Parallel Lives: Six Glimpses: The Messianic Exile
Parallel Lives is a crossover AU (Dragon Age:Origins characters in a Mass Effect setting) that has spiraled into a major series. Six Glimpses introduces the six "Wardens" (one from each origin) and their place in the galaxy circa early ME2.
Gwen’veve Tabris vas Shipless sighted through her scope and carefully aligned the crosshairs before taking the shot. She grinned fiercely as the opposing merc’s shoulder exploded under the impact.
This was exactly what she’d signed up for.
She was only on her first job, but Gwen already knew that she’d made the right choice when she decided to set out from her clan to become a merc. Someone was paying her good money to shoot people who deserved it. What more could she have hoped for?
Gwen was also pleased with her decision to join a small, freelance group rather than one of the big companies. For one thing, judging by the flashing on their armor, the group she was currently engaged in taking out was a splinter faction of the Blue Suns, and Gwen was much happier being on this side of the ambush. In the less immediate picture, she liked being part of a flexible team of specialists assembled for specific tasks that the more entrenched groups wouldn’t touch - often because the objectives ran counter to their corrupt business operations. At the moment, Gwen was part of a team tasked with retrieving sensitive data that was being used to blackmail a client. She had no idea about the identity or morals of the client, but Gwen figured she was pretty justified in assuming the blackmailer was someone whose downfall wouldn’t cost her any sleep.
Lining up her sights on another target, Gwen took out a burly human merc who was hammering shotgun blasts into one of her squadmates’ kinetic barrier. Her shot took most of the pressure off his position, letting him spring the remaining few yards to a data terminal. He bent over to start hacking, and Gwen turned her gaze back to the surrounding battle. Priority number one was providing the tech with cover while he finished the job.
Nothing seemed to happen for a few seconds, and then light sparked from the tech’s barrier. He ducked into cover, temporarily abandoning the console, and Gwen began swearing under her breath. The fire pinning him down was coming from the opposite direction, and she couldn’t get a clean line of sight on the shooter from her position. She scanned the area for an alternative, knowing that she wouldn’t find one she was happy with. The moment she’d entered the room, Gwen had identified this as the only viable sniper perch and moved immediately to occupy it. Nowhere else was going to give her the combination of cover and visibility she needed.
Another flash of light went up from the tech’s kinetic barriers, and Gwen swore again. Her having the perfect position wouldn’t do a damned bit of good if she let the guy carrying out their primary objective die down there. Rising into a crouch, she mapped out a path of short sprints that would get her to a position with a better line of sight. It looked like decent odds that she could get there without making herself too big of a target in the process.
Head ducked and rifle cradled to her chest, Gwen ran, ignoring the sounds of gunfire around her. She didn’t know if any of it was aimed at her, but if it was, she wouldn’t improve the situation any by slowing down to check.
Winded, Gwen arrived safely behind her new cover, panting heavily inside her enviro-suit. A quick check of her suit’s displays showed that her containment system was intact; she hadn’t sustained any damage worth worrying about. Satisfied that her own situation was under control, Gwen peeked out to check on the tech she had moved to cover.
It turned out that she might as well have stayed in her original sniper perch. From this angle, she was able to easily locate the turian merc taking shots at her team’s tech from a low balcony. She could also clearly see another member of her team closing in behind him. Curious, Gwen decided to watch the scene play out over her scope. When she’d seen this guy at the briefing, she had been unreservedly skeptical. She’d never heard of someone going into combat with a pistol in each hand. That only happened in action films written by people who’d never held a gun in their lives. And yet there he’d been, a pistol sheathed at each hip, lounging with a confident smirk on his face as the mission plan was laid out. Gwen had expected him to be laughed out of the briefing, but everyone else took him at face value. So she had, too, not wanting to look like the clueless new girl.
Instead of raising questions, she’d studied him through the meeting, trying to get his measure. She caught his name pretty easily - Zevran - but that was nearly meaningless. There was no way to tell if it was his real name or the sort of handle some mercs gave out to cover up their pasts. He was human, of course. No one else would have the audacity to try something so patently ridiculous as flashy dual-gun fighting. His hair was blond, at odds with his tanned skin. Given what little she knew of human genetic tendencies, Gwen assumed the hair color was an affectation, part of a carefully crafted appearance, along with the small braids worked into it and the curling tattoos on the side of his face. None of that had changed Gwen’s initial assumptions that he was more show than substance.
Watching him now, she was starting to reevaluate that decision. She found herself impressed by the way he moved, graceful and fluid, almost like a dancer. In addition to being pretty to look at, his steps must have been nearly silent, given how close he had gotten to the turian without detection. Gwen acknowledged that his stealth skills were impressive, but what she really wanted to see was how he fought with that impractical pair of handguns. Currently, he was holding them at film-inspired angles designed to make a dramatic silhouette. It didn’t give Gwen any confidence about his ability to actually use them.
Suddenly, when Zevran got within a few yards of his target, his entire posture changed. One of the guns came up to deliver a clean double-tap to the turian’s heart, while he swept the other in an arc at arm’s length to provide covering fire - something Gwen would have said couldn’t be done effectively with a pistol. The turian slumped to the ground without so much as a cry of distress, and Zevran dropped into a smooth forward roll to occupy the fallen merc’s former position. In spite of herself, Gwen was impressed.
The tech noticed the break in fire pretty quickly and darted to the console he’d been working at, picking back up on his hacking job. Gwen and Zevran were well positioned to provide cover for his work, picking off or distracting any targets that presented themselves. None of the Blue Suns gave the tech any further trouble, and the rest of the data acquisition proceeded smoothly. Within a few minutes, he packed up his omnitool and sent the signal across the com link that the job was done.
Gwen held her position long enough to cover his retreat, then began looking for her own route out, hoping to avoid any close-range combat on the way. As she scanned the room, she caught sight of Zevran flipping dramatically over the balcony railing to land on the main floor of the room. His kinetic barrier crackled with ricochets, and he laughed mockingly while returning fire. Assuming that all enemy attention would be focused on that little show, Gwen took the opportunity to get out.
She met up with the tech at the evac point, along with the burly krogan who had been single-handedly holding their exit route open. They exchanged nods of recognition, acknowledging each others’ survival and pointedly not mentioning those missing. That was a risk of the job, and they’d all known it coming in.
“We’ve got what we came for.” The tech patted the pouch where he’d tucked away the OSD. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Did you signal for retrieval?” Gwen asked the krogan.
He shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll give it a minute. Zev will make it.” He gave a rumbling chuckle. “He just likes to make an exit.”
Sure enough, not two minutes later, the blond human appeared, backing his way out and shooting at final pursuit. He took three final shots, then holstered his pistols with a dramatic flourish and turned to the rest of his squad.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting.” His cocky grin undermined the apology. Gwen was struck by the way the curve of his lips echoed the tattoo lines curling up his cheekbone. “So many pressing engagements, you understand.”
The krogan grunted noncommittally, but his jaw was dropped in a smirk of approval. The tech rolled his eyes and turned a cold shoulder, getting on the com to call in their evac shuttle.
Any real response would have to come from Gwen, and after seeing Zevran in action, she was inclined to make a favorable impression and get on his good side. She was hoping to stay with this employer, so odds were good they’d be working together in the future. It wouldn’t hurt to have the people who might be covering her back predisposed in her favor. “Glad you could tear yourself away to join us.”
“I fear I broke some hearts, but that is the price of beauty, no?” Zevran turned his smile on her, broadening it with a predatory glint in his eye. “Surely a lady so lovely as you must understand the risks.”
Gwen had a flash of irritation that her faceplate limited her ability to quell unwanted advances with a withering glare. She had to make do with body language. Crossing her arms over her chest, she did her best to convey a closed, uninterested impression.
Zevran put a hand to his heart as if wounded. “Beautiful but so cold. How is a man to resist?”
Gwen turned her back, glad to hear the whoosh of the incoming shuttle and have a smooth way out of this conversation. Perhaps she wouldn’t look forward to working with Zevran again after all.
After they reported back in to the boss, dropped off the data, and had a straightforward debrief, Gwen and her fellow mercs made their way to the closest bar. It was apparently a tradition of the group, celebrating success and toasting those left behind. The wrap-up drinking session was every bit as much a part of Gwen’s initiation into the organization as the mission. Politely declining wasn’t an option.
The selected location was a dimly-lit, seedy sort of place, and Gwen suspected most of the other clientele were also guns for hire of one type or another. A quick scan of the place was enough to convince her that she shouldn’t trust anything purported to be sterilized, so she was forgoing the drinks. A quarian raised away from the Migrant Fleet had the choice of being - as Gwen’s mother put it - picky or sickly. Gwen had always opted for the former.
Gwen was pleased to have gotten through the firefight - and even acquitted herself pretty well for the new girl in the merc group - but an hour into the evening she had a bigger problem to deal with. Namely, the volus sitting across from her. All she knew for certain about him was that he went by the name of Oghren. Everything else was speculation.
They said he’d been one of the deadliest volus soldiers ever seen, a candidate for Spectre status. Until his wife had died. Or until he’d been near-blinded by the loss of one eye. Or until he’d started drinking. Maybe all three.
They said he hung around mercenary circles because he’d founded a merc gang that had nearly taken over a large sector of the galaxy. They said his partner had sold him out. Or double-crossed him and left him for dead. Or had a crisis of conscience and left him holding the bag. They said he was looking for revenge. Or an opening to start over. Or a chance to atone for his sins.
They said he’d made a fortune doing cutting edge work in heavy weapons R&D. But that had ended when his business partner was killed. Or when a prototype back-fired on the wrong client. Or when a rival weapons designer decided to take out the competition permanently.
They said he was more machine than flesh under his containment suit, that he was barely alive in the traditional sense. They said his suit was a masterpiece of his own design, full of concealed weapons so that he was never helpless, no matter how thoroughly he’d been searched and disarmed. They said he hadn’t been seen sober in a decade. They said he’d taken down a krogan battlemaster single-handedly - with nothing but a flamethrower.
They said far more than could possibly be true. But what they didn’t ever say was what to do when he sat down at your table and offered to buy you a drink.
“Nothing for me. I don’t think this is a ‘dex and clean’ kind of place.” Gwen’s curiosity about the volus legend got the better of her. “That won’t stop me from talking while you have something, though.”
“Gives me more time to drink.” Oghren chortled, a raspy wheezing sound through his respirator, and signaled for a refill of his currently half-empty drink.
Gwen waited with growing confusion to find out what he wanted, but he seemed content to wait for his drink. By the time it arrived, he had finished the first one, handing the empty glass to the asari waitress. After making a start on the fresh drink, he finally picked up the conversation.
“Heard you did a nice job out there today. Hell of a sniper.”
Gwen was caught off guard. Was this a competing job offer, an attempt to hire an assassin, or something else entirely? Wary about where he was going, she hedged. “I’ve had some practice, but there are better.”
Oghren made that wheezy laugh again. “We can’t all be Commander Shepard. I’d say you’re plenty good for a novice. With potential to do a lot better. I’d put credits on that.”
He paused for a drink, and Gwen wondered about an appropriate response. She aimed for noncommittal with a touch of skepticism. “You’ve got a lot of faith in someone you’ve never seen work. It’s flattering, but I don’t know I’ve earned it.”
“You will.” Another huffing wheeze of a laugh. “Especially with the edge I’m offering you.”
Gwen relaxed. Here came the hook. She crossed her arms and leaned back expectantly.
In response, the volus laid a weapon on the table. It was the type designed to fold up into something compact for easy transport. He flicked a switch, and it unfolded into a beautiful rifle, sleek and obviously cutting edge. “She’s all yours.”
Gwen’s fingers itched to hold it, but she resisted. It was stupid to take an offer from a volus without seeing the fine print. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He sounded offended. “Thing is… she’s a prototype. Want you to test her for me.”
Gwen remained skeptical. “Why can’t you test it yourself?”
He laughed loudly at that, a long hissing cacophony that took a while to subside. “My buddies in the lab won’t let me test sniper rifles after the last time. Seems that ‘Great kickback. Used it to shatter a krogan’s jaw.’ isn’t the kind of feedback they’re looking for.” He shook his head with a mechanical sigh before taking another long drink. “That was a hell of a gun, though. Wish they’d let me keep her.”
Gwen tried to get that image out of her head, focusing on the rifle sitting on the table in front of her. “If I test this for you - or your friends, whichever - what’s the rest of the deal? How do you know I won’t just run off with it?”
“My buddies can find their toys, and I can find mercs. You couldn’t vanish. Not for long enough to do any good.” His hissing chuckle had a menacing edge, but his next words sounded jovial and casual. “No reason you should anyway. The deal’s simple. You use the gun on whatever jobs you want. When we cross paths, you tell me what you’ve been doing, how she’s worked, maybe a few other things I want to know.” Gwen got the feeling that if a volus could convey a broad, lurid wink from inside a suit, Oghren would have. His voice practically seethed with innuendo.
It was the second time in a day that Gwen had been leered at by an alien, and it made her skin crawl like she wanted to scrub it, even inside her enviro-suit. She was wondering if this was a job hazard that came with being a merc. She really hoped not. This work was the best way she could think of to get the credits her clan needed to buy their way back into the Fleet, and she wouldn’t let anything deter her from doing it. But by the homeworld, she didn’t want to spend all of her time as an object of every puerile male fantasy a lonely merc could dream up!
Oghren finished his drink and slammed the empty glass down on the table. “So… we have a deal?”
Gwen tried to put the rest aside and focus on the business side of the arrangement. This gun was gorgeous, and it would give her an edge. She needed this if she was going to build a reputation in the business and get the credits for her clan. “Deal.” She held out her hand to shake over the rifle. “I’ll test your new gun and report in on it when you ask.”
Oghren took her hand. “Great to be working with you.” He waved down the waitress. “Another round to celebrate our new partnership!”
Gwen really hoped she wasn’t going to regret this.