Pendent Opera Interrupta

One Bell chimed, signaling the end of Afternoon Watch. Afternoon Watch was the first Watch able to go to port for shore leave or Liberty. The Normandy was going to be crawling with Alliance and Hierarchy pukes within a few hours and most of the bridge crew wouldn't be needed during repairs. Shit, most of the crew wouldn't be needed, and that meant mandatory two weeks shore leave for non-essentials. That included Joker and most of the bridge crew, the MaRINE detail including Alenko and Williams, the aliens, and the command staff. Engineering got a forty-eight hour Liberty, but they were in a port close enough to the Primary Relays that Normandy's pukes could go home and get back sober enough to work their voodoo on the systems.

No work.

What the hell was Joker going to do with his newfound time? Two weeks? With a rogue Spectre heralding a war between organics and AI?

I need a new pair of socks.

Joker exxed out of the shell, added Lieutenant Hendricks to the system, and gave a good, long stretch to buy time for Hendricks. Late again. The hell, Beck? What was her problem lately? She was usually five to ten minutes early for Watch rotation.

He hefted himself out the pilot's seat as just as Hendricks arrived on the bridge. Not a red hair was out of place on her head, so he gave his usual: "Later, Beautiful."

To which she responded, eloquently, "Up yours, sir."

Joker gave a long suffering and dramatic sigh and noted that the corners of her thin lips turned up ever so slightly, but otherwise she made herself busy checking the defunct systems he'd just spent the last four hours trying to recalibrate. At least she was in a slightly better mood today, and he got a 'sir' for his efforts. Maybe she would take him up on drinks when her bridge Watch ended in four hours and she was officially, in civvies' terms, 'on holiday'.

He gripped his crutches and began the long slog through CIC receiving salutes along the way and ignoring them as usual. The only other idiot in CIC wearing a cover was Vassiliadis, and he usually ignored the salutes too. But rules were rules, and the enlisteds had to salute any officer or higher-ranking noncom wearing a cover—which was why Joker chose to wear the SR-1 hat to begin with.

Good to be king.

Tension was thick in CIC. Even though they were safely tucked away in dry-dock, they had every reason to be on edge.

The ship was practically inoperable because of system failures across the board. They narrowly avoided destruction by a geth momship and its baby ships and a super volcano because of the ship's problems. The over-heating of the IES had damaged the food and water supply, and they had all but run out of edible food and clean water in the two weeks it had taken them to get to a safe haven.

They had a potential threat on board in the form of one very hot asari. No one trusted said very hot asari. Scuttlebutt ran rampant with suspicion of her association with geth and Saren and the over-exaggeration of her 'mind powers.' The marines had a new post rotated into their schedules, that of guarding the infirmary. Dr. T'Soni couldn't leave unless she had an escort. She was permitted to the head and to the mess and nowhere else. Pressly's orders. Shepard had yet to belay those orders.

And the Commander had nearly died on Therum and, from what Joker had heard from Private Lu, during surgery. Joker had been quick to tell Lu to button her beak at the latter. No one but no one needed to know that. Shepard had enough shit on her plate. She didn't need the damn crew thinking she was anyone but God Almighty Herself. As far as Joker was concerned, that was the way a CO should be, and he thought that was exactly who Shepard was and always would be. Only Anderson and a few other CO's had ever impressed Joker that much.

Unfortunately, Joker thought as he picked his way down the ladderwell, the Throne of the Universe wasn't currently fitting for Her Almightiness since Commander Shepard had been seen all of two times since Therum, and She hadn't been seen in the best light in either instance.

The first time occurred upon their arrival into the cargo bay when she collapsed from either pain or blood loss from the gaping hole in her shoulder as she exited the Mako and was rushed by the trauma unit to the infirmary. Joker made sure scuttlebutt emphasized blood loss since Shepard was the biggest badass who ever lived and Never Felt Pain Ever, and none of the away team was talking until after they had a mission de-brief and turned in their mission reports. The second time occurred when Shepard left the infirmary a week after the surgery looking like death took a shit on her. She was bruised and swollen and more pale than usual. She maintained her open door policy, but only the command staff, the aliens, and ground crew had been so bold to check on her and enlisteds only interacted with the CO if they were delta sierra anyway and deemed Not Worthy to be amongst the crew (mercifully, all enlisteds still passed muster thanks to Anderson's keen eye in the vetting process and Her Almightiness' ability to crack the whip and give out cookies).

Joker shook his head as entered the galley, grabbed a tray and filled it with edible chow. Williams' penchant for vat-grown pork had grown on him over the last few weeks, no thanks in part to it being the only thing that hadn't soured. It wasn't the hamburger he had been craving since eating one at the layover in the Andura Sector, but it was better tasting than creamed chipped, vat-grown beef on toast. And he got corn and beans as meat-identifiers instead of potatoes and canned Sirona-grown peaches.

The mess was crowded. Alenko was sitting at the far end of the table, the only available seat right in front of him – as usual. Joker grinned as he shuffled over, tray in hand. Hell, yeah. Lucky day.

"Kaidan."

"Joker."

"Seat taken?"

Alenko shrugged, nudged the unidentifiable grey meat around on his tray. He pushed the seat out with his foot so Joker could sit, but didn't look up. Joker considered either whacking the biotic in the shin with his crutch or throwing corn at him, but decided he was too hungry to bother.

Getting off Therum with a wounded asari in his arms had affected Alenko somehow. (Joker wouldn't mind a wounded asari in his arms. Just not one that was too wounded to do that freaky eye thing they did when doing their sex-thing.)

Or maybe it was because Shepard had nearly died.

Again.

He opened his mouth to ask a question, but like clockwork, Joker's Omni-tool activated at 1800 with the latest news reports from the Alliance News Network. He managed to swallow a bite of his chow before bad news struck.

"Tragedy on Arcturus Station," the news correspondent announced, and everyone at the crowded mess table stopped talking.

"Shit," Joker muttered. Mom lived in the Mugi-boshi Ward. When was the last time he'd called home? His stomach suddenly tied itself in knots.

"A bomb hidden in a garbage receptacle exploded this morning, injuring eight people and killing two humans," the correspondent continued. A holo of the damage appeared above her head, smoker curling around the habitats, orange flames licking oak and maple trees of the area. Joker recognized the Mugi-boshi immediately and his heart jumped into his throat. Shit.It was within walking distance to his mother's flat. "A spokesman for the Systems Alliance Military Police said they have detained fifty-five people after the blast in the Mugi-boshi Ward of Arcturus Station, the capital of the Systems Alliance. The spokesman declined to give names of the two humans because their families had yet to be notified. Three of the injured were visiting elcor tourists who wandered away from their tour herd.

"Aina Shikikawa takes you live to Da Jiao Ward within Arcturus Station for the full report."

Joker's mouth went dry as the cam changed angles. Da Jiao was the neighboring Ward, but the reporter, Aina Shikikawa, a mic implant nestled in her ear, was over-looking Mugi-boshi. From the angle, all the habitats looked the same.

She began her report, looking somber: "This morning, tensions between human factions rose. No L2 biotic extremists have come forward claiming responsibility for this morning's devastating blast; however, many residents of Mugi-boshi Ward believe biotics are responsible for the bomb. The Alliance Parliamentary Subcommittee for Transhuman Studies went into its final regular session of the quarter on March twenty-ninth. Reparations for biotics with severe impairments, including crippling pain and psychotic breaks, are on the table once again. This will be the first time in six months that the Subcommittee has reopened reparation discussion. A decision on reparations for L2s was put on hold when an L3-implanted biotic Alliance serviceman committed suicide last November after turning on her squadmates and killing civilians in what the Alliance Navy has called a 'peacekeeping' mission. The Alliance Navy has continued to refuse to give the biotic's name until the formal investigation into why the L3 snapped has been conducted."

Joker pulled off his Omni-tool and handed it to Alenko, then left the mess to call home.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Holy hell.

Kaidan blinked, his expression mimicking that of the entirety of the mess hall. What suicide? What peacekeeping mission? Civilians? He swallowed. Biotics weren't assigned to peacekeeping missions. They were frontline infantry. Too many asari commandos leading slave rings these days.

This was bad for all biotics if an L3 popped her cork and somehow the media got wind of it. He looked up from Joker's Omni-tool as the cam angle shifted. Joker was leaving.

"Joker?"

The helmsman said nothing, his face grim as he hurried away as fast as his condition would let him. Kaidan doubted the man even heard him. He remembered then. Joker's family was on Arcturus.

He left Joker's Omni-tool where it lay for the crew in the mess to watch, pulling up the network on his own and searching for the Commander's tags on Normandy's internal system tracker.

Shepard, Calleigh M. # Cmdr. # 5923-AC-2826 # O Negative # No Preference

Location: Infirmary

Ah, hell.

He wasn't looking forward to being the bearer of bad news, but he was certain that the shit just hit the fan.

pendent opera interrupta – "the work hangs interrupted" -Virgil's Aeneid, Book IV