A sharp hiss signaled the completion of the final automated decontamination, and Vakarian set foot aboard the Normandy. Wrex and Tali trotted down the bridge, while the turian lingered at the cockpit and gazed silently at amber gauges and luminescent display screens.
"Somethin' you need?"
"No", Garrus replied to the faceless voice. "I was just leaving".
"It was a tough call", Joker spoke at last. "I'm just glad I didn't have to make it".
The pilot's voice had never sounded so gentle.
"What?" the turian was puzzled. He shifted noticeably when he found Shepard standing at his side. She often seemed to appear out of thin air.
A spectre among spectres.
"Ash" she answered in monotone. "It was either Williams or Alenko. Only time for one save before the nuke detonated. Alenko was arming the bomb, the objective. I chose the objective".
Garrus studied the spectre's features as she spoke. There were no wrinkles upon her fair skin, no tension at her brow. No anger. No sadness.
This was not the first time Shepard had to leave someone behind, and it would probably not be the last. For the pilot to trivialize such a horrific dilemma as a "tough call" seemed to be in very poor taste to the young turian. Soured green head dipped morosely.
"I'm sorry, Commander".
Vakarian sustained a supplicant stance, awaiting some soldierly words of reassurance. When none came, he stole one final glance at the first human spectre and left for the Normandy's vehicle bay.
Despite the depth of his concentration, Staff Lieutenant Alenko was capable of maintaining outstanding situational awareness. This capability served him well on the battlefield, though his capabilities extended to non-combat scenarios as well. Shallow observations of introversion by superior officers were overshadowed by regular demonstrations of fluid intelligence and attentive planning. Alenko's personnel file did not contain words such as "creative" or "sympathetic", but those who served with him knew of his "sensitivities" all too well.
Following Shepard's traditional debriefing, Alenko had thrust himself back into his regular duties. He had no intention of drowning himself in a sea of sorrow.
Footsteps.
Alenko let his vision wander from his work, and he immediately regretted it. Navigator Pressley hunched over a dispenser, shiny pink baldness above the grey of his hairline. The lieutenant dabbed a bead of sweat from his forehead, awaiting a fresh lecture.
Silence.
Pressley downed a full glass of water, and left.
All's well that ends well.
The mission on Virmire had ended. If the loss of one soldier meant the preservation of billions, then it had ended well. Even the nuke had been repurposed from the salarians' ship. With all the damage they caused, someone crunching the numbers would have been very impressed. Politicians, maybe.
And that's why I hate politicians.
Coffee colored eyes and full lips in a frown appeared before Alenko. He resumed his work, and tried not to frown back.