ME fic: The Problem With Illium08:49 Dec 19 2010
Times Read: 632
Samara sighed. Her meditations did not currently bring her peace. The endless scrolling vista of the stars was not the tranquil balm to her soul it usually was.
With a decisive movement, she got up and walked; long, graceful strides taking her everywhere and nowhere while she pondered what was wrong.
Her heels clicked on the decking as she made her way down the corridor and back again, thinking. She turned into the mess area, passing crew members eating, nodding absently to Mess Sergeant Gardner. The man looked… content. He was happily serving up whatever was on the menu for tonight’s meal and bantering with those waiting to eat. He still moved slightly hesitantly, favoring his side after the rescue from the Collector base, but he performed his duties with purpose and care.
Samara’s steps faltered as she was struck by a thought: purpose. Yes, that was what she was lacking. Her own personal quest was now ended with Shepard’s help. Her oath to the commander was now expired with the destruction of the Collector base. For the first time in over four hundred years, she was without purpose. She was at a loose end. She was… bored. While it was a novel experience, she didn’t appreciate it. She needed something to do, a new quest to devote herself to.
Smiling gently, Samara turned and made her way to the nearest extranet terminal. She had some research to do, and a favor to ask of Shepard. Though truth be told he never minded any excuse to call on the Shadow Broker these days.
oOo
The Code of the Justicars was rigid, unyielding. It did not allow for shades of grey, only black and white. Yes and no. Guilty and innocent.
The problem with Illium, Samara mused as she watched the Normandy lift gracefully from dock and disappear into the sunset, was that it was all grey. It was a place where criminality was legally defined and contractually ratified. And while she detested certain aspects of it – indentured servitude or red sand trading for example – provided it was done within the confines of the law, and provided she didn’t probe too deeply, she was obliged to turn a blind eye.
Samara hefted a duffle bag, turned and strode to the trading floor, ignoring the concierge as she went, watching the activity around her through cynical eyes. Traders and buyers alike thronged and milled on the floor in a cacophony of commercial frenzy. The asari amongst them took one look at her and skittered out of her way, taking their non-asari companions with them, avoiding her path like so many pyjacks running from the presence of an alpha varren. Inwardly she couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased.
Her elegant stalk faltered minutely with the fleeting recollection of Harbinger’s dark voice: “Your species has caught the attention of those infinitely your greater.” She shook her head and continued. Even though it hadn’t been directed at her specifically, she still remembered the overweening arrogance, the cold superiority, the ruthless unfeeling alien-ness of it. It served as a welcome reminder: hubris, her besetting sin. Even after four centuries a Justicar, it still haunted her. She would atone tonight, in the privacy of her quarters. Once she found some, of course.
Samara sighed. And there was something she missed, already. After a few months of living on the Normandy, she missed the luxury of having her own quarters, having meals prepared for her. Most especially, she missed the companionship of like-minded warriors around her. It was surprising how quickly one grew used to these things, she mused. Well, she would register herself for tracking and see to her business. There was no point in delay.
The Justicar shifted her bag on her shoulder and continued on through the crowd, trailing a bubble of silence and peace behind her that was quickly swallowed by the ever-hungry gods of capitalism.
oOo
Tracking officer Dara was, as usual, buried to the neck in overdue reports and updates to be sorted through. She complained quietly to herself as she cleared her work list.
“Stupid reports,” she grumbled as she filed entries. “Stupid transients and their stupid tracking requirements,” she added, savagely hitting keys on her virtual keyboard. The dull thump of her fingers drumming the surface of her desk was in no way satisfying. It did, however, serve to mute the measured click of booted heels against the flooring of her office.
Consequently, the clearing of a throat behind her scared the crap out of Dara, and she whirled in her seat, hand pressed to her heart which was thumping unpleasantly.
“Don’t
do that…” she started to exclaim, and then realized who it was.
Heeled boots planted firmly on the flooring, long legs elegantly clad in scarlet leather, a heavy duffle bag over one shoulder, and a smooth, impassive face with distinctive jewelry.
“Justicar Samara!” Dara stammered and jumped to her feet. “Please forgive me; it is a pleasure to have you here! Ah… to what do I owe the honor?”
“I am merely here to register myself for tracking, as is required.”
Dara’s face froze. “Tracking? You’re… staying on Illium then?”
Samara inclined her head. “For the moment, yes.”
“Um. May I ask why?”
Samara considered the officer before replying. “It has come to my attention that Illium has been experiencing problems with a certain Eclipse Sister who is trying to make a name for herself.”
Dara looked confused. “
All Eclipse Sisters try to make names for themselves, Justicar. That’s what they do.”
“This one, perhaps, has been going above and beyond the norm, Officer Dara. She has brought herself and her deeds to my attention.”
Dara blanched, no mean feat for an asari. “I see. Well, uh, I’ll just register you then, and you can be on your way.”
Seating herself at her terminal, she quickly brought up a new screen and her fingers danced over the holographic keys. “And… there. You’re registered.”
Samara smiled gently. “My thanks, Officer Dara.”
“You’re welcome, Justicar. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Thank you, there is nothing I require. I will let you be about your business.”
Dara heaved a sigh of relief as Samara turned and walked out of her station and into the crowds on the floor. She tapped her comm. system and dialed a number. “Detective? It’s Dara. I have some good news and some bad news. Remember your little problem with the Sisterhood…?”
oOo
Samara had found a small, neglected Temple of the Goddess tucked away from the trading floor in one of the less hectic and more run down areas of the city, and the priestesses there had gladly offered her a cell for a few nights. She had spent most of the night in meditation and atonement, and had risen with the dawn to prepare herself for her hunt. She felt refreshed, cleansed, revitalized and eager.
She broke her fast in silence, surrounded by the aging but graceful forms of the priestesses. Many of them had seen Justicars at work in their long lifetimes. They glanced at her incuriously as she ate, and she felt humbled by their inattention. It was truly a timely reminder of her place and her vows.
Letting the peace of the Temple enfold her, she cleaned and checked her rifle, snapped it to her armor, and strode out of the building. She had much to do.
oOo
Detective Anaya’s superiors had again been of no uncertain terms at her news.
Do not let the Justicar disrupt commercial operations or relations with the alien races. Anaya snorted. She’d like to see any of them try to stop a Justicar from doing anything she wanted. She drank too much coffee, and spent the early hours of the morning nervously shuffling datapads on her desk, rereading meaningless emails, and fidgeting like a maiden on her first merc tour, waiting for the visitor she knew she would have.
Finally, when the caffeine was giving her the jitters and a dry mouth, she heard a stately, measured tread approaching across the floor, and looked up as the Justicar approached. She stood, smoothing sweat-dampened palms down the thighs of her uniform, and offered her hand. “Justicar Samara. Welcome back to my division. I hear you have another task in mind.”
Samara looked at her hand curiously before taking it, almost gingerly. “Detective Anaya. It is good to see you again.”
Anaya smiled. “I’m sure,” she said dryly. She waved at the seat across the desk and took her own. “Now. What are you after, and how can I help?”
Seating herself gracefully, Samara crossed her legs and settled back. “It has recently come to my attention that you have an escalating issue with the remnants of the Eclipse Sisterhood.”
The detective nodded shortly. That was certainly no secret. The Sisterhood had been decimated in the wake of Shepard’s blitz through the spaceport several months ago, giving rise to struggles as various would-be leaders sought to fill the void created by Wasea’s unlamented demise.
Samara leaned forward, gesturing slightly. “I’ve also heard that the Sisterhood has taken to increasing their murder count as a requirement for membership. That they have started to turn their attentions towards terrorizing innocent civilians. And that they’re letting bystanders be caught in their crossfire.”
Anaya grimaced. That was certainly true. In the last month alone the number of homicides in the port district had doubled. Daylight armed robberies by small bands of well trained, well equipped asari (who curiously bore no insignia or badge) had started taking place amongst the merchants and traders, to the extent that no one traveled by themselves any more if they could at all help it.
“Not to mention,” Samara continued, “the recent attempt on your own life by the Sisterhood.”
Anaya’s eyes narrowed. “And just how did you find this out, Justicar?”
Samara gave her a small smile. “I have my sources, Detective. Or rather, my friends do.”
Anaya harrumphed. “I’ll just bet you do. It helps when your friends are considered heroes, though.” She thought for a moment. “Okay I’ll bite. What have you got, and what do you want?”
Samara blinked, slowly, and regarded her. “What I have is information on who is behind these problems, and her general location. What I want is the ability to pursue this information and deal with this problem. Unhindered.”
“I see.” Anaya leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “It’s the unhindered part that will cause the most problems, of course. My superiors are already on my ass… er, back about having you here.” She got up and paced, thinking furiously while the Justicar watched.
“Were you planning on blowing up any buildings while you were here?” she asked.
“I will only do what needs to be done,” Samara replied serenely.
The detective snorted. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She waved her arm out at the spaceport beyond the station. “Repair crews are still picking up pieces of gunship from down in the warehouses, you know. That kind of thing is bad for business.”
Samara shrugged one elegant shoulder. “With all due respect, that was none of my doing. Blame Shepard for the explosions and the destruction, not me.”
Anaya grinned. “Yes, I hear he’s good at that.” She smiled at Samara, the Justicar hesitantly returning the gesture. She came to a decision.
“Right. Here’s what we’ll do.” She sat back down, gesturing. “I will hire you as a consultant. Your job is to formulate and execute the best plan for ridding us of our little Eclipse issue here. I assume you have no objections to signing a contract?” she queried.
The Justicar considered this. “I would have to study the clauses most carefully, but I do not see that that should be an issue.
Anaya nodded. “We will work it into your contract that you will have unilateral decision making and executory powers. I will remind my superiors of how much this little Eclipse spree is setting us back in staffing costs, at the very least, not to mention the political fallout from the continued incidents. In return, you should not be hounded by my superiors. How does that sound?”
Samara nodded. “I believe that will be satisfactory.”
Anaya rubbed her hands together. “Good! Well, I’ll start drawing this up. I’ll have the contract sent to your quarters tonight. Where are you staying?”
“At the Temple of the Goddess in the Taran quarter, off Zila Street.”
“Good. I know the place. I’ll have a courier deliver it.”
She stood and extended a hand. This time Samara took it firmly, without hesitation.
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Justicar.”
“And I you, Detective.”
Anaya sat down and immediately started typing. Samara strode out of the station. She had just reached the door when the detective called after her.
“Oh, Justicar. I don’t suppose you’d care to share who’s behind this?”
“Elnora,” Samara said as the doors closed on her heels.
“Damn. Shepard should’ve killed her when he had the chance,” Anaya grumbled.
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