This turned out a lot wordier than I initially expected, and it's likely a steaming mess of crap, but by now you've all had ample time to realise I'm not a very good writer.
+++MEANWHILE, IN ORBIT OF ILLIUM, ON THE NORMANDY+++
Popping back to the Normandy to swap out some of the bits of my armour - which for some reason always had to involve me going back to the Normandy and also having to go up to my cabin, figure that one out - I discovered to my displeasure that I had a laundry list of messages and missed calls. Turns out that things had kicked off in a major way while I'd been killing people with a laser.
Jarrion arriving (or more specifically his ship arriving) was causing something of a stir, to put it lightly. Putting it less lightly the whole place was about three notches shy of a full-blown panic, at least according to what I was seeing. And that was just Illium! Ripples spread! Rumours were already going wild. Nervous people make everyone else nervous.
More fool me for not figuring it out on my own, really. Probably should have twigged it that having a ship as big as Jarrion's just rocking up somewhere with as much money as Ilium would put the fear of God into just about everybody. Damn thing was bigger than some orbital facilities I'd been on.
Certainly bigger than Sovereign had been, come to think of it.
Speaking for myself I'd just been annoyed at the mind-blowing coincidence of running into him again, hadn't given it much thought beyond that. Space was famously kind of a large place - what were the odds? Not in my favour, apparently. Or at least not in favour of letting me get on with my business.
Guess having met the guy in charge of the vessel kind of took the edge off seeing it. That and I'd seen it enough times that the sheer novelty of the thing - few kilometers of spires and crenelations and all - had kind of gone. Everyone else though? Not as fortunate as me. They had no idea what to think. Couldn't really blame them.
I had a brief glance at the extranet while Chakwas was having a look at my arm, the one that had taken a hit. There was a lot of talk going on. Speculation abounded as to the nature of this mysterious spaceship. What did it want? Where had it come from? Why wasn't anyone shooting at it yet? Why wasn't it shooting at us yet? Etcetera.
None of the theories or conclusions were anywhere near accurate, of course, and a lot of it was distressingly hysterical. Which, again, given the size of the ship I suppose I should have expected.
If anything, the fact that the ship was just hanging in orbit and not apparently doing anything was just making it worse. If it had been raining down fire and destruction on Illium then at least people would have had something to work with. That would have been nicely understandable. You knew where you stood with that.
As it was, nothing. Just hanging there. Being inscrutable. The worst kind of mystery.
Course, that was just those who hadn't heard that humans had been seen coming out of it. The ones who were aware of that particular fact had their own raft of baffling ideas. They weren't a lot better, and some of them were, frankly, kind of insulting. Speaking as a human.
Sigh. Everyone in the galaxy always assuming that everyone else has it in for them. Suppose that's just kind of the, uh, sapient condition. Suppose I can see the logic in it, too. Even if it's kind of self-sustaining. If everyone is acting like everyone else is about to stab them in the back that's kind of how it's going to turn out.
Ah, life.
Speaking of being stabbed in the back, the Council apparently wanted a word with me, too.
Hah. That's a joke. They're not that bad. They'd just watch me get stabbed in the back then tell me about it after it had happened and probably insinuate it was my fault somehow.
That's another joke. They're really not that bad.
I had taken the time some days previously to return to the Citadel and finally get around to getting my Spectre status restored. I hadn't gone there specifically to do this, it had just seemed a good idea since I was in the area and all.
In all honesty I actually take great pride in being a Spectre, it's important. I may joke around a lot but for this at least I'm being sincere. A tiny step towards better cooperation is better than no step at all in my book.
Getting reinstated had gone well, or at least as well as could be expected. They - which is to say, the Council - were surprisingly sanguine about me coming back from the dead, less relaxed about my now massive-open-secret working with Cerberus. Which I could kind of understand.
Still. Not an insurmountable obstacle as it turned out. The upshot of the whole thing being that I was a Spectre again, but they'd prefer if I kept myself to the Terminus systems for now, more or less. Works for me. That's kind of where I needed to be anyway.
But now they wanted a word. Which was why I was in the conference room.
I hadn't even known I could get outside calls on this thing, thought it was just a permanently locked direct line to Tim. Guess it's got regular functionality outside of that fancy QEC stuff. Nice. Wonder how mum's getting on?
Later.
"EDI, can we have a word with the Council?"
"Putting you through, Commander."
A small pause, then we connected.
And there was Udina looking about as sour as he normally does, and all the others.
I really should get around to learning their names at some point.
Mean, it's not really professional, is it?
"You rang?" I asked.
None of them got it. Indeed, they just decided to ignore this completely. Probably for the best.
"Shepard. We are contacting you regarding events in the Tasale system," the Asari said.
Pretty euphemistic way of putting it. Also, wasn't I contacting them?
"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a rather large spaceship that happens to look like someone took a chunk of Ely cathedral and hurled it into space, would it?" I asked.
"None of us understand what you're talking about, Shepard," the Salarian said, flatly. I shrugged.
"Right, sorry. Probably should have gone for a less provincial reference. It's about the big ship though, isn't it?"
They all shared one of their looking-at-each-other-and-subtly-shaking-their-heads moments.
"Why is it that whenever something like this happens you're never far away?" The Turian asked. Not a lot I could say to that, really, he had me bang to rights.
"Just lucky I guess," I said, tucking my thumbs into my trousers.
He looked like he was going to rise to this for a second, but then thought better of it and just grunted, giving the Asari a window to carry on.
"There is a time-sensitive task we have for you relating to this vessel," she said, all smoothness.
"I do kind of have something on right now. Don't know if I mentioned? Collectors? Kidnapping people? Coming from some hidden base the other side of a relay no-one ever comes back from?"
I had been over this with them when I'd been on the Citadel. It had kind of been a cornerstone of our conversation, in fact, them not wanting anything to do with it but them turning a blind eye to me helping Cerberus with it. I trusted they hadn't forgotten.
"What you get up to in your spare time is your own business, Shepard, but a Council Spectre has certain responsibilities. Not the sort that you can opt out of because you don't feel like doing them," the Turian said.
Kind of regretting getting reinstated now.
Do Spectres have a pension? What's my annual leave allowance like?
Sigh. Suppose he's got a point though.
"How urgent is this exactly? Mean, are lives on the line?" I asked.
"Lives are always on the line, Shepard," he practical growled at me.
Again, guess he's got a point.
"An unidentified vessel of unknown affiliation and of considerable scale enters the orbit of a major world without warning, not passing any relays and apparently utilising some method of FTL travel that has never been seen before to arrive in the system entirely unannounced - we feel we have every right to be uncomfortable," the Asari said.
"The last vessel of unusual origin to have made such a public arrival was Sovereign. I hardly need to remind you how that went, Shepard," the Salarian chipped in.
"And this one is twice the size! If not more!" Udina said, probably just to get a word in.
"Size isn't everything," I said. Probably shouldn't have said anything, in hindsight, but that's hindsight for you. Very abrupt hindsight,
"Shepard…" the Turian said warningly. I held my hands up.
"I know, I know. Just saying. Though you do have to wonder why they'd need something that big, don't you?"
Not even going to raise the fact that Jarrion had said that this particular ship was only a light cruiser and how he had also mentioned - off-hand - the existence of battleships that were apparently a little over seven kilometers long. Which was just excessive, really.
He'd said they were rare but still, you're just showing off at that point, aren't you?
"That this ship is seen to be crewed by humans - at least according to our reports - only serves as a further cause for concern," the Turian went on to say.
"Does it now?" Udina asked.
"Apparently non-Alliance affiliated humans of unclear origin," the Asari clarified for the Turian's benefit. Nice of her.
"Thank you for your clarification," Udina sniffed.
This was great and all, but it didn't seem to be going anywhere.
"None of you have actually mentioned what it is you want me to do. Or am I meant to intuit it?" I asked.
They all shared another look. Did they communicate by thought or something?
"To put it bluntly, we want you to stall the vessel, or more specifically whoever it is who is in charge of it. Keep them on-planet and keep that vessel in orbit where we can see it and see what it is doing," the Salarian said.
"You're kidding, right?"
"The Citadel Council makes a point not to kid. An actual response is being organised to deal with the situation more formally but at this time you are the senior-most Council presence available, hence our asking you. And you have previous experience with the vessel, I believe?" The Asari asked.
For a second I was confused how they knew that, then it came back to me.
I had filed a report on the encounter and had submitted it once reinstated, feeling like it was the sort of thing that - if it came out I'd bumped into a massive, mysterious ship and not said anything about - might reflect poorly on me. I hadn't expected anyone to actually pay attention to it!
"Ah. Read that report, did you?" I asked.
"We did. We may not have treated it with the gravity it required, in retrospect."
Not exactly surprising. The report had been fairly light on detail. This had been deliberate on my part.
I'd figured that I was already known as the crazy lady who believed in ancient killer robots lurking in the darkness beyond the edge of the galaxy and just waiting to come shrieking back to murder us all and I could do without being known as the crazy lady who was also now raving about enormous ships maybe-from-the-future-maybe-not crewed by humans speaking an unrecognised language and the whole thing being generally unlike anything anyone had ever seen, prowling around the Terminus systems doing strange things.
It would just have made my life difficult.
So I had been light on detail. Just said unidentified vessel, human crew, origin unknown and then given the brief rundown our scans had shown on initial contact, just to be comprehensive. Then I'd packed the report up and later I'd sent it off and expected nothing much to come of it. And nothing much had come of it.
Until now, obviously. This is what I get for having my name attached to the thing. And for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Again. Story of my life.
Of course, I also knew that rumours about Jarrion's ship had been bubbling up here and there recently without my help. Colonial blather, you know the sort of thing. Scattered in amongst the genuine calls for distress and tales of woe you usually get from the frontier you also get the ghost stories, the wonk, the conspiracy theories and the nonsense.
Jarrion's ship had just been another of those, as far as anyone else was concerned. Nothing to take seriously, just colonists overreacting and seeing things and making things up to pass the time.
Again, until now.
"A little experience. He's not a threat, least not as far as I've seen," I said.
"He? You've had contact with the owner this vessel?" The Turian asked. Me and my big mouth.
"That wasn't in the report?"
"You may have neglected to include that particular detail," said the Salarian.
Silly me.
"My mistake. I've had some dealings with the captain in the course of my duties and, uh, other activities. He's open to diplomatic overtures, not hostile. Seems kind of lost, if I'm being honest."
Decided to leave out the part about the racism. It's not exactly groundbreaking news and given that Jarrion wasn't going around glassing non-human worlds - at least as far as I'd heard - it didn't seem pertinent. Lots of people in the galaxy didn't like the people who weren't like their people. Nothing new under the sun.
The religiously-mandated hatred of aliens was kind of new. But not that new, come to think of it. We had some of that, too. Maybe not the borderline-theocracy he seemed quite eager to be getting back to but we did our best. Still not great.
"Do you know what, if any, organisation or entity the vessel is owned by?" Asked the Asari.
"Paramilitary, human organisations with scanty ethics and dubious, as-yet-unproven links to many corporate entities, perhaps?" The Turian asked, lightly.
Udina looked about set to rise to this - and defend Cerberus? Or humanity in general, maybe - but the Asari cut across with a glare at both of them and put a stop to anything before anything could even start. Probably for the best.
"Shepard?" She asked, turning back my way.
A fair question, given the size of the damn thing. This wasn't the sort of ship you could easily make without someone, somewhere finding out about it, so it having just popped up truly was unusual.
Mean, hell, even one dreadnought is a divot in most economies, and this thing was eight times the mass, if not more. Made the Destiny Ascension look like a freighter.
In my head I pictured trying to explain all of the stuff to do with the Imperium that Jarrion had explained to me and which I'd deliberately left out of my report. I could not see it ending well. They'd probably just think I was taking the piss. I don't have time for that, let someone else have to handle that.
"I believe it's privately owned," I said.
Given what I understood about Rogue Traders - which wasn't a lot, I'll admit - this was technically true? Could tell from the looks they were giving me they weren't buying it, but not so much they were going to outright call me a liar. Hell, I wouldn't have bought it either.
"Did he tell you where he acquired it?" The Salarian asked instead.
"I…"
Again, explaining this I'd have to go into the Imperium and how it had a navy and how it had apparently been a wrecked and refurbished vessel and, really, it just wasn't worth going into. Not now.
"...he didn't say. I'm sure your guys can ask him when they get here."
Something of a collective sigh from the Council, who'd plainly, wordlessly decided, correctly, that I was being evasive and keeping things from them but didn't trust me enough to be open with them. Didn't I work for them? Guess they figured whoever they were sending would be less tiring.
I was kept around to shoot things and look good doing it. This right here was just because, as they said, I was in the right place at the right time. More fool me.
"I suppose they can. They should be with you sometime in the next few days, delays withstanding. As said, we would like you to keep the vessel - and its captain - where it is until then, and to do your best to ensure that relations remain pleasant and cordial," said the Asari.
"Spectres are straightforward problem solvers, not make-nice handshakers," I said.
The Asari's eyes narrowed.
"Spectres are entrusted with preserving galactic stability. A strange vessel of unknown provenance appearing in the orbit of a major world for unclear purposes has a deleterious effect on this stability, particularly given the world in question's economic importance. Very little spreads as fast as panic, Shepard. We must be seen to act while also acting effectively. You are there, and so we choose to act through you."
Fair play.
As much as I disliked Illium I wasn't dumb enough to say it wasn't an important place, and if money dried up or even slowed a little that would trickle down to someone, somewhere finding their life that much harder and not being able to do anything about it and not even really knowing why.
Keeping this or that investor from panicking here would be keeping food in the mouths of others elsewhere. Not that I'm an economist or anything. I'm just not a big enough idiot to think these things don't make a difference.
Big picture stuff. For want of a nail and all that. Pain in the arse. Goes with the job.
"Fine," I said. "What do you want me to do, exactly? Just so we're extra clear."
"Nothing you don't seem to have already done. Keep the ship from leaving Illium's orbit and do not do anything that might offend its captain or its crew," the Salarian said.
"Is there anything else you can tell us? Its capabilities?" The Turian asked.
I thought back to that Collector cruiser getting holed from prow to stern. Who knew what any of those other guns could do? Any of those many, many other guns the thing was encrusted with.
"Be glad it's friendly?" I ventured.
A pause. I think they were trying to find the words.
"...as ever, these little talks do much to bolster our confidence," the Asari said, eventually.
+++MEANWHILE, BACK ON ILLIUM+++
Second-hand starships, Jarrion had been very pleased to discover, could be acquired for surprisingly reasonable amounts. Private hangers on Illium could also be rented for quite reasonable amounts too, he'd learnt. Which was why Jarrion was in a hanger he'd temporarily rented, looking over the starships he'd more permanently bought.
They were a trio of what were apparently known as 'Kowloon' class freighters. Dinky little things - almost embarrassingly small for what was supposed to be an intra-system voidcraft, at least to Imperial eyes - but very well suited for what Jarrion had in mind, from the sound of things.
Simply put, the idea was just to take what certain colonies that he'd made contact with had but did not need and transport it to those other colonies that needed it and did not have it, with surplus and excess and whatever else remained delivered to Home Away From Home. Just trade routes, basically. Routine stuff, to be done routinely.
This was what the Assertive had been doing up until this point, a thorough misuse of a fine warship and no mistake, but Jarrion had had no option at the time. This was now to change, and he couldn't be happier.
Home Away From Home was already seeing the benefits of all this extra material, too. The place was practical burgeoning, and with its manufacturing capabilities properly set up now and properly fed to boot, it was churning out quite the stream of Imperial goods, to be stockpiled mostly on the off-chance that the Assertive needed something, and sometimes to be traded, when the colonies felt the need to ask.
It turned out that, here and there, those colonists that Jarrion had made contact with had developed something of a soft spot for certain Imperial equipment. Tools and vehicles, in the main. What they lacked in sophistication they more than made up for in reliability, apparently; something that the colonists appreciated greatly.
A lot of vehicles objected to falling off of cliffs - not the ones that Jarrion was willing to sell them! Those ones just kept on going. And could run on anything, freeing up resources that could put to better use elsewhere. Out on the frontier that sort of economising was prized, it turned out. Who knew?
And of course, weapons were always welcome. Those colony-issue lasguns were very popular indeed, managing to top-out even the Avenger in terms of ruggedness while also possessing the undeniably irresistible novelty value of being an actual, bonafide lasergun.
But that was all niggling detail. Right then, in that hanger, Jarrion had immediate concerns, and it was those three freighters.
Jarrion had been assured up and down by the seller that all the ships were of exclusively human manufacture but he hadn't got where he had in life by taking people at their word without verifying it himself, so he had had a small contingent of the Assertive's tech priests brought down, accompanied by Magos Blix, to give the vessels the once over.
Why Blix and not Pak? Because Jarrion still did not trust Pak to keep their hands (and other grabby parts) to themselves, primarily. And because technically this venture with the freighters could be held up as an extension of House Croesus commercial enterprise, and therefore not something that strictly fell within Pak's remit of the unusual and unexplored and thus something to be picked over.
Indeed, Pak did not even really want to be disturbed by all appearances, so engrossed were they in dissecting the various devices and other bits and pieces they'd collected. It was getting a little unnerving, actually. Jarrion would have expected a little less enthusiasm for the foreign and the unknown from a Magos.
Maybe Explorators really were as odd as he'd heard...
Jarrion felt he should probably have a look at the agreement that had let Pak onboard at some point. Just in case he was missing something vital. Not like he could do anything about it, it being a rather old House Croesus compact with the Mechanicus, but forewarned was forearmed and all that.
But later, later.
While Blix was coordinating and leading the examination of the ships, Jarrion himself was sitting off to the side of the hanger, drinking a cup of tea. The cup and attendant tea set - replete with luxurious self-heating teapot - the leaves and, indeed, the chair all having been brought down from the Assertive at his insistence.
He imagined the examination of the ships would take some time, and it wouldn't do for him not to be present, he'd felt. This was a fairly risky investment, after all, and if turned out that local ships even of ostensive human make were of no use to him, well, then he wanted to be there to learn it.
So sitting and waiting and watching. And tea. Because sitting without a drink could be tiresome and, well, Jarrion liked tea from time to time.
But he did not particularly trust the local tea, if any even existed, and he liked the chair he was sitting on. It was blue. And while there were others available more easily, yes, there'd been a lighter coming down anyway, so why not?
"I must say, even in my wildest dreams I couldn't quite have imagined the thrilling life a Rogue Trader leads," said Loghain who, much to Jarrion's aggravation, had been sticking quite close to him his whole time on the surface.
Indeed, she was his only real present company, Thale standing off somewhere keeping a very cautious eye on everything and Torian having taken leave to return to the Assertive to sleep. He was, after all, a very old man. And since he hadn't been required anymore Jarrion had allowed it. He'd found the Seneschal's constant huffing disapproval of the locals grating.
Jarrion didn't like being here anymore than Torian did, he was sure, but that didn't mean he wanted to be constantly reminded of it.
So it was just Jarrion and Loghain sitting and watching, now. And it had been for some time.
She had tea as well, and was doing her best to drink it as daintily as possible. She was doing this to mock Jarrion, and Jarrion was ignoring the fact she was doing this. Other than to acknowledge that she was doing it at all.
"The vast majority of anyone's time, Inquisitor, is spent like this. Ninety percent of life is connective tissue that joins that single exciting percent to the next single exciting percent. What remains is usually spent asleep," he said.
Jarrion was rather proud of this pithy little observation and made sure to stick his little finger out even more as he took another sip of tea.
"I could probably find a few people who'd disagree with you on that," Loghain said, frowning.
"By all means go and find them right now. I could use the distraction."
Not to mention the quiet her absence would provide.
"Unfortunately most of them are back in the Imperium, wherever that is relative to here. Whenever that is. So it'll have to wait," Loghain said, setting her cup down and leaning back a moment in her chair to stretch.
A pause.
"I have an honest question. Hypothetical, but honest," she then said. Jarrion sighed.
"It's very difficult to believe you understand what honest means," he said.
"I'm being serious," she said, and amazingly her tone actually made Jarrion believe it.
"Go on," he said cautiously, eyeing her over the rim of his teacup.
With it so close to his face, Jarrion couldn't help but remember that this particular teacup - indeed, the whole set - was bone china and the bone in question was that of a particular xenos species now extinct and which, indeed, House Croesus had helped render extinct. He tried, while still watching Loghai, to remember the name of the species. He couldn't though. Hardly mattered, really.
The most significant part of them left now was the artwork on the cup depicting their final days and the more notable moments of their being wiped out. And the teacup itself, Jarrion supposed.
Certainly, the planet was long-since lost to history. Somewhere out there, very quiet and still.
"If - hypothetically, as I say - if we are stuck here, what are you going to do?" Logain asked.
Jarrion stared at her a moment longer then lowered the cup.
"I refuse to believe that that's a possibility," he said.
For someone with no eyes and a blindfold Loghain gave him a very impressively flat look.
"Kind of the point of a hypothetical is that you assume the given setup of the question just for the sake of argument," she said. Jarrion took another sip before answering.
"I'm aware of what a hypothetical is, Inquisitor. I just don't see much point in entertaining such defeatist fantasies. Whatever brought us here shall, through the effort of our fine friends the Mechanicus," he gestured to the tech priests with his teacup. "Cease to be a mystery and, following this, a means of returning home shall be discovered. I have absolutely, unyielding confidence in this."
And there, for him, the matter rested.
"So not even going to humour me?" Loghain asked.
"Not for a moment, no."
Loghain stuck her tongue out him and Jarrion shook his head.
"Grow up," he said.
In all honesty it just wasn't something he even wanted to think about, because if such a dire thing were to happen it could only end badly, in his estimation, and he wasn't going to allow himself to go down that particular mental road. Not until he was shown he had no other option.
Thankfully for Jarrion, further rumination or discussion was cut short by Blix, who came stomping over without warning.
"Can I help you, Magos?" Jarrion asked. He would have offered tea, but he was fairly certain that Blix didn't have a stomach anymore. Or at least not in the conventional sense. Certainly, he was pretty sure that Blix would have nowhere to put the tea.
When Blix spoke, it came out in snapped bursts, the volume of which was enough to clip it out at the edges. A lesser man than Jarrion would have winced to hear it.
/transmission received/update: transition/tentative conclusions/data required/must return to confirm/
This took some unpicking for Jarrion, who groped after what the Magos could possibly be talking about before clocking the fact that Blix was likely referring to the very subject that he and Loghain had just been talking about, that of the efforts of the Assertive's tech priests to investigate the circumstances of their arrival.
Or at least that was Jarrion's best guess.
"Oh! Progress has been made, I take it? Good news?"
/tentative conclusions/projections indicate possibility of point of ingress remaining stable/must return to confirm/
Again, Jarrion had to work this out. He frowned, running it through in his head and he flinched in surprise as the light broke.
"Wait. You're saying that whatever we came through is still there? We actually came through something? That we might have left behind us?"
Like, say, a tunnel.
/tentative conclusion/must return to confirm/data required/
"Return to...where we initially arrived?" Jarrion ventured.
He very, very, very dimly remembered the place in question - that it had been right in the orbit of a rather striking gas giant helped this. What had been its name? Ephrom? Nephros? He'd have to check.
But still!
/affirmative/
Jarrion sat in bewildered quiet a moment, his mind racing. What a turn up! If this wasn't providence Jarrion didn't know what was! Emperor be praised!
Couldn't simply drop present business though. It'd be a waste of time and money and, since time was money, that was at least twice as much money as numbers would suggest on the face of things. And that would be unacceptable.
Ultimately that was the Emperor's money, after all, and every bit of wasted needlessly an affront, so whatever was happening now had to be concluded. That was a given.
Once that was done and settled though, charting a course back to the spot in question shouldn't be too difficult. Altrx seemed to have settled into the new rhythm of things quite nicely given his initial consternation and the fuss he'd kicked up to start with.
Indeed the Navigator had recently made a habit of pontificating at length any opportunity he had on the Very Important book he was going to be making on navigation in this Emperor-forsaken place. The first book of its kind! By default, really. But he still sounded very proud of the thing, even if it didn't exist yet.
So going back wasn't impossible. Indeed, it was quite the opposite. Doable, certainly doable.
And within a brisk timeframe, too.
Jarrion noticed that his hand was starting to tremble from the sheer joy of how perfect everything was and delicately put his teacup down.
"Marvellous! Continue with your work here and we'll return to the Assertive and cast off shortly. My regards to the priests and their fine work," he said, adding: "How are the freighters, just to ask? Suitable?"
/technology godless/barbarous/adequate for stated purpose/blessings required/
This was not a surprise to Jarrion, but it was pleasing to hear that he hadn't wasted his money on something deemed immediately unacceptable.
Human-made though they may be - and he still doubted they were wholly that, given just how bloody chummy everyone here was - it wasn't going to be Imperial subjects operating these vessels anyway, but locals (humans, obviously), to be found before they left. Had to be some loose-at-heel crew kicking about this planet, after all.
The inspection was more to make sure that the ships met a bare minimum standard to even be used for that. The spiritual pollution that might have come from condoning the use of something corrupt even in the smallest of degrees was a threat worth considering, as far as Jarrion saw, and things were already dicey enough as it was.
This, at least, he could have come level of control over.
"Good good. Well, carry on Magos," Jarrion said, giving a nod that the Magos slowly, awkwardly returned before he turned and stomped off to rejoin his peers, a pair of tracked, thurible bearing servitors emerging from the lighter and trundling across the hanger to join him partway there.
Jarrion watched him go.
"Have one Magos who doesn't talk at all and one who talks like that. You know, I think they do it just to be obtuse…" he muttered to himself before shaking his head and breaking into a wide smile, turning to Loghain.
"Well! Isn't this the exciting development? And there was you ready to go off giving up hope, 'hypothetically'! Ye of little faith! I'd say the Emperor is smiling on our work here, wouldn't you? Not only pouring success out upon my head but also giving us all a way home, too!"
Loghain was pouting exaggeratedly, arms folded.
"I think it's because I mentioned it. Got everything moving again," she said.
"Of course, Inquisitor," Jarrion said, reaching to give her a condescending pat on the knee but - wisely - thinking better of it, instead trying a joke: "Have you ever heard how many Inquisitors it takes to change a light bulb?"
"Is this going to be the one about having the universe revolve around them?"
"Ah, heard it before, have you?"
"Once or twice."
"Lord Captain," said Thale, appearing at Jarrion's elbow and making him jump. Even Loghain, psychic, was a little surprised. The man moved with a silence that seemed to extend further than it had any right to.
"Yes, Thale?"
"Commander Shepard is here to see you," Thale said, tilting his head a little toward the back of the hanger, Jarrion leaning a little to see that, yes, she was stood waiting by the door, eyeing the armsmen posted there who, in turn, were eyeing her.
"Commander Shepard? How did-" Jarrion started to wonder aloud how she could have tracked him down but stopped. She was a woman of surprising means, after all, and it was hardly a secret where he was. Not important. "Of course, send her over," he said. Thale nodded and moved back over to the hanger's door, where Shepard was waiting.
In short order she came over. With a face like hers it was hard to tell whether she was happy or not.
"Hello again, Commander. Do you always leave your ship in full armour?" Jarrion asked, rising from his seat briefly just to shake her hand in greeting before sitting back down again. Politeness, in his experience, was always a worthwhile investment.
"My line of work, it's just sensible, really," Shepard said with a shrug, causing the many weapons across her body to clank. Jarrion beamed.
"I must say I know what you mean. Pays to be prepared at all times, doesn't it?" He said, raising a cup to her good health.
Looking at him, sitting there in his fancy jacket, with his tea set and his gaudy rings, Shepard couldn't be sure if he was taking the piss or not. She decided to assume he wasn't and not to press the issue.
"Please please, sit. Tea?" Jarrion said, indicating a spare chair - for there was a spare chair, just in case - and moving to fill up one of the empty cups.
Briefly Shepard considered saying no, but then figured that it couldn't hurt.
"Go on then," she said, sitting, accepting a teacup a moment later.
"I am going to venture a guess and assume you're not here solely for the pleasure of my company?" Jarrion said.
Shepard had a look at the rather colourful scenes of destruction and death on the side of her cup before taking a tentative sip. It wasn't half bad, which was nice. She then sat back and sighed.
"You're not wrong. Look, I'm going to be straight with you Jarrion. I've been sent in my capacity as an agent of the Citadel Council. Mostly because I'm the only one they had in the area. Had no idea this sort of thing was in the job description but there you go."
"You're being pulled in many directions, from the sound of things," Jarrion said, thinking of the Collectors, though as far as he was concerned that particularly matter was closed. Mostly because what details she'd explained to him he'd halfway forgot.
Shepard let out a single, mirthless laugh. More of a sharp exhale, really.
"Little bit. Should be getting more members of the squad right now instead of this. Mostly my own fault. Basically I'm here to ask you nicely if you wouldn't mind staying put for a day or two. Or the Council is asking you, through me."
Jarrion raised an eyebrow.
"For a reason, one assumes?"
Shepard had some more tea. It was rather growing on her.
"They're chasing up some bods to come and talk with you properly. Some sort of formal delegation, from the sound of things. Very official, you know."
At this Jarrion frowned.
"Me? Why? I'm simply going about my business," he said.
"Yes, but you're going about your business in a ship that is, to put it politely, unreasonably large. It's making some people nervous, and so they want to talk to you. In these parts a ship that size is not the kind of thing that you see every day. Or ever, actually."
"Ah, so they're coming to see if I'm a threat, is that it?" Jarrion asked.
"Well, mostly just to see who you work for and make nice with them through you. They see a huge ship, figure that it must be the product of someone with clout, want to find out how much clout, you know. Mostly they'll be wanting to size you up and see if they can get something out of meeting you, probably. They won't say that, obviously. They'll be very polite about it all. But that's basically it."
Shepard was just guessing here, but it seemed believable enough.
Retrieving his cup and considering it a moment Jarrion thought about this.
"Taking a wild stab in the dark but I assume you haven't informed them of the Imperium or my status as a Rogue Trader or any other such attendant details?" He asked, delicately. He got this impression.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Jarrion, but they already think I'm unsettled. I kind of felt that if I started trying to explain your particular situation then they might lose whatever lingering respect they had for me on account of me having saved their lives. That can only take me so far, and I'm already on thin ice because of the Reapers."
"Ah yes, the Reapers. How is that going?" Jarrion asked.
He was passingly familiar, and felt it polite to express an interest.
"Right no it's not going at all, which is good, but it's going to happen, which is bad. I have other things, one thing at a time."
Shepard finished the tea and set the cup back down, looking Jarrion hard in the face. Again, with a face like Shepard's she didn't really have many options other than a hard look.
"I have no idea what your plans are from here on out but if you want my advice I'd say sit and wait for the Council guys to show up, because it can only work out well for you to show that you're not dangerous. It'll be a pain having to sit through whatever song and dance they'll cook up to make nice with you, but it'll be worth it, Jarrion. It'll just make life easier," she said.
"Well, we're all fond of making life easier," he said with a smile.
"I know I am," Shepard said, rising to her feet and giving Loghain - who had been completely silent this whole time - a goodbye nod, which the Inquisitor returned. Jarrion rose as well, to see Shepard off.
"You could have sent me a message to this effect, you know. I do value your input and am eminently contactable. We've rather got the hang of interfacing our communication systems with yours," he said, walking alongside her as she started heading back towards the door.
"I was in the neighbourhood. The personal touch is always good," she said.
"That it is, and I do appreciate it. Is this visit the limit of your engagement in this, then?"
"I do have other stuff to be getting on with. They probably want me to babysit you or shadow you or generally do whatever I feel is necessary to keep you on Illium but, really, do you need me to do that?"
They stopped just before the door, the armsmen standing stiffly to attention with the Lord Captain right there. Jarrion did not notice this.
"Ah, no. No thank you. While I myself have other 'stuff' to be getting on with I can certainly see the value in waiting to speak to these officials, as and when they arrive. A few days, you said?" He asked. Shepard nodded.
"A few days, yeah. That's what they told me. Probably two at a push."
Not the end of the world.
"Well then, that shouldn't be too much. I have a few loose ends that require me to stay and tie them up anyway. These freighters, for one, and a crew for them for another," Jarrion said, sweeping an arm toward the ships. Shepard glanced over.
"Those yours, then?" She asked.
"Yes, freshly acquired. All part of the plan, all going swimmingly. But I needn't bore you with any of that, Commander. As you say, you have things you need to be getting on with."
Shepard stared at the freighters - and more specifically the tech priests and the trundling, smoke-wafting servitors - for a moment but said nothing about them. More Imperial weirdness as far as she could tell. The less she knew the better.
"I do, yeah. You'll probably hear gunfire at some point and if you do it's probably me, so I wouldn't worry about it too much. You stay out of trouble, alright?"
"Oh you know me, Commander! Practically allergic to trouble!" Jarrion said.
And with another handshake off Shepard went, Jarrion returning shortly to his seat.
"You were very quiet," he said to Loghain.
"Didn't want to interrupt you," she said. He narrowed his eyes at her.
"That's the kind of unusual behaviour that makes me worry."
"You're just agreeing to meet with the representatives of a non-human political body within earshot of an Imperial Inquisitor, I'm not sure what makes you think you have to worry about anything."
"Hah. I'll spare you the repeat of what a Rogue Trader does because I know you know," Jarrion grumbled, settling deeper into his seat and thinking, staring into space.
More good business, as odious as it sounded.
Jarrion's understanding of the Council was that it was composed of representatives of the more prominent species, which did mean aliens, though apparently humanity had recently been admitted. Still, that meant that - at a guess- their officials would be similarly composed. Which meant a trio of aliens at the least. And one human. Plus whatever aides and flunkies they felt the need to bring along.
And whatever rigamarole they felt they'd have to organise to keep him - an apparently unknown quantity - placated. If Jarrion's experience was anything to go by he was looking at some sort of dinner event. These were the fallback option of everyone, because they were straightforward and gave ample opportunity for those involved to talk and gain the measure of one another.
In Jarrion's experience.
He wasn't going to have to eat alien cuisine, was he? In the name of diplomatic politeness? Jarrion did rather hope not. Some of the food he'd had to stomach in the colonies had been bad enough but there were hard limits.
He shook his head. No use worrying about that ahead of time.
"Well. That's that then," he said, breaking the silence that had descended between the two of them. "We're going to be quite the busy bees in these coming days."
"You are. I'm not obliged to do anything," Loghain pointed out.
"No you're not. But you're going to insist on inserting yourself into proceedings anyway, aren't you?" Jarrion asked.
"Obviously I am. It's going to be a dinner or something, isn't it? That they organise to give you a big, proper official hello? It's always a dinner," Loghain said, sounding almost as if she spoke from experience.
"Or a ball. But one imagines dinner is the easier option," Jarrion said.
The thought really did not appeal. Even with humans those sorts of affairs were always less than edifying. With aliens it was going to be an exercise in patience and restraint. Exhausting.
He sighed, then slapped on a brave face.
"All for the greater glory of His Imperium, eh?"
The blessed duty of some servants to be able to kill aliens without being concerned with the consequences beyond the worry of running out of aliens to kill. His? Having to hobnob with them with a view to long-term gains, apparently.
For just a moment the wonderfully direct, simplistic approach his father had towards alien seemed very tempting, but then Jarrion remembered that he was not his father, nor was he his brother, and that he was rather proud of the fact. He liked to think he got better results.
Certainly, adjusted for scale, he was fairly certain he brought more money in to the family than his brother did. Not that father cared about raw numbers, of course. But Jarrion did, and he told himself that was what mattered.
Loghain wrinkled her nose.
"Odd definition of glory. Traditionally, glory doesn't involve the aliens getting to walk away," she said.
"Not all of us can sling a few torpedoes at a planet and call it a day, Inquisitor. Some of us work for a living and think at least a few weeks ahead," Jarrion said.
"That was uncalled for."
"Sorry. More tea?"
"Please."