Chapter 7: The Changeling
If Steven Hackett hated dress blues for any single reason it was the lack of pockets. With nowhere to put his hands, he'd taken to clasping his hands behind his back, an old-time gesture that felt vaguely ridiculous to him, like a fraud acting the part of grim war leader.
The awkward displacement was made worse by the feeling that he was trespassing aboard the Hyderabad. The cruiser was not one of the 63rd Scout Flotilla, it was not even part of the Fifth Fleet. Yet, here he was, like a raccoon that had snuck in through a catflap, surrounded by officers slightly bewildered by his presence.
He understood the reason they'd picked the Hyderabad for this meeting, the recruitment posters back on Earth still showed an artist's conception of the Alliance cruiser blasting batarian pirates into space dust over Alsages. It was a textbook reminder to the galaxy that humanity was not unprepared for war.
Hackett wanted to know why he was there, amongst the diplomats. Rear Admirals generally don't get pulled from command to stand-in for their superiors. The Fifth Fleet Admiral Hiawatha Brant should've been here. Hackett should've been overseeing the redployment his flotilla instead of throwing Commodore Mikhailovich into the deep end of full command while he hobnobbed.
This all had the stink of a promotion.
The starboard hangar had been cleared of all non-essential equipment in preparation for the big meeting. They'd brought a long, wooden table from off-ship and draped it with two diamonds of blue and white cloth, crowding it with chairs. Overhead, the gantries used for hauling fighters bore three large flags.
The five-armed sigil of the Citadel Council, black on a gray field. To its left was the blue- and-white of the Systems Alliance Navy. Taking up the right end was a flag Hackett had never before seen. The field was dark wine, with pastel-lavender script running in a diagonal slant, and a triangular shape in purple.
"Rear Admiral," a woman's voice called over from the table, "we've got the Council Representatives finishing their own prep down the hall, the Quarians are about to come through from the Citadel Relay. Huddle-up and let's go over a few things while it's still just us humans in the room."
Anita Goyle had celebrated her 66th birthday a few weeks prior but the rapid bio-medical advancement of the last half-century kept her back straight, her hands steady, and her posture prim as a twenty-year-old's. Her hair was a startling silver and her face had not aged a day since Hackett last met her in-person three years ago. Her eyes, however, were twice her apparent age.
Hackett's eyes flickered to her right shoulder. A solitary figure fully armored in jet-black and blood-red rested their shoulders against a wall. The white lettering on the right breast proclaimed what the soldier's quiet demeanor suggested.
An N7?
"Are introductions necessary?" The man seated next to Goyle smiled, dressed in a white, high-collared suit, it's Turian-design the height of Post-Contact fashion.
"Rear Admiral Hackett and I have stumbled across each on Arcturus Station once or twice. Steven, how are you?" Hackett's mouth quirked at the Colonial Ambassador's familiarity.
"Ready for action, Ambassador Udina. We've been on patrol across the Verge since Mindoir fell. How's Elysium taking it?" Udina offered a wry smile.
"Obviously, new settlement plans have ground to a complete halt, but the economy is still good. The Palaven Trade Commission representative, I think you met him once, a Volus named Doz Qot, assures me none of the Council races plan to pull out anytime soon. His words were: 'If we ran for the hills at every Batarian pirate raid we'd turn no profit.'"
"I believe the Rear Admiral might've been referring to the people of Elysium," the N7 spoke up suddenly, voice distorted by his helmet, "not the open market." Udina's smile flickered.
"I'm sorry," Udina said gently, "who are you again? I was under the impression Alec Ryder was the Ambassador's personal attaché." Goyle cut in.
"Gentlemen? Put the rulers away and zip up your pants, we've got work to do here." Her sharp eyes regarded them all across her linked fingers. "Ambassador Udina, let's go over the vocabulary to avoid." Udina produced a pair of half-moon spectacles and read aloud from a datapad.
"In general," Udina cleared his throat, "let's not use words like 'alien', 'nomad', 'suit-rat'-"
"Apparently you have a very low opinion of me, Ambassador," Hackett said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
Udina didn't even look up from his datapad, "I'm sure you have no prejudice personally, but humanity didn't get where it has been by an underabundance of caution. Non-starters include any discussion of the Geth, the workings of the Migrant Fleet, or immune-systems." He scrolled down his datapad. "With regards to the Citadel representatives take care around words like 'slow', 'blank', any references to bovines or elephants."
"Ambassador Calyn," Goyle said at Hackett's slack-jawed stare, "is overseeing this meeting as a neutral party representing the Citadel Council. Did you think we're orbiting Dekuuna for the lovely green glow?" Hackett nodded. Elcor. This is going to be interesting.
"Moving on. 'Orphan', 'foundling, 'Changeling,'-"
"Alright, just a minute," Hackett cut in, "what species are those last three in reference to?"
"Jane Shepard," Goyle said, "we're not interested in gaffes on any front."
Changeling? Hackett worked his jaw silently.
"Furthermore, let's avoid 'sorry', 'apologize', or 'blame'. No platitudes about guilt, remorse, or fault." Hackett's confusion vanished under a sudden surge of anger.
"We can't say what happened on Mindoir wasn't her fault?"
"Oh, by all means," Udina waved his hand, "tell Jane she's not responsible but avoid taking that responsibility on yourself. Or, especially, the Systems Alliance."
"It was our fault," the N7 said, the slim black glass of his visor was angled up towards the flags. "It was our fault, Ambassador." Udina looked at Goyle for help. The Human Ambassador's eyelid twitched slightly, and she breathed deep before speaking.
"Here's what my day looks like," she said quietly, "I am being asked to conduct an Official Recognition of a semi-legal government towards which every diplomat I've met on the Citadel is either openly prejudiced, quietly prejudiced, or eager to forget exists. At the same time my secretary, who just had a baby, is fielding about a hundred FOIA requests a minute from every newspaper, political newsletter, academic journal, and any number of extranet pod-casters."
"Someone talked," Hackett grimaced, "there was a leak?" Goyle silenced him with a gesture.
"I have to thank the Quarian representatives for their actions, tacitly admitting that we shit the bed protecting our own people, while asking them for the information we don't have regarding this attack, tacitly admitting that we shit the bed again. Exchange gifts, lie about the SA keeping their ongoing exile in mind, and wish them a safe return. End meeting." Goyle drummed her fingers on the tablecloth. "And then the hard part of my day starts. Because thanks to the marvels of space-travel I'll be back in my office on the Citadel within an hour."
She held up one finger.
"First Call. Alexei Smith, current Prime Minister of the Parliament on Arcturus." She held up a second finger. "Second Call. Tristan Palmerstone, chair of the Defense Committee. Third Call. Horatio van Morgan, chair of the Colonial Affairs Committee." She dropped all three fingers. "And let's save time and say I'll be speaking to everyone except the Colonial Arts Committee chair because she's having her wisdom teeth removed." Hackett shuffled in his seat. "And after that? After that I get to call every significant politician on Earth, juggling timezones so they all think I talked to them first thing. I'd like those to be quick, painless conversations."
The hangar was silent for a long moment.
"And somewhere, in all of that, I have to look a twelve-year-old girl in the face and, knowing she's lost about everything she has to lose in this cold, uncaring whirlpool of gas we call the Milky Way, promise that everything is going to be fine now." Goyle folded her hands and sat up straight. "Mea culpa doesn't quite fit into my schedule. Political maneuvering may seem utterly ridiculous to some of you but it has its uses. Luckily I'll handle it for you."
The N7 was still as the statue of the First Fallen Memorial on Shanxi. Hackett's jaw clicked as he clenched his teeth.
"And yes," Goyle said, "yes, it was our fault. Let's make this as normal a day as we can manage." She sighed. "We don't know who talked. There's only so much you can rely on oaths and NDAs to keep people quiet. A survivor of Mindoir? A little girl at that? It was bound to happen, part of me wishes I'd gone with my gut instinct and set an anonymous tip to a reliable outlet, but the news was so recent it hardly seemed worth the trouble."
"So, Changeling?" Hackett asked. Udina put his glasses away.
"A piece in the West Connacht Herald," he sighed, "a small but supremely tenacious publication back on Earth was the first to circulate the story that a survivor from Mindoir had been discovered. The ending sentence was some literary drivel. 'One can only imagine the story this child has to tell of their time aboard the Migrant Fleet, transported like the Changeling of myth to new, spectacular surroundings.'"
"It's a trending topic now," Goyle sighed, "right underneath a lot of concerning remarks about Quarians. I've said this before, the average person has absolutely no interest in educating themselves."
"Lucky there hasn't been an incident," Hackett said.
"Luck?" Udina scoffed. "I made a few calls after we learned about the survivor and, wouldn't you know it, quite a lot of young Quarians working on our colonies, on Earth itself even, suddenly decided to seek employment options elsewhere in the last two months."
"Centuries of ostracism must've taught them well," the N7 said, "makes sense to me why they'd prioritize their people over ours." Udina frowned. "You disagree?"
"Actionable intel delivered quickly would've been of greater value to me than all the sensible intentions in the universe. They chose to delay and that costs us." The Ambassador shrugged. "On the other hand, we're enjoying tremendous goodwill as the victims of an unprovoked terrorist attack. Videos of helpless Quarians getting eviscerated by angry human mobs wouldn't be helpful right now. The headlines tomorrow will give our 'Changeling's' rescuers more credit than the Alliance itself, that should cool tempers."
Knots on knots. Hackett thought.
"And then we can focus on the actual problem of a war brewing on our frontier," Goyle said, "expect Ambassador Calyn to urge caution and hesitation. Do not expect any promises of military support."
"I'm not in the habit of relying on someone else's soldiers," Hackett said stiffly.
"We sure as hell could use them right now," Goyle snapped, "whatever your habits. I know our strength and how thinly we're stretched right now, Rear Admiral, so please don't leverage your pride on me. Not today." She withdrew a small white case from under the table and slid it to him, it stopped under Hackett's hand.
His eyebrow twitched upwards at the gold engraving of the Systems Alliance symbol and flipped it open. Inside a pair of gold bars laid neatly in parallel atop blue cushioning, another set to add to his epaulettes. To Hackett's mind he might as well have found a pair of waiting scorpions.
"No," he said, snapping the case shut and sliding it away, "I flatly refuse to accept this."
"There's-" Udina began.
"With respect, Ambassador," Hackett said, "I couldn't care less what your input is." He rose from his seat, holding Goyle's flat glare. "Hiawatha Brant is the father of the Fifth Fleet. The Father of Human Space Warfare. When I was still tagging bodegas in Buenos Aires, he perfected Orbit-to-Surface Troop Landing in Marwth Vallis on Mars. Less than twenty-four hours after Shanxi fell, he invented the Sol System Defense Procedure. He-"
"Received the Mark of Respect from the Palaven Archive of Galactic Conflicts," Goyle said, sounding slightly bored, "oversaw the first wave of settlement in the Skyllian Verge. Won the Motown Youth Talent Contest two years running as a teenager with a band his sister made called the 'Tygers'." Anita Goyle tapped her thumbs together. "A long, fulfilling career. Nothing to be ashamed of at its end."
"He followed Citadel Maritime Law," Hackett said, feeling himself losing the fire he'd had a moment before, "he did everything right."
"I imagine the girl doesn't feel that way," Udina said. Goyle's eyes flashed in his direction and Udina went quiet.
"Whatever opinions circulate in the next few weeks," she slid the box back across the table, "your promotion was the Admiral's personal request in exchange for stepping down."
"I never wanted-"
"Too bad," Goyle said, "now, please, if you'd accept those bars? You can have them stitched on later." Hackett took his seat, cursing his lack of pockets once more, and had to fold his hands over the box, resenting it all the more.
"Suppose Mikhailovich will be getting promoted next," he grunted.
"We can leave that to you, Admiral Hackett," Goyle said, "after all I'm not part of the military. Just the Embassy. Congratulations on your promotion."
A moment of chilly silence followed, broken by the pinging of Goyle's omnitool. She answered it on an earpiece. Her face wrinkled with annoyance.
"Well, for God's sake, stand them down! Does it match the ID code we sent them? Then who gives a shit whether it looks Turian? Let it through." She ended that call to begin another. Her voice switched, pleasant and warm, totally mismatching her tired expression. "Calyn, the diplomats have just come through the Mass Relay. We have the hangar all set up for you whenever you're ready." She laughed without smiling. "Oh, you move fast enough, my friend, especially when those Galactic Scouts sell cookies by the Council Tower. See you in a few minutes." She hung up, smoothing out her clothes with a practiced ease.
"Is her father ready?" She asked.
"He's in the rec-room on the first crew deck. That Colonial Affairs shuttle crew is keeping him company." Hackett shrugged. "I offered him the on-ship therapist and the child specialist we brought in, but he was adamant about meeting her one-on-one first. Seemed eager. Nervous. But who wouldn't be?
"We're not handing the girl over to an abuser or anything, correct?" Udina frowned at the question.
"I do have some cunning, Ambassador," he straightened his cuff, "Matthew Park has two drunk-and-disorderlies from his early twenties back on Earth. One domestic complaint, but that was a non-physical argument with Jennifer Shepard shortly after she got her degree in Construction Management from South Dakota Tech. He did a few mining jobs out of the Asteroid Belts, then he vanishes. Found him working out of the offices for a suspected wild-cat company run by some Turian cast-off. Not a role model by any means but hardly-"
"What's a 'non-physical argument'," the N7's helmet crackled, "you got more than that I hope? Domestic abuse is about as red a flag as I can imagine." Udina scowled at the armored soldier, turning fully in his seat.
"By all accounts," he raised his voice slightly, "it was a nosy neighbor overhearing a young couple's break-up. Jennifer Shepard wanted to pursue opportunities off-world and Matthew Park did not. If he'd laid one finger on her I'd have made different arrangements but I am trying to give this child some kind of a normal life!" Udina calmed down after a moment, and awkwardly turned his seat back to the table. "Please excuse my outburst. I am not as confident as I'd like to be about all this, but I have a network in place. CPS on Elysium already has instructions to watch the two of them closely and preform wellness checks. Park seems a decent man if not a perfect father. He certainly takes this very seriously, I'm sure of that."
"They'll have a private reunion either way," Goyle waved her hand, "not a priority. Admiral, I'm relying on you to escort our Quarian guests when they arrive." She plastered on a smile as the doors opened, admitting a bevy of Alliance soldiers, a guard of Turians wearing C-Sec colors and a lumbering, slate-gray shape. Under her breath, Hackett heard her mutter. "God, I wish I hadn't quit smoking."
Hana'Nur vas Shepherd was used to being watched. Quarians had to expect some level of surveillance at all times. Cops having a bad day. Store clerks on edge. Anyone, of any species, looking for an easy target. She caught the first pair of eyes she could and stared right back. The human looked away. Most everyone did rather than face her strange silver visor.
Uli'Rann walked down the Shepherd's gangway with Jane's backpack slung over one shoulder, ridiculous on his large frame. He looked up when the hangar doors as it slid open to admit, unsurprisingly, yet more humans.
"Quite a welcome," Uli said, "Jane should be happy about that."
"Hmm."
"So, they're sending some kind of Admiral to meet us?"
"Not like ours, Uli. He'll just be a soldier."
"Right, they have so many people already they don't have to double up," Uli said. After a pause he added. "I guess this is goodbye, jaa?" She took him in; his broad shoulders sagging, the slight downturn of his luciferous eyes, and the telling fidget of either toe on his left foot, shifting pointlessly.
"Uli'Rann," she sighed, "what else can be done?"
"I know."
"The best the Migrant Fleet could offer is barely what the meanest of humanity could give her."
"I know."
"This is the right thing to do," Hana said.
"I know, Hana," Uli huffed, "I still feel like the minute I stop watching her something bad will happen." His hand tightened around the backpack sling like someone had threatened to take it. "It's harder than I thought it'd be."
"I understand." Uli flicked the side of his helmet.
"Ayyyy," he said, "Hana, I'm sorry, I wasn't-"
"Don't be." She shrugged, pushing away an onrush of unwelcome memories. Hands against rak-magn. 'Ima!' The first word spoken through a crackling speaker. Silver eyes smiling behind a visor. The blue haze falling, the sudden heat, the sudden cold. Stars winking through a cloud of debris. She pushed it away.
"It's better this way, Uli."
"Welcome aboard the Hyderabad," the lead human halted at a polite distance.
"Shalu'se, I am Captain Hana'Nur vas Shepherd of the Migrant Fleet."
"Uli'Rann vas Gorach," Uli said, slightly less chipper than usual, "shalu'se." The man smiled.
"Rear-Admir…" he cleared his throat, "Admiral Steven Hackett, Fifth Fleet, Systems Alliance Navy," he said, "that's a fine vessel you have out there, Captain. Turian?"
"My fine vessel is right here," she tapped her heel against the Shepherd's hull, "'Captain' might mean something a little different between our peoples, Admiral." Hackett nodded once, unperturbed and deeply interested in the Shepherd herself.
"A human ship. That's a man-carrier. Corvette. Sturdy too. How long has she been in service?"
"Five years before I got her. Makes it about thirteen total. She's still a baby." A soft, disbelieving chuckle slipped from the man. He nodded to the nearest ship, roughly the size and shape of her own. Sleeker, deadlier, with the blue and white colors of the Alliance along her prow.
"Same design as the corvettes we got. Good to know they've got your approval."
"She's a good ship," Hana said, "I improved her though."
"I can imagine, if she lasted eight years in constant use. We could use someone with that kind of experience," Hackett laughed softly to himself, "I'm getting ahead of myself."
"Does your Navy accept non-human recruits?" Hana saw the conflict on his face. "Our Fleet hasn't exactly made a habit of accepting outsiders. I wouldn't be offended."
"We're still new to this Galaxy," Hackett said, "finding our feet."
"What a funny phrase," Uli said, "they're at the end of your legs, jaa?"
Hackett's response to that was cut off by the arrival, untrumpeted and anticlimactic, of Jane. She jogged down the ramp and a movement rippled through the humans. A near audible intake of breath.
"There it is," Jane made grabby hands up at Uli, "I was looking for my backpack forever!"
"Jane," Hana took the girl's attention with a gentle touch on her shoulder, "there's some people here who've been waiting to meet you."
"Huh?" Jane spun around, under her sudden scrutiny, the soldiers stood up straighter and their commander disciplined his face into a strong, yet warm, smile. "Oh…hi."
"Jane Shepard," Hackett said, solemn and historic, "we're glad to see you home."
"Thanks, I guess," Jane said, turning away at once, "the Admirals are almost ready." Hana'Nur pointed at her own visor.
"You can take your envirosuit off now, Jane," the girl hesitated a moment, "unless there's something amiss?"
"I…no," she said, fiddling with the seals on her helmet, "I have everything off the Shepherd. I don't need to go back on, I guess. No decon anymore, right?"
Ah, Jane. I'll miss you too.
The girl had gotten very good at taking off her own envirosuit. The keepsake around Jane's neck slid over her head when she bent to unclasp her ankle seals. Plastic-beads tinkled against the hangar floor and landed by the tip of a polished shoe. Admiral Hackett picked up the necklace, sharp eyes curious.
"I'm guessing that's Quarian written on this?" He held it out to Jane. The girl took it back with the small, defensive movements of a stray kitten confronted by a large dog.
"Khelish," Jane said, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe.
"What's it say?" Hackett asked, unphased by Jane's attitude.
"Klenna," Jane rolled one hexagonal prism between her fingers, smiling, "it means 'sister'."
"Jane has become very special to some of us," Hana'Nur said. Uli'Rann stepped forward to collect Jane's envirosuit, folding it up and handing it off to an Alliance Ensign. Then, bereft of purpose, he floated slowly back to stand by Hana. She could feel the fringe of his anxiety, suddenly othered by the number of humans around them.
The Admirals emerged from the Shepherd, escorted by Kal'Reegar and Yun'Razi. Yun cast her eye across the assembled humans while Kal seemed about to rise up on his toes like a cornered animal.
Hana introduced them in turn, making space for Zaal'Korris and Shala'Rann in the center of their gathering. An unwelcome instinct made her watch the Alliance soldiers for any signs of twitchy, sudden movements.
"Admiral Steven Hackett," the man nodded back the way he'd come, "Admirals, I'm sorry to rush you but our diplomats are waiting just down the way."
"What do I have to do?" Jane asked.
"Nothing today, Miss Shepard," Hackett said, "we've got your father waiting to meet you just down below us. In a few hours you two will be on your way to Elysium."
"Her…" Uli said.
"My dad?!" Jane sounded completely incredulous. Hana's shoulder itched suddenly but she ignored it. Not everything had to be a problem.
This is Jane's chance for a normal life. Don't spoil the goodbye with your suspicion.
Silver eyes behind a visor. A hand reaching out.
Enough. The dead aren't coming back…
Hackett had been preparing for the girl to shrink inwards when confronted by so many people, human and alien alike, waiting for her at the table. He'd even readied a few gentle words of encouragement. Few kids could handle that much attention from strangers.
Jane Shepard, he was realizing, was made of different stuff. She had the Elcor Ambassador asking questions for a solid ten minutes.
"Hang on," Jane stared up into the good-natured slab of Calyn's face, "what does your translator tell you I'm saying? You know, emotionally?"
"With Patience: All non-elcor statements are translated through an ocular display supplemented by a rhinological program to further enhance sensory information." Ambassador Calyn's black eyes reflected Jane's face like two fun-house mirrors, "Summarizing: When you speak, an Elcor face is superimposed over yours through a complex VI projector, while small small doses of common pheromones are released in tandem. With Pride: Our people have a language all their own. One spoken in scent." Jane sniffed the air. "Bemused: You cannot smell them. You are not an Elcor."
"So, the projection. What do I look like as an elcor? Small? Like a kid?" The Ambassador blinked once. Which might have been the elcor equivalent of a frustrated scream.
"Seeking Help: Perhaps someone else would like to introduce themselves?"
"Miss Shepard," Ambassador Udina tried a fatherly smile, "can I call you 'Jane'?"
"Sure?" Jane shrugged, cocking an eyebrow.
"Jane, my name is Donnel Udina. I'm privileged to be the Colonial Ambassador for Elysium and the outlying colonies-"
"Oh!" Jane perked up. "Yeah, I know you. You're on the Diaspora News Network a bunch, aren't you?" Udina's gentle laughter was pleased.
"When I find the limited time to speak with the press. All good impressions, I hope?"
"My mom didn't like you."
"Jane," the Quarian with the silver visor said.
"I'm not saying I don't like him," Jane crossed her arms, "he asked."
"Diversity, of opinion especially, is the great cornerstone of Humanity," Udina's laughter was less pleased now, "I'm always glad to know my stances provoke reactions of any kind. It means they're worthwhile." Jane's eyes slid to Hackett.
"You missed my name, didn't you?" Hackett said. "Admiral Steven Hackett."
"And you?" Jane asked someone, then frowned at the silence that followed. "Hey, you in the armor! Who are you?" She drew attention to the N7, largely forgotten behind the gathering of the powerful. The helmet turned to look at her, black visor shining with reflected light.
"I'm an N7," he said, "assigned to assist-"
"That's not a name," Jane said, quirking one red eyebrow.
"You can call me Captain," the voice was difficult to parse but Hackett thought there was a playful lilt to the static.
"Whatever," Jane scoffed, rolling her eyes, "don't tell me then. You're so cool."
"Klenda," Shala'Rann said, "please, don't be rude."
"He started it…"
"Admiral," Goyle's voice cut through the air, stealing the spotlight back, "would you please present Humanity's gift?" The Quarian in the red-suit, Kal-Something, had a book pressed against his chest like it was a protective talisman.
"I would be honored," Hackett repeated his scripted lines and picked up the immense leather-bound book on the table.
"This," Goyle said, as Hackett approached, "is a celebrated compilation of Earth's most treasured cultural tales." Uli'Rann made an interested sound and Hana'Nur elbowed him. "The Epic of Gilgamesh. Beowulf. Journey to the West. To name just three." Goyle pursed her lips. "Many of the precepts inside these stories have guided our people from bonfires in the wild to the distant suns of deep space." Zaal'Koris accepted the book with a polite incline of his head.
Kal stepped forward and presented Hackett with his book. They exchanged the symbolic gifts; Hackett felt the clear age and weathering under his fingers. Guilt crept into him as he considered the factory-standard book he'd handed over, ordinary as the kind sold in airport kiosks on Earth. By comparison the Quarians had given up one of their true artifacts.
"We present this copy of The Naru-Rannoch and a digital translation into…," Shala'Rann paused for a split-second, "English. This is a history of our people before and after the Geth Uprising. So much is written about us from outside the Fleet. We ask only to be understood in our own words as well."
"It means 'Children of Rannoch'," Jane piped, "just since nobody here knows that."
"Thank you, Jane," Anita Golye said, "is there anything further we can do to assist the Migrant Fleet? In any way?" It was a careful deception put on by both parties. No-one needed the Council knowing the first overtures between Earth and the Fleet had happened without their permission.
"If it is at all possible," Zaal'Koris said, the very picture of humility, "we would be forever indebted to the Systems Alliance if they facilitate the purchase of several granger-units?"
"We'll hear nothing of purchasing, Admiral, we're too much in your debt to demand money," Goyle said sternly, "Ambassador Udina?" Udina feigned surprise at being addressed. "I'd like you to work with Admiral Zaal'Koris. Determine exactly what he needs."
Hackett knew the Admiral needed three-hundred 2165 Series Auto-Farming Hubs manufactured by Da Nang Settlement Supply Inc. Enough granger-units to start a dozen human colonies.
"Of course," Udina said solemnly, like he hadn't argued passionately against the idea. Amidst the lies, the slight quiver in Zaal'Korris's voice when he spoke was painfully honest.
"This will more than save lives. It will secure a future for many yet unborn. As the Civilian Fleet Admiral I cannot thank you enough. Se'havta zakr, Ambassador Goyle. Ambassador Udina."
I promise to remember, Hackett's translator told him. There weren't even twenty million of their people left in the whole galaxy. How much did the potential extinction of your own species weigh on you, day-to-day? Hackett took it as a blessing he'd never have to find that out himself.
"We cannot accept such kindness without some repayment," Shala'Rann vas Tonbay said, "as Admiral of the Patrol Fleet I am at liberty to release reports on several unnamed star systems that could prove valuable the Alliance. We, of course, have no claim to them. It is a poor gift. Our apologies."
"No apologies, Admiral," Udina said, a satisfied smile curling onto his face, "we are simply honored to have such valuable material provided with no danger to our own scouts. Especially at this turbulent time in our colonizing efforts. It is we who are humbled by your generosity."
Udina had never quite admitted what these 'unnamed' systems had but he'd heard a few rumblings about a potential Eezo deposit off the shoulder of Attican Beta. Large enough to draw the attention of the Department of Resource Recovery back on Earth.
"It is my honor to be the first point of contact with the people of Rannoch and the Migrant Fleet," Anita Goyle said.
"Pleased: I am very happy that this introduction could begin so well," Ambassador Calyn droned, "perhaps now we can move onto the unfortunate matter of the attack. Honest: Aside from the Citadel Archives, the Central Archives of Dekuuna will keep a physical record of any discussions going forward. These records will be inaccessible to public review for five-hundred galactic Standard Years, outside of potential legal proceedings."
Five hundred years! Hackett shook his head. No wonder Goyle pushed for their involvement. Not likely to leave any openings. I'd heard the Elcor were conservative but…
Udina spoke up suddenly. "On that note, the Elysium Office of Colonial Affairs wishes to extend all members of the Quarian trade mission a formal thanks for their heroic rescue of a Systems Alliance citizen. Medals of Merit. Perhaps to be received on Elysium?" There was the subtlest change of atmosphere, the Quarians stiffened slightly.
"We are honored," Shala'Rann said, "but I'm afraid those individuals are unable to leave the Fleet for any extended period of time."
Don't use the wrong vocabulary. Hackett thought grimly. But laying down a transparent attempt to get the witnesses alone on a human colony? That's fine. Goyle's face was frightening in how little it changed.
"Of course," Udina said, "we understand." The Quarian delegation accepted that with quiet courtesy.
Jane would admit she was barely half-listening to the big conversation going on behind her. She tried to take in the entire hangar, absolutely dying to ask questions.
What did the Khelish on the Quarian flag say? How long could Ambassador Calyn stand to be in human controlled gravity? How had they found her dad? Did he really want her now?
"Got something on your mind?" A heavy, slightly distorted voice asked. The N7, the Captain, was there at her shoulder, having moved with unsettling grace and silence for someone so armored. Jane shook off her surprise.
"Yeah, why'd they bother doing all this stuff? Just for me?" The slim visor considered her for a second.
"No," he shook his head, Jane frowned, "there's a lot of scared people on Earth. On Elysium. Lot of people who want answers or at least the to feel like everything isn't completely out of control. This meeting will make things seem more secure." Jane didn't exactly like that answer but it felt honest. "Excited to meet your father?"
"My dad…" Jane put her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in both hands, "…my dad didn't want me." The man rested an arm on the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"Well," he said, "I can't speak for a change of heart, Jane Shepard. But we found him and we brought him in. He seems like he wants to try to do right by you now."
Her mom hadn't been overly kind to Matthew Park, but she hadn't made him out to be a monster. 'Selfish' was the word Jennifer Shepard used before, inevitably, grimacing and amending it to 'just not good at taking responsibility'.
What if she woke up one day and he was gone? What if she was alone again? What if this was all a gigantic mistake?
"Jane?" The man asked. "Are you ok?"
"That's a stupid question," she said, "what do you think?"
"I think you've put up with a lot," he said in a hush, then slid a plastic slip from a pocket on his armor, "you ever need help send me a message." It had a URL string on it for direct extranet contact. Jane took the slip into one hand, drawing back into her seat, and looked at him askance from behind her red hair.
"Why didn't anyone come to Mindoir? I was hiding in a water tank for two days before Uli found me." He put one fingertip down on the table, then dragged it across white cloth.
"Here," he tapped a spot, "is where the detail guarding your Mass Relay was when the batarians swarmed into your system. There was a distress call from a batarian diplomat's ship, a fake one it turned out, and they were dispatched to investigate. Old trick. Oldest trick there is. And we fell for it."
"They killed everyone…"
"They didn't want to leave anybody behind to tell the tale." The man shook his head. "They failed. You're still here." Jane curled her lip back.
"There leader has a yellow circle tattoo right here," she tapped her forehead, "some of them carried weird guns."
"'Weird'?" He asked. Jane shut her eyes.
It was early, early morning. She was pouting on the edge of the blacktop out back behind the school, rolling the argument she'd had with her mom over and over again in her head.
The first bell rang. Miss Talvert was late for her biotic lesson.
Pop-pop-pop. Out towards the far fields where the day-shift workers were checking the granger-units. Pop-pop-pop. Someone was laughing off in the high grass at the end of the blacktop.
"Hello?" Jane sat up, then stood as the laughing came closer. 'Haaa-ha-haaaaaaaa.' The grass parted and a man stumbled forward. He screeched and laughed again. "Ha! Ha…help!" Not laughing, she realized. Not laughing at all. The noise he made was agonized.
His hands grabbed at the concrete base of a floodlight, dragging himself up, hugging the pole like he loved it.
"Haaaa," he said, "haaaa-aah, god, oh Jesus, it hurts!" His leg. There was something through his leg. She heard a strange, metal sigh. The man's arms clung to the pole tight then went slack but he didn't slide away. A long, shining stick poked out between his shoulder blades, the concrete under his chest ran with blood.
"Wh-what?" She asked the cool morning air. Out of the grass stepped a man in armor with a strange helmet. Four bright lights on the front found her in an instant.
"Skra," a rough voice speaking a spikey language, he tilted his head to the right, then raised his gun, "Ud'ul zahash."
"Me?" She didn't understand why he'd point a gun at her of all people. There was a something in the barrel. A spear. The weapon sighed. The bolt was there, inches from her face, trembling in a blue haze. The man gasped.
"Modrbes!"
"'Blue devil' is right, you four-eyed shit!" The bolt turned, launched and the man was coughing, static crackling around a gargled noise. A curtain of blood unfurled down his front from the bolt in his neck. He crumpled like he forgot how to stand.
"Jane!" Hands spun her in place. Miss Talvert looked her over, her tanned face set into a frightening mask, a splash of dark red bringing out her old, blue eyes.
"You're bleeding!" Jane yelled.
"Not my blood, kiddo. Inside, right now!" Jane was yanked towards the school.
"Bolts," Jane said, "long guns that fired bolts or arrows or something."
"Kishock rifles," the N7 said, "meant to cull the adult population." He looked at her hands and Jane uncurled them from the little white ridges she'd dug into the tablecloth. "We don't have to talk about this now-"
"I want to," Jane's teeth found the edge of her lip, "when you find them…you'll kill them, right?" The N7 didn't say a word. "They can't get away with it." She met him stare for stare.
"Jane," he said, "I want to help you move on from this if I can-"
"Find them then," she snapped, slamming her palms onto the table, "and kill them like they killed my mom!" The conversation behind her stopped and Jane became aware of every eye in the room. The black pearls in the faces of the Elcor, the bird-of-prey regard of his Turian escort, the humans with irises of every color, the lights like stars behind Quarian visors.
Hana's hand settled gently on her back.
"I think, perhaps, we'd better leave it there," she said.
"That's for the best," the N7 said, "Jane, if you're ready, you can meet your father." Hana's fingers tensed at the word. Jane was stretched, worn-out like she'd run a mile without stopping.
"Yeah," she said, "sure, whatever." Her dad. Matthew Park. Might as well meet him, he was all she had now. Hana's hand lifted from her back and she shivered, suddenly cold. "You'll come with me, right? You and Uli?"
For an instant she was certain Hana would refuse, would laugh at her. She was a burden and nothing more. A rescue mission completed. She felt stupid for thinking Hana cared…then, when alien fingers touched her cheek, she felt stupid for thinking Hana didn't care.
"Of course, klenda. Admiral Rann? Admiral Koris? Can you spare us for a bit?" The Admirals and the Ambassadors made their way over to the table, Jane slid from her chair and resisted the silly urge to hide behind Hana. Uli strolled over, unperturbed, eyes wrinkling with a smile all for her.
The Admirals took the news of Jane's father with pleased, if surprised, well-wishes.
"You're leaving already?" Jane said, hating how she sounded. They had their people to think about and she was here. Safe. It was over. Shala'Rann plucked at the necklace she wore.
"You'll always have a connection to us, Jane," she said, "and, remember, you're a part of our story now. Part of our history." That was nice, she supposed, but that didn't make getting left alone any easier.
"Thanks, Admiral Shala'Rann vas Tonbay. Thanks, Admiral Zaal'Korris vas Qwib-Qwib," Jane said. Hackett excused himself from the delegation, leaving the diplomats to take the table.
"Courteously: The Democratic Congress of Dekunna is honored to provide this esteemed gathering with its hospitality." Calyn said, "Aspirational: The Systems Alliance should feel at liberty to request our mediation in any future contacts."
"Thank you, Calyn," Anita Goyle said, "Admirals, if you're prepared, we'd can discuss the incident." Incident, Jane flinched. "The preliminary reports we've received have been greatly appreciated but obviously we'd like to get as many first-hand accounts as we can."
An Ensign introduced himself, but Jane wasn't listening anymore, she'd entered a fugue of uncertainty. She fiddled with her necklace all the way into the sleek, stainless steel elevator and barely noticed the servicemen that passed them by on the crew deck.
Laughter pulled her awake and she blinked as the white doors opened to a lounge centered around a large pool table covered in blue fabric with the white stars of the Systems Alliance patterned in the center. Four humans crowded around it.
"Eyes closed," a man was laughing, "come on, Nashville, put up some money, flyboy. Eyes closed. Corner pocket. Off the cushion." The shooter was leaned forward over the far end of the pool table, lank reddish hair framing a weathered face. His eyes were shut tight.
There was a smattering of disbelieving laughter and the snap of billiards meeting. A heavy thunk made the man smile, and two metal incisors winked in his mouth. He opened cool, blue eyes and met Jane's. His smile faltered.
"Hey," he said, the confidence in his voice wavering, the room's attention shifted to Jane and the Quarians, "uh, try not to be too disappointed, kiddo. I'm, uh, I'm your dad."
"Hi," Jane said. There was no urge to run to him and squeeze him in a hug but she wasn't ready to flee the room either. Matthew Park stood up, long fingers working the pool cue anxiously, the other folks around him backed off a step but none moved for the door.
"So…," her dad worked a thought over for a minute, "I-I'm sorry about your mom, Jane. Jenny was a strong lady. A good woman. Determined, dead-set, that kinda thing. Hell, why am I telling you that? You knew her longer than I did." His eyes darted to the pool table as if the words he wanted were scattered amongst the billiards.
"It's ok," Jane shrugged, "I know you didn't want me." He squawked a mirthless laugh, thumping the pool cue rhythmically on the steel floor.
"It's not like that. I only didn't want to be…I wasn't ready…damn it." He glanced at the Quarians flanking her. "I suppose I got you all to thank for seeing Jane safe? Uh, thanks. Matthew Park." He stepped around the table and approached them at last, revealing a thin body in new, slightly rumpled, clothing. An untucked button-up shirt hung down over plain brown khakis. Jane glanced the tattoos on his arms as he awkwardly shook Uli's hand and then reached out to Hana.
She kept her arms resolutely crossed but flicked one finger at the inverted star tattooed on his right wrist.
"I've seen that mark before," she raised, "a company out of Omega isn't it? Wild-cat miners if I'm not mistaken. Among other semi-legal things." Matthew Park grinned meekly.
"Way behind me, I swear, guys like that don't make great employers," he said, "the folks at Colonial Affairs set me…" he looked down at Jane, guilt briefly crossing his face, "set us up with a two-year lease on an apartment on Elysium. I've been looking for work nearby." He smiled at Jane. "Found a garage with a mechanic opening not ten minutes from the front door. Good hours too."
"We're gonna live on Elysium?"
"You ever been?"
"Yeah," Jane tapped herself on the back of her neck, "I had to go there for my implant surgery."
"I take it they've briefed you on her needs as a biotic?" Hana's voice was low and unoffensive, which made Jane break out in goosebumps. "Checking her readings? Keeping the amps updated?"
"I admit I'm still learning," Park said, shrugging helplessly, "but I only knew about this ten days ago-"
"But you've known you had a daughter for twelve years," Hana said. Park's mouth quirked and he heaved a big sigh, then shot Jane a small smile.
"I got no idea how to be dad, kid, so everything this lady is saying is absolutely true. You get that, right?"
"Yeah," Jane said.
"But I'm just trying my best right now," he said, "and I'm gonna keep trying til I get this thing figured out." Uli spoke up to fill the silence, taking a seat in a large recliner near Jane.
"How are you planning to make the trip?" Her father, and it was still strange to see the person attached to that word, was caught more off-guard by that question than all of Hana's criticisms. A blond man leaning on the pool table waved one hand.
"That'll be me," he strode forward, smiling like a salesman, "Tennessee Miller. I'm a pilot with colonial affairs Colonial Affairs." He indicated first a black-haired woman tapping away at her omnitool and then a small, broad-chested fellow with a buzzcut. "My noted associates Ada Mulligan and Dr. Frank Moore."
"Doctor?" Jane asked.
"In English Literature," the man shrugged, "kiss those eight years goodbye."
"Nashville here is one of the guys who pulled me outta the Terminus Systems. Hard to believe we've only known each other a week," her dad slapped him on the shoulder, "he's probably bankrolled your first year of college with lost bets alone in that time, kiddo."
Jane smiled at the joke though she didn't find it all that funny. Her dad was trying, that was what her mom would've said, and maybe trying a little too hard. She figured she should at least give an effort back. He liked pool. She'd never played it before, his eyes lit up when she mentioned it.
"Well-well-well," he snatched a cube of pale chalk off the guard, "let's see if a steady hand is passed on in the bloodline. Maybe we can make a hustle at the next dive-bar we see? I'll go in first and lose then you come in and clean 'em out." He herded Jane over to the table and began to roll billiards down towards her end with one. He grinned past her at Hana, who had hardly moved from her spot by the door. "That's just a joke Miss…?"
"Captain Hana'Nur vas Shepherd."
"Right, Cap," he added a roguish wink. He turned to Jane. "You gather the balls up down here in the kitchen first…" Jane looked around, her father chuckled, "that's what you call this spot here at the end of the table."
The game seemed simple enough but the instruction took a long time, close to an hour before she was ready to play her first game. She scratched right off the bat.
"Dang it," she said.
"Choke up your grip," Ada suggested. Her dad waggled his fingers.
"Or throw a little blue pepper on it, y'know?" He winked.
"Biotics?"
"That's a good way to lose a hand in certain places," Hana said, breaking her silence, "they have people who watch for that kind of thing. Remember the rest of the galaxy has had centuries to learn how biotics cheat at game of chance."
"So," her dad shrugged, "guess I'm not the only one familiar with dens of iniquity, huh?"
"I've been around," Hana responded, "managed to avoid falling in with the wrong people." Uli shuffled in his seat, Jane caught Dr. Moore and Ada sharing a look. The shrill twitter of Hana's omnitool was a welcome reprieve. Hana turned it off. "Uli, the Admirals want us back."
"You're leaving?"
"Not yet," Uli chuckled, "we'll make sure we see you before you go, Jane, we won't vanish into thin air." Jane stuck her tongue out his teasing and the big Quarian laughed. "Your odd little gestures." Jane's face scrunched up in thought.
"You think I should go? Tell them what I saw? The Batarians? Three Headed Dog and Miss Talvert?"
One of the humans made a confused sound behind her. Tennessee cleared his throat at them and gave Jane a smile.
"Sorry, Miss, we're not trying to eavesdrop. Maybe we should step outside?"
"I think I'll just borrow Jane for a minute," Hana said. Her father, in the middle of trying to sink the striped 13 Ball scratched and muttered under his breath.
"It's just a game, Matt," Tennessee sighed.
"Yeah," her father said, then cleared his throat, "sure, of course. Go on, kiddo. I'll teach you trickshots next."
When they were in the hallway, Jane realized she was relaxed for the first time since they'd left the hangar. A coil of guilt twisted in her stomach. Her dad wasn't a bad man, she had to give him some kind of chance.
"You didn't have to make fun of him," Jane said, not sounding all that upset to her own ears. Hana sighed.
"Ancestors know I was no model parent," Jane looked up sharply, Hana answered her question before she could blurt it out, "was. Yes."
"What was their name?"
"Jane, it's not so easy for Hana to talk about this," Uli said.
"It's alright, Uli," Hana said, "her name was Noa'Nur nar Adeli."
"She was born on the same ship as you," Jane said, "she died when it was destroyed."
"Rare to find someone who can be so sharp and so blunt at once," Hana said, "yes."
"Was it a long time ago-"
"That hardly matters," Hana's voice went cold all the sudden, then she breathed deep, "apologies, Jane. What I wanted to say was that you can always try and reach us aboard the Migrant Fleet if you need us. Remember what I said about the Pilgrimage Network?"
"Send a request with your name and how to contact me," Jane repeated what she'd been told, "you'll get the notification right away." Jane frowned. "You're the second person to give me an emergency contact today." Hana tilted her head. "That guy in the red and black armor."
"The N7."
"How do you always know all this stuff?"
"You asked him remember? Across a whole room?" Jane flushed. "Listening is the first step to being well informed." Hana touched Jane's cheek with one finger. "We're old people, we worry. And, I imagine, we've both realized that the best thing you can do for someone is give them a place to find help when they need it. It's a galaxy filled with people, Jane, so it's not right that anyone should feel alone."
Jane's heart felt like it would burst all the sudden. She stepped forward and threw her arms around Hana's middle, the Quarian knelt to better embrace her in return.
"Thank you," Jane said, "for everything."
"I'd do it all again, Jane nar Shepard, every time," they hugged each other for a long moment then, gently, Jane pulled away. She looked over at Uli, his kind eyes brilliant behind his visors.
"You gonna cry Jane nar Shepard?"
"No," she laughed, sniffing again.
"Really?" Uli said. "Cuz I'm sobbing behind this visor." Jane leapt at him. He caught her in his arms and crushed her to his chest. "Me klen-agha. Not all tears are of evil."
"Ok, Gandalf," Jane laughed into the blue fabric on his chest, "you're gonna get sick of those books eventually."
"Never," Uli swore. "I'll think of you when I read them." He set her down and took a soft, hiccupping breath. "Well, I won't say goodbye. I don't like to say goodbye. So…see you later, Jane."
"See you later, Uli'Rann." Hana's hand touched her shoulder as she passed, soft pressure there and gone, like a loving ghost. Jane watched them leave, a strange couple with alien limbs and dressed in odd colors, sealed way inside bizarre suits.
And so painfully familiar to her at their departure.
Jane stood there for a moment, taking in their absence, then turned to face her new life. She entered the rec-room just her dad scratched another shot, the cue ball popped high into the air and jumped the guard. Jane winced at the heavy bang when it hit the floor and watched it roll off under one of the recliners.
"I'm losing my magic here," her dad sighed, "don't worry, Jane, daddy's got this."
"Ok," she found herself laughing softly. He placed the pool-cue flat on the table and crouched down low to the ground, sharp shoulderblades pressing up through his baggy shirt. He groped around under the chair for a few seconds then grunted.
"Jane, you got tiny little arms," he said, "do an old man a favor."
"Sure, dad," she said, trying the word out as she crouched down next to him, glancing again at the long history of ink running up and down his arm. "Hey!" He jolted a little. "Sorry, my mom had that tattoo." She indicated a small red cluster of rocks forming the vague shape of a face. Her dad gave another metal-toothed smile.
"Face of Mars, kiddo, that's where we went on our first trip off Earth. Big tourist trap way back when. Not so much anymore. You been?"
"To Earth," Jane said, "not to Mars." He smiled.
"We'll go there for our first vacation, just you and me. You like that?"
"Yeah," Jane said, "I think I would."
"Go get your pops that cue-ball then," he winked. Jane rolled her eyes and laid flat on her stomach, splayed fingers mapping the steel floor until they touched the smooth surface of the cueball. Her fingers curled around the globe shape, she smiled.
"Got it!" Her father shifted behind her. A knee pressed against her back. "Hey, careful where you're-"
She remembered the last time this happened all at once as the tangs of a stunner touched the back of her neck.
"Park?" Tennessee Miller asked. It wasn't like a cartoon, where everything turned blue and electricity crackled in the air, there was an odd noise and her whole body clenched up. Teeth creaking together, knees locking straight outward, and a cracking sound as her fingers convulsed around the cueball.
"Sorry," her dad said, "real sorry about this, kiddo." Her vision swam, her ears told her people were yelling behind her, and she blacked out.
NOTE: This one took much longer than I'd hoped and I'm not super happy to leave a cliffhanger. The next chapter is really the second part of this one and this one needed a full rewrite. Still, I hope everybody enjoyed it and I want to get the next one written and uploaded quickly. Thanks for reading!