Chapter 2: Orange is
the New Blue
“Who are you?”
Garrus asked for the fourth time, his mandibles twitching in
noticeable agitation.
“I told you. My
name is Variza T'Som,” I replied for the fourth time, quietly
holding a styrofoam cup of coffee in my cuffed hands and sipping
politely. I was trying not to smile but it was admittedly hilarious
to see the otherwise cold and effective Turian soldier lose his mind.
“There is no one
by that name in Citadel records. We ran a background check with birth
records on all Asari settlements from here to the Attican Traverse,
ran your prints through a citizen registry, and we checked your name
across all known criminal aliases in our database. All. Turned. Up.
Negative!” He barked, slamming his hands on the table, trying to
startle me. I will admit I did jump a bit. Still, didn't spill my
coffee. I just kept sipping. Full of sugar and cream and completely
inoffensive, perfect for someone who basically showed up in a new
universe and tried to assassinate a monster on an empty stomach.
I could tell my
nonchalant imbibing of caffeinated goodness was annoying him. I
slowly put the cup down on the table and looked him straight in the
eye. It's funny looking at a Turian up close, their biology is
strangely reminiscent of that genetic overlap between reptiles and
birds. Penetrative eyes, harsh plated features, unless you were
familiar with the race you could be forgiven for thinking they were
cold-blooded assassins. But I know Garrus Vakarian far too well, his
future and his personality. I got this far with knowledge of past
events and events to come, and I have to assume Saren listened in
when I mentioned his alignment with the Reapers. Meaning if I don't
get somewhere far away from him, he could easily have me killed while
I await trial in the Citadel's Correctional Facility.
“I'll tell you
what you want to know Garrus. But first I want to ask you a few
questions and make a request. Don't worry, these won't be prying
personal questions and the request will not impeded upon your sense
of honor and duty. I can assure you of that. Cross my heart, and hope
to die,” I cross my heart in an elegant rote motion of my hand.
“Cross your heart,
hope to...what?”
“It's a...human
thing. A way of saying you have my word of honor that I'm not lying
to you.”
“And how do I know
you to be a woman of honor? I don't know anything about you. No
family, no history, not even a criminal record until now. The
officers in the other room are losing their minds trying to process
you.”
“If that's the
case then, let me ask my first question. What are your thoughts on
Saren Arterius?”
“What does that
have to do with anything? If anything else I should be asking you
these questions.”
“And you just gave
me your answer. You don't trust him. If you thought he was a truly
good and just Spectre you would have jumped to his defense, justified
his actions as necessary. Imagine if that machine he shot was
actually me.” I crook my mouth into a devilish smile, “you'd be
taking a body to the morgue as a Jane Doe, and watching
him justify himself to the Council again. With no real answers as
to why. Almost as if there's a pattern....”
I lead him on. He
had to take the bait. He turned his gaze away from me
“The case file on
the Shanxi incident several years ago. When he was evaluating David
Andersen for eligibility to be the first human Spectre. So many
bodies scorched and unrecognized, and several items of interest
unaccounted for.” Garrus said more to himself than to me.
“Saren is working
on something in secret with another benefactor, something that will
lead to-”
“The suffering and
death of countless trillions. These Reapers, right?” he turned his
head to me, his face somehow seeming more sympathetic.
“You said Jane
Doe. That another human expression?”
Crap.
“Uhh yes. I
studied on Earth for a few years, picked up some of their sayings.”
I replied quickly, studdering through my alibi. I didn't even know it
was possible for Turians to muster a skeptical look with no eyebrows to
turn up.
“Still, that is
quite an accusation. And where is your evidence? These Reapers and
Saren's involvement with them?”
I finished my coffee
and set it down. “I have none to offer at this time,” I say with
a tone of resignation.
“And you want me
to turn you loose so you can track some down? That would get me
fired.”
“Oh no Garrus, I
want you to do the exact opposite. If I am right, then Saren will do
everything in his power to kill me, to make sure his plans go
unimpeded. Sure he can just write things off, but we both know he
isn't that kind of Turian. No witnesses, no chances taken. Clean and
methodical. So I'd like to ask one more question and make my
request.”
“Put you in
witness protection?” Garrus asks, concern slipping into his voice,
his body language noticeably loosening. I'm in his head.
I look around the
room and gesture towards the windows and wave my hands in front of my
alien ears. He understood the gesture and began fiddling with his own
Omni-Tool under the table.
“You have about
forty seconds before the audio unscrambles. Talk.”
“Several years
from now an incident will happen on a human colony. It will involve a
Spectre and an Alliance officer named Commander Shepard. The incident
will involve the Spectre's mysterious death and the Commander coming
in contact with a Prothean artifact. You will pour over the
information in the case file because you've been trying to pin Saren
as someone who lost all of his senses years ago and it fits the
pattern you keep seeing. Do remember me in my cell when that comes to
mind?”
Garrus' expression
turned to confusion, but pragmatism overrode his curiosity as he
shook his head.
“And your
request?”
“Well that is
simple. Since I have no records and an experimental armory on hand
with unseen tech, it must go without saying that I am a dangerous
assassin working in the personal interest of the galactic criminal
underworld. Someone like oh say, the Shadow Broker? Because of that,
you are about to get a big promotion and, as a galactic safety
precaution of course, you are going to transfer me to a maximum
security prison for hardened criminals. The prison ship, Purgatory.”
Garrus looked back
to the windows, got up and proceeded to undo my handcuffs from the
table and recuffed them behind my back.
“That place is a
death sentence. You'll be stuck there for life, assuming you survive
the inmates.” He whispered in my ear.
“Oh don't worry
about me. Something tells me we'll see each other again. Now my
weapons case and mech on the other hand, keep that under your pillow.
You will need it later.” I whispered back.
“Alright you
mercenary scum I've heard all I need,” He projected, “you and I
are gonna have a little chat with some associates and get you a nice
cell far away from here.”
The trial went on
about as fast as you can imagine. Garrus creatively spliced together
our private conversation into a confession of my alleged actions in a
court hearing to the Citadel's Council. Saren wasn't in attendance,
most likely doing his own background check on me to see if he forgot
to cover his tracks. Yeah, good luck with that. I plead guilty to
every crime they tried tying me to and got myself a life sentence,
but it was reduced to a mere two centuries since I confessed and if I
was on good behavior. By Garrus' own testimony I was to be
transferred to the prison ship Purgatory via a small shuttle
expedition out in the Attican Traverse. Putting a confessed mercenary
in the hands of a PMC owned prison for the scum of the galaxy by
order of a lawful and just system just would not fly on Extranet news
networks so this was kept quiet.
By Council decree, a
representative would check up on me every few years or so to make
sure the warden didn't have me killed or sold off to slavers before
my sentence was served. That would be very loosely enforced since
the Purgatory stays on the move and charges an arm and a leg to take
in high-profile prisoners. Something tells me Garrus' promotion was
the cost of such a transfer considering the bitter look he gave me as
he pushed me on to the shuttle heading to the station.
From there it's not
hard to imagine what I was subjected to. Mugshots, obviously. This
time in three dimensions with a holographic display. Forced to wear
an ugly orange jumpsuit, even in the future there are fashion
constants it turns out. And of course catcalls and declarations of
what certain inmates would love to do to my body as I was trotted out
like fresh meat. I'm by Asari standards barely legal so they were
pretty graphic and creative. Live or die I'm going to have some
newfound perspective on women's rights when this is all said and
done.
What was a surprise
was my cell mate. After being tossed in and spat on by the absolutely
fine and upstanding members of the Blue Suns mercenary group, the
door's energy field kicked and I was left to my bunk bed and my
toilet. As I went to sit down on the mattress and catch my thoughts,
a voice barked out from the top bunk, a woman's voice.
“Get off my bed,
blue. Wanna sleep, gotta pay the toll,” she barked hard, leaping
down in a fluid motion to intimidate me. Considering I just walked
through almost thirty different cell blocks with hundreds of people
implying various flavors of assault, I did flinch. Leave me alone, I
had a long day.
The woman had a
shaved head and was rocking some extremely dark tattoos. The kind
that implied you've done a great combination of killing, stealing,
and destroying. She got right up in my face and slammed a hand on the
wall behind me, getting right in my personal space like a predatory
lion. The terrifying thing is I didn't jump and look away because of
her appearance alone, it was because I knew who she was and
everything she did to get here. I was just put into a prison cell
with the most powerful human biotic in the galaxy, and she has a
psych eval sheet that's a mile long.
“Great, I got
myself a green horn. This is gonna be fun!” She exclaimed, “First
you gonna learn the pecking order, blue. There's me, everyone else
out there, then you. You're lower than dirt!” She slapped me across
the face hard. I think I tasted some blood. She grabbed my jaw in her
hand and gave me the kind of look a serial killer has before they go
for the killing stroke.
“I'm not your
friend, I'm not your bodyguard, and I'm sure as hell not your prison
wife! You stay out of my way and I won't splatter you all over this
cell!” She threw her hand to the wall behind me, it proceeded to
dent and warp from the biotic power she casually summoned.
“Now say my name,
bitch.” she added, amused. Like a cat playing with a mouse on its
hindlegs.
I kept my composure
as best as I could, straightened my back and wiped some blood off my
lips. Time for me to flip the table.
“Would you prefer
your actual first name, your alias, your title, or just Jack?” I
replied after clearing my throat. The look of surprise in her eyes was like Christmas.
Her response to me robbing her of another excuse to hit me made me learn firsthand why she earned the nickname, The Psychotic Biotic. Two
punches to my sides, a knee to the solar plexus, and a cross to my
jaw was also a clear indication that she didn't like having her power
taken away. Yes, it hurt like hell, she's a career criminal.
After getting up and
managing a smile through the pain I responded, “I'm sorry is that
not how your script goes, Jack? Or is it Jacquelyne Nought? Clever
use of the last name by the way, little reference to what they called
you back on-”
“Shut! The fuck!
Up!” Jack responded, punching me with emphasis on each word spewed.
At this point I was
on the ground in a large amount of pain. I was definitely going to
have some bruises, hopefully none of my ribs got cracked. Also if my
slightly blurred vision was anything to go by I was also suffering a
black eye. The blows to my solar plexis started to add up as my body
started to retch. I crawled on all fours to the toilet, barely
managing to keep my stream of sick in the bowl. Jack walked to my
right side and placed her hand on the back of my head and grabbed
hard.
“You got balls,
blue. I'll give you that,” she admitted, adding more pressure to
her grip, threatening to drown me in my own waste.
“And you can take
a punch. So the bunk is yours. But if you ever mention anything ever
again about where I've been or what I've been through, I will rip you
in half with my mind. Is that clear?”
I resisted her
pushing and gave a quick yes. She let go of my head tentacles.
I crawled into my
newly earned bunk and started getting situated. If things play out
the same way the Mass Effect video games happened, Saren will be
stopped by Commander Shepard with the help of Garrus. Once that
happens, Garrus can appeal to the Council that I secretly cooperated
in trying to prevent Saren's attack on the Citadel with the Reaper
known as Sovereign, which will lead to my immediate release and
official apology. He believes in justice and is a solid law-abiding Turian, he wouldn't leave me to hang. That will be within two years.
Then the horrible
thoughts hit me. In their struggles to prevent Saren's plans and
depending on the demeanor of Shepard, they could easily forget about
me. Meaning I won't see anything of Garrus or Shepard until they seek
the aid of my bunk mate for a suicide mission to fight back the rest
of the Reaper threat. That will be in four years.
If the latter
happens, there's only one solution: I'll have to stay on Jack's good
side so they'll take me with her.
When it rains, it
pours.
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