“This is home.”
“You know what I mean.”
Sloane looked away, gathering her thoughts. “It’s hard to make things better,” she said, “when you have so much momentum in a certain direction. Thousands of years of ingrained biases, time-tested laws that no one even remembers why they were written. Regs in place because that’s the way it’s always been done.”
Calix inclined his head, agreeing, and also encouraging her to go on.
“That sort of cruft drives me insane,” she continued, though she couldn’t quite say why. “No, the problem with ‘back home’ is that even if you could be a catalyst for change, you can’t hope to do more than get the process moving. And hope that, well after you’re dead and gone, something works.”
“You could have requested a post at some colony, far from the Citadel. Surely there’s no shortage of out-of-the-way places where you’d have the rank needed to be in charge.”
Sloane found herself nodding. “True. I thought about it, but that’s a fresh start only for me. And eventually the colony would be drawn back into the fold, the day it’s no longer considered irrelevant.”
He chuckled dryly. “I’d say you’re jaded, but that would be an understatement.”
“Yeah, well,” Sloane said, then trailed off. “Thanks for the drink, Calix.”
“You got it.”
Sloane downed the rest of her beer, then pitched it toward the receptacle. Calix watched it arc through the air. It clinked as it rebounded off the inner edge, then sank into the bin.
“A fraction to the left,” he murmured, “and you’d be cleaning up glass.”
“Story of my life, friend.” Her smile showed teeth as she forced her weary body up from the chair. “Story of my fucking life.”
The turian lifted his glass in solidarity—sympathy, acknowledgement, and good luck all in the tip of dark amber liquid.
She’d need it all before this ended.
Sloane went back to the security offices, dragging ass and she knew it. As she threw herself down into the nearest chair she wrestled with the truth—that Calix hadn’t offered any answers. Just more questions, and the metaphorical shoe.
Had Irida Fadeer been working alone? Was she after something specific? Rations, or other resources?
Were other Nexus personnel involved? If so, how many?
Talini looked up from her temporary desk, setting her tablet down gently. “Did you get anything from Corvannis?”
“Yes… and no.”
The asari cupped her chin in her hand, elbow planted. “Let me guess. More questions?”
“How the hell do you do that?” Sloane muttered. “It’s like you know.”
“I just figured. There hasn’t been much interaction on the feeds to indicate the existence of co-conspirators. Chatter between members of her team, of course, but we haven’t found anything damning. They’re just concerned for her, and angry with us. Typical. Judging from the surveillance, she acted alone, for what it’s worth.”
“Is it too much to hope that she’s an independent?”
Talini shrugged. “There’s a case for every scenario.”
“Including the one that justifies sedition?” The asari’s rueful smile told Sloane the answer. She cursed vividly. Cursed some more, and when Talini only shook her head, Sloane added a few in turian. For color.
When she finished Sloane leaned back in her chair and glowered at the ceiling, her mind furiously grinding on the facts. Calix had told her more than she’d asked. Made it clear and to her face that people were scared. It was one thing to feel it yourself, and something else entirely to hear it from someone else.
She rubbed at the back of her sore neck, wondering why she’d said as much as she had. An instinct, she supposed. An innate ability to spot the trustworthy, the loyal. The turian had shown her over and over that he’d work to the bone for this station. His team had, too.
So what set Irida Fadeer off?
A small cup of dark, steaming liquid clicked against the desk next to her elbow. Sloane glanced over, then sighed in unashamed ecstasy when the rich aroma of coffee filled her nose.
“I dipped into supplies,” Talini confessed, nudging the cup closer. “You look like you need it.”
Hell. Sloane wouldn’t deny it. “Thanks.” She picked up the cup and held it between her callused hands, absorbing its warmth, its fragrance. Talini rested a hand on Sloane’s shoulder, in a brief moment of understanding.
“Hang in there.”
“Best as we can.” She glowered into the dark brew.
Six-hundred-year-old coffee. Fucking tragic, really. The coffee had aged better than all of them.
Sloane sighed. “All right. Let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A pin drop would have boomed like thunder in the still room.
Foster Addison stood at the main console, behind two technicians seated in front of the only two monitoring stations that worked. Behind her, Tann paced. Sloane Kelly stood off to one side, leaning against the wall, arms folded across her chest. Addison could feel the pressure building inside the security director, like a balloon being flooded with air, flirting with that moment when the whole thing would burst.
Otherwise the modest control room within Colonial Affairs had been cleared of personnel. For security reasons. Addison studied the screen on the console, trying to temper her hopes as well as the growing ball of dread that lurked in her gut.
Six of the eight expeditions had returned, all empty-handed. The worlds they’d visited were in ruins, apparently ravaged by the same energy tendrils that had nearly destroyed the Nexus. What Tann had dubbed the Scourge.
Two of the returning ships had been heavily damaged, limping back to the station by the slimmest of margins. In one of those ships a reactor had failed as they rode the sudden wrath of a Scourge tendril. The entire crew remained in the infirmary, near death due to radiation poisoning.
The other ship had attempted to reach a promising moon in the local star system, Zheng He, only to find that one of the Scourge’s larger tendril bands enveloped the entire rock, like a snake wrapped about its prey. Sensors were unable to penetrate the mysterious blanket, and the shuttle’s captain had decided a landing would be too dangerous.
Four more vessels simply had met with similar results. Worlds seemingly once verdant were toxic wastelands, unable to provide anything useful.
Addison chewed on her lip. Not only had they failed to find a source for supplies or, barring that, a place to evacuate the Nexus, they’d also burned through a significant quantity of their rations in the process. Every returning ship was nearly empty, and their stores would have to be refilled if they were to fly again. Two of those were out of commission for repairs that might not even be possible to make with the parts on hand.
It had come to this—the last two. Addison couldn’t look at Sloane Kelly. Her officer, Kandros, was on one of those ships. Addison had been partly responsible for sending him. Caught up in the excitement that her beloved idea was finally being taken seriously.
It wasn’t her fault Sloane had been away, out of comm range, when the plan had been hatched. And few could argue Kandros’s credentials. He was the perfect candidate to lead one of the missions.
Few could argue, yet it only took one. The security director hadn’t taken the news well. In hindsight, Addison could see why.
“Hmm,” one of the techs said. An older man named Sascha, human, gray at the temples with a calm way of going about his tasks. He hadn’t been out of this room in more than a week—not since the reports started coming in—and he hadn’t complained about it once. Same for the asari who was seated to his left. Both had been sworn to secrecy, an oath that would be taken very seriously since the arrest of Irida Fadeer.