Tangent: a straight line or plane that touches a curve or curved surface at a point, but if extended does not cross it at that point. Definition from the GalaxyBook Encyclopedia. A useful definition, and it certainly captures the means by which Shepard operated; while others saw a mess, he saw opportunity.
Shepard had a knack for finding little niggling details, pardon my Turian. He tugged on them, and metaphorically caused the clothing of the powerful to become ... ragged. It was one of his great gifts, and his curse. He made enemies by noticing those things, and friends for the same reason. It made him a good agent, a great soldier, and a better man. Now, getting people to agree ... that was another story.
Excerpt: The Story of Shepard, by Dr. Pavenmeyer
Normandy SR-1
Captain's Cabin
Surprisingly, he'd been able to sleep. There was something about letting out the anger that helped settle the emotional turmoil … even if temporary. Now that he was awake though, there were things to do: letters to write, permissions to revoke, and an altered mission plan.
First things first. A writing application on the cabin's computer became the highest priority, more so than a shower. That allowed him to revoke Udina's Power of Attorney; sending a separate draft to each legal consultant, followed by requests for information on every directive Udina had sent. It was precious time he had to spend, well-worth the investment, but loss all the same.
Setting the letters together helped; copy/pasting forms always helped. It was better to act sooner, than let the bad business fester; but the entire process took less than thirty minutes. How to proceed …? he pondered the question. The incoming message indicator flashed, as if in answer. Shepard gave the tactile surface a swipe, noting the random arrangement of characters in the return address, disposable … except for a single word in the Subject line: Emrys. The message contained a single hyperlink, along with two words: Good luck.
Another quick swipe of his finger copied the link into a new extranet browser. The Normandy had a priority connection by virtue of both the Council and Alliance agreements, which meant despite his proximity to the proverbial backwaters, he could access the Extranet communication Buoys. So long as he could reach one of the buoys, his connections could travel with a velocity rivaling that of the Council itself.
Media headlines caught his attention, in a triple digit font size, and a movie screen display.
T'Soni Line Engaged to Human Hero! Details p.13 Social – a publication called True Blue
He winced. So much for keeping the entire idea out of everyone's mind. The next headline, in even larger letters, seemed a tad more obsequious:
Famed Regent Tevos Secures Worthy Match for T'Soni Family
Shepard frowned. The Republic Reports ostensibly served as a financial news source. That was not good, not good at all. The following headlines were even worse:
Asari Pureblood Attempts to Raise Standing! Some an asari social rag.
Economic Turmoil; Nano-technology Market on the Rise, Will Shepard Sell Out? From Forbes 5000, Earth.
Shepard Engaged!
Shepard's eyes bugged at the last title; an actual moving headline from a digital news blurb from Mindoir. How had everyone known but himself? Or rather, how had everyone gotten the information – he tightened his grip. Udina. That slimy son-of-a – … polycarbonate construct fractured in his grip. Hissing in pain, he released the computer screen. The once clean surface now held a spider web of cracked material and blood. The shock of pain brought clarity, but in a tactical, rather than strategic, sense.
Perhaps, when he had time, he'd look up exactly who Dr. T'Soni was. Certainly before he had that still-delayed chat.
Sighing, he methodically removed the few pieces that had punctured his hand – painful but not deep – and applied a synthetic skin bandage. Then, he took the ruined monitor down to Engineering.
The busy sound of the department was audible from the elevator, which was Shepard's normal transportation of choice now that he had to appear more … formal. Even from just outside the doors, he could hear the babble – discussing something far beyond his ken. To know the universe wasn't so easily understood meant others had difficulty comprehending as well. That … was heartening.
He entered, pausing by the door. Inside, the actions closely matched the sounds he'd heard. Adams, recognizable by both insignia and attitude, was directing two engineers in a part replacement. Tali skittered around them with the consummate grace of a professional. Despite the activity, Adams soon noticed the commander, and held up one hand, the universal gesture to wait.
Shepard nodded, relaxing. Acting-Captains may command the ship, but the Engineer held its heart. In the engine room, it was understood that while the Captain was responsible, the Chief was in command.
Adams was soon examining the monitor, clucking at the damage. Like most engineers he'd met, the man seemed irritated at the apparently trivial request, but professional enough to hide it. "Shouldn't be a problem, Commander. I'll send up a replacement in a few minutes."
"Thank you," Shepard glanced at the other engineers, still struggling to lift the panel in place. "The new engineer working out for you down here?"
The other man's voice turned upwards, rising as his mood improved, "You sure know how to pick 'em. That Tali is an exceptional worker. Not as familiar with Spec-C programming as I'd like, but she more than makes up for it with versatility. Helped us decode that old asari satellite we picked up the other day; some kind of time capsule we think. Learns fast, too. Wouldn't be surprised if she could take my job in a year or two."
"Good," Shepard changed his focus, noting a certain turian detective lounging over a keyboard. "And Garrus?"
Adams nodded, "Research, he needed access to some of the faster processors. Something he came up with a little while ago."
"Ah," Shepard nodded once, "I'll just wander over then, see how he's doing."
"A'right." Adams turned away, already focusing on the next issue. Shepard understood it to be efficiency, not rudeness. Another feature many engineers shared.
Garrus noticed Shepard's approach and held up a single finger. Shepard waited, watching the turian finish entering a search term through the haptic interface. He'd never realized it before, but Garrus's hands were partially gloved. Only minute bulges in the fabric indicated the covering's presence as more than simple style. With his sensitive hearing, Shepard could discern their faint, changing vibrations, altering as the hands danced.
"Commander, glad you're here," Garrus halted his motions at last. "I went ahead with your suggestion, and ran a search. Well, a few searches. More than a few." Shepard leaned against the desk, folding his arms. "Actually had to call in a few favors as well," Garrus continued, eyes glued to the screen. "A trader I cleared of contraband charges a few months ago, and a couple cross-species training officers I worked with a number before then. They had contacts, and talked to them for me."
Shepard blinked once, still waiting. A good detective knew when to elaborate; therefore this was a backstory relevant to the point. "They got back to me." Garrus said, twisting in the chair, facing Shepard. "Benezia's money has been going all throughout Alliance Space, from the Horse Head Nebula to Artemis Tau. Navigator Pressley's results – once I cross-referenced them – gave me leads in Earth space."
"That makes sense though," Shepard interrupted. "The T'Soni's have a massive financial empire. I'd be surprised if you didn't trace it through Alliance Space."
Garrus flicked a talon against the screen. "That's just it; the markers don't come from the T'Soni line, not directly." The digital view shifted, becoming a miniaturized model of the common traffic lanes, "The money trail goes back to Hegemony space, and vanishes there. But the packing materials, seals and handwriting all match T'Soni interests. The money used to ship them, has to be T'Soni's, or a close affiliate."
For close to a minute, Shepard stared at the representation. Verdant lines crisscrossed the map's breadth, intersecting at populated nebulae in a crazed web. Finances enabled the existence of high society, but also left trails, no matter how sophisticated the erasure methods. He rested his head on one palm, supporting its weight. Confusion, that unwelcome sensation, was predominant in his thoughts. "I'm sorry, but did you say there is no money trail, or that you found a money trail?"
A heavy sigh responded. "Sorry, Commander. I wasn't being clear." Garrus took a breath, fluttering his mandibles. "There are no direct transactions between Benezia and what I've been hunting, no. But – there are crates with the T'Soni logos going in and out of Alliance space, and financial transactions accompanying those crates."
"Ah." Shepard rubbed his forehead, "So the product is there, but its money trail goes nowhere? Where did the product come from?"
"Nanotech shipments, food deliveries, quite a few monetary dumps." the detective's eye-ridges lowered. "Actually, there's been a lot of shipments that I'd associate with elite military deployments. Hacking equipment, communication devices, non-traceable credits … if it weren't for the fact that I was finding them with a lot of other stuff, I'd call them supply caches. No, wait … they are caches."
Shepard grew still, thinking. Less than two weeks previously, what felt like ages now, he'd received Emrys's message – but only now was it making sense. Pulling up the omni-tool, he scanned back to what he'd transcribed. Self-deleting messages worked only for removing data trails; deletion did nothing for memory. Quickly finding the message, he highlighted the reference.
We still need to follow up on the Furies progress. ExoGeni and Sirta are making some strange moves: bio-analysis teams to Feros, a rather unusual Stalking Horse gambit for a salarian research firm; I can do only so much from here. Also, three CFO's have undergone serious accidents. One or two is interesting, but three in the same week? No coincidence.
Furies was a code word for Asari commandoes with undetermined goals. Most armed parties allowed within Alliance space to oversee Republic interests carried specific orders known to top-level military command, if they wished to resupply from Council reserves. These had not carried such licenses, yet seemed to never run out of resources. His voice grew more intent, "Are you certain about this? Very certain?"
"I know I'm right," Garrus's tridactyl hands flew over the keys. "That's why I needed to use the computer down here; it's fast enough to crunch the numbers I need. What I have from the Council side matches what Alliance reports are telling me. You couldn't trace the supplies because it came through Hegemony space, a batarian from the Lengua clan that works with the T'Soni family. No Council origin for Alliance sniffers to pick up, and enough backtrail to look legitimate. The only way I found it was because Saren's money trails use the same pattern."
Shepard punched the wall behind the desk. Hard. "Saren and – these people – are using the same methods? Separate parties?"
"Yeah," Garrus scanned the charts popping up on his screens. "Combined with a few other data streams. Lot of Cord-Hislop transactions in the Traverse do the same thing, but that's just safety out there. Hegemony space is just close enough to the Traverse to not raise any red flags on the normal scans, but far enough away to not really need it."
Shepard felt a vicious grin spread across his face. "Good work Garrus. Get it back to Pressley. I'll see if I can encourage the brass to let me hit those stockpiles."
There was one Admiral that could help; Mikaelovich would know. Omega Freedom, once known in fiction as the Fifth Freedom could be obtained … but very rarely. Perhaps this was the time.
Normandy SR-1
Comm. room
The voice of experience flowed through the room's speakers, a gravelly tone and irritated manner. This wasn't the first time it had attempted to rebut his goal … and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. "Commander, are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Shepard faced the Admiral, arms folded, feet spread. Blunt words worked best with this one. "One hundred percent. The Council gave me what is essentially a carte blanche for the Terminus Systems, and nearly that for the Attican Traverse; I would stake my life on the fact that it will be needed. If the Alliance doesn't step up as well, Saren could very well hide where Council authority doesn't reach."
Mikaelovich, the man Shepard knew to be in charge of Hackett's Fifth Fleet scouting arm, shook his head slowly. "Omega Freedom is a risky contention, Commander. No one has received it for more than one mission."
"Problem solved. My mission is to take down Saren."
An irritated tone passed through the admiral's body language, gone in an eyeblink. "The longest duration for that protocol was two weeks three days and five hours. Since the one holding that particular record was Captain Anderson, you should know that."
The name brought up conflicting emotions for Shepard, but he kept it from showing. He wasn't sure how he felt; betrayed ranked very high on the list, followed closely by confusion and understanding. If he'd been in Anderson's shoes, would he have done something differently? The thought almost fell under its own weight. Considering the subject matter, there wasn't much room for argument. Of course I'd have acted differently.
"The request stands." He straightened his back, "I have more successful missions under my belt than any operative in Alliance history. You know my record, both the public and private. The Council will trust me, why won't you?"
The image sighed, passing a hand over its eyes. "It's not trust, Shepard. If it were just you, I would have pushed for this years ago. What I fear, is precedent. You are trustworthy Commander. Will your replacement be equally worthy?"
Trust was very much the issue, but Shepard failed to reiterate the point; Rear Admiral Mikaelovich was to have received the Normandy as a part of his task force, the 63rd Scout Flotilla. Shepard also very much doubted what Mikaelovich knew of his … other … activities. There were times he wondered, but no requests had been made, just a knowing statement now and again. Focus.
"Bottom line, Admiral. You and I both know the Alliance can't afford to look the other way. You are one of the few who know about the Protocol. I may have to take down many, many men to bring down Saren; his resources were vast to begin with. Now that he has geth, he has resources of an entire empire at his disposal." He leaned his weight forwards, attempting to convey the intensity of the situation without words. "I need every edge I can get; I'm just one man, and he has an army."
The other man inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't as unlikable as he could have been, just overly focused on regulations. Mikaelovich's eagerness for enforcing Alliance law in the Outer Colonies was legendary – which idealistically put him at odds with a solid quarter of the total Alliance population, Shepard included.
Still, the man was useful. If aimed properly, very few stood in his way – morals of manipulation aside.
Mikaelovich gave an exasperated sigh, still gripping his sinuses. "You are not giving me many options, Commander."
"That's my job Admiral," he watched the flickering image's movements, "Reducing options is the entire reason why I'm here." The transparent jawline tightened, denoting the masseters were clenched; a common trait for stress.
A definite twitch. Suspicion confirmed; Mikaelovich had an almost pathological fear of losing control, suggested particularly by how he operated portions of the Alliance navy. His written reports read like a sandblaster, full of scathing comments and heavily worded 'suggestions' about returning the Normandy to full Alliance command. Whether it was to himself, or the Alliance in general was carefully avoided.
Now, Shepard realized, it's just a matter of whether he is trying to command the Normandy or myself. But that could wait. Everything had a season, all in its due time.
The admiral's shuffling hinted at resolution. "Very well, Commander. I will present your … situation."
Shepard knew his request had already been discussed – Mikaelovich wouldn't have contacted him otherwise. If he agreed to what essentially translated to being a delay however, then his request would be considered to be voluntarily delayed.
Unacceptable.
"I of course, would accept the protocol, and the responsibilities that go with it. If it were given."
The Eurasian-descent admiral's shoulders stiffened; a violent shift from the almost serpentine nature of before. "Someday I would like to find out how you are so knowledgeable, Commander. If not for past performances … " He cut himself off, inhaling deeply, then blowing out the breath. "Very well. The Omega Freedom Protocol is yours until Saren is dead, your term as Spectre is up, or the authority is seen as needing to be terminated. Whichever comes first. And may God have mercy on us all."
"Done. Thank you." The man was obsessed with regulation, but there was no point in being impolite. Someone dedicated enough to reach the lofty title of Rear Admiral held resources after all. Resources Shepard could use, should the time come to it. "If that is all?"
The other man's face twisted again, "Indeed. Mikaelovich out."
Electronics whined down, recovering from their inter-galactic transmission. Shepard didn't move; staring at the indicator. Any minute now ... it never failed. Every time the Protocol had been granted, another little conversation would take place, like Prometheus stealing fire and being threatened for it. Almost every conversation had resulted ways against his long-term benefit, and almost never without a threat involved.
The gift of fire has consequences, he thought. It was a cheering realization. You can only play with it a few times before getting burnt.
The signal blinked again, flashing an unusual number of times. Normally, an announcement would go straight to his omni-tool, or through the acting Flight Lieutenant; this kind of message … complete silence. Shepard let it sit, opening the standard tracer program – it's what he'd done every time.
Despite his ever-more sophisticated tracking software, the origin codes revealed nothing, suspicious in its own right. The Normandy had been created with top-of-the-line security in mind, its contact data given to a mere handful of individuals and … the thought came to him painfully late … whatever shipyard had performed its construction.
The panel chimed at him, patiently soliciting attention. Its origin code hadn't changed, but on further study, could be traced as configured through the pilot station. Clearance had obviously been granted connection as an official communication – but that still didn't indicate who wanted that clearance.
No one ever wants to be identified, but they want to know everyone else. Lord, give me strength. He flipped the icon. "Shepard."
A vague form appeared, undefined despite the Normandy's best efforts. "Commander, good to see you," The voice, subtly enhanced, had an air of easy command. The electronics added depth most likely; it was easier to misrepresent vocal patterns that way. To strengthen a lie, adding truth served quite well.
Shepard raised an eyebrow before tapping his own output control, matching the caller's representation. Blurring his own image would have been safer to begin with, but a ship commander didn't need to do that all the time – and most people knew it. A petty response, but a clear sign of his opinion.
"A bit late for that, isn't it? You're losing your edge, Commander." The voice sounded amused. "No matter. I hear compliments are in order. Well done, attaining your position … and on your upcoming nuptials?"
"Thank you." Shepard responded politely; it had barely begun, yet he was eager to finish the conversation. "May I ask whom I have the 'honor' of addressing?"
The incoming image twinkled multiple colors as if amused. "Direct as always. You'll remember me from a few years ago; we worked together on a mutually beneficial project on Noveria."
It was a struggle, but Shepard kept his voice level, "I have a lot of projects on my ledger. Be more specific."
"Come now, I'm sure I'm sure a man with your intelligence wouldn't forget such a systematically thorough instructor as Doctor Horatio?"
He suppressed a laugh. It had been phrased oddly, but the hint was clear – one of the lesser-known Alliance Intelligence divisions, trying to lead him by the nose again. The speaker hadn't actually identified himself as being Horatio, but wasn't even attempting to be subtle about it. Possibly soliciting information on people Shepard had worked with before? Two could play at that game. What would be a good name to drop?
An almost evil feeling came over him as a new idea sprang to mind.
"Wait … Armando what's-your-name … Banes? I knew you were paranoid, but even I'm a little more trusting than this. I thought that trouble blew over a few months after we met." He triggered a recording algorithm in his gauntlet; a little present from Emrys. Banes had been a long-quiet name for ten years, one that had jumpstarted three major corporations in its time. Why had it come to roost just now?
The voice barely paused, but it was noticeable. "Very good Shepard. Your memory is as impressive as ever." It shifted to a more businesslike tone. Again, it did not bother to confirm or deny the assumption, which meant either it had taken the bait, or dismissed the name as inconsequential – an unlikely hypothesis. "The information I have received indicates you're headed into Council space in the near future, yes? And with the Omega Freedom no less."
"Indeed." Shepard refrained from rolling his eyes, visual blocker or no. Someone in the conversation had to have standards.
"We have an assignment for you. Something we are sure would be of concern for you." The neutral voice continued without pause. "Jak Ser, in the Volus home system of Aru is hosting—"
"Not interested." Shepard moved his hand over the control panel, "the first time I worked with your group, I was young and naïve. The last time we collaborated, a good woman's life was ruined, as was her family's. All to gain the support of a corrupt businessman 'cooperating' with the salarian Special Tasks Group." He pushed his voice hard, biting off the words. "Our interaction is over."
"A hard decision, I know," the voice fell, disappointment thick in its timbre. "But for the security of Alliance interests, we had to make the call. In the choice of two evils, it was the lesser one, of which I believe you are aware."
"That is not a new argument." Shepard growled; leaving out the honorific that had never been mentioned. It reinforced his perceived lack of respect, a subtle, but noticeable statement to his caller. "A famous man mentioned that very matter over three centuries ago. He said: 'Those who surrender freedom for security will not have, nor deserve, either."
"Moral high ground makes you a better target," the voice countered. "Another man also said: In the face of extinction, every alternative is preferable."
Shepard just stared at the image; did he wake up stupid this morning? "I'm sorry," he tried speaking more slowly, in case the transmission was faulty. "Did you just compare sacrificing a human life for a criminal's cooperation – to an extinction event?"
"Small problems lead to big problems. Big problems are harder to solve, and lead to catastrophes that could have been easily stopped while small." The man took an almost chiding tone, "That's why we contacted you before. You can do the hard things lesser men cannot. Don't turn on us at the pinnacle of your efforts! You can do more good where you are than an army of vigilantes."
"At too high a cost," Shepard moved his hand. "Get another fool to do your dirty work."
"This is highly important!" The voice protested, still calm, but not as measured as before. "Vital for Alliance security!"
"Then you have your own decision to make." Shepard said flatly. "I'll give you a piece of advice: Every time you take the easy choice, it gets easier to repeat. You know you'll pay the price in the end, and it always comes out just a little more expensive than you'd hoped." He made to disconnect once more.
"We have information on Spectre Saren Arterius that could assist your assignment, Commander, data you requested not ten hours ago. Are you so willing to gain a moral victory that you would ignore us for something that happened four years ago? To someone you knew for only a handful of days?"
Shepard paused, but only for a moment. "My request was a private message sent through the Diplomatic corps. If you have information about ex-Spectre Saren, I suggest you tell Captain Anderson. I disagree with your methods, and will have nothing more to do with them." The off switch clicked softly, but with finality.
To his surprise, it didn't immediately blink on. Seconds passed, then one minute. Two.
The magnitude of what he'd done seeped into his mind. That's one more probable enemy now. Whomever they are. He had suspicions, but that's all they were: suspicions.
Standing slowly, he began the short walk back to his cabin. Realistically speaking, I should have played along, just one more time. Whatever it is they want, it has to be a lesser evil than letting Saren Arterius stay free … doesn't it? Gained a little more intel, uncovered a little more dirt ….
He bumped into a crewman, smiled apologetically before continuing. Behind his back, the crewman froze in position before moving on. For Shepard, his own words came back. No; sometimes success at any cost negates the victory. Every mission I did for them chipped a little further at me; much more, and I fear I'd end up like Kai Leng. The thought of the psychotic killer made him shiver. Better to punish the guilty you can reach, than hope your ill deeds gain you the master of evil.
That slowed his steps. This kind of attention … I can't do what I used to, not anymore. SpecOps watched my back, and I like to think I had a few allies with the Admirals. At least, they looked the other way when I had work to do.
It felt like he was under the microscope once again, watched by everyone. Like when he'd been announced as the majority trust overseer, responsible for an entire colony's worth of financial reserves. Enough money to nearly bankrupt five insurance companies, including two members of the Big Ten, an action unprecedented since the Interstellar Banking Standards enactment.
Oh, and don't forget about one little bequest. Bitter memories welled. A minor will-and-testament, leaving bloody majority shares to the survivors, 'payment' to ensure the colony kept going. Nanotechnology, a cursed blessing. Hundreds of offers to buy him out still filled his business mailing accounts. I had to refuse. Only a native would care for Mindoir like I could, and I'm the only public face left.
Enough woolgathering. He came to a stop. It is what it is; burned bridges there may be, but you still are dangerous. No, you're more dangerous now; the mask is off. Classified files had to have been shared with the Council, especially 'Regent' Tevos.
Abruptly, he switched routes, headed for the armory. I'm going hunting again. A good feeling; a good crew, a good ship, and a field full of nothing but targets. A shiver of happiness made his shoulders quiver. I need to get the kit together again; most of it is here, but … yes. Nanites, better stock the shotlocker with everything I can. Maybe … just maybe … the Nar'Sheth will fight again.
The train of thought led him to seek out his personal locker. Determination was all very well, but good intent alone would fail to convince slavers to repent. Guns did that best.
He stopped en route by the private locker in the 'extras' location. Lockers on the Normandy were surprisingly luxurious, but a man whom wore as many hats as Shepard required more, chiefly when using all of the specialties at once. Right now as acting Captain, Investigator, Specialist and Lord only knows what else, I need as much as I can take.
Carefully, he reviewed inventory. Toxins, check. Spare weapons, check. Spare armor – partial, need to get another carapace. Spare omni-tool, check. The list continued, hands working on automatic. Every soldier had a survival kit, a personalized setup he'd keep after throwing everything else away. Its contents depended on how much pre-mission prep time was available, and the resources. Usually, it consisted of a close-fitting series of belts, lightweight and out of the way. Marines typically prioritized food, followed closely by a weapons care kit, and then medical supplies. Light Assault infantry, to the contrary, usually held a belief that food and medical were most important; followed by extra energy packs for their jets.
Shepard held a slightly different list; food could be acquired on a local basis, but an emergency cache had a lofty position. Oxygen was either present or not; re-breathers could be fitted in a space the size of a fingernail for aquatic exercises.
Wait, Shepard went back over his poisons. Few of the N7 had seen a need for them. Fewer had the means to create arboretums across Alliance Space, and stock them with representative species. Shepard had been able to in both situations, leaving himself – normally – well-stocked. Need to re-up my dart frog cache. Hemotoxins need replenishment too … might as well order a complete set while I'm at it. That's going to take time.
Moving again, he opened his omni-tool, waiting until the elevator doors closed. "Vee-eye, take dictation." When the virtual intelligence chirped in answer, he began. "To Admiral Hackett, Fifth Fleet. Subject Response: requested assistance." He checked the floor number, slowly edging upwards, and resumed. "It looks like I should be able to be where you need me. I would advise holding back Fleet elements until Darius and I have engaged initial talks. In the interests of facilitating future activity, I would advise Admiral Mikhailovich ready his scouting elements for Traverse activity. Also, I have heard nothing from Admiral Kahokou; he wished to contact me several days ago, and has sent nothing. Have you heard from him recently?"
The elevator stopped, pausing just long enough for him to read the message printed on the omni-tool's screen. "Accept. Save. Send." The bracelet vibrated in response. "Good."
Shepard took in the cargo bay, from the quartermaster's position to where Wrex and Ashley seemed to be … establishing dominance. He shook his head, and tapped out a quick message. Both of their omni-tools flared, pausing the … conversation.
Fading back, he watched the two glare at each other, then return to their respective corners. One put away the weapons she was modifying whilst the other made a very careful – almost ostentatious – show of securing his weapons in the locker.
Shepard frowned; relations within the specialist squad were crucial; he'd have to talk to them. Later. For now, he contented himself with a few more messages, requesting the specialists to attend a meeting for their next mission.
Normandy SR-1
Comm Room
Meetings were – by and large – a waste of time. Essential, but given to posturing, grandstanding and elaborate displays of opinion. On the other hand, he'd attended more than a few where off-the-cuff comments had led to massive plan restructuring, which was good. At least a little.
Shepard had gained a feel for Wrex's position. The large krogan was a quiet professional, experienced in a way few could ever dream to become. Younger krogan made up for inexperience with brash energy; Wrex watched and waited, then struck the weak points with a practiced, cold fury.
Garrus on the other hand, personified the role of a jocular mastermind. Every shot had an effect, and every joke eased the group's tension.
Shaking himself, Shepard stepped into the circle. "Thank you for coming. To save time, I'll give you the situation, and then you can ask questions. Acceptable?"
Nods gave him approval to proceed. "Right," he moved to one side, activating the projector. "We have been asked to take over a negotiation. The State Department sent contact information, background history, and a location." A small planetoid shimmered into existence, floating in the center of the display. "This, is Nonuel, a class 4 Near-Garden world. It has a lovely mixture of suphur and carbon dioxide atmosphere, ninety percent standard gravity, and less than fifty percent mass."
The image clicked, evaporating into the visage of … if he had to make a guess … a severely irritated human male. Shepard deliberately turned away from the image, "This is Darius, aka Lord Darius. Ten years ago, he took up residence here as a registered privateer under the Duklong Accords. When the Alliance shifted policy, he was grandfathered in as a part of the Hades Gamma militia."
Clicking the command codes again, Shepard brought the lights back up to full capacity. He absently noted how Garrus and Tali failed to blink – although her faceplate might have become slightly more reflective – while the human and krogan members of his audience squinted. Interesting reactions, thought turians had better eyesight than humans … check later.
"Now, eezo miners in the system are complaining that Darius has been stealing from their stockpiles, extorting fees for protection and taking an inflated compensation in eezo." He brought both hands to parade rest, the omni-tool band clicking gently against the ancient weapon at his side. "While Plutus is too close to Hegemony space for a true mining operation to have been developed, enough has been produced so that it would hurt if this keeps up. Bottom line," both hands came around, clapping in front, "We go in, tell him to stop, and get out. Any questions?"
Garrus raised a hand. "Sir, wouldn't it be more … fruitful, to have a negotiator? I took some training in C-Sec, but I'm no expert."
"Good question," Shepard could see the agreeing nods around the room. "The answer is—I don't believe this is an actual negotiation. Not the speaking type, I think."
The turian looked down, glaring at the floor, then back up. "Are you asking us to … remove a threat?"
Mentally, Shepard gave a small round of applause for tact. "Assassination, you mean? No. Just consider it aggressive negotiation. Combat probable."
"Works for me," Ashley interrupted. She nodded at Shepard, "One of my sisters works at a refinery. They used to get shipments from Plutus, but it's gone downhill recently. If things don't get back to normal soon …."
"Understood," He glanced at his omni-tool, checking its chronometer function. Plenty of time. "Any other questions?"
"Actually, yeah." Ashley raised her hand, "What's with the museum piece?"
Shepard blinked. What?
"That sword," she pointed at his left hip, "Are we hitting a monastery on the way in or something?"
Ah. "This?" he tapped it, sensors recognizing his implanted receptors, and drew the ulfberht. "This is something I take along when getting down to business. A little toy I made a few years back." One wink, gave a rakish look to the female Marine, "the most technologically advanced weapon on the Normandy, if you ask me."
She laughed, "You're kidding me, right?"
He twirled the blade around, offering its hilt to the room at large. "Not really, no. Consider: guns change capabilities at every tech advancement. From gunpowder and chemical propellants to mass accelerators, they don't really have a stopping point, and will keep changing. Knives, on the other hand, have kept the same basic form for the past three millennia." The blade flipped in his hand, ringing softly in the quiet room, "At its most basic level, a knife is just a handle and a point. Used right, it can punch through armor, sever arteries …" it slipped back into the sheath, magnets clamping it into place. "The only change I know of is that this sword is made of eezo-densified steel. Good stuff."
"Possible," Tali broke in. Something about her eyes danced, "But archaic weapons and hackey beliefs are no match for a gun at your side. Did I say that right?"
Ashley laughed, "Close enough. Good job, Tali."
The little quarian beamed at the praise, while the other two aliens in the room just looked bemused. Kaiden on the other hand, was somehow finding it necessary to grasp his upper lip.
Shepard took a step back, figuratively speaking. Ashley's interaction with the non-human specialists had been … spotty. Something he'd meant to talk to her about. Now was as good a time as any. "We will be arriving in a couple hours. Get your gear, talk to the quartermaster if you need more, and charge it to me if he asks. Williams, a moment?"
The tanned woman froze, just enough to be noticeable, but stayed behind as the room emptied. To Shepard's view, she seemed … resigned. As if something was occurring that she'd expected.
When they were finally alone, Shepard focused all of his attention on her. "Williams, we need to talk."
The woman sighed. "I knew this was coming … look. I know what you're going to say, and don't worry, I get it. I'm a Williams, but I'll follow orders."
"That's … good." Shepard paused; "But why would you think I'm asking about that?"
Ashley straightened. "You mean, you're not talking about grandpa?"
Sighing, Shepard sank into a chair. "Williams – Ashley – I was going to ask about your opinion about the non-human crewmembers."
"Oh." The silence stretched.
Shepard let it. Most people couldn't stand silence, and had to fill it with something. Torture was nothing, compared to manipulating the workings of the inner mind. No one knew that better than he.
But, as the clock marched onward, he had second thoughts. Williams – Ashley – wasn't an enemy combatant. She was under his command, entitled to respect. Including non-interrogation techniques.
He stood again. "I'll tell you what I have seen," the length next to the wall served as an impromptu pacing ground. "On Eden Prime, you worked with an asari to great effect, but I had the impression you did not enjoy the process. At the Citadel, working with Garrus and Wrex seemed to be difficult, but only before the action started. Here, and on Therum, you fought well, but I believe you were holding back. And just a few minutes ago," Shepard made the effort to look her in the eye, "I witnessed a … discussion, with Wrex in the cargo hold."
Stopping, Shepard leaned on one of the chairs set in a circle. "Yet, I have seen you befriend Tali, encouraging her when she's feeling down. I've seen her look up to you; actively look after your health. Not to mention how the other squads look up to you for what you did on Eden Prime; not many could come out of that intact. But you haven't been interacting with them very much."
"You are a good soldier, Ashley. One of the best I've seen in years. But, you're holding back; hamstringing yourself for some reason. Why?"
Ashley folded her hands on her lap, head bent. All he could see of her face was obscured by the dark hair she'd left untied. "How much do you know of me? Of my family, I mean?"
Although an odd response, Shepard played along. "Nothing. I make it a point to not go beyond the immediate, unless I have good reason."
"And here I thought it was in my files or something," she muttered. Then louder, "My grandfather was General Williams, from Shanxi. Yes, the General 'Anvil' Williams."
Shepard just stared at her. "So?"
Her head came up, shoulders back. "So? My grandfather is the bloodiest general in Alliance history! He sacrificed thousands instead of surrendering to the turians, would rather die than be defeated!" One hand came up, irritably swiping away the hair, "Do you know why he's known as the 'Anvil'?"
"He was tough?" Shepard ventured. This was a new side to the gunnery chief; normally, her demeanor was much less volatile. "I have a bit of experience with them. Can't get any work done without one."
She laughed, a hollow, cracking sound. "He got beaten so hard. Like an anvil. Never surrendered, but beaten. That's where the nickname comes from. My father never went above Sergeant grade, I won't make it above Chief. Everyone's afraid the Anvil's reputation will crash down on them."
Shepard made a rude sound. "Reputation? Rumors? Ashley, is that why you think you're here?"
She shook her head, "Nossir. But it's why you'll ask me to transfer."
One eyebrow rose, "For someone who has no aspirations for rank, you seem pretty quick to make decisions for me. Do you want to go so badly?"
"Nossir! It's just, I mean no disrespect sir, I'm – not …" she floundered, "Sir, I didn't …"
"At ease, Chief." Shepard waited until she'd relaxed. It wasn't a true calm posture, but was probably the best he would get at the moment. "Chief … Ashley … I never turn away good help. You're competent, intelligent, quick to obey orders, and you think before obeying. You can fight both in and out of a Max setup, adapt to terrible situations, and have a knack for helping out the underdog. Why on Earth would I get rid of you?"
Before she could answer, he continued. "Scratch that. My ship, my rules. You are good; you're staying as long as you want. Since your record is a little light on deployment," he noted the twitch, but ignored what it meant. "I will ensure you get plenty of experience. There are no slackers on my watch."
He took a moment to close his eyes, breathing in and out. "If you stay, will you promise to work hard?"
Dark eyes met his own. "Yessir, I'll do my best."
"That's all anyone can ask." He took out the omni-tool, opening the calendar. "I'm scheduling you for training with Garrus on the range." Her abrupt cessation of movement caught his attention, "That was the other part, isn't it? You don't like aliens?"
Ashley shrugged uncomfortably under his eyes. "Turians were why my grandfather got the reputation he has. The Council doesn't care for us, just as another attack varren for when the next krogan threat comes around. Or Rachni, that seems to have them spooked but good. I don't hate them for it, since it's not xenophobia, not really. Would you hate a man that keeps dogs just to scare off bears?"
"Anyway," she sighed, "I've never really trusted aliens. Quarians have a good reputation with my family, they don't want to do much other than rebuild their navy and take on the geth. That's good in my book, but the others …" her eyes came up, "I don't trust them. They've been in Council space a long, long time."
That changed things, but only slightly. Perhaps for the better. "I have to agree with you. I don't trust the Council, never have, never will. They play a little rough with their toys, and I don't want to end up in their play-chest."
Her sigh of relief spoke volumes beyond what had been said. "I'm sorry sir, I don't want to be nosy or anything, but if you really feel that way, would you – could you – permit a question?"
That was an interesting twist. "I don't bite, Ashley. Not without warning, anyway."
Her hands worked, similar to Talis' when she was nervous. "Is it true, what the papers are saying? You're … engaged to an asari? An alien?"
Ah. That again. Should've expected it sooner or later, hopefully later but beggars can't be choosers.
"Let's just say, I have powerful opponents. I don't know if Doctor T'Soni is aware of the situation." He took a more interested look at her, "Now that you mention it, you have the most experience with her at the moment, given Eden Prime. What are your thoughts?"
The woman rocked back in place, apparently surprised at being asked. "You want a grunt's view? I just hit things Commander. You need a pair of fists, or someone to shoot big guns, I can do that. This …" dark hair shook loose as she shook her head. "Not my field."
"Welcome to the club. Guess this is where I start your training." Shepard straightened his back, shifting into a more didactic mentality. "But we'll have to go over that later. Right now, we better gear up. And Williams?"
She stopped, halfway up from her seat. Shepard flicked the blade outwards, drawing it from its sheath to a guard position in a single movement. "No one expects an attack from close range like this. Omni-tools shatter, glow, and give off noise. This – doesn't. We might need that sometime soon."
With glacial speed, her head began to nod. "Understood sir. I'll be ready."
"Good. Onward then."
A/N: I've had a couple of those scenes on the cooker for over a year now. Wasn't sure if they would make it into the story, but in the end, they did! Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated, and major kudos to Nightstride for his help!
Story shout out for the chapter: Massed Up, by DelVarO (ID 9416373)
Quick spelling correction on ulfberht from Endrius, thanks!
