X: DEVIATIONS
SSV Normandy
She was staring up at the wisps of vapor that comprised the nebula through the skylight that capped Shepard's cabin. Rose-colored waves, like ragged clouds upon the horizon that were touched by a dying sun. Staring past the veil-like particulates to glimpse the glimmer of starlight, billions and billions of lightyears away, watching the universe unfold, the birth and death of suns, and histories forever changing all in her little square view.
Tali coughed, her throat feeling that it was unfurling in ragged flaps. Her nose was completely clogged and her brow was soaked in sweat. Her entire body was aching, a discomfort that came in dismal pulses. Even though she was lying upon Shepard's bed, which was the coziest place on this ship, there rarely seemed to be a moment where she could get truly comfortable. As soon as she settled into one position, she would develop a pain that would only resolve itself if she contorted herself into another form. Only then would a new pain settle. It joined the ever-eager headache that was routinely assaulting her with hammerblows to her brain, making her feel that she was seeing double, on the verge of hallucination.
Just a reaction, she had been telling herself. She had gotten through similar bouts before.
Perhaps not quite like this, before. Prior infections or reactions had been the result of errant suit breaches. Moment when she had allowed herself to become careless and summarily pay the price in the heat of battle. Miniscule ruptures, the antagonistic particulates only numbering in the few. Her suit bore the patchwork marks of such artless mistakes, as did her body.
This time, the infection had come willingly. To breathe in air, unfiltered, and for the consequences to be reaped. All from a decision she would never take back and would unhesitatingly repeat, given the chance.
In fact, she hoped she would be given such a chance again.
She shivered, and her body gave another throb. This time, though, she was not sure it was from her ailment. With a groan, the quarian rolled onto her side and brought herself into a fetal position. She rubbed at her arms, her suit interfering with most of the motion, but she was able to feel a little of warmth through her actions. Her visor made a depression in the pillow, almost as if the cushion was caving in before her eyes.
"You know," Shepard's voice came from near the doorway, "you're allowed under the covers if you're cold."
Trembling, still clutching herself, Tali looked up. She let out a wan sigh, as if she had been lost in a thick fog and had only now spotted a beacon through the cloying myopia.
Shepard was limping down the small steps towards the bed, not even bothering to mask his discomfort. He was shirtless and in boxers, having just come from the shower. A brace on his left foot impeded his movement, thick gray plastic. He had torn his Achilles tendon during the final sprint off of the Collectors' base when he had to make a long leap from the edge of a platform back onto the ship. It must have hurt terribly, but the painkillers and Chakwas' expert care seemed to be adept at driving away the pain from even the most grievous of injuries. Or perhaps, after having dying once, such things did not concern the man anymore. Was he really that machine-like, to not even feel pain? Tali was too afraid to ask, uncertain if she would like the answer.
He reached the bed and sat down. Tali could not draw her eyes away from the mass of bandages and wounds that marred the man's back. Ugly scabs blotted and crisscrossed in an angry tirade upon his skin. A swath of cotton that had been taped to his shoulder barely hid where his skin was furiously blistering, the result of getting in the way of a particle beam that had been fired at him by a Collector.
A blow that was meant for me, Tali thought with a pang of guilt. Another one of her careless mistakes. She still remembered Shepard shunting her aside and hitting the floor hard. She had almost snarled up at him, angered at being treated so roughly, until she saw him jerk back, his shoulder armor smoking and dripping molten alloy. Curls of smoke and hints of roasted flesh wafted the air, but Shepard still had the strength to give a nod at her. That he was not going to quit.
It was a wonder she was still alive, how everyone was still alive, after traversing through that damnable base. It had been a grueling slog, with Shepard splitting his crew into separate fireteams, desperate to reach the core of the base so that they could blow it to hell. The Collectors had not made things easy for them. Within those honeycombed walls, with metallic and monotransparent ducts congealed with an amber-like coagulant, the mottled and insectoid aliens had thrown everything they had at Shepard and his team in order to prevent them from accomplishing their objective. Their species' survival was at stake, and Shepard was going to be the one to drive the knife into their festering hearts, wiping them from existence in one fell swoop.
The base had been an endless maze of corridors, bays, and ducts, many of which had led to dead ends. Tali had volunteered to crawl through the vents for the first section so that she could bypass the physical defenses of the Collectors' growth bays—the vast and seemingly endless tubes where they housed the hundreds of thousands of pods that contained their human captives from all the colonies the Collectors had raided. Captives for only a small period of time, after which they were liquefied and turned into… fuel, for something a whole lot more than anyone could have imagined.
But in that time that Tali was in the vents, she had been exposed to the most brutal heat she had ever encountered in her life, so hot in there that it felt like her suit was melting into her skin and her face was liquefying within her helmet. She had even got set on fire at one point, but she had managed to reach the end of the duct before she became burned alive. She had pulled herself out in a frustrated crawl, and rolled upon the ground to put out the flames that had been scalding her back, her suit still smoking while she worked to open the doors that separated Shepard's team. Fortunately, everyone had made it into the rally point with minor injuries—that had even earned her a compliment from Grunt, who had boasted about the burn scars she could show off in the future.
Lucky me, Tali remembered wryly thinking.
They had then hunkered down beneath biotic barriers while Samara and Jack had guided them through the seeker swarms, drone-like creations that delivered a potent neurotoxin that delivered instant paralysis. Then the fighting had carried over hexagonal platforms as the Collectors traded fire with Shepard and his crew—the platforms floating over cavity-like basins and squeezing through narrow passages, heading deeper and deeper into the core.
At some point, Tali had sustained several broken ribs. It was hard to remember when that had occurred. Maybe it was from the human-Reaper hybrid, the creature living at the heart of the complex, levelling a magnetohydronamic blast in her direction, its impact causing a small fusion cloud to erupt close by. Or perhaps it was when their hexagonal platform had lost propulsion after Shepard had destroyed the proto-Reaper's material generator in its chest, which had resulted in the platform slamming into a cliff, whereupon she had been partially crushed by a piece of bronze debris. All of her injuries—her herniated disc in her back, the internal bleeding, and the concussion, on top of the third-degree burns—had been collected in such a short period of time that the exact moments of their acquisition were something of a blur to her.
Medi-gel and several pills were doing their part in staving off the otherwise brutalizing agony. Her infection, however, continued to rise above the veil of medication.
She wanted to ask how Shepard was feeling. If he was hurting in the same fashion.
Instead, she spread herself out, forcing herself from her curled position to lie flat upon the bed. "I'm not cold," she told the man, wanting to seem brave, even in her condition.
Shepard looked over and reached out, patting the side of Tali's helmet, his fingers slipping under her sehni. "You're shivering."
So she was. She tried to suppress a cough, but failed, and erupted into an unbroken stream of wet-sounding hacks.
Tali groaned. "John, I—"
"You're sick. You need to rest. And you need to be as warm as possible." His smile broadened, but it was kind, not at all mocking. Not like a soldier at all. "Get under the covers."
About to protest again, Tali tried to raise herself up, but was prevented by a disapproving stare from Shepard. In response, he simply grasped the edge of the covers and lifted them up. Don't make me tuck you in, was the implied threat. Were she healthy, she probably would have entertained such forcefulness. As it stood, she was in a position that it was quite hard to refuse a request from this man.
Her boyfriend. Her lover. Finally, after all this time.
As she maneuvered herself underneath the sheets, her heart beat nearly twice as fast when she saw that he was joining her under there. He winced as the sheets made contact with his reddened flesh, the burns and cuts there still healing, but he let out a long sigh as he finally eased himself fully on his back, the covers coming up to his abdomen.
Unable to help herself, Tali rolled over so that she was now curled against Shepard. Her arm rested over his chest and her helmeted head made a pillow of his shoulder. Shepard softly chuckled and embraced the quarian, drawing her closer to him. They lay there in his bed—or, she now supposed it was their bed—for several minutes. Tali wondered if they would be allowed to spend the whole day here. As much as she wanted to return to duty, to keep the drive core in check, she would not mind it if she could stay here. For as long as her heart was content.
Memories formed, dissipated, and came back together. Memories of skin. Of this very bed. It was how she had gotten sick in the first place. Not from an errant bullet or from a sloppy moment of suit repair. She had exposed herself. To him. Given him everything. Her body. Her soul.
Herself.
She had done it. Finally. Shown her face to someone whom she knew she unconditionally loved and knew would love her back. There had been a frightening moment of doubt, right when he had been pulling her mask away, that he would find her repulsive. That she would never live up to whatever expectations had been lodged in his head. It was a stupid thought, one that had been conjured in the heat of the moment, perhaps a desperate justification for keeping Shepard at arm's length, even though she wanted what was to come.
Those fears had dissipated immediately when he had smiled at her upon seeing her for the first time. A simple gesture, as if he had always known what she had looked like this whole time. Perhaps that was true, that it did not matter how she physically appeared to him—he knew how important this moment was and cared that she thought so much of him to do this. It had simply taken her this long to understand it.
Tali did not know if she had been crying out of terror or joy. Or if she had even been crying at all. She was just so happy that someone had been seeing her as more than a suit as a mask. That someone in her lifetime had been able to truly see the person underneath this stupid covering.
They had made love twice that night. Before they had made the jump through the Omega 4 relay. Tali would never forget the sensation of her naked skin melded to Shepard's as they moved in a tender rhythm, gasping and crying as their fingers curled together. There was a deep-rooted comfort in the act. One that felt, for a fleeting moment, like she was home. That she belonged with this man and that sharing herself with him was the closest thing to perfection she had ever touched.
He had been slow with her. Patient. He did not make an effort to move out of her comfort zone at all. This was her first time and he had wanted her to enjoy it. They had spent nearly an hour just kissing and touching the other. Letting their hands explore their partner, feeling every curve and muscle. Just that alone would have satisfied Tali, but even she was prone to greed, now and then. When they finally had sex, it had been so easy for Tali, so natural, that she almost convinced herself that she was dreaming. She could still recall the sensations, his body moving between her legs, their foreheads meshed together, both of their eyes closed, her hands on his cheeks, while they listened to the other breathe and groan and gasp. Her orgasm had flared bright white—pyrotechnics upon a grid of neon—and she had clutched the human with all of her strength as she rode it back on down, reality slipping away like faulty code, holding onto that rhythm until Shepard had also come with a wrenching howl that sounded like the last cry of a stranded soul, finally found.
Now, sinuous with his body, the dulled perceptions of his skin against her suit were now more apparent than ever. When she had been laid bare, on this very bed, she had told him to touch her. Anywhere. His fingers gliding across the skin of her belly had been scalding in the most joyous way. Raw nerves opening up at the first sign of stimulation. She could scarcely believe that such a thing had been happening to her—that she was being touched in the most delicate of ways. On the fleet, she had overheard the older crewmembers gossip about how intoxicating a first mating could be. Their voices had been scarcely able to contain their excitement as they relayed to jealous listeners of their most intimate of moments. It was one thing to hear about and imagine, quite another to experience.
She wanted more. More sensations, more from her lover. If only her damnable immune system could not get in the way.
But she could adapt, she told herself. She just needed to wait. There was no need to rush this.
Her fingers traced a tapestry of cuts upon Shepard's body, which were surrounded by gnarled bruises that ran from black to yellow. Her eyes were cracked open as she studied the man's injuries. No doubt she was sporting a magnificent collection herself, under the suit, judging from the biorhythm readout on her HUD.
Medical sensors and trodes that connected her to the suit measured everything from blood oxygen levels to the probability of developing cataracts. At the moment, the miniaturized representation of her body equilibrium in her display was ringed to the brim with various warnings. But none carried with them the certain probability of death. Just the overwhelming indication that she was going to be out of commission until she healed.
She cracked a smile. She was still alive and was going to get well, given time. Enough cause to give this a shot all over again.
Her fingers stopped over a bandage had been haphazardly slapped on his chest, over his heart (the sloppiness looked like Shepard's work as Chakwas would not have settled for such an amateur application).
The sigh she gave out must have been loud, because Shepard lifted his head up from the pillow. "What is it?"
"Just thinking."
"About?"
She did not answer right away. Instead, she gently poked at the wounds and bandages on Shepard's chest and abdomen, light enough to not cause any discomfort. "That you could have dodged a few of these, at least."
Shepard eased his head back down onto the pillow, gazing up at the skylight like she had been doing earlier. "I know that tone. You think I was being reckless back on the base."
"Well… you were."
"Worked out in the end, didn't it?"
Damn this man. How was it so easy for him to act so flippantly after what they had just been through. Keelah, he had called it a 'suicide mission', after all, and here he was, not even giving the monumental task they had accomplished the respect it had deserved. They could have lost each other several times over on that base—did he not understand what he could have done to her?
Tali propped her head up, her elbow acting as leverage. Her neck felt brittle, like it was made of the most delicate glass—this earned a wince and a grunt from her.
"You don't think you were being too careless? I saw you back there. Dashing out in the open, guns blazing, like you had nothing to lose." Her hand flattened against his heart, feeling his strong beat in his chest. "Every time I saw your shields break, my breath always caught in my throat. Because I couldn't help but think that the next bullet would find you. And then… and then I would be left alone. That it would be all over."
It would have been easy for Shepard to flash that disarming smile once again, as if he had just come back from a day at the office. He could very well have waved all of this off, disregarding Tali's worries as mere overreactions.
Instead, he turned sideways so that both of them were oriented towards the other, his face centimeters away from her visor. His stare pierced the transparent barrier, now that he knew what to see, every feature and pore of her face mapped in his mind to the greatest of detail. His hands slid out and took hers in his grip. Even wounded, the strength in his fingers were like steel bands.
"You understand why I've been acting like that?" he asked her, his voice low. "You know it's not because I don't care."
Tali nodded, her visor rubbing on the pillow and making a rustling noise. "It's because you know what's going to happen if you fail."
"Right."
"John," Tali sighed. "When I said I wanted to share everything with you, I meant it. Even your burdens. I mean… you can be so stubborn sometimes. Too stubborn to realize that you have people around you that care about you. That love you. Who would be devastated if they lost you. Again."
She added the "again" in a firm cadence. Making sure to emphasize the anger that lurked deep within her.
He seemed unwilling to meet her eyes in a split-second when the guilt began to register. "I… haven't been appreciating just how direct you've been with me these past few weeks."
"I'm trying to get through that thick skull of yours." She gently knocked on Shepard's forehead with a knuckle.
Shepard closed his eyes and smiled from the assault. "And this would be the part where I would say that I'm just trying to protect you any way I can. And this is where you would say—"
"—That isn't your choice to make," Tali finished.
"Therefore, we're at an impasse."
"One that won't be broken," Tali assured, and she spoke as if such a thing could be sacrosanct by declaring it.
She resumed her original position by lying partially atop Shepard again—taking great care to not aggravate any of his injuries—and held onto the man tightly. She touched his face, outlining the rigid bone of jaw, the resistance of his stubble.
He raised his head up and kissed the top of her helmet. Tali smiled. It was far from how perfect a kiss could get, but it was the best that he could do in their current situation.
"John."
"Tali."
Sleepily, she mumbled against him as she tightened her embrace. Fierce and unwilling to entertain the thought of letting go. "You're mine now, do you understand? I can still be afraid for you, but I'm not afraid when I'm with you. Not like this. Never again."
Makarska, Croatia
The steep stone hills of the Dalmatian countryside rolled and writhed along the ancient boundary, looming far above the coastline towns that dotted the region. The landscape was carbonate platform karst, riddled with cliffs of limestone, stripes of gabbro and diabase, and bubbled towers of gypsum-granite. The heat of the day accentuated the greenness of the Mediterranean deciduous forests, which were sparse among the vast highlands of solid rock but thickened closer to the water's edge. However, the trees had the tendency to thin and become numerous in alternation, without rhyme or reason. One could be lost in a forest of oak and springy pine one moment, and stumble out into a clearing of shrubs and razor-leafed agave the next. Patches of dwarf olive and oleander brought color to the hills where man had yet to traverse, sprigs of jade amidst the cinereal backdrop.
The mountains quivered with life and hummed with birdsong. In the temporary desolation, movements from larger objects could be easily discerned.
The sun, high above, beat down on the quarian that was heading down upon a trail that cut hither and yon throughout the rises, several thousand feet up. Her boots clattered aside old bones that had been scorched black from the heat, coated with the dust of their own malfunction. She scrambled across shallow rises of jagged granite scree and clambered alongside taluses of volcanic rock that had solidified and cooled long before life on her planet had learned to crawl out of the primordial oceans.
She had been walking out here for hours, donned in yet another one of her disguised trappings. Her visor was stormcloud gray this time, and her sehni was the color of desert grass just beginning to green after a long rain. A flask of filtered water sloshed at her hip, but she had not yet taken a draw from it. Quarians were used to harsh conditions—a climb around the coastal mountains was barely a challenge.
Tali stopped for a minute to rest after reaching a natural overlook that opened up out to the sea. The cliffs here were such a light shade of gray they were almost white, spattered with shrubs and bushes of a deep emerald.
The waters of the Adriatic below were so blue they reminded Tali of a spectacular jewel. She had seen such colors before on her many explorations on those uncharted worlds, but never could she think that Earth would be able to boast something of equal measure. She could see boats down below, from the whiteseared arrowheads they made as they cut across the surface. And, just miles away, the knife-edges of distant islands of the same continent, browned and ridged like oxidized blades left for too long under the sun. Landmasses so thin that she could see the same sea beyond their boundaries as well the next islands further out in the distance.
Below, at the water's edge, stood the small town of Makarska. The coral roofs of the houses paired well with the climate, a natural contrast between the dusty earth and the grand blue ocean nearby. It was practically a village, in no way comparable to Zurich. It lacked the feel of a technological hub, with there being only one-way roads and small villas instead of towering hotels for her to stay in. She could spot the riviera from here, which was lined with palms and caffee bars, and was perhaps the only road of any mention in the town. Dock strips crammed in rows of boats, organized like a fine-toothed comb.
The isolation was good, Tali felt. There was just not much of a drive to be around people right now. Out here, she could be alone with her thoughts. Even though this part of the world was not at all rural, it had enough of a cozy charm to it to imitate the sensation that she could see herself settling down here for the rest of her days, if her future was to take a certain direction.
However, her solitude was not to last. Not completely. Five minutes later, she heard the crunching sound of rock nearby of an approaching hiker. She did not turn around, still continuing to observe the coastline and the ocean.
"Now I know why you picked this place, if not for the perfect weather" a crisply accented voice said at her back. "Not quite Rannoch, but close. A walk down memory lane?"
Tali waited until Miranda Lawson had moved by her side until she answered. "Actually, it was a coincidence. The travel guides just said this was an underrated place to visit. But… yes, it's very similar. The view of the water… I don't know why, but it feels comforting to me. Like being away from it makes me feel homesick."
"You don't miss living on a ship at all?"
"Not one bit," Tali shook her head. The memory of that cliff edge on Rannoch refused to leave her mind. The plot of land, waiting for her. Waiting to entertain a resident.
The human woman stretched her arms, making a grunting noise as she leaned back. Tali spared a sideways glance at her. It was hard for Tali to relax completely in Miranda Lawson's presence. When she had first met the woman, she had been a full-blown Cerberus lackey, or at least it had seemed that way to her eyes. The tensions between Cerberus and the Migrant Fleet, on top of Tali's own history with disrupting Cerberus operations with Shepard back during his hunt for Saren, were too much for her to let her guard down with someone like Miranda around, so she had made sure to give the human a wide berth back when they were crewed together on the SR-2, lest they come to blow. Though it seemed Jack had been the one among them that was spoiling the most for a fight with the calm and collected operative. If anything, Tali would have had to get in line.
Tali's worries about Miranda would be allayed somewhat after Miranda had willingly walked away from Cerberus, shortly after the suicide mission, disillusioned from the direction the organization was heading in. The commander had unintentionally (or perhaps subtly) made Miranda the umpteenth person to have been swayed by his idealism and drive. Shepard just made it seem so easy sometimes. Tali had privately come to the conclusion, at the time, that it could not have been easy for Miranda to just depart from the organization that she had been stumping for, considering her non-insignificant tenure there, on top of earning her old boss' ire from her betrayal. It was… commendable, though she was loathe to admit it out loud.
The two of them had never really liked one another. Never to the point where they were friends. They had a mutual respect for the other, something that came rather close to admiration. Appreciation for the other's skills, for their deterministic mindsets, and from their willingness to stick to their principles while being somewhat open to a dialogue.
"Ready when you are," she told Miranda.
The woman shouldered her pack, her own water also going untouched. "Then let us proceed."
There were several explanations on how Miranda managed to track Tali down at the hotel she had been staying at, seemingly by coincidence on this part of the world. Tali had not bothered to inquire at all, figuring that Liara had a way of keeping tabs on her, thanks to her still-active Shadow Broker network. If any of her friends or close colleagues wanted to find out where she was, apparently all they had to do was ask.
Tali thought she would have been angered at the invasion of privacy that this demonstrated, but managed to accept all of it with a world-weary resignation. At least it was her friends that were tracking her (or the closest analogue to whom her "friends" were, these days) and not the hospital… or the insurance company.
The trail now sloped downward, towards the coast. Tali and Miranda walked along the cliff edge, the scarce clouds wisping and razing against the edges of the sun, only to be burned away from the midday heat. A few curious lizards scurried across the path, sunning themselves before the approaching hikers got too close, upon which they bodily dived into the bushes for safety.
Tali made sure to slow her gait so that Miranda could take the lead. They had actually started out on this hike together, but despite Miranda's capabilities at long-distance, Tali's natural physique specialized her for this environment. Despite of the centuries her people had spent in space, their muscles atrophying from disuse, their bodies still retained the core strength to travel many long and harsh miles in a single sitting.
Tali had promised Miranda that they could travel together during the downhill stretch, as it would do to have some actual company instead of forging on ahead all by her lonesome.
The ex-operative certainly had used the intervening time after the war to alter her appearance a bit. Miranda's hair, usually an impenetrable coif of the deepest auburn, now had blonde streaks through it, presumably to evade the stares of any potential fans. Whereas she had tended to don a good amount of makeup, she now utilized on the sparest of touch-ups. Small changes, but even Tali would have had a hard time picking Miranda out of a crowd, if she did not know to look for her.
But the most substantial change that made the biggest difference was Miranda's altered wardrobe. Beforehand, Miranda had tended to wear a black and white bodysuit that egregiously accentuated her feminine curves (which caused an equal measure of puzzlement and jealousy for Tali at first, when she had met the woman). It had been an unofficial trademark of sorts, seeing as the quarian hardly ever saw the woman outside of a set of that particular design. Wisely, for this outdoor outing, and also to help conceal her identity just like Tali, Miranda had opted for hiking clothes that were far less aesthetically slimming. She wore rugged hiking boots (French Salomons), black transformable trousers (ArcGonia), and a down jacket with a zipper that ran diagonally from the collar to the hipbone. Tali had scanned the clothes before the hike began and found, to her astonishment, that the human's full wardrobe that she had selected for this outing could not possibly cost less than 3,000 credits. Spared no expense, evidentially.
3,000 credits. For clothes. Tali could not fathom spending that much on items that amounted to mere accessories for the body. Sure, quarians could tinker and modify the appearance of their enviro-suits to some degree, but it was not like there were companies out there that made designer fashions for quarian. There just was not a market.
They walked for ten minutes before Miranda looked behind her, towards Tali. "You've been rather quiet this whole time. What are you thinking about?"
Talk about a loaded question, Tali figured. There was nary a time where some part of her was still in that hospital room, next to the side of the motionless man in the lone bed. The fragments of memory refusing to fall away completely. The sound of sobbing that was not truly sobbing.
She forced herself to wipe herself clear of those recollections as best as she could. She instead looked out towards the ridged and thin islands that seemed aimless and astray out in the Adriatic.
"Just trying to take it all in," she managed after an inornate long pause. A distraction. I cannot lose myself like that again. He will get better. I have to believe it.
Miranda looked back ahead. "Even I tend to forget just what this place has. Earth. It still has the ability to surprise and impress."
"Do all humans take that fact for granted? That they've always had a world to call their home?" She had reminded Shepard of that fact once, when he had unintentionally revealed his ignorance when trying to suggest other alternative places for the quarians to reside. It had been a sore point with her and Shepard had wisely surrendered from the argument, knowing he could not muster a logical stance at the time.
"It wouldn't be a stretch to say that most humans do," Miranda said. "But there are still millions of people who will never set foot off this planet for the rest of their life. They just choose not to leave. Speaking of, I didn't think that you had come here purely to get off the grid, did you? This isn't a sprawling megalopolis, but it's not exactly a dead-end on the way to nowhere."
"You're thinking that I would have gone offworld to do that?"
"It crossed my mind."
"I'm only one person. It's easy for someone like me to hide in plain sight. Among other people, even if it's a smaller population," Tali answered. She had already explained to Miranda her paperwork and insurance woes, which had earned her an unusual amount of sympathy from the ex-operative. "Plus, I'm still close to him. It's less than an hour's flight from the spaceport here to Zurich. I could get there in two hours from right now if I really needed to."
"So the plan is to keep moving? To not tie yourself down to a specific place? Did you have an itinerary planned?"
"I figure I can still respond rapidly if I stick to the European continent around the Mediterranean," Tali answered. "Don't really have a plan beyond that. If I just keep to the tourist sites, anywhere the local guidebooks say is worth a visit, I can remain anonymous. Places where I can just be a face in the crowd."
The irony was not lost on her. How many times had she emphasized to Shepard her long-shot wish that the whole galaxy was going to learn her name sooner or later? Now, she just wanted to retreat into her bubble, to carry on down this path of self-isolation and eventual destruction.
She was worn down, and it was not from the hike. There was a frantic intensity that had taken over her as soon as she had stepped out that hospital door days ago, like fire burning through a pool of quick-acting accelerant. She was a junkie without a vice. Just slowly spiraling down towards the endless void within that cortex sprawl.
A bird trilled close by and suddenly flapped out from a nearby shrub. Tali's eyes tracked it, absorbing details about the creature—orange belly, brown body, white streaks at the eyes.
Miranda had also caught a glimpse of the avian interrupter, having paused for a moment. Makarska below had grown in size as they had walked, but not much. "That mean you're planning on leaving here later today or tomorrow?"
"Probably tomorrow," Tali said as she stepped around a large boulder that blocked the path. Gravel crumbled off the edge and clattered in a sizzling hail down below. A thought came to her, an attempt to be polite. "How are things with your sister, Miranda?"
It was the only thing that she could ask about, really. It was one of the few linkages that the women had, the relationships with their family. What was left of their families, at least.
"She's doing well," Miranda answered. "She's actually over in South Africa now, working for an NGO on colony development. She likes her job—has a steady boyfriend, too. I vetted him, of course. Nice guy. Treats her with respect."
I bet you did, Tali thought. Though she would have given quite a lot to have seen Miranda's interrogations for any of her sister's would-be suitors. She had not been nicknamed the "ice queen" over at Cerberus for nothing, after all.
She waited for Miranda's questions to be revered back unto her, asking the obvious: how was she doing and how Shepard was holding up. Those sorts of questions. But Miranda never asked them. Could it be that she already knew the answers? Or that she figured that everyone else that had transpired across Tali in the past couple of weeks had asked the very same questions and that the answer was unlikely to deviate from occurrence to occurrence?
The trail widened and the two women were soon hiking side by side. "I suppose she's still a little shook up from that sorry business with her—our—father. She told me she's been going to therapy about it."
"That was a while ago," Tali said, recalling back to the chilling facility of Sanctuary that Henry Lawson had been running during the war. He had setup a supposedly safe haven for refugees, only to imprison and convert them into Reaperized husks in an attempt to co-opt any energy signals that the mechanized overlords had been sending out. Thousands upon thousands of people had been needlessly slaughtered, all for a breakthrough that did not provide one singular advantage throughout the entire war.
Miranda nodded absentmindedly. "I should sympathize, she didn't have the life I had, growing up with him. And that's exactly how I wanted it to pan out for her. I just wish she didn't have to see me throw that man through the window. She knows why I did it—and I would do it over again in a heartbeat—but I'll forever regret how it tainted her view of me."
"Dads," Tali drawled. "They leave impressions, don't they?"
"That, they do." Miranda then studied the sky as they walked along the shrub-choked promontory, upon which the karst cracked and cooked under the sun. Finally, she took a pull from her bottle of water, but it was only a small sip. "Do you mind if I asked you a personal question?"
"Depends on the question."
Miranda gave a light smile. "I never asked you about your father—the best opportunity was when we were crewed on the Normandy together, but I figured it was good sense to not reopen that wound so soon after his… passing. You were closer to him than I was to mine. What was he like?"
Tali was momentarily struck. How to answer such a thing? She had mused over the answer once herself, about a year ago. It had also been right after she had seen Miranda help her father take a swan-dive out from his office window. She had felt a thrill in her heart then, to see someone wrest off the yoke of their parasitic family and finally become their own person. The parallel between Miranda's action and her own inaction had been sobering, which had been quickly remedied by getting sloppily drunk in the Normandy's break room right after, trying to find meaning at the bottom of a glass of brandy. Miranda had gotten the chance to show her father just who she had become before he had died. Tali had never gotten that chance.
She never got that chance with anyone, for that matter.
Folding her hands behind her while she walked, Tali momentarily appraised the ground, watching her footing. "He's… hard to describe."
"Couldn't be worse than mine," Miranda said.
Tali had to agree. "He was never abusive. Not at all. He never hit me or did anything like that. He was just… isolated. Like he made an effort to lock himself away from me. He had expectations for me, you see, and he didn't want to coddle me through my upbringing. I guess he thought that he could show his love by teaching me how to be self-sufficient. To survive in this galaxy."
"Do you think it worked out, in the end?"
The quarian had a response lined up before Miranda could even finish asking the question, but she hesitated for a few seconds, as if keeping it to herself could somehow preserve her memories of her past reliance.
"If it did, and my being here now is due to his influence," she said carefully, "then I'd want to at least know what cost it all came to. Who could I have been, if it weren't for him?"
"Perhaps we're just walking proof of the natural inclination for children to rebel against their parents in some fashion," Miranda noted, taking the time to push aside a branch that was hanging in the way of the path. The trees were becoming denser the further down they hiked, the sun now struggling to slash through the canopy of conifers. The smell of spruce seemed to infect the air like a pungent cologne. "You ever wonder that, if our fathers had done nothing, if they had simply treated us normally, you think we would have ended up as the same people? Ended up here? In this place?"
This time, Tali did not answer. Not because she did not know how to. She just did not want to think about it.
Her self-beliefs, her carefully structured rules that governed her being, they had been formulated from her environment, growing up. She had been instilled with the memories and biases of her parents, their hopes and fears, their dreams and nightmares. She inherited their dysfunctions, carried on their desires. She had been deprived of closeness for nearly her entire life. Driven to terror at the thought of sinister machines that swarmed her homeworld. Circumstances beyond all control.
Their fathers had crafted careful matrixes of control upon their daughters. Formulating strict guidelines and expectations that fostered little in the way of creativity or improvisation. But the more they tightened, the more control they tried to exert, their families ended up getting pushed away.
But in the end, only Miranda had managed to rebel.
Why had she not done the same?
The ex-operative had done the very thing that Tali had been hoping to do to her own father for years. Oh, how she had fantasized about standing up to the man and demanding that he finally show her the respect and love as befits a daughter who did everything to please him. To give him that ultimatum—to be a father, or a stranger forever.
That lack of an answer was why Tali had gotten herself drunk as a fish, all those months ago. She could not bear trying to come up with an answer herself, because she knew what choice her father would have made, given the chance.
They had taken a taxi back to Tali's hotel upon reaching the edge of the trail, which was a medium-size block the color of chalk, puzzlingly named the Meteor. Miranda had parted ways with Tali at the porte-cochère, where the old European and Croatian flags were flapping in the breeze. Miranda was not staying and Tali still had another night on her reservation.
For the first time, Tali was grateful for the human's company and expressed as such before the cab had pulled away, leaving her in the shadow of the awning as the day simmered to a close.
The lobby of the hotel was swathed in pale red carpet. Almost a light wine. Tali glided across it as she headed for the elevator bays. No one paid her a second look, except the doorman, who greeted her with a smile.
The call came when she was in the elevator. Tali barely noticed the contact number before she accepted, almost numbly.
"Hey, Kasumi."
"Hey, yourself." The woman sounded strangely out of breath. Had she been running? "I know you're probably busy, but do me a quick favor? Flip to a social media site."
"I don't have a social media account." Tali had not seen the need for one at all—they had never really caught on back on the flotilla. To her, they just seemed like a waste of time. Who could afford to spend several hours a week, cultivating and curating one's digital presence? Tali's limited research on the subject revealed that it was quite easy for people to exaggerate their true persona on the extranet, thereby crafting a nonexistent entity that only lived in the form of code. It seemed disingenuous and ultimately unhealthy, hence her staunch refusal to get an account on any site.
"You don't need an account," Kasumi assured. "Try the local KRITfeed. You can access it for free."
Tali was out of the elevator by now and headed to her room, which was down a dismally wallpapered hallway. On one hand, she activated her omni-tool. "What exactly should I be looking for?"
"You'll see."
Somehow, Tali figured that was still not enough information for her to get a handle on what was going on. The lock to her room latched open once she arrived in front of the door and she shouldered past it. Her room had a view upon the sea, where several floating jungle gyms for kids and young adults to play upon had been tethered about a dozen meters past the shore.
Tali closed the curtains and sat on the edge of the bed and clicked on the newsfeed that Kasumi had mentioned, apprehensive about this whole business.
In the next second, her apprehension vanished like the morning mist.
INSURANCE COMPANY DENIES CARE FOR CMDR. SHEPARD
COMMANDER SHEPARD CHARGED A FORTUNE
INSURANCE CRISIS AFFECTS COMMANDER SHEPARD
SOLBANC CENTRAL IN FIGHT WITH COMMANDER SHEPARD
The headlines were all on the front pages. Feed after feed of endless astonished broadcasts from circulations large and small, each one similarly marveling over the callousness of corporate greed and its effect on the greatest human to have ever lived.
The comment sections for each headline were even more inflammatory, though that was to be expected.
—Oh, you think medical care on Palaven is fucked up? Earth says hold my beer.—
—The death panels have arrived! On their own planet. FUCK SOLBANC!—
—Cowards. Shepard did more for all of us combined and you want to stiff his care? I'm moving my coverage to somewhere else.—
—I'm sure the execs' copays are super-low. Free Commander Shepard!—
—Waive his payments! SolBanc can go to hell!—
—Is this the insurance 'reform' we were promised? And their response is to fuck Shepard over? I hope SolBanc goes bankrupt.—
Tali had been silent for a full minute as she read the text on the screen, unable to process her full suite of emotions. Her hand came to her sternum, her breath tight. The room seemed to fade into obscurity, her own limbs taking on a drugged numbness.
"Tali?" Kasumi was saying over the call. "You there?"
She kept scrolling. Pages upon pages of people offering up their unending support to Shepard. All of them decrying the company that held him hostage in a thousand languages, each of them spewing a vitriol that Tali could never have conjured, not on such a scale.
"Kasumi," she said at last, "what did you do?"
The laugh chimed over the comm. "Oh, you know. I might've slipped images of Shep's insurance bill on a few sites here and there. And I also might've stirred the pot by creating a few bot accounts and having them post the first several angry comments, which set off the whole thing. The news sites picked it up and it quickly became a self-perpetuating cycle."
"You leaked his charges," the quarian said in wonder.
A tender beat. "I did. But just look at how much he's loved. How much people care about him."
Tali could see clearly. She could not look away from the outpouring of support. The woman was too overwhelmed to even cry. Distant fingers gripped her knees as her holo-screen floated in front of her face, automatically filtering the most liked comments or the hottest news articles that detailed the whole debacle.
All for him. It's all for him.
Somewhere, in that dimly lit hotel room, the quarian sat upon that bed, her eyes shimmering with an agonizing release, her heart in the process of bursting from her chest.
A laugh that was a sob.
Kasumi kept calling her name, but she was too engrossed to answer. She could only breathe in. And again.
And again.
Ibiza
"Sir, the senator has arrived," the intercom impassively chimed.
"Send him in," Haas-Mase said before he cut the connection. He reclined back in his ergonomic leather chair. He had known about this upcoming meeting for a couple of days—it had not been a tantalizing prospect then and it certainly was not one now. He had a mind to move up and head over by the window, to give him a sort of pensive appearance once his guest entered, but gave up on that idea. The senator did not like theatrics and the move was sure to fall flat rather than impress.
He wished Qual were here as silent backup. Damn shame that he had completely forgotten about his schedule and had sent the quarian off at this particular time. Oh well, Haas-Mase was sure he could handle this. It was only a casual conversation between the elected and a constituent. Was there reason to worry?
Haas-Mase was smoothing at his French tie and silk suit when the door to his office slid open.
"I remember when you used to greet me at the door, Hamilton. Times have changed that much?"
The man who had entered was tall, broad-shouldered, and seemed like they were made of iron. His face was stoutly goateed, the same color of pitch as his slicked-back hair. The man's eyes were steel-blue and could radiate an eminent coldness, no matter the angle of his smile. It was a face that could too easily be altered to cruelty, his eighty-something years of age merely accentuating the ease that anger could arrive upon his expression.
Haas-Mase resented that the senator could age so gracefully and be so spry at his age. The cane that perched close to his chair seemed to be a scar on his own appearance. Nonetheless, he stood from behind his desk, trying to keep his distaste invisible.
"Senator Larsen," he greeted, ignoring the opening question. "It's a pleasure, as always, to receive you here."
Raynor Larsen's demeanor chilled a couple of degrees. It was the senate leader's specialty—how he could perhaps appear under a friendly guise for one second only to unveil the impassive creature beneath. He had been in politics for most of his life, starting out as a mayor in the former country in Norway, before rising to become the head of his political party in Berlin.
Haas-Mase had been on civil terms with Larsen for the duration of both of their career ascents. Larsen was bullish on big-business, which only necessitated that Haas-Mase cozy up to him as a contact to leverage. But Larsen tended to be quite selective with the company that he kept—it took many donations from Haas-Mase to even get the senator alone for a quick fifteen-minute conversation. His opinion of the man was mixed: Larsen had the will to bludgeon his policies through, but at the expense of anyone standing in his way. Larsen chose his battles wisely—he had gained a reputation early on for being instrumental in several union-busting activities, but toed the party and popular line whenever things got down to the wire, even if that meant going against his original stances. But somehow, Larsen would find a way to spin any defeat into a victory—his supporters seemed to lap it up enough that they kept reelecting him, much to Haas-Mase's dismay.
Larsen claimed the chair across the desk from Haas-Mase. The senator looked right at home in his seat, ironically enough. His eyes told Haas-Mase of the many secrets he was harboring, that he had also been playing out this conversation before arriving here and that his moves were mapped all the way to the eventual checkmate.
"You're a pragmatic man, Hamilton," Larsen said, his hands now folded across his lap. "What say we disperse with the usual bullshit and speak plainly to one another? More efficient that way."
"On that, I agree," Haas-Mase said hollowly. Asshole. "Though, your original message was particularly light on the details of this meeting. But from what I could infer, it seems the senate is harboring some misgivings? The merger is apparently not sitting to their liking?"
"In a manner of speaking." The senator fished a cigarette from his suit pocket, beneath a flap of navy silk, and lit it with a slab of American steel without asking the host if he could. "To put it plainly, as you have guessed, the proposed merger between SolBanc and Ryke/Saaven has ruffled some feathers up in Berlin. Deal of that size wasn't going to fly under the radar. Especially between two banks. Since last week, two separate committees, not including the Trade Commission, have opened investigations into this deal. Looking into anticompetitive business practices and the like."
"They usually step in when there's some credible threat to consumer security, do they not? Not sure why this merger would qualify. Anyway, I was under the impression the deal was on the up-and-up," Haas-Mase tried to put on an air of confidence, but apparently it was of no use.
"It may still be, but that's not for you or I to decide. The court of public opinion still has some sway into domestic policy, Hamilton, though to tell you the truth, I'd be reluctant to admit such a thing. Why, the notion that some yokels out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere could theoretically form a committee and thereby try to skew procedures to their own ends just fills me with disgust. The common man should not have a hand in politics." He leaned forward, his cigarette curling smoke between his fingers. "We differ from the common man, Hamilton, you and I. But there are still laws that we must be beholden to."
This was rich. Haas-Mase knew that, if he had the ability, Larsen would steamroll over any parchment that contained any sort of laws that barred him from having his way.
"I'm guessing you're going to indicate what those laws might be," Haas-Mase said. Larsen's tangential line of discussion just irked him to no end. They were from the same generation, but Haas-Mase greatly appreciated when people just got to the damn point. He came from a family of blunt speakers. Larsen, on the other hand, was made for politics. Even a happy birthday speech from him could be spun into an eloquent yarn that spanned ten minutes.
The financier was wondering if this whole yarn was merely a prelude to a bribe. It would not be the first time that dark money had been funneled into politics in order to ram a law or some other decree through. Nearly half the senators in Berlin were corrupt—Larsen was sure to be one of them, but either he was a complete boy scout (doubtful), or he was just more adept at covering his tracks. Haas-Mase had doled out his share of bribes in his time, it came with the job, but most of the time the bribee had the good sense to ask directly or at least overtly imply that progress would not go forward unless there was a bit of monetary incentive. He knew Larsen would provide neither.
Larsen smoked for a bit. "The Trade Commission, as you're well aware, is independent from the Senate. Its members are nominated by the councilor, who are expected to serve for seven-year terms. The point I'm trying to make is that my influence over the commission is thinner than I'd prefer. Their focus is on making sure that any merger does not result in any adverse effect upon the consumer, be it higher prices, or less innovation from being incurred from such a deal. Those sorts of things."
"Now, forgive me, but I wouldn't think that the merger between two banks would necessarily result in any of those things causing any red flags over at the Trade Commission, would it? It pains me to say this, but banks aren't really known for pushing the type of innovation that the commission typically tries to protect."
"True, true," Larsen carelessly flicked ash from his cigarette off the side of his chair. "The commission, and the other committees, will focus on the end user aspect—i.e., the customer. However, that will still leave you with one issue. An issue that the committees will certainly overlook."
That bottle of brandy in the cupboard over in the corner was certainly sounding more and more appealing by the minute. Haas-Mase gritted his teeth and slowly blinked, indicating that he was paying attention.
Larsen's face became a mask of confidence. "SolBanc's capital problem, for one, would be an item that would otherwise warrant suspicion."
Haas-Mase was careful to not let his surprise show. He knew the financials would never be able to be completely hidden—even a non-analyst like Qual had figured out the dire straits that SolBanc was in with limited information. But he had hoped that the accounting had been obfuscated enough to confuse or at least trick any investigators heading the charge into the morass of paperwork and transactions.
Making matters worse was the fact that it had been Larsen who was now in control of this information, one of the last people that the financier would have wanted to get ahold of such knowledge.
"You're very assured about the position you wear," Haas-Mase said.
"Don't bother trying to tiptoe around this, Hamilton," Larsen scowled as he dismissively looked down at his chair's armrest while he stubbed his cigarette out upon it, leaving scorch marks. "I have my own reasons for being here. One of which is to deliver this news in person as a courtesy to you. I mentioned that my influence on the Trade Commission is currently thin. However, it may grow should I alert them to the precarious financial situation they would be putting the taxpayers under by letting this merger go through. The Alliance is involving a rather unusual amount of federal regulation into fostering this deal, on Ryke/Saaven's end, at least. There is very little trust in the leadership of our reserve to perform actions that prioritize the citizens over the corporations. The debacle of propping up a bank with its assets so heavily in the red—SolBanc's assets— would only be another mark against the government, for taking up a deal that was so obscenely risky from the start."
Haas-Mase was impressed at how easily Larsen could spout his lies. All his time he had known the senator, he knew that he never once professed any care towards the citizenry, even his own constituents. This was just a ploy for his ruling political party to conserve their power—he was just covering his own ass on this deal. If SolBanc foundered after the conclusion of the deal, Larsen's party would suffer the political blowback and the careers of its members could very well hit a roadblock when it came time for reelection. This was all Politicking 101 and Haas-Mase was insulted that Larsen could not even respect him for admitting that simple truth out loud.
"If the merger was so risky," Haas-Mase kept his voice even, "you would not have even bothered coming to me. Even as a 'courtesy.' You would have made mention of it to the proper groups already."
"Who says I haven't?"
"You're saying you did?"
The mask on Larsen's face merely twisted into a cruel smile. "You have to admit, it's a good angle, no? I can see the headlines already. The Trade Commission, stopping a merger that was so obviously weighted against the taxpayer. A shining example of the checks and balances working in harmony, preventing undue harm from occurring by letting the free market dictate its own actions. A bankruptcy filing on SolBanc's end will hurt, yes, but the subsequent federal response at preventing deprecation in the markets and any potential selloffs will restore faith in the government systems. The debt will be unloaded onto other entities willing to take control of the fallen pieces. There will be a blip in the markets for a time, but the Alliance has faced far, far worse scenarios before. It can withstand losing you."
It was too much. Haas-Mase had to chuckle. He reached for a notepad and his Montblanc pen, as if he was going to scribble down something, but just kept the pen positioned above the paper.
"You've covered all the angles, Raynor, as always."
Larsen allowed a mote of surprise to cross his face. "How do you figure?"
Haas-Mase set down his pen and spread his hands. "Please don't treat me like I'm an idiot. It's an open secret that Raynor Larsen never goes into a meeting without having at least two bullets in his gun. Either outcome of this merger benefits you in some way."
"A very interesting conclusion you've come to."
"It's not hard to figure. The Alliance—with you as their de facto representative—are simply coming here to gloat. If the merger with Ryke/Saaven goes off without a hitch, the Alliance's facilitator position in brokering the deal means that they get to exert a non-insignificant level of governance on the operations of the new organization. Conversely, if the merger is blocked or if it fails in any fashion, this would subsequently cause the value of SolBanc to crash. The Alliance would then claim first right to the scraps and purchase them all for fractions on the credit. And if you really wanted to twist the knife, you'd take the financial instruments you've purchased and use them as the foundation for the Alliance's own public insurance option. You'll end up making your money back, regardless."
For the longest time, Larsen did not move a muscle. He just sat there, a hand at his chin, smiling at Haas-Mase.
Then, when Haas-Mase could nearly take it no longer, the senator stood from his chair, staring at the financier all the while. He buttoned his expensive suit jacket, his Italian shoes making perfunctory clicks upon the cold tile of the office.
"You know, my father was always fond of telling me something when I was young," the senator said. "'Never be in a position where you're completely at the mercy of others.' Something to think about, Hamilton. You need us. You need the Alliance. But we—on the other hand—don't really need you, now do we?"
Haas-Mase nearly reached for his cane, but thought twice about it. The effect of standing from his own seat would more than like cause Larsen to look upon him with something resembling pity, and of course that would never do.
"You may think that you've covered everything," he despised that he had to resort to this, "but you wouldn't be here unless you needed something from me."
But the senator merely waved a dismissive hand. "What did I just say? I've lived my entire life with a hand on my own path. It's a shame you lost your grip a long while back. Whatever happens was set in stone a year ago. We're simply playing our parts. Good day, Hamilton. I'll be interested in reading about SolBanc in the news quite soon."
Without being dismissed, he strode out of the room, the gravity of the room seemingly diminishing along with his presence, leaving a flustered Haas-Mase glowering at the man's back, right before the doors closed.
Finally getting to his feet, Haas-Mase hobbled over to the window. In the driveway down below, he could see the senator getting into his hailed ride. He stood at the barrier, scowling for a long while, watching the shining vehicle slowly recede in the distance before it rounded a bend to be obscured by the treeline.
He opened his omni-tool and engaged his comm. He did not have to wait long for his other party to pick up. "Yes?"
"Where are you now?"
"On the tarmac, standing by," Qual said. "Is this about—"
"Something's come up. Don't head over to Hong Kong just yet. I need you in the Caymans. Some lawyers that I know are based there. I'm going to need to have you act as emissary again. Start making a battle plan for—"
"Sir." Forceful. Qual was never the deferential sort, but there was a deep urgency in his voice. "Have you seen the newsfeeds?"
Haas-Mase's blood cooled a couple of degrees. "What do you mean?" Had Larsen, sneaky bastard that he was, initiated some sort of political retribution against SolBanc while the two of them had been talking?
"Oh. You might want to look for yourself. It's… it's not good."
Even though he dearly wanted to ask for specifics, it was apparent that Qual thought that the overall message would be better received if Haas-Mase were to view whatever disaster was occurring on the extranet with his own eyes. He flipped open his browser and routed his view to most popular news site.
A hostile uproar in print form greeted him. Haas-Mase nearly lurched forward in shock. The multitude of headlines excoriating both SolBanc and its executives caused him more dread than even Larsen had been able to affect.
"Mother of god," Haas-Mase murmured, his eyes scanning the endless scroll of opinions and accounts that slowly spelled out corporate doom. "What the fuck is this?"
"The PR nightmare you didn't want," Qual clarified unhelpfully. "An all-out riot."
"Shut up, Qual."
He wanted to sink into a chair, but unfortunately there was not one in close proximity. He could hardly contain himself as he put a hand to his head. What was going on? How could this have happened? Somehow, his own damn bank had been charging Commander Shepard, of all people, the exact same rate for his healthcare that the rest of the proletariat would have received.
This was indeed a disaster. Haas-Mase's hand clenched down firmly upon his cane. How could they be so careless? This is going to spell disaster for the firm. Ryke/Saaven will get wind of this and they'll pull out of the deal—Larsen won't even have to lift a finger.
He was already thinking of blurbs on how he could possibly spin this into a positive. Obviously, he had not been aware of this development—executives did not get informed of the minutia of individual patient deals. Sure, he had known that Commander Shepard was technically a policyholder through the Alliance's plan, but it had never crossed his mind that anything like this would have cropped up to such a degree.
"Sir?" Qual inquired on the other end. Damn, that man could be impatient.
"I'm thinking!" Haas-Mase snapped. "Christ. Christ, Christ, Christ. From one thing to another." He put a hand to his forehead and his fingers went rigid. "I want this sorted out, Qual. I want this resolved, now. I don't care how or the cost involved. Who's the designated contact for Shepard these days?"
"These days? Woman named Tali'Zorah. His girlfriend."
"A quarian? Well, whatever suits the man, I guess. Get her on the line. Inform her of the situation and give out an apology, a settlement, a fucking fruit basket, I don't care. Butoffer her whatever she wants to resolve the issue at hand."
Qual's shake of the head was apparent even over the voice call. "I've already tried. Several times. She was staying close to the hospital where Shepard is now, but the staff said they haven't seen her in days. They don't know where she's gone."
Great. That was just what Haas-Mase needed. He had this chance to put out this fire out before it spread too large, but there was not even an extinguisher he could utilize for this inferno. "She didn't leave a contact number?"
"No. She just left. I don't think she's even in Zurich anymore."
"She's not dead, is she?"
"Wouldn't imagine so. Still, going to be difficult to locate her. Lot of options for someone like her to go."
"Has that ever stopped you before?!" Haas-Mase whirled, feeling his face begin to turn red. "I want her found. I want this cleared up before this become a full-blown catastrophe. Go to the Caymans first, conduct business as usual, but find her. Coordinate all of our units in the interim when you're not meeting with the lawyers. I don't care what it takes, but I WANT HER FOUND!"
A/N: I did say that the threads would start to connect in this chapter. But don't expect things to start kicking off in the next one - there's still going to be a slow development as the stage continues to be set. Tali's arc continues to develop, and we're just along for her ride.
Playlist:
In Bed, Unafraid
"I Feel Responsible"
Hans Zimmer, Jasha Klebe, Bryce Jacobs, and Martin Tillman
Rush (Complete Motion Picture Soundtrack)
The Hike / Talk of Fathers
"Over World"
woob
ULTRASCOPE
Online Witchhunt / Tali Absorbs
"Wreckage"
Kazuma Jinnouchi
Halo 4 (Original Video Game Soundtrack)