Camilla: You, sir, should unmask.

Stranger: Indeed?

Cassilda: Indeed it's time. We all have laid aside disguise but you.

Stranger: I wear no mask.

Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No mask? No mask!

- 'The King in Yellow', Act I, Scene 2.

Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow and Other Horror Stories

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"So," said Batara, "What shall we talk about?"

John said nothing.

"You've got nothing to get off your chest? No questions for little old me?"

John still said nothing.

"Playing the strong, silent type, hmm? No matter. I have some questions for you. Like...what's your real name? I'm sure it isn't Edward Hadlock."

He stared at her. The face was the same as Emreys, but that playful gleam in her eyes was now gone and replaced with a much more predatory look.

"Oh darling, don't be mad." She gave him a little smirk. "Admit it, you're just angry that you fell for my little ruse."

"You and Nisell worked it out in advance?"

She nodded. "In case we were in danger of being found out. She would play the part of the big, bad Ardat-Yakshi and I would be her poor, innocent little thrall." She clasped her hands together against one side of her face and fluttered her deep blue eyes at him.

"And she didn't mind?"

Batara dropped her hands. "Mind? Hell, darling, she came up with the idea. You saw her. She killed for me. You really don't understand how deep a connection we had. But you will." She walked off to the side, and John followed her by turning his head. But eventually she walked out of his range of sight. She started humming that jaunty tune again.

Slowly, as to not be too obvious, he tested his bonds. There was no real hope there. He was pretty well trussed to the chair by something thin.

"Careful, dear," called Batara. "Don't pull too much. That's monofilament rope. Not as cutting as monomolecular wire, but still nasty. If you pull too much, it will slice you right down to the bone. Maybe even through the bone."

He filed that information away. Batara must still want him alive, probably so that he could recall the Helen. His only hope was to get himself free or at least incapacitate Batara. If she was down, then all he had to do was wait for the cavalry to arrive.

One of Batara's hands stroked up the back of his scalp and pressed gently. The push made him tilt his head forward. He kept his eyes in motion, looking for any item that could be of use, anything in range. There was nothing in his field of view except the walls and floor of the dome.

Batara's other hand softly touched him at the back and sides of his neck, and she finally gave a satisfied grunt. "Hmm. Good. I don't think I damaged your neck with that sleeper hold. I have to confess, darling, that I haven't had much experience with human physiology." She gave the back of his head a friendly caress. "I'm sure we'll remedy that together."

"You think so?" If he only had a leg free, he might be able to do something.

"I know so. Don't be silly. You're done for, admit it. I will have you, body and soul." She walked into his eyeline again and placed a chair in front of him, then sprawled casually in it while smiling at him. One of her hands trailed up her thigh as she flicked her eyes over his body and gave a lecherous grin. "First, I will own your soul. And then we'll move onto the rest. You've kept in shape, my little mystery man. I look forward to playing with that body of yours."

Through his testing, he had just about figured out the binding holding his hands together. Batara had screwed up. She'd used one single line to bind both of his hands together as well as to the chair. If he could get one hand free, then both of his hands would be free. But that was easier said than done. The monofilament rope was tight against his wrists. If he could somehow get a lubricant onto his skin, he might be able to get some movement.

"You talk too much. Just get on with it," he said.

"And spoil the anticipation? No, my sweet. You're much too juicy of a meal to simply devour on the spot." She leaned forward and looked into his eyes.

John dropped his eyes immediately. He knew enough about asari to know that eye contact was how they started a Joining.

Batara gave a delighted laugh. "Oh, are you shy? I wouldn't have expected that from someone as formidable as you. Let's see...given your quick take-down of poor Nisell, I would guess you're some kind of Alliance wet-work specialist. But what would you be doing in asari space? Especially with such an eclectic crew."

John said nothing. He was thinking back to what the salarian doctor had told him about the enhancement he'd received. He hoped the doctor had been correct in his description.

"Did one of the Matriarchs make you an offer?" she asked. "It would be their style to send in a group of mercenaries. The asari are so worried about public perception. It wouldn't do to sully their pristine little hands."

John had to buy time. He had to keep her talking. "Sort of like how they stick all of your kind off in the middle of nowhere, eh?"

Anger filled her voice. "Yes. That is a perfect example, darling. The asari have always been sentimental fools. They imagine themselves as the benevolent caretakers of the other races. They think we should use our unique gifts to simply foster cooperation."

Batara stood and turned away. John looked up and saw her staring off into space at some vision only she could see. Her voice was soft, as if beholding a great wonder. "The asari ignore what evolution itself is telling them. The way forward is through domination. Only then can all species achieve their true greatness." She shook her head. "But they are afraid. Afraid of me and of my kind. But I will show them. Even now I am capable of so much more than they can imagine. Or than you can imagine." She looked down at him, and John hurriedly dropped his eyes again.

"You aren't that special," he said aloud. "Just another psychopath."

"Hmm. I don't blame you for thinking so, darling. But I'm not a killer, not in the way you think. Those I share my...ultimate communion with, they don't die. They live on inside of me. They give me knowledge. They give me strength."

He felt a finger touch his forehead and trace along his brow. "I suppose it doesn't matter who you are, really," she mused. "It's clear you're an assassin. You deal in pain and death, just as I do. Why not give yourself to me? I could always force you, but it's sweeter when someone gives themselves to me voluntarily."

John snorted. "No thanks, I've seen how disposable your thralls are."

"If you are worried about the example set by Nisell, then trust me when I say she went to her death with a full heart. I gave her a love that she would never have experienced otherwise. And then there's dear Janraus, the one who broke me out of that prison. We didn't have things go entirely to plan during the trip to Carcosa. There wasn't enough fuel for the shuttle to take off again. The original plan was for her to go and hide out until I had replaced Emreys and the expedition left. But that couldn't happen, so she insisted that I leave her to die. I gave her my final communion as a reward for her loyalty. A pity. She was a good commando, and taught me much. As you have found out."

John figured this was as good a time as any to start. He began to press his left wrist into the monofilament rope. As she had threatened, he could feel it cut right into his skin. He kept talking to shut out the sudden flare of pain. "Batara, you're done for. Your ship is disabled. The Helen isn't coming back without a whole lot of backup. And even if you get off of Carcosa, your cover identity is blown. Everyone will know you're Emreys."

Batara ruffled his hair. "So you're saying I should give myself up?" Her voice was amused.

"I'm saying you should eat your own gun."

"Make it a quick and clean exit, hmm?" She grabbed his head in both hands and tilted it up, forcing him to stare into her huge blue eyes. He pressed his left wrist harder into the rope and felt a sharper pain, followed by a warm and wet feeling along his wrist and left hand as his blood flowed freely. He hoped any flicker of pain on his face would be misinterpreted as fear.

Batara shook her head. "I don't understand your resistance. I see such darkness behind your eyes." She leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead. "I offer you a chance to indulge that darkness. To fully embrace who you are."

John's voice was tight with pain. Again, he hoped it was taken as fear. "And then what? Fine, you turn me into your boy-toy. You're still done for."

She pulled back and smiled into his face. "You underestimate me. You will tell me how you disabled our ship, and I can fix it. I may not be as capable as that succulent little engineer of yours, but I am a quick study. And if I want a new identity, I can pluck one out of the air whenever I wish. The loss of the Emreys identity is just a minor inconvenience. I already have what I wanted."

John pushed his wrist harder. More blood flowed. The pain was still bearable for now. But the blood wasn't helping, the rope was still too tight. He tried to focus his mind on what she'd just said. It gave him something to think about other than the damage being done to his wrist.

"You have what you wanted? But the Emreys identity was what you were planning for."

Batara chuckled but said nothing.

He had to keep talking, to distract himself if nothing else. He remembered Nathan's concerns after they'd landed at the camp. "You let yourself be caught. There was somebody or something at that monastery you needed."

She let go of his head and stood back up. "It's a prison, darling, not a monastery. But yes, you're right. Can you guess why?"

John had to move to Plan B. The blood alone wasn't going to get him loose. He was going to have to lose skin too. Hopefully his augmented bones and tendons would keep most of his hand together. But he had to wait until she was very close. He dropped his eyes. "You didn't recruit the other Ardat-Yakshi there. They would have broken out alongside you. But you view yourself as the way forward for the asari. You want to have more of your kind..." He looked up at her. "You needed the records. The monastery's records would show which lineages produce Ardat-Yakshi the most. You want to start a breeding program."

Batara softly clapped her hands together. "Well done, dear, even if I did have to give you a few hints. I am just the first of many. It will take centuries, to be sure. But my kind are patient. You will be there to see the start of a glorious effort. In a way, I'm sad that you won't live to see its culmination. Don't worry, I will make sure you are remembered when my sisters and I sweep aside the old ways. The asari will truly come into their own. And your name, your true name, will be sung through the ages."

John looked down. The time for talk was over. He could only hope that her enthralling attempt required her to get closer. "Says you."

Batara laughed and seated herself again. "I have to say, even though it isn't quite as pleasurable, enthralling someone against their will does have a spicy flavor all its own. And you are my first human as well. I will enjoy tasting you."

Again she gripped the sides of his face and brought him up to stare at her. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard Batara chuckle. Her thumbs gently moved over his eyelids and pressed up, forcing his eyes open to meet her deep blue gaze.

Her pupils were dilating. The blue in her eyes was replaced by a spreading black that eventually filled her eyes, making them into pits of endless night. There was a buzzing and a tingling in the back of his head, almost painful in its intensity.

She still wasn't close enough to him. He couldn't make his move yet.

"Yessss," said Batara in a voice like silk. "Look at me. See how deep my eyes are? You could swim around in them forever. I will hold you in my eyes for all eternity. You will never want for love, for closeness. I will be everything to you. Feel how much I love you, darling..."

Unbidden, he remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on Helen.

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He'd been coming off of a job for Viggo. At the time, John didn't really ever 'relax', but he was trying his best by taking in a photography exhibit at a local art gallery. The pictures had piqued his interest as he'd strolled around and sipped the cheap white wine they always served at such things. Whoever had made these photos had an eye for both composition and lighting that somehow gave him a sense of peace.

And then he'd rounded a corner and seen her. Brown hair framed a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were hazel and friendly, although right now they looked somewhat trapped. She was being chatted up by a man with a sweater draped over his shoulders, black-framed glasses, and a man-bun. The effect made him look like a weird combination of yuppie and hipster. He was blathering on about framing and f-stops and clearly trying to impress her.

The woman glanced over at John, and he was suddenly nailed to the ground by those eyes. Not by their intensity, but by their openness. It was as if she'd seen him, all of him, and accepted him with that single glance.

John took another sip of wine and strolled forward. He simply had to meet her. The yuppie-hipster glanced at him as he came up to them, and John gave the man his Smile Number Six, which was his I could snap your neck like a twig, so get lost smile.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

In spite of a clear case of self-absorption, the man somehow got the message and moved away with a quick nod to the woman. John smiled at her. "My congratulations," he said to her. "It seems like your exhibit is going well."

The woman shrugged with a smile. "Reasonably well," she replied. "I've sold a few smaller pieces."

"Well then, this is your lucky day. I have a new house and a lot of bare walls that need covering."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms and looked at him. Her eyes were playful but challenging. "And you want my help in covering them?"

John laughed. "I trust your eye. My own is sadly lacking." He held out his hand. "I'm John."

"Helen," she replied as she shook his hand. Her eyes became even warmer.

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"Hmm. So your name is John. And this Helen, who is she?"

John tried to pull his head away from her black gaze, but her grip on his head was too strong. "Not her, you bitch," he snarled. "You don't get her."

"Oh I will, darling. I will have all of you." Her black eyes moved closer. That buzzing in his head grew louder, making it harder for him to think. "I will love you completely. And what is love, after all? Is is not the complete sharing of two minds? Who is this Viggo you were thinking of?"

Once more, he remembered against his will.

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Viggo set the crystal tumbler of bourbon into John's hand. The gangster's study was set with dark wood paneling and lit with warm yellow light. A few bookshelves were set along one wall and filled with leather-bound first editions. John was pretty sure the books were just for show. Viggo wasn't one for the classics, even Russian ones.

John sat in one of the study's comfortable leather chairs. Viggo sighed as he settled his bulk into another across from him. The two men raised their glasses to each other.

"Za Rovye," said Viggo.

"To your health as well," replied John.

Viggo sipped his drink and leaned back into the chair. "So you wish to leave us?"

"I do. It's nothing personal."

The Russian laughed. "It never is with you. You are a perfect machine when it comes to work."

John took a sip himself. Viggo might not be a reader, but his taste in bourbon was first-rate. "I know this will cause some complications."

"Many complications. We contracted the Organization for your particular talents. We still have need of them."

John turned the tumbler in his hands. "There are others I can recommend. Good operators. They'll give you good service."

"But I would have to get to know them. As foolish as it may sound, I am a great believer in knowing those you work with." Viggo leaned forward. "We're coming into a critical time. You know us and you know our situation. I will need you ready to go at a moment's notice. I can't afford to waste time getting somebody else up to speed."

John drank a bit more to hide his irritation.

"John, what is this about really?"

He looked levelly at Viggo. "I met someone."

The Russian sat back and his eyes widened slightly. "I don't believe it. No, actually I do. It's the perfect weakness for the perfect machine."

John shook his head. "I don't want to discuss it. I just need to know. Yes or no?"

Viggo thought a bit and sipped at his drink. His eyes glinted with humor. "I wish I could simply cut you loose, John. It would almost be worth it, just to see if you could actually live a normal life." He sighed and leaned forward again. "I tell you what. If you can make it so that we have no more need of your services, then you may go with my blessing."

Now it was John's turn to think. "All of them?" he said aloud.

Viggo nodded. "And you would have to be quick. Once they start going down, the rest will go into hiding."

"I'd have twenty-four hours at best," said John.

The Russian laughed. "That many retirements? In one day? Impossible."

John drained his drink and set the tumbler on the small table between them. He stood and looked down at the gangster. "Consider it done. I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain."

Viggo's face lost some of its cheer. "Of course, John."

The assassin turned and walked out of the study without looking back.

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"Fascinating!" Batara's voice was even more silky. "You are not some simple gun for hire, are you? I think I have found a very special thrall. You will be so helpful to me, darling."

She was leaning in closer. He had to fight it, to get her to move closer still.

John bared his teeth. "Fuck. You."

"Oh I shall, my sweet. You will come to beg me for my touch." Batara tilted her head. "There is such darkness in your mind. I sense it now more than ever. Tell me your full name. Who are you, John?"

She moved fractionally closer. John thought she was almost close enough. "I'm the Tooth Fairy." He felt a sudden spike of pain through his head, like the world's worst migraine. He cried out in spite of himself.

"That is for disobedience," said Batara. She sounded like somebody disciplining a recalcitrant dog. Then the pain shut off like a thrown switch, to be replaced once more by that buzzing. But now it felt pleasant, like a warm caress of his mind.

"And this, darling, is for when you are a good boy." Batara smiled. "I can make you feel this good all the time. We are all such simple creatures, when you come right down to it. Stimulus and response. Move away from the discomfort and towards the comfort. So tell me, dear. Who are you really?"

"You'll never know."

"Oh?" The warm caress of his mind became more intense and almost washed away the pain from his wrist. "I don't even need to use pain, you know. I can simply give and then withhold pleasure. Enough of that treatment and you will do anything I ask. Who are you?"

Through the wonderful haze in his mind he kept one thought above all else. He had to get her closer. "No."

"Such an admirable strength of will. I will relish making you scream my name in ecstasy." She leaned in closer, right above his face. "Who are you, really?"

Close enough.

"You want to meet the real me?" asked John through gritted teeth.

"Of course."

"Then see me!"

He poured his mind at her. Images filled his mind of the horrors he'd inflicted. So many dead, killed in so many ways. Faces half missing, heads with their backs simply gone. Gashed throats with blood dripping from them. A dead man with a knife sticking out of his eye. A woman with a pencil thrust deep into her ear. There was the frightened and burned face of an informant who hadn't given John some much-needed information, and so John had gotten creative with a soldering iron. Crushed limbs, snapped necks, explosions which had left nothing but scattered body parts and the smell of cooking pork...

Batara's grip on his head faltered under the welter of horrific images, and John snapped his head forward. His forehead smashed into her nose with a satisfying crunch.

Simultaneously, he pulled hard on his left hand and felt it slip free. The monofilament rope stripped the skin off of the hand as if removing a tight-fitting glove, and he screamed. The huge flare of agony was combined with satisfaction as he felt the binding on his right hand also loosen. As Batara fell back in shock, he brought his left arm down and hooked at the back of her knee. He tried to ignore the raw and painful feeling of his skinned flesh as it made contact with her clothing. He managed to get his right hand up and grab at her arm as she flailed up at his face.

His hold on the back of her knee made her stumble back and fall. She toppled over, and his grip on her arm made John fall forward onto her. There was another bit of agony from his ankles as the rope cut into them as well. He crawled his way up her like an inchworm, ignoring her attempts to strike at his head.

Her knees hammered up into his torso. She was strong, and any ordinary man would have wound up with shattered ribs after such blows. It hurt him, but John's ribs simply didn't break.

She tried to get her arms around his neck, but he tucked his head in against his chest and shoved himself up along her body. Acting by pure feel, he found her neck. He pushed his head in, seeking her throat with his teeth.

Batara let out one strangled gasp just before John Wick bit her throat out.

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He spat out the lump of gristle and purple gore into Batara's unseeing black eyes. Asari blood tasted odd and even more metallic than human blood. John pulled his left arm out from under the corpse and tried not to look at his ruined hand. With his right hand he reached down towards his ankles. They'd both been cut into deeply by the ropes binding them, but at least he hadn't lost any skin there.

Blood loss. That was his current problem. He had to stop the blood loss first. With some fumbling, he managed to untie his ankles with his right, very shaking hand. He looked around and saw that Batara had laid out several first aid kits on a table behind his chair. John crawled over and managed to pull down one of them. There were large bandages in them in place of the gauze he was used to, but fortunately they were easy to open. It was clumsy to try applying them with just one hand, but they had some sort of an automated function that made them wrap themselves around his ankles. He felt a stinging sensation, probably from some sort of medi-gel in the bandages. John hoped that the medi-gel was 'universal' enough to at least not poison him.

John's agonized breath sounded loud in the dome as he moved on to his left hand. He had to look at it, no matter how much he didn't want to. His left hand was now red and glistening like raw meat. Drops of blood continuously oozed from it and pattered to the floor like red rain. The first bandage that wrapped around his wrist nearly made him pass out from the pain of the medi-gel hitting his skinned flesh.

"Don't pass out," he said to himself. "If you pass out you will bleed out and then you will die." He fumbled out another smaller bandage and tried to get it around his palm. His breath became sobbing as he let it wrap tight.

"Keep it together, shithead. Pain don't hurt." He wasn't about to try to wrap his fingers individually, so he went ahead and swaddled them all together. Then he placed his thumb on his palm and mummified his hand with another layer of bandages.

Only then did he allow himself to pass out.

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When John woke again, his hand was one huge throbbing ache which came and went like the pain from a bad tooth. There was nothing he could do about it right now, so he put it out of his mind and took stock.

Batara's corpse still lay next to the toppled-over chair. His mouth tasted foul, probably from some of her residual blood. John pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked up at the table. There was indeed a water bottle sitting on top of it. He got one of his feet under himself and tried to stand. His left ankle seemed usable, although putting weight on it caused a fresh wave of agony to run through him. His right ankle, however, refused to support him. John supposed that he'd gotten some tendon damage after all.

He leaned on the table with his left elbow and grabbed the bottle. Fortunately it was meant for zero-gee use, so it had a nipple at the top which he could open with his mouth. He swished some lukewarm water around in his mouth and spit it down onto Batara's body. Then he drank the rest of the bottle while he thought.

John had no idea how much time had elapsed since the Helen had left. He also had no idea how long it would take his comrades to get ahold of somebody in charge and get back here. His omni-tool was destroyed by the same monofilament rope that had taken the skin off of his hand, so he couldn't call them directly.

First things first. The atmosphere should be automatically regulated, and there was only one of him. He should have enough air. So he needed to make sure of his water, followed by food. If he could find the camp's communications terminal, he might be able to issue a general distress call down the road if nobody showed up.

He set down the water. His right ankle wouldn't support his weight at all, so he had to find something to use as a crutch. John wound up using Batara's chair like a makeshift walker to hobble off towards the cafeteria.

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After a few more hours, John Wick had scrounged enough water for twenty days and enough food for ten. The food was not a big problem; if he needed to he could go hungry for a while. Communications was a no-go. He couldn't figure out anything from the control panel in Valissa's office. Not only was he not that familiar with the tech, everything was in asari script.

"Next time, I need a visual translator as well," he muttered. Talking to himself helped keep his mind off of the pain in his limbs. He considered his situation as he sat next to a bare section of wall that was now covered with checkmarks. He used a marker to figure out his rationing. If he stretched out his water supply, he might be able to hold out for thirty days. But that was pushing it. And that was assuming nothing else broke. If the atmospheric systems failed, he'd be breathing the soup outside very quickly. And that was assuming he didn't get infected from his injuries and die from septic shock.

John's musings were cut short by a rumbling from outside. The sound made his heart sink. At best, it had only been a couple of days since the Helen had left. That was far too short of a time to go and get help, even with FTL. He grabbed his impromptu walker-chair and hobbled as quickly as he could towards the main airlock.

Fortunately, there was a monitor to show the view outside the airlock. Unfortunately, it didn't show much. Something large had set down past the asari ship while kicking up a huge plume of yellow dust. But he couldn't make out its shape at all. As he continued watching the screen, he saw several dark shapes gradually resolve into humanoid figures that moved through Carcosa's sulfurous murk. The figures were walking with purpose towards the airlock.

Batara had plans on top of plans. This might be a rescue team whom she'd recruited earlier. He had found his pistol as well as enough heat sinks for fifty shots. It would have to be enough. He turned away from the airlock. There was a crate nearby that would offer the best concealment, and so he hobbled over and took up station. He knelt and pointed his gun back at the airlock, while allowing just one eye to peek around the corner of the crate.

The airlock hissed as it cycled and the inner doors opened. There was only one person in the airlock; a large, muscular, and definitely feminine figure. She wore close-fitting, white-and-blue armor. The newcomer strode forward and stopped dead just past the inner airlock doors. Her helmet was pointed directly at John's location. He knew that whoever this was saw him quite clearly. But right now it didn't appear to be holding a weapon.

He gripped his gun tighter as she slowly raised one hand, palm out. Then that hand moved ever-so-slowly over to just over her left breast. She tapped a symbol emblazoned on the armor; it was of a spread pair of wings with a circle underneath.

"Spectre," said the figure, in a harsh and electronically accented voice.

"Helmet off," replied John.

With that same careful slowness, the newcomer raised its hands and twisted her helmet to one side. There was a hiss of equalizing pressure as she lifted the helmet off. It was an asari with dark eyes and purple markings all over her face.

"I'm a Council Spectre, sir," she said. "Is she dead?"

John nodded. "Yes. In the room to your right."

The Spectre gave him a half-smile. "You don't expect me to leave you here at my back with a loaded gun, do you?"

"That's up to you. I have no idea who you are."

She smiled, but her dark eyes were still hard. "My name's Tela Vasir."

"I'm Hadlock."

Tela sketched a little bow. "You look like you've been through a lot, Mr. Hadlock."

John gave a grim chuckle. "You should see the other guy."

"I will. If you would allow me to let in my backup, that is. I think you'll want to meet them."

He didn't really have a tenable position in the whole matter. Tela wasn't about to just walk off and leave him, and he couldn't really shoot her without alerting those outside. Finally, he nodded.

With the same slowness that she'd used to remove her helmet, Tela turned back to the airlock controls and closed the inner doors. Then she touched her finger to her ear. "Come on in. He's alive."

There followed a long moment while she and John stared at each other while the airlock went through another cycle. He noticed that the Spectre's eyes were much darker than any asari he'd met.

The airlock hissed as its inner doors opened again. There were two smaller figures within, one male and one female. The female was clad in a form-fitting black-and-white suit.

"John!" yelled the female, and ran forward out of the airlock. He recognized that voice.

"Persephone?" he said in bewilderment. He dropped the muzzle of his pistol, but didn't let it go.

The smaller asari twisted off her helmet as she ran towards him and threw it away heedlessly. She stopped next to him as her violet eyes took in his injuries. "Oh Goddess, John..." her voice trailed off as she reached down towards him.

"No." Tela's voice was hard and unyielding. "Don't touch him. Not yet. Both of you watch him."

The other newcomer walked forward and also removed his helmet to reveal Mackie's worried eyes. "Are you sure, ma'am?"

Tela's mouth twitched in a small smile. "I am. He could be enthralled. Let me make sure our main problem is taken care of."

Without another word, the Spectre stalked off towards the room where Batara's corpse lay. Persephone looked at the departing asari's back with clear hatred, then back at John. He held up his bandaged hand. "It's okay, Persephone. Let her check things out. I'm not gonna die on you in the next few minutes."

"We never even got out of the system," she said. "We started to depart orbit and then her ship appeared right on our tail. She got in contact and made us wait for a day or so while we did orbital surveillance of the camp. There was no communication and nobody coming out, so we finally persuaded her to go in."

Tela Vasir walked back in. Her face was set and even more stony. "Batara is dead," she said. "He's telling the truth."

Persephone began to examine John while Mackie made to move in the direction that Tela came from. His way was gently barred by a muscled arm. "No, kid," said Tela in a quiet voice. "You don't want to see what's in there."

The young man gave Tela a puzzled glance, then visibly swallowed at the severe look in the Spectre's eyes.

In the meantime, Persephone had inventoried John's injuries. She gave a panicked look over her shoulder at the two of them. "He's badly hurt. We need to get him somewhere with a good clinic."

Tela's voice was rich with irony. "Well, you're in luck there. Been shot up so many times that I've used all of 'em around here at one time or another. I'll give you the coordinates for the nearest good one, and you can go and take care of him. I have your ship ID, so don't get cute and try to run. I'll get there as soon as possible, once I've called in local law enforcement and gotten them working the scene."

Persephone looked down at John, and he wearily nodded. "Fine by me. I'm not going anywhere for a while anyway."