Chapter Twenty:
In Which Our Hero Encounters Some Light Reading
Although he knew Dr. T'Soni was conducting research in the Artemis Tau system, Shepard had a hard time narrowing down which in the system planets to search. During the week-long trip from the Attican Beta cluster to Artemis Tau, he spent a number of long consultation sessions with Navigator Pressly, finally settling on one planet per star system for a ground-based search. The other planets seemed improbable locations for Prothean ruins, and could be scanned for anomalies from orbit. Still, tracking down Dr. T'Soni was going to take forever.
At least I put all this down time to good use, he thought to himself. His report to the Council had included a request that they forward him background information on both Matriarch Benezia and Dr. T'Soni. The next time the Normandy was in range of a comm buoy, he'd found a huge file in his personal inbox, containing samples of the Matriarch's public speeches and teachings and the doctoral dissertation of one Liara T'Soni. Shepard had immediately downloaded the files to his datapad, but he had yet to finish reading them. It wasn't that he didn't understand the importance of learning as much as he could about the two asari; he did. The Matriarch's speeches had been fascinating, offering a glimpse of an astute political mind seemingly focused on promoting intergalactic cooperation. Every time he tried to start reading Unwept, Unsung: The Desertion of Ritual in pre-Fall Prothean Burial Practices however, something urgent would come up. Like trying to goad Wrex into opening up about his past, or listening to Joker's opinion on the effect the Normandy's drive core had on piloting, or talking with Dr. Chakwas about Lieutenant Alenko's L2-induced migraines, or polishing his boots.
Now though, the Normandy was only six hours away from the Artemis Tau cluster. If he could just get through the introductory chapter. It was only, what? Thirty pages? He had six hours. It was completely plausible. He turned to the abstract:
This thesis seeks to explain the Prothean Empire's abrupt abandonment of its highly stylized mortuary practices in the several generations generally categorized as 'pre-Fall.' With a combination of new methods and theories unique to this area of study, the rituals are treated as action rather than ceremony, and a new understanding of the Prothean burial rites as the conscious product of societal norms rather than as an embodiment of religious practices is sought. Special attention is given to the treatment of the body after death, especially as the transition into the pre-Fall era saw the demise of the preservation process that modern scholars commonly hold to be the cornerstone of Prothean ceremony. The focus on interpreting the sudden disregard for millenniums-old values as a conscious action is a central part of the method of analysis—
Maybe he would go get something to drink in the mess, and read in there. The light was much better in the mess anyway.
Shepard had spent most of the past week in his cabin, partly because he was trying to prepare for the Artemis Tau mission and partly because he realized he was breaking his own rules and getting overly friendly with the crew. The insight had hit home after a conversation with Alenko. The lieutenant had been working on a defunct comm unit outside the mess as Shepard made one of his many trips back and forth for the innumerable meals required to keep his biotics-driven metabolism from crashing, and had stopped the commander for an informal debrief.
Alenko had a careful, thoughtful way of approaching problems, and it was clear he'd been struggling with the decision of whether or not to voice his frustration with the lack of support the Normandy mission was getting from the Council. The lieutenant had apologized for his informality, citing his training at Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training or "Brain Camp" as not being big on protocol. Never having received much formal biotics training himself, Shepard had been curious, asking Alenko about BAaT. That had somehow led to a comparison of their childhood crushes. Alenko told Shepard about his friend Rahna, whom he'd clearly been devoted to, though in his words it "never fell together." The normally unflappable lieutenant had been blushing when he finished talking. Partially to relieve Alenko's discomfort, Shepard had talked a little about Clara Petersen, a lawyer's daughter from Mindoir, the first girl he'd ever kissed.
They'd stared at each other awkwardly for a moment after that. Finally Alenko had joked that "This was supposed to be a casual debrief, not a bull session about stuff that happened years ago." His words had jolted Shepard.
"You're right," the commander had said, stiffly. "I'm sorry for keeping you for so long, Lieutenant." He'd walked back into his cabin before Alenko could respond, upbraiding himself for being so careless in his dealings with the crew.
Before heading into the mess, Shepard checked the time. It was an off-hour, not quite late enough that the majority of the off-duty crew would be in their sleeper pods, but late enough that no one would be eating. He could sneak in, make a coffee, and try to get through Dr. T'Soni's God-awful paper without being too conspicuous. Datapad firmly in hand, music player sending classic jazz to his earpiece, he exited the cabin.
The mess was nearly deserted, save for Dubyansky, a junior Command Deck Technician whose eyes widened when Shepard entered the small kitchenette, and was gone when the commander emerged. Sighing happily with his hot mug, Shepard settled at the far end of a table, focusing as hard as he could.
It was an uphill struggle, but Shepard made it through the introductory chapter of Dr. T'Soni's dissertation, and had even started the first real chapter before the touch of someone's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. He yanked out his earpiece and looked up in surprise to see Chief Williams. She smiled in amusement at his confusion before schooling her face back to a carefully professional expression.
"Sorry to bother you, Commander. I was up on the bridge keeping Joker company when we received a communication from the Citadel. It was Admiral Kahoku—he heard that we're heading for the Artemis Tau cluster, and wanted to know if we'd check out the Sparta system. He lost contact with a recon team he sent there almost two weeks ago. No one on the Citadel cares enough to send—" her face darkened for a moment and she rephrased, "The Admiral hasn't been able to organize a rescue team, and thought we might be willing to help since we're in the area."
"Why didn't Joker just page me over the comm system?"
Williams smirked. "He tried sir, but you didn't respond. Must be a good read to get you so distracted." She gestured at the datapad.
"Research. Dr. T'Soni's dissertation. Hard to get into, but it's actually pretty interesting once you start."
"I'll take your word for it, sir. It definitely wouldn't be my choice for free reading, though. Makes me glad I'm not in command here."
Shepard ignored the part of his mind reminding him of his decision to distance himself from the crew as Williams sat across the table from him. "Well, it's the first paper on archeology I've ever read. But I wouldn't say it could replace my favorite book, Williams."
"Which is?"
"Which is what?"
"Your favorite book, Commander. What is it?"
"Shane."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Never heard of it, sir."
"Plenty of people haven't. It's been out of print for a while now. But I was named after it—Karl Shane Shepard. Karl's a family name, but Shane—my dad loved that book. He read it to me a hundred times before I learned to read on my own. Every time I went to him for advice when I was older, he'd pull the book down and find a quote that fit." Shepard's voice warmed at the memory. "'A man can keep his self-respect without having to cram it down another man's throat,'" he quoted. "That was after I got into a fight. When I was having trouble in school: 'There's no wood ever grew can stand up to a man who's got the strength and the will to keep hammering at it.'"
"Sounds useful." Shepard couldn't quite read the expression on Williams' face. "I can see why he named you after it."
"He didn't. My mother did." At Williams' unspoken question, Shepard explained. "She wanted to name me after her father, Karl, but she wanted to name me for my father too. He was Kyle Stephan Shepard. So, Karl Shane Shepard. See? Still K.S. Shepard like my dad, but Karl like my grandfather." He smiled. "My father wasn't happy that she'd named me after her father…When my sister was born, my mother was really out of it, all drugged up when they asked for the baby's name. She'd wanted to name the baby Theresa, but Dad was there and he named her Willa, you know, for the author. You wouldn't believe how mad Mom was when she found out! But Dad just kept grinning at her and saying 'Fair's fair.'
"To be honest though, I'm glad Mom named me. Dad wanted to name me Virgil—after that lawman from the ancient west? Can you see me as a Virgil? Virgil Shepard." He made a face at the name.
"It could have been worse, sir," Williams started laughing before she could finish her thought. "I'm sorry," she finally gasped. "I'm just—imagining you…Going through basic training as—as Virgil!" Her laughter got the better of her again.
For a moment, Shepard let himself be caught up in the joke, but checked himself before he could do more than chuckle. When she regained her composure, he stood, intent on reestablishing professional boundaries. "Sorry to keep you so long, Chief Williams. Did Joker mention how far out we are from the Sparta system?"
His abrupt change in demeanor had Williams frowning slightly. "Not more than two hours, Commander."
"Great. Excuse me?" Without waiting for her answer, Shepard collected his things and retreated to his cabin.