Gravitation

"Welcome to Alliance Military Database…" The VI announced pleasantly, spreading her hands, "A secure connection is required to access profiles." Abruptly, as though the extranet itself were spiting him, half the marine's virtual clothing dissolved, and her profile went from friendly to too friendly. "On the floor and give me twenty, soldier!"

Nihlus growled in aggregation and swiped the pop-up and its ads for "women who like big guns," away, making a mental note to upgrade his extranet filters. He tapped into Earth's comm buoy and the original VI continued obliviously. "Establishing secure connection…"

"Secure connection confirmed," She said almost immediately. He was hardly surprised. What passed for secure in Alliance Space was questionable at best. "Please login to access profiles," A few taps at the haptic interface allowed him SPECTRE clearance, at which he scrolled to reach his target. "Access granted, welcome agent-Warning!" The VI sputtered to keep up. "Data corruption. Profile reconstruction in prog-logging you out."

Nihlus sighed again and force-quit his omnitool. Technically he had no reason to recheck Commander Shepard's files. He'd already made local copies of those pertinent to his mission and all he'd need as a mentor. The only drawback of the matter was he had no recent photo of said Commander, and with the Alliance Database currently in maintenance he was unlikely to get one before he met her in person.

Which reminded him of why he'd come here - to get a feel for the woman behind the service record. It seemed outrageously presumptuous when he couldn't even find out what she looked like. The fruitless search and equally fruitless trip rubbed him the wrong way. Technically, he was on leave until the Normandy arrived, but in his opinion, Spectres were never on leave. If there wasn't a job to do, he was doing his job wrong.

"Bad day?" A voice beside him broke into his thoughts. He stopped rubbing the back of his neck to glance at the human sitting next to him in the bar. His database search had gone to his earpiece, so his growling must have disturbed her.

"You could say that," Nihlus rolled his head and glanced to his left to see if he could escape. He accidentally nudged the salarian beside him in the process, who grumbled loudly and made a show of turning his back to him. No such luck, he was trapped.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The human on his right continued. Even if he didn't resent humans, he didn't always understand them. Why they always took bars to be social occasions, for one.

"Is that a threat?" He quipped, spreading his mandibles to show he was joking, when it occurred to him she wouldn't understand the expression.

"Dextro, I promise," The human flashed her flat teeth at him. It was hardly menacing. He rolled his shoulders again and finally looked her over. She was barefaced, but it hadn't bothered him with Saren, and it didn't bother him now. Her eyes and the top half of her hair were red as fire, the lower half black as ink. Curious. He'd never seen such a style before.

"A supernova," He allotted at length. The human raised an eyebrow at him.

"Seriously?"

"I'm always serious." He managed to hold his face very still.

"One supernova," the human called loudly across the bar. The bartender snorted and several patrons eyed her. Belatedly she realized judgment for the drink's name fell on her. "You're a cruel sort of person," she chuckled, turning in her seat to face him.

"You don't even know me." He looked affronted.

"I'd like to." She countered immediately.

"One supernova," The bartender interrupted, placing the drink between them. "Get you another?" He gestured to the shot glass the woman was cradling like a lifeline. Nervous? Alcoholic? Perhaps both. And his exit was still blocked.

"Sure," she agreed with immediate predictability. "So Supernova, what's your story?"

Nihlus swirled his drink in his hand, half-listening. Alien, alcoholic, and in the way. A bad day indeed.

"And if there's not one?" At least his drinks would be free.

"Then less time spent talking. But I bet you have one." He deemed not to reply. The human didn't need him to. "You have the same clan markings as Councilor Valern. Must have gotten you a lot of respect."

That was unexpected. He knew the difficulties of distinguishing fine details on other races, and couldn't help but be slightly impressed. Slightly. "Just the opposite." She looked more interested, if possible. "But while we're on markings, why is your hair two colors?"

She ran a hand through it at the mention. "Because I keep forgetting to make it one." Conversation stalled briefly, but at least they both realized those topics were off-limits. She broke the silence with a nod towards the mass of gyrating bodies, glowing with psyotics and high off red sand, "You wanna dance?"

"I don't dance." He returned immediately. He'd seen a torrent of elbows and knees slaughtering their way through the dance floor earlier and he had a sneaking suspicion of whose they'd been. Belatedly, he realized accepting would have been an easy way to reach the door. Do you still want to?

She leaned her elbows on the counter, poor graces in any culture, excluding Salarian, not in the least put off. This woman was as stubborn as he was. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a turian, you'd think my profession would be obvious, miss-"

"Tequila."

"Pardon?" He blinked.

She pointed to her empty shot glass. "I could use more tequila."

A laugh strangled in his throat. He felt as though he should be more annoyed, but all he felt was amused. He waved the bartender over and slid his credit chit across the counter. "Tequila it is." He could polish enough gizzard to get through one conversation. The way she muscled through his comfort zone, he wasn't sure he had a choice. Do you want one?

"So you're a soldier," She grinned, wide enough to reveal canines this time. They were sharp. He tried to ignore the similarities. He hummed his agreement and took another sip of his drink. "Here on leave, looking for trouble…"

"Looking for trouble?" Nihlus started.

The human pointed to the slight bulge in his jacket. "You came to a bar armed," Had he? His sidearm was like another limb by now. He could no more forget to bring it than he could remove it without significant trauma.

She had to be extremely familiar with turian anatomy to notice to something so slight. Nihlus ignored what that implied. "Expecting trouble. Not looking for it. Are you always this forward?"

"Is it working?"

Yes. "Maybe," turian women made her look chaste. A lingering look in the hallway was all it took to derail into blowing off steam, before that derailed into an exclusive relationship. At least, that was how it usually worked for men who weren't from outpost colonies and who blindly followed orders rather than their own initiative. "So what do you do, Tequila?"

"You're looking at a fellow soldier," The pop-up immediately came to mind and he shook it out of his head. He was still having trouble deciding if he found her intriguing or annoying. Maybe both.

A few more Supernovas would decide for him. He finished his drink and waved the bartender over, "You'd think Arcturus would be a more typical place for shore-leave."

"You'd think," She tilted her head to the side. The bartender set a bottle beside her that looked to have a Threshermaw larva floating at the bottom. Nihlus was instantly and utterly enthralled. "This is… closer to home."

"And yet…"

"And yet what?" She stared at him as if she didn't understand how a turian was anything but closer to home. Part of him, part of him that sounded suspiciously like his mentor, was insisting this was a house in an Invictus jungle. It seemed like a good idea, but only to him. There was an angle. There was a catch… There was a woman interested in him. For the first time in depressing.

Nihlus tore his eyes away from what he still suspected was a Threshermaw larva and focused on the human again. If their species had potential, if Commander Shepard had potential, then why not this? He opened his mouth to reply, when he noticed a glint amidst the crowd. A group of humans against the far wall were glaring at the two of them and their engrossing conversation. The group traded nods, and then they traded knives.

Ah yes.

That was why.