This chapter relies heavily on the game dialogue and text to which I claim no ownership. They are borrowed from the good people at Bioware who really should be paying my therapist bills for the obsession they have spawned within me. :D Yay Bioware!
"Well, what about Vakarian? He grew up in the colonies," a voice Garrus recognized as the turian ambassador, Sparatus, said. Garrus laughed, dry and low, surprised to hear Sparatus mention his name at all. They'd never exactly gotten along, the ambassador considering Garrus a poor example of turian honour.
"He knows how tough life can be out there," Garrus's mentor, Captain Saren Arterius, added. That recommendation didn't surprise him. "His parents were killed when slavers attacked Invictus."
Commander Garrus Vakarian stared out the viewport at the planet spinning below, using the view to distract himself from the memory of the worst day of his life. Palaven. Beautiful, but foreign despite his having spent a couple of years there at The Villa during ICT.
"He saw his whole unit die on Oma Ker," General Adrien Victus said, his tone dubious. "He could have some serious emotional scars."
Oh, nice, the second worst day of his life.
"Every soldier has scars, Victus," Saren argued, his words resolute, dropped like bricks into a deep pond. "Vakarian's a survivor."
Garrus glanced over his shoulder toward the conference room door, wincing a little as the conversation going on within left him feeling naked and exposed. Probably not the best of days to be overly punctual. His appointment with Captain Arterius hadn't been scheduled for another half hour.
Sparatus chuffed, a harsh rumble of sub-vocals layered beneath it. "Is that the sort of person we want protecting the galaxy?"
Garrus frowned. Protect the galaxy?
"That's the only sort of person who can protect the galaxy." Saren's tone painted a vivid picture as he replied, allowing Garrus to form a detailed image in his mind—one brow plate cocked, mandibles raised and tight, arms slammed down like gates over his chest.
"I'll make the call." Sparatus sounded as though he'd rather do anything else, but then the door opened.
"Vakarian!" The captain stepped halfway over the threshold, starting a bit when he spotted Garrus. "How long have you been standing out here?"
Garrus shrugged, his mandibles dropping a little. "Ten minutes?"
Saren chuckled. "Not the best day to be overly punctual." He shrugged and took a deep breath. "Well, too late to worry about it now. Get yourself to the Normandy, Vakarian. We're on our way to Aephus, give the new boat a decent shakedown."
"Sir?" Garrus hesitated for a second, then thumped his knuckles against his chest in a turian salute. "Yes, sir."
When the door closed behind his mentor, Garrus turned back to take one last look out the port at the planet his race called home, then strode for his cabin to put together his kit. Three major players in the hierarchy didn't meet to discuss the candidates for a new frigate's XO, no matter how special and classified it might be.
Dread burrowed beneath his plates like a nest of netichiks; something big loomed on the horizon … something big but nothing good.
In the year 2148, explorers on Impera, discovered the remains of an ancient, spacefaring civilization. In the decades that followed, these mysterious artifacts revealed startling new technologies, enabling travel to the furthest stars. The basis for this incredible technology was a force that controlled the very fabric of space and time.
They called it the greatest discovery in turian history.
The civilizations of the galaxy call it …
Mass Effect.