Ch 11: Hola, Lola!
It was 01:00. At peace by the combined virtue of her sleepiness, solitude and silence, Liara took her time returning to her quarters. The soft echoes of her lightly-planted footsteps were the only sounds; the Normandy's halls were quiet, lights dimmed to induce the sense of artificial night.
Night … it seemed now like such a relative term, a term whose meaning could be socially molded. The crew operated best when following a clear night-day schedule. They insisted that space recognize the everyday things that those living on a spherical rock orbiting one or more stars took for granted. But cold space recognized nothing save for the cold laws of physics – no, not cold, but certainly not warm; they just were. And despite this, they longed to recreate home, just as they longed for home while exploring the stars. The same pattern could be seen aboard other species' ships, even the Protheans'. Without people and culture, she reflected, the Normandy would just be a hollow metal husk: no kitchens or bedrooms (or bathrooms), no aesthetically-curved balconies and beams, no "impractical" windows to spy on their twinkling neighbours. In fact, the Normandy, and all its crew strove for each day, wouldn't even exist –
"Oof!" She collided with something – someone – solid upon turning the corner. Unfortunately for her, heavy armor came out on top against white-and-blue coat. Gasping with pain, she clutched at her stomach. Careless! she berated herself. Her instinct was to immediately apologize, but looking up at the other person, Liara momentarily found she couldn't speak. Winded, she supposed; she couldn't even manage a simple hello.
The Commander, however, seemed none the worse for wear. "Woah there, Liara. You gotta watch where you're going, or one day you're gonna be run over 'n' flatter than a blueberry pancake."
"I … am sorry, Shepard. My mind was elsewhere." Liara smiled apologetically, but the smile did not extend to her eyes. She looked away.
A few seconds of silence passed between them – a situation the fidgeting Commander evidently was not comfortable with. And, considering the context of this silence, neither was she.
Shepard crossed his arms. "A little late for a little lady to be walkin' the streets at night."
Her lips pursed. She had simply been down to the mess hall for a late dinner – focused as she was on her Shadow Broker projects, time often got away from her. But Shepard was not privy to her private information, not anymore. And if he thought she was that kind of asari, the kind to just jump to a next suitor, to move on so soon, then perhaps he had never known her at all.
"I … was searching for my mibble. She did not show up for dinner." Well, she had lost her mibble, so it was a sort of a half-truth … and therefore a half-lie. Her belly squeezed slightly. She hated lying, even in such trivial matters; her mother, as one of her most important teachings to Liara, had stressed the importance of honesty.Be honest when you err, for you can never err in honesty. But her mother had not been so morally pure, either. "If you see her … she is black, with a white blaze down her face …"
The Commander blinked.
When Shepard, uncharacteristically enough, declined to comment, she continued, "Well, actually, I am glad to have bumped into you." That was a full lie. "Umm … I meant to return this..." She dug inside her lab coat, pushing past scraps of this and that to retrieve a … what was it called? A baseball, an antique, signed by the human Frad … or Fred … something, after a win somewhere... Liara couldn't remember the details. Likely Shepard had never provided them all; he had been quite drunk the night he'd forgotten the souvenir in her room, what seemed like months ago. Her fingers brushed smooth leather, and she presented the ball to Shepard. "Here."
She couldn't quite read the expression that flashed then across his face – maybe because she still had much to learn about human emotional responses, or because it was replaced by his brash Shepard grin before she'd had time to process it. "Eh, I wondered where that sneaky little bastard had gone!" Still, he hesitated.
"I am sure you have somewhere important to be," she said, indicating his armor with her eyes.
Finally, Shepard snatched the white ball. He casually threw it up in the air a few times, catching it with ease, as if to test that it still worked. When he looked up again, she was already walking past him.
"Y'know, Liara," he called after her, "you ever wanna play with one of my balls again, just let me know!"
"Goodnight, Commander."
Shepard had been able to shake off the collision with she of most pleasant shape and colour, but there was something still nagging at him …
No, he quickly decided, it was nothing. His plan was unfolding perfectly, as expected; everything was set, as ordered. Shepard marched with purpose down the hall to the shuttle bay. No one was around. No one would see he and his team sneak off the ship, mibbles in tow. All that was left was to catch a ride planetside …
The doors hissed softly open to him. "Gentlemen!" he announced, arms spread wide in embrace of their forthcoming adventure, handsomely rugged face beaming in anticipation. "Yarmonia awaits!"
The away team, handpicked as always by the Commander himself, were the only people in the shuttle bay, suited up and ready for action. Like good soldiers, they awaited his orders as Shepard felt, deep in his heart, they were best suited for. Garrus, and –
"Shepard," Garrus said, beginning another of his long protests. Each drawn-out syllable whined in Shepard's ears. "I thought we were doing this ourselves. The fewer people who know what we're doing with the mibbles, the better." He stared accusingly, blue eyes hard as ice, towards the other side of the bay – from where could be heard a repetitive, almost rhythmic, grunting.
Shepard sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. Birdbrains. Turians were just smart enough to know how to shoot, when to use attack formation A through Z, and which weapon was most strategic in different situations, but they fully neglected the all-important why. A Renaissance man, the Commander believed there was a reason for everything. Garrus just couldn't appreciate the method behind his Shepardness.
"Don't be stupid," he chastised Garrus, rolling his eyes. "You need three people for a mission, not two." And, in a move that would have hurt his hand more than the target, had Shepard not been wearing his trusty N7 gloves, he bonked the turian on his spiky head. "Duh!"
The grunting was suddenly interrupted by a loud chuckle. Now Shepard looked over, too, as a beast of a man dropped down heavily from his highbar. Vibrations radiated outward from his army boots' point of contact with the floor. The muscled monster strolled over to the other two men, casually negotiating around barbells and empty envirofoam food containers strewn everywhere. He was in no hurry, but giant as he was, he easily covered the space between them in a few paces.
The man crossed his arms in front of his chest, making half the muscles in his body flex. "Hey, Lola! We doin' this, or wha'?"
"Yes, James." Shepard spoke slower than usual, intent that the arms master understood every word. "Soon as Garrus shuts his trap and – Hello!" he interrupted himself, quickly covering his eyes. "I see Parnack, I see Shanxi, I see Vega's underpanties!"
James scratched his head; despite the force behind this scratch, he hardly disturbed his sculpted fauxhawk. "Huh?"
"Your damn fly's undone, James." For further clarification, Shepard pointed at the area under question. Broad face lit with the innocence of childlike curiosity, James followed the Commander's finger to see...
"Heh. Sorry. Sometimes forget to zip up after liftin' weights," he said, shrugging his massive shoulders. After James had remedied the problem with a quick ziiip, Shepard uncovered his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.
The Kodiak sat patiently near the bay doors. Shepard approached it, their mission's starting point; the other two followed with contrasting degrees of enthusiasm. As per the Commander's orders, after eagerly collecting and sedating every single of the four hundred or so mibbles, Kaiden had pushed the shuttle closer to the Normandy's back exit so the away team could sneak out undetected.
The vehicle seemed out of place, however, for another reason; Cortez was missing, unavailable at 01:15 to tend to his beloved shuttle's every need and desire. Shepard, though, was happy the Lieutenant was locked safely away in his quarters. Sometime that night, or at latest by the morning, the female crew, wearing only their nighties, would discover their dearest mibbles had gone AWOL. If, for whatever undoubtedly heroic reason, their Commander wasn't back in time to offer his chivalrous comfort, other more devious men might have the gall to take advantage of the situation. And Cortez had always seemed particularly friendly with the women, and the women seemed particularly friendly with him.
Not if I can help it, the Commander thought to himself, hands balling into fists with the injustice of it all. Fortunately for his future damsels in distress, Shepard was on the job.
"Okay, soldiers, gather 'round! Here's the game plan: we go in sleek 'n' silent, then drop the mibbles off at whatever shithole they crawled out of. Follow my orders and we'll be back in time for breakfast." Shepard looked seriously at his squad. "If anyone here is not prepared to sacrifice himself to ensure the rest of us enjoys hot sausage 'n' bacon, speak now."
Garrus raised an eyebrow plate. "Do you expect this to be a suicide mission, Shepard?" A slight sneer underlied his overlaid voice.
James clapped his shotgun into his hands. "I'm all in, Commander."
Shepard nodded in acceptance of their gift, the gift of their lives which were now in his hands, lives to be used and abused however he saw fit. "Oh, and one more thing…" His squadmates drew closer. "I call shotgun!" he yelled, pushing past them to be the first to jump into the shuttle.
They were going in blind, and Garrus didn't like it. From the back seat, he watched through the windshield, eyes peeled for signs of anything. Low-hanging clouds, thicker than a krogan's skull, streaked by white and grey as the shuttle sped through, and … that was it. The viewscreen, which displayed a panoramic view of their immediate surroundings, was equally useless. Of course, scanners would indicate their elevation and detect any variations in topography below, but still, he preferred to see what was coming for himself. It's not that he lacked faith in technology, far from it; he simply lacked faith in the humans currently seated behind the technology.
Suddenly the shuttle's riders – including the hundreds of mibbles (mercifully sedated) at his side – jumped up half a foot, rocking with the shuttle as it passed through atmospheric turbulence. Despite this obvious danger and the attention it deserved, Shepard and Vega, comfortably up front, had been chatting throughout much of the drop. Although, to be fair, Shepard had been unnaturally quiet during the first part of their run – but by the time they had put some distance between themselves and the Normandy, the Commander had warmed up to the recruit. Apparently there were many things human soldiers had in common and felt worth discussing. They had just moved on from shared drill sergeants to the best fuel for barbeques on high-oxygen-atmosphere worlds when Garrus cleared his throat. It was supposed to be the universal sign for shut up because I have something more important to say, but no one had told Shepard that. The Commander drawled on – something about how the difference between red and white meat is like that between a geth Colossus and recon drone.
"So, Vega," Garrus asked anyway, "have you ever piloted one of these before?" More dangerous turbulence racked the shuttle, making his voice shake.
Turning to look back at him, Vega said, "Wha'? Yeah, sure."
Garrus let his grip loosen somewhat on the sniper rifle laying across his lap.
"Wai', you mean a shuttle?"
"... yes –"
"Holy shit!" Shepard exclaimed from the front. "Backseat driver alert! If James wanted to be nagged at, Garrus, we'd have brought Miranda. Eh, James?" He offered his gloved hand in a high-five. "At least we could mute our headsets and stare at that tight tush. Eh?"
But Vega stared blankly at the Commander's palm. "Somethin' wrong with your han', Lola?"
Shepard stared equally blankly back at Vega. Like two peas in a pod, as humans say.
"Y'know," James continued amicably, "when my hand goes loco, there's only one thing to make it better."
The Commander lowered his arm. "Uh... Punch a reporter?"
"Nah. Homemade burrito. Burrito and enough spicy beans to fill your gut 'til burstin' – "
"Cease fire, soldier, and that's an order! You're makin' me drool. God knows I could stuff myself on some comfort food right now."
"No prob, Lola. I always bring a couple with me. Survival trainin' 101."
"You – where?!" Shepard asked, excited.
"Mmm... Try 'bove my head," Vega guessed. Shepard leaned over from his seat, reaching across Vega to search through the compartment. Every item that turned out not to be a burrito, he threw down to pile upon Vega. Hitting more turbulence, the shuttle shook violently, sending a dozen or so mibbles rolling into the front.
Spirits, I should add 'babysitting' to my official file. "Shepard, get down! You're in his way –"
"Ah, no worries," Vega assured him. "I'll just turn on some tunes to block 'im out..."
"I LOVE YOU, BABY BLUE, BUT YOU'RE OLDER THAN MY GRAN'MA SUE –"*
"Huh, Lola, I think I put 'em in my boot." Vega bent, almost disappearing from Garrus's view as he stretched both arms down. "One sec, almost got it—"
Without welcome, without warning, without even the courtesy of a slow fade, the white clouds disappeared like curtains jerked back, revealing an expanse of blue-grey rock and moss woven with dark streams … an expanse that was coming much too close, much too fast. Every curse ran through Garrus's mind –
The black lake first engulfed their viewscreen –
– but he could only begin, "Oh –"
– and then the shuttle.
*Based on the song "Peggy Sue" by Buddy Holly