Tann raised his arms high over his head, stretching. He had been standing and working for twelve galactic hours. In front of him, a blue holo-screen flickered, waiting patiently for him to continue. It displayed graphs and percentages and endless numbers, all building a concise picture of the station's current status for him.

And numbers, unlike hourly reports from aliens, were perfectly reliable.

But everything in the office around him reflected the original human Director's dream of intergalactic travel, from the pleasing silver curves of the architecture right down to the less pleasing size of the chairs. As a salarian Tann's stature was too high to benefit from any of its calculated ergonomic planning. Even his fingers were too long.

On this day, his fingers seemed even longer. The desk appeared much smaller. It was difficult to focus. Tann was always prone to distraction but, lately and quite suddenly, it had been getting worse. He didn't know why.

He stole a glance at his unlikely position in the reflection of the window beside the Director's desk, then willed himself to focus on the remaining tasks at hand. Complaints needed to be answered and directives needed to be sent. The hydroponics deck required more water. The helium-3 outpost was coming along right on schedule. And Colonial Director Foster Addison was asking for yet another complement of shuttles for transportation, which wasn't in the eezo budget.

All in all, it was a normal day on the Nexus.

Tann kept his eyes narrowed while he directed the station from haptic interfaces and tied up the loose ends. Eventually, the only thing left to do was a final walkabout on the station's public decks. But just as he powered the haptics down a lumbering, craggy mountain of krogan ascended the stairs to the office. It was Nakmor Kesh, the superintendent.

"I assume something exploded," he said to her as politely as he could manage. Kesh never came to see him. She had placed her office on the other side of the Operations deck, as far away as possible, and he was more than fine with that.

"Not yet, but we've still got a problem," she rumbled. She set a few documents down on the desk. "The Tempest is on its way home from Aya and I don't have enough room for Ryder in the habitation deck."

Tann blinked at the statement. "You don't need room," he reminded her. "Scott has been assigned to his father's cabin on the Hyperion."

"The other Ryder hasn't been assigned anywhere," Kesh said. She placed her palm flatly on the paper documents, in a meaningful way that was also accusing. It occurred to Tann that she had printed them out for extra emphasis. "You've been running everything so tightly around here that we don't have any rooms in the human quadrant for Sara to stay in. You keep pushing back the work order I need to open them up."

Tann frowned. He was growing tired of the crew wasting paper and Kesh had been bringing up that particular order for weeks now. He locked the drawers and cabinets with his omni-tool code lighting up at his wrist. He said, "Place her in the asari quadrant. Problem solved."

She shook her head. "It's full up now that the Luesinia's docked and defrosted."

Tann's frown deepened. "Well, we don't have the iridium to spare in the budget. Kesh, I've told you that several times now. You'll simply have to put her somewhere else."

Kesh tapped the paper with a massive finger. "The only reason we don't have enough is because you're using it all to polish the public decks. You've been putting the iridium I need into the cultural center for the angara."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked. "Would you prefer it if the first native inhabitants willing to talk to us were presented with melted bulkheads and sparking wires?"

"It won't matter much if the interior falls apart," she answered, clearly unmoved. "Things are going better around here, Number Eight, but you're still allocating resources like we're in a stage three meltdown. You need to ease up."

Tann sighed and glanced out the office window. His omni-tool faded. He wished the conversation was over because he had somewhere to be, and because Kesh had made an understandable point. He hated it when she did that, it went against everything he believed to be true about krogan. But she was right; the interior decks were, indeed, essential.

Beyond the glass, far below him in Colonial Affairs, Director Addison was holding a hand against her forehead while the flow of her department moved steadily below the mezzanine where her office was. She always looked as if everything was just about to head south into a disaster, even at the end of a calm day.

And Addison wasn't the only one who tended toward caution, Tann supposed. They were all practicing their own interpretations of it, even Kesh. But welcoming the angara with a beautiful climate generator just wasn't in the cards.

"Sara can stay in her father's cabin with Scott for the moment," he decided, watching Addison place her other hand on her forehead.

"That was my original plan, actually," Kesh admitted. "But now Vetra's staying with him. I got a message from her this morning."

Tann blinked and looked away from the window. "Why is she staying with him?"

Kesh raised a brow. "You really want the details?"

Tann inwardly scrambled to connect the dots of such a vague statement. Did he want the details? He had no idea. He parsed the finality in her voice as quickly as he could, and narrowed down the possibilities. There was only one bed in the cabin and it was a studio layout. Aliens cohabitated to reinforce several types of relationships, none of which he had any experience with outside of cold observation.

The possibilities narrowed further, but not enough. Kesh was watching him like he should know exactly why Vetra was relocating. He was going to have to wing it, as humans liked to say.

So he made a show of crossing his arms and hummed sagely. He hoped he looked like he understood the context. "Well, I can see how that might be inconvenient in... Certain ways."

"Exactly," Kesh said, revealing nothing helpful. She tapped on the paper again. "Doctor Carlyle's discharging Sara tomorrow so I need that iridium or she'll be stuck sleeping in a hallway when they get back."

Tann held out his hand and she gave him the papers. "I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, Number Eight." Kesh smiled with a wide crescent of teeth. "We'll get started on fixing everything up right away."

Tann headed down the stairs toward the entrance, tucked the papers under his arm. "No, you won't," he said. "We don't have the iridium to spare like I said before."

He always had to repeat himself with aliens, he thought to himself. Perhaps he should give her a helpful recording of his answers in the future.

But as he glanced over his shoulder, Kesh's smile was dropping into a dangerous frown and he abandoned the idea. He left the office, disappearing quickly into the crowd of the operations deck and pushing away vivid images of krogan grip strength breaking every vertebra in his neck.

No floor-shaking footfalls chased after him, but he didn't relax until he reached the tram. As he sat down, he didn't know what he was going to do about Sara Ryder, but he was going to think of something. And he was going to make sure the cultural center opened before the angaran diplomatic attache arrived. The angara were the first alien species willing to negotiate with the Initiative. They might be the only one.

So he needed a symbol for them; something to prove the Initiative was worth allying with. Something spectacular.

More importantly, he needed another success with his name plastered on it, like Eos. Eos was the only golden colony world that had begun to flourish, thanks to the efforts of Scott and the Pathfinder team on the Tempest. While Tann wasn't keen on the alien Remnant technology that had been the key to their success, he was secretly elated that his signature appeared on every document that had approved it.

And he needed to keep up successes with his name on them, just like that.

When he reached the medical bay of the Hyperion, where the staff still ignored him but the world moved at a much calmer pace, Sara was sitting up in her bed right where she should be. There were heavy cotton blankets over her lap to keep her warm, but the halo of machinery had been set aside permanently. She was reading a data-pad and a few more were piled neatly beside her.

"You're late today," she said, looking up when he approached her. "I thought maybe something happened to you."

"I was battling a krogan," Tann replied.

She seemed surprised by that. "Did you win?"

"Any time you say no to a krogan and survive the experience," he said to her, "is a win."

And he sat down next to the bed. Sara made a small hmm noise, as if that was a mysterious answer, then she set the data-pad aside to give him her full attention.

Doctor Carlyle had been meticulous with the medical bay's reports after the incident with Sara. But, as an extra measure, Tann had decided to visit her each day and speak to her personally. She would update him with some friendly conversation on the side and he considered her part of his final walkabout at the end of the day. She always looked happy to see him and so it was an easy task to add.

He looked forward to seeing her, he thought to himself. There was no harm in admitting it.

"You're looking very well," he told her, because humans enjoyed that sort of conversation and because it was true. But as he spoke he couldn't help the way his gaze drifted to the table next to the bed. His shirt was there, the one he had put over her shoulders when he found her in cryogenics. "Will you be returning my uniform today?" he asked.

Sara reached out, smiled a little, and folded the collar down. "I haven't decided yet."

The white and blue polyester wrinkled beneath her fingers as she touched it. The shirt had taken up categorical residence with her other possessions, with the data-pads and the blankets and a standard-issue Andromeda Initiative coffee cup, but Tann had no idea why. And an empty clothes hanger was waiting in his closet next to seven perfectly ironed shirts and eight perfectly ironed pairs of pants.

The lack of numerical congruency gnawed at him.

Sara rested her chin on her hands and smiled at him, clearly amused. He contemplated the problem by drumming his fingers on Kesh's papers. In any other situation, he would have simply taken the shirt back, but her expression lacked hostility. On the contrary, stealing something that belonged to him seemed to be cheering her up.

"You're in luck," he decided, abandoning the clothes closet in his mind, "because I'm going to let you keep it for now." He then shuffled the papers and cleared his throat as if he was moving on in a business meeting. "Now," he went on, "the Tempest will be returning to the Nexus soon. I've come by to discuss your living arrangements."

The smile on her face began to fade. "Scott's coming back?"

Tann had a feeling she hadn't spoken to her brother on the QEC about their father yet. "In a few weeks, depending on the Scourge's drift," he affirmed, and then he explained the situation to her. When she seemed to understand he asked, "Is there anyone you would be comfortable rooming with until the issue is resolved?"

She thought it over, staring down at the blankets. "Can I stay with you?" she asked after a while, looking up again. "Or would that be weird?"

Tann blinked. There were a thousand reasons to say no to her request. Most of them involved his rocky professional relationship with her brother. A few of them involved his abysmal popularity rating on the Nexus, particularly with the human population. And one of them involved the fact that such a solution had never even occurred to him.

He should probably say no, he thought to himself. If it had been a good idea he would have already thought of it.

Why hadn't he thought of it?

Tann suspected that he had been distracted by the shirt. It was too difficult to focus lately. He exhaled, and kept a calm expression on his face while a pair of nurses passed by. They whispered between themselves, sneaking uneasy glances at him, and moved on.

"Weird isn't exactly how I'd describe it," he said to Sara, "but it might be unwise. Surely there's someone else you'd prefer?"

"I don't know anyone else on the Nexus," she said. "You're the only person who comes to visit me every day."

Tann hadn't known that. "Does it bother you?"

Sara shook her head and held up the sleeves of his uniform. "I really like seeing you."

It dawned on him that she hadn't been stealing from him at all. She simply wanted him to have a reason to keep visiting her. Any resolve to say no to her dissolved into nothing.

"Well," he said, "in that case, I suppose staying with me would be emotionally beneficial to your recovery." He paused, thinking about it. "We'll start as soon as possible," he added. "There's no need to settle you in Ryder's cabin if you'll be moving when he returns."

Sara wiggled the sleeves at him, beaming. It was difficult not to bask in the warmth of her approval.

And so the next morning, after Doctor Carlyle had supplied a schedule for physical therapy and discharged her, Sara made her way down a long hallway in the salarian quadrant of the habitation deck. She carried a small, standard-issue suitcase and had Tann's shirt folded under her arm. A pair of salarian colonists were passing by and they looked down at her but didn't say anything as they continued on to their destinations.

Tann walked with her, carrying her heavier suitcases.

He glanced over his shoulder at the receding figures of the colonists, looked forward again. There was something intimate and strange about what was happening, something he couldn't quite pinpoint. But on the other hand, he was satisfied with this solution to his problem. It was for the best that Sara stay with him. He was the Director of the Initiative, after all, with ample resources at his disposal to provide for her comfort. He would be a perfect host.

Just as important, the cultural center would remain right on schedule to open, just in time for the angara to arrive and be deeply impressed by it.

Sara glanced at him as they walked, with a flush of color drifting over her cheeks. Tann nodded at her in an austere way that he felt was very... Hostly.

And when they arrived at his quarters he said, "Here we are," in his grandest, most hostly of voices. He beckoned for her to follow him inside while he set her suitcases down on a table.

"Oh," she said softly, looking up at everything.

In the Milky Way Tann's living arrangements had been small compared to the space that now spread before them. Here there were vaulted chrome ceilings in a luxurious sitting room with an open kitchen nearby, and a maze of hallways in the back leading to salarian amenities. Tall windows revealed a grand view of the Andromeda galaxy outside, the Scourge drifting over its stars in long tendrils of effluvium.

Tann's eyelids leveled across the middle of his eyes as he took in the view. He had to admit that he spent most of his time at an office in every galaxy he had been in so far. But the square footage of his home in this particular galaxy was an obvious status symbol and he could appreciate that.

Sara looked around at the furnishings and then the stars. Being presented with such opulence seemed to bother her. She moved her line of vision over silver couches and white holographic flower vases until it landed right on Tann, then she looked up into his eyes as if she had never seen him before. "Tann," she asked very hesitantly, "why is your apartment so big?"

He was caught completely off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"

She set her smaller suitcase down while her hair drifted over her shoulders. "Is the rest of habitation like this?"

"No," he admitted, further perplexed by her reaction. "It would be wasteful. But I suppose I'm afforded a few privileges due to my position, much like your brother on the Tempest."

Sara said, "I'm still catching up, remember? What do you do on the Nexus?"

Tann blinked rapidly at that. He found that he couldn't stop. "Excuse me?"

Sara spoke very patiently. "I mean, what's your job?"

She was obviously experiencing disorientation due to leaving the medical bay. Tann pulled at the fabric of his sleeves, slipping a few fingers into them out of habit, and waited for her to recover. But a moment that felt like an eternity began to stretch between them. And the silence of his quarters, usually peaceful and appealing after a long day, began to grow awkward.

"I'm the Director of the Andromeda Initiative," Tann finally said, staring down at her and still blinking. "Jien Garson's eighth successor," he then added, as if that might help jog her memory.

It didn't.

And as Sara's eyes widened impossibly large, Tann realized that he had never told her exactly who he was. Their first meeting hadn't involved a formal introduction and the meetings that came after hadn't seemed to require one. Her behavior indicated that she believed he was important. And so he had assumed that she knew he was the Director, or that someone in the medical bay had informed her. Someone should have.

Obviously, no one had bothered.

Sara clutched his shirt as if keeping it held far more gravity than before. She flushed red with the revelation and handed it back to him. "I'm sorry," she said. "Everyone just called you by your name."

Tann forced himself to stop blinking, looked down at the shirt. Getting it back wasn't satisfying like he had expected. "Yes, that's true," he said as lightly as he could, which wasn't very light at all. "I... Well, you could say I run a very informal workplace."

"Is this really okay?" she asked. "I can stay somewhere else."

He frowned, looked at her again. "Of course it's all right," he replied, pushing down any lingering embarrassment. He cleared his throat and made a sweeping gesture to his door, which was still wide open. "As you can see," he went on, "I have an open-door policy on the Nexus."

Sara hesitated. "Did you just make a pun at me?"

Tann watched her carefully and committed to the motion, extending his fingers gracefully to the open door.

And after a moment, she placed her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. "That's awful. That's really cheesy."

He lifted his eyelids upward, remembered to smile back after a fraction of a second. Humans tended to say what they didn't quite mean, and she was no different. She obviously approved of the cheese. He said, "You may stay until the issue with your quadrant is resolved."

Then he brought her over to the windows and stood in front of the starscape grandly like a Director should when they opened their home to someone. "Welcome to the Andromeda Initiative, Sara Ryder," he continued. "As you can see, our presence here is proof that the dream of our founder is alive and well in this galaxy. Ignore anyone who says otherwise." He nodded to himself, took a breath. "They are merely haters."

Sara seemed bolstered by that. "Okay," she said. "Will you give me a tour?"

He looked away from the stars and tipped his horns. They went through every room together, with Tann explaining anything that might seem foreign to her, and then he showed her the accommodations for asari that salarian architecture built after First Contact always featured. There was a private bedroom and a bath that would suit Sara's similar physiology just fine.

And Tann found himself to be a good host once again, despite the rocky start.

When they finished the tour Sara opened up her suitcases on her new bed. Clothes and photos and tightly packed mementos tumbled out in a pile of sentimental colors. She began to sort everything on the silver coverlet, unwrapping a framed picture of her mother and then another of her brother on the Citadel. The pictures smiled up at the ceiling.

Nearby, there were handmade curtains hanging over the view window that matched the bed's coverlet. Tann spread the fabric and studied it while she unpacked, contemplating why someone would go to so much trouble making it. A Thessian landscape had been embroidered with white thread and a precision that only salarian intensity could have achieved.

And the names of the original occupants of the space, now deceased, lingered in Tann's memory as he studied the embroidery. He knew the name of every person on the station, living or dead or exiled. It was his job to make sure they went where they needed to be.

"Will this be adequate for you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said brightly behind him. He could hear her hanging up her clothes."Thank you so much."

Tann pressed the fabric between his bare fingers for a moment and then he turned away from it, satisfied with her response. He helped her place a few of her photos on the higher shelves.

Everything was going to be just fine. If Scott and Vetra could cohabitate despite the levo-dextro differences, there was no reason that he and Sara couldn't get along. So he headed out for his walkabout on the Nexus' public decks, moving among the mostly alien colonists and listening to snippets of their conversations without joining any of them.

It still needed to be done.

And later in the evening, after Sara had begun her eight-hour sleep cycle, Tann returned home to begin his daily schedule anew. He slept for an hour, then exercised until his muscles ached. He took a warm bath that was followed by an efficient breakfast. He built a small model ship, recreationally, for exactly forty-two minutes.

Then he returned to work while a small crew maintained the graveyard shift with him. And this was the sum of Tann's personal and professional life, which he rarely deviated from.