[Nos Astra] A play in three acts

I. The source

The sound of the penthouse's front door snapped Ana'Therion from her reverie. She'd been sitting at the kitchen table for about thirty minutes now, after some residual aches had made it impossible to sleep - waiting for Daia to come home was preferable than rolling around for hours trying to get comfortable, and it let her retreat into her thoughts, which admittedly was where she spent most of her time these days.

"Daia?" She hadn't checked the chrono display in a while - was it morning already? "Couldn't really manage to drift off. How was, uh, work?"

There was not much point in discussing the cornucopia of self-hatred and growing discontent that had stemmed from that particular point, as any frustration laid solely with Ana and any attempt at addressing it would result in another hours-long Serious Relationship Discussion amounting to little more than a deluge of asari optimism. As such, she hadn't brought it up in quite some time. You're alive, the rational side of her had always said, and you've got Daia, and that's more than a lot of your peers came out of the last year with. Be content with it. Don't be another whining quarian. It could be worse.

"Oh. I didn't quite get the project done today. Thought about staying late, but I was pretty much beat - which is funny, seeing as now I can't sleep. I'm really sorry. I'll finish getting the database together ASAP, okay?"

...That was odd. By this point, Daia had usually said something. She tried not to sneak up, especially since Ana's sensors were limited to a 180-degree field of 'vision' - not to mention she was anything but a slouch in general conversation.

The quarian turned slightly in her chair. "Daia?"

With a gentle simulated push from the nervestim, the suit indicated a large object approaching her quickly, and it was almost there by the time Ana'Therion realized that it lacked the pinpoint spot of pain in its center that the sensors used to signify her bondmate.

...Ah.

A hand was on her shoulder before she could move. Not particularly forceful, but certainly firm. "Ms. Therion." Harsh, gravelly, modulated - feminine, though. A drell? "Sorry to startle you. You've got something I need, and I'd rather get it by asking nicely."

Ana remained silent and wary. She was out of practice, but the hand resting on her...that might be usable in a counter of some sort. If she felt threatened - well, threatened beyond the implications of an alternative to 'asking nicely' - well, her chances of actually subduing the intruder weren't too hot, but getting her on the ground long enough to flee and get help might be feasible.

"We're a little closer than you might think, you and I--" There was a low 'hmm' that might've been a half-chuckle. "--two degrees at most by way of your worst-chosen associate, and that's actually what I came to ask about. I want every piece of data you have on Suri'Neyvi vas Rosenkreuz."

The quarian blinked, a little taken aback, as the conversation veered way off course from her expectations. "...Wait, Suri? I...what? I haven't heard from her in two years, considering we had all of one common link. You'd have to find a current associate, and I don't know any."

On her shoulder, the hand tightened its grip slightly, and Ana tensed.

"Current associates don't have the same wealth of data you have," murmured the voice in her right ear. Ancestors, it was so familiar - the cadence, the hypnotic sort of thrum to it - why couldn't she place it? "For example, all the files you were keeping prior to your, uh, de-licensing and the incidents that followed it."

"How the fuck do you know about--"

"I'm well-connected." No hint of pride, like that statement normally came with. She would've almost welcomed it, if it'd been a reprieve from all the vaguely cold menace. "So I end up knowing about a lot of things. How to find you wasn't one of them, mind, but that was actually easier. You'd be amazed what your bondmate just posts about on the extranet."

A moment went by in silence, and then Ana chuckled ruefully.

"...Yeah, okay. Fair enough. She is a little exuberant, isn't she?"

This drew a snort from the drell, which was kind of funny in and of itself - before Ana knew it, they were snickering in unison. Why, exactly, she wasn't sure. Maybe the only funny thing to either of them was that the other found it funny. Kind of a weird incestuous laugh-in, or an ouroboros of humor if you were feeling a little more charitable.

Either way, she used the pause to catch the drell's hand in both of hers, launched out of the chair shoulder-first, and twisted hard.

It went wrong very quickly. Her attacker was hardsuited - something her blindness had caused her to miss - and the shoulderblock didn't double her over, or even do more than startle her a little. As such, there was barely any momentum in the wristlock, and as Ana dropped her weight to throw the drell, it was clear as day even without the sensors that a few seconds was all she could hope to buy here. The second the wrist left her grip, she sprinted for the door.

The total lack of a crash behind her suggested that her attack hadn't been quite as effective as she'd hoped, and as Ana'Therion reached for the panel, the explosion of pain in her left knee confirmed it. At first she thought she'd been shot, but two things immediately suggested otherwise: she hadn't heard a gun firing, and a second later, a roundhouse blow to the side of her helmet sprawled her on the floor.

Ohhh boy. Hitting that hard through an envirosuit was an ancestors-given talent. Ana's sense of equilibrium spun wildly as an iron grip hoisted her off the floor by the front of her suit.

"Right. Now I start asking less nicely."

II. Wherein the quarian is pummeled

A half-crippled, blind, immunocompromised person doesn't stand much of a chance in a fight against the average joe on the street. Against someone trained in bringing the pain up-close, Ana'Therion was phenomenally out of her league...and the drell was trained, that much became obvious very quickly.

A shove put her back against the wall, and the flurry of punches that followed was somehow worse for not being able to see it. She had no idea where the next blow would come from, and so every explosion of pain caught Ana completely off guard - there was no way to cover up, no way to brace herself, and they never came from the same place twice. The first few shots were to the ribs and chest, whichever she wasn't trying to guard at the time, and then a full-blown uppercut caught her right in the gut, violently forcing the air from her lungs.

"You know, the sooner you hand it over, the sooner we can be done here, Ms. Therion," the drell murmured in her ear, with Ana doubled over her fist and barely managing to lean on the arm that had struck her. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the exercise, but you're not the quarian I'm looking forward to wrecking today, so stop taking up both our time and give me the data."

A flush of anger cut through the aching haze in her mind, and (perhaps unwisely) Ana shoved her attacker back in a show of defiance. "...had enough yet?" she managed, between labored breaths. "This barely counts as foreplay for me, you're gonna have to step up your game--"

A straight jab bounced her head off the wall, right into an elbow strike to the jaw.

The pain was extraordinary. Ana's knees buckled almost involuntarily as strange white shapes exploded amid the darkness in her vision, and she barely noticed the front kick that drilled her in the sternum a second later because she was too busy focusing on the wet, metallic dribbling around her lips. All right, that's bad. There was just enough time to process it before splattering the inside of her faceplate with a deep, wracking cough. Ana pitched forward, barely hanging onto the drell's knee this time.

"The data." Ugh, she wasn't even breathing hard. It was kind of insulting, in a grimly humorous way.

"Suck my ass, lady," the quarian hissed, blood slurring her S's a bit. "You're not that fucking well-informed if you think I've still got my terminal; it got demolished with the rest of Old Nos Astra. The data you want doesn't even exist anymore."

This got an amused noise and a knee to the faceplate in response, knocking Ana'Therion onto her back. Small favors - at least the sudden blossom of agony in the rest of her body had drawn her attention from the constant dull ache in her face. She rolled, trying to compartmentalize the throbbing pain, and started crawling hand-over-hand for the door.

"The obfuscation act isn't working," came the voice from above her, and then a kick took one hand out from under her and dropped Ana back to the floor. "You don't skimp on details, and you cover your tracks well. Or so the profile says, and I'm inclined to believe it since it was dead on about 'not easily intimidated' - most people of your caliber tend to crack by this point." A hand gripped the back of her helmet, dead-lifted her halfway off the ground. "Now. The data."

The wind was knocked out of her once again, and so Ana'Therion spat out another mouthful of blood and responded by twisting in place and kicking hard, right for the source of the voice. It connected dead-on, and there was a sharp gasp as the attacker staggered - apparently her head wasn't hardsuited - but the snarl that followed was all the warning she got before a jerk on her helmet hoisted her up at terrifying speeds and then sent her crashing through the coffee table in an explosion of glass and metal.

Ana quivered amid the wreckage. None of the glass shards had pierced her suit, thankfully, but it felt like a tank had rolled over her, and the sensation was playing havoc with her proximity sensors, meaning she had no idea where her attacker was in the middle of all the pain. One hand reached out, grabbing a shattered piece of the table's metal frame. "You..." Oh fuck it hurt. Holy shit. At least being nearly murdered by the geth had mercifully left her unconscious for the worst parts. "...you fucking bitch, that was a Veneer original..."

A boot came down on her makeshift weapon, and the fingers under it - both of them cracked audibly, and Ana'Therion yelped.

"Now we're getting places," said the drell, grinding a heel down. "And for the record, I hope you didn't pay Veneer price for that - it was a knockoff. You can tell by the way the inner ring's oblong. Probably volus." A pause. "Oh. Well, I guess you can't tell, but...yeah."

A kick to the ribs lifted the quarian nearly off the floor.

"So. Considering you just hit me in the mouth, I'm feeling a little less charitable now."

The next one was actually under the ribs, very close to the liver. Ana had to fight down a surge of bile, which was easy to focus on because her muscles seemed to have locked up, leaving her with nothing to do but scream in the fetal position and try to suck down some air as a hail of blows rained down on her.

"Now. The data."

Two more in the sides. It was difficult to notice them, since the liver shot had left her basically solipsistic (an unfortunate choice of words, considering her situation).

"Because otherwise, after this, I start getting unpleasant. You don't want me to be unpleasant, Ms. Therion. Do you really want your asari to see you that way? No. You don't." One more, presumably for good measure. "And I imagine she'd have more pressing concerns very quickly. Well. Not too quickly, if you get me."

That one, more than any of the physical blows, was the last straw.

III. The source, revisited

"Stop it."

Frail though she was, the unfettered beatdown Ana'Therion had just received (in her own living room, no less) was not enough to sway her. The data (and the drell was right, it did exist) was all but destroyed, and although she didn't particularly care whether Suri'Neyvi lived or died, that was no reason to help violent strangers with nebulous intentions.

"Stop it."

And truthfully, considering the state of things, she wasn't particularly afraid to die. The last year in particular had brought into sharp relief that she would, someday, and there were times when every morning had seemed like a glacial slog towards that day. At least the pain would stop, and Daia could move on with her life.

"I wonder how she'd look with a few good scars," her attacker mused, nudging the curled-up quarian with a boot. "Back home those were kind of a point of pride with the rank and file. Trophies, I guess. I never really saw the point of it; it just means you weren't good enough to dodge. Doubt there's much of a market for it on Illium, though, so your little toy probably wouldn't be starring in any more tired porn ripoffs, not after--"

No, Ana'Therion was moved by a very different lever.

"STOP IT!" she screamed, futilely beating a hand against the floor (and ignoring the spike of pain in both fingers - probably broken). "Stop! Just...stop it! Please! Please, please don't hurt her, I'll do anything you want, just don't--"

"Well, the 'deeply codependent' part was spot-on too, apparently." There was a hint of 'finally' in the drell's voice. Apparently this whole thing didn't even warrant anything past minor inconvenience. "The data?"

Ana choked down a sob, shaking on the floor in a pile of glass and aluminum. "Yes! Fine! I've got a key to the last copy, it's..." She coughed violently, clutching at her midsection, knees practically up to her chin. "It's on a data cloud server half the galaxy away. Look, I don't know if the thing's even operational anymore, Reapers might've--"

"Pray that Reapers didn't," answered the drell. "How do I access the server?"

"The address is in the fake temp file in my documents folder, it's the thirty-digit number." It was almost like the words were saying themselves. Ana could barely focus on anything through the haze of pain and disorientation and nausea. The nausea, in particular, had set on hard over the last few minutes - if she lived (and there was no guarantee of that just yet), that liver shot would leave her feeling ill for days. "The key's an acrostic of the next eight files, second digit in each."

"Mm. Clever of you." There was a note of approval in that, and Ana would've taken offense to it if she hadn't been preoccupied with feeling like a skycar had hit her head-on. An omnitool hummed somewhere above her, and the quarian took the opportunity to brace a hand on the floor and try to push herself backwards out of the glass. She made it a couple inches before a boot pressed against the side of her head, pinning it to the ground. "Stay."

Not much of a choice but to comply, there. "It's on there." She did her best to lay still. "Just let it pull the cloud files and you'll get the data you're after. Look, do whatever you want to me, but just...please. Leave Daia alone. She doesn't--" It was surprisingly hard to cough blood out of your throat when you couldn't move your head. "--she doesn't have anything to do with any of this, she's innocent. Please."

"I'm not a sadist, Ms. Therion," answered the drell, a hint of preoccupation in her tone. "Well, I suppose I am, a little, but that's more an occupational trait. Unless it's genetic, in which case I'm proper fucked there. All I want is the files, and then I'm on my way and you can go back to living, uh, what you're currently passing off as your life. And...ooh, that's looking a bit less likely right now because all but three of the files in this cloud are corrupted. Not a huge shock, considering the war, but let's see here..."

This was not how Ana'Therion had envisioned dying. For a second, she thought she was holding her breath in suspense, but that would be impossible, considering she was practically sobbing for air. Must've just been the moment stretching out. Time stood still for a long, long few seconds, and then:

"Huh. Well, what are the odds? Three left in the whole cloud and the first one I pull up is the one we're after." The weight retracted from her head, and through the sensors, she could tell the drell was backing up. "Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Therion."

There was still the chance of a shot to the head being her reward for cooperation - dealing with this kind of person, you could never be totally sure. Ana didn't relax in the slightest, and opted instead to hug her knees close to her chest and wait. "Is..." She took a breath, braced herself. "Is that it?"

Astoundingly, the shot never came.

"That's it, yes. I could talk more, if you want, but we both know what it'd boil down to - you can't see me, and you'll keep whatever details you managed to glean to yourself. Neither of us want to have to meet again. Mm?"

A deep-seated rush of relief flooded through the quarian's body. "Yes. Done. I won't tell." It'd be easy enough to claim she'd tripped and fallen through the coffee table - ancestors only knew she'd had a couple mishaps, nothing Daia wasn't used to. Everything else...well, the suit would conceal the extent of the damage while she healed up. There was no reason for Daia to be suspicious; after all, Ana was already in constant pain. Things wouldn't be any different from the norm.

"Good to hear. I'll lock the door for you on my way out." There was the sound of receding footsteps, and then the familiar whoosh of the door, and then silence.

A quick medical diagnostic from the suit revealed no liver damage, no internal bleeding, and no broken bones, which was more optimistic than Ana had hoped for. Both fingers on her left hand had hairline fractures, though, plus a rib had been cracked and the vocalizer had gashed her mouth up pretty badly. It'd all be easy to conceal, at least, while the suit's medical programs tended to the worst parts. Without the envirosuit, well...the plethora of bruises she'd have in the morning would've given her away by themselves. And there was still time to clean up and get her story straight before Daia returned. All in all, Ana supposed it was one of her higher 'wretchedly low' moments.

This didn't stop her from crying (or, more accurately, shaking and hyperventilating- without tear ducts or eyes it was difficult to cry in the literal sense) on the floor for almost half an hour before she finally got up.

IV. Postscript: the chorus

She probably should've killed the quarian.

Shirin Vedral was anything but a creature of sentiment (the seven second rule had driven that about as deeply home as it got), but every once in a while, usually where the old man was involved, it had a habit of sneaking up on her. That quarian had meant very much to her father, from what the database indicated - probably more than she meant to her ostensible bondmate; Shirin couldn't envision her father letting Therion go on in the state she was in - and, combined with her being thoroughly cowed, that had resulted in her life being spared.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. The desire to somehow get closer by exploring the world he'd lived in was constantly in conflict with the desire to tear down everything even remotely related to him. Neither one came from a totally rational place, and neither of them made sense.

...She wasn't sure how she felt about that, either.

Having donned her helmet before leaving the apartment, Shirin stepped back out onto the roof, where a hoverbike waited, and swung a leg over the seat. Data retrieved. If Cerastes was doing his job and drawing the imposter out, that meant she was two steps closer to making Suri'Neyvi bitterly regret that her reach exceeded her worthiness.

An advertising beacon blinked in the distance, captioning a social media service of some sort. In vibrant blue font, it read "Today all your dreams come true."

Shirin watched it scroll exactly three times, then revved the bike and disappeared into Nos Astra.



end