Garrus Vakarian stormed into the Hanshan garage, unbridled frustration weighing down the stony ridge of his brow. Any face, moving quickly in low lighting, is not easy for most humans to see. Even so, there was no mistaking the gait of an angry turian.
"Commander", he called to Shepard, who raised a defensive palm to one of Hanshan's lousy security officers before heading his way. It was too bad the corporations here were more interested in their own profits than the security of their own personnel. Still, the two weren't mutually exclusive, and it had been his hope that someone in an expensive chair was having a panic attack at this very moment.
"Sorry I couldn't get here sooner. Hanshan security is pathetic. They frisk all the wrong people, and they never even-"
"Forget it, Garrus", Shepard cut him short. "We're fine now. Find anything new?"
"No", he lowered his head in dignified shame, a classic turian gesture of humility. "I was heading back to the Normandy when I saw them running toward the garage. I knew it had something to do with the geth, but I-"
The turian stopped himself, this time. He noticed the asari doctor hunched over the shattered remains of a geth drone. Beside the drone, limp against a gray supply crate, was the only quarian Garrus would trust with his life.
"Tali!" he called as he made his way through the wreckage of the battle. The asari offered no verbal explanation, but Garrus saw the whites of her eyes, and knew the situation was dire.
"Hi, Garrus", the quarian spoke in a voice that sounded almost too soft for Garrus to recognize.
"What the hell happened? Are you bleeding?"
"No, no. It's not that bad. I think I just-" she clutched at her thigh and inhaled sharply, which the turian assumed to be the source of her agony.
Strange sounds were commonplace in his line of work, but the strained wincing of this quarian girl was something he would not soon forget. It felt like someone setting off an incendiary grenade inside his chest cavity.
"Come on. I'm taking you to see Chakwas" he said, instinctively reaching under her knees with one arm and supporting her back with the other. She was not as lightweight as Garrus had anticipated, but he did an excellent job of concealing any hint of muscular strain as he lifted her lithe little form. Something about the task reminded him of his days as a turian conscript, but he didn't bother to ponder what exactly.
"Garrus, just put me down. I don't really need-"
"Chakwas will decide what you need, Tali. She's one of the finest medical officers a little quarian could ask for".
"Don't call me that!"
"Excuse me, Garrus", the asari stood before Garrus, rubbing her forearm tentatively. "Are you sure this is wise? I'm sure Hanshan has its own medical ward, perhaps we could-"
"You must be kidding. Even if the medical ward on Noveria is twice as good as the security team, she wouldn't get half the level of quality service she would receive from the Normandy's own doctor", he spat his nonsensical comparisons quickly, not bothering to check the math. The quarian's back muscles tightened noticeably when he hefted her in his arms, and headed for the garage exit.
"Besides", he mumbled, "I can get her to the Normandy before any of these incompetents take action".
T'Soni rubbed her forehead, recognizing one of the turian security officers Garrus glared at while making his way to the exit. Most of the officers had lowered their rifles by now, but the turian officer seemed to give Garrus an especially wide berth. He turned away the instant Garrus's eyes fell upon him, a gesture Liara interpreted as one of either disinterest or disgrace.
She overheard the quarian yelp in sudden pain, followed by a curt apology from her turian rescuer as they passed through the exit.
Tali would be fine.
Doctor T'Soni swallowed her worries and peered down at the broken geth that lay twisted at her feet. No longer active, they did not seem quite so threatening. She could only imagine what sort of things ran through the quarian's mind whenever she faced the geth in battle. If she was remorseful about killing the synthetic life forms, she certainly did not show it. Then again, the history between quarian and geth must have seemed quite ancient, at least by quarian standards. Perhaps she was angry at them, or maybe she found some measure of satisfaction in their demise. Liara had difficulty imagining herself in the same scenario. A quarian might seem to take punitive action against the creatures they birthed, but the geth? They were a mystery. She had difficulty understanding how a synthetic life form managed to acquire any sense of personal injustice, much less the drive to rebel violently against its own creators. The possibility of a widespread rebellion of machines seemed bizarre and frightening to her all at once. Still, no work of fiction could ever hope to be as incredible or terrifying as reality.
Rebellion.
T'Soni had not been particularly rebellious as a young maiden. Of course, without a mother to rebel against-
"Looks like I missed out on all the fun", came a throaty voice. Liara quickly recognized it as the cowardly turian guard, who apparently wished to speak with her. She did not have many turian acquaintances, but she assumed from this one's behavior that turian proxemics were similar to those of the quarian; they must have preferred to speak at closer range to others.
"What sort of fun were you referring to?" she asked politely, not wanting to disrupt conversational flow with her personal curiosities.
"The battle, I mean. You must have some pretty fancy moves to hold your own in a fight like this. Looks messy", he added, glancing about at the geth corpses that littered the garage.
"I am sure your captain will not ask you to clean the garage, if that is what you mean".
The turian chuckled, and studied his rifle for a moment before reestablishing eye contact with her.
"You're a weird one. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"Sometimes", Liara offered. "Although I expect one may encounter many unusual things on Noveria".
"Yeah", the guard sighed. "Most of them aren't so pretty, though".
There was a silence, but the officer did not offer any elaboration.
"Pretty?" she asked. Nothing about their present situation seemed pretty, to her.
"Pretty. You know, like flowers and… stuff. I mean, if you like flowers. Or something like that" the turian shrugged, and seemed to mumble something under his breath.
"I apologize if I seem distracted, sir", she reassured him, suddenly feeling quite sorry for the clumsy turian. "I must speak with the commander now".
"Oh, yeah. Nice talking to you, ma'am."
Liara was relieved by the brevity of this interaction, where she felt too burdened by the weight of his strange words. She nodded respectfully, and noticed a sweet pungency when he offered a final "Have a good day". It was a powerful aroma, like an artificial perfume or sickeningly rich confection. The asari did not specialize in biological sciences, but she knew that turians and quarians had similar digestive systems, and even a small taste of famously rich human food could have potentially lethal consequences for an overly curious member of either species. Perhaps she would discuss it with the Normandy's chief engineer later. For now, she tried to push the unpleasant images of oily foods out of her mind.
The fresh aroma from asari arrangements of colorful, crisp fruit held surprising appeal at this moment, she thought wistfully.
Captain Matsuo did not have much experience with Spectre agents. As the right hand of the Citadel's prestigious council, she expected them to be quite capable in combat, yet also firm upholders of laws and regulations.
Matsuo was beginning to think that the administrator had been right in his warning regarding the visiting Spectre. This particular agent, Commander Shepard, appeared to be extremely hostile and dismissive of Noveria's corporate policies and well-established protocols. Perhaps the "elite" element of the Spectres rested more in their combat abilities than anything else.
"And like I said, if your little security team had done their job properly, we wouldn't be having this discussion in the first place, would we?"
"No, Commander", Matsuo replied, smooth as a river stone in a babbling brook.
"Not to mention the geth that are still out there, waiting in those mysteriously heavy shipping crates that your people didn't even bother to check. I don't care about your investors or their fat wallets. If Saren gets away with this, we'll all be dead before we even know what hit us. Oh, and I would also like to know if you can sing a good quarian melody, because if I have to attend that little girl's funeral just because of some-"
"I apologize, Commander". Matsuo offered a simple, dignified response to halt Shepard's verbal assault. Seeing an opening, the security captain excused herself and led her security team out of the garage without another word.
The captain had a lot of paperwork ahead of her. There was something about the outrage that the spectre's brown eyes scorched her with. It would not be until the end of her strenuous day that her wandering, relatively relaxed mind made the connection.
Matsuo had been openly disrespectful toward her mother on only one occasion, as a child. Her mother did not speak to her for several hours following the outburst. She would not forget these hours. Whenever she dared to look at her mother's face, it bore a strange expression she had never seen before. It tore into the essence of her very being, and asked "Who are you? Why would you do this to me? How, after all I have done, can you unleash such cruelty and disrespect upon my very being? I am your mother! To you I gave my life, and for you I would sacrifice every living thing in the galaxy.
Mother.
The captain of Hanshan's security team did not sleep well that night.
Shepard excelled in preparation.
Even prior to her enlistment in the Alliance military, she knew the value of a good plan and a well-maintained set of tools. One of her instructors in basic training suggested that she had a gift of some kind, an ability to "steal the eyes of the enemy". Some of her fellow recruits had been dumbfounded by the compliment, but Shepard understood the meaning. As a child, she was sometimes lauded for her "creativity" or "imagination". Fancy words for folks with lazy brains, she sometimes told herself. Hard work and dedication brought her to the rank of commander in the Alliance navy. People threw around words like "creativity" in order to justify the discriminatory treatment given to her. She hated that.
More irritating than being set upon a pedestal above others, she hated the moments when her so-called "gifts" failed her. Sometimes, plans shattered and shifted and dismembered themselves before you even knew it. You had to deal with that as best you could, or you'd just get knocked off your feet.
"Joker. Is Garrus back at the Normandy?"
Or even worse, and someone else fell down just because of your own carelessness.
"Just got back, ma'am. He's been pacing around in front of the medbay door ever since Chakwas kicked him out. Turian loyalty for ya".
"How is she?"
"She's fine. I mean, she was still mouthin' off at Garrus when he brought her aboard. Want me to patch her through?"
"No", Shepard answered immediately, before she could let images of the crippled quarian invade her mind. "I need someone to fill in for her, though".
"Yeah? Anyone in particular, or you want me to find a bottle to spin?"
Shepard had no need of spinning bottles or other inanimate oracles to determine her needs or aid her decisions. She had hoped to arrive on Noveria before the geth, and now the element of surprise was completely lost. This ice cube was rapidly approaching its melting point, and Shepard would need someone she could rely on in the heat of battle. She knew who would be best suited to the heavy fighting that was sure to come, and the decision had been made long before it had been articulated by the Normandy's smartass pilot.