Chapter 11 – Stricta Spatiis
Garrus paused on the ramp bisecting the Normandy's cargo bay, the bag containing his personal items slung over his shoulder, the one containing his weapons and armor lying at his feet. The cavernous room smelled of lubricant and coolant, slowly mixing with the unmistakable musky scent of krogan. On the left were crew lockers, one of which presumably belonged to him now, and a weapons' bench. On the right hulked the six-wheeled infantry tank Shepard had called a Mako. Near the head of the tank Garrus could hear the heavy stirrings of Wrex as he rudely arranged things to his liking. Neither Garrus nor Wrex fit in the human-designed sleeper pods, so Shepard was making arrangements to have the necessary equipment delivered for them to bunk in the cargo bay.
A turian. And a krogan. Sharing the same sleeping space on a human frigate.
What the hell was he doing?
He could just imagine the message he'd get from his father once he heard his firstborn child and only son had quit his job and thrown his lot in with a Spectre. A human Spectre. If the very news didn't give him a coronary.
Garrus had disappointed his father plenty of times over the years, but this one probably sat alone at the top of the heap.
I just turned my back on my entire career to live with a krogan and chase a mad turian halfway around the galaxy.
When he thought about it in those terms it sounded a lot crazier than it had when Shepard had been standing at the door of his apartment, asking him to help bring the man who was now the most wanted fugitive in the galaxy to justice. Shepard had made it sound like an opportunity, the opportunity to stand up for his people, be a hero. Shepard had made him believe, and what's more it hadn't been a tough sell.
Until, of course, he found himself standing in this poorly lit cargo bay with a krogan roommate and a rack of shotguns hanging on the far wall.
Spirits. Dad always said you were a rash, leap first, look later kind of turian, and it seems he was right.
There was a loud clatter of a stack of crates toppling to the floor, followed by a string of krogan curses that made Garrus wince. He wondered if Shepard had even heard of the genophage, or realized that of the entire crew he was the worst possible species to leave alone with the one ton reptile.
He heard the slow grind of gears signaling the arrival of the cargo elevator. When it finally came to a creaking halt the door opened to reveal Shepard himself. Garrus wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dismayed.
"Settling in?" Shepard asked, casually swinging his arms and making a beeline for Garrus.
"I…think so Commander," Garrus replied, a hesitant chord resonating in his subvocals. "Turian military upringing means we don't really need much to be comfortable."
"But?" Shepard prompted.
Garrus flicked a mandible, surprised Shepard had caught on to his hesitation. His eyes slid briefly to the hulking shape over by the Mako, but not quick enough to go unnoticed.
The expression on Shepard's face shifted quickly from relaxed to something different. Concern, maybe. The incredible depth of human expression was fascinating to Garrus. Turians depended so heavily on vocal subharmonics and subtle body language for their social cues, but not humans. Everything you needed to know about their mood, physical well-being and guilt was all right there in the fleshy canvas of their face for anyone to see, provided you understood what it meant. Garrus wasn't sure whether to pity or envy them.
"Something wrong?" Shepard asked.
"Commander," Garrus said slowly, grateful that the inflections in his subharmonics would be totally lost on the human. He had found that you could train yourself to see visual tics, even if they were created by an alien anatomy. But vocal 'tells' were nearly impossible to learn if your ears weren't designed to pick them up. Salarians were about the only species who had accomplished it to any degree, but they were, well. Salarians. "How much do you know about krogan, turian relations?"
Shepard folded his arms loosely over his chest. "You mean the genophage."
"Well, yes."
"I know the basics. Will it be a problem?"
"Not from me, no," Garrus said quickly. "That was hundreds of years before I was born. But Wrex on the other hand…well, it's not quite such ancient history to him."
Shepard nodded, never moving his gaze. Garrus shifted his feet.
"Wrex won't be a problem," Shepard said at last, then glanced at the bag on the floor. "Sniper?" he asked, effectively ending the discussione elongated shapeced at the bag resting by Garrus'accomplished it to any degree, but they were, well. Salarians. .
Garrus crouched down next to the bag and pulled out the case with his rifle. "Halitat Armory," he said. "Nothing flashy, but I've added a few mods that make it hit pretty hard."
Shepard tapped the corner of his eye. "Like the visor?"
"Yes," Garrus said, pleased Shepard had noticed. "Turian design based on the Kuwashii model. I commissioned it special." He reached up and ran a talon lovingly along the frame. "Sonar, LADAR, thermal and EM targeting. Biofeedback monitors, kinetic barrier targeting solutions and that's just the basics."
He held up his rifle, brushed against the catch that extended the barrel to its full length with a soft hiss and looked down the sight. The visor overlay was his most comfortable way of looking at the world. Combine it with a scope and that world became his own personal playground.
"Impressive," Shepard said. "Williams was asking me about it."
That surprised him a little. He got the distinct impression Williams didn't like him. At first he'd thought it was his winning personality, but after seeing the encounter with Tali he thought it was more likely she didn't like much of anyone.
"Tell me something, Garrus," Shepard said, almost thoughtfully. Garrus retracted the barrel, slid the gun back into its case with a click and tilted his head toward Shepard.
"Why leave C-Sec? Why come with me? Human ship, human crew. Can't be all that comfortable for you."
Garrus' mandible flickered. That question wound its way through some personal territory that he wasn't too sure about himself. He thumbed the latch of his rifle case, then put it back in the bag and zipped it closed, half hoping that Shepard would change the subject. But instead he leaned against one of the ramp supports and waited, as though he had all the time in the world.
"I came to C-Sec thinking I could make a difference," Garrus said at last. "My father was a C-Sec man to the core, so I grew up hearing about bringing criminals to justice, doing things the C-Sec way. But it turns out doing things the C-Sec way has a lot more to do with compromise than it does justice."
Shepard gestured with one hand. "And you think being here means shackles off."
Careful, Garrus thought. You're being tested. "I think it means you'll do whatever it takes to get the job done. If I may be so bold, sir, your history with the Alliance indicates that you know when to do things the way everyone likes to hear about, and when to do things the way people prefer not to."
There was a flicker across Shepard's face, but damn it, too subtle for Garrus to interpret. "I see you did your homework on me."
That one threw him. "Er, homework?"
A small smile passed Shepard's lips. "Sorry. Research. You researched me."
Garrus shifted almost uncomfortably. "A good cop is always prepared. The raid on Torfan…well, it looked like nasty business."
Shepard rubbed idly at a smudge on the support he was leaning against. "Didn't realize there was that much detail in the public record," he said. His tone was maddeningly neutral. Garrus' plates tightened. He had no idea how loose the sand was under his feet, but had to figure it was pretty loose.
"I'm turian, Commander. I did my time in the military. I read between the lines."
Shepard nodded absently, then to Garrus' absolute shock he clapped him on the shoulder, an invasion of space most turians considered taboo, but Shepard somehow made feel normal.
"Welcome to the Normandy, Garrus. Glad to have you along."
Tucked inside the engine room a short distance from Garrus, Tali stood with her hands poised above a terminal, gazing into the churning blue sphere of the ship's drive core. The drive output the Normandy was capable of seemed to outright flirt with the laws of physics. Growing up in the Migrant Fleet she had been around almost any kind of ship imaginable, knew every bolt and bulkhead of more than a few ships in the Flotilla, but next to the Normandy even the Rayya seemed like a common freighter. She kept checking her biofeeds to convince herself she wasn't dreaming.
And if that wasn't enough, Engineer Adams seemed thrilled to have her. He'd spent the last several hours going over different systems, ecstatic whenever she asked a question. It was a little terrifying at first, to be honest. Everywhere she had been since leaving the Flotilla she had been acutely reminded of the galaxy's indifference to the quarian race. Those who didn't actively scorn her looked right through her as though she were made of glass. Had it not been for Keenah she thought she might have given up and gone home, to hell with the stigma and shame that would result from returning from her Pilgrimage empty handed. When he had died her first thought hadn't been to mourn, but to curse him for leaving her alone, something she hadn't stopped feeling guilty for yet, and maybe never would.
That her fortunes could make this big of a reversal was something straight out of Fleet and Flotilla. And yet…the longer she stood here, in the belly of this perfect ship, the more homesick she got. The more she poked into the IES prototype and the revolutionary propulsion systems the more she missed the Rayya's aging engines and quirky FTL drive. More often than not quarian ships were held together with little more than a hot patch and a few prayers. Secretly everyone always walked around with tension in their shoulders, hidden by their suits but always there just the same as they listened for the sound of a problem fuel cell or a heat sink failure. There was none of that here on the Normandy, and none of the stress that came with being responsible for the lives of millions. And somehow she missed it.
She missed listening to Raan's stories about the Admiralty Board – the things her father would never tell her. She missed sneaking food from the Commons with Cora and Neeta, putting Jaxa in his place with her superior hack algorithms. As much as she had hated being in close quarters, constantly having to sacrifice for the good of her shipmates, always putting the good of the Flotilla before herself…now that it was gone she desperately wanted it all back.
It didn't matter how nice Adams or Caroline Grenado were. None of these humans had any idea what it was like to live your life enclosed in a suit, and that simple fact made finding the closeness Tali had been surrounded with her whole life impossible to find.
She'd thought about contacting her father as soon as she got on board, but quickly rejected the idea. It was always her first instinct to go to him when she had a problem, and every time she did she always felt like she'd disappointed him in some way. You are the daughter of an Admiral. You should be able to handle this yourself.
I'm trying, she thought desperately.
But even in the company of the engineers Tali was lonely. And really, really hungry.
That was another thing she hadn't considered when she brokered her deal with Shepard. She was a dextro. It wasn't something she'd ever really thought much about until she'd found herself on a ship of levos, surrounded by food she couldn't eat. Shepard, who hadn't thought about it either, was quickly trying to make arrangements to stock the mess hall accordingly, and not just with the bland paste she'd been stuck with lately. Shepard was after real food, ingredients and recipes they could put to use. But in the meantime she was just hungry.
"Coffee?" Adams asked pleasantly. Grenado had just shown up with a tray of mugs from the mess. Tali liked Grenado; she was younger than most of the other humans on the ship, which made Tali feel less self-conscious about her own age. Her brown eyes were full of humor, she laughed a lot, and like Adams she didn't give Tali's presence a second thought. But really, Tali admitted, it was her hair. It was honey brown, shorn just above her shoulders, and the way it swished and swung when she moved was absolutely fascinating to her. Humans were the only other species Tali had met that grew hair, and being among them made her wonder what living unhooded would be like, to remove the growth suppressors and see if her hair would be short and springy like Grenado's or long and thick like Williams'.
Grenado offered the tray, steam curling up from the rim of each mug, carrying a rich, penetrating aroma that made her mouth water.
Tali ducked her head. "I can't drink it," she said, embarrassed.
Adams' face flushed. "So sorry," he said. "I'm such an idiot. I keep forgetting. Really, I'm sorry."
"Oh, it's no problem," she said, concealing a small sigh. Grenado bit her lip as Adams quickly snatched one mug, then retreated over to Mochizuki, the other engineer on duty.
Adams tried to change the subject. "Has the simulation we ran on the FTL drive modifications finished compiling?"
Tali swiped at her terminal, grateful for the distraction. "Yes. The electrical current overflow is at four percent. About what we expected."
"But we can do better?"
She thought for a moment, going over the options in her head. "I think I can design a shunt that refines the flow a little better. Want me to try?"
Adams beamed. "Of course!" He glanced conspiratorially over at Grenado and Mochizuki. "Those two have good heads on their shoulders, but this kind of thing is over their paygrade. Not that they aren't talented," he added quickly. "It's just I don't think I've ever been around someone who thinks about engines on the level you do."
Tali tilted her chin with pride, but it vanished quickly when her stomach rumbled. It was getting harder to distract herself, and to top it off she was tired. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep since finding the geth, and her limbs felt like lead.
"I think I'm going to get some rest, if it's all right with you," she said. She was half afraid he'd say no. Everything had happened so fast she didn't actually know where she fit in with the Normandy's military hierarchy, who she answered to and what role, if any, she was expected to fulfill.
"Of course!" Adams said cheerfully. "I'm sure you're exhausted." He took another sip from his mug, the tantalizing smell almost too much to bear.
She bid a mumbled farewell and headed out one of the twin doors behind her that stood on either side of the elevator bulkhead. The cargo bay seemed overly dark after being enclosed with the shimmering drive core, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Which was why she smacked right into Garrus as they both tried to enter the elevator.
"Sorry!" she quipped, heart yammering in her throat when the turian's talons gripped her arm to keep his balance. Her heart monitor chirped in dismay. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see, I'm such a—"
"Oh, you're fine," Garrus insisted before she could finish. The moment he was firmly on his feet again he hastily let go. "I didn't see you either. For a second there I thought you were an angry krogan looking for revenge."
She stifled a laugh. Garrus straightened his posture a little, seemingly pleased. He was still wearing the visor he'd been wearing in the alley. She wondered if it was by choice or necessity.
He looked different than other turians she had seen, and it wasn't just the visor. It took her a moment to put her finger on what it was. His armor was standard turian fit with the wide bowl-shaped cowl at the top that accommodated the large carapace underneath. His skin was pallid gray, with a flat nose and clan markings across his face. Ah, she realized. That's what it was. The markings were dark blue, not white. Garrus' were also more subtle than some; instead of covering his entire face they crossed the bridge of his nose and traced the lower curve of his eyes, with a separate pattern on the rear of each mandible. The darker color had a completely different effect than the bold white markings she'd seen on the Citadel. They made him seem more real, somehow, less like a man wearing a mask, as hypocritical as it sounded. Not to mention the color matched his eyes. Or at least the one that wasn't under the eyepiece.
"You just missed our illustrious Commander," he told her. "Ever feel like you just failed a test you didn't even realize you were taking?"
"Yes," she said, too quickly. She looked down at her feet. "I mean, I think."
Shepard had paid her a visit a couple of hours ago, and she was pretty sure she knew exactly what Garrus was talking about. Shepard might be the first human – first nonquarian who didn't just see a suit when he looked at her. It had been incredibly disconcerting.
Garrus gave her a small nod, as though he understood without needing her to elaborate. Tali kneaded her hands together. Neither one of them had thought to push the button to take them to the crew deck, and now she was too self-conscious to mention it.
"Hey," he said suddenly, and she jumped. "Are you as famished as I am? I have to say, having another dextro aboard is a huge relief."
"I'm starving," she admitted.
"Well, lucky for us I was able to use a few of my C-Sec connections to get us some rations that will tide us over until Shepard gets us fully stocked."
Her eyes widened, hopeful. "Really?"
He nodded, somberly. "I'm not going to let a young lady starve, am I? What kind of a C-Sec officer would I be?"
One completely unlike the other turian I dealt with on the Citadel, she thought, remembering Chellik's cold dismissal. Aloud, she said: "I thought you were former C-Sec?"
"Oh, I am. Believe me I am. I can't tell you how good it feels to get out of there."
Tali reached out quickly to hit the elevator button, hoping he wouldn't notice.
"You have no idea what it's like," he went on, "training to bring justice to the wronged and put bad guys in jail only to find out the whole process is nothing but a political ploy so full of loopholes the bad guy not only walks free, but gets an apology for being bothered in the first place."
She happily listened to his rant, which grew more heated with each word.
Garrus sighed. "Out here, serving with a Spectre? We've got no rules. They give us a problem and say get it done. No questions asked. Amazing. My father is going to kill me. Spirits, could this thing go any slower?"
She laughed a little. "I take it your father is not a fan of Spectres?"
"To put it mildly. He was a C-Sec man to the core. Guess I don't quite measure up there." Garrus paused, and a sense of shame entered his voice. "So I really hope I measure up here. Because otherwise I'll have a lot of explaining to do."
At last the lift stepped and the door slid open. He gestured grandly for her to go ahead of him and followed her to the mess, chatting nonstop, oblivious to the odd looks they were getting from the rest of the crew. It was hours before she thought about being lonely.
Shepard poured Pressly a drink from the bottle he'd snagged from the mess. The two were seated in Andersons – his – quarters to try and figure out how to run an Alliance ship that was now under the command of a Spectre. Figuring out how the chain of command was supposed to work was one of many complexities they needed to unravel. Shepard figured the booze was a good way to make things go a little smoother.
At least the first few crises had been solved. They had food the entire crew could eat. Everyone had somewhere to sleep. Of course, the latter solution hadn't made everyone happy.
"You seriously want a krogan to make himself at home in our armory?" Pressly asked, sipping cautiously from the glass Shepard had offered him, trying to figure out what it was. Some kind of asari brandy that had looked expensive.
"Where else do you want me to put him?" Shepard asked, sitting heavily in the chair by Anderson's – his – desk. "Think he'd be willing to share a bunk with Joker?"
Pressly grimaced. "Touché. But letting him sleep with all of our shotguns hardly seems like a good plan if you actually want us to live long enough to find Saren."
Shepard shrugged. "Find me an alternative."
Pressly didn't have one. Their first meeting was off to a great start.
Shepard's wandering gaze came to rest on the bed. The sheets probably needed to be changed, and Shepard realized he had no idea what kind of laundry facilities the Normandy had. Or if they even had a spare set of sheets.
He let the thought go when he realized Pressly was studying him carefully, hesitant.
"What?" he asked, though he knew what was coming.
Pressly inhaled deeply. "Are you sure about bringing these aliens onboard, Commander?"
Pressly was old enough to have been around for the First Contact war. As far as he was concerned, being suspicious of an alien wasn't racist, it was downright pragmatic. Shepard couldn't help but admire him for it a little.
"We're hunting a turian," Shepard said. "Doesn't it make sense to have a turian on board? Especially one who wants to see Saren behind bars?"
"You're assuming the krogan won't kill Garrus before we find Saren. Besides, I'm not so sure Garrus wouldn't put a bullet through you or me if it meant getting to Saren," Pressly countered, and Shepard thought again of Dr. Michel. He liked to believe Garrus took the shot because he was just that confident, but he was forced to admit it was very possible collateral damage didn't mean a whole lot. Not that Shepard could judge – he'd made more than a few decisions that were high on collateral damage. The difference was doing it because it was right verses doing it because you could. Which side of the fence Garrus landed on was still to be determined.
"Garrus will be fine," Shepard said, downing his drink.
"And the krogan?"
Shepard shrugged. "Don't piss him off."
Pressly shot him a look.
"We need him," Shepard said. "We don't really know what we're up against yet. Having the brute force of a krogan on our side might be a big help."
Pressly tapped a datapad against his lap. "I still think it's a bad idea."
The myriad consequences that having Wrex on board could cause were enough to make Shepard break into a cold sweat. But he'd already made the call, and if he'd been given the chance to change his mind he didn't think he would. It was just a matter of convincing everyone else. "Why don't you go down there and introduce yourself? Have a conversation."
"A conversation. With a krogan."
"You might be surprised," Shepard said. "Turns out clan Urdnot was actually a very highly respected one, back when the clans really mattered."
"So why is he a mercenary?" Pressly asked. "That's not exactly noble for a Battlemaster."
"Genophage," Shepard said simply. "It's amazing what a slow burn towards extinction does to your give-a-shit meter."
"So if he doesn't give a shit, why are we trusting him?"
Shepard swirled his glass, then set it down on his desk, half finished. "Like I said. Go talk to him. And look at his C-Sec file. There's a reason he's a Battlemaster. He killed a thresher maw on foot. And that was a few hundred years ago. Imagine how much he's learned since then."
"You know, I'd rather not."
Shepard waited. "Aren't you going to ask me about the quarian?"
Pressly snorted. "I would, but I think Adams would space me. He's in love. Says he's never seen someone with her kind of enthusiasm about engines. She's a learning sponge. Whether that's good or bad remains to be seen."
Shepard chuckled, running a hand over the stubble of hair on his head. "You're going to be all right, old man. As stubborn as you are, I think I'm going to need a dose of your cynicism every now and then."
"Oh, there'll be no shortage of that, sir." Pressly eased back in his chair, cracking a smug smile. "I've set a course for Artemis Tau. With three relay jumps we should reach Therum in about eighteen hours."
Not for the first time, Shepard wondered what the daughter of an asari matriarch was doing in a volcanic hellhole like Therum. "Good. Hopefully that will be enough time to learn a little bit more about this Dr. T'Soni."
Pressly regarded him curiously. "What do you know?"
Shepard shrugged. "She's an asari who likes to dig up protheans. In weird places. According to the database, Therum isn't all that distinguishable from hell. It just also happens to also have some prothean ruins."
He leaned over his desk, fishing amidst a sea of datapads for the right one and handing it to Pressly, who scanned it quickly. Shepard looked hopelessly at the pile on his desk while he waited. The amount of paperwork he needed to go through for the Alliance about becoming a Spectre was almost enough for him to call the Council and tell them never mind.
"Intense heat, active volcanoes, toxic air…" Pressly looked up. "This place looks wonderful. Why the hell would protheans build there?"
Shepard shrugged. "Things change. Maybe fifty thousand years ago it was a trendy beach getaway."
"What kind of a team does T'Soni have?" Pressly asked. "Can we expect resistance?"
"I guess that depends on what side she's on. According to the records, she went down there by herself. But that doesn't mean she's alone now."
"Wow. Who volunteers to hang out in volcanos by herself? She's either got a krogan's quad or a serious death wish. Hell, I guess both are a possibility. Maybe you'll get a chance to see how valuable your krogan is."
"I'm pretty sure if you refer to him as mine, he'll break your spine."
Pressly smiled, but then his face grew solemn. "I trust your judgment, Shepard. Going after a Spectre is going to mean a lot of infiltration work, ground teams. That's where you're at your best. I'll run the Normandy better than anyone in the fleet, but that's not going to be enough for what we're up against. You need to surround yourself with a strong team made of people you can trust. If that means krogans, quarians, turians…you won't be getting resistance from me. You're just going to have to indulge an old campaigner's grumbling once in a while. But this old campaigner is going to look after your ship and your crew, no matter who it is."
"You're a good man, Pressly," Shepard said, leaning forward and propping an elbow on his thigh. "I don't have the experience Captain Anderson had. But I'm glad I have your confidence."
Pressly shook his head. "Experience is relative, Commander, and you've had more than all of us. I've seen what it can do to an average soldier, but you're not an average soldier. We're all in good hands. God have mercy on Saren, because we won't."
Shepard picked up his glass and raised it towards his XO. "Amen to that." Pressly returned the gesture. Pressly killed the rest of the glass in one go. Anderson had done well in choosing him. Because when he did it, he knew that Pressly would wind up XO.
The entire crew had been picked with Shepard in mind. So if you screw up, it's all on you.
