Shepard walked into Quentius' office looking more cheerful about the fact than she ever had before. He suspected this was simply the semblance of having work to do. There had been a memo from Burns not long ago requesting that the Council do its part and keep Shepard off the line for a few weeks. Nothing that would take her away from the Citadel.
Burns liked Shepard, but wasn't the sort to mollycoddle. And even if Esheel and Irissa weren't soldiers, he himself had been at one point. If Burns was saying 'let her have some time' then it must be seriously motivated.
"You put that quarian up to this, didn't you?" he asked flatly, deciding not to beat around the bush.
Shepard arched her eyebrows, then crossed her arms over her chest. "'That quarian?' I'm pretty sure she has a name," Shepard said mildly, but there was something akin to a razorblade in her expression. "In fact, her name has my ship in it, so no. I didn't put her up to anything."
Quentius found that difficult to believe, Shepard being a known sympathizer. First krogan, now quarians. What next?
Shepard apparently saw his disbelief and shrugged. Apparently, she wasn't going to waste her breath if he'd decided for himself what was what.
"I suppose I should have started with 'how are you feeling?'"
"It would have been more polite, but I'd tell you the same thing I tell everyone: I'm fine. Thank you," she answered. Then, after a pause, "I take it Tali got in to the see the Council about an Embassy?"
"She did. And I don't approve of blackmail—" Quentius hadn't meant to say it out loud, therefore it came out as a quiet grumble.
However, Shepard immediately flared up. "Are you accusing my crewman of a felony?" she demanded sharply.
Quentius winced.
"What exactly did she say?"
"I misspoke."
Shepard's lips compressed into a thin line, clearly denoting he'd done more than 'misspoke.' "You don't like quarians. Why?"
He was beginning to wonder why he thought talking to Shepard would help with anything. She would be the first to admit that she was a soldier, not a diplomat, even if she did have remarkable skill in handling people. Her crews were usually a testimony to this skill.
"Help me understand, Councilor. Because that's where these conversations usually go—'well, you just don't understand.'"
Quentius regarded the Spectre. "Shepard, I know that you're a good soldier. And I know that, within certain bounds, you're equally good with people. The galaxy is a big place, and a lot of the orderly running of it relies on…on an understood status quo."
"The Citadel Council, keepingthe peons in their places?"
Quentius counted to six.
"Councilor, if I may. This isn't humanity screaming for a Council seat right after we got an Embassy. The quarians, and the krogan for that matter, had an Embassy at one time. Which means that, at one time, both peoples were valuable contributors to the galaxy. Then they both made mistakes. Errors in judgment. Whatever you want to call them. Now, they've resolved—to the best any of these problems have ever been—the root cause of why they were blacklisted. Grateful allies are better than resentful underlings."
"I knew you would take that line," Quentius sighed. "You're basing your arguments on a handful of exceptional individuals!"
"Punitive decisions of galactic import are made that way all the time, Councilor: the Council looks at a situation and makes a ruling. How often does that situation refer to the whole population? It usually concerns on small portion, and the rest just have to deal. All you're proving here is that the Council never forgives. Ever. That non-Council races must always remain second class. And that the fewer major players on the playground the better; everyone else can watch from the sidelines."
Quenius shook his head. "Shepard—"
"When this war is over, Councilor, a lot of people are going to be looking for answers. And the answers they might find was that the Council held them at arm's length, took more concern over Council species than anyone else's, and proved that they didn't really want to share power, the governance of this galaxy. If we win, a great enemy will be gone, and maybe—people will think—it's time to try something other than Council rule. If enough people break off…" Shepard shrugged, her tone bleak. She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "Then there goes the one element that might be considered normal and dependable in the kind of shattered galaxy we'll be cleaning up. That means real chaos."
It was an unexpected piece of insight and forethought.
"I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, Councilor. You'll do what you think is best. I am going to thank you for hearing me out, however. So, thank you. If you've no further need of me, I'll let you get on with your day."
"Your quarian friend pointed out that the quarian supply lines and production assets are still mostly intact."
Shepard arched her eyebrows. "Well, they are. The geth are helping set up groundside operations, and they're also handling system security."
Quentius knew she knew what that meant. Dextros were the minority in the galaxy and, while turians had been producing their own foodstuffs, they tended not to rely on outsiders. For outside assets to convert from preparing levo food to dextro food, the concerns about cross-contamination for both sides when both foods were manufactured in the same building, and the simple fact that there were fewer dextros than levos—making levo food production more immediate…there was a distinct possibility that the turians would find themselves on the short end of the stick. "What would you do?"
"I'd make sure I had grateful allies rather than vengeful enemies. Because you can only eat one bullet." The words were hard, but her tone was gentle.
"Thank you, Shepard. That will be all."
