Disclaimer: I do no own Mass Effect, I do not claim to own Mass Effect, I am only doing this for fun.
Author Notes: The first multipart of season two, and the honor goes to my version of a loyalty mission for everyone's favorite tall, dark, and exceptionally cocky Spectre. This is going to be a bit of an extravaganza.
Episode 31: Taetrian Nights [Part I]
Shepard had to contain her urge to grumble during the ride back to the Normandy. She had the mother of all helmet hair presses and a kink in her neck from sleeping on the Kowloon in full gear. She needed a shower, and wanted a real meal. Ration bars were really just calories; no one expected them to taste like anything. Sure the wrap could advertise a flavor, but it was a lot like bubblegum, the flavor vanished the second one started chewing. At least she was not a biotic; she could actually last for a day on two bars. A biotic would call two bars just one small meal.
First thing she did was dump her armor in the automatic refresher, a perk of doing a mission on a ship, and not on some dusty planet. Afterward she spoiled herself with a half-an-hour shower, and from there made her way to the mess hall. Even before she could open her mouth to ask Matthews what was on the menu, the cook shifted sideways and drew the lid off a small frying pan that had been sitting on the stove, revealing fresh scrambled eggs.
"They just finished about five minutes ago," he said. "Thought you might want a favorite."
"You're spoiling me." Shepard replied.
"It's only spoiling if it takes longer than two minutes to make," he said as he transferred the eggs into a small ceramic bowl, which he laid down on a tray with a fresh bread roll already waiting. A cup of steaming hot coffee completed the meal, and he pushed the tray toward her and smiled, "Enjoy."
"Thanks," Shepard replied with a smile. Matthews turned back to putting away the freshly washed dishes he pulled from the washer. She moved across to the officer's table in the mess. The dining area was not empty, despite the fact that the Normandy had just about pulled in and it was after breakfast proper. The crew stuck to their back table, discussing their latest jaunt. Shepard was not particularly keen on eavesdropping on their conversations this time. She let her mind turn to her own musings.
Thus she did not hear the XO's cabin door open, so when a shadow fell over her, only by dint of training did she not jump like a skittish kitten. The shadow told her enough about who it was, as there were only two turians on the ship and only one of them would bother her now.
"Nihlus," she said. The Spectre would not be bothering her if this was not important either. Shepard knew that much, and would not insult either of their intellects by asking the obvious question. "Where's the fire?" she wondered instead.
Nihlus hummed, but did not say a word, and that was as good a reply as Shepard needed. If Nihlus was not going to discuss something in the mess, then it was serious enough, and right now that meant one of three things: the Impera problem, something about the murder in the garden, or perhaps this was going to be the break in the order lull and Nihlus had a Spectre job for them to handle. She sighed, knowing there was no point in asking which of the three it was. "Give me ten minutes to finish my food."
"Alright, you know where to find me," Nihlus replied.
She watched his shadow move across the mess table and slide along the floor. Then she heard the XO's cabin door open and close. Shepard shook her head and returned to her meal, never a dull moment. Well after the diversion on the Migrant Fleet and now the Fedele, she supposed it was high time for their luck to run out.
Shepard finished her meal as fast as she could, and never being one to drag her feet, she deposited the dishes in the washer and then made straight for the XO's cabin. She was surprised that not only was the door not locked, but it opened for her. Apparently Nihlus went into the privacy controls and gave her an override, just so he would not have to reply to a door bell. She was positive that if anyone else stepped in front of that door, they would not have gotten the same courtesy. She found the Spectre seated at his desk, looking over something on his terminal.
"There you are." He said without looking up.
"What's going on? It's not another murder on the Citadel, is it?" Shepard asked. That one would have been her least preferred option. With those words out of her mouth she paused as a thought struck her, it was probably an unseasonably cold day in an existing hell. Here she was thinking she would rather avoid dealing with a professional assassin more than she would rather avoid dealing with Saren. Still, it was true, right now she would rather go off chasing the Impera than deal with brutal murders.
"Nothing so mundane." Nihlus replied.
Peculiar choice of wording, but it just went to show that in this instance they had an utterly different way of looking at things. "It's not news about the Impera either?"
Nihlus looked up, "Not that either. The Impera is gone, and that is worse than it running amok."
Shepard hummed, what did he mean by gone? She could think of at least two different nuances to 'gone', nuances that mattered.
"The Impera vanished. Not only is it not menacing anyone, but it has not even tried to refuel." Nihlus elaborated, as if reading her mind.
"Interesting," Shepard said. Driven by a mad AI or not, the bloody thing was still a ship.
"Saren is waiting for it to run out of antimatter. That is the surer thing to wait for, as the Trebia class is capable of skimming gas giants for helium and hydrogen."
"But it cannot generate its own antimatter," Shepard finished.
"Precisely." Nihlus nodded.
Shepard hummed thoughtfully. Antimatter reaction propulsion was the standard for all first tier military fleets the galaxy over. It provided the best power and responsiveness, but only the military could afford the typical costs. Fact was that antimatter simply did not grow on trees, or form naturally in the atmosphere of some ball of hot gas.
The Alliance's entire strategic antiproton supply was generated one particle at a time by colliders on the poles of Mercury. From there it was shipped to major Alliance-operated fuel depots. The location was intentionally chosen. If someone wanted to knock out the Alliance's entire supply of antimatter, they would have to successfully invade the Sol system. Every military handled their production and distribution on similar terms. "The Impera can't just… come up to a Hierarchy depot and request antimatter."
"Saren knows that. There are sources of antimatter in the terminus, but… there is something else. The Trebia class' main drive is dual-mode. If it runs out of antimatter, it can reconfigure to fire as a plasma torch. I told Saren it might never attempt to refuel."
Shepard knew what that meant; the AI could decide to make do without. Shepard was not surprised; the Impera was the epitome of turian engineering, made reliable by planning for major contingencies. Although plasma torch propulsion was second to antimatter in terms of propulsive power, it offered freedom by using plasma from the ship's fusion core. If the ship could also skim fuel gasses it would never run out of fuel. No wonder the AI decided to run for it. The Impera was free to go wherever it wished, and it would take a miracle to track it down.
It just left one side question, how in the name of all holy did Saren get his hands on the Impera in the first place? Was he so wealthy that he simply brought a decommissioned ship? Or had the government been footing his bills? Shepard knew now was not the time to be thinking that, and it definitely would not do to ask. "So if not violent murders or the Impera, what's going on?" she asked.
Nihlus' gaze slid to the floor, which was all Shepard needed to know that whatever it was, was probably uncomfortable for him. At the same time, if she was in this room, and it had nothing to do with one of the many issues already outstanding, it meant it had to be something new, and official on top.
"Shepard, this… situation is sensitive twice over."
He was dithering. Just that was enough for Shepard to make what she thought were safe assumptions. "The Council is sending you on something clandestine, and… compromising."
"Not the whole Council," Nihlus replied. "Just Sparatus."
"Oh joy."
Nihlus' mandibles gave a wan little flick of a grin; odds were he knew where her sarcasm had come from. However the expression was gone as quickly as it came. "He got a message from the wife of the viceroy of Taetrus. She is being blackmailed by a group of separatists. Now, you should know that Taetrus is right on the edge of Hierarchy space, and it was one of the last places to surrender during the Unification War. Some Taetrians still do not care for Hierarchy norms, even as they operate within them. Because of that, Taetrian markings are only a step above going barefaced."
"No offense Nihlus, but this seems like an internal matter," Shepard said.
"It ought to be," Nihlus replied. "The Taetrian colonial government would normally come down on the separatists, however, this time the blackmail is personal. Viceroy Pallas is an affluent individual from a very old Taetrian family that has served the Hierarchy for centuries. Being second in command to the primarch of Taetrus, he has access to a lot of sensitive information."
"Information that the separatists want." Shepard said as realization dawned on her. "They don't have the leverage to blackmail the viceroy, but they do have something on his wife, and they think she can get the information." The Viceroy was a big deal in the government, so getting good leverage on him would not be easy. A botched attempt could mean being designated a danger to the government and then hunted down by the military. These fellows decided to go after the wife because they saw her as an easier target to coerce into cooperation. Shepard could only think of one scenario where that could work. The wife would have to be keeping something very important from the husband.
"Camilla Pallas is from another old Taetrian military family. She requested a Spectre's involvement as a favor from Sparatus. She wants that specific group found and eliminated."
That about confirmed it, it was not bizarre for someone from an old, prestigious family to stick some skeletons into a closet and then do about anything to keep them there. Shepard would bet Camilla knew these separatists, which would explain the leverage. "Why you? Does Councilor Sparatus want me in the know here?" Shepard asked.
"Normally… no. However, Camilla asked for me specifically for a reason, and..."
"That reason being?" Shepard asked. It had to be pretty big if Sparatus could not refuse her.
Nihlus looked up, and Shepard noted that his eyes were uncharacteristically bright and intense. There was anger there, but it was not aimed at her, she could tell because he would not actually look her in the eye. There was also hesitation. The way his hands balled into fists on the table also hinted at personal discomfort. Her gut told her that he would have rather avoided this conversation altogether. Why? If Camilla was being blackmailed personally, it made some twisted sense she would seek the aid of a Spectre, as they were outside the Hierarchy's structure and carried a literal license to kill. If that was the reasoning, Camilla was quite the piece of work. Still, why Nihlus? Asking for a specific Spectre meant she trusted no other, and that suggested a previous acquaintance. Had Sparatus told her that Nihlus was mentoring a human now? If this situation was even half as explosive as it seemed, he would have had to mention it. Camilla clearly did not mind. So where was Nihlus' personal discomfort coming from?
"Camilla Pallas is… well… her previous name was Kryik."
Realization slammed Shepard all at once. A familial connection! Of course! Camilla would only trust her family with this.
"She is my… mother." Nihlus finished somberly.
"I-" Shepard found herself momentarily stricken speechless. Then she knew that there was only one course of action for her. "You better not be thinking of going there alone, I won't let you. So, what do you need me to do?" She asked as she sat down on the chair facing him, folded her arms on the desk, and waited.
Nihlus smiled and it was as if the tension drained from him. "Thank you, Shepard."
It took nearly twenty-four hours for Nihlus to arrange everything this trip to Taetrus would require. The worst part was the reactions she got from the crew when she had to tell them that she would be away from the Normandy for any number of days. Nihlus said the trip may take a week, but Shepard was not going to put stock in estimates. Plans rarely worked according to a schedule. The Normandy was to return to Arcturus where it would be refueled while the crew enjoyed the time off. Admiral Hackett had not been pleased when she told him. It was hardly what Shepard would have wanted either, but she had no other options.
Foremost, Taetrus was a Hierarchy colony. The local government was unlikely to clear an Alliance warship to come in, even with a Spectre on board. Nihlus explained it as a political issue. Taetrus was constantly on the verge of declaring secession, or outright rebellion. A number of separatist groups espoused an isolationist, xenophobic ideology. The Hierarchy-aligned local government would not want to run the risk of the sighting of a foreign warship inciting them.
Of course, going in without permission was out of the question. If the Normandy was caught it would lead to an incident, one she would never live down. Beyond just that, they just could not do it. The Normandy' IES systems would never keep the ship hidden totally and long enough. All it would take was one passenger shuttle that just happened to fly by with someone looking out a widow. They would report the clearly-Alliance ship in orbit just as soon as the shuttle touched down. The Normandy could not enter atmosphere and hide in some jungle either. Their entry would be noticeable on ground sensors; it was kind of hard to miss the glowing hot ship-shaped thing plowing through the atmosphere at four to five kilometers per second.
With things like that, and since Nihlus had never replaced the Defiant, he had to ask Sparatus for help with transport arrangements. In the end Shepard found herself in a perfect reversal of positions, the only human onboard a Hierarchy frigate, and barred from the CIC and engineering. The practice of turian Spectres hitching a ride with Hierarchy vessels was common enough that there was a due protocol on the books. A Hierarchy ship having to transport an active Alliance soldier was an entirely different matter, so the frigate's captain had to improvise. Shepard was under no delusion regarding her status. She was allotted a hot bunk with the junior officers, which meant the captain wanted someone to keep an eye on her at all times.
She also had to travel light, with as few identifiers as possible, which meant no Alliance issue fatigues. For the time being she had to make do with simple civilian pants, tee shirts, and athletic shoes. No one would think she was black ops just from looking at that, though it did nothing to conceal her muscle tone, which could identify her as military. All of it was compact-packed into a single large duffel bag while her armor and weapons were in a reinforced mobile locker. Mobile lockers like hers were a luxury item, but well worth the cost, having rubberized wheels and a small eezo core that reduced the apparent mass of it and its contents.
In the end, the Palaven day she spent on board the frigate was an enlightening experience. Her meals for the time being would be nothing more than ration packs, Shepard would not sing their praises for taste, but she had long ago abandoned any notion of fussiness. What mattered was that they fueled her body. She ate her meals seated across from Nihlus, even as he enjoyed a galley-cooked, hot meal befitting a senior officer.
It was also hard to miss the fact that Nihlus proved popular with the females, as at least two tried to flirt with him. Shepard did not pay any of it much heed until later in the evening when she went to her designated bunk room, shared with three junior officers. Her roommates for the time being were very open-minded. The communications officer, who insisted she call him by his first name, Caelus, was chatty, into cinema with the devotion of an artist, and loved talking about his ideas. She had spent an hour talking to him after lunch, and could say that underneath his predatory appearance lay a warm heart. Then there was Victorion, the power systems engineer. He was the quiet, intellectual type, and a voracious reader. His current interest was Earth literature, what he called an expansive, unexplored frontier that would take even his reading speed a while to get through. Shepard ended up in an hour-long animated discussion with him on the finer points of Sun Tzu's Art of War. Victorion was somewhat surprised that humans could go back and forth between the ruthless efficiency that he called typical of his people, and the crafty guile that was all Salarian.
That conversation only ended when Caelus came into the room. The way he butted his forehead against Victorion's was all Shepard needed to see to know that the two were more than merely roommates. Her expression of surprise showed because both asked if something was wrong. Shepard, ever the one to make things awkward, had to explain the source of her surprise. Both deemed human custom weird to forbid such a natural thing. She pressed the point that she had been merely surprised at how open they were about it, not that they offended her somehow.
Mara, the ordnance officer, the third of the junior officers who shared the room, outright laughed when Caelus told her about it later. Then she proceeded to needle Shepard with the suggestion that if she really wanted to experience the turian way of doing things, Caelus and Victorion would be happy to oblige. It took a good thirty seconds for what Mara meant to sink in, and that was the first time in a long while that Shepard was rendered utterly speechless, much to Mara's enjoyment. Caelus told Mara to have more tact when she said such things. Suspiciously he did not bother denying the substance of the female's suggestion.
There had never been a prior instance of Shepard contemplating the merits of a hasty retreat, possibly faking being summoned by Nihlus, as she did at that moment. It was then that she remembered the attention Nihlus had gotten; did she want to bumble out of the frying pan and into the fire if he had actually taken any of the females up on their word? With Caelus and Victorion so openly affectionate, it really did not seem out of the realm of possibility that he would. The only thing left to her was to try and talk out of the situation without going red like a tomato. In the end, Mara had picked up on her discomfort and apologized for putting her on the spot.
Shepard shook the awkwardness off, realizing a moment too late that she should have expected something of the sort from the Hierarchy. A lax attitude about sex was to be expected when they had a lax attitude to everything else. It was not uncommon for turians cut loose on shore leave to be quite the libertines. Mara's suggestion was not even the first time she had been propositioned. There had been that one time, back while she was still in the ICT, when her team had been on furlough on the Citadel. They had all decided to take the evening off, and a soldier on shore leave had basically sidled up to her and started flirting. It was flattering really, but Shepard was simply not interested in casual affairs.
In the end, she also discovered that sleeping in the same room with three turians was hardly easy. Both Caelus and Victorion snored, waking a light sleeper like her often enough. Shepard was not going to be the complaining guest, but she was quite a bit tired when the frigate finally landed at the Vallum spaceport.
Taetrus was an archipelago planet, with lots of island chains of varying sizes, and the biggest was slightly larger than Australia. The planet's climate was such that even the poles were temperate, while the equatorial belt was hotter than the Sahara or Gobi. With relatively few areas that precipitation could not reach, even the hottest areas were humid, and lush with super hardy plants that thrived in the fifty degree average day temperatures with rainy seasons lasting nearly half the planet's orbital year. The oceans teemed with levo-amino life, but creatures on land and in the air were smaller and less evolved. Nevertheless, the Council deemed the planet likely to evolve something sentient, eventually. This designation meant the Hierarchy had to take some care not to destroy the native environment with foreign species.
Vallum, the colonial capital, was situated on that big island. The city was a marvel of engineering, even if it was rather plain in aesthetic terms. Turians did not bother with excess ornamentation or variety for variety's sake. The buildings were all variations on the same rectangle spire with walls of glass all around. The planet's temperature range dictated things would be as lightly-colored as possible, as dark colors would absorb extra heat. The only buildings that could be described as decorated were the civic structures like the Radiatum, the colonial parliament, the Signis, or executive building, the seat of the colony's primarch, and the Laudatix, the ministry of citizenship ranking. Even then they bore simple, austere decorations, limited to flags, banners, and statuary to honor important figures. It was not turian custom to carve decorations into a space just because it happened to look a little bare.
Since they arrived on a military vessel they did not need to go through all the same security checks civilians were subject to. The frigate also docked in a separate terminal, designed for the military. The name of the ship on which they were arriving apparently passed to Camilla, and there was a vehicle and driver waiting for them practically at the terminal door. The first thing that leapt at Shepard was that the driver had the same complex markings as Nihlus, though his were white-silver hue, where Nihlus' were a warmer off-white shade. Other than that he was of an earth-brown coloration, with ochre-colored eyes. The second point that jumped at her was the fact that his right mandible was missing a little piece off the front edge, as if it had been broken -or shot- off in the past.
The hour-long drive took them outside Vallum and into what could be described as the countryside around the city proper. Here nature had not been banished in its entirety, and the houses grew both in size and how much space they occupied. Shepard could only marvel at how fort-like they were, with four meter stone fences, cameras, and robust gates. The house itself was almost never visible from the gate proper.
The Pallas family house was even bigger than that. It could rightly be described as a mansion. The car stopped in front of the gate so that the driver could comm the guards beyond. After a security check, including a scan of the vehicle for what Shepard assumed were bombs under the frame, the large gates finally opened so they could drive in. The driveway wound through expansive grounds decorated with rather beautiful gardens of native plants and trees. The foliage was so thick that they had to clear all of it for the house to become visible. For all the natural beauty, the building was rather plain and ugly, nothing more than a large white shoebox with three levels, a flat roof, and enormous bulletproof glass windows covered up with plain white blinds. Their car turned the last ninety degree bend and stopped in front a flagstone paved walkway that led to a large pair of doors. It was also hard to miss the armed guards strolling along the building's façade.
As Shepard moved to climb out of the car, she noticed that Nihlus had pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses which attached to the zygomatic spokes of his fringe. She was not going to ask, because that would draw undue attention, but it was such an atypical thing that it made her wonder. The driver assured them that their gear would be taken up into the house, so they should proceed inside, as they were expected.
One of the guards opened the door for them as soon as they drew close, "Spectre, Commander. Mistress Pallas is expecting you," he said curtly.
It jumped at Shepard that he used titles; giving no indication that he knew Nihlus was said mistress' son. The curiosity was enough to send her mind into theory mode, trying to fit in all the facts into some sort of image.
Once past the doors, they entered a large foyer, equally devoid of excess decoration, but no expenses had been spared on the materials. The flooring was clearly some sort of super polished, glossy, expensive white stone with just a hint of blue flecking in it. It had to be locally sourced, but it seemed to be analogous to marble or granite. The guard led them to a side room immediately on the right.
"Wait here," he said before turning around and walking off.
Nihlus stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest. Somehow in that moment he looked ready to breeze out at the first sign of something he did not like, which considering how he never mentioned his mother before, combined with the change of her name, and these surroundings, it seemed to hint that there was something considerably less than warm affections between the two.
Shepard chose to focus on her surroundings. The room was opulent, with more of that glossy rock on the floor. The walls were warmly colored a sort of caramel cream color, which balanced out the white flooring. Half-sitting room, half-office, much of the room was dominated by a large sectional sofa that formed a U shape, with the open end facing a heavy-looking desk at the back. Behind the desk, the wall was decorated with three banners. One bore the insignia of the Hierarchy, but the other two Shepard could not recognize. She would guess one had to be the official signet of Taetrus, with the master of the house being the colony's viceroy and all, and the third seemed to be a military sigil, so maybe the master's former legion or unit? Under the banners was a nice simple sideboard table which contained liquor bottles and glasses. On top of this table was a rack that held up a gleaming, rather beautiful curved ornamental sword.
The room's back door opened and a female turian walked in. She had rich mocha-colored plates, with the Taetrian markings, though without the sweeps and middle line that decorated Nihlus' long fringe. She also wore the most opulent clothing Shepard had ever seen on a turian, a beautiful midnight blue tunic outfit with white pants and matching boots. There was an elaborate drape of material around the cowl, and paneling at the front and back which vaguely resembled a skirt. Simple silver-thread geometric embroidery decorated the collar, cuffs, and edging on the tunic and panels.
She stopped in front of the desk and her eyes turned to her son. That was all it took for Shepard to realize why Nihlus chose to wear sunglasses indoors. Her eyes were the exact same shade of new-leaf green, a singularly unique color that Shepard had not seen on any other turian. The female had not told her guards that the guests coming in included her son, and Nihlus clearly did not want anyone making the connection either.
"Welcome to my home, Spectre Kryik. Commander Shepard." She greeted calmly. "Come, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable. I can not imagine the journey from the Citadel on such short notice was pleasant."
Shepard glanced toward Nihlus from the corner of her eye, but he did not move a millimeter.
"The Commander and I received ample rest during our journey, and we are not so soft as to require more. I would like to know the details of this situation you deem important enough to warrant Spectre involvement." Nihlus said, his voice right then could have beat Saren's in terms of iciness.
Camilla's reaction was instantaneous; the cold tone her son affected caused her mandibles to draw up against her chin. This was clearly not the reunion she had been hoping for. "As you wish," she said. "Computer, engage soundproofing protocols."
There was a soft beep from the ceiling to acknowledge that the system recognized the request. Camilla leaned on the desk and sighed. "Taetrus is on the verge of a civil war, Spectre."
"It has always been on the verge of a civil war," Nihlus replied. "I was told you had trouble with a particular group of separatists, a group that you wished to see eliminated."
Shepard watched Camilla's tension mount as her son continued to treat her like she was something less than a perfect stranger. It was hard not to feel bad for her right then. Something truly awful must have happened to make him turn so cold toward his mother.
"Nihlus, it is Nerion and his… friends. You remember Nerion?"
The Spectre remained silent, or perhaps his reply was out of Shepard's auditory range. All she could do was stand and listen, this conversation was not one where she should become involved.
"They were there during this year's Unification Day parade, and they recognized me. Nerion threatened to tell Lucian about my past… unless I gave him some documents Lucian keeps on his terminal. Those are state secrets, and I know what they will be used for. I will not be a traitor to the Hierarchy, nor will I supply Facinus with material with which to justify their cause."
Shepard had to remind herself not to react, not to show a since ounce of the surprise she felt. Her initial suspicions might have been an oracle's vision of the future: vague but still oddly on the nose at the same time.
"That is what this is about? You want me to hunt down father's old friends because they threatened your idyllic life?" Nihlus was angry in an instant.
"Nerion was not your father's friend!" she snapped, voice rising. "Not in the end. I have-"
"I do not want to know!" Nihlus interrupted. "I am not a mercenary you can hire, nor will I do this for you just because you happen to be my mother!"
"Nihlus…"
"No. Everything that I might have owed you became moot the day you got me to board that transport to Palaven. Seventeen years have passed, mother. Seventeen years without a single attempt at contact... and now this?"
Shepard had never heard Nihlus display this much outrage before. Still, the rejection had hit hard. If turians could shed tears, Camilla Pallas would have started to weep right then and there. Shepard could see every ounce of raw anguish in the tremble of her mandibles.
"This is nothing more than your attempt at removing a personal inconvenience, using someone who you think owes you. But you are wrong. I owe you nothing. This was a colossal waste of time, time Shepard and I could have spent investigating matters of galactic importance. We are done here." Nihlus continued.
Shepard could only wonder whether he chose not to see the despair his words caused, or if he actually hated Camilla.
"Come Shep-"
The door swooshed open behind them, and Nihlus went silent in an instant.
"Mother, I… Oh. I am sorry."
Shepard turned and blinked in surprise as she noted the turian youth in the doorway. His plating was the same mocha hue as Camilla's, but his eyes were a rather bright shade of gold. Shepard could not be certain, but while he was not a child, he did not seem to be a full adult either. His fringe had not yet extended to its full adult length and he bore no colonial markings.
"Octavian Pallas, what have I told you about coming into this room when the soundproofing protocols are engaged?" Camilla asked.
"I am sorry." The boy replied, bowing his head. "My tutor is late. I though you might be talking to him. I mean I... well… you know." He mumbled.
Nihlus turned his gaze back on his mother. Shepard thought the sunglasses were the only thing in the way of what must have been a glare. Seventeen years out of contact. That was some period of time, even in this day and age of people routinely living to be one hundred and thirty. Nihlus mentioned a transport to Palaven, so Shepard could guess it was the day he entered boot camp, age fifteen. She could do the math; he was around thirty-two years old, a detail that he never mentioned, which she filed away. Now he discovered he also had a half-brother who was under fifteen years of age. Shepard could suddenly understand his hostility and reluctance to get involved. Nothing about this situation made Camilla look like parent of the year.
"It would seem you have a family emergency to handle. Now if you kindly point us to where we may reclaim our luggage, we will be on our way." Nihlus said, perfectly professional and cool.
"I had guest rooms prepared for you on the second floor," Camilla replied, her voice flat and devoid of flanging. She was consciously suppressing the sub-vocals that would give her away.
Nihlus nodded. "Come, Shepard. We are leaving." With that said he breezed out of the room, past the stunned youth in the doorway. Shepard blinked, wordless and uncertain of what to do. For a long moment she was rooted to the spot, but then she realized she could not stand there, making like a fish, all day. "Excuse me," she muttered and bolted after the retreating Spectre.
Her partner was already halfway to the grand staircase that led upstairs, practically bristling like an angry cat. Shepard had to run to catch up to him a couple steps up.
"Nihlus…"
He paused, one hand on the railing as he looked over his shoulder at her. "I know."
Shepard blinked, surprised again.
"I know what you will say. I can not refuse to do this, but… Shepard…"
Shepard could only come up to stand on the same step beside him. "That's only part of what I would say."
The Spectre held up his hand, "Not on the stairs."
"Right," Shepard replied.
He continued up the steps until they reached the second floor landing. Here the corridor branched to either side, continuing into the house's wings, though the staircase wound around to the third floor. An armed, fully armored guard stood at the base of the steps leading up. It did not take much to figure out that the third floor was off limits to guests.
"Spectre Kryik, Commander Shepard. Mistress Pallas had ordered rooms be made for you in the eastern wing, the last doors on your left. Your gear has been moved there already." The guard said calmly.
"Thank you," Shepard replied, flashing him a smile.
He merely inclined his head in a sort of semi-bowing nod.
Nihlus said nothing as he turned to the left and began to walk, leaving Shepard no other option than follow him at a trot. He stopped between the last doors at the end of the corridor. Both stood open, allowing them to look inside. Shepard recognized her gear locker and duffel at the base of the bed in the room on her left, so she did not need to look to her right to know that would be the room given to Nihlus.
The Spectre did not say another word as he practically stomped toward his things. Shepard followed, idly swiping her hand across the control panel by the frame to close the door.
"Go ahead, speak your piece. It will not change my decision. I will not be Camilla's tool." Nihlus said as soon as the door closed, as if he had been listening for it.
"Really?" She asked. "Why should I say anything if you are going to be bull-headed?"
Nihlus turned right around, "Should I change my mind? Really? Seventeen years, Shepard! Not a single message. Not a single call. She forgot I existed until she needed someone to clean up a mess." The flange in his voice increased, positively rumbling like an approaching storm.
The translator interpreted it by deepening his tone. This close the effect it had on her surprised her, a little quiver of a shudder raced down her spine. Shepard wondered what she would have heard, were her ears capable of hearing his true sub-vocals. Nevertheless, she moved closer. "Nihlus, shouting at me is not going to help."
That seemed to deflate him, his gaze slid to the floor, and he turned away. "You are right. You do not deserve that."
She nodded. "I know it's not me you're mad at. Now… let me say this. First, I admit, this is one ugly mess. You're right to be angry. Yes, what she wants you to do is very personal and self-serving. State secrets… hah. She wants this Nerion dead because he is threatening her. You are the only person she can trust with this. Then… the seventeen years... she's hardly winning parent of the year."
"If you agree with me, why are we even having this conversation?" Nihlus asked as he turned to walk away, approaching the window.
Shepard followed, getting a little closer this time. She thought that since his voice lost the undertone of bristling anger, she might be making some progress. "Because, Nihlus. I do not think you want to reject her."
"How can you say that?" He demanded. "I have every reason to reject her!"
"Every personal reason, yes. Still, you know that despite it all, there is a genuine issue here as well. This Nerion does want state secrets, the blackmail is real." She paused there. How did one say what she wanted to say with any sort of tact? "I realize she… hurt you. Deeply. But I also know that underneath that pain, your sense of duty is telling you something entirely different. You know that leaving is not the right thing to do." Shepard whispered.
Nihlus clenched both fists, and Shepard knew she had touched the truth.
"I think that your hurt heart is telling you to leave." She continued, looking out the window at the sprawling back gardens beyond. "But your mind… Nihlus… what starts as blackmail rarely stays at blackmail. Were it just her… she has guards, and this place is a fortress!"
"Why should you be surprised at that? This is the official residence of the viceroy after all." Nihlus mumbled.
"Yea, alright…" she turned back to him, "But that's not the point. The point is that… it's not just her, is it? It's Octavian too. What if they go after him to hurt her? I do not think you want an innocent getting hurt because of this. Whatever your feelings are for your mother… Octavian is… he might be caught up in a mess that he knows nothing about."
Nihlus sighed, "Shepard, you are too reasonable for your own good. Sometimes I hate how clearly you see every situation… other times…"
"That's a new way to look at it. Well, if clarity is what you want, clarity is what you'll get. Though, truthfully I just do not understand why Camilla did not go through the official channels. You said she was from a rather affluent family, and suffice to say she's hardly naïve. She could make Nerion sound like the world's biggest liar in front of her kin and Lucian alike. A lying rebel trying to blackmail the wife of a politician? She would be the victim."
"They have blackmail of the sort she really would not want getting out. It is as you say, if she told Lucian the truth, nothing would happen. Her family knows the truth. Still, that would mean Lucian knew the truth too."
"But what could be so bad that she would go to these lengths to cover it up?" Shepard wondered.
"Me and my father."
Shepard opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"Shepard, she does not want Lucian to know that before she became the mother of his child, she had a bondmate, and another child. She is ashamed of both me and my father."
"Really?" Shepard asked.
"Camilla Aurelia, third daughter of Ignis Aurelia… ran off with a barefaced ideologue and mercenary. My grandfather, the general, would have never accepted someone who openly criticized the Hierarchy he served so proudly."
"She told you that?" Shepard asked.
"No. She never talked about her family. I had to look up my ancestry myself."
Shepard sighed; this was messed up beyond all reasonable limits. Hearing Nihlus talk about his family in these terms, it was hard to miss the fact that he felt rejected, cast aside, and unwanted. Nihlus indeed had every reason to want to storm out of this place and forget any of this had ever happened. Yet he also knew it would be the wrong to storm out. Sparatus would probably have his head afterwards, but Shepard thought there was something else as well, something more important, more personal. Deep inside his big, hurt heart, there seemed to be a small candle of hope, still burning, still holding out for reconciliation with his mother, despite everything that had happened.
Shepard placed a hand on his upper arm, drawing his attention. "Nihlus, it is not my place to say this, after all I'm just here to take orders, but I understand." She could feel his gaze on her despite the sunglasses. To her surprise he leaned down a little, Shepard felt her heart jolt into her throat.
"Thank you, Shepard. For someone who is just here to take orders," he chuckled wanly, his voice rumbling so close to her that she could feel the warm wash of his exhale. "You are the only thing keeping me from making everything worse." He whispered. "Were it not for your level head, I would have stormed out and… who knows what would have happened."
She nodded, it was the only thing she could do right now. Her heart was suddenly lodged in her throat and beating like a jackhammer. The moment passed and he sighed. But the jackhammer shifted gears to pound even faster. What the heck was wrong with her? Here he was spilling his guts, and she was reacting to the sound of his voice like this? She could not help but be aghast with herself.
He chose to move her hand off his arm, "I think I would have regretted it before we even returned to the Citadel." He admitted as he finally stepped away. His warm fingers lingered around hers for a moment too long.
Shepard thought it was merely so that he would not look like he tossed her hand off. She drew a breath she did not realize she had not taken in a while. Why was his proximity affecting her like this, right now? What was wrong with her? She had to mentally shift tracks; there would be another time to ponder her sudden stupidity. She had to focus on the situation. She had to help Nihlus, and not worry about something as trite as a trick of her mind. It had to be a temporary shorting of some errant synapses.
She now had the ultimate proof that Nihlus was dithering between his pride and whatever feelings he had buried deep within him for seventeen years. To be sure, she knew something of his pride. He was the turian who snapped at Garrus for even hinting that he might be a traitor of any sort. He carried himself aloofly, and always asserted some form of hierarchical dominance over Garrus. Yet now, she was seeing a softer, vulnerable, emotional side of him. The difference was stark. It made her wonder, was his pride nothing more than just a defensive mechanism to keep people at arm's reach? Was Nihlus so wary of further hurt that he would act like a colossal git just protect his heart?
Shepard could not help but become a little indignant at the thought. She did not enjoy seeing her friends hurt, physically or emotionally. When it happened, her first reaction was to spring to their defense, and so she was a little bit angry with Camilla as well. Still, Shepard was not about to let that sort of anger dominate her reasoning.
It was a simple fact of life that situations rarely could be encompassed by a single point of view. There had to be another side to the story, Camilla's side. Nihlus was likely still too angry to face Camilla again, professionally, but he now was less likely to walk. So that meant they needed the details. Camilla had to know where they could find the ones blackmailing her. She would not have approached Sparatus and asked for a Spectre without having the information. Shepard was not willing to believe she was something other than a shrewd, cunning female. So with Nihlus still cooling down, this sort of administrative task had to be handled by her. "Should I go and find out what Camilla knows about the whereabouts of our target?" She chose to sound professional, detached, the image of a Spectre in training.
"Please."
Shepard nodded and turned on her heel. He sounded positively despondent right then. The anger was definitely gone, leaving behind a sort of hollow resignation. It was a feeling she was familiar with. It came after each time she had gone off the rails in anger. Nihlus would bounce back, she knew that much. For now though, she needed to handle the moving of small stones, before they could get on with moving the mountain.
As it turned out, tracking down the mistress of the house was no easy feat. After checking the meeting room, Shepard was directed by one of the armed guards to try the back garden. The entrance to which lay through a set of bullet and likely grenade-proof transparent doors. Throughout it all she could not help but take stock of the strong security measures to be seen everywhere, if one had a trained eye. The floor-plan eliminated as much open space as possible, and that meant heavy doors everywhere. These could be locked at a single command and would slow any invaders for at least a while. There were also armed guards on both sides of every doorway that led outside.
The rest of the security measures were very cleverly laid out to be as unnoticeable as possible. There were blinking motion detectors tucked in the vents. She thought she might have even seen a wire laid into the grout between the floor's individual panels. It had pointed at a banner on the wall, and Shepard suspected that there was some unpleasant surprise behind said banner. She would not put it past turians to install turrets in the walls. The house was indeed an official residence. She idly wondered just how much more extreme the security at the official residence of the primarch would be.
The back garden was as densely planted as the front grounds. Trees eliminated lines of sight for snipers, as well as any chance of air-dropping infantry from shuttles. There was no pool, but the small building peeking from the trees on her right had fenced-in lanes attached. It took Shepard a moment to realize that instead of a pool, the house had a shooting range. The grounds of the house were certainly expansive enough to house a rather long range.
Before Shepard could really get a good feel for the place, she spotted the mistress of the house walking the paths meandering in the midst of the flower garden planted immediately at the end of the rear deck. The guard standing at the door did not stop her, but she was acutely aware that he was watching her. Nevertheless, Shepard proceeded down the steps leading from the deck.
The garden was absolutely suffused with all manner of plants, but Shepard could see a whole different aesthetic governing how it was laid out. There was a noticeable absence of what she would call 'natural' setting. The plants grew in perfect manicured lines, divided by color, and likely origin. The hedges looked like they had been cut with the aid of a level. It was definitely a place that said there were resources allocated to its maintenance, and it had a certain beauty to it, but it lacked a natural feel. A professional team of landscapers could have probably re-arranged things to be absolutely breathtaking, without adding or taking away a single thing. Shepard wrote it off as a turian aesthetic, orderliness was more important to them than the romantic elements.
"Commander," Camilla greeted as she kneeled to inspect the bottom branches of a shrub that bore rather beautiful, pitcher-shaped purple flowers.
"I'm sorry to interrupt." It hardly seemed appropriate to just go into the topic. All in all, she might have overstated her capacity to do this.
"I take your continued presence to be a sign that the Spectre has reconsidered his initial opinion on the matter?" Camilla asked as she rotated first one branch, then another, inspecting the underside of the shrub's leaves for something.
"He has." If the woman wanted to be coldly professional, Shepard could do coldly professional.
Camilla sighed, "Commander, there is no need to excess formality between us. I suspect I have you to thank for things. He has always been… strong-willed."
Shepard was surprised; the cold professionalism certainly did not last long. Then again, she could understand why it could not last long. Camilla needed allies if she was to get what she wanted from her son. "Strong-willed or proud?"
Camilla chuckled as she reached for the pruning shears in the toolbox next to her, "Oh. Truthfully could be both, as those are Kryik family traits." She said, casually snipping off a few discolored leaves. "Nihlus takes much from his father. The plate colors, the fringe… only his eyes are his mother's."
Shepard could not help but note the way the woman avoided saying anything that to outsider ears would reveal that she was at all related to the Spectre. Gardening right now was an act too, a mask of perfect civility. Everyone was meant to look at her and see that she had no personal interest in any of the events happening. Was Nihlus right; was she that ashamed of him? The fact that she seemed to open with this topic said otherwise. Shepard did not know what to make of any of it, but some part of her wanted to press for whatever she could get, just to see how far it would take her. "He must have been a great man," she whispered, intentionally baiting to see what the reaction would be.
"He was." Camilla sighed wistfully.
Shepard was stunned, the aloof mistress façade crumbled like a house of cards.
"You must think the worst of me. I am perfectly aware of how this must appear to an outsider… the uncaring parent who remembers their child only when they need something from them. You have to understand, Commander, I made decisions I am not proud of, decisions I had to make."
If Camilla wanted absolution, Shepard was not the person she ought to have been talking to. At the same time, she knew that Nihlus would not listen until he was ready to listen.
"Octavian Kryik was born on Taetrus, but his family had abandoned the Hierarchy with the fist waves of Taetrian unrest. You should have seen him. He was unusually tall, even for one of my species… well, you have seen his son." She chuckled. "We chanced to be at the same bar, and my friend was late, so I decided a conversation could not hurt. Much later, after my next tour of duty, I found out that he started frequenting the bar, asking the bartender about me."
Shepard listened without saying a word, though she squirreled away the important bits. Octavian Kryik. That could not be a coincidence; Camilla had named her second son after the spouse she had lost. Was it just a sentiment, or was there more to it? Either way, it was a rather compromising thing to do. Camilla clearly intended to keep that tidbit from Lucian at all costs. More than that, the revelation said something about this second marriage; it did not seem to involve genuine deep love. More than that, Shepard thought she understood why Camilla insisted on Nihlus becoming involved. If this Nerion knew Octavian Kryik, it made sense why Camilla would want to keep the situation in the family. The fact that Nihlus had become a Spectre; well that was just a happy bonus.
"I thought my parents would never approve, so I made the only true mistake of my life. I allowed Octavian to convince me to leave with him." She paused to move to another plant, but Shepard could see the tremble in her hands. "I should have… told my father the truth. He would have understood. Eventually he might have even helped."
Shepard would reserve judgment, right then the facts still squared on both sides. The only difference between mother and son was perception.
"Nihlus was born on a small outpost in this sector. It was frequented by mercenaries, but its main purpose was mining the planet it orbits. It was not an ideal life, but it was ours, and we had not sunk so low as to go to Omega. Have you been to Omega, Commander?"
"I have." Shepard replied.
"Then you know." Camilla picked up the shears again and continued to trim off discolored leaves. "We got by for sixteen years, until the fateful night. Octavian got into an argument at work… I was at the end of my shift when I got the call. The medic… oh spirits. The medic told me right on the comm, that his injuries were severe and he did not think Octavian would pull through."
"I'm sorry," Shepard whispered.
Camilla's hands tightened on the shears, "It was Nerion. Had to be. They were on the same shift, and they argued a lot. You see, they never quite agreed on the direction Taetrus should take. Octavian always believed that the Hierarchy could change… that individuals within its structure could lead to even the most unlikely of changes, gradually, as had been our way for centuries. Nerion was simply unwilling to wait any longer. He was a radical, a separatist, even then. That night, I think he let that hopper dump the raw ore on Octavian. Out of anger and spite."
Now this Nerion was pushing Camilla to compromise the Hierarchy. The story fit together quite well. Camilla seemed genuine, but there was still the question of why had she lost contact with her son for seventeen years. It seemed like the last time they had seen each other was when Nihlus had departed for boot camp, at sixteen? That number jumped at her. Was he actually sixteen when he entered the Hierarchy military? If he was, then he would have been a year older than every other youth there, and he might have grown up not expecting to enter the military at all. The change could not have been easy on him, which might explain some of the bitterness. Shepard wanted to ask, to make sure she understood correctly, but at the same time, she knew it had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with her own curiosity. Nihlus might not want her to know, he might not want anyone to know. The right thing to do was to wait for a chance to ask him personally.
"You are probably wondering what happened next, no?" Camilla asked.
"A little, yes, but… if you do not wish to talk about it, then…" Shepard trailed off.
Camilla set the shears back in the toolbox and rose to her full height. "I think you need to know," she said as she turned around. "Maybe… maybe you can be of some influence on Nihlus. I… did not wish for this rift between us, but I did what I had to do." She motioned for Shepard to follow as she moved toward the nearest stone bench.
Shepard followed and perched on it, right next to Camilla. The stone felt warm, still radiating the heat of the sun, even as Mactare moved westward toward setting, and its light began to shift to the violets of twilight.
"After Octavian died… I became aware of just how alike my son was to his father. Nerion came by after the funeral, and Nihlus took offense to his tone. I barely kept a fight from happening then and there. But from that moment I began to fear for Nihlus' life. I was afraid he would cross the wrong person, but more than that, I was afraid that he would join the mercenaries. That is not a future I wanted for my son. I… contacted my father. He arranged for Nihlus to train on Palaven, even if he started a year late. A family physician forged a record of a childhood illness, just enough to explain the year of difference. Nihlus got the right to wear the markings of Taetrus, but I had to order him on that transport. He has never forgiven me."
The details squared, and Shepard could even see why Camilla thought she had done the right thing. There were few other options left to her. What more, Shepard could easily see Nihlus being unhappy with the arrangement, after all it sounded like everything had been arranged without his input. What sort of willful young adult took that sitting down? Nihlus was still prone to pride and impulsivity sometimes. He still scoffed at protocol, poking fun at it every time he could, especially its biggest embodiment on the Normandy, Garrus.
None of it explained why Camilla let seventeen years pass, but then Shepard idly wondered if there was more to that deal with Camilla's father that set Nihlus on the path to becoming who he was. Maybe Nihlus was wrong about some of the details, but there was one assumption he made that could still be accurate. Camilla's proud general father might have been less than eager to welcome back a daughter who had run off with a separatist, no matter how moderate he had been. Politicians went out of their way to conceal the misdemeanors of their children. Shepard knew better than to ask, it was really one more thing that Nihlus ought to ask his mother. "Thank you for telling me all of this… but much of this… Nihlus needs to hear it from you. Not me."
"I would love to tell him, but he can be as stubborn as a krogan!"
Shepard laughed, "As someone who has worked with him and a krogan… that's… a very astute comparison." Of course she would not want Wrex hearing it. He might become offended if someone compared a turian to him. Wrex did have his moments of arrogance. Shepard idly wondered what her crew must be up to, right about now, including Wrex. Somehow she doubted unleashing him on Arcturus was a good idea.
"I am glad Nihlus has a friend in you, Commander. I can tell you care for him, enough to find me, and enough to listen."
"Nihlus is my friend; I'd do anything for my friends." Shepard replied.
"I can see that," Camilla smiled.
"Truthfully though, this was not exactly the first thing I wanted." Not entirely a lie. "Nihlus sent me here to do the… ugh… recon. He wants to know more about the situation."
"Oh. Of course. What do you wish to know, Commander?"
"I assume that you contacted Councilor Sparatus only after some preliminary investigation." Shepard ventured.
"Of a sort. Unfortunately my ability to pursue matters without raising concerns is limited."
"Well, limited though it may be, whatever you have will be a starting point. Nihlus and I would not want to start at the very beginning when we could simply run the leads you were unable to."
"Yes. You are right. Please follow me; I will give you what I have." Camilla said as she got up from her seat.
"Alright," Shepard replied.
Half an hour later Shepard found Nihlus still in his room on the second floor. She was encouraged by the fact that his armor case had been moved and set upright in the corner, where he could access its contents quickly and efficiently. She had yet to move hers, but now was not the time to be settling in, not with what she had on hand.
"So… enjoyed your conversation with her?" Nihlus asked, bitterness still dripping off his voice.
Shepard rolled her eyes, "You were watching from the window, weren't you?"
"I may have been." He replied, as if he did not care either way.
Shepard hummed, "May have been… good heavens Nihlus, I feel like the maid in some stupid soap opera." She really, really wanted to tell him to grow up right then and there. "However," and she did not bother to conceal her amusement. "I suppose there are fringe benefits. The house help usually knew all the juicy details after all. Oh the things I've learned, all those interesting things, and not just about the job."
"I want what you have on the job, not Camilla's lies." Nihlus said as he moved to the table at the side of the room where had set up his terminal.
"I personally think the details fit." Shepard continued. He needed to hear the truth, and she would dish it. "She told me about your childhood, about the outpost, and how your father died. More than that, she suspects Nerion had a hand in your father's death. The same Nerion who is now blackmailing her for the deployment schedules for the Taetrian armed forces. This dirtbag wants to know where each and every Hierarchy military unit is stationed. That alone should worry us."
"That pile of…" Nihlus hissed.
"Nihlus, I think the situation is quite a bit more than mere grumbling and discontent. Camilla thinks Nerion works for a group called Facinus. By what I got, they're not exactly happy with the Hierarchy status quo, and they're on the verge of turning violent. There's a likelihood of an actual insurrection brewing."
Nihlus straighten and turned around, "Facinus. Why am I not surprised?"
"Who are they?" Shepard asked.
The Spectre hummed. "If I was to put it into neutral terms... You could call them a movement of sorts. Ask any one of their most devout members and they will say they are patriots. Facinus is more of a way of looking at things, based on an alternate interpretation of history."
"And in less neutral terms?" Shepard wondered.
"They have a lot in common with your Cerberus."
"Turian supremacists?"
"Yes. The Facinus creed emphasizes a unique interpretation of certain key events that define the Hierarchy's role in galactic politics. The very first thing they would argue is that the Hierarchy became a victim to outsider influence from the moment we made contact with the Citadel and the Council, then only Asari and Salarian. Think back, during the Krogan Rebellion, they pushed our forces all the way back to Trebia before the Salarians created the genophage. Facinus sees that as the first time our people were used because someone else did not want to fight on their own and sacrifice their people. Facinus blames the Hierarchy for willingly becoming a tool for the Council. The seat became a consolation prize, paid for in a lot of blood."
"They have a leg to stand on." Shepard said. She could readily see how that interpretation could have come about. It might very well be one part true. That was how realpolitik tended to work. "That could be argued, yes."
"It gets better from there. Facinus also view the Hierarchy's involvement in protecting Council space as the Council continuing to use us as they see fit. They forget it was the Hierarchy's idea to come into the Krogan Rebellions in the first place, as was taking up the enforcement duty within Council space and founding Citadel Security. We also have the most Spectres in the corps."
"Well… again, there's room to argue."
Nihlus grinned, "And naturally they have a rather low opinion of what happened after the Relay Three-One-Four Incident. They see the armistice agreement with the Alliance as an insult. Turian blood was shed to enforce Council law, and once again we got the worst of it, because the Asari and Salarians are supposedly terrified of the Alliance. Facinus view the Alliance's rapid advancement and recognition as warning signs of their true ambition."
"Do they think we are planning to create a pan-galactic empire or something?" Shepard asked.
"That would be their nightmare, yes. Still, I hope you see that what all that amounts to. They preach that the Hierarchy have become willing servants to outsiders. Naturally those who continue to serve are traitors to their own people. Facinus want the Hierarchy to stop cleaning up the Council's messes while shedding turian blood in the process. They are a bunch of xenophobic, lazy, undisciplined, selfish, worthless mongrels that call themselves patriots."
Shepard nodded. Those were strong words from someone who routinely scoffed at all manner of regulations and rules. Still, she supposed that even as bad as Nihlus was, he still carried out his duties. He just bent the rules more than others. She was not the one to throw stones, as she lived in a glass house herself.
"If Nerion does work for Facinus, we stop him. Here and now. You and I." Nihlus added.
"Works for me," Shepard replied. "Though… I hope you know we can't bring down the whole organization ourselves. The best we can do is to eliminate Nerion and his immediate cohorts, those who know about Camilla, you, and your father. If we can keep them from getting those deployment schedules maybe we can foul up the timing of whatever it is they are planning. After that, it will be up to the local government to handle the rest."
"That goes without saying, Shepard."
"Hah. Just making sure you realize I'm looking at this realistically."
"You always are. That is part of the reason we work well together."
"Flattery will get you nowhere." Shepard replied in good humor. "Now we need to start on this thing, and Camilla put us on a lead." She flashed the OSD that Camilla gave her.
Author Notes: This plot line is based on bits and pieces of Nihlus' bio, which was shockingly detailed given how little screen-time he actually got. To spice things up, and anchor everything (including his obvious emotional issues) I mixed family drama with political drama and my (should be obvious by now) love of setting variety. I do hope you enjoyed this one.
General Notes:
On Settings – It is a fact universally acknowledged that a lot of the loyalty missions in ME2 had "family drama" front and center, so I decided to carry that theme through, with a twist. Taetrus is a canon place, with a story; it was mentioned in the Cerberus Daily News lore blurbs that were published circa 2010. Nihlus' connection to the colony is entirely invented though, as are the names of his family, natural and extended.
Facinus – They are also canon, from the same CDN story blurbs. I merely pulled together disparate bits and pieces into a single whole. I saw this parallel between Facinus and Cerberus, and decided to run with it. After that, it was just a matter of getting into that thinking, and figuring out what would motivate them. The political angle mentioned in this episode is the product of that.
Chapter Notes:
None this time…