Squishy – present.
"So this is where all you turians come from, is it?" Again, Lirin should learn to shut his mouth.
"Yes," the turian General, Kineka, that we've been led to replies sourly. I don't blame him. This place is in ruins. There's corpses everywhere, some are horrifically disfigured in such a way only someone turned into a reaper pawn could go through, and the entire planet is on fire. "This is where we come from, quarian."
I'm not sure if the hostility towards us is because of Lirin's idiocy, because of the destruction being wrought on Palaven as we stand here, or because of both of those and the knowledge us quarians have just regained our home world, while the turians and almost every other sentient race in the galaxy's worlds burn.
"General," Reegar interrupts and straightens himself and before my eyes, catching the turians attention before he has the chance to mutilate the quarian in our squad who probably deserves it. "Where do you want us?"
General Kineka gives him a hard look for a few seconds, but then seems to accept his sincerity and that we're really here to help. "What are you best at?"
We're only a small platoon, but Reegar is leading us. He's surprisingly good at it, but I just hope this time it won't turn into another Haestrom. There's five of us in total and a bunch of supplies stuffed into our shuttle because we weren't sure if we could decontaminate the turians food properly ourselves, so we bought as much of the paste we give to quarians on their pilgrimage as we thought we'd need and could manage.
Lirin'Emaun is the colossal prick amongst us, if anyone hadn't figured that out already. But when he's not being a dick, he's a surprisingly good infiltrator, and when you've got a geth pyro sneaking up behind you, you're kind of grateful when he snipes it dead for you before it has a chance to turn you into a quarian flavoured kebab. But then you have to put up with the gloating afterwards.
Gabi'Vien, when she's not piloting our shuttles, is usually fortifying defences with turrets or fixing planted machine guns or gunships or basically anything that can do a fuckton of damage but needs someone good at tech to prepare. She's also a bit absent-minded when she's not working and tends to daydream a lot.
Trin'Noemi is the only one amongst us with any kind of biotics. Sometimes I wonder if that's what makes him so broody all the time, or if it's just unique to him. He doesn't say much, and when he does, it's usually grumpy. But I don't really mind as long as he's send geth flying away from me. He stares at Gabi a lot too, in... well, you know.
Then, there's Reegar. Or, Kal'Reegar, or Kal if you're feeling friendly, but nobody really calls him that unless they don't know him well. Or they know him really well, in, you know, that way. Or perhaps his family. He's the leader of our squad and he can hold his own on the battlefield any day. He can't snipe or use tech like the rest of us, but he has enough other guns to make up for it. And Reegar has a lot of guns.
And then there's me.
"Depends on what you need, General," Reegar interrupts my thoughts as he replies to the turian. "Gabi's best getting onto any of your gunships or turrets. Us three," he gestures at himself, Lirin and Trin, "are better on the front lines. You might want to send Squishy onto anything that needs a decent engineer."
The turian gives Reegar what passes for a frown, and then glances at me. I smile sheepishly under my visor and rub the back of my purple helmet self consciously out of habit.
"We're holding this camp for the time being," the turian replies. "Communications been getting difficult and our comms are getting more temperamental each day, there are times when we're completely cut off from high command and running blind."
Reegar inclines his head toward me. "Squishy can get on it."
The turian nods slowly at my name, just like everyone does. It's not even my actual name, but I've pretty much given up trying to get people to call me by what it really is. These days it feels weird if someone calls me by something other than my nickname. "I'll get one of my men to show you where it is. Other than that, we need this position maintained. Reaper forces are advancing on us stronger each day."
"We'll join your men on the front lines as you need us," Reegar replies.
Squishy – nineteen years old.
"How could you be that stupid? Hacking into an Admiral's emails!" Father's shouting at me again, but I'm used to it so I just stare at the floor from my position on the end of my bed. "Keelah, help me that I ended up with such an idiot for a son!"
His words don't hurt any more, they stopped hurting a long time ago.
"You never said these things when mother was still alive," I mutter offhandedly. My father stops before me and leans in.
"Your mother does not need to be disrespected as an excuse for your failures!"
"Of course, my failures!" I shout back at him. "Because living up to your expectations is all I could have achieved in my life."
"Beir," he starts carefully.
"Just send me on my pilgrimage," I interrupt bitterly. "You've wanted tro for months. Then I won't be around to disappoint you any more."
I know he's been pushing for it. Anything to separate me from Reegar and get me off this ship. My father is silent for what feels like several minutes, then straightens.
"You begin briefing first thing tomorrow morning."
And then he's gone, without evening saying goodbye. I figure that's what it'll be like when I really leave the flotilla. Why bother farewelling me, when all it would do is make him admit again his embarrassment of a son?
Kal'Reegar – nineteen years old.
As a quarian, you don't really get much chance to be alone. We live in cramped quarters and as much as we try and respect each others privacy, it's not always easy. It's particularly hard when you're a teenager, too, for... well, reasons. There comes a time in your life when you start getting curious about stim suit mods and things of that nature, and there's nothing worse than booting one up, only to remember your room-mate is sleeping half a metre away in the bed next to yours.
So when you're confined to your quarters during the day, when most other quarians are out, you kind of make the most of that solitude. My parents are rarely home on the Neema, they're military born and bred like the rest of our family and are always away on some mission or other. One day I'll join them, but for now I share a small room with another psuedo-orphan like me. He's nice enough I guess, but we don't talk much. He has his own friends. The rest of our facilities are all communal with numerous other quarians.
I let out a sigh in my bed, knees propped up and one arm supporting my head. With the other, I'm browsing through my omni-tool linked in to my suit. Every company thinks they can make some great addition to stim mods, but really, they're all just the same. I'm about to activate mine when I hear a knock at the door and startle.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I drag myself out of my bed and open the door. A high ranking military officer is standing before me. She's silent for a few seconds, before asking a polite, "may I come in?"
"Yes, ma'am." When you grow up in a family where every relative is a marine, respecting higher ranking officers comes naturally to you.
She nods and steps inside and I close the door after her. "As you can expect," she starts, "the actions of Beir'Gerrel nar Neema and yourself are not going unpunished."
I swallow but keep silent.
"But," she continues, "you are both still minors, and as such, we cannot treat you as an adult in this circumstance."
"What's happening to Beir?" I've blurted it out before I can stop myself, but it's been nagging at me, mostly because his father.
She seems momentarily annoyed by my outburst but lets it slide. "He has been sent on his pilgrimage," she answers.
Relief washes over me briefly, before sadness. Chances are I won't see him until he returns, if even then, and I never saw him since we were separated and were confined to our quarters after the incident with Admiral Gerrel's emails.
"As are you."
I blink and cock my head. "Pardon, ma'am?"
"Tomorrow transportation will be arranged for your deportation to the Tonbay," she answers. "You will begin immediate briefing and preparation for your pilgrimage. Your parents will be informed for you."
I cross my arms, think for a few seconds, then nod slowly. "Will you tell them the circumstances?"
For both our sakes, I pray they don't. My parents don't need that shame upon them, and I don't want to be the cause of it, either. I swore to them I would follow in their footsteps, and I will, preferably without disappointing them with stupid actions from my youth along the way.
She looks at me for a few seconds then shakes her head. "No." I breathe a sigh of relief. "Not this time."
There's a hidden warning in there, and she knows I've noticed it. Do anything this dumb again, and you'll get more than just a slap on the wrist.
