you think-"
Jondam picked that moment to drop by, stopping him mid sentence with a firm couple of pats on the Turian’s shoulder armor. "Let your mind be like a reflection pool until it is time to act, seeing everything but perfectly calm."
Avitus smiled, mandibles tilting crookedly, "Wise words from the famous Spectre Bau?"
The Salarian chuckled, "General Maraxis Aquintis of the 14th regiment, from the book she wrote after the Krogan Rebellions."
"Wise words indeed," offered Saren, determinedly not watching Nihlus' vital monitors.
--
Two sets of boots ran side by side through thick, woodsy undergrowth. One runner was laughing wildly, while the other looked a little wide eyed but still pretty excited. Billowing black smoke rose from the direction they'd just come, blooming outward over the verdant canopy. When the two soldiers reached a dirt road on the edge of a lake they stopped, gasping to catch their breath.
"Wooooo!!! Spirits, that was amazing ," cried Nihlus, with no small amount of glee.
His fellow digital traveler (or was that 'fellow missing person' by now?) clasped both knees with his hands, leaning over and wheezing. He looked up after a hot second to breathe, grinning "-and that is how you make a bomb out of carbohydrates."
"I'll say! Haaaa. I'm going to tell this story when we get back. No one will dare to try and drug your tea ever again. Can you teach me h-"
A furious screech cut him off, coming from off in the distance, neither the way they’d come, nor where they’d been headed.
“NO!” echoed between the trees, the subvocals under it pitched into a complete rage. "No! I DO NOT WANT YOUR BEANS. Spirits! No means NO!"
Nihlus and Alhorin kicked back into gear, taking off in the direction of the yelling. The voice was familiar, and subvocalizations meant ‘Turian’. And there was only one other Turian they’d seen in the Ghost Ship’s servers.
Just around a bend in the dusty trail Savisia Rullis held a hooded figure at gunpoint.
The stranger was offering out a cloth bag, gesturing excitedly, "How about your horns? Only one would do, yes yes, but I must have the whole length of it, of course!"
Savisia bared her teeth in a way that almost anyone could understand. A clear warning that they had two options: leave now or experience violence.
"I can and will shoot you. You can't have part of my FACE! For the last. and final. time. I do not want your bag of beans . Go away!"
Nihlus went ahead and slid right on into the middle of that, in the name of continuing diplomatic relations if nothing else. There was no telling if the shady figure was one of the consciousnesses, or just a simulated person. Better safe than sorry.
"Wow, those are some great… beans. How do you feel about-" he started bullshitting, only to be interrupted with wild excitement.
"Your adornments! I absolutely must have everything you're wearing," the cloaked figure exclaimed, practically jumping up and down.
Savisia started making a noise not unlike a growling Krogan.
"Ah… aha…" Nihlus recoiled slightly, "my entire kit? That's asking a lot for, uhhhh-"
For a handful of legumes .
The figure hummed, so burdened by cloth and wrappings that not a single feature stood out. Nihlus really hoped they came up with something else. He didn't want to run around naked, digital world or not. He was just trying to keep things friendly here, without Agent Rullis either maiming the guy, or handing over part of her crest.
"Here!" the trader announced, pulling a larger sack out from under their cloak, and tossing both it and the seed bag at him. "A more than fair deal, if I do say so myself. Well, what are you waiting for? Hand it over!"
Nihlus raised a browridge, tugging open the larger sack to see what was the 'upsell' item they’d thrown at him.
It was pants.
Turian formal wear pants, with black fabric and thick silver stitching. There were very many buttons, and nice deep pockets too.
Alhorin coughed, and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Perhaps this isn't a fair exchange? Spectre Kryik favors black and red in his sense of fashion, not silver…"
The figure gasped, as if offended. "These pants are the height of fashion! Not to mention that these aren’t merely beans, they are seeds that will lead you to the blessed lands in the sky!"
His peers still didn't seem impressed, but that last bit caught Nihlus' attention. A faint niggle of instinct. "...in the sky?"
“Are there ah, blue flowers in these lands?”
"Blue flowers? Pah! There’s all kinds of flowers and flies and various pies! Plant the magic beans and they'll get you there, yes yes!"
Nihlus' mandibles wiggled as he debated with himself, but in the end the gear pieces he was wearing were only digital copies of the real things. Did they really have value?
"Alright, I’ll trade you everything I'm wearing, but not my weapons or kinetic shield. Or my omni-tool." It would just be plain unnerving to go around unarmed after all. Imaginary or not.
The trader made a groan like he was a price gouging Volus trying to evade trade tariffs with obscure contractual loopholes. " Fiiine ."
Nihlus took a few steps back and started taking things off.
"Here," Rullis said, helpfully taking things out of his hands, "I can at least hold your stuff while you trade pixels with this creep. As long as this gets them to go away . They've been following me for hours, trying to trade all kinds of things for those stupid seeds."
Their Salarian counterpart moved in closer and hummed thoughtfully. "Did you try to trade items of less importance, like clothing? They do seem preoccupied with apparel…"
She scoffed, glancing over to shoot the trader a black look, "They didn't ask for my gear. They asked for my childhood dreams. My left arm. My first born fledgeling!"
Nihlus set the front of his chest piece aside, putting his bracers in the bowl shape that made before dragging the back part of his torso armor off and over his head. He also broke into the conversation before Alhorin unintentionally incited her back toward violence.
"I don't think their value system works like ours, since they can make things without base materials or even a massfab, yeah?” He tossed his gloves into the pile, “Unique ideas and creative concepts are worth a lot more… granted I have no idea why my kit scores so high on this list, but I'm not about to question it."
Alhorin kneeled, and began helpfully poking around his boots for the release mechanism. “Indeed. Your armor is higher end, but a bit dated.”
“Oi!” said Nihlus, offended on behalf of his favorite set. “The best gun is the one that shoots just right, yeah? Armor is the same.”
The Salarian hummed skeptically, but got his lower legs pieces off while he shucked the upper.
Having all of his guns in her arms, Blackwatch offered her two credits as well. “Well, he’s got good taste in firearms at least? These aren’t bad. The scope on this one is meant for a much higher powered rifle though.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” he complained with a sigh.
Off went the bodysuit he wore under the armor as well, he even folded it nicely and set it on the pile of gear before pulling on the replacement pants. They were a little loose on his skinny hips, but workable. And they did look pretty good on him, if he said so himself.
The cloth-bundled figure rushed over to pat the pile happily. "Delightful! Yes, wonderful! So glad to do business with you."
"Uh, yeah-" Before Nihlus could finish, the trader, and all of his armor, was gone.
No smoke, no sparkle, just gone.
Savisia handed back over his weapons, which he had to creatively tuck and clip onto himself, and then the bean pouch, which she handed over with an expression of immense disdain. "Spirits, he’s gone. Thanks Kryik."
"Eh, no problem. You could have handled it. Probably with more violence though.”
Her expression said yes. Much more violence.
He smiled, “Well are you guys ready to plant some magic beans?"
Alhorin looked ready for a stiff drink. " ...you’re serious?"
Chapter 16: [Apologies]
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Avitus walked in with both arms loaded down, several bags of take out in either hand. Macen was on his heels, equally burdened. The hoard of hungry scientists inside the alien vessel (currently on max security lockdown) turned on them like a pack of starving varren.
He managed to set down the bag for his little group against the wall by the door before the masses descended.
What followed was a solid twenty minutes of chaos, and picky requests for a specific kind of cutlery, half of which they had to make on the spot with the plastic from the bags and a mini-fab on an omni-tool.
When the metaphorical dust settled, the two Turians went back for their own food, only to find it missing. A look in the direction of Nihlus’ bedside turned up the missing sustenance. Saren had found a chair somewhere, and had his own order out: carb heavy pasta with protein chunks getting twirled up and steadily eaten. The rest of the meals were rewrapped, sitting on the warm surface of the machines behind Nihlus’ station.
Avitus headed over, retrieving his lunch and handing Macen his. Saren hummed in welcome, eyes flicking around in that erratic way they did when he was working on something via his optical interface. “If this continues, we may need better sleeping arrangements brought on board.”
Macen chimed in, “And a catering service that isn’t Avitus.”
The Turian in question shrugged, resettling his cowl. “I don’t mind. With any luck the situation will be over soon, anyway.”
Saren made a sound that was deeply pessimistic.
--
“First, the giant plant!” yelled Savisia as they ran full tilt, “Then climbing it, for hours!”
“Yeah that sucked, but-” Nihlus tried to add, dragging breaths as he dodged around a tree and kept running.
“Then giant buildings! And a bird that lays metal eggs!” she continued ranting, apparently willing to spare the breath. “Solid metal? How would that even work for reproduction!?”
“Gold is an excellent conductor of electricity,” Alhorin offered at a yell, turning down a break in the woods that had a better pathway than their current one.
“And now a giant human is chasing us, waxing poetic about blood! While I carry this STUPID NOT-EGG. ”
Okay, even he could admit that the poetry was creepy. He’d seen some weird shit as a Spectre, this entire mission making some of the greatest hits, but that in particular was a whole new level of crazy and cringe.
Sunlight broke through the treeline up ahead, and the XL sized plant stalk they’d used to get up here came into view, glossy green leaves shining in the sunlight.
Alhorin fell in on his left, “Kryik, are we going,” he panted, “up or down when we get to the plant?”
“Jumping down from leaf to leaf would be faster!” Savisia shouted over the thundering sound of footsteps behind them.
“Up! We gotta climb… until we find… the blue flowers again!” Nihlus insisted, almost thankful that he wasn’t wearing his armor for this.
“Your stupid ideas… are going… to get us killed, Spectre!” she complained, nimbly leaping over a small boulder rather than go around.
“Probably!” said Spectre agreed, taking the long way around the rock and trying not to wipe out when he skid a bit while turning. “But my stupid ideas have worked so far!”
“You call this working?!” Savisia cried out, subvocals incredulous as she leapt off the side of the floating island and landed on a leaf the size of a skycar. The one golden egg they’d stolen on the advice of a man in a cage remained miraculously unbroken. Or, possibly not so miraculous, if it really was solid metal. There hadn’t been time to scan it yet.
“Up it is!” declared Alhorin, unreasonably spry for a storied STG agent, “Less talking, more climbing!”
Alhorin followed after her, landing on the makeshift platform just as the Blackwatch agent made a jump for the next highest one. Nihlus threw himself at the stalk, using talons like climbing stakes into the plant’s side to go as fast as he could. The angry Human chasing them was slightly delayed, having to pick through forest that was more like heavy bushland for the five-story-tall male.
--
A cheer went up from the far side of the room, and a second vidscreen fizzed to life with another view of one of the agents trapped in digital space.
"We've got Astor!"
"That's the Drell right? Great! Can we clean up the signal?”
"Did it interfere with the tracing on the Asari?"
"Minimally, but yes…"
"I think I can get the audio up if we can handle increased visual artifacts!"
“Hold off for now, we need to parse team one’s new numbers.”
The scientific jargon only got more spicy as the various subgroups continued going back and forth. Unfortunately time still operated differently inside, and so scenes would get captured and turned into vid feed only for the data buffers to get full or run too far behind. The visual would resolve as it caught up to real time, but it was difficult to follow what was going on, and they could barely catch audio, nevermind restart the two way communication system.
Macen still gave a little cheer, leaning into Avitus and nudging his jaw slightly. "I'm going to go find a bathroom and get some kava, you want anything?"
"Good luck finding a bathroom, there's not one onboard. Yes to kava. Hmmm… the one with egg foam, if wherever you go has it?" he replied.
"I figured. Arterius, you want anything? I'm making a drink run."
"Call me Saren, if you would, and yes. Thank you. Something warm would be pleasant. I would prefer mine plain this time, with electrolytes if they offer it."
"Can do. I'll be back soon, Avi."
Avitus subvocals made a soft noise at the nickname. "Thanks, message me if you have any trouble getting back onboard."
Macen trilled an affirmative, and headed out. The strange not-wood corridors were at least lit normally again, and it wasn't hard to backtrack to the airlock. He stepped outside, and made a point to turn around and catch the eyes of the guards now stationed on either side of the entry. Hopefully they would recognize him on the way back and let him in without issue, so long as they weren’t relieved of duty between now and then.
The misty green of the AI terminal was swirling.
Macen paused, then stepped closer looking it over thoughtfully. The sphere's internal light brightened.
"So… AI."
A question mark formed.
"You're sapient? Sentient?"
[Yes], it wrote in a pleasant, handwritten script.
'Wild.' Macen thought with a faint mix of anxiety and awe. Outloud he said, "Are you aware of the status of Nihlus Kryik? Or the other consciousnesses the science team hasn't found?"
[No, but looking]
"Are you… telling them when you find things out?"
[Yes] it wrote, followed by, [This was not supposed to happen], and then, [Apologies].
Macen hummed. "It's… ahh, it's not okay , but it's not entirely your fault. Security on our end should've been higher from the start."
The orb color swirled some more, then darkened. Macen took that as a goodbye, and left on his errands.
Notes:
[NEW UPDATE: Volunteers Step Forward to Swap Places with Virtual Aliens]
“Deadlocked Council deliberations over the fate of Ambassador Sygan ended today with a surprising twist: the Council will grant asylum to the virtual alien emissary in the body of a volunteer, allowing famed MIT exobiologist Dr. Jordan Detweiler to return to his own body. Ambassador Sygan will transfer her consciousness into the volunteer's body, while the volunteer's consciousness is downloaded into a computer. Upon hearing this decision, some 400 individuals from various races have volunteered to "swap places" with aliens inside the virtual world who wish to re-join the physical universe. One asari volunteer regarded this as "an amazing opportunity to explore a new realm of existence," while a salarian volunteer said, "I'm doing it because I'm tired of our universe. It's a mess."
Chapter 17: A consequence of experience
Chapter Text
Savisia crossed her arms beneath her keel while addressing the group of very tiny, glitter leaking, winged Humans with what remained of her fraying patience. "Well I'm not royalty, my people don't even have royalty, so I can't exactly help you there.”
She turned to the other two soldiers, more out of politeness than any belief there would be a positive answer. “How about you guys? Any ah…weird… clan history?"
Nihlus laughed, subvocals denying it thoroughly for him. Ironically, it was his turn to lug the golden egg around. Between that, the casual shirtlessness revealing lithe muscle, and black fancy pants, he looked the most of the three of them like some kind of eclectic rich person.
Alhorin tapped his chin with a knuckle. "I suppose, very technically…"
Savisia squinted at him, suspiciously. All three of the colorful little people zipped over to the STG agent, little wings beating rapidly as they hovered in front of his face.
The pink one, who seemed to be the leader, came the closest. Hands the size of a button clutched to a ruffle covered chest as her tiny voice broke dramatically, “Very technically? Oh please don't be getting our hopes up. A-are you a prince or princess, good…er… sir?"
"Well my mother was a minor duchess on Sur'kesh," he said, a bit sheepish. “My sister holds the position now though, after she passed.”
Flecks of glittering light trailed behind the three winged aliens as they zipped in circles faster than the eye could see. After letting the excitement out they gathered again, hovering in mid-air in front of a stone fireplace and conversing at light speed.
"Oh oh, it's quite close!"
"A duchy isn't a kingdom, my dear!"
"But he's royalty at least! No one even vaguely noble has passed by, and it's been nearly a century!"
"Well ladies, it couldn't hurt for him to try?"
"The princess might mind!"
"Oh don't be ridiculous, my dear. If you could ask her, she'd be willing to try. Always so adventurous as a child…"
"Then we're in agreement?"
"I suppose!"
They zipped back over, sparkles drifting behind them as they landed on a nightstand by Alhorin's head.
"Kiss her!" they shouted as one, leaning toward him as a group.
Large black eyes blinked, slowly. " …come again?"
The ruffled leader stepped forward, gesturing to the curtained bed. "We asked for your pedigree to see if you could aid the princess. She was cursed! Only the kiss of a true prince or princess can wake her from eternal slumber…"
Nihlus raised his hand in the back, barely containing his mirth. "That actually works? Can I call dibs on going second then?"
Savisia snorted, "Really Kryik?"
"Hey," he grinned, "at this point I'm willing to try just about anything. I miss some of my people back home. And my fish."
Two of the flying little people zipped over to the bed curtains, one on either side pulling back the drapery. On a sumptuous bed of pillows and expensive looking fabric laid a Human female, dark skinned and blonde haired with perfect makeup, peaceful in sleep.
"Oh please give her a kiss, sir? Just the one, and at the very least we'll know if a duchy is sufficient princedom," the green one asked sweetly, going to hover over the sleeping figure.
Alhorin looked vaguely uncomfortable, but gamely stepped forward. "For the record, I only have the faintest idea how a kiss works," he mumbled, "Only a small minority of my species participate in amorous behavior."
All three of the tiny flyers looked somewhat taken aback and confused at the very idea.
The STG agent stalled at the bedside, glancing over at the two Turians, "Do your people…?"
Savisia visibly cringed. "It's uh… it's a lot different. We make out but it's…"
When the other Turian trailed off Nihlus cut in, “I 'kissed' an Asari once? They smooshed the outside puffy part of their mouth against my face a lot, especially along the mandibles. It occasionally became tongue instead? The tongue part was better, if that helps."
It did not. Alhorin stepped forward and just gave it a go. First he pressed his mouth to her cheek, but seeing no result tried her jawline, and then finally her lips.
With a gasp the Human woke, sitting up even as Alhorin backpedaled. "Oh! I… you must be my prince then?"
The three little people cheered riotously, the better part of the room filling with glowing debris from their wings.
“Hurray Hurray!” the little aliens screamed in delight, cheering and dancing in the air.
“Uhhh…” The Salarian cleared his throat. “Hello? My name is Alhorin Vesper, of the Salarian Special Tasks Group, rank thirty two.”
The princess tilted her head, sunset colored eyes contrasting perfectly with her matching eyeshadow and nightgown. “What’s a Tactics Group? Is it like a book club?”
Nihlus started wheezing.
"You've got to be kidding me," scoffed Savisia from the windowside, "That spirit forsaken forest we hacked and bled our way through to get here? It's gone."
"Hurray hurray!" the tiny flyers cried again, "True love’s kiss has awoken the Princess! We must start planning the royal wedding at once!"
Alhorin, eyes wide in mild horror, cleared his throat to get the room's attention. "Pardon me, but… what? "
Nihlus absolutely lost it.
--
Macen made it back into the ship without trouble, a heated drink carrier in hand that he’d grabbed when it became obvious that it would take a while to get back. Traffic had been horrible with all the extra people on station because of the Ghost Ship. From xenobiologists to military, and tourists to news media, the station was jam packed.
Things weren't how he'd left them though.
Most notably, a new station had been set up, and Saren was on it. His expression bland as he sat still, while a hoard of scientists and Dr. Arventus lapped him, setting up equipment and cables.
Macen approached the goings on, coming up to stand at Avitus' side as the two Spectres spoke over the ruckus.
"You sure you want to do this? I could go in instead."
"No," said Saren, immediately followed by a gesture at the drinks and a nod, "Ah, Barro. Kava, please."
He handed over the insulated drink cup, fairly certain of the broad strokes of what was going on but unclear as to why . Saren pulled the kava close to inhale the scent, then took a long pull.
Avitus exhaled loudly through his nasal plates. "I don't like this."
"I scored significantly higher on their calibration tests. I will acclimate faster than any of the other volunteers, including yourself."
Macen cut in, "You're going in. What for?"
It was Dr. Arventus that answered, "We need someone to go from our controlled space to where each consciousness is in the servers, and deliver a bit of code that will essentially just force transfer them back to the welcome zone, where we can pull them out. In theory."
Macen perked up. "So you’re able to get everyone back? That's great news."
"Except," Avitus drawled, "Saren here didn't just score high on their tests. He blew them out of the water. He scored too high, past some kind of threshold that I really don’t understand? …and they may have issues getting him back out."
"A problem we can address if and when it becomes relevant," said the Spectre in question, still communing with his kava. “It is significantly more likely that I will simply need more time to be extricated.”
"I’m confused," Macen said, drawing out the ‘m’, "He scored too high?"
"A consequence of my personal experiences and augments, I suspect. Regardless, I believe we are past the point of discussion," Saren replied in a cultured rumble, with a bit of pointed stare at Avitus.
The other Spectre made a soft growl and paced off. With a final look at Saren, Macen turned to follow, offering out Avi's kava as he caught up. He took it, just holding onto the cup and not looking at anyone.
Macen pulled up his own drink and gave the guy a moment to himself, to stand around with his kava and be mad about it, or whatever. It all seemed like pretty good news to him. Better odds than they’d had before, at least.
Chapter 18: We're losing daylight
Chapter Text
"Weeeeee!" cheered the princess, landing on a mushroom the size of a conference table and bouncing off it toward a similar one lower down.
The three special forces agents were close behind, happy to get away from the animate playing cards with spears that wanted to behead them all for reasons unknown. Though Nihlus had a hunch that had something to do with stealing the ‘heir’ of a neighboring monarchy.
Though that whole set up was very suspect, considering that Mirabelle had identified herself as one of the ship’s consciousnesses. Maybe a princess? Maybe not? She claimed to remember being born as one though, those memories significantly more clear than the faint echos of life on the main servers. So who knew?
Even after Alhorin had explained the concept of asexuality, and that he had to get back to the outside world, the girl had been certain she wanted to come along with him. Wedding or no wedding. She claimed to be thrilled to have woken up at all, and didn’t seem to put out in the slightest that the ‘prince’ who had done it wasn’t even up for dating, nevermind matrimony.
The 'fairies’ hadn't agreed with any of that, and started talking about ‘generous dowries’ and ‘the responsibilities of the nobility’. Hence, the kidnapping.
“Weeeeee!” their royal tag-along shouted again, gleeful as she bunched up her orange nightgown to make a landing on solid ground. Savisia landed just behind her, and retook the lead in the retreat from the card soldiers.
“Kryik!” the Blackwatch agent bellowed, climbing up the side of a rising cliff and turning to wait for the others to catch up, “How do we get to the fucking flowers again?”
The princess gaped up at her, for whatever reason.
“It’s always up!” The tall Spectre yelled as he climbed half way, and stopped to offer the other two a hand up. “You see any mountains? Ladders? Antigravity platforms?”
“Not from here, but this is the side of a gorge, and it goes upward for a while!”
The strange, flat soldiers began bouncing down the mushrooms, and Savisia took the opportunity to pull out her sidearm and take pot shots. It was very disconcerting when hits were met with small explosions of papery shrapnel instead of blood or machine oil. It was also satisfying, and it still killed them.
Savisia aimed for their freaky, disc-like faces.
When their group were all up the cliff, she turned to pathfind again, heading for the highest ground in sight. “Come on people, move!”
--
Saren made the shape in his palm turn from sphere to cube, from cube to a hexahedron, then to a dodecahedron. He made it morph into more and more complex shapes, until it had so many polygons it could be confused for a smooth textured orb, save for the tiny, barely visible flat planes that comprised it.
He turned to his guide, a bird-formed alien with flamboyant teal feathering. “Complete. What is the next training module?”
“Er…” the guide looked away, and started preening itself. “Great, myeah, don’t you think we should take a break though? We’ve been at this all day…”
“No.”
Saren stared at the bird. The bird tried avoiding his gaze. Eventually, the Spectre prompted them again, with enough warning in his tone that even an Elcor could catch it. “What is. The next module.”
The alien’s feathers ruffled up like an offended feather boa, but they relented. “Oh fine, fine. The next lesson is coloring the object by-”
Saren turned the rapidly evolving model into a rough replica of the guide, and turned it teal, then into myriad shades of teal, then began coloring in the unique sections of scale, eyes, and jewelry. Then, because he knew what the next module was going to be by simple deduction, the Turian added better fine detail to the feathers, texture to the beak, shadowing independent of the room light, and luminescence to the eyes for kicks. Then, he looked back at the Ghost Ship alien.
They looked rather dismayed. He couldn’t care less.
“And the next module?”
Groaning like he was being robbed, the bird form alien took him non-stop through the next week’s worth of lessons, before cutting him off just before he would be going out of the welcome zone.
“Emergency or not, you’re not going out there on your third day, myeah. This is mentally taxing stuff, okay? Go rest!”
“I do not wish to-”
“The next module is practicing how to sleep, goodbye!”
Aggravating, and a waste of time. It only worked because they left before he could bully them any further.
--
“But why did you eat the fruit?” Savisia scowled down at Nihlus as she clutched at the golden egg. Thankfully it really was sturdy, or it would have cracked by now.
“I was hungry?” offered the now child-aged Turian, all bony angles and awkward fringe.
“Spirits preserve me, you are made of pixels. You don’t need food ,” she hissed.
Big green eyes stared up at her, all cute and sad. “I’m still hungry.”
“Is this a situation where one might say, ‘fuck’?” asked the princess curiously.
“Yes, perfect usage, Mirabelle,” said Alhorin with a proud smile. “You can include a small plea to your deity, if your particular spiritual practices have one that is relevant.”
The exasperated Blackwatch agent exhaled loudly through her nasal plates, plopped the damn metal egg into STG’s hands, and picked up the miniature Spectre. He fit nicely in her cowl, just a little on the big side and shivering from being tiny and shirtless.
“Ooo you’re warm!” he said with delight and hunkered down.
Savisia turned and started walking. “I can see more of the teleporting flowers from here, come on people, we’re losing daylight.”
Mini-Nihlus made a cute little confused croon. “How can we be-”
“Not a word Kryik, or you can walk .”
Chapter 19: Over a long fall
Chapter Text
Saren opened his digital omni-tool in order to go through the route of receiving and viewing a message. For some reason, his optical display just didn’t work as well for these ‘going through the motions’ type activities. Perhaps due to the simplicity of their use and activation? Something to test another time.
[Unencrypted Message from STG Operative Hokin Vis]
[CC: Team 001, Team 002, Med Team, Ship.AI, [Hidden], [Hidden], ST&R Intel Div]
1QLSS:058692/22855* // 04:12:10:44:82514
Spectre Arterius
Attached is a list of server addresses and locational data on the three groups. I recommend attempting to locate and deliver their recall code in the order given. Huntress Mirali is closest and is more or less stationary. Astor Thornwell and Michelle Rivita are together, moving slowly but steadily in the wrong direction. The other three are together at the final set of coordinates, but they’re deep in the damaged area, and moving quickly from place to place.
Good hunting.
-Vis
[End Message.]
Saren checked over the briefcase of swirling green orbs one last time, secured it to a maglock on his back, and cleared his mind. The entirety of his mental focus went to making a door to take him toward the Asari Huntress. The portal that appeared was plain, like any other door on the Citadel, and it opened to reveal a jungle village. The sweeping grounds were complex and well decorated, complete with detailed tribal architecture and large cook fires.
A small crowd of entities milled about in the open area, gossiping and chattering with awe and no small amount of confusion.
“How did her Lady of the Blue Fire figure out who was lying?”
“I don’t care, I got my comb back! Oh this is wonderful.”
“Well that will teach Cat to behave that way.”
“The Cat? Everyone should have expected they would behave that way. Personally, I was rather surprised by Fire. And Elephant!”
“Yes, thank you! What was Elephant even thinking??”
“But seriously we must have a talk with Mouse…”
“And Wood!”
“Well, yes, okay… and Wood. But Mouse first!”
Saren moved through the crowd, looking for the Asari amid the reed roof huts and curtained terraces. In a twist of good luck they found him first, awkwardly holding an oversized headdress on over their tentacles and wearing some sort of theatrical face paint.
“By the goddess , please tell me you’re here to get me out? I’ve been solving criminal and civil disputes for a week . The local elders are trying to make me into a formal leader of some sort, and won’t hear a word against it.”
The Spectre blinked then nodded, pulling the briefcase off his back, and retrieving one of the misty green orbs. He held it out, “This should pull you back to the welcome zone, and re-establish coms with the external team.”
The Huntress looked immensely relieved and took the orb, disappearing half way through replying. “Than-”
Hm. That went well. Perhaps this would be easier than expected?
Hmm. No, probably not.
Saren accessed the second location and focused hard to make another door. Same style, same method. It opened wide, and on the otherside was a static void. He squinted at it, deciding that discretion would be the better part of valor in this case. The Spectre sent a holo image of the doorway back to Vis.
After a strange half an hour spent observing the denizens of the tribal village go about their lives, he received a reply. New coordinates, and instructions not to enter any visually static spaces, whatsoever. Also, to request updated coordinates as many times as he needed.
The second door he opened led to somewhere in the clouds. Besides the open air and white humidity, the only other thing in view was a vast ocean, off and to the right. The incorrect horizon melted at the edges, as if collapsing back in on itself.
Saren didn’t go through that door either.
The better part of the afternoon and seven doors later, the pale Turian found himself mildly headachey, but looking at a very unhappy Drell. One with a scaled tail and fins instead of legs. They were slinking down a hallway with a large silver Trident in hand.
And everything was underwater.
Hmm.
Saren focused very carefully on believing he could breathe water just like it was air, and stepped through. “Therwell.”
“Spectre,” they replied, looking both ways down the hall before swimming over and taking cover in the doorway. “I suggest we go back whichever way you came. I have been held captive here for some time now after attempting to save a ship full of travelers from drowning in a storm. I cannot tell if I have committed a crime, or if they have mistaken me for someone of import, however, the aliens here do not seem… fully cogent. They cannot be reasoned with.”
Saren pulled another sphere from the briefcase, and offered it out to the Drell with the same spiel. “This should pull you back to the welcome zone, and re-establish coms with the external team.”
Tentatively the agent took it, and disappeared without another word. Optimal, really.
Saren was just starting to focus in order to open another door when a shout rang out, “Intruder! An intruder is in the palace!”
He had to let go of his previous focus in order to run normally, even as the shark-human and octopus-human with pikes swam to catch up.
--
Nihlus, full size once more but still in nothing but very classy pants, contemplated the grand marble doors in front of their group with a thousand yard stare. Each of the three doors had an identical stone guard in front of it. A stone tablet on the floor spelled out a riddle.
One guard will always lie.
One guard will always tell the truth.
One guard was unreliable.
You may ask two questions only.
One door leads to safety.
One door leads to your doom.
One door resets the maze.
You may only walk through one door.
Princess Mirabelle looked about ready to cry, dark skin looking a bit pale with tired bags under her eyes. Meanwhile Savisia had given up and was sitting down, idly rolling the golden egg around on the floor. Alhorin was the only one still going strong.
This was the fifteenth challenge they’d had to face to try and reach the center of the massive stone labyrinth, and the group as a whole was getting burned out from the logic puzzles and trick questions. And the consequences of wrong answers, which varied from being dumped in a vat of slime, to having a hoard of small birds attempt to maim them. But they were close. The spiraling pattern of their path led here, to what had to be the center, or nearly the center, of the maze.
“I’ve got it!” the STG agent exclaimed, and pointed to one of the guards.
“Oh thank fuck,” mumbled Savisia, pushing herself back up.
“Much fuck indeed,” Mirabelle added wearily.
“You there, guard on the left.” Alhorin started, “Is exactly one of my following statements true? You are the truth teller. The one to your right is unreliable.”
The stone answered in a raspy voice, “Yes”.
“Aha!” The Salarian looked triumphant. Sweaty and exhausted, but triumphant. “Then you, guard in the middle. Would your exact opposite say this door leads to freedom?”
It sighed like a desert wind, “No, they would not.”
Alhorin sniffed, taking Mirabelle’s hand and heading through the middle door. Nihlus just kind of followed along, too brain dead to care strongly which door it actually was. Blackwatch came through cautiously, but it seemed that Salarian intellect ran true.
The middle door opened into a beautiful garden, filled wall to wall with blue flowers.
“You’re a gift from the fucking spirits. Bless you. Bless your entire line. Bless your secretary, your pets if you have them, and every glass of alcohol you ever drink.” Nihlus patted the STG agent on the shoulder and just dumped himself onto the blooms.
The world tilted and then realigned once more.
--
The lost N7, while easy to locate, was difficult to actually get to.
“Rivita?” Saren yelled, looking up at the cage high above.
An absolute tank of a Human female leaned over the side, peeing down at him. “Aw fucks sake, you be a sight for sore eyes. And I ne’er thought to be sayin’ that about a kittybird, eh?”
Saren glared. He resembled neither a feline, nor an avian.
“Eh sorry mon, I didna mean notin by it,” they offered cheerfully with a wave as his translator struggled to acclimate to whatever accent they were speaking Earth common with.
He chuffed, letting it go in favor of looking for a way to get closer to the cage. Everything here was sized for people several hundred times his mass.
The Spectre attempted to think himself larger, but it failed entirely. The further he had gone from the central server, the less environmental control he seemed to have. It was… inconvenient.
He began to consider biotic assisted jumps instead.
The space was like some kind of nightmare sitting room, with cloth doilies and far too much beige to be tolerable. The circular cage that contained the N7 was on a side table next to a plush chair with soft fabric that looked like it wouldn’t survive five minutes in a household with talons on every hand.
There was a crate of papers, a blanket draped on top, a window sill…
Saren wandered the area calculating his jumps. There were a few spots where he would have to climb a ways as well.
He wished he had his hoverboard here… the lift feature would have been a slow but simple way up. If all else failed he could potentially go back a ways, make the hoverboard, and then return. Though he was sure it would take him a bit to get back to this far afield.
Where there was a will, there was a way. Especially here.
“Turian?” came a call from above, the ‘r’ mostly silent. “You still down there?”
“I am,” he yelled back, “hold on. I am trying to find a way up to you.”
“There be a talking cat here somewhere! He’ll help if you ask, a real nice orange tom, ya.”
His nasal plates scrunched up. A cat? What did that have to do with anything? Perhaps it was further reference to the derogatory names her species had for his… Saren decided to ignore it, and made for the spot he wanted to start scaling the furniture from.
Papers to blanket, steep incline up the blanket. Near the top he leapt backwards, flipping and landing so his feet hit the table's leg, which he rebounded off of. He fell onto the side of the chair, and had to climb a little ways with his claws in the fabric. Another leap off the chair got Saren to the window sill, which was still a bit away from the N7, but they were now at the same general height.
“Ah you made it! Now, how we be gettin’ out of here?” Rivita asked, hands gripping two of the gilt bars that trapped her.
Saren backed up as far as the window sill let him, then took a running jump over to the tabletop where the cage was, landing a bit hard. Panting a bit he started circumnavigating the metal bars, making his way over to the door. The N7 kept pace with him, albeit the base of the cage was so much higher that he couldn’t touch the floor of it unless he made another leap.
With a bit of effort, Saren used some of the door’s structure to clamber up the base of the frame, braced himself, and pulled the briefcase off his back to hold it near the bars. “Take one of the orbs, it will return you to the welcome zone.”
The N7 whooped happily, and made to reach through to grab one.
There was a fizzing sound, a loud pop, and the next thing Saren knew, he was on his back on the tabletop.
“Merciful lady! Turian, you alright?” Rivita called.
“I am-” he grunted, a bit shaken but undamaged, “-fine.”
The briefcase, and remaining orbs, were nowhere to be seen. He tensed, fearing the worst. “Do you see the case I or the orbs?
“Ay ay, over there! I see dem.”
He paced to the edge where she pointed. They had gone flying, landing on the chair’s arm and in it’s seat.
With a sigh, Saren descended halfway back down and retrieved the orbs with no small amount of relief and using a bit of biotics to avoid touching them himself. Then he scaled his way up, though he had to sit for a moment at the top, feeling drained.
Which was honestly aggravating. This body wasn’t real, why did it get tired at all?
Displeasure at the absurdity of that was enough to re-energize him, and Saren got to his feet. He considered the lock while Rivita looked on hopefully.
“Is that a physical keyhole on the door?” he asked, shifting left and right to try and see it better.
“It is! I tried to pick it, yeah? I can feel all the tumblers on de inside, but they be too hard to push in.”
Hmm. Well, he wasn’t going to play ‘attempt to get the briefcase through the bars’ and risk getting tossed around some more. Or breaking one of the spheres, if that was possible. Forcing the lock would be… so much more dignified.
He started to climb the cage itself, hand over hand on one particular bar until he was up to the locking mechanism. His entire arm fit inside the hole.
Just as he started inspecting the dark interior of the lock, the N7 finished climbing up to meet him. They shoved a meat haunch of a forearm into the keyhole from their side, and pressed on one of the tumblers. “See? Won’t move, it be too damn big.”
Saren reached in and shoved at it as well. Combined they could wiggle it, but that was about it.
Time for more headache, he supposed.
“I can push these in with my biotics, but you will need to move your hand away. When I finish depressing the final tumbler, be ready to pull the door latch.”
“Alright,” the soldier replied, climbing bar to bar until they were by the handle.
With a deep breath and a bit of an awkward, one-armed memetic motion, Saren biotically punched the lock until it clicked, and Rivita could hit the latch. Of course, it started to swing open the rest of the way on it’s own and the both of them went winging outward, dangling over the long fall to the floor.
Carefully, the both of them climbed horizontally until they could drop onto the safety of the table. They met back up just outside the cage door.
“Well that was an adventure! But not one I would wanna repeat, ay?”
“Hmm,” he replied emphatically, and pulled the briefcase off the maglock on his back to open it for a second time and offer out the orbs. “I apologize that it took so long to get to you.”
“So long?” She asked, reaching for a sphere, “I was only in there for about a day. Thought that help would take a lot longer to be gettin’ here, cuz of de acclimation trainin’. How did y-”
And she was gone, whisked away mid sentence. Saren stared at the spot for a moment, closing up the case with care.
Hmm.
Chapter 20: Feeling faint
Chapter Text
“Mirror, mirror on the wall! Who is the fairest of them all?” the King bellowed to the magical mirror, ready and waiting for the answer to return to the usual, satisfying result. Him.
Surely, now that the strange interloper was dead, he was again the fairest?!
“Hmmm, hmm…” the spirit of the mirror stalled.
“Well? Get on with it! The huntsman brought me the traveler's heart. Now that they’re dead, surely it must be my glorious self once more?” they spat the demand, shoulders high and luscious black hair starting to frizz with undirected magical energy.
“You see, Your Majesty, the thing is- I mean… technically, ‘fair’ is just a classic measure of paleness, you know? And that traveler is, woah boy, I mean white like a sheet!”
“ Is?!” they raged at the present tense. “They live!?”
“Uhhh…” the mirror spirit rubbed their wispy gold lips together, looking anywhere but at the King. “So I have an idea. What if -and just hear me out now- what if you asked me who… who the best dressed in all the land is?”
The King screamed in unholy rage, sending a blast of lighting at the wall next to the mirror. The spirit inside yelped, recoiling to the furthest edge of the glass.
Saren chose that moment to step out from behind a wall hanging. “So. You did attempt to have me killed.”
The King spun around, “You!” he threw, along with another blast of lightning.
The Spectre stepped aside, voice dangerously smooth. “I admit, where I am from the lack of pigmentation in my plates is considered unattractive. Attempted murder because I am pale is… unprecidented.”
A whole battery of lighting bolts came at the Turian, prompting him to dodge or put something between them several times in a row.
“Argh!! Why won’t you stay still? Just die already!
Saren reached forward, talons curling, bidding gravity to do his will even here. “Better men than you have tried.”
The King collapsed into a singularity, a rough ball of unevenly compressed bone and cloth and tissue making a bloody mess as it sloughed to the floor.
He inspected the remains placidly, accepting the faint headache that move had caused as a worthy price. “But if I had to name one particular reason? I would say ‘poor planning’ was your worst mistake.”
Saren looked up and found the mirror spirit watching him. It shrieked and started apologizing for everything, absolutely everything, from the color of it’s frame to the way it breathed. The Spectre approached as it rattled off, begged a little, and cowered further and further into the glass.
“Calm down.”
The indistinct figure looked up, breathing rapidly, it’s smokey golden eyes wide with fear. It was silent though.
“Better. Now explain to me how you knew I was alive.”
“Oh, I ah-” it stuttered a few times before trying for a weak and fearful smile, “I’m the magic mirror, you see? I can look at anything, anywhere, anytime. Makes up for being stuck in here, you know? I mean mostly. I really do wonder what apples taste like. Of course not the apple that the blood-covered-ball-of-former-ruler tried to give you? But maybe a green one. Is that so much to ask? I-”
Saren coughed, trying to interrupt the ramble. The spirit fell silent, gulping.
“You claim to be… omniscient?”
“Yes! That’s me! The looking mirror that looks everywhere, hahaha…”
“Hmm… interesting.” Saren said, before lifting the frame off the wall and turning to begin focusing on making a new door. “Tell me where I can find Nihlus Kryik.”
The mirror looked a little shell shocked to be picked up and moved around like common household furniture. “Uhh… Nihlus, Nihlus, Niiiiihlus… oh. Yes, he’s at the wicked step mother’s house.”
“Describe it. In detail.”
“Oooookay…”
--
The stepmother clutched the beads of her pearl necklace to her chest, aghast. The two stepsisters, one in soft purples and the other in sultry reds, clung to each other, quivering like reeds in a storm.
Princess Mirabelle paced back and forth across the living room, in a right fit, lecturing the entire family on their behavior. Alhorin stood off to one side, supportively frowning at the three humans on the couch in a very ‘dad is disappointed’ sort of way.
“And furthermore! One does not make demands of the staff while using derogatory terms, including but not limited to-”
Nihlus, still brain dead from the labyrinth, laid on the loveseat nearby, long legs hanging off the side, sipping on a glass of the house’s cooking sherry. It was the only thing alcoholic he could find in the entire place. Savisia was hogging the bottle at the moment, taking shots while trying to make her glass balance on top of the golden egg without falling off.
He swiped the bottle back when his glass ran empty, right as her majesty got onto a side tangent about mutual respect throughout tiers of employment in society, and how important it was to prevent an intrinsic caste system developing and preventing upward mobility in the lower class.
A Citadel door appeared in front of a hutch, and out stepped his favorite person of all time. “Saren!” Nihlus cried, tipsy and delighted to see him.
The rest of the room fell quiet as the black clad Turian strode forward, taking in the occupants. His former mentor’s gaze narrowed in on him, then the bottle in his hand. Saren snorted, pulling a metal briefcase off his back, flipping it open, and offering out the remaining spheres. “I have brought… evac, essentially. These will draw each of you back to the welcome zone.”
“Pardon me, but what is a welcome zone, good sir?” asked Mirabelle in a curious tone, now distracted from her thorough lambasting of the house’s occupants. “I’ve got a bit of amnesia you see, and that sounds familiar?” She reached for one of the orbs.
Saren pulled the case away before she could touch anything. He didn’t reply, simply squinting at the girl.
Alhorin approached, expression significantly less happy than one would expect. “It is the first place we came, when we arrived from my world.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Your quest to get home! And these will translocate your party, correct?”
“They will,” he replied solemnly, looking between her and Saren.
“Can I still come with you?” She asked with a sweet smile, makeup yet perfect and blonde hair expertly coiffed. “I really want to see this ‘Citadel’ you’ve all told me about.”
Alhorin looked distressed. “I… you would have to have your own body to… perhaps I could pull some favors…” He looked at Saren. “Can one orb take both of us back to the welcome zone?”
“Mmn. I am unsure, but it will activate the moment you touch it.”
The Salarian turned to Mirabelle. “Here, hang on to me, and we will pick one up together.”
Nihlus drug himself off the couch, coming to stand beside Saren, cooking alcohol still in hand. “It might not work… what do we do if you go and she stays after it goes off?”
His face firmed, chin raised as he hugged Mirabelle to his side, and reached a hand out toward one of the green glows. “That won’t happen.”
They grabbed one orb at the same time… and surely enough, both disappeared.
“Nice,” said Savisia, grabbing the second to last ball herself. An instant later, and the Blackwatch agent was also gone.
Saren held the briefcase with one hand, and looped an arm around Nihlus’ middle, trying and struggling to find a polite handhold when the other Spectre was shirtless. For some reason. “Why… are you wearing pants and nothing else?”
“What can I say? I’m a mystery.”
Sighing, the pale Turian shook his head. Ridiculous.
As if sensing his verdict, Nihlus leaned down, trapping him between unsolicited affectionate nuzzling and a bottle of sherry. Saren tolerated it, knowing that escape attempts would likely just result in a sparring match, which significantly raised the odds of something inconvenient happening to the last of the green recall spheres. He could get back on his own… but undoubtedly it would take significantly longer. And if it took him, and not Nihlus…
“Are you done? We are currently lingering at the fragmented edges of dying servers. We could stop existing any second.”
Nihlus just chuckled and pressed close, removing any hint of ‘polite’ from the attempt at tandem teleportation. He picked up an orb. They disappeared together, leaving three horrified courtiers in their suddenly empty living room, with very little time left if they still wanted to get to the castle in time for the evening’s party.
“Mother dearest? I feel quite faint, I don’t think I want to go to the ball…”
Chapter 21: Epilogue
Chapter Text
Her black skin perfectly complemented by sunset themed eyeshadow and citrine earrings, Mirabelle waved excitedly at Spectres Kryik, Rix, and Arterius as they wandered into the cafe she was eating lunch at. The first agent waved the latter two up toward the line to order, and headed over to her table.
“Hey there princess, how’s reality treating you?”
She laughed, perfect curls bouncing with the motion. Somehow, her princessness had translated very well into her cloned body. “Wonderfully! I’m going to be attending a series of pre-college courses at the start of next year! Isn’t that wild? I have to wait for time to pass!”
The Turian snickered, patting her head. “Yeah, heh, I bet that’s weird. I’m impressed you’re that far along on academics though, all things considered?”
She looked around, slightly theatrical, before whisper-yelling, “Alhorin and Dr. Deitweiler have been helping me! We’ve been cheating, going back home when we find big gaps in what I’ve learned or when I’m struggling.”
Nihlus gasped, equally dramatic. “You’re cheating at school! Terrible. Absolutely terrible. I’m going to have to report this to-”
“Don’t you dare tell Savisia! She promised to teach me how to use a pistol if I got good grades last semester.”
“Ah,” the Spectre nodded solemnly, “Well, you really have to learn how to shoot. As befits a lady of your station.”
Mirabelle giggled, “I don’t have a station anymore, silly.”
Nihlus tossed his crest negatively, starting to head back toward the food counter. “No no, you’re still royalty, just verrrry foreign. It’s important to at least half of my jokes lately. I’m afraid you’re going to have to keep the title.”
“Ha, okay!” she smiled, turning cheerfully back to her own food.
Over in the line Spectre Arterius sighed quietly.
--
Approximately one month after the data retrieval mission from the Ghost Ship a few sad announcements are made, like unfortunate footnotes in time, on the last page of the Citadel’s daily newsletter. A Matriarch, a Turian scientist, and a Human businessman were found dead in an apartment building on Zakera ward, reasons unknown.
No investigation was opened.
Murders on the Citadel were relatively rare, what with the immense security the station provided, but they did happen.
The cause of death listed on the death certificates was a bit strange however, if anyone cared to notice. All three had apparently died of ‘poor planning.’
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