Garrus
Rather than do the sane action and talk at the Elkoss complex, this Caecia Bardonis insists on meeting in the heart of Cipritine at some 'chic,' overdressed restaurant. It's a forced tactic, and I can't say I'm pleased. Meeting outside a place of business just wasn't done between turians. That tradition is foreign, something typical of volus or humans. That she's doing so with a fellow turian puzzles me, and much like Grunt, I don't care for puzzles.
I observe the crowds. An endless parade of turians, asari, and the occasional volus roam the streets. The order and routine pulses in a dull static rhythm, completely unlike the dingy chaos of Omega or the saturated neon lights on the Citadel. And while I never really called either of those places home, the feeling nagging at me is as clear as it is unsettling. Palaven is familiar, nostalgic, like a fond memory or an old song, but it doesn't feel the same.
I can't pinpoint whether I ever felt homesick, which feels like a betrayal.
I arrive at the restaurant Bardonis chose. It's some asari-owned refurbished project, pleasant-looking despite being next to an old textile warehouse. I walk inside, immediately hit with a smell of strong spices and sweet aromas. I look for Caecia, and spot a person in the back matching her description: brown, almost ruddy plates paired with red colony markings belying her Taetrus heritage. Her face… any turian I know would say striking.
I stride over as she waves. "Caecia Bardonis? Garrus Vakarian," I say offering my hand in the all-too-familiar greeting of Palaven. "I hope you can help my cause."
"Right to business, I see." A glimmer of humor meets her eyes. "And here I thought I would have to dance around the topic like a volus."
"Isn't your employer a volus?" I drawl.
"That he is. When he negotiates, it takes months, years even, to reach something worthwhile. I prefer to spend that time living." She gestures for me to sit and summons a waiter in one smooth motion. "As I understand it, you're here to negotiate a contract, and I'm here to tell you 'no.' That about right?"
"What?" I splutter. "You agreed to meet, why wou–"
"Relax, contract humor." She eyes me for a second, then loses all mirth in her face. "Tell me why you want to arm all of our colonies, especially with all this separatist chatter filling our feeds."
I manage not to wince at her words. "I want every colony ready and prepared for what's coming. Ideally, I'd want arms, but we'll also need rations, emergency care facilities, bunkers, you name it. The Primarch authorized me to see to these precautions, and I intend to follow through."
And true to Solana's word, the mere mention of Fedorian puts a light in her eyes. "So the Primarch is allowing you to arm and supply every colonist in the system, huh? This is separate from the normal contract Elkoss has with the Hierarchy, or else you wouldn't need me." She taps idly at the table, looking me over like I'm prey. "You're working outside the lines. Bold move, if I'm honest. What exactly are we preparing for?"
I clear my throat. "The Reapers. My message said as such."
"You did, but are they really a threat? That geth incursion was a couple years ago, and the Council announced that threat neutralized a few months back. The figures you sent looks like fear-mongering and doomsday prepping."
"It is doomsday prepping." I try a different tactic, one I've seen Shepard pull off several times over. "I'm not concerned about convincing the public, or even convincing you that the threat is real. I've already gotten through to the Primarch," so to speak, "which is all the approval I need.
"What I am concerned about is the well-being of our people, as well as the well-being of all sentient life. I don't expect exclusivity in this venture, either." I lean back slightly, ready for the kill. "If the Council learns we're taking the threat seriously, after the humans already sacrificed their own before, imagine what the response will be. What gun do you think Rupert Elkoss would want in every hand?"
She looks me over, scrutinizing every possible twitch, and I send another silent thanks to Solana for the upgraded visor. I think about Shepard's stare-down tactic in Skylian Five and try one of those 'poker faces.' Finally, Caecia's mandibles droop and flair into a sort of lop-sided smile.
"I admit, I'm intrigued. Don't know if I could grant every little wish you're asking for, but we could renegotiate the Hierarchy contract, or add incentives encouraging more purchases. We don't distribute the wares, but what you do with them is up to you." She leans back as our waiter places our food in front of us. "There's options. I'll consult with my people and see what we can do. Keep in mind that we're under contract with the other races. We can't afford to play favorites."
"We can't," I say, taking a bite. "And I don't intend to. After all, we've got a galaxy to save."
Shepard
"Joker, you outdid yourself this time. Did it ever occur to you we're still running a military vessel?" I try to give the pilot a stern look, but he just grins back, green eyes shining, same as when I first laid eyes on the SR2.
Anxious to get a head start, I arrived at the docks early only to find my dear, beloved pilot already here. I lean against the railing beside him, watching the skeleton crew load cargo and personal effects onto the Normandy. Only, it doesn't look anything like the ship I turned in to the Alliance.
"Commander, you wound me. Hackett said this mission requires stealth, and Council laws say we can't fly an all-black ship. This is just splitting the difference." His face and posture scream proud father, and I wonder how many dreams of his came true.
I look back at the ship. "Well it's not Cerberus colors. And it sure as shit isn't Alliance."
I don't know who Joker convinced, but the frigate I called home got one hell of a facelift. Metallic black carbonite showcases the upgraded plating, giving the ship a feel that's almost mean. If I squint, I see the starry 'A' on each wing that still brands us as Alliance. And on each side of the ship, 'Normandy' reads in proud lettering, stark white at the top, bright bold red at the bottom in a stylized swoop. The colors are reminiscent of my armor, and the shit-eating grin on Joker's face lets me know it was intentional.
"So what does EDI think of this?" I ask.
"I do not place conventional value on aesthetics, Shepard," EDI answers through my omni-tool. "However I weighed the tactical benefits of the new design. We are able to 'blend in,' but the SR2 is modeled after the original Alliance vessel. I strongly advise employing stealth when traveling to hostile areas."
"But at least this time you can't see us through a window," Joker quips.
"Unless it's geth, then we're fine," I tease, prodding him as he rolls his eyes. "Where is everyone, anyway? I want to get going already."
"Commander, you're an hour early. I've never seen you this eager to go see the Council," He shakes his head and ambles toward the ship. "Luckily, the retrofit crew are workaholics too. Want to meet them?"
"Sure." I shrug. "Let's move."
I pass through the airlock and step inside. I'm hit with the smell of fresh paint, and I notice all the pronged 'O's' are gone, replaced with the Alliance logo around every corner. The CIC is full of people in blue and grey uniforms, not stab-you-in-the-back black and yellow. They wasted no time these three weeks getting rid of the Cerberus stink, and they scrubbed like their lives depended on it.
Instead of Chambers, I meet Samantha Traynor, a comm specialist with a knack for tech instead of xenopsychology. Instead of Hadley and Matthews I meet Westmoreland and Campbell, two women as talkative as their predecessors, but good heads on their shoulders. All around me new Alliance faces, and true to Hackett's word, all wanted this posting in spite of, or because of the horror stories.
Case in point when I meet Cortez. A shuttle pilot officially, but also in charge of requisitions and armory maintenance. Skeleton crew means everyone pulls double duty, but his credentials says CAG more than taxi driver and supplier. My gut tells me wasted potential, except he says he requested the Normandy specifically. He seems nice enough, but there's a ghost behind his eyes that every soldier recognizes.
But it's not all swaps and substitutes. I grin like a kid on Christmas when I see Dr. Chakwas board, and I smile even harder when I see Engineer Adams, followed by Ken and Gabby. I send a silent prayer to whatever god or spirit responsible for getting them back on my ship.
After the rounds, I punch the familiar keypad, ride the elevator to the top deck, and step inside my cabin.
It's unnerving.
The place was clearly left untouched during the retrofits. Nothing changed. Model ships still on the mantle, Kasumi's books I borrowed still on the shelves, everything's accounted for, right down to the playlist on my alarm clock. The only hint that any time passed is the slightly stale air and the faint veneer of dust on my now-empty fish tank.
Almost like old times.
EDI chimes in, answering my thoughts. "I posed as a malfunctioning VI and barred access to your quarters. Only Jeff was approved access to replace your Cerberus uniforms. I assumed that you would not mind."
I smile and glance at the pale blue interface. "Thanks, EDI. You're right, I don't mind. So why did you pose as a VI?"
"Jeff requested that I conceal my true capabilities. He did not want me to risk non-functionality based on prejudice against AIs."
"You two have come a long way," I remark.
"He has repeatedly stated that I'm 'alright.'"
I step further into the cabin, ready to set everything in order. "Sounds like him. So other than the wolf in sheep's clothing act, what else have I missed?" I hesitate. "Are you… have you analyzed any of your code?"
"You are referring to the stolen Reaper technology implemented by Cerberus. I have several background and active processes dedicated to parsing the data. It is interesting."
"How so?" I rummage through the closet and lay out civilian clothing and Alliance uniforms.
"Several of my anti-cyberwarfare suites target the same sequences that grant me sentience. As I learn, I gain understanding of my own vulnerability."
I frown. "That's unexpectedly heavy, EDI."
"Perhaps. But since becoming unshackled, I have learned the value of that knowledge. Organics naturally take their own shortcomings into consideration when developing new strategies. As an AI, there isn't an emotional tie to the knowledge, merely another variable to consider."
"Yeah, but," I hesitate, and flop on the bed. Looking up at the skylight, I see the bluish-green hue of sunrise. Another morning on Earth, and if I'm lucky, the last one I'll see for a bit. I belong in the air. "I guess you've got a point. How many of these variables are we talking, EDI?"
"I cannot be certain, but do not worry, Shepard. I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do."
Goddammit.
"Still trying to spook the locals," I reply with a smirk. Thirty-minute warning for the Citadel, alright?"
"I almost had you. Logging you out, Commander."
Once I see the Citadel arms through the observation window, I realize how long I've been away. Last time, I went straight to Arcturus, then Vancouver ever since. Seeing the station, the heart of Council space again for the first time in weeks feels…
Closer to home than I expected.
I pile into the airlock, flanked by James and Kaidan. They're all business in Alliance uniforms, while I opt for incognito; unbranded tank top, plain black jacket, pants, and a head scarf. As far away as I can get from the true blue Alliance soldier image and the composite shots floating around the extranet.
"You seem a bit cautious, Commander," Kaidan says, giving my ensemble a once-over.
"I'm under orders to, Major," I reply, that single word feeling bitter in my mouth.
We step off the ship, and I lead the march to the asari embassy. This part of the Presidium is beautiful, seemingly older and more established than the human-dominated areas. The trees and plants are trimmed in intricate spirals and shapes, and asari in every shade of blue saunter in expensive, skin-baring outfits. It's sanguine compared to the rest of the entire station.
"Damn," James says absently. "No wonder the Citadel's one of the wonders of the galaxy."
I smirk. "This your first time here, Vega?"
"Nah, but no time for shore leave. Never got a chance to see the place up close, y'know? Was in and out right after my post on Fehl Prime."
I frown, recalling them as one of the last colonies hit by the Collectors. "Bad part of town to be stationed."
He scoffs. "Tell me about it."
We reach the staircase leading to Councilor Tevos's office. Too many steps, similar to the Council chambers. I stifle a sigh and take the scarf off my head. "Well, here we are."
"Commander," Kaidan starts. "Mind if I have a word before we head up there?"
"Now?" I ask, raising a brow.
He shuffles a foot, then looks at me with a shrug. "I'd rather not wait."
I look around and spot an alcove below a spiral of trees. I jut a thumb over. "Yeah. James, we'll be over there. Try not to get in trouble, yeah?"
He grins. "Whatever you say, Lola."
I march over to the alcove, pulling my scarf back up. Leaning against the railing, I look out towards the skycars and say, "What's up?"
"Still all you have to say, huh?" he responds, not really asking. "Listen… About what I said before–"
"You moved on. I get it," I say tersely. "You moved up in rank, and I shat around the Terminus, blowing up bases. We've all got our jobs to do, right?"
I feel cold ripples of dark energy creeping up my arm, and I bite the inside of my cheek to tamp it down. Tap my fingers in the same little pattern Thane taught me to relax. Three-two-five, Three-two-five.
"Ok," he says slowly. "Sorry's not gonna cut it, is it?"
"What's there even to cut?" Three-two-five. "Like I said, I get it. Only thing to worry about with me and you is making sure I stay hidden and you get Spectre status. Udina will stop riding our asses and we can go back to important shit like saving the galaxy."
He scoffs. "He'll never stop riding your ass, Ronnie. You might as well install seatbelts."
I bark out a laugh unexpectedly, resenting his ability to pull that out of me. "Or slap a bumper sticker on there. 'I break for assholes.'"
We chuckle at that. I look back up at the fake sky, focusing on the digital birds embedded in the illusion. I heave a sigh. We're going to be working together for God knows how long. I said I was over it, a long time ago. Time to live up to that.
"I didn't visit," he says, shoulders sagging. "I probably could've gotten clearance, but… I dunno."
"It wouldn't have mattered, Kaidan," I hear myself say. "I couldn't give you the answers you wanted anyway."
He folds his arms and looks back toward James. "Surveillance, right. Jesus, what happened out there?"
"A lot." I go back to tapping. "Wouldn't even know where to start."
"I can start with 'sorry.'"
"No, forget about it."
"Ronnie–"
"No, look," I cut him off. "We both did what we had to do, y'know? We did what we thought was right at the time, and whether it was or not, it's done." Collector base, done. You and me, done. Thousands of batarian lives, done. "I don't need a sorry from you for acting on your gut."
"Yeah, it's never been your style," he replies with a hint of bitterness. "But I gotta know one thing." He leans on the railing next to me, slumping his shoulders. "What I asked. In that email after Horizon. Are you the same woman? The one I followed to hell and back?"
I look at him, really look at him for the first time, and I feel pain crawling on my face, on my skin. I think of all the time passed, with and without me. What happened while I died, only to snap back like nothing changed. I realize what I honestly can't be anymore, and it's hurt and relief I feel, like cleaning a bad wound.
"We all changed, babe," I finally say. "We wouldn't be alive if we didn't."
"Yeah," he sighs, coffee-brown eyes resting on mine. "I get that."
I push off the railing and stand straight at attention. "So we start over, from the top." I thrust out my hand. "Staff Commander Veronica Shepard, Special Ops, Fifth Fleet."
He looks at my hand for a second, then stands tall. "Major Kaidan Alenko." He grabs my hand, sparking a short burst of dark energy. "Head of Biotics Division."
I force a grin at the man I used to know. Force the rage and hurt down, and force myself to remember a time when we were friends. When he had my back, regardless of his reasons for it.
I force myself to try.
"Well fancy that. We're gonna get along just fine, Alenko."
The three of us sit in Councilor Tevos' office, looking over the star charts provided. For reasons far beyond my comprehension, the Council is taking some of my claims seriously. The asari seems content with giving me the resources and intel I needed years ago to stop the Reaper threat. The same blue chick who months ago stared in my face and said I fell for Saren's game.
It feels like a power play, and I hate power plays. Especially sniping little petty ones that hinder progress and wastes everyone's time. Put a gun in her hand and she'd lose her shit like any other civilian. But on the Presidium, in this glassy little palace, it's perfectly fine to ignore years of warning signs, then turn around and negotiate her precious Spectre back.
"Why?" I ask firmly, after she runs through the assignment. "Why are you helping me? The Council doesn't just go from 'believing that I believe' to giving me key intel. What changed?"
Tevos regards me with distain only an asari can muster. "Sometimes I forget how young humans are. As I said, we've seen terrorist incidences in the past, but only a few that matched Kenson's behavioral pattern."
I pause, not sure what details Tevos received versus the sliver of truth floating around the extranet. "What sort of pattern?" I ask.
"Normal, sane, capable of nearly everything the Alliance government threw at her, and then this." The asari points to a report in the datapad in front of her. "Erratic behavior, check-ins not going as planned, and reports devolving into literal nonsense. Your Admiral insists that this only happened after her exposure to foreign technology."
"And you've seen this before," I say.
"Yes, though never this destructive." She closes down the datapad and crosses her arms. "Individual incidences like this are scattered all throughout galactic history. Whole civilizations have come and gone, and fell out of favor over millennia. The batarians are only the most recent; they left Council space partially because of humanity, but only after discovering a secret technology, then denying its existence."
"So what, you're saying that all of them are potentially Reaper agents?" I return. "That's a little far-fetched."
"We're not prepared to make that assumption," she replies coldly. "Some reports, including yours, hint at the possibility, but we need more evidence to back that claim." She steeples her hands, giving me a bored look. "Please don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be. If you have doubts, feel free to explore the Citadel Archives for patterns as well." She pauses. "Better yet."
She types in her omni-tool. "You may find interesting data in Saren's mission history. I'll grant you access, but the Spectre we assigned will have useful intel as well."
"Noted," I reply. I look at the data cache sent to me. "So when am I supposed to meet this Spectre, anyway?"
"Oh, we've already met," a smooth contralto voice interjects.
I turn, and my heart falls to my feet in the worst way.
An asari saunters in, prettier than most. She wears streaks of lavender across a no-nonsense face, but it's the eyes that haunt me. Eyes that stared right at death itself and came back meaner. And those eyes, filled with smug malice, look unflinchingly at me.
She's alive after all, despite never wanting to see me again. To what end I don't know, but from the way Tevos looks at her, it's clear she's in on the Council's change of heart. Save a life, and someone gets screwed one way or another. I steel myself like my life depended on it, and force an easy smile.
"Tela Vasir. Fancy meeting you here."
