Where we've been so far: Consort Sha'ira set her trap for Havil Shepard, but didn't get the information she needed during their meeting.
Havil's imagination played on the dark corners of the Consort's chambers. Sha'ira's charge filled the room, and her touch made Havil's skin crawl. The blue hand lingering near her collarbone and the close whisper pinned her to the floor, and she wavered. A heavy ache collected in the back of her throat; her eyebrows drew together; her eyes burned. She couldn't leave quickly enough. As the doors slid behind her, she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and breathed deeply.
This never happened with shrinks. The scientists trained to think in hyper arousal of brain regions, production of stress hormones, and the rest. They encouraged tears that Havil never found for them: tears demonstrated a well-functioning hypothalamus finding an outlet for emotions, and they would help flush the cortisol ever-present in her hyper-aroused system. Whatever that all meant, they meant she was malfunctioning, and it could be corrected.
Other soldiers, like Alenko, were caught up in the news reports and stories of Havil Shepard, hero, when Havil knew the truth-it's not desert that saves you. But no one survived from Mindoir. No one survived from Akuze. Sure, Williams's whole unit bit it, but some Eden Primers lived. Now that she could trust her eyes, Havil surveyed the low tables and recessed booths, filled with clients of various races tended to by the Consort's acolytes in the main level. Not one of them would understand.
The Consort, Havil now dared to think did. In her touch, Havil felt she knew shame, isolation, violence, and perhaps the most concerning, deception, all of which swirled now within Havil. She tried in vain to find the chill of the air and the confines of her uniform, but only provoking pain-she pressed a fresh bruise from her Turian encounter-temporarily kept it all at bay. She hadn't felt this fragile since the transport plucked her from Akuze, and she had plenty of pain to access then. Havil needed something to engross her.
Where was Alenko? As she strode through the booths, she spotted the knees of Alliance fatigues poking out of one near the entrance. The Consort's hostess was seated behind him, sharing what she had called her personal area of expertise, "finding pressure points on your body and releasing them." Sha'ira had been dangerously close to finding and releasing her own inner pressure points.
"Ahem... Lieutenant?" Sideburns whipped his eyes open at her voice.
"Commander," he leaned out of the hostess' grasp and stood, rolling his neck with a deep sigh. "Sorry. I..." When he finally came to the attention that she quickly dismissed, he appeared in repose, peaceful almost, for the first time since they had met, with the exception of his now deeply coloring cheeks. With an involuntary sigh of her own, Havil knew Sha'ira was right.
"Let's get back to the Normandy."
"Aye-aye, ma'am." In the relative safety of transit, she allowed herself to realize what she had been deliberately avoiding. Alenko was handsome, well-built, and good on the field. A biotic, she thought with a flush of her own, would be, well, interesting. Her steps quickened.
But he was no doubt smitten with the hero. And Havil couldn't afford a physical night to get complicated with feelings she couldn't reciprocate and the inevitable trouble it would create on board, especially not with her direct report. She was content to return to the docking bay in silence, but Sideburns kept fidgeting-smoothing his uniform, running his fingers through his hair, scratching at his evening stubble. He took one of her looks askance as an opportunity. "Commander, about today..."
"Listen, Lieutenant. I don't need your apology. I just need-"
"Me to do my job. I hear you, Commander. But, well, uh, you should know I'm an L2." He pointed to the biotic amp port just below his collar. "One of the first batch of human bioitics. The L2 ports are powerful, but I get migraines, and something about the compound," he stopped and looked back across the footbridge over the reservoir, "was going to set one off." He then stared out over the water. "Most of my biotic cohort with the L2s are unstable, self-harming, or worse. You," he turned again to look at Havil, "probably have the L3, which is more refined, if less powerful in, uh," he coughed, "in most cases."
Havil would welcome a consuming physical pain right now. If only a Krogan were nearby, she would pick a fight with him and let Chakwas sew the pieces back together. The idea of a fight, however, reminded her of the cold calculus of command. "Will it affect your duties?"
"No, uh, ma'am. At least it hasn't yet. I, well, I haven't been engaging my biotics much lately, so I'll have to see. But I have fast-acting medication for the field that will hold off the worst until you can get me to a medbay."
Havil just made a grunt. Sparring him wouldn't be a good idea, then, either. Faintly in the peace of the Presidium she heard the screeching of the vision and quickened her pace for the Normandy's rack, bench, and punching bag.
The chime sounded distantly as Havil tromped through the forest again. The tree crowns above were aflame, and she coughed in the choking black smoke and heat below. The chime sounded again, nearer, but where? Under her feet twigs and leaves crackled and curled, blackening. The chime sounded a third time, and Havil opened her eyes to the dots of light above. She squinted. She had no armor and no rifle, but her amp flared. Finally, the dots resolved into the lattice pattern of an open deck, and Havil mashed the control, which read 0500, to swoop her pod up, flinging its door open and throwing her sweaty, panting self out of its confines. She rubbed her eyes and stepped into BTUs, slowly continuing her self inventory. Her muscles were taut with microtear repair, and her hands bruised and bloody. At the punching bag, she faintly remembered, she had worn gloves. Only then did Havil notice dried blood where she had pummeled her pod in the night.
Down in the cargo bay, Shepard was about to start on push-ups and mountain climbers, hoping the sweat and pain would tamp down the images in her mind, at least for the work-out, and make the need for medi-gel on her hands less suspicious.
"Commander, good morning," she heard a call from the weapons bench. Williams's own hands were covered in armor polish.
"As you were, Chief. You didn't sleep?"
"No, ma'am. Partly the fun," Williams's broad smile died after an instant, "but partly..." her voice trailed off.
"Yeah." Havil instantly called up in her mind the face of every soldier from Akuze and every friend and family member from Mindoir. Interspersed in her private litany were strange, diamond-shaped faces she hadn't watched flicker out.
"Commander?"
Havil looked at Pink. "You going to be ok?" From the broad circles under Williams's eyes that even make-up couldn't mask, she knew that the answer was no. She, of all people, would give Williams a chance anyway.
"I'll be fine, ma'am. Just don't ask me to translate Salarian or something."
Havil sighed. "Not today, Williams. I need light armor, something discreet for the three of us."
"I'll have it ready, Commander. Wouldn't want to miss the wards. Guys yesterday said they were like the metropolises on earth, just with mostly aliens."
"Very good, Chief." The woman certainly was driven; Shepard's armor shone. After Alenko's revelation last night, Havil read both their personnel files. What she couldn't figure out was what Williams was going taking second on a grunt foot patrol on a colony world in the first place. Armor shop, even on the Normandy, was also beneath her. She had top marks out of training, awards for valor under fire, distinction in riflery, hand-to-hand, tactics, and yes, marksmanship. She should have been an N candidate.
After a wet-wipe wipe-down, Havil reconstituted breakfast and read the day's briefing reports in the mess. Anderson's orders were unchanged: pursue leads about Saren, which at this point included dealing with the dirty club owner Executor Pallin had sicced Williams on and, Shepard frowned at Anderson's second order, corralling Sha'ira's unruly Turian General.
"Commander," Alenko plunked down in the seat next to her. "Nothing like the Alliance's best rehydrated eggs." He emptied two crinkling foil packages onto his tray. From his small smile, he was clearly still benefiting from his massage.
Havil would have liked to ignore Alenko entirely, but their small squad was all the Normandy had, and assigning him to duties on board would be as much of a waste as making Williams clean guns all day. He made eye contact too much and insisted on apologizing for everything. She could also not forget how he had reached for her arm. Even here at rest, his biotic charge caused a tingle down her side from her shoulder all the way down to her foot. She caught herself briefly wondering what would happen if they were any closer and shut that thought away with a gulp of the scalding drink. The burning heat brought up other memories, and Havil pressed her fingernails sharply into her palms. As they rode the elevator down to the cargo bay together yet again, Havil felt the same oppression as she had in Sha'ira's room and bolted for the lockers.
The three marines suited up in minimal armor, upper body vests with some kinetic barrier protection and basic shields, as well as mounts for one firearm each. More than that would attract attention in a civilian area. From the Normandy's berth, it was a long elevator ride down to C-Sec headquarters. To keep her mind off biotic charges, beacon visions, and drunk captains, she asked her team, "What do you know about Krogan?"
"Tough bastards," Williams started. "Big lizards, water reservoir, fat stores, and redundant organs. Tough to kill."
"And?"
Alenko added, "I've only ever seen males off Tuchanka, usually mercs. Always ready for a fight." He clearly remembered her male/female sex statistics from yesterday. She frowned; she had overreacted.
"Well," Havil nodded, "Let's hope the one in C-Sec wants to talk instead. But if not, they have excellent range of vision with such wide-set eyes, and none of us would survive a full-on Krogan bloodlust charge. Best to hit them with..."
"Stasis, until the fight is over, so we can all concentrate fire." Alenko interrupted. Shepard raised an eyebrow at him.
"Correct, Lieutenant." She hoped to kill any hint of affirmation with formality. With their size, hump, the vision, an entire set of redundant organs, and extremely quick heal times, the Krogan often lived close to 1,000 years, despite their love for battle. The best way to fight one was to avoid him. They were the perfect soldiers for a reason: the Council needed infantry to eradicate the Rachni, a large, expansionist insectoid species. Salarians meddled in the Krogan evolution, hurrying them along and selecting for brute force.
In the elevator lobby, Shepard spotted him right away. A Krogan in worn red heavy armor was towering over a human C-Sec officer who was attempting to threaten his detainee: "Threatening an officer of the peace warrants detention, Wrex."
Closer now, Shepard watched the Krogan turn a red eye to the officer and ask, "Are you going to arrest me, or am I free to go? I have a human to kill."
"Another threat? Do you want me to throw you in a cell?"
"I want you to try," the Krogan rumbled, and then chuckled as the C-Sec officer waved him off. As he stomped over to her squad, the deck rattled. "Staring is rude, Human. Do I know you?" He stabbed one of the three meaty fingers into Shepard's chest. She folded her arms and leaned back, trying hard not to let him or herself pick the fight she was sure they both wanted.
"Name's Shepard. Alliance Navy. I have business with Fist. I hear you might be interested in coming along."
"Shepard." He turned his head to look at her with one eye and then the other, then smelled her. "From what I hear, we're both warriors, Shepard, so out of respect I'll warn you: If I go with you, I will kill him."
She folded her arms. That was the problem with Krogan.
"This is a bad idea," Williams whispered.
Wrex glared at Williams a moment. "Not that bad, unless you humans don't taste as good as I hope." A grin exposed rows of pointed teeth. He extended his hand, surprisingly familiar with human customs. She shook it.
"Good. Shall we?"
"Just show me something to shoot already, Shepard. Heh, heh, heh."