Chapter 8: Aftermath
The shuttle ride back to the Normandy was a sombre affair. All knew the change that had rocked the Commander's life and nobody wanted to antagonise him, each remembering the anger that be had displayed not so long ago. Whilst Shepard sat with folded arms, looking inward, Garrus simply tipped his head back and stared at the roof of the Kodiak, trying to relax his battle weary body. Kasumi was looking out of the portside viewing window; gazing out at the uncountable pinpricks of light and trying to remember which ones she had visited. Ethan was spinning his still unsheathed blade, which was still covered in black gore, on its tip but stopped when Shepard fixed him with a glare.
The uncomfortable silence persisted as the Kodiak docked inside the Normandy hangar, but was thankfully broken by Garrus as they strode across the hangar floor when he noticed Ethan was not heading towards the Storage Room that served as his quarters.
"Where you heading Farrows?" He asked genially.
"The Armoury," Ethan replied, stepping into the elevator with the rest of the squad and Goldstein. "This stuff," he explained, lifting up the still bare blade, "is proving hard to shift so I'm gonna go get some cleaning agent to help get rid of it."
"Hey Garrus," Kasumi piped up, turning towards the Turian "Could you take my stuff up to the armoury? I need to lie down."
"Sure Kasumi, you alright?"
"Yeah," The female thief replied, sighing. "Just need to unwind, I'm not really used to frontline strike ops. If I'm fighting, it usually means I've done something wrong."
"Fair enough." Garrus replied, taking the proffered weapons from Kasumi, who got off on the crew deck.
All the while Shepard had remained silent, staring intently at the elevator doors, boring a hole in them with his gaze. Finally they opened onto the CIC, which was buzzing with activity as usual. Crew sat at their workstations, hands flying over the holographic interfaces before them or else walked around, coming off shift or running non-critical messages to different departments whilst in the cockpit, Joker was getting them as far away as possible from Horizon.
As he headed towards the Armoury Kelly called out to him from her workstation, having heard the elevator door open behind her and the heavy noise of hardsuit boots on the floor.
"The Illusive Man wants to see you in the Briefing Room, Commander."
"Perfect." Shepard thought to himself, annoyed.
Heading into the Armoury he nodded perfunctorily at Jacob before dumping his weapons in his personal locker, where they would be looked over, cleaned and repaired by Jacob, ready for their next outing. The only weapon he kept out of the locker was the new Collector Beam Weapon, which he practically threw onto the central table, where it skidded to right in front of Jacob.
"Analyze it, take it apart, do whatever the hell it is you do with it but do it fast." He said brusquely, before moving quickly through into the Briefing Room.
"What's up with him?" Jacob asked, now intently studying the Collector weapon, pulling a tray full of diagnostic equipment closer to him without even looking at it. The Commander's mood wasn't as interesting as the new weapon was but it was still interesting.
"Old ghost turned up." Garrus supplied, whist neatly packing his weapons into his locker, in the exact same way he had since boot camp.
"Williams?" Jacob asked, probing the weapon with a small, thin utensil. The stunned silence didn't surprise him. "What, I see Cerberus briefing reports too."
"Yeh." Garrus replied, standing up and heading back through the door to the CIC. He didn't have any grievances with Jacob but it wasn't his place to discuss Shepard's personal business.
"Hey Jacob." Ethan's voice did manage to snap the Cerberus operative's gaze away from the Collector Beam Weapon.
"Farrows." Jacob said, keeping his face and tone professional. "Do you need something?"
"I do," Ethan replied, keeping his voice in the same professional tone. "You got any Cleaning Solvent around? This Husk crap is proving a challenge to shift."
"Uh yeah, sure." He replied, surprised that the merc hadn't made a joke or wisecrack. Turning he quickly rooted around in one of the storage crates, before finding a canister of cleaning agent. Turning to face the young fighter, he threw the canister to him.
He had barely caught it when Professor Solus burst into the room from the door that led from the Tech Lab.
"Farrows." He started off, his speech pattern even more rapid than usual. "Glad you're back. Don't use the cleanser. Would like to analyse Husk viscera. Should prove useful Intel. Only need weapon for a few hours. Will return, cleaned, afterwards."
"Umm…" Ethan considered, assimilating the idea. He had never been without his sword, not even in the Hegemony. But he knew enough of the doc to trust him. "Sure." At that he passed the sword, hilt first, to the Salarian, who accepted it with both hands, before going back into his lab. Then he turned back to Jacob. "Sorry, all for nothing."
"It's fine." And with that he turned back to the Collector Rifle.
Walking back into the CIC, Ethan walked up to Kelly's workstation. Leaning against it he flashed a smile, one that was returned.
"Hey Ethan." Kelly greeted him, her happiness to see him plain.
"Hey Kelly." He replied, his tone similarly genial. "Could you do me a favor?"
"Sure Ethan, what do you need?"
"When Shepard finishes up with Mr Illusive back there, could you tell him I'd like a word?"
"Sure." She said, before quickly turning back to her console as a new message popped up and then turning back again. "Anything else?"
Ethan leant in then, speaking in a hushed tone that only she would be able to hear amongst the hustle and bustle of the CIC. "Join me for a coffee later on in the mess? My treat."
The look in Kelly's eyes was the usual combination of shock, at being asked, which then sidled into intrigue. This time it was her turn to whisper in his ear, though it took slightly more effort, seeing as he had a two or three inch height advantage.
"I guess. Shall we say 19:00?" The SR-2 ran on Zulu Time so that was two hours away.
"19:00 it is then." And with that he disengaged from the interaction, moving backwards a few steps, before spinning on his heel and walking into the elevator.
Half an hour later Shepard stepped out into the Hangar deck, having finished his meeting with The Illusive Man, changed into his ship-wear and grabbed a quick bite to eat from the mess hall. Despite the fact that Horizon was now numerous light-years away now his mood had not improved much. He still bore a grim countenance and any dialogue he had engaged in had been curt and to the point. Hitting the green hologram on the door, Shepard stepped into the storage room.
The first thing that hit him was sound. A wall of noise smacked into him as he stepped inside, emanating from a music player somewhere within.
"DON'T JUDGE A THING TILL YOU KNOW WHAT'S INSIDE IT! DON'T PUSH ME, I'LL FIGHT IT!" a singer blasted out, accompanied by the sound of drums and electric guitars. Upon seeing him enter, Ethan cut the music.
"Shepard!" He greeted the Commander, his tone jovial. "Thought Kelly had forgotten to ask you to come down here. Come in, come in."
The second thing that surprised him was how the storage room had changed. Ethan had near-totally redecorated. In the dead center of the room there was a desk, all shining metal and plasteel upon which lay a console, a few scraps of paper and, until he'd walked in, Ethan's feet. A few storage trunks lay along the back wall, pressed against it and bolted down. In the far left corner a bed was made in such a pristine fashion that it would've made the most hardened Drill Sergeant weep with joy. In the opposite far corner there was a sofa, metal base with black leather furnishings, which was joined by a low coffee table of metal and plexiglass. And closer to him was a small version of the mess hall tables, surrounded by four chairs.
"Like what've I done with the place?" Ethan asked, clapping him on the shoulder and motioning for him to take a seat at the larger table, before kneeling down next to his desk and rooting through one of the side drawers.
"Yeah," Shepard replied, sitting down and gazing around the room. "I'm just wondering where you got it all."
"Storage." Came the reply from behind the desk. "All this stuff is replacement kit. The desk is a carbon copy of Operative Lawson's, the coffee table and sofa" A hand shot up from behind the desk and pointed over towards the furniture "are replacements for your cabin and I swear we have a table like that one in the Crew Quarters somewhere, or so EDI tells me- AHA!" From behind the table came a distinctive clink and Ethan stood up, two tumblers clenched between his fingers in one hand, a bottle in another.
Setting himself down in the chair opposite Shepard, Ethan slid one tumbler over to Shepard and opened the bottle. Slowly, he filled the tumbler before him with a deep amber colored liquid. Once it reached a comfortable amount he tilted the bottle towards Shepard.
"Drink?" He asked, playing the host. "It's been a long day."
"Yeah, thanks." Shepard replied, his dark mood lifting slightly.
Lifting the amber liquid to his nose, Ethan inhaled deeply, picking up the heady aromas of the beverage, before taking a small sip and setting the glass back down. Shepard, however, was coarser in his approach, taking a large gulp of the drink. What he got in return was a dry burning sensation in his nostrils and throat and a hoot of laughter from Ethan as he spluttered.
"Sorry Shepard," The blonde mercenary said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Should've warned you. This stuff's got a bit of a kick to it. It's called Khrazian Fire, brewed on only one planet in the Hegemony. I have a friend on Illium who smuggles the stuff out. The key is to sip it, not to chug it down like some cheap scotch."
"Thanks," Shepard replied, trying to get his breath back. Saying this stuff 'had a kick' was the biggest understatement of the century. His breath returned, he posed a question to his drinking companion. "What were you listening to when I came in, by the way?"
"Oh that? Scanners picked up some radio signals from one of those old pre-drive core space probes. It was carrying 'A Greeting from Humanity' in case it was ever found, greetings in various languages, music and so on and so on."
Shepard scoffed slightly at that, he'd never seen the point of those things really. They seemed a waste of resources humanity could've put to use in other areas of their space programs. All of them were pointless now, after the discovery of FTL travel, the Relays and the rest of the Galaxy in general.
"You disapprove?" Ethan asked, an eyebrow raised as he took a sip of Khrazian Fire.
"Just don't see much point to them." Shepard shrugged "Don't seem to have anything going for them." He looked then at the young man, remembering how he'd fought back down on Horizon, the way he'd moved, the way he'd cut down husks by the score, his blade shimmering in the sunlight. "You fought well down there." He said approvingly.
"Why thank you Shepard." Ethan replied, inclining his head slightly. "You weren't too bad yourself. I'm starting to see why everybody makes such a big fuss about you."
Shepard's lips twitched slightly in amusement. "Your sword does well against husks and other such things, Ethan, but I'm still struggling to see how you still use it effectively against soldiers, mercs and other people who are wearing hardsuits. Those things are designed to stop slugs travelling at fractions of light speed and come on knives haven't been used as anything more than a utility item in most militaries."
"Well first off I'd like to say that I do more than 'well', thank you very much." Ethan began, sounding a tad hurt. "Secondly, the way it works is really quite simple. First thing is that the metal it's made of is very strong and has no imperfections that weaken it. Next is the fact that most hardsuits are designed with bullets, shrapnel and possibly hostile table legs in mind." Shepard was about to ask the obvious question but Ethan cut him off. "Don't ask. Suffice to say that most baseball teams should sign Krogans. Anyway, the point is that they are best at stopping small, pinpoints of kinetic energy. Now if you slice with a very sharp blade you are usually hitting the hardsuit with around a foot of kinetic energy and therefore pressure. Now add into the equation my biotics and you've got a pretty hefty amount of force being directed into a large portion of the hardsuit through a very narrow edge. Most buckle and if they don't I just go for the throat or joints, where there's only that elasticized suit. That opens up like a Volus if you give him a credit chit."
"Fair enough," Shepard replied, mentally smiling at the image.
Ethan was silent for a moment, looking at his glass. He gazed into the amber liquid, mentally preparing himself for his next question. "So…." He looked up then, looking straight into Shepard's eyes with those startling blue eyes of his. "Are you okay? With everything that happened down there on Horizon?"
Shepard's good mood, which had been steadily reappearing as he'd sat with Ethan and talked, disappeared almost instantly. This time it was his turn to look into the amber liquid that filled the glass tumbler before him. Shepard sighed, his gaze boring into the alcohol. Ethan could clearly see the turmoil raging inside the Commander, like a storm that whips the sea up into frenzy, scattering ships and breaking them, spilling their crews into the water to face grim death. But that turmoil slowly dissipated, calm returning to the young Commander's face.
"I'm okay," He said, his head rising up and his gaze meeting Ethan's "Really."
"Is that what you think?" Ethan asked, his gaze unfaltering. "Or is that what Commander Shepard thinks?"
"Huh?" Came the confused he reply. 'Commander Shepard is ME!'
"You're an excellent soldier Shepard. One reason for that, besides your ability to hit a target at any range and your natural born leadership, is your ability to keep your emotions bottled up. Never let them affect the mission." Taking a sip of the amber liquor he pointed at Shepard with the tumbler still in hand. "That isn't healthy."
"Oh? You been talking to Kelly?" That got a small smile from Ethan "Why the smile?...OH. I see." "Or is psychology also one of your talents?"
"I have had several discussions with Yeoman Chambers." Ethan replied, his smile answering the unasked question. "Some of which have touched upon her speciality." Ethan's smile vanished and his eyes grew cold. "And you're blocking."
"What do you want me to do?" Shepard yelled, surging to his feet, the glass forgotten on the table. Angrily, he began pacing up and down. "Break down? Collapse into the foetal position and cry like some teenager that just got dumped before the high school dance?"
"Well despite the fact you probably never went to a high school dance, no." Ethan replied, flippant in his tone. "Unless of course, you want to?"
"Like hell I do!" Shepard was really angry now. "Ash and me? We're done!" He said, angrily cutting across the air with his hands, as if physically cutting away their relationship. Finally he sat back down again, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "We're…we're done." Finally his eyes met Ethan's again and Ethan could see the slight mixture of sorrow and confusion those brown eyes held.
"It's been two years for her, I get that. I understand that and I don't begrudge her a thing. But for me? …For me it's only been a little over a month. A month. Can you imagine what that feels like?" Reaching out with his right hand, he took a gulp of Fire, not even noticing the burning sensation coursing down his throat.
"I can't. I'm sorry." Ethan replied, his tone conveying the truthfulness of the statement.
"It's fine." Shepard said, waving away the apology. "I'll be fine." And it was the truth; even now it felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Looking over at Ethan, he smiled. "Thanks for listening, Ethan." Then he drained his glass, wincing slightly as the liquid practically stripped the back of his throat. "And thanks for the drink." He wheezed.
"Don't mention it." Came the reply, with a smile, as Shepard got to his feet.
"Oh," Shepard exclaimed, turning to the younger man. "Sorry about your coat, I know…it…had." His voice trailed off as Ethan stood up and opened another storage locker, out of which he pulled an identical trenchcoat to the one that had bought it down on Horizon.
"What?" Ethan said in response to Shepard's bemused expression. "You honestly believe that I don't have spares? The original was destroyed during my time protecting Hararn. Got set on fire when me and a few other bodyguards got involved in a bar-fight, some stupid bastard figured a Molotov cocktail would be a good weapon. Suppose that's what you get when you get in a bar-fight where everybody has military training."
"See ya Ethan." Shepard said, shaking his head and smiling, before turning to leave. However Ethan's voice checked his step.
"Shepard?" He called.
"Yeah?" Shepard asked, turning back to face the young mercenary, who was standing by his desk and now held a datapad in his hands.
"One of the 'useless' space probes whose signal we picked up? It was called Voyager-1." The young man's voice was heavy with emotion "Among its various 'Greetings from Humanity' was the song 'Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground.' by 1920's bluesman Blind Willie Johnson, whose stepmother blinded him at seven by throwing lye in his eyes after his father beat her for being with another man." He sat back down behind the desk, putting his feet back on the top of it. "He died, penniless, of pneumonia after sleeping on a wet mattress, wrapped in newspapers, among the ruins of his burnt out house but his music just got picked up in a whole other solar system." At that he dropped the datapad, spreading his arms wide. "If that doesn't give those old space probes something, I don't know what does."
Shepard couldn't help but admit that Ethan had a point. Something about the music of a man, who had suffered such hardships and died with nothing, reaching ears millions of miles away from Earth, almost two centuries later, was somewhat…inspirational.
"You've got a point Ethan, seeya." He made to move again but Ethan called out to him again.
"Shepard?"
"Yes Ethan?"
"We all have our own demons. Don't think you can't talk about them."
"Thanks Ethan." The Commander replied, nodding a goodbye to the young mercenary.
"And besides," Ethan called out before the door closed "If you repress everything and die of a brain aneurysm, who's going to pay me?"
As Shepard strode from the newly renovated Storage Room, he couldn't help but smile a true, genuine smile. A weight had been lifted; he didn't feel as closed in on himself as he had before he'd walked into the Storage Room. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the talking that had done it and the truth be told, he didn't really care.
17:00 found Garrus inside the forward batteries, as practically every hour of the day did. The main guns had been calibrated several times and he was confident that they'd serve if they were attacked. With nothing else to do, having eaten already, he sat down with his back to a box of ammunition and slowly let his lids close, ready for the usual battle with his subconscious.
It's Omega again, the darkness, the filth. The biggest hive of depravity in the galaxy. He's running, the streets of the Kahura district. Even if he hadn't had this dream for every night for the past few weeks he'd know where it was, the work yard owned by Yaruk the Batarian is to his left. He'd chatted to one of the workers, a Salarian named Garin. Turned out that everything had been above board, within the standards of Omega. Powering on, he approached the warehouse Lantar had told him to meet him at, according to him there was a deal about to go down, Red Sand, nothing huge, nothing that wouldn't require just the two of them.
He arrives. Nobody's outside. Lantar's a good infiltrator, drafted into Turian Special Forces after Boot Camp. He might be inside. He knows he won't be, but he has no choice. He goes inside. Nothing. Nobody's there. He calls out for Lantar, using the codename he's given him: "Arcarnus", the ancient term for an advanced scout, the precursors to the Rangers, the highest level in S.F. He receives no answer. Anxious now he runs over to one of the boxes. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he rips the top off it with naught but brute force. Nothing but salvage. He's been set up.
He's back at base, rushing across the bridge. His stomach is wrapping itself in knots as he sees the bullet holes lining the front wall. Rushing inside he beholds the sight that haunts him even while waking. His team lies dead around him. Reldus, Turian, Breaching Specialist. A pool of his own blood surrounds him. Half of his left arm is blown off, as is part of his right foot and his ribs are splayed to the open air. Close range shotgun blast. Varuk, hacking expert, Batarian. There's a tiny hole in the front of his throat, but the entire back of it is gone. Sniper round. And his eyes have been torn out with a knife. Deliberate, post death infliction. Reia. Asari. Biotic, naturally. Raped, then shot in the head. Same deal with Akura, Turian, Sniper. Lakin, Salarian. Shot through heart and throat. Huren, Salarian, Tech Specialist. Fingers broken then forehead blasted open with a shotgun. Reok and Jiral, Turian and Salarian, both barely alive, blood pumping from throats that had been slashed open.
Then the shots begin again as the trap closes.
"No!" Garrus yelled reflexively as he jolted awake. His head in his hands, he exhaled, trying to equalise his breathing rate. He hated this feeling of weakness. This feeling of powerlessness. However this hatred was directed towards the man that had caused them.
"Sidonis." He growled, his fists clenching and unclenching. His second in command, his brother in arms. He'd been the first man to join him in his crusade against the filth that coated Omega. He'd been the most earnest to help the poor and helpless. And he'd betrayed him, all of the team. If he ever found him, no C-Sec Officer, Council Spectre nor even the Impertorex would stop him.
"Control yourself!" The voice of his father, rich, deep and gravelly, sounded in his head. "Anger is a fire. It warms you but if you let it will engulf you."
The words were from an earlier time, the time when he and his father had the semblance of a relationship. He'd spoken those words to him during the weeks leading up to his sixteenth birthday, as he had prepared for Boot Camp. They'd been training in the central courtyard back home on Palaven. His father was a master of the traditional Turian style, his kicks were lighting fast and his punches hit like a hammer. His own defense was strong but every so often one of his father's strikes would get through and slowly his anger had built until eventually he'd just snapped and vanished into an attack, not caring about defense. His father had simply stepped aside from his frenzied attack and brought him down with a heel kick to the back of the knee, before pinning him down with a forearm clamped across his neck.
There relationship had gone south soon after that. After Boot Camp he'd specialised in Special Forces, which had angered his father, who had specialised in CID, like his father had and his father before him. He'd accused him of not even trying to follow in his footsteps and he'd argued back, saying that he wanted to be his own man. Their relations revived slightly when he'd joined C-Sec after his first tour but it practically immediately cooled when he'd begun bypassing the bureaucratic red-tape that his father championed. Then each had essentially disavowed the other when his father had blocked his Spectre candidacy.
"Futok." Garrus cursed under his breath, at which his stomach pinged with hunger. In response to his body's warning he stood up and crossed to the storage chest he kept in a small alcove by the main cannon arrays.
Inside it there was a few off-duty clothes, some vid-discs his sister Solana had sent over to him just before he'd left for Omega and that he'd never got around to watching, as well as some spare weapon parts and, thankfully, two remaining Dextro MREs, both of which could be eaten cold. Ever since the chalsae incident he'd not been willing to trust Gardner with his food. It was unreasonable to an extent but he'd be screwed if he lost half of his remaining supplies and he was damned if he were going to invade what counted as the balding chef's territory.
Stepping out into the mess hall, which was practically empty, he nodded amicably at Gardner, who was attacking one of the sinks with a plunger. Just because he didn't trust him with his food didn't mean he had to be uncivil. The old Cerberus chef/handyman nodded back in reply, before renewing his assault on whatever was blocking the sink's pipes, cursing under his breath.
As he passed by the med-bay windows he raised a hand in greetings to Dr Chakwas, who returned his gesture before going back to reading medical reports. He liked the Doctor, she'd been part of the team during the hunt for Saren, he mentally spat at the rogue Spectre's name, and had treated him for injuries received in the chase. She'd also been the one responsible for, quite literally, putting him back together after he'd been brought back from Omega. His jaw twinged slightly, almost in response to the thought, and he put a hand to the pressure bandage that encapsulated most of the right side of his face. Beneath the white fabric part of his facial scales had been literally ripped away by the missile. The skin beneath was raw red and scorched and the exposed parts on his lower mandible occasionally throbbed with pain if he was in a cold environment. Chakwas said it would heal, but there'd be scars. The idea of scars wasn't what angered him, he had his fair share already, but it was the idea that they didn't need to be there. And who was responsible?
Sidonis.
He shook his head, banishing the rising tide of black anger. There was nothing he could do here. He had to wait until one of his information broker contacts came through for him with a lead. But still the spectre of vengeance remained, broiling and dark, just outside of his conscious thought processes.
Sitting down at one of the smaller mess tables, he opened the MRE. Tearing open the foil of the largest packet he looked down at the container, in which was a selection of Buros, a domesticated grazing animal, similar to the Terran cow, cold cuts, which had a slight crust running along the edge of it, formed of a mixture of finely diced Hurox herbs. Opening the secondary foil packet, he took out the container of Pluma, small tough grain wafers that were the staple of a Turian military meal. As he opened the third and smallest of the foil packets, which contained fragrant Yorel leaves, Gardner came over and deposited a steaming cup in front of him.
"Instant Calrem." He said, the name of Turian hot drink akin to Coffee sounding odd coming from his mouth. "All I had to do was add hot water. No chance of burning it."
"Thanks Gardner." Garrus replied, nodding his thanks, but then he paused as he remembered the ship scuttlebutt. "You washed your hands I take it?"
Expecting a hurt or insulting reply, Garrus was astounded when Gardner simply threw back his head and laughed a deep, booming laugh.
"You heard about that?" Garrus nodded in reply. "I did, don't worry. Well, mostly. See ya Vakarian." and with that the Mess Officer turned and walked back to the galley.
As he started eating, he noticed Farrows and Shepard's Yeoman sit down at a far table, cups of coffee in their hands. They began talking but even if he'd wanted to listen in they were too far away. As Ethan took a sip from his coffee he noticed him. Putting his mug down Ethan raised a hand in greeting, which he returned. All things considered he liked the young mercenary. He was dependable in battle, if a tad reckless, and didn't seem to hold any biases. As he continued on eating the meat, which had an added bite to it thanks to the Hurox herb crust, the small corner of his mind that still held the thought processes of a C-Sec investigator wondered what the Mercenary and the Yeoman were talking about.
"Really?" Ethan chuckled, his blue eyes alight with happiness. "Well that explains a bit. What else do you enjoy?" He took a sip of strong black coffee as Kelly replied.
"Well," She paused then, gathering her thoughts. "I am fond of musicals. Especially the recent influx of cross species productions. Seeing how other races take on productions from cultures so different from their own, it's really interesting. The Turian performance of Les Miserables was extraordinary."
"You mean the one with Allatus Saikar playing Valjean?" Kelly's eyebrows raised in surprise as she too took a sip of her own.
"Yes, you know it?" She asked incredulously, somehow she just couldn't have seen the bold, slightly cocky, young mercenary being the type to go to the theatre.
"Are you kidding? I was brought up with the stuff! Les Mis, Sunset Boulevard, all the classics." He leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes boring into hers. "I even sat through an entire showing of Kitt's Elcor Hamlet." He neglected to mention that it had been purely an exercise in mental strength. Many of the audience had practically run out screaming after the first act.
"Really? An entire showing?" Ethan nodded, and then a similar conspiratorial look came to Kelly's face. "What does a female Elcor look like?"
"Surprisingly like a male one." Ethan replied, leaning back in his chair again. "Just with shorter legs." He paused then, his head tilting to one side and his eyes taking on a far-away look. "Then again they could've been keeping to Shakespearian values and they were all male. Meaning that Elcor was a midget in make-up." That got a laugh out of Kelly as a hilarious mental image appeared. Her laughter was a joy to listen to, cool and clear like fresh snow-melt. "A midget with a surprisingly high voice." That only provoked more laughing.
"You're a bad man Ethan Farrows." Kelly replied, wiping her eyes slightly.
"Well you know what they say about women and bad boys." Ethan replied, the words passing by his teeth before he could stop them.
To her credit Kelly barely blinked. "That's a dirty stereotype Ethan." She replied, her voice carrying a small amount of reproof, but then shrugged slightly. "Albeit I fall into that category, but it's still a bad a stereotype."
"Oh really Miss Chambers?" Ethan asked, leaning forward with an eyebrow raised and his voice practically a growl. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Kelly replied, moving closer as well. "It is."
Before anything could happen however, Kelly's omnitool messenger service went off.
"What the?"' Kelly exclaimed as she sat back in her chair, Ethan doing the same. Irritated, she pulled up her message inbox, determined to find out what was so important. However when she did so she couldn't help but laugh.
"What is it?" Ethan asked, curiosity overriding his annoyance.
"You know how I told you about my sister?"
"Rachel?" Ethan asked, remembering their earlier conversation. "The one that runs a Dog Sanctuary?"
"Yeah, her." Kelly replied. "She just sent me an advertisement for a new cross-species musical that's coming out. I think you and Garrus will find it interesting. It's a modern retelling of The Phantom of The Opera." Turning her arm, she enlarged the image she'd received and made it visible to Ethan.
It turned out that taking a drink of coffee was a bad move for Ethan as he practically choked when he saw the poster. Emblazoned at the left hand side in large white letters were the words "The Angel of Omega" and, in smaller letters below it, "A Retelling Of The Classic Terran Musical" however that was not what drew his attention. On the right side of the poster was a young Asari, dressed in the outfit of an Afterlife dancer, who was stood in front of the titular character and it was this character that drew his attention. It was a Turian and he was dressed entirely in black, which befitted the original character, save for the fact that it was black armor. Also added to the costume was a hood, under which was the traditional half-mask. The half-mask itself had been altered as well, it had been made metallic and the eye-hole glowed blue with a holographic interface. It was if someone had blended his and Garrus' outfits together.
"That's-" He spluttered.
"Yep." Kelly replied, reading the question whilst Ethan tried to take a breath.
"And-" He continued, his voice a wheezing rasp.
"Yep."
A coughing fit racked him as he struggled to clear his airway but he made his point by interlocking his fingers together.
"Yep." Kelly answered, grasping the idea. As the hacking continued she became slightly worried that the young man was about to keel over. "Are you alright?"
Finally Ethan cleared his airways, coughing up the few droplets of coffee that had caused the problem. In lieu of replying vocally, he gave a thumbs up, signifying his well-being.
Scrolling down, Kelly showed him the show's premise.
"A classic Terran musical brought forward into the 22nd Century!
The young Asari Ciala is a dancer at the infamous Afterlife nightclub; there she hopes to become the best showgirl on Omega. Little known to her, her talent manages to grasp the attention and affection of The Angel, a scarred, but brilliant, recluse who lives in the tunnels of the old mines. Determined to help her succeed, he begins to engineer events to bring her to the fore but when Ciala's childhood friend shows up and vies for her affections things take a dramatic and shocking turn."
Finally he got his voice back. "I'm fine. I'm fine." he assured her, before casting a suspicious glance at the Musical's advertisement. "Let me guess, Francis Kitt is behind this."
Kelly scrolled down a bit more. "Correct." she replied and true enough, in the credits listing, was Francis Kitt's name.
"Scripting and original idea by," Ethan read out loud. " Anonymous?" he thought for a moment, it had to be someone who had known both him and Garrus, either by sight or by reputation, and there were few who fit that bill. After a few seconds he gave up. Unless Mordin had taken to writing musicals in his spare time he couldn't think of anyone.
"I wish I could see it." Kelly said wistfully, closing her omnitool down as she did so. "Being on Cerberus' most important mission doesn't give you much time for social time."
Ethan opened his mouth to speak but before he could someone whistling distracted both of them. Turning to the right they watched as Ken Donnelly strode through the mess hall, whistling a jaunty tune.
"Wonder what he's so happy about." Ethan said aloud. He'd chatted to Donnelly on occasion, mostly whenever they just happened to be sharing an elevator. Nothing serious, just introductions, various bits on inane chatter and so on. The Scot was likeable enough, in his way.
"Knowing Ken," Kelly replied, using her knowledge of the Scotsman's dealing, which were common knowledge in the Crew Quarters. "I'd say he just finished fleecing Gabby at Skyllian Five."
"Really?" Ethan asked, stroking his jawline in a Machiavellian fashion. Then a shocked look came to his blue eyes, which was accompanied by his eyebrows shooting upwards.
"What is it?" Kelly asked, wondering what had caused the sudden look of alarm.
"I really, and I mean really, need to shave." Ethan answered, humour coming back into his eyes.
"You're terrible!" Kelly exclaimed softly, whilst stifling a small chuckle.
"Is that so?" Ethan asked, for the second time that evening. However at that point Kenneth's whistling increased to an unbearable level of sound. Looking past Kelly, he called over to the happy Scot, who was eating an apple and looking over some personal mail. "Hey Donnelly, could you keep it down? Much as I like that piece, I don't particularly want to listen to it right now."
"Sorry!" The Scotsman called back, before momentarily pausing as he noticed who Ethan was sitting with.
"Oh great." Kelly though to herself. "I'm never going to hear the end of this." Then she looked again at the man opposite her, with his warm eyes and quick smile. "Totally worth it." she thought, a private smile on her own face.
However at that point she caught sight of the time. It was 19:35. That meant that she only had ten minutes before she needed to be back on shift. And she still had to write Rachel and her mother a letter about the musical.
"Damn." She cursed under her breath, getting out of her seat.
"Something up Kelly?" Ethan asked, getting up as well.
"Sorry Ethan," She said, her tone genuine. "I've got ten minutes left 'til my next shift and I need to send a message home."
"Sure, no problem." He replied, before bowing in an exaggerated manner and speaking in a typical upper-class accent. "May I escort the young lady to her quarters?"
"You most certainly may." Kelly answered, giggling slightly.
Walking over to the galley, they put their cups on the counter. Gardner was still busy trying to free a blockage in the sink, but he nodded a goodbye to them before returning to his task as they walked off. It didn't take them long to reach the Crew Quarters, where, from within, muted conversation could be heard.
"Ethan." Kelly called to him as he headed towards the elevator.
"Yes Kelly?" He asked, turning back to face her.
"I...I really enjoyed talking to you this evening." she said, stepping away from the door and towards him.
"And I to you." Ethan replied taking a step towards her.
As they stood there in the corridor, Ethan was the one to make the first move. Tilting Kelly's face upwards towards his, one finger crooked under her chin, he gave her a soft, tender kiss on the mouth. It was only a brief kiss and when he pulled back the normally confident young man was slightly racked with embarrassment.
"Uh...yeah." He said, one hand on the back of his head. "Sorry about that. Hope I didn't read that situation the wrong way, please say I didn't."
Instead of replying Kelly simply returned his kiss. This time though it was deeper, more passionate. They stood there in that corridor, not even caring that someone could quite easily happen upon them. Their tongues intermingled in their mouths, dancing over one another; each drank in the smell of the other. Kelly ran her fingers through his golden locks whilst he pulled her tighter to him, not wanting to let the moment, this beautiful moment, end. The warmth of that moment was insurmountable, to Ethan it was like no other kiss he'd ever had. It was if tiny electrodes were firing all across his body. To Kelly it was a kiss of passion, of blissful acceptance. A kiss of welcoming this funny, handsome, caring man, who had stood up for her against even the likes of Commander Shepard, into her life. She returned the fervour he showed with interest, but eventually, both wishing they didn't have to separate, she pulled away slightly, but not before planting another, lighter, but by no means less tender, kiss upon his mouth, almost as a signature to the greater work.
"Does that answer your question?" she asked him, still gazing into his eyes, which danced with light like when the sun shines upon the ocean, reflecting dazzlingly off the deep blue water.
"Yes." came the husky reply. Then he mentally shook himself. "Yes." this time the reply was stronger, but no less tender.
"Good evening Ethan." she said warmly, stepping away completely.
"Good evening Kelly." Echoed the reply.
Finally they each tore away from the other. As Kelly walked into the Crew Quarters, her spirits soaring, Ethan strode into the elevator. Each gave the other one last warm look before the Crew Quarters' door slid shut, cutting off their view. With a feeling of utter contentment nestled in his chest, Ethan leaned against the side of the elevator, lost in thought, before remembering to press the button for the cargo bay.
Before the door slid shut, however, Ken darted between the ever narrowing gap. Nodding his thanks, despite the fact Ethan hadn't and couldn't have done anything, he pressed the button for the fourth floor as well. As the elevator descended, causing only the merest breath if sound, Ethan mentally shook himself again and turned to face the Scot.
"I hear tell you're quite the mean Skyllian Five player, Donnelly." He said, amicably.
"Oh aye?" Ken replied, assessing the young man afresh, seeing him as a competitor.
"Don't suppose I could join you for the next game?" Ethan asked, meeting the Scotsman's gaze. "I'm no pro but I reckon I could give you a run for some credits."
Ken considered the idea. To tell the truth just continuously taking money off Gabby, his fellow engineer, was, whilst enjoyable to see the look on her face, getting a bit old. Maybe it was time for some 'new meat'. "Alright Farrows." he said, an impish grin on his face as he stepped off into engineering. "I'll let you know when a new game's gonna start."
"Thanks Ken." Ethan replied, a fiendish grin of his own spreading across his features as the elevator doors closed again.
Whilst the crew went about their daily shifts below, Shepard sat in the 'office' portion of his quarters, hunched over his terminal, a pot of Gardner's finest coffee, which was fast becoming the lifeblood of the ship, beside him. The 'day' was wearing on and he was reviewing the e-mails Hudgens, who worked shifts with Kelly as his yeoman, had sent up to him. As he scanned the various messages, which, as usual, were mostly spam or relatively unimportant, he stretched out a hand to pick up his mug. However his hand froze in mid-grab as he saw the comm code on one of the messages. His heart beating out a flamenco rhythm, he opened the message. It was brief, military and chastising. All of which he'd come to expect from the sender over the years.
From: Mom
So I have to find out my child is alive third-hand from the Alliance brass? Where the hell have you been?
I figure whatever you're doing is classified, likely part of your Spectre Operations. Just stay safe out there, and keep doing your mom proud. And sneak something through a secure channel next time.
Love,
Your mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, SSV Orizaba
The message achieved its intended effect. A feeling of guilt settled on him, momentarily, as he realised that he had at no point let his own mother, the only family he had left, know he was still alive. His mind racing to find the words, he wrote a reply, checked it over again to look for any mistakes or stupidity and sent it off.
From: John
Sorry about that. I intended to write but time got away from me. Yes I am working a covert op, trying to track down and stop the cause of these Colony attacks. It means I've had to get into bed with an organisation I'd rather not have, I know you won't approve if you heard it but if you do find out, know that I'm doing it for the right reasons.
Love,
Your son, Lieutenant Commander Jonathan Shepard, Normandy SR-2
Sighing slightly, Shepard leant back in his chair and just stared at the console for a while but before his mind could wander too much the inbox light blinked again. Opening the reply, he perused its contents, upon doing so he breathed a sigh of relief.
From: Mom
Silly boy. I'm your mother, remember? You always do things for the right reasons. Just be careful how long you stay in bed with these people.
Keep safe dear and now I must be off. Being Captain of the 5th Fleet's flagship isn't a quiet role.
Mom
Closing down that set of messages, Shepard resumed his reviewing. A set of messages drew his immediate attention, all three were marked Priority 1, sent direct by The Illusive Man himself. Examining them closer he ascertained that they were all Dossiers for prospective squadmates. Out of the three there one grabbed his attention and made his heart skip a beat. Opening it, he confirmed to himself that he wasn't seeing things.
Tali'Zorah vas Neema
-Expert in combat tech, systems hacking
-Strong engineering background, familiar with Normandy
Formerly listed as Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, the Quarian engineer earned her adult name after helping Shepard defeat Saren two years ago. Tali is currently on a classified assignment for the Migrant Fleet Admiralty Board on Haestrom, deep in Geth-controlled space.
Shepard's mind was instantly awash with memories of the Quarian Engineer, with her infectiously happy personality, encyclopaedic knowledge of engines and other such things as well as a proficient skill with shotguns. He remembered finding the naïve young Quarian aboard the Citadel, rescuing her from a gang of thugs who were about to murder her for the incriminating information she had on Saren, allowing to join his team. She'd stood by him through thick and thin, through the best and the worst of the hunt for the rogue Spectre. They'd grown close, become friends. It had been a rare situation if she'd been unable to cheer him up. She'd been one of the first people who'd helped him get over leaving Kaidan behind and she'd been frontline with him on the last desperate chase through the conduit.
Then, cutting through the nostalgia, came the words 'deep in Geth-controlled space' again. It wouldn't be long before she was discovered and he'd be damned if she went up against those synthetic bastards without aid. Immediately he keyed up the Comm-code for the cockpit, Joker's natural habitat.
"Joker!" He began, raising his voice so as to wake a possibly sleeping pilot.
"Yes Commander?" The groggy sound in the reply confirmed his suspicions.
"Plot in a course for Haestrom, now." The commanding tone of his snapped Joker out of his sleepy reverie.
"Aye aye Commander." Came the clipped response and Shepard felt the slight rush of vertigo as the ship reacted to the change in course.
"Stay safe Tali." Shepard thought to himself, trying to keep calm. "I'll be there soon."
Meanwhile the Salarian professor was hard at work. He'd already done a full analysis of the Husk viscera and the results had been astounding. Synthetic compounds had overtaken all of the natural biological components. Bones replaced by nano-carbon steel tubing, skin replaced by stronger synthetic mesh, organs removed. Every part of his mind was railing against this. It was abhorrent, wrong, obscene. A perversion of science. Before he had seen the Collectors as something to be overcome, like every opposition. But now he was certain in his convictions, whatever had done this had to be destroyed, for the good of all.
The subtle shift in the ship's kinetic dampeners did not go unnoticed by the Salarian.
"Ship changing course." The Salarian deduced as he pored over his diagnostic machines, his mind running at its normal rate that would nigh impossible for any other species to emulate. "Shepard has plotted new course. High chance of ground team deployment. Will need to return Kopis to Specialist Farrows. Integral part of arsenal. Deploying without it, unwise."
At that point one of the tests he'd been running finished. Turning towards the relevant terminal he saw that the metallurgical analysis had finished. Hand dancing over the screen he viewed the results. What he saw made his eyes narrow.
"Interesting…very interesting."
Author's Note: The song Ethan was listening to when Shepard walked in was 'Can't Take Me' by Bryan Adams, a great song I essentially see as Ethan's Theme-song. As always, I appreciate any feedback you're willing to give.