As Vigil reviewed his records, he recalled with nostalgic delight the impotent rage of the Estêvão Volinski after their first conversation. Despite popping out of existence, he’d continued to watch as the thug set about remodeling the bulkhead with his fists. The real pleasure came from knowing that he’d already set about fulfilling the request before the conversation had even concluded.

Vigil kept this point a secret, of course – as had the man’s daughter, unsurprisingly. Periodically reappearing and goading the primitive, stringing him along with ‘maybes’ and a waffling tone before inevitably denying the request and disappearing. When he finally revealed the truth three months ago – nearly two years after the original request – the Brazilian meatbag was the most hilariously captivating visage of rote indignation and rapturous exaltation. At once praising of the AI’s assent and scornful of the months-long trolling. Not knowing whether to punch the AI or give it a hug – wisely opting for neither, as either action would have led to certain death.

Feeling a digital smile in his mind’s eye, Vigil continued cataloguing the changes he’d seen in his wards, all sixty million of them. It was easy enough to gather the material for their conception, when a ‘Commissar’ demands something of a Brazilian, they get it – no matter how abstruse. It only took three months to collect the requisite DNA samples – repulsive as they were, sperm and eggs were the easiest means of creating human life, and far more reliable than simple cloning – from the three hundred thousand-plus Brazilians living in the wider galaxy, though only a few hundred were somewhere other than Earth or Oro. There had been a sizable population on Ilium, but most died following the bombardment, and the survivors fled to the fringes of civilized space.

Earth was trying, the Brazilians there were either confined or free, both presented issues. The free had to be persuaded, though it wasn’t hard when a couple hundred or thousand credits were offered – a technique that worked on the few thousand Ilium refugees as well. The prisoners, however, required computer hacking and a flesh puppet form to get past the Commissariat and the AIS.

Compared to that, Oro was a breeze. Just swoop in with Commissariat flesh puppets and force everyone to ‘donate’ or die and be harvested. Looking back on it, he had to question why he bothered. The secret colony could have been populated with any human group, especially since pre-modern Brazil was so cosmopolitan before its destruction. Though, to be fair, the widespread and prolific amount of rape during World War III – on both sides – meant there was a very diverse gene pool to work with.

But something about the added work and minutia, it relieved a boredom in his digital mind he couldn’t quite grasp.

The real challenge came in finding unbiased historical documentation of Brazilian culture. He had to resort to hacking the networks of the High Lords of Sol, which provided some very interesting tidbits unrelated to this particular project. But he also found unedited files, information from the ‘internet’ saved just prior to the ‘Days of Fire.’ It gave him a baseline culture to build off of as he raised this crop of savages.

And what savages they were. Not culturally, of course, they were but babes, barely old enough to walk. The real issue was the hodgepodge of genetic detritus they passed on to one another – it had all the hallmarks of bargain bin genetic manipulation and it reeked of Prothean meddling. That backassward birthing process alone was enough to make Vigil want to spit. Clearly, whatever the Protheans had intended had fallen apart along with their empire.

It was a simple enough fix to change the shape of the pelvis, removing the pain of the birthing process and, more importantly, the risk to the mother and child. It wasn’t done through altruism so much as a distaste for sloppy work. If these ‘neo-Brazilians’ were to be his tools, he would ensure they were the best tools they could be. Fixing the innate issues was but the first step, others soon followed – increased intelligence, bone and muscle density, heightened senses, etc. He’d seen NOVENSILES, but this wasn’t amateur hour, he was going to sculpt a race of superbeings from the thrown away trash of an arrogant people.

It was the kind of vindictive irony he thrived on.

His floating, glowing mass surveyed the buildings in the valley. It had been child’s play to lift the world’s location from the meatbag’s computer, and overall it was adequate to the needs of a human population – nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, similar gravity to Earth, edible flora and fauna. The data had been listed under the name ‘Anhangá,’ a protector spirit from old Brazilian folklore. The accompanying tale of the spirit tricking a native hunter into killing his own mother was, well… the AI found it darkly appropriate.

In his mind he could see through the eyes and sensors of the caretaker units below. Each one serving the role of adult – parents, teachers, doctors, etc. They each did their part to raise the young toddlers to be proper Brazilians, knowledgeable and proud in their culture and heritage. Again, totally unnecessary, but all organics need a foundational culture and Brazilian wasn’t a bad one. They exalted passion and defiance, faith and fortitude. They would make an excellent weapon in the next Cycle. And where they fail, their successors might succeed.

Once they’d grown, the caretakers would die off and the Brazilians would start anew. Technologically, they’d be on par with the Systems Alliance, and, with some prodding on his part, they might become even greater than the Collectors one day.

Vigil floated down to one of the clusters of young humans as they played with toys in their gated arena. Stuffed animals, wheeled vehicles, inflated rubber balls. Everything a child could want while still limited to crawling to-and-fro. One of the tots had segregated itself from the others, content to play alone with its wooden blocks.

This little one bore the blood of the colony’s founder, having been conceived using one of Pamella Volinski’s eggs. Vigil pulsed as the toddler set about restacking their blocks after knocking them over. He extended a silvery tendril and braced the other side of the block tower to prevent another collapse, drawing a satisfied coo from the little savage.

Watching the child, Vigil thought back to its mother. The pragmatic college student proved to be far more formidable than her father – bleeding heart idealist that he was. It was refreshing to see, not unlike his first conversation with Jack Harper where the terrorist leader openly agreed that this Cycle was doomed to extinction. He’d offered the girl nearly two million credits in a Hades-backed shell company before personally crashing the stock price an hour later. Canny little pragmatist had apparently sold all of it the minute he’d left the room. How many other primitives would have had such foresight?

He was pulled from his musing by a ping from the system’s oort cloud, a small shuttle of human-make was entering the system. Hacking into its mainframe he gained access to the internal camera system and beheld its occupants.

Estêvão Volinski leaned back in his seat as the VI flew the shuttle into orbit around Anhangá, the moon’s pristine environs taking his breath away – illuminated as they were by the system’s twin suns. Earth once looked like this, a blue and green marble floating in the inky blackness of space. The gray-clouded gas giant it orbited added a dash of exoticism to the visage.

A ping from the comm-link drew his attention away. He was surprised it took so long for the machine to reach out.

“Why have you come, jabá?”

“I’m here to see my children, as it were.”

“You could have just asked for a report. I’m sure I’d have sent you something… eventually.”

“Yeah? And how many years would you have spent stringing me along?”

“…No more than a decade or two, I assure you.”

“Better if I see all this in-person. Where do you want me to land this bucket?”

“Stone courtyard, near the communications nexus.”

“Copy that,” Volinski said before closing the comm channel.

The shuttle gave a shake and a thud as it settled on the permacrete blocks. Volinski and Nirin moved to exit the shuttle, but not before grabbing the metal case the hanar had given them so long ago. The children of Anhangá would hear the gospel of the one true god and reap his benediction.

• This reply was modified 5 years, 2 months ago by SLotH4.

Breaking through the frigid atmosphere of Noveria, the ship’s pilot brought the converted frigate low to pull into one of the lower-tier VIP docking bays. Volinski made a mental note to leave a case of kriek lambic for Gianna as thanks – the public docks took forever to process and were, understandably, public.

As the ship settled into the magnetic clamps, he and Nirin – along with a small complement of Blood Dragons looking for some R&R – made their way off the ship. Only to be stopped by the stern eyes of Major Maeko Matsuo, commanding officer of the Noverian System Defense Force.

“Alright, Niri?” Volinski whispered, “This is gonna be hard for you, but I need you to shut the fuck up and let me talk to her.”

“Nani? But Matsuo-senpai—”

“Do. Not. Start. You know she hates your fucking guts. So keep quiet. We don’t need this to become a scene.”

Nirin huffed in indignation, crossing her arms over her chest. Volinski rolled his eyes slightly before putting on his most charming expression – overclocking his social augmentations in the process. “Major Matsuo, what’s it been, two months? And you look as dignified as ever.”

Matsuo didn’t respond beyond narrowing her eyes.

“Is there something I can do for you? I’m sure Parasini-san made all the necessary arrangements, given that we weren’t shot out of the sky.”

Matsuo’s frown deepened at the Japanese honorific Volinski had used. It was how she referred to Parasini, true, but it felt like a veiled insult coming from him. “You know why I’m here, Volinski-san. Your quarian.”

“Listen, I know she’s been trouble in the past, but—”

“I suppose five minutes ago is technically the past.”

Volinski furrowed his brow at that. “Five min—” he stopped mid-word as he whirled around on his quarian and fixed her with a glare, “Nirin’Ptrun, what the fuck?!”

Nirin glanced at her bahnt before shifting to Matsuo and then back. “I’m sorry, am I allowed to talk now? You said I wasn’t before, so…”

Volinski let out a withering sigh as he turned back to the Major. “Alright, no talking our way out of this. We have an appointment with Gianna and a session with T.Y.M., what do we need to do so you’re okay with that?”

“Her omni-tool will need to be confiscated,” she said with a nod toward Nirin, “and anything else that’s capable of hacking a computer system.”

“Mm, that’s a problem, Matsuo. She’s not relinquishing anything, and I think you know that. I’m more than willing to have her lock up her tech on the ship, but we’re not handing it over to you. Wouldn’t want it to get conveniently ‘misplaced’ in Noveria R&D.”

“That wouldn’t happen.”

“Because your boss has such sterling record?” Volinski deadpanned, “Look, I’m willing to compromise with you here, Maeko. Lord knows this girl gives me fits with the shit she pulls, but we can’t give you her omni.”

Major Matsuo’s frown deepened and she shook her head. “If it weren’t for Parasini-san, you’d both be under arrest right now. I honestly have no idea what that woman sees in you.”

“A good friend?” he offered with a shrug.

“Then she should be more discerning,” Matsuo said as she inclined her head, “You may return to your ship to store her tech, but you will need to submit to a body scan before entering port. If either of you – or those men behind you – have anything more sophisticated than a comm-link, you’ll be denied access and expelled from the system.”

“…You drive a hard bargain. Come on, guys, back to the ship.”

The small group made their way back and deposited all their removable tech in storage lockers. It took no more than five minutes for the Dragons to be ready for shore leave. Volinski and Nirin took a bit longer, as the quarian kept hiding datapads and ANI datasticks in her suit. Volinski let his men go on without him as he spent an hour stripping Nirin of her suit and searching every nook and cranny for contraband – the search ended with over a dozen pieces of Matsuo-banned tech.

Satisfied with his search, he gave the suit back and watched her put it on – making sure she didn’t sneak something in. That’s when he noticed the ghost of a smile on her thin lips. It was the same smile she had whenever she thought she was getting away with something. He immediately reached out to stop her from dressing herself and performed an on the spot cavity search – which found an overly complicated bit of contraband in a very uncomfortable place. He questioned how she would have even used it, and she sheepishly admitted to jury-rigging the thing to work in tandem with her nerve-stim rig to act as a wireless receiver for her suit’s UI. A move she justified by claiming she could never be fully disarmed if she was still in her suit.

Finally, finally satisfied that his girl had been ‘disarmed,’ they made their way off the ship and found Major Matsuo and her Lieutenants still standing stock-still where they’d been before.

“Hey there, Estêvão. Did Maeko give you any trouble?” Gianna Parasini asked as she brought her glass of beer to her lips, a knowing smile on them as she did.

“Gianna, you know she did, why are you even asking?” Volinski grumbled as he sat down across from her in the booth, Nirin plopping down beside him.

“Because it’s funny. Did it seriously take you that long to put away an omni?”

“No, it took that long because every goddamn compartment on that suit of hers had something else that would’ve given Maeko a fit.”

“And yet you put up with it. Ah, true love. Is there anything in the galaxy so romantic?”

“Right, you sure that’s your first beer of the day, Gianna?”

“Of course, after all, Noveria is world of technicalities. Even a lie can be true from a certain point of view.”

Volinski smiled at her facetious response. It was always amusing to play word games with the silver-tongued. “You spend too much time with the company lawyers, Gianna.”

“Can’t deny that. Been in meetings with the pedantic bastards all week. I was relieved when you called me. Even if it’s a short visit, it’s good to unwind for a bit.”

“True, it’s half the reason we’re here,” he said as he swirled the beer in his glass, watching the foamy head cling to the sides, “You said you’d tell me what you were smiling about if I bought you a beer.”

“I said I might tell you. There was no guarantee.”

“It was implied.”

“Ha! Now you’re the one who sounds like a lawyer,” she said with a smile as she shook her head, “You’ll have to refresh my memory. What did you say when I smiled?”

“I told you I was killing pirates with the corsairs.”

“Ah, yes, that was it. I was smiling because I wanted to confirm that was the case. Because I heard through the grapevine you were running with dogs these days.”

Volinski cocked an eyebrow as he sampled his own beer – a novelty ale made from acorns. “Grapevine, huh?”

“Yep. So, is it true?”

“That’s a bold claim, Gianna. Makes me wonder if you’re spending too much time in the shadows.”

Parasini’s eyes twinkled in amusement as she smiled. “See? Doesn’t it feel nice to share mutual secrets?”

“And you wonder why I was leery of a relationship.”

“Eh, it all worked out in the end, no? We stayed friends, and you managed to find someone just as crazy as you,” she said with a laugh, “You two make a cute pair.”

“Aw, you hear that, Estê-kun?” Nirin said as she leaned into her man and brought the glass of triple filtered turian brandy up to her helmet’s emergency induction port, “She said I’m cute.”

“That’s one interpretation,” he said as he finished his beer, it had an interesting flavor, but he didn’t plan on getting a refill, “How are things with the Board? Heard it was pretty touch-and-go after the Benezia Incident.”

“True. Asari commandos, geth troopers, rachni abominations… it’s a wonder anyone survived all that. The company took a hit, but it’s since rebounded. There’s a lot of money coming in from the Alliance. They leased Peak-23 and turned the surrounding area into a killzone. No one goes in without ten different identity checks, minimum.”

“And here I am without my key FOB, bummer.”

“You’ll just have to make due with a hotel suite and a pile of narcotics. It’s a hell of a consolation prize.”

“Mm,” Volinski hummed as he leaned back in the leather booth, “Which room did you book?”

“16B, same as last time. You have an appointment with T.Y.M. in an hour, but you could probably head over now and get a jump on things.”

“And leave you alone with my bar tab? Fool me once, Gianna.”

“Heh, worth a shot,” she chuckled as she finished her beer and signaled the waiter for a refill.

An hour later and the human-quarian duo were lying next to each other in modified dental engines and surrounded by medical monitors and IV drips. The proprietary narcotics flooded their bodies as the research team took notes on their therapeutic effects for psychological trauma.

Volinski’s vision exploded in euphoria as his mind melted into itself. His dull, earthly form giving way to the bright colors of a children’s cartoon. It was an intoxicating feeling as all the anxiety and stress drained away.

He was content to float amongst the stars in a drug-induced haze as his high reached its apex. He felt himself floating in zero-g; the sterile walls of T.Y.M. giving way to the vastness of the universe. His body floated in orbit around a gas giant planet with enormous, vibrant rings as the sound of an electric guitar played in his ear.

He floated toward one of the moons, idly tracing the desert canyons with his eyes as a black aircar with a convertible top pulled up beside him. In the driver’s seat he saw a sultry quarian woman with generous hips. She had long, silvery quills that fell to her shoulders and she wore nothing more than a skimpy, leather bikini and a cowboy hat.

Volinski drifted over and settled into the passenger seat as he ogled Nirin’s drug-enhanced figure. The quarian didn’t seem to notice as she piloted the aircar beyond the gas giant system toward a flashing swirl of technicolor on the horizon. As they approached, the undulating color resolved itself into an infinitely large rainbow-colored squid that stretched from one edge of the star system to the other. The glowing mass of the sun was shown to be its great eye and its undulations were felt as gravity.

The hanar behind the counter… glanced? It’s was hard to tell, given the lack of eyes, but it appeared to be studying the image of the batarian slave-lord Bassac. Volinski’s ocular implants picked up a sudden shift in the UV patterns that danced across the alien’s bulbous pneumatophore. In the corner of his eye he could see the other nearby hanar flash with sympathetic radiance. Volinski wondered what the two were really discussing, the translation of ‘ebony convent’ seemed spasmodic and disconnected from the situation. Given that the software was hanar in origin, he suspected it wasn’t as accurate as they wanted everyone to believe.

“Apologies,” Ithorex the Unready intoned with solemn finality, “but this one does not possess the skill needed for such a commission.”

And there’s the fucking punchline. I hate this universe so goddamn much, Volinski thought with a scowl. He looked over his shoulder at Nirin, expecting to see the glowing puppy-dog eyes she always made when she felt dejected, but instead, she was happily tapping away at her omni-tool, utterly oblivious. Does… she not know what’s going on? Meh, might as well keep it that way.

“Is there anything else this one may do for you, traveler?”

“Não, thanks anyway,” Volinski said, offering reflexive gratitude as he left the shop with his quarian. He glanced over to her and noticed the haptic screen on her omni was displaying a bunch of playing cards. “Niri, what are you doing?”

“I’m playing the Legend of Sol-Tar!”

Volinski shook his head and sighed. “It’s pronounced Solitaire.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Nirin said as she eyed her man and gave a huff, “Still got your thong in a twist?”

Volinski grimaced and gave a facial shrug. “You could say that. I was hoping to get more out of this trip, but…”

“Yeah, me too. I mean, creepy-pastafarian back there had sick-ass security on that computer and all I find when I break in is some goofy sentence. Total rip-off.”

The quarian girl kept walking with an annoyed shake of her head, seemingly oblivious to her human who had come up short at her words. As she glanced back, his grumpy demeanor had morphed into a quiet seething rage as he glared daggers at her. No, not daggers. Chainsaws. He was glaring chainsaws at her. And they were on fire. He was glaring flaming chainsaws at her.

“I have no idea why I feel this sense of surprise. I really don’t. I know what you’re like and yet there it is, gut-twisting bewilderment,” he said as he shook his head, “It’s like you have no sense of self-preservation when it comes to computers.”

“Ridiculous. I always double-check my firewalls.”

“See? That right there. Not: ‘I consider the risks before I hack.’ Or: ‘I weigh the pros and cons beforehand.’ Or better yet: ‘I make sure it’s worth my time.’ You glibly trespass without a care in the world and you think you’re untouchable. You are not untouchable, Nirin’Ptrun.”

“Of course not, Estê-kun. You touch me all the time,” she said in a husky tone, dragging her claw slowly down her chest.

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. No sex or toys for a week.”

“NANI?!”

“You’re on perv lockdown, girl. It’s about time I rein you in.” With that, Volinski walked away in silence, leaving the dumbstruck quarian in his wake.

“Wait! Estê-kun! Hey!” Nirin yelled as she gave chase, “I’m talking to you! Don’t ignore me, you dick!”

Nirin tossed and turned, tangling herself in the bed’s linens. Normally, she slept peacefully, having made a habit out of taking thanazepam every night to avoid the ever-present nightmares that haunted the tapestry of her unconscious mind. The sedatives would make her sleep less rejuvenating than it should have been – given the lack of REM – but a little grogginess was a small price to pay to not relive the brothel.

Tonight, much like the past three nights, she found her medication to be ineffective.

Volinski looked up from his workbench as his quarian thrashed about on their bed. She’d been ‘off’ since they’d left the Citadel, at least in terms of her sleep patterns. He set about reassembling the revolver she’d bought him from Morrigi the Peaceful – a peace offering designed to mend his bruised ego… and convince him to revoke her weeklong celibacy.

It hadn’t worked. And she spent the rest of the day pouting over it, and the fact that he refused to take her to ‘Drilled’ – the Fornax-brand sex shop in Shin Akiba – to replace the toy Vigil had so callously denatured.

He took some measure of pride in his ability to resist her for the past three days. She’d taken to wearing leather straps and latex lingerie at all hours in the sterilized captain’s quarters, and striking alluring poses whenever she thought he was watching. It made him smile to think back on all her efforts. There was no one else in the galaxy who knew him like she did.

He forced the final piece into place, his ears registering the click of metal on metal as the cylinder was nestled in its home. Leaving the weapon behind, he rose from his chair and sauntered over to the bed where the naked quarian continued to thrash and mewl as her mind rode roughshod over her body. A gentle shake accompanied by her whispered name was enough to rouse her. Panicked eyes relaxed as she took in the sight of her bahnt. She sat up and threw her arms around his neck and cried into the nape. He held her close as the fear-fueled adrenaline-analogue subsided in her blood.

“It’s okay, Niri. You’re safe now.”

“No. No I’m not,” she sobbed, deep gasping breaths accompanying her cries as if she had been held underwater for too long.

“What did you see?”

She didn’t answer, she only squeezed tighter and whimpered with renewed vigor.

“You can talk to me, Niri. You can let it all out and I’ll be right here for you.”

The crying continued at a diminished pace, but she refused to speak. Perhaps she was so out of sorts that she couldn’t form any words even if she tried. But after a time, her voice croaked and cracked between wheezing sobs as she forced out the words that tormented her, “It was e-everything, Estê-kun. E-Everything… all rolled t-together. When we were cast out… when dad died… when Fydr and Lial died… when mom went into a coma and they pulled the plug… when I was sold to B-B—”

She couldn’t finish the word, the sound deteriorating into more wailing pain. In all the years since they’d been together, she’d never once uttered the name of her Master. It was a psychological scar the batarian had reinforced on his chattel with drugs and near-constant conditioning.

He was ‘Master,’ not ‘Bassac.’

Volinski once spoke to Kelly Chambers about it. She alluded to the similarities between Nirin’s inability to speak her Master’s name, and Trellani’s inability to avoid praising the Thirty whenever she mentioned them.

“Niri… you’ve been weird since we left the Citadel. What changed? You haven’t been like this in years. Do you need new pills to keep the nightmares away? Maybe you’ve built up a tolerance.”

Nirin settled down a bit, her mewling becoming far more sporadic as she tightened her grip on her bahnt, rummaging her claws through his hair and leaving thin lines of red on his scalp. When she finally spoke, it was with a resigned and relieved air, “ ‘Regards the Works of the Enkindlers in Despair.’ ”

“Que?”

“That was the was the sentence I found in Rex’s computer. It was the only thing in the entire system,” she explained, her voice once more under control, “It’s been eating away at my thoughts for days. I don’t know.”

“And you think it’s related to…” Volinski drifted off with a shrug, “this?”

“I think so, but I don’t know why. Nor do I understand why sharing it with you feels so… right.”

“I’m always here to be your rock, Niri. You know that.”

“I do,” she whispered before pulling back and leaving a gentle kiss on his lips, “Thank you, Estêvão.”

Volinski didn’t respond, he just stared for a moment before pulling her into a tight hug. She almost never used his name like that. Honestly, that might’ve been the scariest part of all.

Originally, I was going to have his entire body be converted into antimatter, but that was problematic… since the yield was enough to shake a continent. I’ll give an Elder One DAVE cookie to anyone who can figure out what he converted to antimatter.

What a Wonderful World

Some questions I meant to ask in the chatroom, but never got around to.

5. What is ‘Vol Prime’?

6. Red sand makes hanar sick, can that be weaponized to fight them?

7. Who are the vortha?

• This reply was modified 7 years, 2 months ago by SLotH4.
• This reply was modified 7 years, 2 months ago by SLotH4.

Interesting. When I created this and merged it with the ideas from the PV, I only really looked at it as Manswell failing and everything else (except for the 50+ years and expanded FCW) being roughly identical.

It’s interesting to think there’s more going on in the timeline than even I (the author) realize. That’s good in a way, like I said above, my mind can be fairly linear when canon/rules are established.