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"Chow time, Commander. We hungry today?"
Shepard looked up from the floor and deliberately did another three sit-ups before she stood to greet the soldier at her door. "I don't know, James. Are you?"
James Vega, her jailer—otherwise known as her Alliance-provided liaison—grinned. "I haven't been to the gym today to work up my appetite."
"Sorry to keep you from the weights."
"It's all right, Shepard. I just make all those guys jealous, anyway." He flexed an admittedly superbly muscled arm.
"Save it for the ladies, James."
"Oh, I do."
He stood aside to let her out of the room and they walked companionably to the mess hall. Shepard was glad for his good humor. She was bored to tears stuck here at Alliance Command. They had effectively cut her off from everyone she knew, she was nervous as hell waiting for this damned tribunal with the batarians to get finished—and she was royally pissed at the enforced inaction when there were things to do. Vega's friendly face went a long way toward helping her cope with her overall bad mood.
If Shepard had harbored any illusions that her reputation would get her anywhere here in the holding area in Vancouver, she had been stripped of them on arrival, along with her rank, her insignia, and her command. The Normandy was somewhere around being refit as an Alliance vessel, and having surrendered it seemed to make her a more suspicious character rather than having won her any points.
Meanwhile, the tribunal was coming along painfully slowly. She had yet to be allowed to give any testimony, her claims about the danger the Reapers represented had been all but laughed off, and the batarians were calling for her head in increasingly strident tones. If there was any negotiation going on behind the scenes, she wasn't privy to it; it was very clear whoever was in charge had decided J.R. Shepard didn't need to know.
It was evident that her email was being stopped, as well. She'd tried to get word to everyone from Joker to Liara to Anderson, with no success thus far. Which meant that she had no way to hear from Thane, and concern for him hovered just at the edge of her consciousness at all times.
Shepard had ample time to practice the meditation techniques he had taught her, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room and closing her eyes and thinking herself back, finding that more details lurked in her memory than she would have imagine when she relaxed and let herself relive the moment rather than trying to think her way through it.
And the Alliance took good care of her, she couldn't fault them for that. The room was comfortable, she had good food and plenty of it, and access to books and exercise equipment—as long as she was accompanied by the ever-vigilant Vega as she moved from one place to another. What he had done to be stuck here in Vancouver babysitting a political prisoner, she couldn't imagine, but she respected him for taking this insult of an assignment with equanimity.
"What do you think they're serving today?" she asked as they walked to the mess hall, the conversation as familiar as the walls and the food itself by now.
"Ah, come on, Shepard, it never changes. Friday fish fry."
"Fun." She groaned. Her ancestors had practically lived on fish, or so her mother used to tell her, but as a space dweller, it had never been a staple of her diet, and she didn't find it particularly pleasant, especially not deep-fried in batter thicker than the fish. She could never look at her aquarium the same way again ... assuming she ever had another chance to step foot on the Normandy. "James, you think the tribunal's going to meet again next week?"
"Above my pay grade. They'll tell us when they tell us."
"That doesn't frustrate the hell out of you?"
He shrugged. "Nah. I've got good chow, good company, plenty of free time … what's to complain about?"
"Lack of active duty?"
"Yeah, fair enough."
They had reached the mess, and Vega held the door open for her with an innate courtesy she had noticed before. "Don't go anywhere."
"Where is there to go?" She sighed, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the fried fish. "Vega."
He raised his eyebrows.
"If I had my way, I'd be back on my ship doing something useful, and so would you."
"Hold on to that thought, Commander. They can't keep you here forever."
"Can't they? I think someone forgot to tell them that." Shepard sighed and moved into the chow line, trying to work up some enthusiasm for the fish and failing completely.