Chapter 29: Match -Set
Sam pressed her back against the wall of the elevator and closed her eyes after having hit the button that would take her to the Presidium.
"That could have gone worse. Of course it could have gone better," Vasir drawled.
The human made a noncommittal grunt.
"You're going to have to learn how to handle them."
"A skill no doubt you are an expert in?" Shepard opened her eyes to look into the blue face of the other Spectre. She took note of the purple face markings and not for the first time wondered if the patterns were simply aesthetic or carried some sort of meaning.
"Of course." Vasir looked at her fingernails in a lazy, leisurely manner. That was the thing about the asari; they looked cool doing the most mundane things. And they always managed to find something to casually lean against. "I've been dealing with Tevos for ... fifty-five...fifty-eight years? I lose track. Sparatus for about twenty and Valen half that time. He's an old amphibian. On his way out, if you take my meaning.
"The thing with the Council is that they need us more than we need them, but they don't like us knowing it. We're their left hand. The one covered in blood and always in shadow. Some say we're their right hand, but Spectres know better. We're their personal assassins. Operatives that slip in, cut a few throats and slip out. Some noisier than others," she smirked.
The damned explosions. Had to be what she was hinting at.
It's not all my fault. I'm not the one carrying around heavy weapons, using gunships... and generally being stupid.
Shepard's mouth thinned into a grim line.
"Hey, I'm not judging you. If you have to blow up a building to get the job done, you do it. We get our hands dirty so the Council doesn't have to. The Councilors might complain about our methods to ease their consciences, but they never look too closely."
"I don't work like that," Shepard countered, indignant that maybe she might be labeled as callous and reckless. "You don't put civilians in harms way. You find a better solution. A better way."
"If there is one," Vasir said nonchalantly. "Sometimes there isn't. Be a Spectre for a few more years, Shepard, and in time you will see the most pragmatic solution isn't going to fit into your nice little idealistic niche of honor. You want to be a Spectre you will have to be comfortable with ruthless calculus and ruthless pragmatism. Maybe it keeps you up at night, maybe it doesn't. Thing is you have to be able to do it, to carry out your orders. Why do you think they choose Spectres from the military pools?" She stood a little straighter and strode towards Shepard in that same casual manner. When she was nose to nose with the human she whispered. "Don't let your honor be a weakness, Shepard. Back in there the Council knew that weakness and Sparatus jumped on it every time. He always will.
"But you had the bastard for a moment when you said if he had an issue with his continued existence he could commit...what was it you called it?"
"Seppuku. It's the ritual suicide of Bushido, a code the ancient Samurai followed. A bit like the asari Justicar code. Very strict. Very demanding. Highly honourable"
"Right. Whatever. Thing is you called that ass on it dead-to-rights. Turians do have a code of honor they follow. If they fuck up their honor or their family's honor sometimes they only way to restore it is to commit ritual suicide…this seppuku. Sparatus won't be committing it anytime soon. He's too fond of his carapace.
"As for the others. Be blunt. Be frank. Confront them with, 'You wanted me to do the job. It's done. Enemies of Council Space will do well to remember you can not escape the justice of a Council Spectre.' Works for me. Worked for Saren. Works for most of us. Your problem is that you want them to agree with you. Never going to happen. Let me give you an example. They pissed and moaned when you let the rachni queen go, yes?"
Shepard nodded her head.
"They would have pissed and moaned had you murdered the bug. It's like some damned principle they're playing with, a whole different rule book they never let you look at. They will bitch no matter what because they think that is what they have to do with us. We answer only to them. We do not have to abide any law or regulation or mandates so they think they have to police us. Fair enough. But they think policing us is the same as bitching us out for how we accomplish our missions. Next time simply tell them to live with the results. You did as ordered."
Shepard opened her mouth as if to protest.
"And stop treating them as you do your Alliance Admiralty. They deserve respect, yes, but don't get so mired in some protocol bullshit you let them walk all over you. But you're still fresh from your Alliance military, that will wear off in due course."
Not bloodily likely, Shepard thought. Military protocol was a safe harbour. It had boundaries and lines, it was familiar. Hell, military protocol was bred into her. She'd been raised with it. Granted there were times when she bent them but never truly broke them. But Vasir had some valid points.
Vasir seemed to read this in the blue eyes of her human counterpart. "You've spoken with this TIM, I imagine?"
"Yes," was the clipped answer. A clipped answer sounding as if Shepard had been asked she ever stepped ankle deep in a rank midden pile.
"You defer to him?"
"Of course not!" Shepard sneered. "The man is a pathological liar, psychotic sadist and a megalomaniac. The only respect due to him is the same sort you give a thresher maw or a pack of varren. He's dangerous, deadly and depraved. But smart, savvy and he can bend others to his will by force, charm or vacant promises. I look forward to the day I put a bullet into his god damn head!"
Vasir grinned.
"Are you saying I should treat the Council like that?" Shepard crossed her arms over her chest, her face scowling.
The asari shook her head. "Not at all."
"Then just what are you saying?"
"Open to interpretation, my dear fellow Spectre." Vasir shrugged nonplussed. "And you're a goddess-damned Spectre. Start acting like it instead of some dull stone of a marine. Oh don't go and get your nose out of joint. Any asari with enough talent in biotics can become a huntress, any human with enough guts can become a marine but not everyone can become a Spectre. You want to be considered a real Spectre then fucking well remember that, human."
When the lift opened Vasir strode out leaving a confused Shepard in her wake. The doors chimed again signalling they were about to close before the younger woman came back to herself and swiftly exited as well.
Shepard walked the corridors of the Presidium which would lead her to the Embassies and the Spectre office. She kept chewing over the words Tela Vasir had spoken about how to deal with the Council: Respect them but do not defer to them. They'll never agree with anything you do, your choice is always wrong.
"The more I think of it the more the whole damn lot of them sound like goddamned senior drill instructors," Shepard mumbled to herself. Suddenly the words of Gunnery Sergeant Ellison echoed in the Commander's mind:
'I am Gunnery Sergeant Ellison your senior drill instructor. From now on you will only speak when spoken to and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be 'Sir'. Do you pusillanimous maggots understand that?'
'Sir, yes, sir!'
'Bullshit. I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair.'
'SIR, YES, SIR!'
"If you paramoecium brained troglodytes leave my jungle, if you survive recruit training you will be a weapon. You will be a minister of death praying for war. But until that day you are pukes. You are the lowest form of life on Earth. In the fucking galaxy. You're not even human-fucking-beings. You are nothing but unorganized, grabasstic pieces of amphibian shit. Because I am hard, you will not like me. But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am hard but I am fair. There is no racial bigotry here. There is no sexism here. Here, you are all equally worthless. And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps. Do you maggots understand that?'
'SIR, YES, SIR!'
Drill instructors weren't people. They never professed to be. You don't get pissed off by your D.I. because of what they said or how they treated you in boot. They weren't ever going to be your friend. They weren't there to tell you, you did a good job even if you did. They were there to train you how to kill, to keep you alive, to survive. You took instruction, carried it out to perfection. You did your duty, you grew beyond their control and you graduated. The D.I. at Arcturus Station during N7 training made the ones at Macapá seem like declawed pussy cats. That was the Council in a nutshell.
Just like with them any answer I give the Council is going to be wrong. And if you reverse yourself they berate you harder. Even if you are right, somehow you're wrong. Why in the hell didn't I see it sooner?" she shook her head. "I can do that. Respect but don't defer. Carry out your duties to the letter, don't let them rile you. Give them the 1,000 mile stare. And whatever the fuck you do don't make them make you ring that goddamn bell.
Shepard stepped up to the door leading to the Spectre offices. A place she had not been to since her first induction nearly two years ago. She had been preoccupied and until now it wasn't necessary. First order of business was to upload her biometrics and link with the Normandy security systems. It not only marked the Normandy as a Council ship under the command of a Spectre, it made her an official vessel, not a rogue ship under the command of a privateer working for Cerberus. It made her legitimate. Commander and ship.
She had just activated the security protocols when another Spectre entered the rooms. Sam looked up but didn't recognize the salarian male. She watched as he went to another security computer and logged on.
"I've seen that look before," he said.
"Excuse me?" Shepard looked up from the terminal to meet the eyes of the man.
"That look. Seen it before," the salarian smiled. "Every time I look in the mirror after I meet with the Council."
Shepard chuckled. "That obvious?"
"Murder in the eyes for the Council? Not at all." He smiled then blinked several times "Forgive me. I'm Jondum Bau, STG ST&R."
The smile on Shepard's face faded swiftly. "STG? I thought Spectres were supposed to resign from the military commitments of their people to serve at the pleasure of the Council."
Jondum tilted his head defiantly. "Officially we do. But in our hearts many of us are still ever loyal to our people. I was STG for many years. Like you as an N7. Always loyal to our first Mistress. Yes?"
"STG was your first love?" Sam's smile was back.
"Was not the N7 yours?"
They shared a knowing look.
"They can't stop that loyalty," the salarian said, "Don't let them."
"How did you know that was even brought up? Vasir tell you something?"
"No. Didn't need to. Still shiny Spectre, shadows of the Council's underworld haven't cloaked you fully. Your reputation precedes you. Still called Commander."
"Yeah. That was never an issue for me until the Councilors made it one. Sparatus likes to bait me...a lot. He bitches about me being loyal to the Alliance and then deliberately calls me Commander like it's an insult."
"Hum...he still does the same to me. Calling me Major. Has since my induction. Only a few he does not bait so. Vasir is one of them. So was Saren."
"I get why he didn't with Saren, he was a turian. So why does Vasir get the special free pass ticket?"
"I think because she frightens him. Terrifies him really," Jondum said. "He would not dare bait her. She's been a Spectre longer than he has been a Councilor. Most asari Spectres are. She has the added advantage. More asari Spectres than any other race. Asari huntresses were amongst the first individuals to be chosen as Spectres."
"I always thought it was the turians that had that privilege," Shepard commented. "That was before I became one. Once I was one I wasn't given a great deal more information. Most of what I learned was from the extranet," she snorted a laugh. "I had to shift through a lot of bullshit to get to anything that remotely resembled the truth. And even then I'm not even sure. I do know that Spectres have to buy all our own gear like weapons and armour a bit like the asari Justicars. We have no command structure. We answer only to the Council, and in some cases the Council prefers not to know the exact details of how we accomplish our missions."
She also knew but didn't voice that candidates for the Spectres typically have years of military or law enforcement experience before even being considered. The screening process involves background checks, psychological evaluations, and a long period of field training under an experienced mentor. Unfortunately Shepard's mentor was murdered, she didn't have that advantage. One that the Council or more specifically Sparatus held against her as if it were Shepard's fault that Saren shot Nillus in the back.
It was something Shepard had tossed back into the turian Councilor's face early on, and it had silenced him for a time. Maybe it was time to throw it again when the old skull face decided to ridicule her for her lack of Spectre training and knowledge. It was time to remind him that it was a rogue turian that murdered another turian not a human. It was a turian that was bent on murdering the Council, leaving out the pending annihilation of all organic life by the Reapers. Not a human.
"Extranet is mostly speculation," Jondum remarked. "But if you read salarians were first to be asked to serve as Spectre that is correct."
Shepard leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees fully engrossed in the history lesson. "Mordin said the Spectres were modelled after the STG. Makes sense then that the first Spectre was a salarian. Tell me more."
"The Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch was founded in 693 CE. Beelo Gurji, formerly a salarian operative, was accused of using thirty civilians as bait to flush out his target. Instead of incarcerating him, the Council released him and offered him the chance to establish the Spectres. Which he accepted. It was shortly before the Krogan Rebellions began. At a time when the Council was uneasy about the unchecked expansion of the krogan into Citadel Space.
"The Spectres were chosen from the finest salarian STG operatives and asari huntresses. Intended to function partly in an observational capacity, but also as the Council's first line of defence. When the krogan finally turned against the Citadel, the Spectres were ready for them. Using guerilla tactics such as computer viruses and devastating sabotage, they were able to slow the krogan down before the turians joined the conflict. For years the activities of the Spectres were a Council secret. But our role was made public after the Krogan Rebellions were over. Spectres act in any way we see fit. Either with careful diplomacy or ruthless force. Being officially above any law. In the last thousand years, only two have turned down an offer to become a Spectre. Both of whom were asari matriarchs."
"Asari matriarch Spectres. Now there's something." Shepard smiled.
"There are more matriarchs serving than you think. Like huntresses and Justicars, asari Spectres serve for life. I believe there are seven matriarchs serving."
"Really? Wow. How many Spectres are there? I heard there were fewer than a hundred active."
"Only the Council posses that knowledge. STG Intelligence claims there to be a hundred and three. Vasir claims there are equal amount of Spectres as there are Justicars."
"I have a Justicar serving with me. She says there are very few asari justicars due to the high mortality rates in training. She didn't go into it but I know it's more intense than that of a huntress. I got the feeling 'very few' was definitely under hundred. More like fifty or so. I suppose it doesn't matter how many of us there are."
The salarian shrugged then walked over to Shepard's desk. "No I suppose it doesn't. Shepard, the only Spectres you need to be concerned about are the ones that believe you about the Reapers. And there are a number of us." He smiled conspiratorially. "There are forty of us that believe you. Old salarian proverb: The more you make a big deal out of denying something more the people will believe it's real. Proved to be true here with the Council denying that Sovereign was a Reaper. A number of Spectres have 'defected' their loyalty from Council rhetoric to believing you. Reapers are real. They are coming. We must be made ready. We are now acting as we had in the past, before Krogan Rebellions. More secretive to make our people prepared. You will be taking flack in the Council room because of it."
Shepard nodded. "I've felt it. Now it makes sense while they were railing against me so hard. Forty Spectres who believe me, that's a lot of clout. Governments will be looking at that."
"'Defiance has its price. Obedience its rewards and submission is always what it seems.' The Council will make you pay for your defiance. And ours."
"Another salarian proverb?"
"Asari."
"Hmm…You know, back on Earth during the twentieth century there was a great English leader named Winston Churchill that once said: 'You can trust the Americans to do the right thing, after they have tried every other alternative.' I get the strong feeling the Council is the same. Only by the time they do the right thing it will be far too late."
"You fear the worst?"
"Of course. Fearing the best is a waste of time." Shepard offered a lopsided humourless grin.
The salarian smiled in that same manner. "One way or the other you have forty Spectres with wavecrests under their command willing to stand with you. As humans say, 'we do not want to see our pants down again'."
The sentiment was close enough.
"Thank you." Shepard was sincere. "But I have to ask why you believe me and aren't drinking the Council's Kool-aid?"
"Because we are not stupid. We saw the evidence. We believe in your truth, Spectre Shepard. We will do what we can to move our people into affirmative action. Many of us knew Saren and Nilhus even if we did not know each other. When your name came up for possible induction Nihlus was the first to volunteer to be your mentor. I was second. Tela was third. A woman who stood against a hundred slavers. Alone. You ordered the squad with you to protect the governor of Elysium. Willing to lay down your life to protect the innocent. This is the behavior of a Spectre."
"It's also the behaviour of any N7 doing her duty. As an N7 that duty is to the Alliance, as a Spectre's is to Council Space."
"Spectres stand to the last, until our duty is done," Jondum repeated the oath. "Now you know why we will follow your lead." He offered his hand to shake, which Shepard did in a warrior's forearm grasp.
The look of overwhelming relief flooded her face; she was so touched by the sentiment she couldn't have played it off if she tried. She knew these forty souls were putting their reputations on the line for this, she knew it was going to cost them. Hell, it created a schism within the Spectres - forty who had 'defected'. Jondum had specifically used that word—defected. So how many remained rooted in the other camp? Suddenly that unknown number of how many Spectres there were became very important.
They could have an intervening coup...coup...goddess that's what the Council was terrified of, wasn't it? A coup. Forty Spectres with forty wavecrest warships bent on trusting Shepard's word that the Reapers were a true and present danger. No, make that forty-one Spectres crusading against the cover-up. Forty-one Spectres had the Council pissing in their ropes. Forty-one Spectres out of no matter how many could not be ignored. Forty-one voices their governments had to listen to, had to take seriously.
'The more noise you make about covering something up, the more people will believe it is true. '
Shepard grinned. Things were definitely looking up. She looked to Jondum for a moment. "Say, I hate to show my ignorance here, but maybe you can help. I was trying to log-in my security details to register the Normandy SR2 as a Council warship but there seems to be an issue with the process."
"Ah, yes. Of course. Ship's registry cannot be done from here. Only cases open for Spectre review available. Updating biometrics must be done at the Council Archives. I'm happy to show you the way. Good chance to talk about your experiences with Sovereign. You spoke to it. You spoke to an AI on Ilos, had it your ship for a time. What is known about the enemy? What did the Cipher and beacons show you? Reapers? We must know of the enemy."
Shepard's face scrunched up in a bewildered expression but only for a moment. "If we don't fight the Reapers we die. It's that simple. Ask your questions."
"First, what does 'drinking the Kool-aid' mean?"
Shepard chuckled softly. "It's an old Earth phrase; it's um...commonly used in the United North American States. It refers to a person or group holding an unquestioned belief in a philosophy without critical examination. It also refers to knowingly going along with a doomed or dangerous idea because of peer pressure.
"It derives from the Jonestown deaths back in November 1978. See there was this real nut-case the Reverend Jim Jones who ran a cult called the Peoples Temple. His followers committed suicide by drinking a mixture of a powdered soft drink laced with cyanide."
"Ah, so it is a negative human colloquium."
Shepard nodded "Very negative. To me the Council has everyone drinking the Kool-aid when they refuse to acknowledge the existence of the Reapers."
"Not everyone," Jondum said with a smile.
And so the walk-and-talk continued during the long elevator ride down to the Council Archives.
ME~ME~ME~ME~ME~ME~ME
Liselle looked at the array of kepesh-yakshi set her sire had collected over the centuries. Many of them several millennia old passed down from mother to daughter, in some cases Arda to daughter.
There were other such games on a similar theme: Earth-Western chess, the salarian version of the game which the humans had a version of they called Moebius chess. The turian version was called Thud and was played with identical figures of turian and krogan, the krogan being larger and carrying clubs while the turians being slightly smaller and were armed with assault rifles. There was 3-D and three-way chess. And many other variants, many from the more ancient times of the other races as well as asari. Tevos was fixated on the game. They all had one common theme; you couldn't play the game without one thing - strategy.
Nearly every game was also in the midst of being played. Who the Councilor's opponents were Liselle had no knowledge of, but it would be interesting to find out. It would tell her much of how her sire thought, who she pitted her wits and mind against, and who she believed was a serious challenge. It was not a difficult task to believe that one of the many belonged to her parents. But which one?
There was one game - the 3-way variant - that stood out from all the others. It seemed to the maiden to be played more as a testament or perhaps a representation of what was taking place within current events. Each of the three sides represented a member of the Council and their machinations.
Liselle studied it in fascination.
Over the decades her mother had taught Liselle many lessons: when to strike at an enemy, when to hold back, when to allow them to escape and when to wipe out their entire line. Sometimes it was better to change your name than have to kill someone. When to stand for a friend and when to leave them to their fate and who was useful to you be it friend or foe. Sometimes a good enemy was better than a moderate ally.
Liselle knew one thing. Her mother considered the young human Shepard to be a friend and was quite fond of her, even if the Spectre didn't know where she stood with Aria. The Pirate Queen even trusted her, most notably because Shepard carried a code of conduct an honor, one Aria knew she could exploit. Aria told her daughter that heroes were unpredictable; you never knew when one was going to do something stupid in the name of their code of honor or when they would bend it.
The strange thing was that she had no idea how the Council categorized Shepard. Was she a moderate ally or a good enemy? It was pretty clear Shepard didn't know either. The young maiden wondered what sort of games her sire was playing with the Spectre.
She had watched from a concealed corner of the Council Chambers (as per her sire's instructions) as each Councilor in-turn baited and questioned Shepard. It was if they wanted her to turn on them. Or they were setting her up to take the blame when the darkness fell on the eve of the Reaper invasion. Liselle could just imagine what the news feeds would be: 'Reapers invade Council Space: the same term used by the disgraced Commander Shepard to describe a theoretical enemy.'
She looked more closely at the 3-way chess game. It wasn't the three Councilors pitted against each other,thoughtother, thought. It was the Council, Spectre Shepard and...the hidden enemy or more probably the alliance of such: Reapers...Collectors...Cerberus.
"Find what you're looking for amongst the games?" Tevos asked as she slipped into her private chambers. Liselle didn't even flinch when her concentration was shattered by the intrusion into her thoughts.
"You like moving people into strategies you've long devised be played out. You force them into such situations, even if they counter and re-counter every move. You thrive on the challenge. Like mother."
Tevos moved to the board her youngest daughter was standing near. She picked up what looked to be the cerulean queen's pawn and held it examining it for a moment. "It was your mother that introduced me to chess when we were younglings, not even full maidens yet. She's the best I've ever seen."
She looked to her child then the piece in her hand. "But she is too good."
"What do you mean?"
"Her successes and arrogance have blinded her. One day I fear she will out play her hand," Tevos whispered softly then set down the pawn she held into a new position taking the gold side's king's bishop. Though the golden king's rook could take said pawn, it would leave their king in check-mate from the Emerald king's knight and queen as well as the Cerulean's queen's bishop. For now the little pawn was safe. In-fact it was acting as a buffer for the enemy.
"You see when you take your eyes off the little ones they sometimes creep up upon you. Sometimes it is best to forget the knight and watch the pawn." The Councilor swept her hand above the board. "Little moves here and there, moves that are often retaliated swiftly out of pride but leave you vulnerable. Distraction and deception. "
Liselle looked at the board and all the pieces still in play which where were about half for each party. "So which piece is Shepard?"
Tevos only smiled.
ME~ME~ME~ME~ME~ME~ME
AN1: I know Shep didn't go to the Spectre offices until ME3, but I think she should have been able to go there. Anderson said she should check out the Spectre requisition depot in ME1. So I moved the depot up from the C-Sec Academy to there it is in 3. Artistic License and all that.
AN2: I googled different styles of chess and there is a 3 way chess game. And Thud belongs to Sir Terry Pratchet, no intellectual copywrite infringement intended.