Chapter 6


Gala walked the curling staircase with Anderson a step ahead, leading them to the next deck….He seemed to have remembered something and stopped, fishing into his coat's pocket to remove what with his hand, then turned down to Gala, "….You're going to want to add this into your ear hardware."

"What's…." She cupped a small needle-node that fell into her palm from his fingers, "….A pin-chip for Turian translation."

He gave her a nod, "….They're on our side now, Commander, so be careful what you say, especially since the Turian Hierarchy permitted us to build the Normandy with their engineers, and following well over twenty-five years of studying our languages and communication systems, particularly after the Relay 314 Incident."

"Yes, Sir," Gala carefully inserted the needle-node into her ear, feeling for an accessible slot among the apparatus surgically-implanted into Alliance personnel with contact among outside species….The pin-chip caught on an open slot's edge and she pushed it into place alongside three others: one for Universal Human to handle the "Tower of Babel" conundrum among unique languages per her own species, one for Asari Common, for use on the Citadel such as when she had to go through the asari for her C-Sec check-in, and one for Batarian, which was the result of being among combatants during a "resolution" known as Torfan….There were other slots available, and with surgical-upgrades "bigger" translators that came with more slots and their respective language chips, but Gala would not have those what with lacking the specific permissions from the Alliance just yet….Adding the turian pin-chip to her translational system, she would acquire access to new databases throughout the Normandy, which had been previously off-limits to her, especially as she was yet to prove herself trustworthy….What that privilege could mean for Gala filled her with excitement over what was to come with the small pin-sized "promotion" from her captain….A deliberate darkness over certain matters that only rank—and a "Need-To-Know" basis—could grant her permission to be aware of, privy to….The "lights" were coming on for her to "see" better by, and Gala could feel her body reacting to her mind's primitive desire to learn.…She had heard her father and mother more than once say that she was more animal than Human in that regard, for she was always straining against her limits to learn about what was off-limits to her, like a hound that once existed in her life….Old "Happy"….Truth be told, her skin was prickling with the knowledge that a chain was being lengthened…."Ready, Sir…." Her hand, trembling a little, went down to her side again.

Anderson studied his young protégé, "….I think you are…." They continued their route up the stairs, Anderson entering the Navigation "pit" to then turn towards the communication center, not making eye contact with anyone. Though the crew in Navigation and its surrounding work areas had witnessed the "newest crewmember" enter the conference room earlier, none sought with their curious looks the commander as she, too, followed Anderson into that room of the Normandy….They all knew better than to stare.

Gala waited behind Anderson as he parted the doors and began his descent down a sloping, egg-shaped ramp to the lower floor, on which chairs were fastened by poles through the flooring to the ship's structure beneath these, and facing one and other in a semi-circular arrangement, similar to a pentagon.

Ahead of him, as Gala followed Anderson, she stopped midway down the ramp, her eyes recognizing the dark armor of the turian that had passed through her line in C-Sec by the lift….The turian was somewhat less imposing now she knew he was there aboard the Normandy for her….Something Gala marveled at, that her confidence was from knowing what was in store ahead of time, and Anderson she had to thank for that since he had prepared her.

But had Gala found a turian wandering around the Normandy—armed to the teeth—shots would have been fired, questions asked after the fact….Thank goodness for Anderson.

The lighting in the room came softly down from the cycle of lamps above the chairs, and more illuminating outward from the "pots" of glass in the floor, just outside the same seating arrangement, hugging close to the walls bordering the room.

The turian had his back to them, and now turned as Anderson slowed, "….Hold on, Commander," he turned to Gala, whose face lowered to look at his from a little higher on the ramp, "….Let the pin-chip pick up the conversation first before you start speaking at all," his brown eyes warned her, "….I'll have a word with him to give your translator time to start working…." Gala stayed her feet in parade-rest, watching Anderson go farther down the ramp and approach the turian whose muzzle tilted downard to watch Anderson, too, dark eyes following the captain….The eyes were nearly hidden among the stark white paint, and greyish-purple plating that made a turian's face and frill seem like an ornate mask…."Spectre Kryik" was armed with a small, unique "arsenal" of weaponry….This was forbidden in most other cases where a person visiting the ship would not be allowed to carry such weapons at all, but the turian was a "Spectre", and had such privileges aboard the Normandy, most likely everywhere else he went….Gala was acutely aware of where her sidearm was on her hip, and ready to use it—if her captain were in any danger of the turian, Spectre or not. "Agent Kryik," Anderson stopped a few paces away, the turian silently watching him, listening with his long, armored-arms relaxed at his sides, sharp-fingered gloves reaching down to the thighs.

The turian's mandibles remained alongside his mouth, unmoving, as the sharp beak began to shift, and Gala's pin-chip was initializing to the turian's speech, so all she heard was a deep resonation of something guttural, disturbingly-low, aggressive, "non-Human" as the turian spoke….Anderson appeared to understand, what with having his own pin-chip far longer than she had had hers upgraded, and he nodded along, paying attention as the communication center filled with the noise from the alien.

To Gala's ears alone, the turian's voice could have been the sound of "rocks being dropped and ground together in a mixer, pulverized by powerful compressions into smaller pebbles rubbing together, churning"….Eventually her pin-chip had adapted and gradually, she began to hear snippets of words she recognized, the "grinding" far less noticeable….Gala heard Anderson reply to what must have been the turian asking him a question, and in a deeply robust, "Humanized" voice that Gala understood crystal-clear, the turian responded to Anderson's answer, "….Excellent, let me talk to your soldier, Captain."

She felt the hairs rise on the skin of her arms, the back of her neck as Anderson stepped aside, revealing the lower-half of the turian in the middle of the room with his dark armor, lined in crimson paint along its edges….As Anderson looked to her, she proceeded down the rest of the rampway, taking that as the signal to join them. The turian's head with its raised, backwards frill of spiking horns lowered as he had done before with Anderson's arrival from the ramp, following Gala with eyes rooted to her face as well as her form, and ending where she stopped to stand beside Anderson.

She could see up-close that his eyes were brightly yellow and orange, the pupils narrow and beastly, "….Are your speech-packets working, Commander," she heard the Spectre ask, and Gala nodded, "….I am Nihlus Kryik."

"Spectre Kryik, Gala Shepard," she stopped herself from issuing the custom handshake among her species, "….but you knew that."

Nihlus dipped his chin and mandibles, a very slight motion, "….I am aware of who you are and more….Your commanding superior has informed you of what I am, and I have the opinion you understand the level of discretion—and privilege—associated with what I am entitled to do."

It was astounding how well the pin-chip was collecting his language and passing the translation into her head….The rate of production was flawlessly smooth.

Gala lowered her eyes a moment, in consideration of what Nihlus had said, seeing the air between them, "….Spectres report to themselves, though they are elected by the Council to become Spectres….Their weapon is their freedom to choose without hindrance so long as their decisions are for the benefit of the galaxy—and promote peace and stability."

A turian "smile" was a faint parting of the unique mandibles either side of their sharp mouths, and this Nihlus gave her as she looked up at his words, "….Quorum deus libertas….I can show you how to change the setting on your translator if you'd like to learn more…." Nihlus turned and took a stride from them, leaving Gala speechless, and Anderson to wait in silence as Nihlus formulated what next he would say. "I am here to evaluate you, Commander Shepard….You are being judged for your candidacy as one who might one day soon join the Council Spectres." Gala's eyes revealed the least perceptible widening of her pupils, "….It has been noted that you among select candidates have risen above the requirements expected of a common soldier—regardless the species he or she hails from….You have survived immeasurable odds, admirable in a human," he continued to orate his thinking with his back to them, "….I first came to know of you after the fallout from Akuze….You, out of fifty of your men and women, were the only one to survive and tell the tale of what happened to your unit and the colony you went to investigate the disappearance of….Despite the deaths of your comrades, you showed focus, determination, and reached your landing zone to escape Thresher Maws….Spectres are forged by fire, Commander Shepard….Every one of us," he turned, seeing her with his indecipherable eyes….His feet cycled him around to standing facing her again, dead-on as he bent a little to bring his eyes to her level, "….Not only have you lived through Akuze, you went on to fight in other battles, and have since been promoted through Human rank and file….You are likely a fit for the Spectres….Your ability to stay resolved on excelling in your career as a soldier, to make the decisions necessary for survival, mission execution, despite the compelling obstacles in your way….Your resourcefulness….Your calculation," Gala felt the probe of these last few words, and kept her face blank as Nihlus went on, provoking her, "….is something I consider personally dislikable about Humans, but would suit one in becoming a successful, useful, SpecTRe agent…." She said nothing, letting him draw out the bitter silence, "….I will accompany your team on Eden Prime….The sensitivity of a mission involving the extraction of a prothean beacon will give me a view into the care you put towards your work….If it is at all reckless without reason, that will finalize my decision to continue with you as my nomination—or not."

"Spectre Kryik," Gala had to interject, "….You're Turian….Why would you take interest in me—Why nominate a human for Council SpecTRe?"

"A good question," Nihlus straightened, his armor so close Gala could see the split among his breastplate, covered by crimson paint, up to his neck in a stripe with an emblem in its peaking, "….Spectres come usually from among the Council races….On occasion, a Spectre may nominate someone outside the typical cast, that he deems worthy of the responsibility."

"If I may speak freely," and at Nihlus's nod, Gala needn't have spoken this to Anderson, whose own rank was nonexistent with the Spectre in the room, "….at Akuze, I failed to keep my men and women alive."

"In the end, Commander Shepard," Nihlus tilted his head to consider her from a new angle, his gloved-talons crossing his long forearms behind his back, "….only one must remain to accomplish the mission….You did, and I think you will do well with the right mentoring," his mandibles parted in a sly, turian grin, "….No offense, Captain Anderson."

"None taken."

Nihlus wasn't looking at Anderson, only Gala's eyes.

"I see in you the mettle that a Spectre must have to become a solid contributor….Whatever the cost to those around you, whether people die or the world goes up in fire, a Spectre holds true to the end….You delivered on the report for what happened there….You completed your mission, alone though you came from it…." He stopped, a flicker of his eyelids causing Nihlus to show the first sign of….emotion….for a turian….and that was enough for Nihlus to realize he was showing too much investment.

Gala looked straight ahead at the crimson stripe up his breastplate, the citadel emblem of the Council at its top, "….Thank you, Spectre Kryik….I look forward to working together—" The intercom abruptly interrupted with Joker's calm, dismal voice:

"Captain, Commander, we have a problem….I've just received a distress call from Eden Prime, I think you need to see it…."

"Patch it through to us, Joker," Anderson looked at the turian, "….Nihlus, I'm sure you'll stay in on this," and Nihlus gave a slight nod, such the example of Turian calm, and Gala turned towards where she anticipated the conference display to produce into the room by its projection lenses….Nihlus turned his unflappable gaze to the spot in the air where Anderson pointed them to look.