NaNoWriMo rather knocked whatever momentum this story might have had out of me. Although, implying that this story had any serious momentum is pretty generous. It has momentum in the same way a glacier has momentum. It's going somewhere, it's just that we'll all be dead when it gets there.
+++ON ILLIUM, IN SOME HOTEL ROOM THAT CERBERUS IS PROBABLY PAYING FOR+++
I hate waiting. I hate knowing something is coming and having no option but just to sit and let it happen. I want to be doing something! Woman of action, that's me.
Normally that's easy. If there's something that needs doing I can go and do it. Being a Spectre helped, obviously, but even before when it was the Alliance there'd always be something I could be getting on with.
But for this right now I've got nothing. There is literally nothing I can do. I am waiting for VIP's to show up so I can wait around some more while they hobnob. Could leave, but I'd get yelled at, and frankly that's more trouble than it's worth.
Can't even go back to the Normandy because today is the day they're meant to be showing up and there's not much point in shuttling up only to shuttle straight back down again. So here I sit, racking up the minibar bill and glaring out the window.
And yes I'm on a schedule here - Collectors and all that - but yes it's only a day or two which isn't really cutting into anything I was planning on doing. Assassin still needs picking up but apparently the window on that isn't quite right yet, so I can't even go to that until I'm told the moment is right. So I got nothing. It's just annoying.
And for what? So the Council can meet and greet some guy?
Suppose I'm not treating it with the gravity it deserves being as how I already know him, but they're really not going to be getting a lot out of this. And yet still all this fuss.
Wish they were this bloody proactive about the Reapers. One of them did show up. He was kind of hard to miss. You'd have thought that might have got a response, but no. Maybe Sovereign could have just hung in orbit for a bit not doing anything and then sent Saren to swan about in a fancy jacket. Would have been helpful. That way people might have paid attention.
Urgh.
They all probably have their own agendas, probably, these Council guys. Probably all mutually exclusive, probably all pretty shortsighted. All angling to be the ones coming out on top somehow. However that's even supposed to work with Jarrion. It'll all come to nothing, I'm sure, and this whole thing'll just be an expensive waste of time.
Cynicism about politics never gets old.
On the plus side, the time it took for the Council bods to arrive did give me a chance to chase down another member for my super crew, Samara! Woman of prodigious biotic talents and quite frankly ludicrous neckline. Seriously, that thing is the worst shot trap I've seen in my life but she can do what she likes, I suppose. Like not wear a helmet.
Why does no-one but me seem to want to wear a helmet? I'd have thought that having the contents of your head splattered over the nearest wall would have been an obstacle in the execution of justice but what do I know.
At this point, thankfully, something broke my train of thought and that was the hotel's dinky little comm system blinking a light at me. I blinked at the comm system in return and then reached over to it.
"Yes?"
"Miss Shepherd, there's a man here at front desk asking for you. He says he's here on Council business - his credentials pass. Would you like to come and see him in the hotel lounge or - ?"
'Miss Shepherd'.
I want to throttle whatever Cerberus agent thought that was an ironclad incognito name. You changed two letters! And called me fucking miss! Why did they even need to bother? Given that I had someone here to see me plainly it had been a complete waste of time!
I think they're just messing with me...
"Just send him up," I said, adding: "Thanks."
Not their fault they had to work in a hotel.
And this way I could slam my door in the guy's face after hearing whatever asinine reason they had to visit me here, all without having to leave the comfort of my chair. Probably coming to brief me or something. Fantastic.
I waited some more, little more tense this time, and was rewarded a minute or so later by the chime telling me someone was outside. Joy.
Well, best to greet whoever this tosspot was face-to-face. I often find that my faces serves as a pretty good introduction all on its own, and one that often puts people in a receptive mood to either cooperate pleasantly or fuck off, depending on how best the situation is to be resolved.
I reach the door, I wave a hand at the panel, the door opened and there stood-
"Anderson! You big bastard, you! Fancy seeing you here!"
He smiled, I smiled, we shook hands. It was probably the nicest thing to happen in days.
"Good to see you, Shepard," he said.
The handshake broke and I stood back and to one side.
"Come in, come in! Sit down. Impressive timing on your part, I was waiting for someone from the Council to come up and see me. Once I've got rid of them we can talk."
"That would be me," he said, not sitting.
The door closed behind him. I frowned, looked him top to bottom.
"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't actually technically work for the Council so - and don't take this the wrong way, I'm glad you're here - why are you here? On Illium, I mean."
"That's a good question. The blunt answer would be politics. Alliance has me advising Udina. Udina tells the Council that I'd be a good representative of humanity for this. Udina is happy I'm out from under his feet. Council is happy that Udina isn't kicking up a fuss - though 'happy' for them might be pushing it. Alliance is happy that it has eyes on the situation. Everyone is happy," he said, taking a moment to smooth a crease on his uniform.
"Are you happy?" I asked.
"Everyone who matters is happy," he said, by way of clarification.
Sounded about right.
I clucked my tongue and shook my head, moving over to the window to stand and look out. Anderson joined me there, and we both stared at Illium's frankly unnecessary amount of aerial traffic. Sun was starting to go down, too.
"Kind of surprised the Council would sign off on having an Alliance admiral be the one flying the flag for humanity in this," I said.
"Well, the Alliance represents humanity on the Council so it's not too much of a stretch. That, and if they did take issue with it then they might have had to defend their own choices on who they sent."
One of those situations where everyone is breaking the rules to the extent that no-one wants it pointed out or mentioned, like some sort of politically awkward house of cards. Or everyone had gone to take a piss and forgotten to tuck in and zip up and it was just easier to pretend it hadn't happened than go through the awkwardness of calling attention to it.
Kind of an odd image but I like to think it fits.
"Ah. Right," I said.
More car watching for a second or so.
"Guess you know what the plan is then? For this thing?" I asked.
"Formal dinner. Get to know. Get the measure of."
Fucking of course it is.
"Figures. I'm probably going to have to get dressed up, aren't I?"
His turn to look me up and down. Me who hasn't taken her armour off in, what, a day now?
"Wouldn't hurt," he said, attention returning to the view outside.
"Urgh…"
Hope I had something not outwardly affiliated with Cerberus I could put on. The wardrobe I'd been provided with was pretty limited. And not in the sense there wasn't a lot of options - though there weren't - but more in the sense that everything they'd provided was about as subtle as hanging a sign off my neck that read 'I work for Cerberus! Ask us about how much we like to experiment on sapient beings'.
I understand that Cerberus wants to take itself super seriously and does have, you know, military origins and all that, but you'd think that a clandestine, widely-loathed and - let's face it - borderline-terrorist organisation would be less free-and-easy with just slapping its logo onto everything.
Hell, that (admittedly rather nifty) assault armour they got for me has even got the thing stamped on its fucking forehead. Subtlety thy name is not Cerberus, apparently. Surprised it's not on the bloody teacups.
Maybe it is and I just blocked it out…
"I'll find something," I said. He nodded, then he turned my way properly - signal for an actual conversation to start, so I turned as well.
"What can you tell me about this ship and its Captain? Jarrion, was it?" He asked, no preamble. To the point. Knew there was a reason I liked this man.
"You guys not read the report?"
"Oh we all had to read the report but I couldn't help but notice it was a little light on the details. Couldn't help but feel that was on purpose on your part."
"Picked up on that, did you? The details are ridiculous, and I've got enough trouble being taken seriously as it is. Killer robots from beyond the stars is one thing, this would be the straw that breaks the camel's back."
"I'll find out myself soon enough. Bottom line it for me Shepard: Is he a threat?"
Had to think about that one for a moment.
"...no. He's dangerous in that big ship of his but he's not a threat. He's got his own thing going on."
"Which is?"
"Trading, apparently. Family business from what he told me," I said, shrugging.
"Some family," Anderson said, glancing to the window again, maybe on the off-chance he'd catch sight of that whacking great ship, still up there. Mostly you couldn't and mostly those who said they could see it were just imagining things. But in the right light…
Seriously, who needs a spaceship that big? How do you make a spaceship that big? Why would you need it? And it's a light cruiser?
"Yeah. Look Anderson, I am not going to be able to do the explanation justice, just wait until you get to talk to the guy yourself, you'll see. My position is that the more he's worried about the more likely something bad is to happen. Just leave him to, I don't know, make some money. But keep an eye on him all the same, just in case."
Seemed sensible to me.
Andrerson nodded to himself, taking what I'd said on-board.
"On a different though related noted you wouldn't happen to know anything more about these laser weapons coming out of the Terminus systems, would you?" He then asked.
That caught me off-guard I'll admit and my eyes did flick over to my own personal lasergun, sat in the corner. Should probably have done a better job of hiding that.
"Uh...maybe...why do you ask?"
"Intelligence - and what you've said - suggests that Jarrion has been trading weapons to human colonists in the Terminus systems. A lot of these weapons then get traded on or lost or stolen and are starting to show up further afield," Anderson said.
"That doesn't sound good," I said.
"It's not good or bad, it just is. The Alliance has some, which is good. So do some mercenaries, according to reports, which is bad. Though I doubt they're making much effort to replicate them, unlike the Alliance."
"How's that going?"
"Slowly, from what I hear, but then it's not my project."
I should probably give them some notes, shouldn't I? Get EDI to pass something helpful along. If the Alliance is working on them that means by now Cerberus'll have two working prototypes and be busy working the kinks out by shooting prisoners in the head and measuring what's left.
I don't really want anyone to start getting their hands on this Imperial stuff but it seems that horse has bolted so best face the music, eh?
Bloody Jarrion. I mean, it was inevitable that this sort of thing was going to happen, but so quickly? We have enough on our plate without some random, outside-context problem coming in and throwing a spanner in the works.
Though, actually, come to think of it, now I mention it…
What was it that Sovereign had said? Something to do with everything we'd made stemming from technology they'd left specifically for us to work from? By using the Mass Relay technology we all develop the way they wanted us to?
Sorry, rather, BY USING IT, YOUR SOCIETY DEVELOPS ALONG THE PATHS WE DESIRE. Ahem.
We might have blown the guy to bits but the point remains, he wasn't wrong. You can't really argue with the results given the stuff all works, true and hell, firing a piece of metal is going to hurt no matter how you do it, but we kind of do play right into their big metal tentacles, don't we? They know the ups and down of everything we can do and they can do it better than we ever could.
Like trying to beat someone at a game they'd invented the rules to, where one of the rules is also that they don't really have to play by them if they don't want to. How much damage had Sovereign soaked up again? And that had been a fleet unloading on him. And even then...
Jarrion and his lot, though, they've got stuff from somewhere else completely, a whole different direction. All of their tech looks completely out of left field to me. And not just the lasers. I'm pretty sure I saw Pak with some kind of gun that set a Collector on fire. Hell, not even that, they burst into flames.
And then there's the huge spaceship that gets around without Relays and has some sort of...beam...cannon thing on the front that cored out that Collector ship like it was made out of pink wafer.
What else might they have?
Why didn't I think about this before?
Put a pin in that. Something to think more about later. Definitely something to press Jarrion on. I'm going to have to talk to the guy anyway, right? And the guns are already out there so clearly he's not that concerned, right? Mean, he gave me that pistol, right?
"Shepard?" Anderson said, bringing me back to the present with a bump. I shook my head.
"Sorry, miles away. Just thinking. When is this thing actually meant to happen, anyway?"
"In three hours time."
"Fuck me! Council doesn't half like short notice, does it?"
+++MEANWHILE, IN ORBIT, ABOARD THE ASSERTIVE+++
Jarrion was sitting happily in one of his rooms, dictating a list of equipment, material and personnel he felt he was likely to need once a safe and reliable route home had been confirmed. Which it would be, obviously. Providence decreed it to be so, the Emperor was smiling on him!
"Oh! And modular habitats. The kind that can be easily dropped from orbit, ah, what was their name, we have that one we favoured…" he said while the servo-skull dutifully scratched down every single word verbatim. Someone would have to edit it down later for clarity. Probably Torian. Was his job after all.
He tapped a finger to his chin, tried to remember the name of those habs, but it didn't come to him.
"Ah well. I'll look it up later," he said, waving it off, still cheerful. He hadn't stopped being cheerful since hearing of the way back home, in fact. He just couldn't help himself.
His mind was positively buzzing with the possibilities. Assuming it worked flawlessly - and he did not allow himself the weakness of imagining any other outcome - then it would be a gamechanger. No longer having to operate as though cut off from all resupply! The ability to take greater risks! To plan more fully, knowing he had full access to his family resources, or at least those he was allowed access to.
Those he could access without arousing undue familial suspicion…
Just think! Right now he was trading in trinkets and basics, whatever the Assertive's limited manufacturing capabilities could produce. Now he could bring through proper equipment! Material he had no access to here! Oh! The markets! The opportunities!
And the manpower! He'd been having to stretch his crew thinner and thinner across his various holdings, or else relying on local labour, much of which was (infuriatingly) alien. Finding human crews for those local ships hadn't been as easy as he might have liked.
Things were only looking up. Jarrion saw no problems in his future whatsoever. Nothing could possibly disrupt what he had in mind. Everything was going beautifully.
Then came the ring of a bell, signalling that someone from the bridge was attempting to contact him.
Train of thought thoroughly derailed Jarrion swallowed his irritation and got up to answer.
"Yes?"
"Lord Captain, we're being hailed from the surface."
"Ah! That'd be news about this Council meeting, no doubt! Can you put it through to me here?"
Further progress in getting Imperial and local systems to talk to one another had made what would have been awkward days ago now only slightly tricky.
"Yes Lord Captain, one moment."
There followed a pause as connections were made, after which Jarrion was informed of the details much as Shepard had been, albeit at somewhat greater length and with more deferrence, as befitted someone who was ostensibly the invited guest. Jarrion listened, took note and confirmed attendance.
All simple stuff. He then sent word for Thale, Loghain, Altrx and Torian to meet him in his quarters.
Thale was first, but not by a whole lot - Loghain arrived so quickly it was almost she'd been standing poised, waiting. After that it was just a question of waiting for Torian who arrived a fair few minutes later, puffing and wheezing and accompanied by Pak, who'd apparently overheard the request for Torian to come and decided to invite themselves along.
Irritating, but worse things had happened.
Last to arrive was Altrx, who looked like he'd just woken up. This was because he had just woken up.
"Come in, come in, take a seat," Jarrion said, taking his visitors in the first room of his quarters, the receiving room, one of only two rooms that any guests to his personal quarters were likely to see. Loghain, Altrx Torian were the only ones to actually sit though, Torian with great relief and Loghain with kind of glee that came from sitting in what was plainly a very old, very expensive chair. Altrx just sat, for his part. Thale and Pak elected to remain standing, which Jarrion could respect, and so he started:
"Word from our friends from down below. This little diplomatic event is indeed going to be a dinner - as I rather suspected - and it is going to be happening in a few scant hours. Now I know this might seem trifling but this is, in fact, rather important. This is our first point of proper, official contact with the Council and so while this won't be the definitive establishing moment of our relationship with them - a very major player in the galaxy in which we now find ourselves - it will certainly set the tone, and I wish to start as we mean to go on: politely, as respectful associates. Are you all following this?" Jarrion said, all in his Rogue Trader voice, hands behind his back.
There came nods from all present bar one.
"Wait, could you repeat that? I lost you after 'Word from our'," Loghain said, but Jarrion ignored her and turned to Altrx instead.
"Altrx, you're under no obligation to attend, of course, but I felt I should extend the invitation to you."
"Dinner with xenos? I don't know what you Rogue Traders call a good time but I'd sooner stick my head out the window," Altrx said.
"Eloquently put," said Jarrion.
This was the answer that Jarrion had been expecting, of course, and he was glad to receive it. Common wisdom stated that the Navis Nobilite could get quite famously upset if they felt they were being left, so it always paid to check. Another box ticked, another hoop jumped through. Jarrion continued, addressing everyone now:
"We don't wish to impose upon their hospitality and I'd personally rather keep this small and brief, which brings me to why I called you here. It'll be myself, Thale-"
"Me," Loghain interjected.
"-and the Inquisitor," Jarrion sighed. He knew he'd invited her but it was still depressing.
And then Pak raised a hand to where there mouth would have been and let out a brief, garbled burst of static, a fair substitute for clearing one's throat and which Jarrion hadn't expected. He looked over at the Magos and found them staring in a way that, had they had an actual face, would have looked expectant.
"You - you want to come as well, Pak?" He asked.
Pak nodded. Jarrion swallowed.
Ideally Jarrion wouldn't have had to take any member of the Mechanicus, but that unfortunately wasn't an option. Or at least it wasn't anymore.
Keeping Pak confined to ship had been the sensible option while Rogue Trader business had been being conducted and he'd had a good excuse then, but now this was a proper, formal meeting between agents of the Imperium and, according to whatever Byzantine rank arrangement they had, Pak outranked Blix and so was the one who was angling to tag along and represent Mechanicus interests, such as they were, and such as they were entitled to.
What possible benefit a tech priest could gather from attending a formal dinner was unclear. Jarrion had the distinct impression Pak was just taking the first available opportunity to get off the ship, make a nuisance of themselves and maybe also swipe something when nobody was looking.
Not that Jarrion could do anything about it, as said. As with the Navigators, it paid to keep the Mechanicus on-side, and so shutting Pak out would just cause more problems. Sulking would only be the start, Jarrion was sure.
There was one thing he had to at least try to soften, however.
"But of course, by all means. We do value the Mechanicus's contribution to the House and to the Imperium, But, ahem, now Pak," Jarrion said, delicately. "I don't wish to impose but this is a formal, diplomatic function and the first meeting between ourselves and proper representatives of the largest political entity in the present galaxy so if I could be so bold as to perhaps, maybe ask you look your most, ah, presentable? First impressions and all that?"
Pak continued to stare silently for a moment before abruptly turning on their heel and stomping off.
"Something I said?" Jarrion asked, now feeling a touch nervous.
"Oh you know these Tech Priests. So touchy," Loghain said.
In many ways she wasn't actually wrong, but that was by the by. Jarrion would deal with that particular issue - whatever the issue was - shortly.
"Yes well, anyway. This is meant to be a friendly, important meeting so best behaviour from all three of us and no obvious weaponry, please," he said, most of this being directed Thale's way.
"I'll keep it subtle, Lord Captain," said Thale, getting a nod of approval from Jarrion.
"Excellent, excellent. That's about the long and the short of it. Us three, looking our best, acting our best, meet in the lighter bay in an hour for immediate departure. Torian?"
"Yes, Lord Captain?"
"You shall have the Assertive in my absence."
"Yes, Lord Captain,"said Torian, who seemed to spend half his life using only those three words with slight variations in intonation.
And so it was. In short order Jarrion was down in the lighter bay watching the cleanest of the lighters being prepped for launch, fingering the head of the cane he'd chosen just to add a bit of flair.
Thale had already been in the bay when Jarrion had arrived, looking a little uncomfortable crammed into what Jarrion guessed might have been a dress uniform from the Guard, just not Thale's as the fit really wasn't there. Not that it was slowing the man down any. He was still there, still glancing about like he always did, looking to be about half a second away from killing everyone in the room if the situation called for it.
Loghain had appeared not long after Jarrion either and insisted on hanging by his elbow while he stood and checked his chronometer and eyed progress on the lighter. At the least she was keeping quiet, for which Jarrion could only be thankful.
That did leave the lingering question of Pak and whether it had been a strop they'd stormed off in, or something else.
Fortunately though the Magos had actually gone to make themselves presentable, as asked. In the event, 'presentable' meant cleaner robes with a natty, white, cog-toothed trim around the hem and sleeves and a rather unnerving, blank-faced brass mask to cover up the profusion of grilles, lenses, tubes, pipes and scattered patches of grey flesh that typically composed Pak's - well, 'face' would be being generous.
It was probably the best that Jarrion could hope for.
Once arrived in the lighter bay Pak even gave an arms-spread turn on the spot - a very exaggerated, theatrical arms-spread turn on the spot - that practically screamed 'Is this acceptable to you?'
"Much better Pak, thank you," Jarrion said with a great swell of relief, Pak stalking off towards the lighter, those armsmen who'd been selected to accompany the trip down and guard the thing parting to let the Magos through.
"You didn't seem concerned about how I look," Loghain said.
"You look fine," Jarrion said, not looking. He heard Loghain huffed in what he hoped was an exaggerated fashion.
"I don't think you're giving me enough credit. I'm blind, remember. And on a ship without a wardrobe of my own. I think I've done very well."
That got Jarrion's attention and he looked at Loghain properly for the first time since they'd arrived in the bay. Gone was the mock-Astropath getup she had initially shown up and typically favoured, replaced instead with something alarmingly similar to what he himself was wearing, albeit with her rosette pinned quite brazenly on her chest.
He'd have accused her of breaking into his quarters and taking his clothes only the outfit was very plainly cut and sized specifically for her, which at the least meant she hadn't stolen from him. She was just mocking him.
"...where did you get those clothes?" He asked.
"See? Now I've got your attention," Loghain said, tapping her nose.
Jarrion shook his head and decided to pretend none of that had happened and to ask no further questions. That way madness lay. Or, alternatively, paranoia and more unhelpful answers.
"You look fine, Inquisitor," he said. "Perfectly adequate."
"Kindest thing you've said to me."
+++BACK ON ILLIUM, ONE LIGHTER TRIP LATER+++
Given the short-notice under which this whole shindig had been organised things had come together surprisingly well. And with no slip ups either, thankfully. No napkins being sent to the wrong place today, not at all. Everything went perfectly smoothly.
Illium had experience in hospitality - what with the surfeit of big, important companies requiring big, important luncheons and fully-catered seminars and sales meetings and so on and so forth - and so the sudden requirement of a venue and food for this sort of thing was but the work of a moment, if you knew the right people.
And the Council had known the right people.
The place was just one of hundreds of corporate function venues, albeit towards the higher end. Outfitted with the finest in generic, uninteresting, bulk-produced art and uninspiring looking greenery in waist-high planters it was every dead-eyed executive's dream venue - you could hardly ask for somewhere more lacking of character, soul or warmth.
And of course, given the highly valuable topics of discussion often undertaken by corporate types at these events, the very fabric building itself was practically bulging with the latest and greatest in counter-snooping and anti-eavesdropping technology - a veritable faraday cage it was, utterly bug-proof.
The only way anyone on the outside was going to be able to listen in on what was happening on the inside was if they managed to sneak someone in there to do it for them.
Jarrion was met at the pad his lighter had landed on by a Council functionary, an Asari. They had decided - inaccurately, though they weren't really to know - that an Asari would do well at putting an unknown visitor at ease. She did not, but Jarrion hid this fact well and was all smiles. He even shook her hand, seeing as how he'd remembered to wear gloves this time.
It was then a trip in a brace of aircars to their destination. None of the Imperials appreciated this, finding the aircars far, far too quiet for their liking, not giving any indication that they were actually functioning as they were meant to. That, and the drivers were aliens. They were all thoroughly glad to arrive.
There was - as there always is - a drinks-and-nibbles prelude to the actual dinner, the primary intent of which was for introductory mingling.
That had been the idea at least, but that was not what was happening, as the Imperials remained clustered together and stood apart from the Council people, who, having experience of these sorts of functions, did a very good job of talking amongst themselves and not acting as though this was all very awkward.
The Council people outnumbered the Imperials by a far margin too, which was unhelpful. Everyone had brought an entourage, it seemed, with the Alliance's single man coming across as rather frugal by comparison. It begged the question of what any of them might be there for.
Moral support?
Shepard was the only one present availing herself of the food on offer, finding the whole thing wasteful otherwise and unable to fight off the habit of always eating whenever eating was an option. If she had deeper pockets and not witnesses she likely would have put some of the canapes away for later.
As it stood, she just methodically worked her way through the trays, unconcerned.
Seeing this, Jarrion abandoned the others and sauntered over. She was a familiar face, at least, if not what anyone would call a typically friendly one.
"Fancy seeing you here, Commander," he said, sidling up beside her and casting an eye over what nibbles remained. Nothing appealed.
Shepard swallowed.
"Hello Jarrion," she said, before looking back to see that, yes, everyone was still standing apart in groups just like they had been when she'd started eating. "Glad to see this is off to a great start."
"Heh. Quite. I do hate these things. One imagines that everyone does but simply puts up with out of politeness by imagining that they're the only one," Jarrion said.
"Well I can tell you that you're not alone on this one, Jarrion, I hate this too. Would much rather be doing something else," Shepard said as she swiped a drink from the tray of a passing waiter.
"As would we all, Commander. Must say I am rather surprised you're here at all. This doesn't seem like a productive use your time."
Shepard had been about to actually drink her drink but this state brought her up short.
"I know, right? I could be recruiting an assassin right now. But apparently this constitutes a part of the job as Spectre. Could have fooled me! Oh well".
She then knocked her drink back and, while swallowing, pointed with the hand holding the now-empty glass.
"That Pak?" She asked.
Jarrion looked at where she was pointing and she was indeed pointing at Pak who was stood stock-still, staring into space. It was a little unnerving. But at least they were at least cleaner than they usually were - no oil this time.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, that would be Pak."
"They scrub up nicely."
"Nicely enough at least. Thank the Emperor for small mercies. If I hadn't invited them they would have been frightfully upset and now I have invited them look - just standing there, doing nothing, talking to no-one. Mechanicus..."
He tailed off and looked again at the fingerfood. What, exactly, made a meal an alien meal? It couldn't be the ingredients - he'd had food grown on scores of different planets, so that didn't count. So was it the recipe? And if human hands prepared human-grown food in an alien way, was that an alien meal, or a human meal?
Probably best to err on the side of caution and just assume alien, Jarrion felt. So no nibbles.
The actual dinner would be bad enough, he was sure.
"You into arms dealing now, I hear?" Shepard said, snapping him back to the moment. He had to take a second to process what she'd actually said, given he hadn't been paying attention to it.
"Not that I'm aware of, Commander," Jarrion said, frowning.
"Not handing out lasers to colonists, then?" Shepard asked, taking another drink from the same waiter who'd just finished doing a circuit of the room.
It still took Jarrion a second, but then he twigged it.
"Oh, that. Hardly arms dealing! Those lasguns are a small part of what we're trading out in the Terminus systems. It's a tough life, colonial life, always need all sorts of things! I've positioned myself as something of, shall we say, cheaper and more reliable alternative? Proving rather popular."
"I'd say so. Those lasers of your are popping up all over, now."
"Is that right? I shall have a word with some of my trading partners next time I see them, sort it out," Jarrion said. He was not concerned. Annoyed in the low-level way he expected he'd be annoyed when he heard of this happening, but not concerned. It was inevitable and, really, couldn't possibly be an issue. Barely rated as an issue.
Just some lasguns.
"That wasn't meant as a jab, by the way. Everyone's got a make a living, right? And if you're into arms dealing I could probably connect you to some people," Shepard said.
"Oh no, no. I'm hardly set up for that. And these lasguns are mere trifles - colonist weapons! Not suitable for anything else, I assure you," Jarrion said.
Shepard could have pressed the issue - pointing out that Jarrion's ship was practically encrusted with guns that there would be no shortage of people interested in having a look at and then even stuff he considered basic would be valuable if only from a research perspective alone - but there'd be a time for that.
For his part, Jarrion was happily thinking to himself of the lucrative markets available once he'd brought some propers arms manufacturing equipment back from home. If civilian-issue lasguns were popular enough to be worthy of note, what would the denizens of this galaxy make of actual, military-grade Imperial armaments?
And how much would they be willing to pay him for them?
"How is business, anyway? Engaging in a little aggressive expansion?" Shepard then asked, casually.
"Nothing quite as exciting as that, Commander, I assure you. Nothing especially interesting," Jarrion said.
"Hmm," Shepard said, pitched to just the right tone that it was flagrantly obvious she was more likely to believe what she heard from someone else than from Jarrion. Jarrion was wounded. He'd thought they were friends!
Or, if not friends, at least acquaintances. And given how big space was that counted for more than it normally did, in his opinion.
"Emperor's honest truth Commander, I've simply been doing business, that's all. Does that sometimes hit a rough patch here or there, given the rather unsavoury characters known to inhabit the area of space within which I operate? Maybe, maybe. Rest assured I've done my best to comport myself as politely as possible, where possible. Be glad my brother wasn't the one who ended up here!" He said, briefly putting his hands up in the sign of the Acquilla, something that Shepard vaguely remembered the significance of but still found a little strange to see.
"I think you've mentioned him before. I'm kind of getting the impression you're not that fond of him," she said.
Jarrion smiled, but lopsided.
"He is - well, family is always a little awkward, isn't it? There's always issues. My family's issues just happen to occur on a somewhat larger scale than most. And and I have never, ah, seen eye-to-eye, shall we say?"
This was another of those occasions where Jarrion was telling the truth in the same way that sticking your toe into the shallow end of the swimming pool could be considered getting into it.
Further small talk was forestalled by a large set of doors toward one of the room opening up and a gaggle of waiting staff coming through. Beyond the doors a lot of laid tables lay.
"Ah, looks like it's about time things are set to start. Best get on with it, eh? Sooner started, sooner finished and all that," Jarrion said, smoothing out some braid and sweeping some crumbs from his jacket. He wasn't even sure how they'd got there.
Shepard - who had been reaching for one last piece of what seemed to be an awful lot like an Asari version of sesame prawn toast - decided against it and pulled her hand back.
"You know, I still thought this kind of thing would have been right up your street," she said as Jarrion and her started wandering slowly towards the doors, along with everyone else. Jarrion raised an eyebrow.
"Whatever makes you think that?" He asked.
"Lot of pomp and circumstance. Lot of talking. Everyone in nice uniforms," Shepard elaborated, gesticulating. Jarrion leaned in, mock-conspiratorial.
"To be perfectly honest with you, Commander, I've always detested events such as these. Always preferred action to talking, myself."
"Could have fooled me."
Jarrion clasped a beringed hand to his bosom.
"Oh! I am wounded. But no, talking is a form of action, you see? Or can be. Can be a means to an end, a way of achieving goals! As much a tool as violence, in the right hands. The problem is that at events such as these it is, more often than not, none of these things, sadly. A lot of sound and fury signifying nothing, in the main. And one has to be on the lookout for what people aren't saying and what they are listening out for. What's hiding behind what they're putting on show, the questions they're really asking behind the questions they're actually asking. It's all rather tiresome. But, such is life."
They paused in the doorway. The Imperials were all already sat, clustered together, one spare seat left for Jarrion. The various Councils persons were, with their crews, still sitting. There was a gap next to Anderson - this wasn't actually meant for Shepard, but it was going to be for Shepard.
"Such is our life, at least," she said, wondering briefly what the Reapers might be up to at that exact moment.