December 2163 - Inland Empire, California, The United North American States
"What are you doing here?"
Shepard looked up from the school desk where she sat, trying not to look guilty. She didn't recognized the teacher. Understandable, since she had only been transferred to this school two weeks ago. She was so sick of being moved from one foster care facility to the next. She got it. She really did. Too old, too damaged, no one wanted her, not when most parents hoped for blank slates, newborns or toddlers, whose names they could change and whose personalities they could mold. But couldn't they at least let her stay in one facility for more than a couple of months at a time?
Clutching her datapad tightly to her chest, she said, "Just my homework." The one thing this school had going for them was the college-level math program. While her classmates learned fractions and geometry, Shepard worked on pre-calculus.
She loved math. Not just because it came easily to her, which is did. But math made sense. Numbers wouldn't, no, they couldn't, lie to her. She understood numbers far better than her classmates. More importantly, she knew math would be her ticket to freedom some day. Good enough scores could lead her to college, maybe even with a scholarship. She'd find a place for herself and wouldn't have to move around every couple of months.
"Unless you're here for an after school activity, you can't be here," the teacher, a older man with thinning grey hair, said.
"My mom's running late." The lie came easily. She hated lying. Her granddad told her over and over again when he was alive that she should never, ever, lie. But Shepard knew sometimes it had to happen. Now the teacher wouldn't wonder why she sat in an empty classroom by herself.
"Wait out front," the teacher ordered, sounding bored. "It's not cold out."
Nodding, Shepard stood up, carefully putting her datapad back in its case. Now where would she go? She didn't have to be back at the facility until six o'clock, when the dining hall opened for dinner. And she never went back early if she could help it.
Before leaving the classroom, Shepard knelt down, pulling up her knee sock, which had fallen down and gathered around her right ankle. Another thing Shepard liked about the school was the uniforms. Her last school didn't have them, and Shepard had to endure the other kids mocking her clothes, which never seemed to fit right. Here at least, Shepard looked the same as everyone else, wearing the same navy blue trousers and light blue blouse.
"Bean pole! Bean pole!"
Shepard closed her eyes, just for a moment, and willed the two boys walking towards her to go in the other direction. Of course they didn't. Instead, she stood up and started walking down the hallway. Even with the uniforms, the other kids found something to tease her about, in this case, her height. She couldn't help that she was the tallest in her class, taller than even all of the boys.
"You look like a salarian!" a boy - Kevin, Shepard thought - yelled loudly, pulling her ponytail.
"Salarians don't have hair," Shepard snapped, walking faster. Thanks to her height, she could outpace the boys teasing her. They continued to say stupid things, which Shepard tried to ignore. Sometimes she wondered if her whole life would be like this. Wrong clothes, wrong height, wrong everything.
Using the heel of her palm, Shepard threw open the door leading outside. The teacher had it right, at least. The air didn't feel crisp at all, feeling more like spring instead of two weeks before Christmas. Taking a deep breath, Shepard relaxed a bit, sure the boys wouldn't follow her outside. But now she had to figure out where to go. One lesson she had learned is no one liked seeing an unattended child. Even a well-mannered one, which Shepard always made sure to be. Easier not to get noticed when on your best behavior.
She kept her head down, walking at a brisk pace, ignoring the few cars stubbornly clinging to the pavement and the many skycars flying overhead. She heard people yelling at each other across the street, but she avoided looking at anything but the sidewalk. Nothing would be gained by looking around. It would still be the same strip malls with half the spaces empty or the partially rented office buildings. Whenever she read the news, the headlines about the recession dominated, with more and more wealthy leaving the planet. People calling themselves experts said in a couple of years, Earth might have a real crisis.
Shepard reached her destination, a fast food restaurant, a place she knew she could sit for a few minutes without suspicion. Opening her omni-tool, Shepard brought up the list she kept, places where she could go, activities she could be a part of, a chance to feel like she belonged somewhere for a little bit. Scanning the list, Shepard smiled, knowing exactly where she would spend the next couple of hours.
Story time at Murietta Public Library. Every other Tuesday they had story time, complete with cookies and juice. And if she hurried, she might even make it before all the cookies were gone.
Shepard looked at the picked-over tray, full of crumbs, disappointed only vanilla cookies were left, instead of the peanut butter ones she hoped for. But that didn't stop her from palming two, one for now and slipping the other in the pocket of her trousers for after dinner.
Next to the cookie tray, stood a bowl with what looked like purple rice. Curious, Shepard took a spoon and put some on a plate.
"You shouldn't eat that, young one," a quiet voice said.
"Why not?" Shepard asked, looking up. Her breath hitched when she realized it was a turian standing right next to her.
Turians killed your father, little Shepard, don't ever forget that.
That message had been drilled into Shepard for as long as she could remember. Granddad would read an article or watch an extranet report about aliens and told her over and over again that they were responsible for her father's death. Shepard had learned about the First Contact War at school, how both sides made mistakes, but eventually learned to work together for a fragile peace. But a lot of humans died to make that peace possible.
Never had Shepard been so close to an alien before. She had seen them on the extranet, or across the street. Never standing right next to her, so close she could see the woman's cat eyes or simply reach out and brush the strange fabric of her clothes.
The turian's pinchers - they're called mandibles - flicked out but Shepard couldn't tell if that meant the woman was happy or sad or angry. They didn't even have lips or cheeks that move. How could you ever tell how they felt by looking at their faces? "That's for the turian children here today," the woman said. "Have you been tested for a dextro allergy?"
Shepard realized the woman seemed to expect some sort of reply. "Dunno," she finally said, her voice small, looking down at the purple rice. "What's it called?"
"Limth," the woman said. "It's, well, it's actually a breakfast side dish, but I appreciate the effort the library went to. They didn't need to provide any dextro snacks."
Without thinking, Shepard held out her plate. "I didn't touch it if you want it."
"No, thank you, young one," the turian said. "It's almost time to start."
The turian nodded, and Shepard felt oddly dissatisfied with the conversation. She couldn't tell anything about the woman from their talk, whether she was glad to chat or annoyed to be basically be eating the human equivalent of hash browns. Their faces simply didn't give anything away.
"Take a seat, everyone," a plump blonde woman called out at the front. Shepard glanced around the room and realized there were several turians, adults and children scattered about.
Shepard settled on the carpeted rug, near the back, where she was less likely to be noticed. Bringing her knees to her chest, Shepard carefully broke the cookie in her hand in two, placing one half in her mouth. She didn't chew, just let the flavor linger on her tongue, letting the cookie slowly dissolve. Around her, human and turian children all scampered about to find a place on the story rug. Most of the humans sat cross-legged on the floor but the turians all knelt low to the ground. At first Shepard wondered why, but then she realized that turians couldn't sit like humans, their spurs would get in the way. She wondered what other little differences there were.
"We are honored to have Artisan Kandros here today," the woman said, clasping her hands together. "She's on a planet wide tour with her daughter, wanting to share some of the turian folk legends with us." The woman looked at the tall turian, the same one who told Shepard not to eat the limth, and smiled. "Artisan Kandros, the floor is yours."
Kandros looked down at the floor for a moment, and Shepard wasn't sure, but thought the turian looked slightly confused. Shepard couldn't tell exactly, but just the way she tilted her head and the way her mandibles tightened slightly seemed to indicate confusion. And then Shepard giggled, remembering an extranet letter Maggie had forwarded her once, about how some sayings didn't make sense in other languages. Shepard would bet 'the floor is yours' was one of them.
"Thank you," Kandros said, moving to the middle of the floor where everyone could see her. "Before turians discovered spirits, we worshiped different gods, ones we called the titans. They had no names, as no one would dare be so conceited to think they could name a god. The titans were as tall as the clouds, forcing every turian, adult and child, to look up to them. At the time, turians thought the titans would eventually lead everyone to the heavens."
Shepard found herself leaning forward, curious about the tale. She always loved learning about the different human mythologies out there, like Zeus or Thor. It never occurred to her that other races would have their own versions. What would salarian mythology be like, or that trunkless elephant race? Maybe she could find a book to read and learn.
"We thought our Priests, the Valluvians, as gatekeepers. They had the power to communicate with the titans, to understand them, to tell the people their will. We considered them almost gods themselves, because of the special robes they wore, allowing them to disappear without a trace."
The other half of the vanilla cookie lay in Shepard's hand, forgotten. She closed her eyes, listening to the soothing lilt of Kandros' voice as she wove a tale of how the titans eventually disappeared from Palaven and how occasionally, even in present day, in the ruins of Temple Palaven, a scrap of purple cloth would appear. Everyone knew that the Priests were still watching, still waiting. And while spirits, not titans, watched over the turian people now, some though the titans would return and claim their rightful place as their protectors.
Once Kandros finished speaking, she bowed her head, her mandibles drawn tightly to her face. Shepard and the other humans started clapping, but the turians all mirrored Kandros, bowing their heads. Words her Granddad told her once ran through her head, how aliens never bothered to learn human customs. But these were turians listening to a turian storyteller.
Shepard stopped clapping and bowed her head.
Almost a full minute passed before Kandros lifted her head. The other turians followed suit. Standing up, her legs slightly shaky from sitting for so long, Shepard made her way back to the snack table, hoping that a few cookies might be left. Not for herself, but she could bring them back to the foster care facility. A couple of the younger kids would like them.
Shepard realized she still had the broken half of her original cookie still in her hand. As she debated whether or not to eat or save the cookie for later, a young turian, about Shepard's height, with the same markings as Artisan Kandros, walked up to the table. "Are those any good?" the turian asked, pointing at the cookies.
"Not my favorite," Shepard said honestly. Without thinking, she held out the other half of the cookie. "I like the peanut butter ones better. But these are okay."
The turian girl took the cookie and looked it over. Shepard wondered how she would eat it. Turians didn't have teeth like humans; they couldn't smash the cookie into tiny bits to swallow. The turian's mandible flicked out and she popped the cookie in her mouth. She didn't chew, but simply let the cookie dissolve on her tongue, just like Shepard had done with her half before story time.
"Not bad," the turian said, after a moment. "Better than the limth. Thanks."
After the turian walked off, Shepard grabbed the last two cookies on the tray and stuffed them in her pocket. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Shepard saw she had twenty minutes or so before she had to head back to the facility, for another night of sitting in front of the viewer with the rest of the kids, watching extranet programs she didn't care to see. But maybe she had just enough time to find a book on alien legends.
She wouldn't mind learning more.