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Chasing Ghosts

A Mass Effect Novel

(Working Title)

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Evil does not always have an ugly face. Even the deepest wells of darkness in one's heart can be masked by nothing simpler than a charming smile.

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** ** To the folks at BioWare for creating all of these wonderful races.

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This novel is based on a Mature rated video game.

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Prologue

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1. Homecoming

The view of Palaven from the portside cargo bay of The Halvmaen was exquisite as the sun began to peek from beyond the planet, casting a beautiful, golden glow that lit up the turian's face handsomely. He stood silently as he gathered his gear, adjusted his gauntlets, and plugged in his amp. It snapped in with a pleasurably snug click at the base of his skull and he shivered, feeling a gentle shock as the Element Zero nodes synced together throughout his spine. Rithe flicked his forefinger around in a small circle, a delicate ribbon of blue biotic light ejecting from his finger and dancing before him, giving off a low trill. He let it dissipate and headed to the mess hall, tipping his head to his crewmates.

The turian crewmates, anyway. Rithe didn't understand what the hell the batarians were doing here, and he sure as hell didn't care for their superior, self-serving attitude. The Halvmaen was a turian ship, made by turians for turians. Regardless that her systems required close observation and that the batarians were hired on to help, the Halvmaen should have been manned completely by turians, in Rithe's opinion. Salarians would have been fine, quarians too... Hell, even the krogan! But these batarians... they were by far the least helpful. They scurried from stem to stern, murmuring among themselves in their strange, guttural dialect... And since when did technicians and scientists need war grade weapons?

He'd expressed his concern to his friend, Xeriln, but the older turian didn't seem to care much. In fact, he had always changed subjects and was even quick to defend the batarians, but Rithe simply assumed the old man didn't want to talk about it. Surely Rithe wasn't the only one who voiced his concern and... distaste for the batarians being on the Halvmaen.

Rithe entered the mess hall and dropped into one of the seats against the far wall and closed his eyes, leaning his head back and resting it against the cool metal hull. The usual migraine that had plagued him since his graduation from the biotics academy was coming on, slithering its way between his temples, seeming to want to squeeze into his very skull and pry it apart. A fine way to return to Palaven, his home, after nearly a year.

"Rithe! Hello! I uh, I mean, good day, sir!"

Rithe opened one eye and gazed at the gray skinned salarian that was now making a beeline straight for him. The young technician hobbled over to Rithe and gave him a quick and comical salute and the turian smiled and patted the seat next to him. Rithe couldn't seem to figure the young engineer out, or this apparent obsession with him, but a little company was welcome nonetheless.

"Hey, er..." Rithe cast a nervous smile at the salarian, and mumbled something that he hoped sounded like his correct name.

"It's Ilwen, sir."

"Right, right, I'm sorry, Ilwen."

The Salarian frowned, but perked up quickly a moment as if he had already forgotten, his greenish-blue eyes almost shimmering with delight. "It's fine, no problem, how are you? Long time no see."

"Yeah, it has. I've been fine, got a bit of a headache, the usual ones I told you about."

"Ah yes, with your biotic amp, I wish you'd let me tweak it. I'm sure I could work something out to help you."

Rithe raised his hands and spoke quickly, "No, no, that's okay, it's uh... under warranty, yeah, warranty. If you mess with it, I won't be able to return it if the problem keeps up." The last thing he wanted was for the boy to get... overzealous and cause more damage.

Ilwen grinned boyishly, "But I could fix it!"

"No, Ilwen, it's fine."

"Aw, well if you say so. You excited to be home again? I'm excited to see Palaven for the first time! Is it as hot as they say? I hope it's not too hot. I modified my suit just in case, though. When do you think we will be landing?"

"Oh... in three slow, annoying hours, I think."

"I'm sure they'll fly by, to pass the time, how about you tell some of your stories? Those are always fun to listen to. You will, won't you?"

"Well, I was going to have dinner..."

"Aw, I'm sure you can have something better than nutrition paste on Palaven. Please? Please?"

Rithe had a split second thought of putting a bullet in his own head, but let out the frustration as a thick sigh, and began, the words flowing out of him in a lazy monotone.

"Well, all right. A few years ago, Xeriln and I were on Rosimir-"

"Hot," Ilwen began, firing off the facts about the planet in quick succession, "A heavy, humid atmosphere that is oxygen based, but contains particles poisonous to foreign life forms; breathing units and air filters required; in the Larikas cluster. Average day is forty-one hours..."

Rithe waved his right hand dismissively. "Yes, exactly, thank you Ilwen. As I was saying..."

A group of indigenous flying beasts screeches overhead as they fly by and Rithe feels an overwhelming urge to claw his eyes out and can't imagine how the horrible noise would sound if it wasn't partially muted by his helmet. He still unconsciously brings his hands up to his face and places them on the side of his helmet as if it will help, but the beasts have passed and their screeching has ceased, and all Rithe can hear now is Xeriln's coarse laughter. The older turian is shaking his head, seemingly unfazed by the beasts' cry, and Rithe can almost see him smirking as if he got satisfaction from Rithe's pain.

_ The air - what little there is - in Rosimir is extremely humid and most importantly,_ hot. His suit's atmospheric regulatory function has failed and has stopped cooling him. Add to the fact that the heat has somehow managed to sneak its way into Rithe's suit along with heavy humidity that leaves him sticky and wet, making for one pissed off turian and he has to mentally beat away the thoughts of just imploding his own head to get a little relief.

_ Rithe laughs at this thought, and Xer looks at him a little worriedly, half expecting the heat to have finally fried the younger turian's brain, and he readies his gun just in case he has to put the biotic out of his misery, but Rithe almost reading his superior's mind, raises his hand and twirls it impatiently in a_ Can we get through with this already? manner. Xer grins and claps the biotic on the shoulder and takes aim with his rifle, his right hand dropping down in front of Rithe's face, making complicated twists and turns - hand signals which Rithe deciphers without a word.

_ _ Two. Soldiers. One with an H-76 Reaver, a missile launcher, the other no visible weapons, probably a biotic.

_ Rithe can picture them perfectly and readies himself. He closes his eyes for a split moment as a wave of ecstasy erupts through him as the cord of eezo nodes in his spine sync up. When he opens his eyes, he is completely focused and time seems to have stopped and there is no noise other than his own mental voice saying something he doesn't understand. The words either make no difference and he doesn't need to hear it, or they make all the difference in the world and he already knows them._

_ All he is focusing on right now is his enemies and the mass effect field he will create that will lift and swing them around like a couple of zero-gravity tap dancers; for now any thought irrelevant from_ killing passes from his recognition and he whips his right arm before him, his entire form surging with power and glowing the characteristic bluish purple as his quarry is lifted into the air and flails about helplessly.

_ Although he cannot see their faces, he knows his enemies' eyes are whipping about crazily, probably bulging a little as they ascend upwards into the mass effect field and lose all control of their limbs. Their panic is like a refreshing drench of ice water over Rithe's body, and for a moment he feels his plates resonate with a pleasant shiver before he pulls himself back into cover. He hears their whooping hollers of panic that instantly devolve into wet, gargling cries of death as fountains of blood and bone marrow explode from their chests in two brilliant crimson bursts._

_ In a quick panic, Rithe turns, preparing to attack again, but he recognizes his partner, Xeriln, whose mastery with the sniper rifle is unmatched in Rithe's platoon, as he has just now demonstrated. As Rithe comes down from his gentle high, the mass effect field dispersing and dropping the corpses like limp rags, he rolls his shoulders and casts an admiring glance at his partner. The two of them make their way to the still smoking corpses and relieve them of their grenades and thermal clips, and Xer disassembles the missile launcher and scatters the pieces, then makes a crack about their not needing anything where they're going; and Rithe laughs more out of politeness than genuine humor. Now that the bliss has passed, he feels the same empty guilt left behind from killing of which no amount of military training can wean him. But for now, he and Xer have a job to do, and nearly no time in which to do it now that shots have been fired._

_ All Rithe hears next is Xer crying out something, followed by a loud thunderous crack, then a quick burst of pain that snaps through his skull as his protective barrier disintegrates the bullet fired at him and flickers in intensity. In surprise, he falls backwards and scrambles to nearby cover and Xer follows after he puts three bullets in the enemy sniper._

_ _ "Shit, Rithe, pay some fucking attention. Worthless," Xer cries out angrily and makes a mental note to punish the turian later, but for now he whips his rifle around and ends another sniper's life with a shot that rockets through the valley with deadly precision.

_ _ ("I never liked that jerk. He always came off as a hard ass to me, I don't know why you look up to him, I wouldn't," Ilwen interjected, and began to say more, but Rithe hushed him by raising his hand, and then continued.)

_ Rithe is paralyzed with shock and for a moment lays on his back panting, but a quick thump on the forehead of his helmet by the butt of Xer's rifle jerks him back into reality; and he gets to his feet and crouches next to his superior who scans once more and then pulls the younger turian to his feet, then shoves him over and stuffs the barrel of his rifle under Rithe's chin._

_ _ "Do you want to die? Because I can save you the trouble of taking me with you!" He presses the muzzle of the gun hard enough against Rithe's chin to clamp his mouth shut even through his helmet. "I'm not hearing a no, you worthless, arrogant fool!"

Rithe swallows hard and clenches his fists but the uncanny click of a trigger causes his rage to fizzle instantly, and what little movement he has, with a fucking barrel pressed against his chin ready to blow his brains out, he uses to shake his head and Xer lets up and pulls him to his feet. Rithe knows the old man would never actually shoot him.

_ Well, he_ hopes_, anyway._

_ _ "Come on," Xer commands and they both dart from boulder to boulder, keeping cover; and Rithe makes sure to double- and triple-check his surroundings this time lest he actually catch a bullet.

_ One way or another._

_ _

_ The building has long since been eroded by the fine grit and sand that constantly blows on Rosimir and what was once most likely a decent looking structure has now rusted, and the metal shell creaks with the pained groans of one close to death._

_ Rithe shivers, half-wondering if the building_ is alive and is currently dying, but a harsh bark from Xer lets him know to keep moving, and they enter silently through the airlock. Rithe sighs with great relief as he removes his helmet, the derelict building still much in working order as waves of wonderfully cool air rush over him. Xer does the same, his deep burgundy face paint smeared and running from the humidity inside his own helmet. Rithe wonders how his own face paint looks but pushes the thought aside, and quickly returns to the mission at hand, readying himself while Xer switches his sniper for an assault rifle.

_ _ "It's too quiet," Rithe whispers and quickly dodges Xer's swiping fist, seeing his superior's one command in that action although no words were spoken:

_ Shut the hell up and keep on guard, worthless!_

_ Rithe nods quickly and shuts his mouth, raising his pistol. His other hand is ready, trembling in anticipation and waiting for another burst of bliss from when he will inevitably unleash his biotics._

_ Xer peeks around a corner for a split second then signals again in his complicated hand signals. There are three, fully exposed, and with another signal, Rithe knows to take care of the two on the far left and he ducks behind and crosses over to cover with a better view of his victims._

_ The usual wave of bliss erupts through him as he thrusts forth his right hand and pulls it back, yanking away their weapons with invisible force, their expressions turning from panic to horror as their weapons disintegrate into a thin mist. He plugs one in the head with his pistol and the other in the chest and they fall limp, their eyes glazed over in the same terror as before. Xer caps the other, filling him with enough holes, as if the older turian needed to make sure his target was truly dead._

_ Rithe watches this and sees that Xeriln, too, finds some kind of sadistic pleasure in killing. Rithe wonders if he experiences the same guilt later, as well._

_ _ "Too easy, like they aren't even trying..." Rithe said softly as a sudden wave of guilt, stronger than usual, forces itself up through his gut into his chest.

"Well, what do you expect from freelancing, idiot kids," Xer says, more of a condescending statement than any form of a question and Rithe looks at him again worriedly.

_ He and Xer exchange a glance and the older turian scowls, wiping away some of his smeared face paint, and the pattern left makes Rithe shiver. The deep red lines have melted and run down his face. It looks like blood._

_ It looks like a death mask._

1. Homecoming Interrupted

Rithe and Ilwen were thrown from their seats as the ship shuddered forward, seeming to convulse in pain. Rithe got up quickly and scowled, and then helped the young Salarian to his feet.

"Just as you were getting to the best part, we have to land, I hate how it's always like that, don't you?" Ilwen frowned and crossed his arms and began to pout.

Rithe shrugged, wondering about the turbulent descent as the ship gave another heave that threw Ilwen back off of his feet, face first into the steel wall, and Rithe almost plummeted too, but managed to keep his balance. He again helped the grumbling Salarian up, who began to start whining again, but Rithe pressed a hand against his mouth and pulled the boy against him.

"Be quiet," Rithe said firmly in hushed tones and his eyes narrowed. "Something isn't right, have you seen anyone... no, you've been too engrossed in my story haven't you? Stay here."

Ilwen began to speak but Rithe shook his head curtly. The salarian finally understood and looked over his shoulder worriedly.

The pair listened carefully, and off in the distance Rithe heard the unpleasant grumbling of batarian voices. The turian drew close to the stairs that ascended to the upper bridge and poked his head around, and finding no one there, he proceeded up them slowly. As he neared the top, he jumped back as the door suddenly opened and a rain of bullets pelted his barrier. Without thinking he sent his assailant flying with his biotics, and grimaced as he heard a wet snap of broken bones, followed by a cry of alarm.

Rithe rushed back down the steps, grabbing Ilwen who had darted over when he heard the shots fired, and dragged him over to the escape pods. He threw the salarian boy inside and hopped in himself.

"What's going on? I heard shots! Are we under attack, did we get boarded? I bet that's what caused the turbulence!"

"Ilwen, please, shut up!" Rithe thundered, and the Salarian obeyed. He sat still, his heart pounding hard against his chest, and watched for the first signs of movement. "Batarians, I knew it, shit!" He hushed quickly as the first squad of batarian soldiers entered the mess hall and Rithe ducked behind the escape pod's door, pulling the salarian against him again, his hand over the boy's mouth. When the patrols passed and Rithe heard the hiss of the medical bay door closing, putting them out of earshot he whispered, "Ilwen, get us out of here. Now."

Ilwen, a thankful calm and understanding overpowering his usually rampant mouth, waved his omni-tool over the controls and jumped in surprise when the pod's doors snapped shut and the pod shook violently as it rocketed away from The Halvmaen.

Rithe leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. "With any luck, they won't notice a missing escape pod until we're long gone and have reported in to the admiral. Set our course for... Wystrien... That..." Rithe looked at the planet before him. "...Isn't Palaven. Shit! Where are we? That's not Earth, is it?" He looked hard at the blue and green planet, then at Ilwen who went to work quickly on his omni-tool

"I uh, it's Borlaran, in the Tulaith cluster. Good lord, we're on the other side of the galaxy!" Ilwen's eyes darted back and forth in panic. "Oh god, oh god, oh-dear-sweet-god, we're in trouble, we are so fu-"

"Ilwen, calm down, is there anything about this planet I should know?"

The Salarian shook his head, "No, no, it's relatively comfortable, but it's colonized mostly by humans."

Rithe sighed, "Better than batarians. Oh, no, wait let me guess; they hate non-humans don't they?"

Ilwen fiddled with his omni-tool, "Borlaran hardly has contact with non-humans, so they might be afraid of us. But we've not enough fuel to get anywhere else, it's the best chance we have, sir. We're close to one of the main settlements; it says here the place is called Brenn's Rock."

The turian put his hand to his forehead and sighed, closing his eyes. "Right, try and get in contact with them, if you would please, and set a course to land."

Ilwen nodded, and went to work. Rithe leaned back and flicked his forefinger around, a gentle calm coming over him as the thin ribbon of blue light danced before him. Below, Borlaran spun lazily, a hurricane forming over some ocean. Rithe hoped that wasn't an omen.

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"Sir, reports show that an escape pod was ejected, we assume it was the turian who killed Nakarn," the batarian soldier named Nirth spat out the word turian venomously, regardless that his superior was, too, a turian.

"Leave it, and leave me. They'll either burn up in descent or die to the humans," the turian replied and when Nirth left, he crossed his fingers and rested his hands on his desk. "But let's hope you survive. Maybe you aren't as worthless as I thought, Rithe."