Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over the characters, settings, or intellectual property of the Mass Effect series.
Warning: Explicit language.
Chapter 11: Food Fight
The elevator doors opened and Jennifer turned to go through the Armory to the Briefing Room. She had made certain that the tank with the "one perfect krogan" was securely bolted down in the cargo bay and was receiving a flurry of complaints over the comm-channel from Miranda who seemed more agitated than usual with notation that she was discussing the situation with Jacob in the Briefing Room.
"Bringing the krogan for study makes sense," Miranda's voice, directed at Jacob, greeted her as the doors opened into the chamber, "but I have concerns about waking it."
"Yeah," Jacob acknowledged, "You've said that a few times now."
Miranda pressed her point, "A normal krogan is dangerous. This one was created, and likely educated, by a madman."
"We were here to pick up that madman as an addition to our crew," Shepard offered, "But you didn't seem to object to that."
Miranda put a hand on her hip, "Okeer had a back-story and a profile. A history we could review and make estimate on. This tank-krogan is a blank slate. We don't know anything about it, Commander."
Shepard looked her over with curiosity, "You don't like things that you can't directly control, do you?"
Miranda pursed her lips, disliking the analysis and scrutiny she was receiving. "I'm just thinking of the security of the ship. Krogan fight well in close quarters. Perhaps awakening him in a confined space wouldn't be prudent."
Shepard's posture and expression hadn't changed, "Why are you wearing an apron?"
Miranda looked down. She had donned one of Gardner's spare aprons. Then she looked back at Shepard, "And that's another thing," fresh memories swiveling into focus, "Where did you get a 2026 Sangiovese? That's a very imprudent purchase with so much at stake."
Shepard finally changed expressions to confused, "What do you mean, I use an M-6 Carnifex."
Miranda shook her head, "No, not your pistol, Shepard, the wine. The bottle of Sangiovese 2026, that's sitting in the mess hall. I know it couldn't have been bought cheap, and the amount of credits you must have paid for it-"
"Wine?" Shepard interrupted, "I didn't buy any wine."
Miranda stared at her, "Then how did we get a…?"
Shepard was shaking her head, "Miranda, the only thing I'm concerned about opening right now is a krogan 2185."
Miranda stared, dumbfounded, as she pondered.
Shepard spoke toward the Briefing Room table, "EDI, was there a purchase of wine from the Citadel?"
The synthesized voice returned after a very brief pause, "Not specifically. However, there were several bottles of human beverages purchased with a "lot 425" on auction."
Miranda gaped in astonishment, "How much was that lot purchased for?"
"Does it matter?" Shepard asked, raising her head.
"Fifty-two credits."
"What?" Miranda's hand went to her forehead. "Fifty-two? That's impossible. It is simply not possible!"
EDI added more information, "Much of the lot included tribal relics, turian artifacts, and various high-end objects known to be status symbols in turian socio-political circles. A great deal of them were not taken aboard but have been slated to undergo future auction at the Citadel under the name J. Shepard with an account tied to the funding account for this ship."
Jennifer started smiling, "Mystery solved."
"What do you mean, 'mystery solved?'" Miranda went on, "We still don't know who bought it."
"EDI," the Commander pursued, "Who established the account under J. Shepard?"
"Yeoman Kelly Chambers."
A look of enlightenment swept across Ms. Lawson's face.
"We can leave the tank safely in the cargo hold until I figure out what to do with it," Jennifer started for the door, satisfied that Miranda's nature had been satisfied, "But right now, I'm starving again."
"Your meal isn't ready yet, Shepard." Miranda moved to catch the door.
"Is that what you're doing?" Jennifer grinned again, "Fixing my meal?"
"Technically, Sergeant Gardner is fixing your meal," the aproned operative corrected as she walked past, "I'm fixing my meal, and Ms. Goto's – apparently, I'm the only one on board who can adequately prepare sushi."
Jennifer gave an impressed look.
"But come on down, anyway – it's become quite a collaboration."
On the way, she had Joker set course for their next destination and watched as Miranda tried to work her way through an awkward show of appreciation to Kelly. The yeoman's explanation kept her employer flabbergasted with disbelief.
"It seems that a wealthy turian had discovered that humans valued fine aged wines, so he spent a fortune buying up six or seven dozen when the human fleets had defeated sovereign – partly to leverage against the growing human political strength on the Citadel, but more just to show off that he could throw money around. But when he went to sell off a few lots of so-called "junk" he had no idea which of the bottles was worth what. I couldn't believe it myself when I saw them in the lot – I had to grab it." She grinned, "I sniped it out from under a volus merchant – see Shepard? I'm taking notes from you."
Miranda laughed a genuine laugh she had never heard before, "In that case, I owe you a glass."
At least half the crew was in the mess hall, either prepping a meal, or helping in some capacity.
Since Rupert was completely engaged in cooking a dozen different meals at the same time, several off-duty crew members were standing by to help with any maintenance issues. It reminded Jennifer of the block parties the middle-class folk would have in the summertime; everyone pitching in so that everyone could enjoy. And Miranda had clearly taken over the administration of the event, waving a spatula around, directing the 'troops' as various meals met with completion and crewmembers indulged in their respective fares.
During this time, Shepard got a chance to rub elbows with several members of the standard crew (no one would let her cook). She even played some table games while the crowd waited.
Gardner brought her meal over himself, "Make way! Hot stuff coming through!" he set down a steaming bowl of rice with some brownish and some greenish things mixed in. She was hesitant to try it, considering her last attempt to eat Gardner's cooking. The smell gave nothing away – it smelled . . . hot. That was all. But the taste was quite delicate, chicken and some kind of greens. It turned out to be a very pacified kale (filled with nutrients, but not too tasty). Her third fork-full, she noticed Sergeant Gardner finally moving back to his ovens, a smile of satisfaction on his face.
And This One Time, In Space Camp . . .
"Pinned us down on a bridge over a ravine," the mercenary rambled, "Goddam batarian mercs used a thermal charge that blew the bridge apar'. Some of us managed to take coveh in the platform on the other side, but half the goddam team fell a hundred feet into the ravine." He tried to wiggle his fingers and gritted his teeth in pain. "Held that position for over an hour – that was their last thermal charge, otherwise we'd have been done for."
The old warrior draped the hand over his chest once more and leaned back into the pillow, using his good eye to stare at the ceiling. "That job stank from the moment we went live anyway – neveh should 'a' gone in the fehrst place." He glanced downward toward his hand again, wondering whether to try moving it again, "Neveh take a job from a batarian to kill anotheh batarian – damn snipes." He tried to move his thumb and felt a numbness through the tingling – he wasn't sure if it had moved at all. "Anyway," he continued, "Theh we wuz, a half-dozen mercs on a platform under a crop o' rock with nothin' but open space to our backs and a bunch of batarian mercs lobbin' shouts and gunfire from good coveh."
Dr. Chakwas continued to enter data into her system from across the Medical Lab, appearing to pay no attention to the aged mercenary as he continued his story.
Zaeed chuckled, "Would have run out of ammo and got dead if the damned krogan hadn't climbed all the way back up the ravine and charged them down. Had a thing about fallin'. Not much left o' the batarians once he got done explainin'. Tough sons-o-bitches, them krogan."
The doctor continued her impassive study of the terminal, but responded anyway, "How does your hand feel?"
The old man wrapped against the case around his trigger hand, "Broken."
"That's because you keep trying to flex it." She finished what she was doing and moved to his bedside to check it.
"A merc without a triggah fingah ain't much of a merc," he growled.
"But a merc who takes down a crazed krogan who just smashed his hand and shotgun in a charge is definitely something of a merc." She studied the hand, the two main fingers and the thumb completely covered in a plastic shell, gently turning it in her own hands. She concentrated on the pinky. "Where did you get that little scar from."
"Knife figh' in the- oh, what? That one?" He checked, "Paper cut."
"You're joking," she looked directly at him now.
He chuckled, "Go' tha' when I was a li'l brat, messing around in me mum's office – never saw paper before."
Dr. Chakwas grinned down at him as she angled one of her scanners over the cast, "You certainly are an interesting man. Most people would have run out of stories an hour ago, and you seem to have mapped them all over your flesh."
"Most people don't do shi' in a day," he grumbled uncaringly, "I've lived lifetimes before morning is over."
"Clearly, based on the lack of unscarred tissue you boast." Waves of light washed over the doctor's face as she studied the readout, "So you must be incredibly bored laying in an old doctor's Med Bay, waiting for your injury to recover."
Zaeed stared at her for a moment before responding, "Normally, I would – but you know how to handle a merc, I go'a say."
She grinned again, "I've had some experience with patients too eager to return to the fight."
He scrutinized her a bit longer, "How long have you known Shepard?"
Now she smiled. He hadn't lost the context of her comment. "We met during the Skyllian Blitz. And she was every bit as ornery about being a patient as you are."
"You were in the Skyllian Blitz?"
"I was in the medical response team," she corrected. "We arrived on the scene of a bloodbath unlike any I was ever prepared for. We found Shepard in the corner of the room behind a pile of dead batarians so high we had to find her on scanners."
"But she didn't come out of it all that worse for wear, did she?"
"Some have scars on the outside and some on the inside," the doctor admitted, "But Shepard seems to be remarkably immune to scarring of any type. She had over three dozen serious wounds over the majority of her body. Bullet holes, burns that peeled the flesh away, stabbings that went inches deep, she was covered with them. But between her field trauma training and a determination that remains with her to this day, she was still ready for a fight when we pulled the bodies back."
Zaeed was impressed. "How did she get through all that without any scarring at all?"
"She had a superb doctor," she said as she activated a control and the cast peeled away revealing Zaeed's hand.
He flexed the muscles with no pain. "Well, look at tha'. Good as goddam new." He looked back up at Dr. Chakwas expressionless. "Now if I can only get my shotgun lookin' as good. I thought that damned krogan had finished my fighting days for good."
"I'm afraid I can't help you with your shotgun, Mr. Massani," she apologized. "Perhaps Jacob can refit you with a new one. But I believe you are able to return to duty."
He swiveled on the bed and hopped to the floor as the doctor reset her equipment.
She felt a sharp slap against her right buttock.
"Thanks doc," Zaeed said as he sauntered out of the Medical Bay, satisfied that his new hand had passed his own personal test.