Events of the chapter: Garrus continues to struggle with the rebellion brewing on Palaven; Solana makes an unexpected appearance; Garrus consults Primarch Victus

Author's notes: Soooo it's been a whole month since my last update. In that time I wrote Thismia (my Javik Liara story) and this chapter here. Thismia took me longer than I thought it would as I bandied more ideas about with my husband. This chapter also took a bit longer than normal too. No huge reason why, just a lot going on at home now that it's spring and not much time to write.

To be honest, I've lost a bit of my mojo...I've been having a lot of doubts about my writing and consequently feeling a bit down about it. Hoping I'm out of this funk soon. I definitely want to keep going with the story (so much ahead I can't wait to get to), but forgive me if updates are on the longer side. Thanks for reading :)

PART II
Chapter 5: Depletion

1 year, 7 mo. after the end of the Reaper War
New Aeris, Palaven

"We can't take any chances. I'm calling it off." Garrus had had enough of failure. He was feverish, shattered by exhaustion and defeat. If this is how an officer felt, he knew it was that much worse for his men. It was time to pull out of east New Aeris for good.

"Sir, this is our chance to end these petty skirmishes. If we don't act now we'll lose the advantage we gained in the Libraxum Ward. It would be a waste," said his sergeant, Quidros.

The hot wind refused to die. It churned the dry, unmoored earth about the camp in elliptical whorls. Garrus shut his eyes for a moment to block everything out.

"A waste? I'll tell you what would be a waste—losing more lives. And if we go forward with your plan, that's what we risk doing. Do you think the rebels are going to cut us a break if we get caught? They'll just add our men to their collection of hostages and call it a day. Hell, they're angry enough. They might do away with formalities altogether and kill everyone."

Five days ago, Quidros had proposed a plan to rescue the remaining three hostages and sabotage the rebels' weapons cache in the process. It would involve sending a small, incognito team, who would assume identities as former students at the university. He'd already gathered plenty of intelligence during his time in the Libraxum Ward and understood the rebels' command structure and daily operations. Yesterday, he proposed he lead the team, as he possessed the most knowledge of the area and had the advantage of biotics, bypassing the need to carry extra weaponry. Garrus voiced his skepticism, pointing out that Quidros' face had already been seen by a number of rebels; adding biotics to the mix could expose his identity even further.

Quidros stretched to his full height. "Respectfully, General, I disagree. There—"

"Then that's where we end it. It's late, we're all tired. We can discuss it again in the morning." Letting his head hang down, Garrus kneaded the back of his neck where it met his cowl. He wasn't going to entertain anymore subordination or backtalk from his men. He'd been far too lax with them. They were getting flabby and lippy, and their lack of discipline was showing.

Sergeant Laren glanced at Quidros. The red markings on Quidros' bone-white face seemed to glow as his brow plates slanted together in a spark of fury. Laren flicked his mandibles in warning, but Quidros was too busy brooding to notice.

Garrus shook his head at them and skulked away to his tent for the night.

After Garrus was out of sight, Laren turned to his friend. "You need to watch yourself."

"What? He needs to hear it."

"That's for Primarch Victus to tell him, not us."

"If the Primarch won't talk some sense into the General, then I don't mind walking point."

"You're going to get yourself relieved of duty."

"General Vakarian is going to relieve me of duty? Come on, look at us. We're barely holding onto New Aeris as it is. Anyway, don't you know anything about Vakarian? He used to have a reputation for playing fast and loose. It's why he quit C-Sec." Quidros relaxed, leaning into a tall stack of crates. "And everyone knows he was Archangel. That's been an open secret for months."

"General Vakarian? On Omega? Taking down Blue Suns? Nah, you're plucking my frills…"

"Nope. I swear it."

"Hey, keep it down out there! I can hear you, you know!" Peering out from the flap of his tent, Garrus added, "The Blue Suns, Eclipse, and the Blood Pack. How 'bout that? G'night, boys."

Laren froze, his mouth formed into an absentminded grin. "Good night, sir."

Garrus removed his armor in the dark, tearing the cumbersome pieces off in swift succession and tossing them to the ground. His knees complained as he sank down to his cot, the slack returning to them like worn out elastic. Nothing made him feel older than joints that ached for no good reason, except maybe his young sergeant implying that he was losing his edge. That made him feel utterly ancient. Thirty-two was youthful by turian standards, but time was slipping by faster than ever, and the days and months and years had not been kind to his body since his time hunting down Saren.

With one arm flopped over the side of his cot, and the other draped over his forehead, Garrus let his eyes relax as he directed his gaze to the unlit lamp at the top of his tent. In a bittersweet, twisted way, he wished he could be back at the beginning, before the war. The danger had been high, the stakes even higher—immeasurably higher than now—the outcome always balanced on a knife's edge. Joining the Normandy had been one of the best things to ever happen to him. It had altered the course of his life, removing him from the frustrations of mundane bureaucracy and thrusting him into the wider galaxy to fight forces much bigger than he could ever imagine. And meeting Shepard—someone who was as passionate as he was, who was competent and driven—was the zenith of that remarkable time.

Where was she, anyhow? An entire month had passed since he'd last heard from her. Her last message was curt and without detail, only saying that she would be "MIA for a while" and had some things to take care of. It wasn't much to go on. There was no news of her on the extranet, and there was no one to ask. Tali didn't know anything; she was traveling with the Migrant Fleet in the Athena Nebula. He hadn't heard from Wrex at all since he'd made it back to Tuchanka. And Liara had gone back to Thessia with Javik. Garrus thought about getting in touch with Kaidan, but the idea that he might know better than Garrus did was too much to consider—tantamount to a breach in trust. Shepard would never do that. And Miranda, even if she did know, would never tell him. He'd have to keep his faith in her and wait. That was probably for the best. He didn't have time to worry about her right now. Between the pressure to hold the Hierarchy together and the gravity of his family's situation, there was enough worry to last him for the rest of the year.

Garrus had become accustomed to keeping the strain at bay. But it hadn't abated since the Reapers' first attack, and he was growing weary of being alone with his thoughts. When he was a child, his mother often found small ways to ease his troubles. She would begin by fixing him a snack or offering to play a game with him. Then, while he was occupied, she would probe with care: "Oh, look at that…you took my last dreadnought! That's disappointing. It's so hard to be disappointed, isn't it?". With her mindful composure she would hold a space for him, and Garrus would share his concerns on his own terms. It didn't matter if she had already known what he was going to say; his confidence was undergirded by having someone who made the effort to listen and to listen well.

Now, conversations with his mother had degraded into a source of anxiety. Garrus had last spoken with her a week ago, after her new caretaker had urged him to keep up a regular schedule of talks. He was careful about what information he shared and how he shared it. Without thinking, he had once made the mistake of correcting her about his father. It ended poorly. He learned, the painful way, that reliving the news of a loved one's death over and over again was a form of bitter cruelty. He did his best to spare his mom that pain, but he felt it every time she asked about his dad.

The truth was that the mindful version of his mother didn't exist anymore. She was trapped between folded proteins, denatured of her calm spirit and emotional generosity. That mother only lived in his memory. Still wide awake in his cot, Garrus sighed and slid his arm over his eyes. He pictured his childhood home in Cipritine, hoping to find her.

The gamey, savory tang of spiced meat tickles his nose as he passes through the door, home early from a failed target practice. Its robust aroma is plaited with the perfume of fresh arx blooms and warm bath oil. It smells like the entirety of Palaven in one room. He drops his kit on the hallway floor, knowing his mom will probably nag him about it later. At the end of the hallway, a large, square mirror hangs on the wall. He turns his head from side to side and sees that he's twelve again, not quite old enough to serve, but old enough to be a good shot and old enough to know better than to leave his grimy things lying around. He walks toward the kitchen. Solana is lounging in a cushioned saucer chair in the sitting room, both legs pulled up and crossed, her face shoved into the latest installment of "The Taetrus Diairies". She acknowledges him and goes back to reading.

The smell of the meat grows stronger as he floats into the kitchen. Arces are nested in a vase at the end of the counter, the blooms spilling out from all sides—his mother's favorite. He doesn't have to look, he already knows his dad isn't here; he's at the Citadel as usual. Standing with her back turned to him, his mom is rinsing fresh herbs in the sink. Before he has a chance to tap her on the shoulder, she turns around, her eyes brightening as she sees him. He's already taller than she is by a couple of heads, but she still commands the room when she is in it. She sets the herbs down and takes his hand, then squeezes it between hers. Her mandibles flutter slowly as she nods in sympathy. "I know, son. I know."

It was a rough start to the next morning. There was no discussion of Quidros' plan, only a hasty advance to the northern part of the city before a gathering there turned violent. Garrus had tried to remain as hands off as possible, but this particular rally was swarming with reckless youth, some of them armed and spoiling for a fight. They had gathered outside a safe camp, which was staffed by a rotating squad of six to eight soldiers and overseen by an officer.

Garrus, Major Paetrus, and his sergeants rode together in one vehicle, while the rest of the unit drove ahead in a large personnel carrier. They made their way via a residential neighborhood, one of the only routes running north that wasn't barricaded or blocked with debris.

"Looks like they aren't planning on rebuilding here." Major Paetrus nodded to the many abandoned apartment buildings, most of which were still in the same state they had been in at the end of the war.

"It's eerie. You wouldn't guess this was here if you'd only seen the other side of town," Quidros added. "Hard to believe it's the same place."

A dreary color languished in the air. A high pressure system had settled over the plains, creating a stagnant blanket of contaminants that set off the environmental warning system. Garrus secured his breather over his face. It was quiet in the cabin; there was only the rattle of the team's gear and his own steady breath inside the mask. The vehicle hummed along, occasionally treading over segments of road that had been rended from the ground.

The personnel carrier slowed to make a right at a corner. The road had narrowed to a space just wide enough for it to fit with some careful maneuvering. Garrus was looking up toward a row of intact balconies—some movement of shadows had caught his eye—when an explosive shockwave ripped through the air. High plumes of black smoke erupted out, obscuring Garrus' view of the personnel carrier.

"IED! IED! GET OUT! GET OUT! MOVE!"

"SHIT! Fuck!"

"Medical—call for medevac!"

Garrus and Major Paetrus rushed out of the vehicle with their subordinates grabbing whatever medical supplies were under the seats. Quidros contacted base for a medevac as Laren ran towards the still smoking carrier. A miasma of ozone stung their eyes, acrid and electric; even through their breathers they could taste the metal that crackled around them.

The carrier had been flicked into the air and thrown on its side. The men stood just beyond the murky cloud that engulfed it. Confused and bewildered soldiers crawled out of the carrier, their eyes nearly shut and their faces enveloped in a thick skin of dust. As Garrus reached down to help one of them up, a barrage of gunfire erupted from above.

Major Paetrus whipped his head up towards the balconies. "Combatants at two o'clock!"

Shots zipped past as Garrus dragged the soldier to safety behind their vehicle. He crouched next to the wheel well and drew his sniper rifle, readying his weapon for a quick takedown. Laren and Quidros ducked for cover in separate doorways; they let their assault rifles loose toward the balconies above. As two of the shooters took potshots, Garrus peered through his scope—finger readied over the trigger—and waited for the third to pop out from cover. The moment she sprang up from the rail he let off a round—CRACK! The woman's head instantly slumped forward, sending her tumbling over the balcony; her body landed on the ground with a flat whump.

Meanwhile, Major Paetrus had taken out the shooter behind the farthest pillar. Quidros pulled the second from the balcony and threw him hard against the side of the building, hairline fractures crazing outward from the point of impact. When the action settled, everyone made a check for more combatants before standing down.

Major Paetrus stood up from behind the vehicle and shouted, "What the hell happened to detection! They were supposed to sweep this morning!"

"I don't know, but let's get everyone out first. We can ask questions later," said Garrus.

The men helped the rest of the soldiers out and away from the wrecked carrier. While the sergeants assessed each of them for major trauma, Garrus checked on the bodies of the two shooters who had fallen from the balcony. The first, a woman, was tall and svelte, donning a pastiche of armor likely assembled from whatever she could salvage from the abandoned homes. She lay on her belly with her face turned to one side—gray as stone, with her bright green eyes still wide open. She wasn't much younger than Garrus' mom.

Garrus sighed as he closed her eyes. "These rebellions used to be fought by turians in their prime. Now it's down to the old and the very young."

"Entire generations, lost. We'll lose more if we're not careful," replied Major Paetrus. He shook his head. "I'll go check the body on the balcony."

Quidros and Laren finished assessing the soldiers and tried their best to attend to the two in the most dire condition. When Major Paetrus returned, he went ahead to the safe camp along with the soldiers who were still on their feet. Twenty minutes later, two medics arrived. They evacuated half a dozen; those with minor injuries stayed behind with Garrus and his sergeants. Remaining vigilant in case of another ambush, the men waited until another vehicle arrived to take them all to the safe camp.

This time they drove on heightened alert—signals reverberating between the nerves in their bodies—circumspect of the route they chose, and suspicious of anything that appeared the slightest bit unusual. On the way there, they finally received word of the IED detection team.

"Sounds like they got held up in the industrial district. They never made it this far north. They only just reported in to base," said Laren.

"Crap, I guess that explains it," Garrus said. "Let's review protocols when we get back. This can't keep happening—everything's going sideways."

Quidros scoffed as they turned off the main road. "What we really need is a good gunship or two. Some combat drones. Blackwatch."

"The Primarch isn't going to spring for gunships in a civilian situation. Not yet, anyway," said Laren.

Garrus uttered a dark laugh. "Joke's on you, Sergeant. What few gunships we still have left are locked away. Saving them for a rainy day. That goes for combat drones too."

Bits of gravel popped under the tires as the transport vehicle rolled to a stop outside the camp. The crowd had already dispersed, but they left behind a gruesome scene. Injured protesters and soldiers alike lay strewn on the ground, their bodies like stringy strips of bloodsoaked meat drying in the sun. There were so many that a backup medical unit had to be called from a civilian aid center. Their staff, hurried but efficient, treated both groups with a sincere alacrity, not making any distinctions aside from medical labels.

Garrus secured his weapon and crossed the empty lot. A young turian woman was kneeling near a bleeding patient propped up against the fence. She squeezed a dollop of medigel onto his wound, then pressed a cloth over it as he winced. Garrus narrowed his eyes. He would recognize those blue facial markings anywhere.

"Sol? Sol! What are you doing here?" he shouted as he bounded closer.

Solana looked up in surprise, then made sure the young man was okay to hold the cloth. "Just hold this for fifteen more seconds, okay? I'll check on you in a few minutes."

"Garrus!" Solana strode to meet him half way and gave him a hug.

"Is your whole team here?" Garrus asked.

"Yep, all of us."

"What about Tergeste? Weren't you assigned to treat civilians?"

"We were. But we got orders to come to New Aeris. We were told there's a critical shortage of medical personnel. To be honest, I'm not very happy about it."

Laren, who had gone straight to the gate, jogged over. "Sir! Lieutenant Falco is requesting to speak with you."

"Be right there." Garrus turned back to Solana. "Look, I've gotta go, but stop by base later? Let's catch up. I'll give them the heads up."

"Sure, G, let's do that. See you then?"

Garrus affectionately clapped his sister's arm and waved once as he walked toward the entrance of the camp.

Lieutenant Falco was there to greet him. "General, sir, thanks for making the time. I wanted to speak with you regarding staffing at the camp. Given the recent uptick in confrontations, we're going to need more soldiers in rotation."

"You know I can't give you that, Lieutenant. We're stretched thin enough as it is."

"Respectfully, sir, you saw what transpired this morning. The situation could have been much worse if the crowd had been better armed or a lot more worked up. They come to protest and harass those who surrender at the safe camp, but we don't have many means to ward them off."

It would never be enough, and Garrus knew it, but he had to tell his men something. He had to at least try.

"Point taken, Falco. I'll see what I can do, but I won't promise anything."

The rest of the day was a blur of consultations and attempts to assuage members of the community, many of whom were wavering between support for the rebels and openness to the Hierarchy. Garrus felt a little better having swayed some opinions, despite the fact that they had nothing tangible to offer in return. It would have to come down to a clarion call—an appeal to shared history and identity—if they were going to change minds. The fact that Garrus had been the special adviser on Reapers didn't hurt his case either.

When he finally arrived back at base it was well past midnight. Solana had already been waiting for over an hour and was having a friendly chat with a few of Garrus' men. Her face, lit by the flames of a campfire, blazed with a puckishness had not seen in a long time.

"Hey, there you are," she said. "Thought you might be dead in a ditch somewhere!"

"Good evening, sir," said Laren. The corporals seated on either side of him saluted.

"General Vakarian, sir! Your charming sister has been sharing some stories with us." Quidros wagged a metal cup in front of his face. "Care to join?"

Garrus shook his head. "I can't, I've got an early morning meeting scheduled with the Primarch."

"Aww, come on, you can wiggle the stick out of your ass just a little, right?" Solana pulsed her mandibles as she mocked him.

Garrus' men snickered.

"Spirits, Sol, what have you been telling these boys?"

"Nothing much. Just about the time you tried to impress a girl by calibrating her training drone without permission."

"In my defense, the algorithm on that thing was way off. I was doing her a favor."

Solana tilted her head. "Multiple burns and a broken arm is a favor?"

"I didn't anticipate that she wouldn't keep up."

Bursting up from her seat, she pointed a finger at her brother with wild excitement. "Oh, oh, oh! What about the time you got your 'thing' caught in—"

"I THINK THAT'S ENOUGH FOR TONIGHT THANK YOU!" Garrus snatched Solana's empty cup and crossed his arms. "Thanks so much for sharing with the class. Is it my turn now?"

"No!"

"Heh. Well, sorry to spoil the fun, but do you all mind if I borrow my dear sister? We've got some catching up to do." Garrus set the cup down on the ground.

"Good night Ms. Vakarian, it was nice meeting you!" Laren said enthusiastically.

Quidros gave her a snappy nod and saluted.

"Thanks! Lovely to chat with you all. Very enlightening conversation!"

Garrus grabbed his sister by the arm and led her through a maze of tents and crates. "Did you just come here to trash talk me?"

"I was in good company, I'm not going to apologize." Solana brushed her brother's hand away and looked at him pointedly. "In times like these, I'll take laughs wherever I can get 'em—even at your expense!"

"I suppose there's some sick logic to that. But we're done, right?"

"Yeah, yeah.."

The siblings came to a clearing just past the last command shelter. It had been set up as a provisional meeting area, with an outdoor table and a few stools strewn around. The tall grass surrounding the clearing bowed as if genuflecting to the ground beneath it, somehow thriving despite the dry, bleak conditions of camp.

Solana parked herself on one of the stools and turned to her brother "I take it from today's happenings things aren't going so well here."

"That's an understatement." Garrus remained standing.

"Your sergeant, the one with the white face and red markings—"

"Quidros?"

"Yeah, him. He said there was a plan you disapproved of? That you were being too cautious. I told him that didn't sound much like you."

"Mmm…he did, did he? That insubordinate little shit…" Garrus wasn't sure if he should be mad or proud. "He's shrewd, that one. Maybe too shrewd. His friend Laren does what he's told, but Quidros…he gets under my cowl sometimes."

"Oh, that's because he's like you. But younger."

"How do you figure that?"

"Let's see…hot-headed? Terribly killed? Single minded? Sound about right?"

"How the hell did you pick that up from just one hour?" Garrus took a seat next to his sister and planted his boots firmly into the ground.

Solana shrugged. "It's kind of my job. I have to read between the lines when I see patients. Practicing medicine is more than healing wounds and curing illness."

"You know, come to think of it, I've never seen you on the job. When I left home you were still in school."

"You never saw me at all, Garrus."

"I'm sorry."

"At least when you were at C-Sec I could count on you visiting home for a few days here and there. After that you just disappeared."

"The contract job—I couldn't come home. It wasn't possible with the kind of work I was doing." He still hadn't been able to bring himself to tell her the truth. It wasn't worth explaining, nor reliving. "I really was trying to help with Mom."

"Is that what you thought? That you were just helping Mom? Did you ever think about me or Dad at all? We needed you too. We're family, Garrus. That means being part of something bigger than you."

Did Solana really think so little of him? "I was part of something bigger than me. I am part of something bigger than me. Bigger than our little family. That's why I'm here."

"Oh please, don't give me that self-righteous crap. You were in it for you. Because you had this idea in your head that you needed to catch every bad guy, to clean house like some kind of warped superhero. And while you were out playing vigilante, I was here with mom. Going with her to doctors appointments, researching the latest treatments, making sure she didn't hurt herself. I did the cooking and cleaning when she couldn't anymore."

Solana had worked herself into a frenzy. She paused. "Did you know there was one time she nearly burned the house down? She left a pot on the burner and walked away. I woke up coughing and my room was full of smoke. I called the fire department, and when we found her, she was outside picking flowers. The kitchen ceiling still had scorch marks on it until the day we left Palaven. Another time, she called the cops on me because she thought I was trying to kill her. She told them I was slowly poisoning her. Dad had to use his pull to get the authorities to let me go. And she got worse. So much worse than before you left. But it happened so slowly, like watching the sun move across the sky. Then suddenly it's dusk.

"I felt helpless. And seeing her suffer again and again….you didn't have to see any of that, G. The pain she was in—the seizures, the spasms, the way she would scratch herself until she bled. Dad did what he could, but he was still at C-Sec up until you left. I was trying to finish my studies and work on top of it… "

"You were working too? I… I had no idea, Sol."

"No, of course you didn't. The truth is, when you stopped sending much money home someone needed to make up for it." Solana [action tag]. "Oh, spirits, that's without even getting into what happened after Dad died—just the two of us, alone. I can't even think about it."

Ashamed he hadn't heard about any of this until now, Garrus lowered his head. Either his family had taken great pains to hide it from him, or he hadn't been paying close enough attention. He knew the likely answer. "I'm sorry, Sol. You should never have gone through that alone. Not Dad, and not Mom most of all."

"And now… now you're finally home, but Mom is the worst she's ever been. And you're out here…but…" Solana's voice had begun to crack, her subvocals trembling high and low. She looked away.

"What is it?"

"But—I'm here too. And you know what? You know what? Part of me is relieved. I'm relieved to be away from Mom. I can't take much more. I feel like I'm going to break, G. I know it sounds awful, but I'm just so tired.…" She hugged her mandibles tight to her face and rubbed her arm. "Are we bad kids, Garr?"

Bad kids? Garrus knew what being a good son or daughter meant in turian culture. It meant showing respect. It meant upholding family honor. It meant performing your filial duty. What did bad mean, then?

"I might be. I don't know. Not you though, Sol. I owe you more than I can ever repay. And I can't change what's already happened, but I can be here, now." Garrus put his arm around his sister's shoulder and squeezed. "Ahh…it's all too much, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Don't worry, we've got this—we're Vakarians. And if there's one thing you can count on, it's that Vakarians are stubborn as hell. So we're not going to give up, and we're not going to let this destroy us. Am I right?"

Solana nodded and took a deep breath, then let it out in a long stream. Garrus did the same. Five years of guilt and hardship exited his body in a ribbon of air. Feeling a sudden weightlessness, he studied Palaven's moons as he stared into the inky sky. The once mysterious bodies had taken a thrashing in the war, but from here they looked as pristine as he remembered.

Garrus woke up just as tired as he had been when he went to bed. There might not be much of a point in sleeping if it weren't a respite from all the nagging worries and doubts that beset him. And at least when he was asleep it was silent. No one asked for anything, no voices rang out or whispered behind his back.

It was early enough in the morning that most of the base was still slumbering away, or at least what passed for slumbering in a desolate military camp. Craning his neck from the flap of his tent, Garrus spied a hazy line of light peeking over the low ridge in the east. He stepped out, fully dressed and armored, and turned to face the sunrise. Every morning, he relished that minute or two before he went about his business, taking the time to remind himself of why he was here: he was a turian, and Palaven was his home. The place where he was born. Where his family lived, where he became a soldier and a man, the place he fought to save and won.

He headed for the comms shelter with a datapad in hand, in case the Primarch wanted some figures and tactical data to go with his report. Ironically, someone like Primarch Victus—who would never have been promoted if not for a death—was the leader they needed to move forward, someone willing to take a hammer to the ossified structures of the pre-war Hierarchy and build a new, resilient empire from its remains. And if it was Victus' job to secure mutual aid and re-establish relationships, then it was Garrus' job to make sure things didn't fall apart at home. Garrus could not fail the Primarch. Success would need to start here and now on Palaven. So far it had all been falling apart.

"Garrus, my apologies for not checking in with you sooner. I've been traveling so much I don't know my left from right anymore." Primarch Victus appeared sallow on the screen; his shoulders rolled forward as if he were carrying a heavy pack on his back. "How is the situation out there?"

"Not the best. The rebels are still holding several hostages, and the conflict isn't showing any sign of letting up."

"I see. And casualties?"

"It's worse than the last report you read."

"What's your assessment, General?"

"If you want my unpolished opinion, sir, we're trying to fit a square peg into a round hole."

"A what?"

"It means we're trying to put something into a place where it doesn't fit. Our citizens, they know how to fight. It's what they've been trained to do. They know how to mount an attack, how to organize supply lines. They know where to apply pressure. Normally we'd suppress an uprising like this with hastatim. Without them, our toolbox is pretty empty. We're caught up in skirmishes all over the city, just buying time. They want energy, they want water, and we have nothing to bargain with. "

Primarch Victus mulled over Garrus' words before speaking. "Then that just proves how much we need change, doesn't it? We're not going to get anywhere repeating the same behaviors. If we do, there will be war. The situation is desperate all over the empire, not just far off colonies."

The Primarch was right. Old divisions of meritocracy, position, class, colony—turians would need to put them aside to go forward, or risk suffering a repeat of the War on Taetrus, or worse. The Reaper War had pushed everyone to their limits and beyond. For Garrus, it had made him see that sometimes he needed to hold back; making tough calls meant becoming more discerning and calculating, eschewing passionate crusades for broader goals. With so many lost in the war, preserving the lives of those that survived had become priority.

Primarch Victus continued. "We'll need to be lighter and more agile. We don't have a choice…we don't have the manpower or the logistical means. We need to convince the citizenry that we're stronger working together and not as disparate factions."

"Maybe it's time we get a bigger toolbox," said Garrus.

"Yes, it is. And for that we're going to need more incentive for our people, to earn their trust. That's why I'm doing my best to secure resources for the Hierarchy. But that means I need you to do the the work of quelling these…disturbances. Once we've reduced the disturbances, we can go about the harder work of restructuring."

"Yes, sir."

"I realize that is a lot to ask, but I know you can accomplish it." The Primarch cleared his throat. "Oh, and by the way, I'll be coming back to Palaven in a week's time. First I'll meet with Urdnot Wrex in Tuchanka, then you can expect to see me in New Aeris."

"Of course, Primarch."

"That's all for now." Primarch Victus motioned to the datapad still in Garrus' hand. "You can save the numbers and such for when I get there. See you soon, Garrus."

The screen faded as the Primarch signed off. Primarch Victus would be here in a week; Garrus needed to get his act together and needed to do it fast. He tucked the datapad under his arm and made a beeline for he mess. First, a light breakfast, then a prudent talk with his maverick sergeant. Like Shepard always says, no rest for the wicked.

Song: "Intervention" - The Arcade Fire
Don't want to fight, don't want to die / Just want to hear you cry / Who's gonna throw the very first stone / Oh, who's gonna re-set the bone

Song: "I Should Live in Salt" - The National
We have different enemies / You should know me better than that / I should leave it alone, but you're not right / I should live in salt for leaving you behind