Prompt: Originally written for Shepard's birthday, April 2013
Post date: October 10, 2013
I wish "bromance" was a genre choice.
First-person narrative, I don't have the heart to rewrite it as third-person. Shepard is not named, but it's relevant that they're a biotic spacer/sole-survivor. This has only been proofread by myself, so apologies for any mistakes. The CDN excerpt was from September 2010 and can be found on the Mass Effect wiki.
Really tough to think that was already three years ago.
The thing that makes you exceptional is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.
Lorraine Hansberry
ESD / / 11 APRIL 2183
Just like the seafarers of ancient Earth, sailors of the stars spend weeks cooped up aboard ships, shuttered by regulations, with no outlet for frustrations from work and no space from each other except for a few bright spots of leave. In the shops, restaurants, and clubs across Alliance space, marines mingle with off-duty guards, H3 rig workers, independent miners celebrating a large haul (or trying to forget exactly how much they lost in their latest expedition), local students trying to dodge studying for exams, and civilian sector office workers winding down after a long shift.
Outside of Alliance space, however, you still find miners and desk jockeys, the difference being which way their amino acids are mirrored. It goes to show how similar to each other the Citadel races are - the instinct to get away from the demands of life and work extended far past species boundaries.
I never really took full advantage of my shore leave, at least when compared to the people I served with. Before '77 I did, of course. But afterward, a sort of dissonance had formed. Being at a club and having a good time had somehow changed to being at a club realizing I had somehow forgotten how to have a good time and ending with just trying to forget.
But even before all of that, I had never been the life of any party. I was a military brat – it was hard to learn how to socialize when your classroom was a VI program in your cabin, you had to change friends out every six months, and you actually had to put effort into keeping out of trouble. I had done my fair share of tours of dark clubs and loud parties when I was still young enough to get a kick out of doing something I could pretend was dangerous and irresponsible. But that had grown old fairly quick. It only took a year after I had enlisted for my idea of downtime to turn into catching up on vidcasts and trying exotic local food.
Until I was 23, I had vaguely kept in touch with a friend that had gone to a civilian post-secondary school, and it was strange to see how her life had mirrored mine. After a few semesters (and she could finally legally get into any bar she wanted) the novelty and adventure of the clubs had somehow worn off and she really seemed to take to reading romance novels and learning how to cook instead of going out.
The Normandy was docked at the Citadel for inspection and refueling. The engineers who had designed and built the ship were excited to see how everything was functioning beyond remote diagnostics and reports. I couldn't fault them for wanting to do their jobs, even if the additional delay beyond time lost refueling was grating and I was left with the daunting notion of how to pass the time.
I had long ago abandoned the enlisted tradition of partying until I was required to return to work. Driven out of the bars by my own disdain, I normally sought refuge in the shopping strips in the Citadel's wards. I knew full well the Alliance crew would assume I had some superior, condescending attitude towards them. Of course they wouldn't think about how I had enlisted without a commission.
Not that it mattered what their opinions of me were. They were enthusiastic to be aboard the Normandy, honored to serve with the first human Spectre, and disappointed they had to serve with Lieutenant-Commander Shepard, the only survivor from Akuze, surely their CO was crazy, bringing aliens on board an Alliance ship.
Not that it mattered at all to me.
Even if I wasn't on board the Normandy, I wasn't on leave from the mission, or from being a Spectre. But I could at least take some time off from being, as I routinely heard from the media, Commander Shepard, Hero of Eden Prime, the First Human Spectre.
It was my name, rank, and position, but it also eerily felt like it all belonged to someone else.
If I hadn't gotten too close to the damn beacon on Eden Prime, perhaps I would be able to leverage that uncanny feeling to carve some space between myself and reality, maybe pretend for a while that it wasn't me. Except that there was an empty, gnawing abyss of the end of a galaxy staring back at me every time I tried to sleep. There wasn't going to be any time away from this mission.
In the crowds on the Citadel, in relatively "plain clothes," I was just an unassuming human. I strolled down the lighted walkways, taking in the sights and sounds of life in the wards. For two days I was allowed to fall back from attention while the Alliance ran diagnostics on the Normandy. Exploring the Citadel was as good of a time-waste as any. It wasn't like I had taken any time to be a wide-eyed, slack-jawed human tourist on the Citadel before I was made a Spectre. In Alliance space, I had a feeling of control. But as civilized as the Citadel was, it felt like the edge of the unknown, all part of the thrill and the terror of serving tours in space. The thrill was visiting a prothean metropolis in space, the terror was feeling like an idiot as I tried to find my way around the Citadel with an ex-C-sec officer constantly asking me if I was lost. Are you lost, Commander? Want to just take the transit, Commander?
Despite my attempt to remain innocuous, I hadn't abandoned armor entirely for true plain clothes. I didn't even dare to walk around in partial fatigues. Even if I could try and disguise my Spectre status for an afternoon and avoid publicity, I couldn't hide my face and I could never take a break from being wanted quite dead by quite a few pirates and batarian terrorists. The Aldrin Labs armor I was wearing was too massive for me to consider wearing it in a straight firefight. Though the weight of it was no burden, it would a bother if I chose to use my biotics, and with my barriers the extra ablative did more to slow me down than to keep me alive. But in wandering around the Citadel, treading a crowd, or attending formal functions while armed, on-duty, and needing to blend in, the armor was the right balance between keeping nondescript and yet making sure I was intimidating enough to prevent anyone from stepping on my toes.
Civilians sometimes kept several different pairs of shoes or bags for different functions. I had two expensive pairs of personal armor and an arsenal of weapons.
And it was mostly civilians I passed as I strolled through the Citadel, although I did see several off-duty guards in full uniform, C-Sec personnel, and a few people that I assumed were "independent contractors." Life on the Wards was certainly different from the Presidium. I liked how the low lighting contrasted the vibrant life. Songs rose and fells from stores as I walked. More than a few had vocals with such strong synth effects that they were untranslatable. I heard them as they had been recorded.
I had no real destination in mind as I walked. I just wanted to be out in a crowd. A few storefronts and advertisements caught my eye for more than a moment – I saw drab rugs hanging in a store that claimed that they were a true luxury from Kahje and dyed with colors beyond the visible spectrum, asari lingerie mannequins, turian formal-wear rentals, a two-story tank of aquatic wildlife, and what I assumed must have been some sort of elcor spa.
Further in, the lighting changed from chaotic retail warfare to indifferent functionality. That's when I stopped to seriously browse – I took an hour going through stacks of refurbished shield modulators, weapon mod catalogs, and a huge rifle wall showcase turntable attended by a gorgeous asari model. By the end, I was ready for lunch. I decided to press the good fortune of not having my identity discovered and find somewhere to sit down for food.
I had seen a hole-in-the-wall place serving noodles where I had first gotten off the elevator in the wards that I wanted to try, but after seeing the model at the Armali dealer, I was really in the mood to try something asari. I inquired on my omni-tool for the closest place with decent reviews and adjusted my direction accordingly.
I took a different way back toward where I had come in to see a new variety of stores. My hunger keep me focused and forced me not to peruse any distractions. I could sensibly only eat at four or five different meals in two days. Though, with the demands my metabolism, I usually had to order something twice, so if I was really daring, I could theoretically try out eight different restaurants to cover every meal. I doubted my GI track would approve of me being so adventurous, however.
As I tried to catch the signage for my location of interest, I walked past a store with a sign that I could only interpret as a giant efflorescent cupcake, complete with an animation of raining sprinkles. I slowed my pace so I could get a good look inside without looking too interested – the place was bright, the walls were bathed in white and yellow accent lighting, and there was a long counter along the left interior filled with what looked like human desserts. An asari couple sat at a table in the back. A lit banner, floating between the case and the crowed outside, glowed in welcome with the message "Free Slice of Cake on your ESD Birthday!*" Dates for different homeworlds scrolled below.
I stopped, then took a step closer and could make out the fine print – "ID required. Free date conversion calculations available on our exclusive omni-tool app."
I looked down, and brought up my own display and calendar:
ESD / / 11 APRIL 2183 14:56
Well damn.
The crowed still moved past me, only they had grown quiet while I contemplated the coincidence I was ensnared by.
Humanity's first Spectre was another year older and about to get a well-deserved slice of free cake.
