Disclaimer: I do no own Mass Effect, I do not claim to own Mass Effect, I am only doing this for fun.
Author Notes: Another Friday, another exciting episode. Please do leave a review, even anon, even just one line. Besides telling me that you are reading, it is great encouragement to keep going. This production takes a lot of energy, thought, research, and time to put together. TV shows have background script writers and producers and all those added staff to figure this stuff out. But here I take up a lot of those jobs myself.
Episode 4: Paradigms
Shepard's only order of business on returning to the Normandy had been to order Joker to keep orbit, partly so EDI could confirm the thorough destruction of the Eclipse base, and partly to ascertain if the mercenaries sent any sort of communication or distress signal. She did not want to leave the colonists to face their wrath. She also had EDI send a coded message back to Arcturus, saying that the job was done, though due to her minor injury, the report would be delayed a few hours. It allowed Shepard enough time to figure out how she would actually go about writing the report.
Thoughts of how to best explain her humanitarian job occupied the foremost part of her mind as she went to the medbay in order to have her shoulder mended. Fortunately, the Normandy was graced with one of the best doctors the Alliance had to offer.
Doctor Chakwas was a matronly woman in her sixties with grey hair and green eyes that seemed to see much without being in any way threatening. In many ways she reminded Shepard of her own mother, albeit a little more relaxed in her professional persona. Chakwas was a career military doctor who was never content to work anywhere that could not travel. She had served on the SSV Tokyo and requested transfer to the Normandy because it promised the most variety of challenges. Shepard would not say it, but she suspected the doctor also wanted a slightly more personal work environment with a smaller crew where everyone knew everyone. She also had a feeling as to why Captain Anderson approved the transfer.
Doctor Chakwas was not surprised when Shepard told her how she got her shoulder injury. She was also unreserved about ordering a Spectre out of her medbay; under threat of a physical he should have submitted for previously. She was no less threatening to the trying-to-be-helpful Kaidan.
Shepard spent the night on a medbay bed, her shoulder immobilized in the grasp of a regeneration frame, having to sleep on her back when she normally slept on her belly. She was to take it easy for a few days, let the sore, freshly regenerated tissues finish healing on their own, but that was in her forecast anyways. They could not take any more jobs until she could requisition a new shoulder guard and undersuit. Maybe more than one even, just in case.
She left the medbay for the final time in the morning after a post-shower bandage change, wearing her fatigues. The wound was closed, but the outer layer of skin was still tender, so the bandage was needed to protect it from irritation. The marines were at the mess table, eating their breakfast.
"Good morning, Commander," Kaidan greeted as soon he saw her.
"Good morning, everybody." Maybe she sounded a little chipper, but she did not care.
"How's the shoulder, Skipper?" Ashley wondered.
"Doc got me good as new, won't even scar." Shepard replied. Which was really a good thing; in her line of work she could not afford scars that looked more serious than an accident with a kitchen knife while cooking dinner.
She still needed to run her arm through some personal tests to make sure that there was no lingering muscle weakness or nerve damage. Being mixed-dominant was a funny thing, despite having a dominant left eye and left hand when it came to shooting, it was her right punches and kicks that packed more force. Fifteen to twenty minutes with the heavy punching bag in the shuttle bay ought to be enough to see if she was within her normal numbers.
"Good to hear," Ashley smiled.
Shepard could not help but feel like Ashley's barely veiled problem with the Spectre was still the elephant in the room. But right now was not the time to pick it apart, especially in the presence of the others. "You did stellar job back there, especially you, Richard." At the mention of his name Jenkins looked up from his meal and beamed around his spoon. That was really all Shepard needed by way of reply. She might have just made his day.
As far as Shepard was concerned, Jenkins had pulled through in spades considering how little actual combat experience he had. She had read his file. Compared to Ashley and Kaidan, former with a laundry list and favorable comments by commanding officers, and latter with a few special commendations to his name, Jenkins' file had been short and thin. The only positive note was from boot camp; his instructor noted he had a rather favorable lack of rotten attitude. He followed orders when ordered the first time.
"I need to go check up with Joker, but as far as I'm concerned out next destination is the Citadel. I figure we'll have twenty-four to forty-eight hours. There will be leave for everyone."
"Yes!" Jenkins cheered.
"Never been to the Citadel, have you, Jenkins?" Ashley asked.
Shepard turned and made her way to the elevator, raking her hand through her hair. She could use some leave herself. Even if the Admiral did not sign off on it, there was the fact that it would take about a day for the requisition office to deliver her replacement armor parts.
As she called the elevator, her mind began to run through possibilities. If the current pattern held, and they were doing a mission a week, then they might as well hang around the Citadel for a day longer, until the next orders came. Of course she could also see why Admiral Hackett would not want the Normandy there for too long. Putting the Alliance's top secret prototype practically under the Council's nose was not exactly hiding it.
The elevator arrived and she stepped on, hitting the button for deck two. How badly did the Alliance want to hide the Normandy's existence? If 'top secret' actually meant 'not on the fleet register', then secrecy went out the airlock already. At least one person outside the Alliance knew there was a ship named SSV Normandy out there. The information Admiral Hackett gave her did not specify the Normandy was that deeply classified, still, it was a vague possibility, and that made her nervous.
The elevator doors opened onto the CIC, Shepard squared her shoulders and stepped off. It would not do for the CIC crew to see their CO nervous. She offered greetings as she passed forward toward the bridge.
"Hey, Commander." The pilot greeted as soon as she was past the door that separated the bridge from the CIC.
"Morning, Joker. How are things?"
"Boring." Joker replied. "I think I'm about done staring at this planet."
Shepard grinned, but she needed to be sure. "EDI, any blips on the long range sensors?"
"I detected no ships during the past twelve hours, Commander." EDI replied.
"As I said, boring." Joker added.
"And the base?" Shepard wondered.
"Sixty-five percent was destroyed by the initial core explosion, the remaining thirty-five suffered heavy damage in the subsequent fire. My latest quarter-hourly scan detected isolated pockets of heat consistent with residual fire."
"Was the fire contained to the basin around the place?" Shepard wondered.
"Yes, Commander. Furthermore, explosion debris dispersion was limited to the radius of half a kilometer."
"Perfect. Thank you EDI, you can break off scanning. The fire should put itself out in a matter of hours." Shepard looked at the planet, the base was destroyed and with no enemy ships flying in there was nothing left for the Normandy to do here. It was time they vanished into the darkness. "Joker, we can drop stealth. Take us to the Citadel."
"Got it, Commander."
"One more thing. EDI I assume you are pretending not to be an omnipresent AI when it comes to our Spectre guest, right?"
"Yes, Commander. I have not revealed my presence to Spectre Kryik."
"Good. Joker, please give him our Citadel ETA. Let EDI keep up her charade."
"Yes Commander, should I find out if we have dextro-peanuts and deliver those too?"
"Joker, we have an intercom, it's not like you're going to have to go look for him." Shepard noted.
"Fine."
She turned an exited the bridge. From Joker's tone she knew something had definitely stung him while she was convalescing, but there was no figuring it out short of asking. She also knew Joker enough to know what he would never admit to it.
Even before she got to the OD she heard the ship noise shift from what she would call 'Normandy rigged for silent running' to 'Normandy out and about'. As she stepped into her private office there was a faint jolt of acceleration just before the inertial dampener field fully kicked in.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and turian guests, this is your pilot speaking. Our next destination is the Citadel, and our ETA is ten hours. Enjoy your flight, and thank you for flying Earth Systems Alliance." Joker announced over the ship-wide intercom.
Shepard rolled her eyes; she should have known Joker would find some way out of having to talk to the Spectre directly. She would give him points for creativity though; he even managed to sound like the pilot of an interstellar passenger transport. Probably even his way of letting her know what he thought, too.
Easing into her seat at her terminal, Shepard sighed and brought up her files, Joker's tomfoolery aside, she needed to get that report finished and sent off. If she could get it done in the next couple of hours, it would not bite into her leave time.
The Normandy's arrival to the Serpent Nebula coincided with very early evening by Galactic Standard. The Citadel orbited a small star, Widow, deep within the nebula, surrounded by thick gas clouds. Being slightly warmer than the void of space, the clouds effectively masked the outwardly cold Citadel. One had to know exactly where to look to find the station. The clouds themselves were truly a thing of beauty; a trick of composition allowed them to scatter Widow's light and glow an effervescent shade of pink-purple.
The Citadel materialized from the gloom like a vision out of a dream. The single largest construct in the galaxy, its five vaguely rectangular ward arms, each just over forty-three kilometers long and three hundred thirty meters wide were splayed out, beckoning like a hand. On one end lay the massive Presidium ring, five-hundred-thirty-three meters wide and seven-point-two kilometers in diameter, to which the Wards attached. At over seven billion metric tons, the station's rolling generated the equivalent of Earth's gravity on the wards, and a third on the Presidium. Yet the station could also close into a perfect cylinder, making it impervious to outside attack.
Aboard, there was no cycle of light and dark, day and night were artificial contrivances dictated by an atomic clock. Activity never ceased as ships arrived and departed at all hours. The buildings that sprouted from the inner surface of the wards were always lit, glimmering orange and gold. Sharp eyes could even pick out the gossamer streams of lights, moving skycars, suspended along the designated traffic lanes between buildings. Visible from about anywhere was the Presidium Tower, a spire jutting from the inner side of the Presidium ring toward the center. The tower housed the seat of galactic government and many of its bureaucratic offices.
An hour passed before the Normandy was finally corralled into a docking cradle on Zakera Ward. Getting final clearance was never a quick process. In peacetime, military ships were of lesser priority than the constant stream of various-sized passenger and cargo transports. Once they were docked, Shepard drifted toward the shuttle bay. By now the ship was already connected to the airlock gangway and the shuttle bay door was lowered, ramp extended onto a mobile gangway used to serve cargo hatches.
This particular docking cradle normally served Alliance ships, so there were a detachment of marines in place to enforce security. She could see them patrol across the cargo gangway, wearing hardsuits, assault rifles at hand. Their job was to make sure no one and nothing snuck on board, but they were not allowed to step one foot aboard themselves. Yet in the Normandy's case it was somewhat redundant. EDI would know if anyone managed to sneak in, but as far as the Galaxy was concerned, EDI did not exist.
Amidst the quiet of the shuttle bay Shepard spotted the Spectre.
"Commander," he turned away from the crate he had been checking when she approached.
"Is everything in order?" She wondered.
"Yes, everything is set. I was wondering if we would get a moment to talk."
Shepard looked over the stack and then over him, seeing the crates really brought her back to reality. Their partnership had been a temporary deal, no matter how well it worked out. "Sure."
"I wanted to confirm how long the Normandy would be staying at the Citadel," he continued.
"Twenty-four Terran hours at least, maybe forty-eight, I'm not certain myself. Why?" She replied.
"I must leave these here for a bit longer," he motioned to the crates. "I have vital business to attend to before I can pick them up."
Shepard hummed, "I see. Well, if we have to leave early, I'll make sure your belongings are secured with C-sec customs; I'll also make sure they know you're a Spectre."
"That will not be necessary."
Shepard nodded; she was not going to dig into his business. She figured it had something to do with the fact that his mobile home was half-buried on a moon. Real estate on the Citadel was expensive, so maybe he did not even keep an apartment here. "I suppose this is where I tell you that it was a pleasure to be working with you," she offered.
"Only if you mean it," he replied.
Shepard smiled, "It has been a pleasure to work with you, Spectre Kryik."
"Likewise, Commander. Should our paths cross, I would welcome your assistance again."
Shepard tipped her head to the side, as unlikely an event as that would be, she would not mind either. "Who knows… it's a small galaxy." She very much doubted it was small enough, but she would be polite.
"It is," he replied.
Shepard caught a faint flicker of his mandibles, as if he was amused at something only he knew. Suddenly she felt like something had been lost in translation, but he turned away and went back to securing his crates.
Idly her mind flashed to the thought that he might try to get himself somehow assigned aboard the Normandy. Spectres were living legal loopholes. As agents of the Council they operated above many of the legal norms. The Alliance, and by extension Humanity, as a Citadel Associate race, was bound by certain conventions and laws. Who knew what was buried in the tiny print. Because there was always something buried in the tiny print. Maybe the Council could assign a Spectre aboard ships. If there was such a clause, the admiral would be greatly displeased, and she would be feeling the fallout. She shook her head, tossing the notion aside. There was no way that a Spectre would have the political graces of a bull in a china shop, so that scenario was relegated to the box that contained all crazy paranoid thinking.
The next few hours were busy. Shepard found herself in the OD, taking care of business. The Normandy became a beehive of activity, everyone aboard seemed to want something from the Citadel while they were already there. She had to set rotating leave shifts just to keep order and make sure that someone remained aboard at all times for security purposes. EDI was a blessing in those terms. She knew who was aboard, who was coming, who was going, and could even notify individuals that their leave shifts were starting or ending. Truly EDI was the best operations officer a ship could ever have. The AI's capacity to multi-task and keep things orderly was awe-inspiring.
When the first leave shift left to enjoy their personal time, second lieutenant Matthews approached her with a requisition form for the galley. Mostly topping up what they went through, but also some extra things that the crew wanted, to round out the nutritionally balanced but plain standard Alliance Navy fare. Matthews of course added a few other things that would flavor the meals. Shepard assured him that she would get it done, and he left highly pleased.
Chief Engineer Adams dropped by half an hour later with a suggestion of some parts that the Normandy's design lacked. Parts that would not be easy to procure, as they were no longer manufactured, but would reduce the maintenance cycles the engineers had to perform. The difference, as he made it clear, was stark. It was something he had wanted to include in the initial design, but the engineers at the shipyard baulked when they could not find the parts new. Apparently installing second-hand parts on a brand new, state-of-the-art ship was going too far. Adams let the issue slide, but now that the Normandy was deployed and he was in charge, second-hand parts in good condition were not an issue.
For Shepard both requests were a no-brainer. The Normandy had an operational budget with room to spare. With a ship this small, running a skeleton crew, and operating in murky waters, they needed every bit of morale they could get. If extra food and engine parts made her crew happy, then she would give them extra food and engine parts. Then she would justify it as necessary expenditure. Really, if the brass did not want a crew coddled, they should not assign a Shepard to command it. The Kilimanjaro operational budget was stretched to the limit for a reason. Her mother ran a tight ship, but one that rewarded discipline and loyalty liberally.
Shepard added the Second Lieutenant's list of additions to the supplies requisitioned from the Alliance supply depot, to be delivered post haste. With the clerical work done, something that was typically the job of the ship's XO on larger vessels, Shepard ended up allotting herself the final of the three planned eight hour leave shifts. Once EDI had the full rotation list, she turned in to catch some well needed shut eye in a bed that was more her own.
The chime of her alarm clock came almost too soon, and jarred Shepard awake. She waved her hand over the holo-interface as she sat up to shut it off, other hand raking through her bed-hair. "Morning, EDI," she greeted, knowing that the AI was omnipresent aboard the ship.
"Good morning, Commander." The AI greeted.
Shepard plodded barefoot to her bathroom, tugging her oversized tee-nightshirt down as she went, "Status report, please, EDI." It was her routine to get a brief while brushing her teeth. It helped to know where they stood, even though the update never included anything serious. If there had been an emergency, EDI knew to wake her up.
"All onboard systems are operating at peak efficiency. No security incidents to report." EDI began. "The first leave shift returned without incident. The second leave shift will be finished in fifteen minutes. Two crewmembers allotted the second shift are yet to return."
"It's fine if they're a little late," Shepard murmured around her toothbrush.
"Understood. I shall allow them the customary five minutes for what would be considered fashionable tardiness."
Shepard chuckled, "You do that, EDI."
"Requisitioned supplies have arrived," the AI went on in her normal flat tone, as if she was standing behind her, reading off a clipboard.
"Food, I assume," Shepard noted.
"Yes. Though when I compared the list of items ordered, my scans indicate the delivery is incomplete."
"Well, if the rest don't come in six hours, then I'll get on their case."
"Noted, Commander. Finally, Spectre Kryik has yet to report back for the crates he left in the shuttle bay." EDI finished.
Shepard pulled the toothbrush from her mouth and spat into the sink, then proceeded to rinse. Well that was certainly an incident, sure she promised him twenty-four hours at least, but what sort of things could keep him away this long? She spat out the water and hummed, "I promised him twenty-four hours, when that's up… well we have an understanding of what will happen."
"I am aware of it, Commander," EDI noted.
"I figured you would be." Shepard was not bothered by the fact that the EDI essentially knew everything that went on aboard the ship. It worked with her secondary duties as ship's security. They had an understanding that washrooms and quarters were red zones, whatever EDI happened to overhear in there, she was not to discuss or report to anyone, no matter what. Of course there were some exceptions, if someone was hurt; EDI was fully in the right to call for help. "Thank you for letting me know, EDI."
"You are welcome, Commander."
Her teeth brushed, Shepard turned to take a good hot shower. She was in and out in fifteen minutes, running a blow-drier and a comb over her head, to prevent her hair from becoming frizzy and curled at the tips. That look never inspired confidence. Before she could shed her towel and start getting dressed, she heard a beep from her omni-tool. Shepard plodded over to the bedside table and picked up the slim silver cuff and snapped it onto her right wrist. The tool lit up, message already up, marked urgent. When she saw the sender line, her blood ran cold right down her spine. A summons from the office of Ambassador Donnel Udina and she was to report in less than an hour.
Shepard's mental list of all the reasons why she might be summoned was brutally short, and included nothing that boded well. Her report to Admiral Hackett was sent in yesterday, the most likely reason for the summons was that being the Good Samaritan was about to bite her in the ass. Timing was right; the Spectre had to make a report to the Council about his mission, so it must have all filtered down.
Shepard reached past her comfortable fatigues and straight for her blue officer's uniform. She was dressed in ten, and had to run through a gauntlet in order to be presentable in formal public. Then she was out of her quarters and in the elevator, closing the final catches on her jacket as she did. There would be no breakfast, and at this rate it looked like her very leave was canceled.
"Good morning, Commander."
Shepard stopped in the middle of CIC, spotting Kaidan, who was working on something at one of the stations surrounding the galaxy map, a cup of tea in his hand.
"Oh, good morning."
"Where's the fire?" he asked.
Belatedly she realized she should have told EDI about the summons, or maybe even called Kaidan and Ashley to her side, but she somehow did not want to drag them into what would probably be embarrassing for her and uncomfortable for them. Right now, it was somewhat too late to tell them to suit up, and Kaidan looked rather at ease with his tea, she did not want to ruin his morning.
"Business came up," she replied.
Kaidan set his tea down and hummed, "Is this about the Spectre?"
"Likely." Shepard replied.
"Do you want an escort? Williams and I can be ready in ten."
He was not buying her casual act. "No, I think I'm fine, just going to the ambassador's office."
"No offense meant, ma'am, but you sound like you're going to the gallows."
"Politicians. Might as well be. They probably want me to explain why I'm not cold blooded enough to leave someone stranded on a barren moon." That was probably the closest to the truth, because if the admiral had not gotten back to her, it had to be the politicians who had a problem with the whole thing.
"Understood, ma'am."
Shepard continued on her way to the airlock, and the whole way she could feel the staff lieutenant's gaze on her back. Kaidan was worried, that much was clear. Running into him as she did, she would bet a thousand credits that he would only wait until she was out of his sight to go and get Ashley. She would bet another one thousand credits that they would turn up at the embassy.
She did not stop at the bridge to talk to Joker; instead going straight to the airlock, and onto the station. There were more marines beyond the gangway, guarding the airlock from intrusion and saboteurs. She paid them little attention as she made her way past the lounge attached to the docking cradle, and out beyond, where she could take a Skycab to the embassy. Fortunately, there was a car waiting by the kiosk, she just had to tap in for it to open. As she climbed into the empty driver's seat, she announced her destination to the VI. A moment later the car closed, sealed, and lifted off.
The ride took ten minutes but eventually the car entered the tunnels leading from the ward to the Presidium. In another ten minutes the vehicle landed in front of the embassy building. Shepard swiped her credit chit over the reader and left the car without paying much heed to the VI wishing her to have a good day. That customary greeting sounded morbid given the various ways she could be in trouble right now.
The embassy building was located right on prime real estate, within walking distance of the access elevator that led up to the Citadel Tower. Nose-bleed close to the most powerful people in Council Space, and as far as Shepard was concerned, one of the last places she actually wanted to be.
Her eyes quickly took stock of her surroundings, noting the people milling about: lots of humans, some asari, and a few turians in C-Sec armor. No one paid her much attention, which was good. Shepard figured they must have seen dozens if not hundreds of humans in officer uniforms come and go. She brought up her omni-tool to double check the directions before she continued on.
The embassy building was a rather squat white structure with three levels, rising along the side of the presidium ring, like much of the Presidium architecture. The floor was actually the outer surface of the Presidium ring, with gravity generated by the centrifugal force of station's rolling rotation. The embassy overlooked the great artificial reservoir lake that ran the length of the Presidium, and the surrounding parkland.
Past the main doors was a foyer with a chipper human receptionist, a surly security guard, and past them an elevator to serve the building, which she took to the top floor. Once there, the elevator opened onto a second, smaller foyer, complete with lots of glass and potted plants. There were also doors that led to various offices and meeting rooms. Right in front of the elevator was another reception desk, behind which sat a rather shrewish looking receptionist in a black pantsuit.
"Commander Shepard, I presume?"
"Yes, Ambassador Udina summoned me?"
"He has," the woman began as she got up from her seat and rounded the counter. "I was instructed to direct you to him immediately, please, follow me."
Shepard followed the woman without an argument. There were no armed marines, no C-sec, and the whole embassy seemed very quiet, just a whole lot of closed doors. All the same, Shepard was far from comfortable, and she would not be comfortable until the Damocles sword hanging over her head either fell, or was removed.
The woman led her to the corner office and pressed her palm against the door mechanism, causing the door to chime. A second later it opened and the secretary stepped away, nodded, and left. Shepard stepped into the office only far enough to let the door close behind her.
The ambassador, a balding man in his fifties, wearing a cream and white suit, stood at the window behind his desk, his back turned to her. "Commander Shepard," he began as he turned to face her.
Shepard did not quail under his severe expression, even as she clasped her hands behind her back and slipped into a parade rest. "You wished to see me, Ambassador?"
"Do you have any idea why I called you here?"
"None," Shepard replied calmly. That was a lie, Shepard had every reason to suspect this had something to do with the Spectre, but she had learned long ago that there were no rewards for answering that kind of question truthfully.
"I received a message from the Council about one of our captains lending valuable assistance to a Spectre out in the field."
Shepard blinked, but did not break her parade rest. The Council expressed thanks for the assistance she gave to one of their agents?
"Misunderstanding regarding you rank aside, the message was quite interesting. It would seem that whatever you did to help that Spectre also impressed him a great deal."
That was a good thing, right? If so, then why did Udina sound like he was chewing glass? "I was merely carrying out orders given to me by Admiral Hackett," Shepard replied.
"Yes. I have a copy of your report."
Shepard thought that statement was made in the blandest most unimpressed tone she had ever heard.
"On the one hand, assisting a Spectre, saving his life no less, is exactly the sort of move that benefits relations between the Alliance and the Council. On the other, I was under the impression that Normandy is a top-secret prototype. Care to explain, Commander, why you risked exposing her secrets?" He stared her down with all the intensity of a bird of prey locked onto its victim.
Shepard could practically hear the other shoe drop. "My reasoning is simple. The Normandy picked up a distress beacon from Spectre Kryik's downed ship. I chose to respond because I deemed the risks minimal. I was not told that I would have to, nor am I in the habit of ignoring distress calls. My considerations were purely humanitarian. At the time I was not aware that the individual I would rescue was a Spectre. He only told me himself, aboard the Defiant. When we returned to the Normandy, I had security measures put in place. Spectre Kryik complied with my restrictions the whole time he was with us. I would know had he not." EDI would have known instantly, and she would have called security as well. There was absolutely no reason for EDI to lie if the Spectre had gone snooping around.
"So you were not aware you were rescuing a Spectre?" The severe look was back on her again.
"No, sir."
"Then this makes the situation all the more incredulous. Your foolish actions, for which you would normally be reprimanded, have instead yielded results for which you should be commended. Buy a lotto ticket, Commander; it seems your luck is not abandoning you yet."
That was an insult if Shepard had ever heard one. "Pardon?" What did she do that was so damn good? She wanted to know so she could decide whether or not she should keep doing it.
"Unbelievable as the idea may be, Kryik put your name forward for Spectre candidacy, and the Council is willing to give you an evaluation period."
Shepard froze to the spot. That was the absolute last thing she would have expected. If she was truthful, it was not even on the list of things she would have expected. To be stripped of command, sure, or court-martialed, maybe, but not this.
At that moment she realized the green-eyed smirking devil must have been planning this at least from the moment they returned to the Citadel. Their conversation in the shuttle bay suddenly took on a whole new meaning, right along with the fact that he did not pick up his crates. He had planned to stay aboard, and the crates became a Trojan horse alarm. If the Normandy had to pull out, she would have had to notify C-Sec customs to pick up the crates. Someone in C-sec would then send the Spectre a message, and then Spectre authority or Council say-so would snarl the Normandy up in departure clearances. It was a perfect trap to keep a ship on the station when one had limited reasons to do so. The Spectre played her for a fool with a smile on his face.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" the Ambassador wondered.
"Nothing, sir. I was not aware Spectre Kryik intended to put my name forward."
Did he not think she might not want to be a Spectre? Had it not crossed his mind she might not want the attention? Shepard stopped there as she realized that there was no way for him to know just how unwelcome this was, and how much scrutiny it would invite. Everything she had done since Elysium had been scrutinized.
She messed up and got into ICT because she was the apparent favorite of Captain Anderson. She got command from Admiral Hackett, and some would only see it as because Hannah Shepard was his favorite. Now she looked like the favorite of a Council Spectre, merely for saving his life.
"You did not suggest it? Or worse, coerce him?"
"No, sir!" Shepard snapped back, coming out of her thoughts. "I had no hand in whatever made him decide to nominate me." How did one go about coercing a Spectre into such a thing? Yet the fact that Udina asked was proof that the situation looked too convenient. Some would think she orchestrated it no matter what she said. On the flipside, they would still want her to pursue it with everything she had. Simply because she got a toehold that no one else had. She was doomed to be scorned, damned if she went for it, damned if she did not.
"Alright. Do I need to explain the importance of this opportunity, Commander?"
"No, sir." She had just been pulled into a game of high-stakes poker, winner takes all, Spectre or bust, with her career in her chips. The brass would not let her refuse this. If she said no, she might as well take her own career out back and shoot it. This was a shot at what the Alliance wanted badly. They would not forgive her if she failed either; it would be the last time the golden screw-up got to screw up.
Shepard felt like she was watching the Spectre pass a little glass orb that was her career from hand to hand. Everything suddenly depended on him, and she hated it. No outsider should have this much say in her life. Yet there he was, and so he did. Without realizing it, Kryik had inundated himself into a place where he was unwelcome.
"Good. Your benefactor has volunteered to oversee the evaluation. If the Council finds no fault with you, he will be your mentor as well."
"Understood, sir." Her benefactor? The great irony of that was almost choking.
The ambassador moved to his desk and picked up a datapad on which he tapped a few times. "You will receive relevant information from Hackett in due time. For now, you are free to go."
Shepard nodded, made an about turn, and raised her hand to the door mechanism. When the door opened she breezed out, her shoes tapping an even rhythm as she walked. Would anyone believe that she entered just an officer, and left a Spectre Candidate? She would have been laughing at the absurdity, if the situation had anything to laugh about. Too much hung in the balance, and failure was not an option. How did one go about passing a Spectre evaluation? Then mentorship? How long would that take? What then? The questions swirled. There were too many unknown factors. She needed to evaluate where she stood and who she was dealing with.
She exited the embassy squinting while her eyes adjusted to the Presidium's artificial sunlight. Even then, it was hard to miss the two familiar uniformed people standing by the Skycab kiosk. Both Kaidan and Ashley remained in their fatigues, presenting the air of dutiful subordinates. As Shepard drew near, she realized that had she actually found someone to take her sucker bet, she would have been two thousand credits richer right now.
"Commander, is everything alright?" Ashley asked first.
Kaidan was looking around. Shepard wondered if he expected armed marines to come after them. "I don't want to talk about it here," She said.
"Oh. Of course," Ashley stepped back and palmed the kiosk controls to open the waiting Skycab.
Shepard moved around the car and got into the driver's seat, despite the fact that she would set the cab to fly VI. Ashley climbed into the back, leaving front passenger seat to Kaidan. As soon as they were settled, Shepard told the VI to get them to their docking bay, and the car closed and took off.
"So?" Kaidan broached the subject a good minute later.
Shepard sighed and leaned back into her seat, "Where to start?"
"Are they angry about the Spectre?" Ashley wondered. "Because figures. You can't do anything without some politician getting worked up over it."
Shepard shook her head, "I get the feeling the brass is angry, but at the same time, the situation changed, so they have to swallow it. As for the politicians? Well I'm suddenly a person of utmost interest, and they can't do anything as long as things remain interesting."
"How come?" Kaidan asked.
"You're looking at Humanity's newest and also only Spectre Candidate."
The silence that reigned in the car was so absolute that Shepard could hear the faint hum of the car's eezo core.
"You're kidding right, skipper?" Ashley wondered after a good ten seconds.
"Wish I was." Boy did she wish she was. "Udina grilled me on how I got a Spectre to put my name forward," Shepard explained calmly.
"So what does that mean? Is he staying aboard the Normandy?"
"For the foreseeable future, yes." Shepard replied.
"That's just great."
The hostility radiating off Ashley was climbing at an alarming rate. Shepard glanced at Kaidan, who remained quiet throughout the exchange. His expression then told her that he was perfectly aware of the tense situation in the car.
"You don't trust him?" Shepard asked.
"With all due respect ma'am, no, I don't. I don't think I'll ever fully trust a turian."
"Are we going to have a problem, Chief?" Shepard did not want to sound crude, but she could not afford the hostility.
"No ma'am. It is that I would be cautious around him if I were you. They look out for their own interests, just like everybody else. I will follow your orders as I have followed them so far, so if you tell me to jump, I will ask how high and if you tell me to kiss the Spectre, I will ask on which cheek. But I will not take orders from him."
Shepard would give her points for dedication to duty, "I don't plan to abuse my authority by issuing any kiss orders. Nor will he be running the Normandy. I am still in command, and it is staying that way."
"Good. Don't get me wrong, ma'am, I just don't think he's nominating you out of the goodness of his heart."
Shepard actually smiled; the thought had crossed her mind. "He'd be a saint if he did not have a reason."
"Just what is that reason, that's the question," Ashley finished.
Shepard shook her head, Ashley had a point there. "Well I have no choice in the matter. I can't say no to this candidacy. Not with my red-streaked record."
"Why?" Ashley asked.
"The… incident after Elysium." Kaidan murmured.
Shepard raised an eyebrow as she looked toward the lieutenant.
"It was talked about in certain circles. One of my previous commanding officers was… a vocal critic." Kaidan explained hurriedly.
Shepard was acutely aware that he was choosing his words carefully; dodging certain intonations that he thought might offend her. She would have to tell him she had thicker skin than that.
"I don't want to pry, ma'am, but what incident?" Ashley asked.
Ashley did not know? That surprised her, but maybe that was a bit of a blessing in disguise. "You know the reason they call me the White Death of Elysium, right?" She asked.
"Yes, you killed… what was it… two-hundred-fifty-something Batarians in ten hours? You were also on Alliance recruitment posters for six months after that."
Shepard stared out the windshield, watching the scenery pass. That was the sanitized, short version. "Yes. On my first deployment after that… I killed an innocent, a case of misidentification and miscommunication." And personal biases, though she did not say that.
"If it was that, then… they can't hold it against you, can they?"
Shepard smiled wanly, when put like that, it sounded simple, but in reality it was anything but. "My unit responded to a small-scale Batarian raid on a start-up colony. Nothing near Blitz levels." The skycab came out of the tunnel and onto the ward where they docked. "We secured the colonists, and my CO put me up on the roof of the tallest structure while the rest of the unit went to set up a perimeter. After a couple hours of nothing I saw him, a single Batarian, carrying a big bag and a handgun. The colonists never mentioned an entrepreneur, a peddler really, that came through. I didn't know it at the time, but the bag contained supplies, and he was there to take shelter. I didn't radio. I assumed he somehow got past the others and the bag contained explosives. I shot and killed him." The Skycab shifted lanes, dropping altitude to fly in the slower, lower lanes between the ward's buildings. They were drawing close. "I fell off the hero pedestal, and they will never let me live it down."
The silence lingered for a good minute before Shepard sighed, she did not like to tell that story. It had been the worst thing she had ever done, and to the present day she could still see his face in her scope. There had been a moment in which she hesitated, but it had been brief. She had been absolutely convinced that he could only be bad news.
"That's heavy," Ashley said after what felt like an eternity.
"We all have something in common then," Kaidan spoke up quietly.
"What do you mean?" Ashley asked.
"The Commander's history, your history, my history-"
"Of which we know little of," Ashley interrupted.
Kaidan cleared his throat, "My point is that none of us are favorites with the brass. I don't know about you, but I think that should be reason enough to stick together."
"Oh."
"Our CO is between a rock and a hard place. I think the best we can do give her our best if she's to make Spectre." Kaidan went on.
"I can get behind that. Ma'am, if the brass is expecting you to fail, then it's our duty to make sure you succeed."
"We're with you a hundred percent. As the Normandy's crew," Kaidan finished.
Shepard blinked, stunned into silence, awed at how quickly the lieutenant managed to turn the mood around. "Thanks, I appreciate it. I really do."
Kaidan smiled a sort of glad-to-be-of-service smile.
The Skycab dipped, dropping out of its lane as it approached their dock. The VI drove as if everyone aboard was made out of spun glass, utterly oblivious to the storm that had just passed through. Yet with the odd expression of confidence from her ground team, Shepard felt like this mountain might not be as difficult as it seemed. It was just one more mountain she had to climb. After Elysium, her follies, and ICT, what is one more?
Ashley and Kaidan went in through the airlock just aft of the bridge while Shepard circled toward the gangway that led toward the Normandy's shuttle bay. She would leave the news-spreading to her marines. This sort of thing would fly down the decks like a wildfire. Engineering would know within ten minutes.
Her leave was shot down in flames, but right now she needed to set some things straight with her benefactor. She needed to talk to him away from the crew's eyes, and that meant shuttle bay. Normally only Ashley came down there, being in charge of the ship's armory, but Shepard had told Ashley that she would be waiting for the Spectre down there. Ashley would read between the lines, and realize that Shepard needed to talk to the Spectre alone.
As Shepard ascended the ramp into the shuttle bay, she expected to have to camp out and wait for her victim. Instead she saw the Spectre, in what looked like freshly cleaned armor, already there. What more, he was busy at the weapons bench working on what looked like a brand new assault rifle she could not recognize offhand. There was also a sizable pile of sloppily opened packaging at his feet, part kits and whatnot. He had caused all sorts of trouble for her, and there he was, oblivious to it all, making himself positively at home on her ship. Shepard had to force herself to draw a deep soundless breath to calm her reaction, which would have seen hurricane Shepard make landfall with a deadly storm tide.
Instead, she turned and skirted left, further into the shuttle bay's cavernous maw. This put her behind his back, and even then she lapsed into a practiced pattern, smooth as a gliding shadow. Cloaks only fooled the eyes; they did nothing for footsteps, only training and practice fixed that. Most species had peripheral vision sensitive to movement, especially sudden movement. She did not have her cloak right now, but that did not mean she was out of her element.
She came around onto the platform where the armory benches were. Sneaking up on him was petty, and quite possibly childish, but it was also what she did best, it was something that she staked her life on. Suddenly he paused and straightened. Shepard stopped, instantly holding her breath and standing absolutely still.
"Most impressive, Commander," he announced as he set the rifle down and turned around to face her. "Though I suggest you switch to unscented soaps if you wish to perfect your technique."
Shepard exhaled slowly; at least he was honest about what gave her away.
"Or do not. I appreciate the warning."
There was that flicker of his mandibles. He was honest and tactless. The hurricane that Shepard wanted to contain picked up speed. "Welcome back to the Normandy, Spectre Kryik." She could not be overtly aggressive, but that did not preclude a bit of passive-aggression. She would smile too if necessary.
His brow plates lowered, casting shadows over his eyes. The look he gave her was intense, scrutinizing, but she held it without quailing. Even if the top of her head only reached his chin, she would not flinch; he would get nothing over her, not now, not ever, and not on her ship.
He hummed, "I thought you would be of… higher spirits about now."
Shepard could practically hear the thunderous rumble of the storm tide and the howling of the wind. "Thank you for the opportunity," she said, affecting her best smile. Hopefully he would not pick up on the venom. She was of higher spirits, just not the ones he probably wanted.
"You must have questions."
Shepard let her stance deflate a little; it was all well that she could control herself. Someone else would have been giving themselves away with crossed arms and a glare set to vaporize. It seemed like he thought she was merely wary. She would play up on that. "A few." She admitted, but she could grill him later. Right now, she needed to find out where they stood more than what she should do. "Only one that's really… pertinent right now."
He watched her with that piercing stare.
Shepard realized that he was probably trying to figure her out. Well, regardless, figuring her out was now his official job. The Council would want to see the cogs and gears that moved her thinking. They would want to know that she would not crack under pressure. "Why me?" she asked. In many ways, that was what she wanted to know most. What reason did he have to meddle in her affairs?
He leaned against the workbench and crossed his arms.
Shepard raised an eyebrow, was that the wrong question to ask? The one he would not answer?
"I should have expected that to be the first," he said after a moment.
Shepard stood by, waiting. If he thought she would back down, he was about to discovered that she never backed down. Not from people who had a weapon to her head, and definitely not from him.
He straightened, and let his arms drop to his sides; the decision to answer made visible in his posture and expression. "I suppose I should put us on common ground."
She definitely liked common ground.
"Fact is, Commander, Humans are newcomers to the galactic community."
Shepard tipped her head to the side, this was going somewhere.
"Your species has demonstrated the ability to adapt, even thrive in the face of adversity and sweeping change. What more, Humans do not apologize for ambition. Some would call that being forceful or arrogant. Perhaps it is, but it is also one of your strengths. I see potential in your people."
Shepard affected a perfectly blank face to disguise the fact that she was officially out for a loop. What did this have to do with her?
"Some would have the Council restrain you. They would say giving you in thirty cycles what some races have not achieved in centuries seems unfair. They would say that until you earn your place, you are not to be trusted with Spectre status."
Shepard had a sneaking suspicion he had someone specific in mind.
"I believe they are mistaken. Humanity needs to experience things in order to adapt to them. Spectre status is one of those things. Furthermore, I believe I found an exceptional candidate."
Was that an attempt at flattery? It would get him absolutely nowhere.
"Being a Spectre takes certain traits and characteristics. We operate mostly alone, reliant on our skills and wits. Without a doubt you demonstrated the skills, self-reliance, and the resourcefulness required on Elysium."
"I did what I could and had to." Shepard replied.
"Exactly. Still, two-hundred-fifty-nine kills in ten hours is not an easy feat. You single-handedly kept slavers from reaching a camp where five soldiers would have had to protect over fifty easily-frightened civilians. What you did would have been an impressive record for a sniper specialist, but you had only basic training at the time, correct?"
Shepard nodded mutely. He certainly knew a lot. Had the Alliance sent him her record? Did they give him the play-by-play, complete with map? No, they probably would not. If she was one foot in the door, the Alliance would want to make sure her shoes were shined. They would not care for the strict truth. They had clearly omitted the details of said camp being just a ski resort up in the mountains. Nihlus also did not seem to know about Arthur. She had not been alone for a part of that night. She closed her eyes and had to force herself not to correct him.
"I admit, I thought you were lightly armed for the task at hand. That is, until I saw your marksmanship. Your ability to deliver critical damage with precision and efficiency is impressive. Using a LOKI as an improvised grenade is unorthodox, but undeniably effective. That sort of quick thinking is vital to ensure our success."
"Kaidan was the one to throw the mech." Arthur had taught her to shoot. Arthur had given her the better position that night. Because of that, he was spotted on an infrared scanner. Something neither of them thought to expect the Batarians to have, much to their folly. Arthur's death caused her to adapt tactics to compensate. Red hot fury then turned off her ability to hesitate. It awoke a monster within. She survived because Arthur had been the unfortunate one to be spotted. She was hailed the White Death because Arthur died.
"You thought of it. If you were a biotic, I would have seen you throw the mech. Then shoot it."
No, the Spectre probably did not care about the truth. He did not even see the error of his logic. Had she been a biotic, her training would have been a whole lot different. She would have ended up a sentinel like Kaidan, or even an adept, very likely either an L2 or one of the early L3s. She would not have been on Elysium that night, would not have gotten into ICT, and they would not be having this conversation right now.
"On top of abilities, you also display an attitude that is uncommon among Spectres. Perhaps even to our detriment."
Shepard froze; the explanation suddenly veered somewhere unforeseen. A Spectre admitting that their precious group lacked something? The official line made them out to be walk-on-water elite one-person special ops units, demigods among mere mortals.
"Your natural instinct is to help and protect others. Elysium was protecting your civilians from a fate worse than death. You protected me at the risk of your own life. Then you thought of your colonists, what benefits they might obtain from having a gunship."
"Don't go advertising I'm that soft. They'll want the cold, highly efficient sniper." They would want the monster, the White Death.
His mandibles flicked again, just a brief little twitch, a quick grin. Somehow Shepard felt her anger at him ebbing away. It looked like he wanted something more than an upgrade from his destroyed ship, complete with chauffeur and cook.
"Does that satisfy your question?" he asked.
Shepard inclined her head, "Yes." To be truthful his answer was clinically satisfactory. However, she was not born yesterday; some part of her would not be satisfied until she was sure that was his only reason. Still, the immediate anger was gone. Thinking about Elysium always drained her. The hurricane within fizzled out, leaving behind an empty sky and a numb calm. Right now she wanted this conversation to end.
"I am glad, Commander."
Shepard spared him a smile that she knew was as numb as she felt. There was no helping it, was there? "There is just one more thing. If we are going to work together, just Shepard is fine. You are not Alliance… addressing me Commander seems unnecessarily formal."
"Likewise, 'Spectre Kryik' will not do," he smiled then, a genuine toothy smile, "For you, I am just Nihlus."
"I suppose I should give you the orientation of the place, if you're going to be staying with us," she offered. Showing him around the ship would give her something else to focus on and allow her to balm the throbbing old wound.
"That would be appreciated," he replied with another quick flick of his mandibles.
Author Notes: This episode came out of the blue. Back when I wrote it, I basically just stumbled upon this thought of well… did anyone ever ask Shepard what they thought of being tossed in there headfirst? In my canon, that got me thinking, and before I knew it, this came out. Yes, my interpretation of Nihlus makes him quite clever, and quite manipulative in his own (harmless?) way. I figure, he couldn't have trained under Saren without learning a few underhanded tricks by bad example, that and Nihlus himself comes from outside Hierarchy space (it's all in his cannon background) so he's not a 'good boy' like Garrus.
General Notes:
Point of View – This story uses what I call "hyper limited third-person" POV. Everything is filtered through Shepard's five senses and thinking. I will only swap POV if Shepard is out cold, or if the plot absolutely mandates it. This of course follows the game's POV. However, you will notice that I play with which of Shepard's senses dominates the descriptions. Where Shepard can't see something for whatever reason, the description will shift to other senses, mostly hearing. Sometimes the descriptions will not have the auditory component, usually because things are happening in a near or total void. I rather enjoy writing with the challenges inherent in such a POV. I have to think about how to convey a scene depending on what sensory info I can use, and I think the intimacy makes it more vivid.
Chapter Notes:
Mass Relays - Travel via Mass Relay conduit is said to be "near instantaneous", however travel from relay to a planet, or from a relay to a nearby system, even at FTL speeds (which are said to be 15 light-years a day, on the most advanced ships) still takes actual time.