Mass Effect is property of Bioware.
Welcome to Second Law of Thermodynamics (and a short-winded author's note)! By now you know the drill: a picture's worth a thousand words, so a short coverage of Arrival and serious attention to peripheral matters appear in thousand-word vignettes. This stuff just didn't fit comfortably with Newton's Second or First Thermodynamics, so here it is as its own thing.
Thank you for reading and supporting this project!
~Raven Studios
-J-
-MASS EFFECT: THE SECOND LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS-
The Second Law of Thermodynamics states that any cyclic process the entropy will either increase or remain the same. (Entropy being a measure of the amount of energy which is unavailable to do work.)
-J-
"Shepard," Garrus did not knock, nor did Shepard expect him to: the list of people who had absolute unrestricted access to the Commander at all times ('wake me up any time you need me' access) could be counted on one human hand: they consisted of Garrus himself, Tali, Dr. Chakwas and Joker. The old crew, the closest thing to family Shepard had, arguably the only thing she had left.
If Alenko was here, Garrus thought dryly, he would be on that list too—but in a very professional capacity, knowing Shepard. Personal considerations came a long, long way down her list. The human military was strange that way. But Alenko wasn't, and even now that the initial disgust had passed, Garrus couldn't help a disappointed exhale and shake of his head.
"Yes?" Shepard motioned him to the chair without turning around, then pressed the 'send' key on her latest email. "What's up?"
The dead silence of the room was telling: Shepard hated working in silence. When she did, it meant her own thoughts were far too loud or too unpleasant. "Have you seen the news recently?" The turian settled his lanky frame in the chair, squirming a bit to get comfortable. Human chairs were short.
"I don't think I've seen anything—including the bottom of my inbox—in days." She sighed, turning away from the screen, then turning it off. "You know what?" Garrus, bemused, shook his head as she rubbed her eyes wearily. "I'm done. No more email, no more 'Shepard fix it'. I'm…going on vacation."
There was a very pronounced silence before Shepard and Garrus both laughed—though he noted there was something wrong with Shepard's. It sounded almost like…almost as though it was painful for her, not quite a sob, not hysterical, but clear evidence of the kind of pressure she was under.
Waiting sucked. And for Shepard, waiting meant remaining labeled an insane, terrorist-supporting, pro-human bigot in the eyes of the wider galaxy. It was not so much that she cared what the wider galaxy thought; she cared because she knew that it wasn't really like that.
Still, the declaration of intent to go on vacation made him smile. Her weariness and the silence of the room made him decide not to try to conceal the amusement. There was no point. When he first met her, first worked with her, there was a pronounced student-mentor vein to their relationship. Now, they were obviously equals, so much so that she let him see a lot more of what she actually thought and felt than possibly anyone else on the ship.
Wordlessly he handed her a datapad, mandibles waving gently. A little good news couldn't go amiss; good news being in short supply these days, the ominous articles would be cheering if only because it was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel that meant vindication might be in the wings.
That would do her more good than anything else…except maybe Alenko getting himself straightened out and back on the bandwagon.
Shepard took the datapad, but did not look at it, heaving a heavy sigh. "You don't mind if I…" She motioned to the minifridge by her knee before looking at it wistfully.
"No, no, go ahead. I'll pass. That stuff'll kill you." He had always found it puzzling: most humans he knew would prefer a cold beer at the end of a long, hard day. But not Shepard. Never Shepard, and yet he caught her several times watching someone's beer as though she would very much like one…yet she never followed through on the desire.
"Are you kidding? Anything in excess will kill you."
"How many are you pounding in a day?"
"Three. Most days." Shepard shrugged, unperturbed. "What about you? You're always drinking that green stuff. Looks nuclear to me."
"It probably would be nuclear to you; you levos are so delicate." He ended on a rumbling laugh as he crossed his arms behind his head.
"Delicate? Me?" Shepard gave a less painful laugh. "I haven't been 'delicate' since…ugh, you know, I don't even remember."
"Quit stalling, read the damn newspaper," he pointed at the datapad. "Bad news never looked so good."
Shepard made a face at him, but settled back in her chair, brows furrowing in concentration. The soft drink froze halfway to her mouth, canted dangerously as she read, her eyes widening as she took in a deep breath and held it as she skimmed the articles.
"Bet it'll feel good to be vindicated," he noted quietly when Shepard set the soda bottle down too hard on the desk.
The contents sloshed, causing Shepard to swear before rooting around for something to wipe the liquid up. She paused in sopping up the mess. "To be honest…" and there was a note of rueful hope in her voice, "I had kind of hoped to be vindicated before they kicked in our door."
"Well, it looks like you might get it. Third parties can't do anything but shore up what you've been saying all these years."
"You know…" she cast the datapad aside, "it was never really about me being right. Admitting I'm right would mean people could start preparing for this. But…I get this nasty feeling that the more I hope for…"
"Hard to prepare for something like Reapers, though."
"Yes." Shepard swallowed. "But every little bit helps."
"Let's not think about that shit. It's depressing." Garrus announced flatly, looking away from Shepard's grim expression and cast-down eyes. He knew she was looking into a future where the Reapers razed everything without opposition.
Being right didn't matter. Being prepared did.
"Here, I'm done for the day," Shepard shut off her terminal, stowed his datapad in—of all places—the mini-fridge, and fished out a battered deck of playing cards. "Want a little Skyllian Five?"
"I suck worse at Skyllian Five than you do. I'll teach you one." He held out a hand for the deck.
Shepard, interested and diverted, handed it over.
-J-
Author's Note: This was written in response to one of the Cerberus News blips. Mai-Danishgirl actually went looking for the articles and forwarded them to me. So special thanks are very much in order. ^_^
The article this chapter responds to is "1/24/2011: Paper Suggests Mass Relays Predate Protheans."