ADVANCE AND RETREAT

By Dr Girlfriend

Graciously inspired and beta'ed by Palaven Blues!


"If it's going to be anyone, it should be her," he said, tapping a gloved talon on the datapad. A poorly lit image of a dark-haired human woman flickered on the screen while seemingly endless amounts of text scrolled by on the side.

The human ambassador rolled his eyes and took another swig of the bitter-smelling coffee in his mug. Those were not the words this man wanted to hear.

Too bad.

"Did you even look at the others?" he groaned.

Nihlus's eyes were growing sore and irritated from reading so much in the unnatural light of the human embassy's close quartered offices. He rose from the overly padded fabric chair to stand in the daylight shining through the large bay windows. His body was sensitive to the difference in Citadel light and the light he grew up with on his home colony of Oma Ker. Whenever he arrived on the Citadel, he would feel sluggish and leaden for a few days. Drinking special mineral waters and exposing as much of his bare skin to the daylight as he could helped.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gray-faced man to the ambassador's left cast a sidelong glance at another broad-shouldered man leaning against the desk. Nihlus felt the weight of the unspoken tensions between these three humans, and it aggravated him. They should have reached a consensus before he had even arrived on the Citadel.

"There are two in that stack with a military pedigree as long as your arm. One of them is even fluent in three asari languages."

"Good for them."

The broad-shouldered man tried to stifle a small chuckle. He must have been the one Arterius had told him about, the first human failure. Behind the steely professional veneer he was trying to put forward, Nihlus could see a faint echo of bitterness. This man would trust him, but he wouldn't like it.

If Arterius could have seen him now, he have would been furious. For many reasons, he suspected. Thankfully, the older turian had become more of a recluse these past few years. At first he had been disappointed by Arterius's repeated absences but gradually began to find freedom in it. He was not so young as to need him anymore, but not so old as to feel confident without direct leadership.

"Ambassador Udina is adamant that we offer a candidate with the broadest appeal to the Council. His … sincerity in this effort is greatly appreciated on our end," said the scarred man.

Lackett. Thackett. Nihlus was horrible with human names.

"I understand," he lied. "Trust me, Admiral, when I say that a 'blank face' is best. Someone without any strong connections but a good record of integrity under fire."

The admiral nodded in agreement and handed the datapad back to the ambassador. The decision was now a command.

"We'll have her transferred immediately. Captain Anderson will host you on board the SSV Normandy. Can you be ready to depart by 1500 tomorrow?"

"Fifteen hundred tomorrow, excellent. Good day, gentlemen."

Nihlus gave a slight bow as he left their office and hoped none of them would sense the urgency growing within him.

Do they know? Is that why they came to me for help?

He had barely twenty hours. It might be enough time.

He would stop by the bistro on the way to his apartment. They would still be closed before the start of the dinner shift. The bell on the front of the door rang softly as he opened it and inhaled the smells of roasting levo meat in the back and the heavy citrus scent of the floor cleaner. A salarian waiter he didn't recognize peered at him over a sign he was painting over with the night's specials.

"I'm ah…looking for—"

"Katerina!" the waiter called. "She'll be right out."

Nihlus nodded and shifted his attention to the wall covered in black and white photographs of Earth. His favorite was a large cityscape with tall, angular, towers. Yellow rectangles of light lingered nebulously over tiny human shapes hurrying their way through static streets. Always scurrying, never moving. He thought that Earth must be a stifling, ugly place but nonetheless he found the power of the photograph captivating.

Finally the woman moved into his field of vision, tall and slender with two-toned black and yellow hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her painted red fingertips rested over the folds of pockets on her white apron.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I want to make a reservation."

"For what time?"

"Nine o'clock."

"I'm not here at nine."

"Fine," he huffed. He turned abruptly, not wanting to meet the woman's gaze. He clicked his mandibles menacingly at the salarian as he walked out. Nothing to do now but count the hours.