Hannah felt she'd been an exceptional prisoner so far. No kicking and screaming. No threats (not that she had any leverage). No escape attempts (not that there was anywhere to go). Michael would be proud of her that she hadn't lost her temper once the whole time; she hadn't even bitten her lip. Gold stars across the board. Perfect ten. It helped that Stripes was the only one she ever saw, aside from Sana.
Med Bay's narrow range of visitors and occupants actually had her curious. Where was everyone? Didn't they have any wounded from Shanxi? Why was she the only one in Med Bay? Even if it was the case that Hannah was the only person on a rather large military ship to need medical attention—it seemed turians didn't get headaches or have trouble sleeping or have occasional indigestion or suffer from any of the multitude of mundane maladies that humans did, if the emptiness of Med Bay were any indication—she would have at least expected that Colonel Octavus would want to speak with the only prisoner on his ship. The mild neglect of her had felt odd when she first woke up, and as her time continued in Med Bay, her isolation only compounded in its strangeness.
Not that she was complaining. She had no real inclination to interact with anyone other than Stripes and Sana.
As the hours ticked down to Hannah's transfer to the brig, they seemed to grow longer, more restless. It was a relief when Stripes finally came to break up the monotony. Hannah smiled as the turian approached her and not for the first time felt how bizarre it all was. Only a few months ago, the word alien referred either to the faceless, extinct protheans or to the imaginary little green and gray men with too-large eyes. Now, the Alliance and the Hierarchy were at war, yet here the two of them were—chatting as if Hannah weren't handcuffed to her hospital bed and as if there were no larger concern between them than how she would handle the next meal Sana would bring her.
Hannah needed answers, so she grinned as Stripes approached the side of her bed and decided to ask. "Not that I don't enjoy seeing your pointy face walk through that door, but I'm starting to think it's just you and Sana driving this boat, and you've just got me fooled into thinking it's a turian ship. I've yet to see proof positive that any other living creatures are aboard at all." Stripes chuckled as she took her seat. "I would've expected to have had a roommate or two after Shanxi."
Stripes looked slightly embarrassed, her mandibles twitching down and wide. "We've set up a temporary infirmary for crew elsewhere," she said. "Somewhere away from you. I'd tell you not to take it personally, but . . . it's personal. We lost a lot of good soldiers on Shanxi. You do have a guard posted outside your door at all times, but they're under strict orders not to interact with you. Octavus isn't keen on anyone being in your company while you're still classified as recovering, and he's told everyone to stay away from you. I think he doesn't want to do the paperwork if something untoward were to happen to you at this stage."
A cold fist clenched around her insides. It had been an attempt at levity, but Hannah didn't feel particularly lighthearted about a ship full of hostiles who felt, well, hostile toward her continued survival. She'd never been so grateful for the inconvenience of paperwork.
"Aren't you in violation of that order by coming here?" Hannah asked.
She shook her head once. "I update Octavus on the status of your recovery." She chuffed. "I think he sees this task as barely less than an official reprimand, but I've never had an easier assignment." Stripes looked suddenly nervous as her glance shifted. "When they transfer you to the brig tomorrow, you should know that you'll be reclassified as recovered. They're going to want to interrogate you." She paused, rolling one shoulder before continuing. "If they use who I think they're going to use, it would be easier for everyone if you were forthcoming."
Something in the way Stripes wrung her hands together told Hannah she wouldn't like the interrogator. Sana's reassurance that she would have nothing to worry about in the brig seemed even hollower now. "Who are they going to use?"
Stripes stood and started pacing, her mandibles twitching and her eyes refusing to meet Hannah's. "We have two trained interrogators aboard, both first rate. The first, is a good soldier and an excellent turian." A grin ghosted across her face but was quickly replaced by her sober expression again. "He goes on and on about doing things right or not doing them at all, which is normally mildly annoying but would work in your favor in this case. He's not a pushover, though. I've seen him crack batarian slavers without raising even his voice."
Hannah shifted uncomfortably at the words "batarian slavers," but she needed to focus. Questions about the galaxy's other inhabitants could come later. "Will he be my interrogator?"
Stripes shook her head quickly. "If you had any manner of luck, he would be, but I don't think so. His bondmate delivered a pair of fledglings just before we shipped out on this tour, and he accepted a position with Citadel Security, pending the completion of his duties here." More questions for later. "I imagine he thinks it'll be more stable than patrolling the Traverse, and after the incident on Shanxi, I think he made the right decision. Octavus won't assign a high-priority interrogation like yours to someone who's leaving." Here, she stopped, her back to Hannah, her hands twisting themselves into knots. Hannah shifted uncomfortably in her bed; the major's nervousness was catching.
She swallowed and asked the question, trying to ignore the quickening thump in her chest. "Who's the other one?"
Stripes sighed and turned around again, though she still couldn't meet Hannah's gaze. "His name is Vyrnnus. He doesn't share his counterpart's philosophy. He gets results, but he's been known to play fast and loose with the rules before. I'm certain he won't touch you, though." She paused again and brushed a hand across the top of her head.
Of course Hannah would get Bad Cop as her interrogator. "Is that all?"
Stripes grinned again, but without any amusement. "Let's just say he won't need to touch you. I suspect Octavus is counting on that."
Hannah tried to digest what Stripes had been saying and to ignore the knot that was twisting in her stomach. "When you say I should be forthcoming," she said at last, "I assume you mean I should offer up information the Alliance would give me the firing squad to thank me for sharing."
Her mandibles flared, and she seemed about to say something else but stopped herself.
Hannah felt her face grow warm. "Is it the kind of forthcoming that will get more humans killed?"
She shook her head decisively. "It doesn't have to be. Not directly, anyway. If you just gave logistical information. How many ships? How many troops? Frequency of supply runs? Location of depots? He should be satisfied."
Hannah clenched her jaw. "And if I don't know that information?"
Stripes chuckled humorlessly. "Even I don't believe you don't know estimates, Hannah. You're a squadron leader. A squadron leader always has an idea about available resources. Especially when there never seems to be enough."
She was having trouble keeping her hands from balling into fists. How could Stripes think she would give up any of this information? Did she expect so little of her? She shook her head and tried to keep the anger from rising in her voice. "You know I can't do that. Even if I don't have capital punishment to look forward to when I get back, I can't give up the Alliance to the Hierarchy. I'd be turning my back on my whole race."
Stripes finally looked at her, and her expression seemed lost, struggling. "His file has a lot of . . . accidents. During interrogation. I want to make sure you don't end up in that part of his file."
So there it was. Selective observation, indeed.
Who was this Vyrnnus to have what sounded like numerous abuses of power called accidents instead? Moreover, what exactly was this conversation costing Stripes? What was she risking to warn her? Hannah closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try to quell the anger still building in her. She would've rubbed her face in her hands, but the restraints didn't give her enough lead.
"Right now," she began, "it looks like I have my choice of an accident-prone interrogator tomorrow or an unfavorable court martial ruling sometime in the future. For me, that choice is pretty easy—the one that includes my daughter being able to look me in the eye when she grows up. I appreciate you warning me, but nothing is going to change that choice."
Stripes shook her head. "If you have an accident with Vyrnnus, your daughter might never see you again at all, let alone be able to look you in the eye."
Hannah set her jaw and locked her gaze with the major. "If my choice is between never seeing my daughter again and seeing her be ashamed of me for the rest of my life, I know damn well which one is worse, Odessus."
She looked as if Hannah had struck her, but she nodded. She started to respond twice but stopped each time. She took a deep breath and tried again for a third time, "The reality of the situation is that this conflict won't end well for humanity. It can't. Not unless there's an entire galactic community supporting the Alliance that we're not aware of?" Another poor attempt at levity. She continued despite Hannah's icy glare. "The turian military is the strongest, best equipped, and most disciplined in the galaxy. Your cooperation with the Hierarchy would ultimately mitigate humanity's losses, Lieutenant Commander. As distasteful as it sounds, you're in the unique position of being able to help both yourself and your people."
Hannah wanted to slam down her fist to punctuate her fury. Her restraints burned at her wrists, and it only stoked her anger further. Despite the slight waver in her voice, she remained calm as she spoke, "I suppose that's what you would do? If our roles were reversed? You'd sell out your people? Ensure a quick defeat to minimize losses? Who cares what happens after it's finished, as long as it's done and over with fast, right?"
The major took a step back. Her mandibles wavered and her shoulders fell. After a moment, she sat heavily into the chair beside Hannah's bed. She'd stopped twisting her hands, but she didn't seem to be any more at ease. If a turian could look sick, she was currently the picture of it to Hannah. "No," she said at last. "No, I don't supposed I would. I just . . . I don't want . . ."
She never said what it was she just or what she didn't want, and the ensuing silence stretched between them, thick and disquieting.
Hannah's gut twisted, but the grip was no longer one of anger. "Listen," Hannah said at last, "we kept each other alive on Shanxi. It's reasonable for people who rely on each other like that to feel a certain amount of fondness for one another. But we're not down there anymore. We both have our duties, which will always be at odds as long as the Alliance and the Hierarchy are in conflict. I think it would be easier for both of us if we didn't . . . I mean, we're not really . . ."
She stopped, not knowing how to continue.
The major, however, seemed to have a knack for bluntness and nodded. "We're not friends."
Hannah bit the inside of her lip and shook her head once. "We're not friends."
"You're right, Lieutenant Commander. You wouldn't make such a bad turian, you know." Odessus stood and pulled a datapad from her tunic, handing it to Hannah. "Take this. You'll need to brush up on how the galaxy works. This should be a good introduction. I ran the translation program on it, so you should be able to read it without any trouble."
Hannah looked at the bright blue lettering scrawled across the interface: An Introduction to the Galactic Community: A Primer for New Client Races of the Turian Hierarchy. She would've found the blatant bias of the title amusing if a sudden onset of nausea weren't pressing down on her. She'd have to talk to Sana about that. Maybe the lavalla hadn't settled as well as she'd thought.
She looked up to thank Odessus, but she was already walking toward the door.
"Don't underestimate Vyrnnus," she said without turning around.
The door closed behind her before Hannah could say anything.
#
The transfer was uneventful—bureaucratic, even. Hannah was surprised by the amount of paperwork they had to go through. First, Sana signed her over, vouching for Hannah's full recovery. Then, there was the acknowledgement that Hannah had been treated fairly during her recuperation and allowed to regain full health. Then, she had to sign a form acknowledging the intent to transfer her to an incarceration unit on the lower decks, which would require a change in the nature of her accommodations. Once she was ushered to her cell (little bigger than a closet), she had to sign her acknowledgment that the transfer had taken place and that she was aware the change in her situation was indefinite.
She half-expected to have to sign a form saying she acknowledged her acknowledgement.
It was not lost on her that the turian rules of engagement for prisoners of war were minutely detailed and rigorously followed. She wondered how many litigious individuals haunted the Hierarchy's past; her captors appeared to be well-versed in every permutation of martial interactions and to have a form template ready and waiting for any scenario. Perhaps Odessus hadn't been wrong about how the Alliance would fare in a prolonged conflict with the Hierarchy.
#
It felt strange to be back in her flight suit (Sana must've washed it for her because the blood and mud stains were removed), but Hannah was glad to be able to walk even the handful of paces her cell allowed. It was a nice change from being chained to the bed. She was still rubbing her wrists, massaging their newfound freedom, even hours after her transfer had been completed.
It was in the middle of pacing that a turian she hadn't met approached her cell and brought down the barrier field to let himself inside without preamble.
Ah, she thought. Vyrnnus.
He was tall—taller even than the major—and he loomed over her. The matte, tannish markings covering the top half of his face were so light, Hannah thought for a moment that he didn't have any at first. She wondered if there were any turians who didn't have facial markings at all, and if that meant anything. She started to make a note to ask Odessus about it later, then stopped herself. She hadn't seen the major since their last interaction, and she didn't expect to see her again except in an official capacity.
Hannah found herself scowling as the new turian entered her space.
He was well aware of the presence he commanded, she could give him that. He stood close to her and held his face inches above hers. She wanted to laugh bitterly up at him, but she thought that might end badly for her. Instead, she turned and sat on the edge of her cot.
"I'd offer you a seat," she said, "but I don't think my cell was designed for entertaining guests."
His mandibles were still, and his gaze remained steady. Hannah suppressed a sigh. I wonder if they have anything like poker, she though. He's got the perfect face for it.
He moved until he was above her again, then paced back toward the cell's opening. When he turned toward her again, his mandibles and brow plates remained still and expressionless. "Name and rank," he said.
She didn't hesitate. "Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325."
A small itch began to burn on the side of her neck, but she'd be damned if she would do something as personal as scratch an itch in this asshole's presence. It would likely pass on its own if she ignored it.
"Where is the Alliance fleet based?" he asked.
No foreplay? she thought. At least make a girl feel wanted before you ask her to fuck over her people.
"Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325."
It was almost imperceptible, but his right mandible twitched. "How many worlds aside from Shanxi does the Human Alliance oversee?"
She resisted the urge to correct him—It's the Systems Alliance, idiot—and answered again, "Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325."
The twitch was more prominent now, and the burning of the itch intensified. She would not scratch it.
"How many ships were in the fleet that arrived at Shanxi?" he asked as if she'd answered his last question.
"Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325."
She would not scratch the itch. It burned now like someone had pressed hot metal to her skin, but she wouldn't lift a single fingernail to it. Her shoulder, the traitor, twitched.
His mandibles flicked again. "How many supply runs does a single colony require to remain viable?"
"Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325."
Her jaw twitched, but she showed no other sign of discomfort. The turian's mandibles were in a full smirk at this point.
"How many troops to a fleet?"
"Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325."
He hardly seemed to be interested in her answer. His questions were half-assed and uninteresting. He seemed bored even before she opened her mouth to respond. And the burn continued to grow.
He moved to speak, but she decided to preempt him this time. "Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325."
Her neck was aflame. Fuck.
His amusement had grown by the minute. He stepped forward and removed one of his gloves to reveal a three-fingered hand that ended in glistening, pointed, black talons.
As he closed the distance between them, he reached out his uncovered hand until she could feel its heat against her neck. He brushed the blunt curve of one of his talon against her skin, cool and soothing and directly against the burn.
The ever-increasing heat suddenly dissipated, and he brought his face even with hers. Hannah could smell the hot, biting spice of his breath and another scent she couldn't quite place—ozone?—radiating from him. He breathed in deeply near her. "Good," he said.
Then he turned and walked toward the entrance, replacing his glove as he moved away from her. As he walked away, he said, "Commander Vyrnnus. Hierarchy Cabalist. Number 67493287003. I'll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard of the Alliance Navy. You can see to that burning on your neck now."