Herman Jauch nervously sipped at the glass of water on his table as his eyes scanned the small motel cafe where he had come for lunch. He sat alone near the back away from the entrance which he had been watching like a hawk since sitting down. Having not eaten anything in over twelve hours he had quickly scarfed down his meal and was now on his second glass of the mineral water the cafe served. Filling as the food was it hadn’t soothed his racing mind nor eased the stress induced rush that plagued him to the point of barely sleeping.

As he drained the last of his water through a straw Herman thought back on the events that had lead him to where he was now, hiding away in a modest side street motel aboard the Citadel. It had all started when a woman had first contacted him back on Earth several months ago asking the former scientist to lead a project sponsored by a “special interest group”, it’s focus on human biotics. Twenty years ago Herman Jauch was at the top of the list when it came to dark energy and human biotics research, at least until his untimely fall from grace. A memory that still stirred resentment within him. Once a tenured academic with a long list of credentials and career accolades Herman had lost it all in the heat of a single moment. Since then he had made a decent enough living teaching at a public school back on Earth. Reduced to a quiet, bitter old man who would have otherwise spent his twilight years mulling over the past.

So when this well dressed and charismatic woman presented him with a lab, staff, resources, and objectives he could not resist, resigning from his teaching job immediately and setting out across the stars for what he saw as a chance at making a difference again. And hopefully regaining what he had lost.

This idyllic future was in fact anything but and - after destroying his lab and equipment - Herman was now on the run from his former employers. In his possession a flash drive with all the research data from his lab as well as various other files he had snagged before fleeing. Originally he had considered going into hiding but realized this was not possible seeing as who he was dealing with and the resources they had at their disposal.

With nowhere to hide and nothing gained Herman knew there was only one possibility left for him - to use the data he had as a bargaining chip. Despite the methods and outcomes of the project the research data without question was invaluable, as was the other files stored on the flash drive he was nervously rubbing between his fingers. The only predicament he faced was deciding on who to approach and attempt to strike a deal with. The Alliance was the most immediate and obvious consideration. Herman however had a suspicion that once light was shined on what had happened at that lab as well as his involvement the Alliance might just arrest him and confiscate what he had. There were other options as well but like going to the Alliance they all had their contradictory cons about them.

Realizing he couldn’t afford to be picky the former scientist had made his way to the Citadel, booked a room, and early this morning made a few calls. And now here he sat on pins and needles, waiting for the Alliance contact promised to meet him. He reminded himself that if he played things right he could come out smelling like a rose.

---

Not for the first time, he missed the feeling of shooting at batarians - a human pastime that had become a sacrosanct duty, ever verging the edge of becoming a birthright.

The last four years of Jackson Pulliam's life had been spent amid the relative, if spartan comforts of the Systems Alliance's black ops squadrons. From the fringes of Alliance space into the Attican Traverse, with even a few toes illicitly dipped into the Terminus Systems, he had served as one of humanity's sterling tools, tasked with strenuous jobs along the frontiers humanity had not yet sucked dry. Between those jobs his arrangements were caring and careful alike, stored properly and maintained often the way a master craftsman would store and maintain the unique set of tools he had bonded with.

He found solace in that definition of care. He had tried other definitions in his life and found them all unsatisfying.

In the weeks between his assignments, the ships or backwater ghost towns he was posted to offered him a form of solace, too. He found something of the ragged old pioneer spirit in the horizons of empty worlds, barren planets freckled with only the occasional Alliance prefabs across the face of what was otherwise a seamless, unending vista. Space was beautiful in the same way, a blank canvas dotted with more history and chemistry and quirks of existence than Jace could ever understand. He had given up on understanding it all as he grew up. Now he preferred to just look out at it from an observation deck and find silence in his mind, where once he had churned with questions.

Tayseri Ward offered none of those comforts. The Citadel was the great cardiovascular system of the galaxy, its relays connecting to the home clusters of almost every political presence in the galaxy, asari and salarian and turian and hanar and elcor alike. Its Wards were all multicultural, some to greater extremes than others. But it was the asari that functionally ruled the galaxy, and it was the asari who ruled Tayseri. Tayseri Ward was a beacon of asari culture tertiary only to Thessia and Ilium. Concert halls bearing the names of Matriarchs who had been old when the first nations of Earth were young, nightclubs that teemed with maiden dancers and mercenaries, and most of the streets and lights were aglow with the famous asari color palette - purples and oranges like the lips of sunrises, and blue everywhere. It saturated every level of Tayseri Ward and clawed its way through any surface with a hint of translucence. When Jace looked at his hands, sometimes he caught himself shocked that they had turned blue too. It was only the lights - and the asari.

He didn't like the idea of meeting any contact here - especially with the sparse intel he had been given in his briefing from the brusque Rear Admiral who had assigned him this mission. Tayseri was a known destination for parties and cultural events alike throughout the Citadel, but it had been struck hard by the geth attack. Concert halls, biotiball venues, and entire city squares had been obliterated by wreckage from Sovereign and the assorted Citadel ships that escorted that monster to Hell. If this extraction became heated in a hurry, it would become difficult to move his contact anywhere with any degree of speed - let alone get a viable route to the Presidium, which was only barely habitable even months after the battle. He could see the wisdom of meeting in an asari dominated Ward, at least; after all, it would be easy to pick out other humans like him, discern who was there for partying and who was there with a goal in mind. But it was humanity's fleet that had rescued the Citadel and it was humanity that was starting to dominate many walks of life on the Citadel. Citadel Security, embassy staff, transit authority, even the cleanup crews working district by district...Sovereign's apocalypse had forced gentrification upon many of the Wards, and that bell couldn't be unrung.

It also made his job of parsing the threats out of everyday new arrivals that much harder.

At least he found the doctor where he was supposed to be. Sometimes contacts liked to get a little loose where brokered meetings required strictness; it was a whiff of uncooperativeness that would never quite waft away, and usually led to jobs gone wrong. He sat down across from the scientist and took the man's measure. The aliens liked to make a big deal of humanity's genetic diversity, but the doctor seemed particularly nondescript to Jace. Older man, anxious and uncertain of himself. He got the feeling that even if he was a necessary presence to the doctor, he certainly wasn't a welcome one.

He ran a lazy finger along the bottom rim of the doctor's cup, feeling the slickness of condensation on glass beneath his fingertip. A drop pooled on his nail. He waited for the code phrase - one the doctor had suggested, likely with far more pomp in the face of the admiral than he seemed capable of delivering it with now.

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery. If those weren't the first words out of the jittery man's mouth, Jace was leaving.

Herman had been watching the front door with little distraction aside from the young human waitress who had approached him moments before asking if he needed anything else. He had considered requesting another a refill on his water but then decided against it, politely waving her away. Herman had also taken a few moments to eye the other patrons of the cafe. In a booth nearby were a pair of asari gossiping about work as they ate, totally oblivious to their surroundings. A human couple sat several tables away from Herman closer to the bar and likewise were absorbed in their meal and conversation. A group of salarians had filled up two booths near the front door, their uniforms marked with the logo and name of a construction firm. Most likely they were workers that had been contracted for repairs in the ward and were staying at the motel.

Herman doubted any of who he saw were tails that were following him on someone’s order. Those he had previously worked for weren’t the type to hire aliens for any reason and the sole human couple nearby seemed unsuspicious enough to Herman. While this did not totally relax him it took enough edge off to allow him to think more clearly as well as be able to functionally communicate when the Alliance contact he was supposed to meet arrived.

When a tall, dark-haired human man entered the cafe the the former doctor believed this was who he was awaiting. The man walked with the slight cocky assertiveness that most military types had and made his way straight through the cafe towards the aged Herman. Herman sat still arms folded just in front of his empty plate as the man took a seat, ignoring the casual touching of his empty cup by the new arrival.

With a slight exhale Herman looked the man dead in the eyes, “A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.” This was the choice phrase that was meant for the Alliance operative to assure them of the identity of the former doctor, Herman of course would expect the assigned return phrase before becoming outright direct in regards to details. He smiled, wrinkles creasing the corners of his mouth and eyes as he absently scratched away at the top of the table, “That would be James Joyce,” he said, “the poet and novelist, writer of Ulysses.”

Herman forced his smile a little wider, the mellow cafe lighting highlighting the thin gray stubble on his cheeks and chin, “Are you familiar with him?” Herman did his best to keep his voice level. While he knew it was impossible to conceal the entirety of his anxiety he had no intention of painting the image he was scared out of his wits. A cowardly and perturbed man was easy to be dictated to and bullied and Herman had no doubts that the operative or his superiors would try to take advantage of this. Especially considering how Herman was technically turning himself in for partaking in research both sorely unethical and illegal, the information and strings he had attached the only vantage point he had.