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Shepard had hurried off to work her way through a long list of people to see and things to accomplish while they were on the Citadel, so Garrus took the opportunity to go check in on the turian refugees.
He found the ward teeming with people of all kinds. There was a hush over the room, as though having made it this far, no one had the energy to complain or talk or laugh. But it was an orderly weariness—clearly someone competent was in overall charge of the entire operation. And it didn't take him long to find the turian behind it all.
"Nidario Tactus. I should have known."
Tactus looked up from the clipboard he was studying. "Garrus Vakarian! What are you doing on the Citadel?"
"Just a stop-off."
"So, not a refugee, then."
"No, still on the Normandy; just checking in to see how things are going." Garrus looked around him at the well-organized medical crates and the crate full of small children reciting some kind of story. "I see you have things firmly in hand. Where's young Silvius? He was trying to get on top of things a while back."
"He's still here—I have him dealing with the embassies. He's remarkably patient with the red tape."
"You never could stand that nonsense."
Tactus laughed. "Look who's talking. You never could either."
"Guilty as charged," Garrus admitted.
"Only now you're on an Alliance ship."
"And you're organizing refugees."
Tactus shook his head. "War plays hell with the best of intentions doesn't it? What's it like, working with a human?"
"Best decision I ever made."
"Hm. I got a message from the doctor on the Normandy that they want to trade—our combat-grade medical supplies for their surplus." Tactus gave Garrus a long look. "Everyone knows the Alliance is out for itself first and only cares about sharing if the trade benefits them. No deal. There are too many desperate people down here for me to let anyone take advantage of them."
"Look, you're not wrong about a lot of the Alliance, but Shepard's not like that—and Dr. Chakwas definitely isn't. She sees an opportunity for a mutually beneficial trade, that's all."
Tactus appeared to be considering Garrus's assurance. "As I'm sure you're aware, trust is a hard thing to come by these days. And our military supplies are worth a lot more than the basic meds your doctor offered."
Garrus took a step toward his old friend. "I can only imagine what you and everyone here have been through. I was on Palaven, and I saw how things went down there, and I know that story is repeated a hundredfold down here. But I'm telling you that the supplies we have can help, and our people need every edge we can get. Your meds will absolutely make a difference. We're facing down Reaper forces every time we touch down on a planet—and we're doing it while trying to build alliances between everyone's fleets so we have half a chance to face the Reapers once and for all with enough firepower to get the job done. This is not the time for suspicion or mistrust."
Turning around, Tactus surveyed the overflowing ward, the homeless of the galaxy. He sighed. "With our day-to-day worries, it's easy to forget that other people are out there fighting to give us homes to go back to. But you're right, we're all in this together." He clapped Garrus on the shoulder. "I'll have my people contact yours and make the trade."
"Thank you, Tactus. Good luck."
"Same to you, Vakarian."
On his way down from the ward, his elevator stopped and Commander Bailey got on. "Garrus. I heard the Normandy was in port."
"Got in this morning. I have to say, I'm impressed. You've got the place back up and running a lot faster than I thought you could."
"We've patched the internal security breaches, but we're dangerously low on manpower. There's a lot of praying, and a lot of crying, going on behind closed doors," Bailey admitted. "If Cerberus could come so close to taking over here, anything can happen, folks seem to think. And the refugees just keep coming as world after world falls to the Reapers. They're saying this is the war to end all wars."
"That could be a good thing," Garrus offered, "if it means once we win this one people have had their fill of killing each other for a generation or two."
"That's optimistic of you." Bailey shifted his stance, wincing, his hand automatically going to his side.
Garrus looked at him with concern. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"
Bailey grunted, taking his hand quickly away from his side. "It's probably the worst I've ever been hurt—but if I'm breathing, I'm working."
"When the war's over, you deserve a long vacation."
Smiling, Bailey said, "Don't we all?" Then the smile faded. "I was supposed to take a vacation—first one in years—but then I got promoted, and, well, you know how it is. I was going to see my kids on Earth, tell my ex-wife a few things I should have said a long time ago. Now—"
"They still on Earth?"
"I hope so. Somewhere. But … with the news what it is, it's harder and harder to hope."
"I know what you mean. My father and my sister are on Palaven still, or they were. I've had no news in … too long."
"Sorry to hear that. I hope you find them."
"I hope you find your family."
As the elevator slid to a stop, Bailey looked at Garrus with weary eyes. "One thing I can tell you, if I ever get another chance to take time off and go see my family—I'm going to take it. Life's too short to miss it while you're working."
"Good point," Garrus agreed. "Very good point."
