Disclaimer: I do no own Mass Effect, I do not claim to own Mass Effect, I am only doing this for fun.
Author Notes: Here is the long-awaited (maybe?) finale of the Taetrus arc!
Episode 33: Taetrian Nights [Part III]
With Nihlus…
Nihlus would never forget the sound of that biotic whomp, the sickening crack as Shepard hit the wall, her whimper, and the tinkling of the shards of her shattered face-shield. In that singular moment his heart lurched. This could not be happening, everything was going wrong, and it was all because of his mother's selfishness. He was perfectly happy without her back in his life, and now that she was, he stood to lose even more.
Why did Shepard not take his warning and get clear? She was the best sniper he had ever seen; there would have been nothing Iulus could do if she got him at range. Why did she have to be so faithfully noble yet krogan-stubborn all in one? Her utter fearlessness was commendable, and her selflessness was admirable, but if she died here, he would never forgive himself. And as the spirits were his witness, he would never forgive Camilla.
Nihlus forced himself to breathe, even as the pain in his abdomen made every inhale near excruciating. He had to keep his head; this was not the time to become confused. Shepard had not moved since hitting the floor, and now the alarms were blaring. The cabalist had punched him with his field up. His armor's stomach ceramics were gone, shattered in a hundred pieces on the floor at his feet, and judging by the pain, he was pretty sure he was bleeding internally.
Iulus was kneeling on the ground; the shotgun blast had grazed his hip and thigh. The sadist was bleeding, but he was still alive. His sub-vocals were resonating with a promise of a slow and painful death, but he would not be able to move as freely. Nihlus knew he would have to get closer and put the next shot into the mongrel's head. Nerion was behind him, barking orders into his comm, and there was a note of anxiety creeping into his sub-vocals. Whatever that explosion had been, it was no accident. The alarms meant something serious had gone wrong.
Nihlus took another deep breath, ignoring the pain shooting through his stomach. What could he do? He had been in his share of bad scrapes before. He had outrun a Justicar once. He could do this. He only needed a moment to think. Right now, the first thing to do was to ensure Shepard's safety. If Nerion wanted to run off into whatever hole he came from, let him. Shepard was more important. To do that, he would first have to finish off Iulus. Nihlus tightened his grip on his shotgun.
"Damn it all to the pits. Iulus, are you able to stand?" Nerion demanded suddenly. "Camilla decided that her little secret is no longer worth keeping. That was an infantry carrier taking down the receiving bay door."
"The army," Iulus growled.
"Worse. The carrier bears the sigil of the Taetrian Third. Pallas called in Ignatia Aurelia."
Nihlus froze, he knew that name. Camilla's eldest sister. The Taertian Third was one of the oldest and most prestigious legions. Given the situation his aunt could, and probably would order her troops to kill every rebel there.
Suddenly there was a second thunderous blast from somewhere in the factory's east side, followed by the eruption of at least six individual assault rifles and shouting.
"You are one lucky whelp," Nerion jeered. "Your mother decided she likes you after all."
"Go die," Nihlus growled back.
Nerion drew his pistol, "Oh. Without a doubt your aunt will ensure that. But Camilla will still be getting you in a casket," he said, and pulled the trigger.
Back to Shepard…
Shepard's eyes snapped open at the loud pistol shot so close by. She could taste her blood in her mouth, but her helmet was still closed, so she could not spit it out. She was lying on the floor on her front, hands extended awkwardly down the length of her body. Her visor was in a thousand pieces, with just little slivers clinging to the frame. The turn of her head allowed her a limited line of sight across the floor.
Iulus was kneeling very near her. She could see blood seeping from underneath the armor on his hip and thigh on one side.
"What a tenacious individual you are, whelp." Nerion said.
"Go… die…" Nihlus replied.
The weakness of his voice jumped at Shepard. He seemed barely able to utter a word.
"Soon, but after you." Nerion replied.
There was a thud, something cracked, and Nihlus groaned.
That singular sound sliced through her mental fog. Nihlus was hurt! Nerion was doing something… the shot… no! She raised her head a few centimeters, fighting the nausea, haze, and the fact that her vision dimmed with even that.
She saw Nihlus on the ground, curled up, and there was a gathering pool of blue under him. Nerion stood over him, pistol in his hand. Shepard knew she had to act.
"Armor system… La-" she began, only to choke as liquid bloomed up from her lungs. She coughed, and more metal filled her mouth. The suit beeped, as despite having no visor the system was still functional and waiting for commands. She only needed to say the words. "Last Chance cache... total release!"
She saw Iulus turn, even as her armor beeped and Shepard felt the needle from the medical module at her back bite through her undersuit's weave and into her back. A second later she felt the burning sensation of the drug cocktail hit her system. It was a destructive mix of old-fashioned narcotic pain-killers and modern stimulants, designed to give an injured soldier one final burst, live or die. Her heart kicked into full tilt as the pain seemed to fade all at once. Freed from the agony searing her ribs and back, Shepard only knew two things: Nihlus was hurt, and Iulus was in her way.
Iulus reached for his weapon, but with adrenaline in her system, he might as well have been moving in slow motion. Shepard had a hand under her and rose to her knees even as her left hand went for her knife. "You..."
Iulus fired, and her still-functional shield flared.
Shepard did not let him get in a second shot. She pounced on him like a tigress on her prey and brought up her knife, burying it hilt-deep in his gut. Iulus shouted as momentum sent him sprawling backward.
"Iulus!" Nerion shouted.
Shepard landed on top, driving the blade in deeper even as the pain in her ribs flared, momentarily blinding, but she rose to her knees and twisted the handle. Iulus shouted again as he grabbed for the knife. Shepard ripped it free, pulling it back and overhead. His blood rose from the wound like an artesian spring. Her clavicle flared in agony, but she was beyond giving a damn. "Die!" She hissed as she plunged it in again, higher this time. His eyes widened with shock for all of a second before they went glossy in the most final of ways.
The sadistic monster was dead, but there was one last piece of worthless trash that required disposal. "Nerion!" she hissed as she looked up into his eyes even as she rose to her feet. She would wash the floor with his blood and hang his corpse off the pipes by his intestines.
Nerion took a half step back.
Shepard smiled.
"Shepard…" Nihlus called.
She advanced on Nerion one slow step at a time. He raised his gun and fired, her shield flared again. Shepard stepped forward. A few pistol bullets would not stop her. Nerion fired again, her shield flared and collapsed.
The Last Chance's stimulants were still working. She could see his every movement as if it was a slow motion film. Nerion was right-handed, she saw his finger begin to squeeze the trigger, and her body moved on its own. One more step with her right leg brought her right in front of him, and moved her left side out of the trajectory. He would not hit her in the heart from this angle, and he was aiming much too low for a head-shot. Everything else she could handle.
His pistol fired, her shoulder guard shattered, but she was too close, and his panic threw off his coordination. Shepard brought Dex up like a cowboy drawing at high noon, aiming between his eyes, and pulled the trigger.
Nerion's eyes widened the instant before death. His body folded and crumpled to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. Shepard holstered Dex calmly. It was done. Somehow that amused her enough that she could not help but chuckle, only to regret it instantly as her ribs flared in pain. She winced, which only caused a second burst of pain. How many of her ribs were fractured? Did she even have a single one that was whole?
"Shepard…" a voice moaned.
The thrill of victory left her like water rushing out through a burst dam. Shepard turned around and saw Nihlus; he was still sprawled out on the floor, one hand pressed to his abdomen. There was an enormous patch of Medi-gel under his fingers, his suit had deployed everything it had to try and contain the bleeding from the bullet wound. She was kneeling at his side in an instant, "Nihlus…"
"You were…" he coughed. "Spirits… he panicked. You showed him the true meaning of terror right before he died."
"What are you saying?" Shepard asked. "Do you have enough Medi-gel?"
He groaned.
Shepard reached up to the sides of his helmet, groping around for the seals with clumsy fingers. She found and undid them, but how to pull the helmet off? Did she want to risk wrenching off a mandible or his fringe? Nihlus' fringe was long, and so perfectly symmetrical that it might just be a crime to damage it. She did not want to cause him more pain. "Medi-gel, Nihlus. Do you have enough."
"Yes… bleeding… stopped. On the outside." He rumbled. "I cannot move. Can you?"
Shepard knew the Last Chance would fade soon. Once the stimulants wore off she would be in agony. "Not for long… this Last Chance is… appropriately named."
"Did you hear Nerion? The viceroy is here. My…" he groaned in pain, "My… aunt… is here too. You are not… Shepard, stay with me."
The warmth in his rumbling purr caused a little shiver to run down her spine. Her fogged mind seemed to soar at those words. Her fingers brushed against the cheek panels of his helmet, how much she would have loved to remove that damn thing, to see his eyes. "Where would I go?"
He pushed himself up on one arm with a painful groan. "Good." He rumbled as he laid his helmet's forehead guard against hers.
Shepard's heart hammered with renewed ferocity as she closed her eyes. She did not want to move from that position. Somehow this moment, this contact between them, even separated by helmets, felt… right. Contact calmed her. Nihlus could not possibly be fatally hurt if he could muster the effort for this. She would let him have this.
Suddenly there were multiple sets of thundering footsteps all around them. Shepard heard multiple rifle sling rings and even a weapon cock or two.
"Hold fire!" A female voice shouted over it all.
Nihlus pulled back and looked to his right.
"Spectre Kryik? Commander Shepard?" the female asked.
Shepard let her hands drop to the floor. The Last Chance had to be starting to fade, the pain in her ribs was slowly increasing and breathing was becoming an effort. Had one of her ribs stabbed into her lung? Had she ignored something serious?
"She needs help." Nihlus pleaded.
"You idiot," Shepard protested, "You're worse."
"I want medics here immediately!" the female turian barked addressing her troops.
"Right away!" a male voice replied. Shepard heard running footsteps moving away from them.
"You need not worry, Commander." The female went on. "You will both be fine. Our hospitals carry medical supplies for our injured levo allies."
Shepard could not muster the energy to move, or reply right then.
"Octavian?" Nihlus asked.
"He is safe." The female replied. "He has frostbite on his hands and feet, but he will be fine. Lucian is with him now." The female said as she moved very close to them.
Shepard turned her head. The female remained on her feet, but the warmth in her tone was so clear that even a human could hear it. She was of the same mocha coloration as Camilla, with blue eyes, and stark white markings. Her black hardsuit was plain, but wrapped around her shoulders and cowl was a dark blue cloth, the drape pinned to the armor's cowl on two sides. Over her right shoulder hung, suspended from the wrap by little braided ropes, a small flag with a military sigil. Shepard could easily see the resemblance between Camilla and this female.
Hours later, with Nihlus…
The three of them were taken to the Vallum military hospital. Nihlus could remember only snippets of the intervening hours, as he spent some of them anesthetized while the surgeons pulled the bullet from his intestines. After that he woke up in a closely monitored room allotted to the three of them.
Right then Octavian was sleeping off his ordeal in the bed to his left. His hands and feet were bound up in smart bandages so thick his fingers and toes looked three times thicker than they ought to have been. He lost one claw on his left hand, and all four toe claws, but all of them would re-grow in time. The doctors said he would not lose any fingers or toes, but he would require rehabilitation therapy. Shepard had been right, his little brother was resourceful, he managed to buy himself time. All in all he got away with relatively minor injuries that ought not to hamper his future prospects. If anything, Octavian would become even keener in upholding the mores of the Hierarchy.
Shepard herself was in the bed on his right, deeply sedated and pumped full of regeneration stimulants and stabilizers. Despite his gunshot wound, she got the worst of the injuries in sheer trauma. Two broken ribs, three cracked ones, a hairline crack in a clavicle, some internal bleeding from one of her broken ribs gouging a lung, and a concussion. All in all, she had been lucky that the broken ribs had only snapped when she had hit the floor, not when that traitor's biotic shockwave had slammed her into the wall. The doctor said that had it been otherwise, she might have actually got a broken rib through her lung, leading to a collapse and much worse internal bleeding. She would not have gotten up; even with the extremely strong mix of narcotic painkillers her suit had pumped into her.
The doctor compared her to a Krogan, and Nihlus could not think of a more apt comparison. What he saw her do to Iulus had been as close to blood-rage as a non-krogan could get. Gone were the control, exacting precision, and the asari-like grace. She went after the cabalist like a feral beast. It was something he earnestly hoped never to see again. Nihlus knew why she had done it, but he also knew she should never have to, not for him, or anyone else, ever again.
The door opened, and in walked his aunt Ignatia. She was still in her hardsuit, with the colors of her legion on her shoulders. As the door shut behind her, their gaze met.
"General Aurelia," Nihlus greeted, "To what do I owe the honor?" He would not assume she was here to see him.
The female spared him a bland look, even as her sub-vocals hummed amusement. "Camilla told me you act as if we are strangers."
"In many ways, you are." Nihlus replied. He had never met his aunt in person before. His information on her was limited to the official sources he read when he had looked into his family line, thirteen years ago. Ignatia had clearly been promoted a few times since then, as he remembered her being merely the commander of a garrison, not a whole legion. Clearly she pushed ahead with the expected Aurelia zeal. Was his maternal grandfather still leading the Taetrian First?
"Perhaps." Ignatia replied, "However that is not why I am here. I wanted to let you know that the viceroy has authorized me to detain the rest of the factory's employees for interrogation. We will find every single last loyalist that barefaced mongrel had, and they will be brought to justice."
Nihlus hummed and nodded his head, "They deserve the firing squad."
"Due process will be observed." Ignatia replied calmly.
"Good." Nihlus said. He knew what 'due process' meant. Rebels got a trial before their appointment with said firing squad. There was no way Nerion's crew would get away. "You also need to look at other factories. Shepard thinks Facinus might have claws in other manufacturing."
"Oh, I am sure they do. It will be taken care of."
"General…" Nihlus broached, but then paused to weigh his wording options. "I want to know, how did you and the viceroy know to come to that factory?"
"Ah. You ask whether Camilla told Lucian the full truth? That I do not know. He knows about the blackmail, but perhaps… not what it is. He knows you and the Commander were there conducting a Spectre operation on Camilla's behest. My involvement was limited to providing a rapid-response unit. Lucian contacted me after he received a distress message from Octavian, and only then did he contact Camilla."
Nihlus hummed. Lucian had backed Camilla into a corner. Her attempt to take care of the situation quietly had imploded. The fact that Octavian had called his father was not surprising. The question was more why did Nerion let Octavian keep a communication device in the first place? Not that they would ever know, or that it mattered, still that little tactical oversight had cost Nerion everything.
The truth of the matter was that a lot of mistakes were made that night, and the worst were his, not Nerion's. Shepard had been right to rip into him, and he had been a fool to brush her off. He rushed the whole time. He had attacked Nerion without assessing the situation. He had discounted Iulus as a threat. Mistake upon mistake quickly piled up. There was no other way to look at it, he was at fault, and Shepard almost paid for it. The guilt felt worse than the bullet to the gut. He owed Shepard the biggest apology of his life. He had to tamp down his sub-vocals as to not give Ignatia a show of his remorse. This was between him and Shepard, no one else. "One last question. When did you get to the factory?"
"I was waiting for that one." Ignatia smiled. "We arrived about seven minutes before I gave the signal to enter. As I said, Camilla told us about the Spectre and trainee that arrived to handle things. My initial plan was to monitor the situation by reconnaissance drone inserted from the rooftop access. I gave the order to breach the receiving bay door only when I saw the cabalist throw the commander into the wall." Ignatia listed the facts coldly, too coldly for Nihlus' liking. Then again, this was due protocol when reporting to a Spectre.
"I suppose it remains to be seen whether Lucian was apprised of all the details." Nihlus said. He had no desire to keep the bitter bite out of his tone.
"I do not think she will keep it from him. You are, after all, her son." Ignatia said.
"Am I? She treated my existence as part of her dirty past for seventeen years!"
"Not by choice I assure you!" Ignatia replied harshly and quickly.
"What do you mean?" Nihlus asked.
"How it is that you became a Spectre, being so oblivious to the truth?" Ignatia asked, her second voice box positively singing her annoyance. "Did you never wonder how you got the right to wear the Taetrian markings given that you were born off-world and have never lived on Taetrus?"
Nihlus opened his mouth, but then he heard the rumble of annoyance turn to anger.
"I will not talk about it. You are an adult. Act like it." The general finished. "Now I have things to do, I came here only because your doctor said you were lucid. I fulfilled my duty and apprised you of the situation."
"Yes."
Ignatia turned and marched toward the door, but there she paused and glanced back. "I do wish you and the Commander a swift recovery. Give her my regards."
"I will."
Ignatia set her hand on the door panel, and the door opened, allowing her to exit the room.
Nihlus had to force himself to relax. After that sort of conversation, he knew the next couple days ought to prove interesting to say the least. Ignatia was right to tell him to start acting like an adult too. He knew he had to talk to Camilla. For now though, he needed to focus on getting better. He would not feel like an adult until he could eat solid food again. The thin hospital meat gruel hardly counted as food at all.
A day later…
Shepard came to awareness in stages, as if her body was a computer going through a start-up sequence; operating system first, then booting the essential background processes. Her awareness of the environment came last. The room she was in was uncomfortably warm, but the air was crisp, in that hospital way. The theory that she was in a hospital was substantiated by the feeling of tape on the inside of her right elbow. There had to be an IV needle in place. Whoever had applied the tape had stretched the skin too hard, it was uncomfortable verging on painful.
"Good morning, Commander Shepard." A pleasant, lyrical flanging voice said. "You are awake a little bit ahead of projected expectations. That is a very good sign."
"It- hot." Shepard said. Her voice cracked, as uttering even that was too much for her dried out vocal cords. Fortunately she could talk, they had not intubated her.
"I apologize, but our environmental systems are configured for the comfort of turian patients. We have cooling pillows, would you like one?"
"Water." Shepard replied.
"Oh, of course." The voice replied, and there were footsteps moving away in a hurry.
Shepard dared to crack open one eye, only to regret it instantly. She had been out too long, her pupils had dilated fully, so the ceiling lighting might as well had been search-lights aimed right at her. After a few moments she chose to slowly work her eyes open.
She just succeeded when the female turian returned, carrying a cup. Her mostly-white, dark-blue accented tunic outfit was definitely scrub-like, and bore an insignia that Shepard could not recognize. Without even being asked, she helped Shepard to raise the back part of the bed so she could be in a more elevated position. After that, the female was ever so gentle in the way she handed Shepard the cup.
"Steady grip, no shaking. Very good."
Shepard took a long sip, but when she moved to swallow, it hurt, and she had to let the water slide back. Her throat had dried out on the dehumidified air she had been breathing. The second swallow hurt a lot less. "How long was I out?" She asked, after drinking down half the offered cup.
"Twenty-four Galactic Standard hours."
Shepard sighed, over a day any way you sliced it. "And my partner?" she asked.
"Spectre Kryik is recovering very quickly. He is out for a post-operation scan at the moment."
"Post-operation?" Shepard asked, alarmed. Her reaction was too quick for her brain as a moment later she remembered Nerion had shot Nihlus in the stomach. The operation had to be bullet removal.
"Do not worry, Commander. It is routine for bullet removal from the abdominal and thoracic cavities. Our surgeons removed the bullet without complications, but they want to make sure there was no fragmentation. Now, since we are already conversing, how do you feel? Any sensory aberrations? Light spots? Tinnitus?"
"I had a concussion?" Shepard wondered.
"Yes."
"Then I guess I'm good. I got no hallucinations of any kind, and… apparently a steady grip."
"Very good. Please let me just take a look at these monitors here…" the female went on.
Shepard continued to sip her water as she waited. Her mind was catching up quickly, already she could think of a couple things she wanted to know. What had happened after the military showed up at that factory? Right then, no matter how hard she tried, she could not fully recall the events of those minutes. Everything from the moment her back hit the wall was a bit fuzzy and indistinct, almost dream-like. She could not be sure whether all of it was fact, and not just some sort of dream.
The strongest memory was of Iulus, the look in his eyes the moment before life drained out of him. Shepard sighed; she had overdone it. Even though she knew it was the only choice left to her at the time, now the doubts set in. The Last Chance was a nasty mix of drugs. It was designed to stimulate the adrenal glands and the brain in such a manner that the soldier who took it tapped into the fight-or-flight instincts. The idea was that the desire to survive would allow them to push through the pain, to get away. Unfortunately, flight was only half it. In some circumstances, when flight was simply impossible, the Last Chance triggered the fight instinct. The soldier would turn almost feral, and fight to the last, until they either sustained a fatal injury, the enemy was destroyed, or the Last Chance burst burned off on its own. She had tapped into the latter, and Iulus had been on her list. She murdered him with extreme prejudice.
Shepard knew that the Krogan could enter a similar state when they were injured severely enough. Except in them it was a biological defense mechanism, no drugs required. The blood-rage was pretty much a nightmare scenario all around. A krogan in that state would only stop with death, or on their own. Shepard drew a different comparison, something closer to home. She could compare the fight response of the Last Chance to the self-induced trance rage of the Norse Berserker.
"Everything appears to be good. You have a steady heart rhythm given what happened. Now that you are awake the IV can be removed."
"What's in it anyways?" Shepard asked.
"Nutrient solution and fluids." The female replied. "You sustained two major rib fractures, three minors, and a hairline fracture in your left clavicle. We administered bone growth stimulants to accelerate your healing. Humans ought not to receive those without mineral uptake boosters and supplements."
"And you had to keep me under, for the concussion."
"Yes. Your case was further complicated by the pharmaceutical mix you used. It put undue stress on your already injured nervous system. A medically induced sleep was needed to control the inflammation."
"No more popping the Last Chance with a concussion." Shepard replied.
"I would avoid… popping… that mix entirely."
"I can't promise that. I had no choice in the matter. It was either I get up right then and there, or Nihlus would have died. I'm not letting some sadist kill my partner."
"Ah. I was not aware of the circumstances. I do understand that reasoning. Spectre Kryik has worried for you the entire time you were asleep. You are close?"
Shepard wondered if the staff knew that she was a Spectre in training, or did they think she was merely someone Nihlus worked with on the side, as an elective partner? She opened her mouth to speak, only for a singular thought to hit her. Did the staff think there was more between her and Nihlus? She had evidence that turians did not forbid romantic partners from working together. The term 'partner' was certainly ambiguous enough for that misunderstanding. "We've been working together for months now. There is a natural synchronization of skills, but don't tell him this… I'm unquestionably the better long distance shot between us."
The female chuckled at that. "Yes, we gathered that much. He insisted care be taken with your rifle, as if the weapon is precious."
"It is." Shepard replied. Nihlus knew? Well okay, maybe it was not all that hard to figure out. Now that she thought about it, she wondered, where had they stuck her gear? Her armor was damaged badly, and would probably require a complete replacement, but she was not attached to her armor. Her rifle was a different story.
Vincent had been behind her back when she hit that wall. The impact had fractured bones. The force translated past shock-absorbing ceramics, it would have been stronger by a good fifty percent on the impact point. Vincent could have very well absorbed some part, helping her armor to dissipate the energy. Factor in the strength of the materials, and the vulnerable components, and Shepard knew her rifle could have been damaged beyond repair. The thought bothered her worse than her own injury. She would hate it if that sadist got to have a last laugh from beyond the grave.
"You do not need to worry, Commander. Your gear is stored in a secure locker on the premises. It is not the first time that we have had to treat a patient whose belonging required added security." The female said.
"Thank you," Shepard replied.
"Think nothing of it. Now I am done here. Is there anything else you would like?"
"Any chance I could get my omni-tool back?"
The female moved over to the bedside stand and opened the drawer, removing a familiar silver band.
Shepard reached over and took it, "Thank you. Now I'm good."
The female nodded one last time, made a turn, and exited the room. Shepard watched her go until the door closed behind her and sighed. This was probably one of the better hospitals she had ever been in, and it was not even human-run. Was it so much to ask nurses to stop sugar-coating things? She rather disliked it when the staff started smiling in that false encouraging way. Then again, if she was truthful, she did not like ending up in hospitals at all.
The room door opened an hour later and Shepard looked up from her omni-tool just as Nihlus walked in. He was wearing plain white patient's clothing that glared in the overhead lighting, but Shepard wrote the mild light sensitivity off as one of the side effects of having a concussion.
"Shepard," he breathed.
"Hey, you."
He moved toward her bed with determined, but slow steps. Shepard had to remind herself not to worry too much; he had been shot in the stomach after all. He was walking on his own, so he must have been reasonably fine.
"How are you?" He asked.
"Your tunic might as well be glowing for me right now, and my memory of things after I hit the wall is full of holes… but that's just the concussion. I'm fine. Couple days and I'll be back to normal." She was not looking forward to writing that report addendum. Sparatus would probably find her patchy memory absolutely too convenient for her, or something. It depended on how much of a jerk he actually was.
"I see." Nihlus said.
Shepard blinked, was it just her, or did he sound a little disappointed. Over what could he be disappointed?
"Shepard, I am glad you were not permanently harmed. That sort of injury… it ended careers before," Nihlus replied as he bowed his head.
"Yea, if I was put out of commission by that sadistic…" she paused to take a breath, lest she let out a rather colorful tirade of descriptive names. No matter how mad she got, Shepard never liked to speak ill of the dead. "I don't think you would have survived explaining that to my mother." It was mostly jest on her part, though some element was true as well.
Nihlus' eased himself into the chair left by the side of her bed, and Shepard could have sworn she heard a low-pitched rumbling semi-whine something. "Yes, that is the sort of conversation I would like to avoid. Nerion finishing me off would have been merciful."
Shepard chuckled, but the sound died in a whimper as she felt her ribs twang with pain. Whatever the doctors gave her to kill the pain was wonderful stuff, but it was not enough to laugh on. "Alright… jokes aside, before I crack another rib… ow." She winced.
"Are you alright?" Nihlus was instantly concerned and on his feet.
"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Shepard protested waving him away. She had to switch over to breathing with her belly, lest even the natural expansion and contraction of the rib cage cause her more pain twangs. There was a little side benefit to being a sniper; she was used to controlling the rate and depth of her breathing. "In all of this, I did not ask, but is Octavian alright?" A change of topic would be beneficial.
Nihlus eased back into the chair. "He is alright as can be. Nerion did put him in the cold room, so he has frostbite on his hands and feet, but his fingers and toes will heal. Camilla is… babying him."
"Ah." Shepard replied.
"He has been asking about you, says he wants to thank you in person."
"I'll put that on my to-do list, to be done before we leave." It was the least she could give the boy after she kind of failed to save his life.
"Speaking of things that have to be said… there is something I have to say…" Nihlus began, closing his eyes.
Shepard blinked, but in that moment she knew better than cut in. Something in Nihlus' tone was different; he was serious, grave even.
"I was never good at these things, so… bear with me." Nihlus prefaced. "I was lying in bed thinking, and… I came to realize just… how much I am to blame that you are in that bed right now."
Shepard blinked, surprised.
"I am sorry." He blurted. "I rushed, tossed the plan, and ignored you when you tried to get me to use my head. I attacked Nerion, and I thought nothing of Iulus. I got what I deserved, but you? He… he could have killed you. Easily killed you. Just like that. When I realized that... I… am sorry. So very, very sorry."
Shepard sighed, "I forgive you. Really though, there is nothing to forgive. We had no way of knowing that Iulus was a biotic. I think that was the point. Nerion sent him because he could not have done it on his own. He looked half dead on his feet already."
"That might be true, but if I had not rushed like a fool…"
"Don't punish yourself over it," Shepard reached over and laid her hand on his. He looked up, surprised. Shepard shook her head. "What's done is done, I'm not so easy to kill that one little shockwave would do me in." That was blatantly a lie, but she wanted to think of it as a lie with good intentions. Shepard was not sure what to thank for the fact that she was still alive. Whether it was her suit absorbing the force, Vincent breaking her impact, or even that Iulus had not been even a little more powerful than he was. Still, this was the closest she had ever come to kicking the bucket. None of that Nihlus needed to know. She was not going to make him feel worse than he already did. "I will only be upset if you learn nothing from the experience. As for me? My people have a saying. What will not kill you, will only make you stronger. This is definitely a case of that. Heck, our bones mend denser and stronger when broken. We run on that adage."
"That is kind of… weird." Nihlus mused.
"It makes sense from the evolutionary standpoint." Shepard replied.
"Well yes, but it is still weird." Nihlus replied.
Shepard hummed thoughtfully. Maybe it was weird, but it was also the basis for some military-grade gene therapies. Activating and controlling something the body could already do was easier than engineering in something new, and also less ethically and politically complicated. The Sudham-Wolcott Genetic Heritage Act of 2161 forbade engineering in entirely new abilities, but it did not apply to dialing up what was already there.
Gene therapies were dirt common these days; in fact it was rare to see someone entirely unmodified. The Alliance necessitated all its recruits undergo a standard package of therapies, often fixing allergies, nearsightedness, hearing imperfections, etcetera. It leveled the playing field for the enlisted individual. After that came the 'engineered babies' who received their genetic alterations before or shortly after birth. Shepard knew she was one of those, though her tweaks went right to conception, the perk of being an IVF child. Her mother not only chose her father with attention to detail, but even that was refined. Her genetic code was squeaky clean, no predispositions to congenital defects, late-life illnesses, sensory flaws, etcetera.
More than that, she was of a small subset of children: all born on ships between 2149 and 2157, to active Alliance personnel and then raised in space. This group of a couple hundred had been billed as "Star Children", babies born to chart the final frontier, just when the galaxy had seemed to be Humanity's oyster. The First Contact War ended that sort of thinking, and soon after Alliance ships became more military than exploration vessels. As a result, family spaces shrank, regulations went up, and the Star Children became a symbol for the dangers of naïve optimism.
"You really do not remember what happened in that factory?" Nihlus asked, breaking the silence.
"No." Shepard replied. "And it's going to make writing a report a nightmare. All I know for sure it that I killed Iulus and Nerion. The former… I remember stabbing, the latter shooting." Strong emotions or a subconscious urge to engrave their death expressions on her memory seemed to have cut through the concussion haze. "Am I missing something important?"
Nihlus sighed, "No…"
Shepard noted the cagey way he said that, and raised her eyebrow. Something had happened, but what? Well, it could not be anything concerning the job, right? If it had to do with the job, Nihlus would have told her, even if it was not something she could put on the report. "Still it feels like the details are important."
"Sparatus will not fault you for not remembering. A concussion is a concussion." Nihlus replied. "Also… You need to learn that sometimes the Council does not want to know the details. Sparatus sent me in to handle this situation, the rest was up to me. I say you handled yourself with considerable control; you met the mission objectives, great, you kept collateral damage to a minimum, a bonus. Victory at any cost. That is not just a Hierarchy maxim."
"Alright." Shepard replied. She already knew that much, but it was not her normal way of doing things. She liked to keep herself accountable, if only to herself and her own code of ethics. That the Council would tell their agents 'go do this' and not stipulate the limits, was what made some people uncomfortable with Spectres.
Then again, it was also the thing that gave the agents their mystique. Anyone who faced a Spectre had to know that mercy was an exception, and not the rule. It was an added intimidation factor. Though Shepard could still see how having such a reputation was a double edged sword. When mercy was not to be expected, people tended to fight harder and cross more lines. That sort of reputation could very well burn bridges to peaceful resolution.
"Well, there is no helping it. If you can not remember, then you can not remember." Nihlus said as he got up from his seat. "Focus on getting better."
"That's the plan." Shepard replied, though she could hear the note of disappointment in his tone. Now more than ever she was sure there was something he was keeping from her. Her gut reaction was to get to the bottom of it, but she knew now was not the right time. Right now he was right; she needed to focus on getting better as quickly as possible. They were only due to be away from the Normandy for a week, and by her reckoning they were on day six already.
Shepard managed to talk the doctors into signing off on her release by evening the next day, even though her ribs were only partly healed and needed more time to fully knit together. She was not allowed to do anything strenuous for another couple days, and she would not be able to keep this one off her records. A concussion was a concussion; Doctor Chakwas would have to know. She would also run her own battery of tests to substantiate the write-up Shepard got from the hospital doctor. Nihlus got a similar write-up from his attending doctor as well.
After that came the task of retrieving her weapons, and what remained of her armor. The latter was almost completely destroyed. The undersuit was just gone; they had to cut it open to get it off her. As for the ceramics, practically all of them were cracked. The back unit was barely holding together, as the force it absorbed made the plates brittle to the touch. The computer itself was damaged; it was a miracle that it responded to her command to deploy the Last Chance. The chest-plate was likewise shattered and made brittle. Though it had only broken apart when the hospital staff put it through a high pressure decontamination cycle, to wash off Iulus' blood. Her right shoulder guard was just gone, the left cracked severely. Her knee and shin guards were chipped and cracked. The worst was the helmet, not only was her face-shield shattered out of existence, but the back was cracked from where it hit the wall. The spider-web pattern was a testament to how close she came to dying. The whole suit was going into the Normandy's recycler as soon as possible.
As for the former, Shepard was dismayed to find that while Sin and Dex had escaped serious damage, Vincent did not. She did not have the time to inspect the rifle fully, but just looking at it was enough. The outer housing was cracked, and unless her eye was off, the barrel was bowed ever-so-slightly. The force required to do that would cause internal damage. She had to choke back her reaction when that realization had slammed her. Shepard hated to lose her rifle like this, to Iulus of all people. That rifle had served her faithfully for so many years, yet right now it seemed like Vincent was going into retirement. To make matters worse, it was as if Vincent was resonating with Arthur's spirit. The gun went out protecting her. Maybe that was the best way for it to go out on, but Shepard still did not have to like it. She had to remind herself that perhaps there was some hope for it yet, after all a bowed barrel could be replaced. The realist inside insisted that the force required to bow the barrel would have shattered the ceramic insulation around the accelerator rails deep inside the gun. There was no replacing that.
In the end Shepard walked out of that hospital wearing her webbing, with her armor pieces in a giant film bag, it was a singularly weird sensation, but fortunately it being a military hospital on a Hierarchy colony, the weirdness was only hers. The people she passed found the human walking among them to be the most curious thing there.
Camilla had once again sent a car to pick them up, and as unfair as it was, Shepard could not help but be wary of this driver just because. Fortunately the female knew how things had turned out with her predecessor, and so did not take the wariness to heart. She was nothing if not absolutely professional, and the whole ride was spent in silence. Shepard lingered in her many thoughts while Nihlus stared out the window at the scenery passing by.
The car pulled up to the gate as before, but Shepard could see a subtle difference in the security. The first time they arrived there was one guard on the door, now there were two, and one of them wore a familiar sigil on his armor. General Aurelia had clearly posted her troops to bolster the security. The scan of the car took longer, and seemed more thorough.
As the car drove past the gates, Shepard could not shake the pervading feeling of being watched. She had to consciously tell herself that they were being watched, she would not be surprised if there were cameras in the bushes and on the branches of the trees. She was just being silly fretting about said security measures now.
The car stopped at the end of the long curving driveway and even before Shepard could reach for the controls an armored male approached to open the door for her. Another was immediately at the car's trunk to grab their things. Shepard glanced at Nihlus.
"We are getting the statesman treatment," he mused.
"I don't know, Nihlus. I feel kind of like a Hollywood celebrity. Of course I am not wearing a hundred-thousand-credit designer evening gown and there is no red carpet." Shepard replied.
Nihlus chuckled, but proceeded up the steps toward the front door, leaving her nothing else than to follow him. On the landing Shepard noticed that there were now two guards on the outside of the mansion, and if the pattern held, there would be two inside. Had the general doubled the security?
"Welcome back, Spectre Kryik, Commander Shepard," the mansion guard on the outside of the door greeted. "I was told to pass this along, the viceroy requests your presence in the study."
"Understood," Nihlus replied curtly.
The guard nodded and made a great show of opening the door for them.
Shepard once again followed Nihlus inside; he was clearly not in the mood to protract things. Shepard would not be surprised if he wanted to depart Taetrus as soon as was feasible. If Shepard was honest, she was of half a mind to join him in that thinking. Of course her reasons were a lot more selfish, but she was not perfect. Subsisting on energy bars and ration meals was beginning to wear thin even on her, not that she would complain about it out loud. She wanted to go back to her ship so she could put this whole thing in the rear view mirror.
Nihlus made a beeline for the office, and the door opened even without him needing to touch the console, affirming that their arrival and presence were indeed expected. A creak of a chair from the back of the room drew Shepard's attention there. The viceroy had been seated at his desk, but now he rose to his feet.
"Viceroy Pallas," Nihlus greeted with a professional chill as he stepped deeper into the room.
"Viceroy, sir." Shepard echoed as she followed, unsure of how she should address him, but knowing silence would not be golden.
"Spectre, Commander," he replied, with a tip of his head. "Please come in. Have a seat."
Nihlus remained standing.
Shepard decided to follow his example. There was something almost casual in the way he said their titles, which did something to alleviate Shepard's discomfort. It was not normal for her to associate with heads of state. The viceroy of a turian colony was the equivalent of the Alliance's vice-president. Still, somehow that comparison did not seem appropriate. Lucian Pallas clearly had enough power to just call up a general and request an armed unit, and then to have it on-site in no time flat. Either Taetrus kept some of its forces ready to handle rebels at any time, or they had a whole lot less red tape to cut through. Shepard honestly could not speculate.
He was clearly in his mid-life prime, yet not quite like Shepard would have pictured. For one he was not as tall as some of the other turians she had met. She would be surprised if he was taller than a meter ninety, though he was well proportioned, if slightly stocky. His dark brown plates faded in an ombre gradient to a deep honey-brown. The dark main color brought out his gold eyes. His Taetrian markings were of a warm off-white cream tinge that avoided clashing against his plates, as plain white would have done. He wore a well-tailored dark blue tunic suit decorated with silver embroidery on the sleeves and collar. The pattern was reminiscent of the Arabic calligraphy, where text was laid out into the shape of an image, typically an animal. Lucian's was simple smooth lines that wrapped around like delicate vines.
The viceroy must have realized they would not sit down as he straightened to his full height, even if Nihlus towered over him almost as much as he towered over her. "On behalf of the Primarch of Taetrus, I thank you, Spectre, Commander, for your invaluable aid in stopping what appears to have been a plot against the government and military forces of this colony. Your aid has likely saved a great number of lives, and for that we thank you." Lucian began, calm as can be, as if he had given this speech before.
Nihlus nodded without saying a word. Shepard chose to show her respects in bowing her head.
"Furthermore, I was told to notify you that we launched a full investigation and audit of key manufacturing systems. If there are more rebels diverting resources from state infrastructure to support their cause, they will be found, and they will be stopped."
"The Commander and I cannot claim credit for this operation. Octavian's safety was secured by General Aurelia's troops. Not us." Nihlus said the picture of nonchalance, even if it he sounded every bit displeased at his own words.
Shepard had expected Nihlus not to consider that job as a chalk-mark under 'complete'. Nihlus was a good turian, even if he flaunted the details and minutia of things. It was just that, the minutia. Nihlus took the salient, important parts of his responsibilities seriously. He was responsible enough to know he made a number of serious mistakes.
Shepard would not put that operation in her portfolio either; quite frankly she was embarrassed about how easily Iulus took them down. She hated to admit it, but she had been caught unprepared, and that was not a position she could stand being in. To make matters worse, it was a positing she let herself fall into. She had worried about Nihlus so much that she essentially got tunnel-vision. She never expected their enemy to be a biotic. The possibility simply did not cross her mind.
Turian biotics were rare. The trucks outside the factory said plenty about the Hierarchy's policy of mitigating the odds further. Beyond that, there were the norms to consider. The Hierarchy shunted their biotics into a single rigid, regimented stream, often as "lifers" in the military, as they had relatively few legitimate options aside from that. From the moment they turned fifteen they were segregated. First the biotic boot camps, and then the shadowy black ops units, the Cabals. They also had to endure a great deal of suspicion by the population at large.
Iulus clearly did not take to that sort of treatment well. Shepard suspected he had been born with an antisocial personality disorder. However, she would not be surprised if time in the Cabals could condition someone onto that spectrum. She could not understand why the otherwise shockingly permissive Hierarchy would treat their biotics so badly. The policy seemed to be the realization of the sort of demands made by the twenty-second-century Neo-Luddites, whose technophobia was acute to the point of seeing those with genetic therapies and the biotics as less than "real" humans. Shepard could not stand that sorry ignorant lot, and for obvious reasons she was not their favorite either.
Shepard noted how the viceroy seemed to shift his weight from one foot to the other, then his shoulders slumped, and it was like the professional mask was removed, showing the individual underneath. "I am aware that Spectres do not have to aid hostages if it would risk their overreaching objectives," he said as he stopped around the desk. "Yet you did, and as a result your mission was compromised. Perhaps that is not something you can take pride in, as Spectres, however, as the father of the hostage, your attempt was enough to satisfy me. As Octavian's father, I thank you for helping my son." He bowed his head.
Shepard blinked, stunned. What did one say to a heartfelt gesture like that? Add to that, did Lucian know that Nihlus could be, in loose terms, called his step-son? Did Camilla tell him the whole truth? If she had not, it would not be right for Shepard to let that cat out of the bag.
"I can not take credit even for that," Nihlus replied.
The other male looked amused, "And what about you, Commander?" He asked as he turned to face her.
Shepard blinked, surprised. Could she in good consciousness take credit for any part of this mess? While she had killed Iulus and Nerion, were it not for General Aurelia she still would not have finished the mission. As soon as the Last Chance burned out of her system, she would have been stuck in some corner, trying not to pass out from the pain, easy pickings for some guard. She would not have been able to secure the factory or reach Octavian. Not to mention the fact that she would have had to utterly ignore Nihlus' injuries. That singular fact was simply not her. "I can not take credit either, sir. My injuries at the time would have prevented me from continuing."
"Fair enough." The viceroy nodded, though his mandibles flicked in amusement.
In that moment Shepard realized that maybe, just maybe, he had been testing if she would take undue credit. Would another Spectre have told him they could complete the mission even gravely injured? Did she pass the test, or did he expect a declaration like that? On the one hand, Spectres had the reputation for being dauntless, but on the other it would have been dishonest. So what counted more? Shepard liked to think that honesty was the better policy, as no one liked a miles gloriosus.
"I will send a message to Councilor Sparatus to say that the two of you have fulfilled your duties."
"Thank you."
"Thank you, sir," Shepard echoed. It did not take much for her to read between the lines. This message amounted to a performance review. Shepard had not even thought about that part. The Viceroy could have easily sent Sparatus a message asking him not to send another alien to the colony again, what with the political climate on Taetrus. Instead it seemed like Lucian was grateful enough that he was willing to overlook her failings. She would take whatever she could get.
"Now on to the last matter." The viceroy seemed to shift gears then. "I would be a remiss not to offer my hospitality, the mansion is yours to use as if it was your home. In addition, when you do decide to depart, tell me. I will organize a transport to the Citadel."
"Thank you for your offer, however we cannot linger for long… so if you could organize a transport at your convenience, we will appreciate it."
"Understood," the viceroy replied.
Shepard tuned the rest of the discussion out, she was perfectly happy to let Nihlus handle the matter of their return journey. Frankly, she was not running on all her cylinders. Taetrus had an atmosphere a little thicker than Earth's, which meant a higher barometric pressure. Normally that was nothing, something one adjusted to, but she was still recovering from a concussion. She tired quicker and right then she had a headache forming. She was not about to worry it though, as that would make things worse. She just needed to find somewhere quiet and dark to rest.
It was not long before Shepard bowed out and retreat to the room given to her. As she exited the study, she caught Nihlus' worried look, but thankfully he knew better than to expose her in front of others. Once she was in her room, she toed off her shoes and climbed on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. As it was, the bed was designed with turians in mind, it was too soft for her and the sheets were definitely made of a rougher cloth than what her skin was used to. The comforter was thick and soft though, so she curled up right on it and happily drifted off.
She woke up abruptly when the door's chime went off. Rolling onto her back she sighed. She knew the list of people who would bother her was not terribly long. How long had she been asleep? She did not particularly care to look at the timepiece because Taetrus was on its own time, and she had not looked at it when she had come in. Her head felt better, but she was groggy, which meant she had been in the slow-wave stages of her sleep cycle. Shepard knew her sleep cycle; she could have been asleep as little as half an hour, and then counting up in hour and a half increments. Either way, she definitely needed more sleep, after she put out whatever fire she had to put out now.
"Come in," she called.
The door opened and in stepped Nihlus, he was wearing a different set of casuals than before, "Shepard, I-" he paused two steps in the door. "Did I wake you up?"
"Kind of," Shepard replied. The grogginess made her feel like she had not slept in days, but she was not going to say it. "Never mind that, what's up?"
Nihlus moved deeper into the room hesitantly, "Our travel arrangements are done. One of the Citadel Fleet frigates is coming out of overhaul, and it is going our way."
"Convenient for us," Shepard mused.
"Yes…" Nihlus rumbled as he perched on the edge of the bed, "I am sorry I woke you. How are you?"
"Really, Nihlus, I'm fine. I should be asking you that, you were the one who got shot in the gut."
"Well…"
Shepard raised an eyebrow, why was Nihlus vacillating again? Was it just her, or was he beating around the bush like a child who had something to confess, but was dragging his feet about it?
"I just… can not help but worry."
Shepard smiled, "I know that. It's all good." She knew full well that whatever feeling of guilt he still had would not go away with the ease of flicking a switch. The first few months after Elysium she had felt guilty too. Of course she channeled that guilt into a lot of rage, and ended up killing an innocent, but that was her expression of the issue. She understood where Nihlus was coming from, and that meant she could understand that he would need time.
Mind set, Shepard sat up, ignoring the rush of momentary dizziness by focusing on his plain, dark-colored tunic as an unmoving reference point. The wooziness went away in a few seconds, allowing her to look up. "C'mon, you know me, right? What doesn't kill me-"
"Only makes you angry enough to kill them." Nihlus finished with a flick of his mandibles.
"I was going to say-" Shepard paused there as she mulled on the matter. "You know what… that's basically it." She shook her head. Right then, she realized just how true that sentiment was. The slavers on Elysium incensed her, and paid for it. Now Iulus did about the same, and he paid for it when she ran him through, twice if her memory was any good, to say nothing of Nerion himself.
Nihlus sighed, as if some amount of pressure had been released from him. "Humans and your macabre sense of humor."
Shepard shrugged. "It's a coping thing."
"Speaking of coping… I talked with Cami- my mother." Nihlus turned.
Shepard quirked an eyebrow, well that was new; he actually used the term without sounding like he was trying to swallow broken glass. "Oh?" She was not going to make a comment that might incite him into some weird flash of anger.
Nihlus bowed his head, "I… genuinely talked to her."
"Well that's good."
"She told Pallas about me, and about my father." Nihlus added.
"When?" Shepard wondered. The detail could exonerate Camilla, or condemn her further.
"She told him when he called, after Octavian was abducted."
Shepard nodded; well that was going the more exoneration route. Camilla must have come clean about her whole plot, placing her children above her secrets. She was still a manipulative piece of work, but at the same time, she was definitely not so bad as to put herself above her children. In the great balance of things, sure Camilla may have been backed into a corner, forced to confess, but she did it. She chose to take responsibility, rather than risk her children.
Shepard could not respect a person who would do otherwise. For her, the thought that anyone would harm their own children, for personal gain or safety, spoke volumes about their ability to form attachments. If they could not be loyal to their blood offspring, they ought not to be trusted to be loyal to anyone else. It was even worse if the person was the mother. Shepard held females to a higher standard, and that was that. Camilla may be a piece of work, but Shepard could understand and respect her.
"She told me the reason why she sent me into the army. The real reason." Nihlus rumbled. "Aside from the better opportunities and doing something with my life."
"And?" Shepard prompted. She wanted to know what Nihlus thought.
Nihlus got up, "I hated her for half of my life, and in the span of five minutes it all… made sense." He said as he walked four steps in one direction, only to turn around and walk four in the other, and back again. "She knew Nerion had more friends among the workers. Had I attacked him… I would have been the next one to have an accident."
Shepard focused on the wall behind him, only because right then his pacing would make her dizzy, but she was not going to tell him to sit down. She was not about to make Nihlus feel guiltier by showing any discomfort.
"So yea, she sent me to the military… and I guess she got what she wanted. I may be the son of a separatist, or a critic, but… I achieved something. Father always spoke of changing the system from within..."
Shepard nodded, "You are in position to be that agent of change. The perk of being respectable. Facinus will never achieve anything, they just alienate everyone."
Nihlus paused in his pacing, and gave her a curios look. "Indeed."
"The extremist will never achieve the support they want. In most cases they are just a very angry, very vocal minority that gets wiped out. Unfortunately they cannot look at history objectively enough to see the futility of their actions. Every one of them thinks they are going to be that one time it does work. My people have a saying, those who do not learn from the mistakes of history, are doomed to repeat them."
Nihlus smiled as he perched on the bed next to her again. "Feeling philosophical?"
"Oh no, I have a concussion, so I'm just thinking out loud." Shepard replied.
"I see," Nihlus chuckled. "Well, there's something else to what Camilla said… the reason she let seventeen years pass like this. I can not be mad at her… not really." Nihlus stopped there, as if to gather his thoughts.
Shepard could have physically felt the faint shift in the atmosphere in the room, as if the levity just dissipated like a fog in the mid-morning.
"My grandfather is the one at fault." Nihlus said.
Shepard blinked, opened her mouth to ask for an explanation, but thought better of it. Nihlus did not normally drop such revelations without an explanation forthcoming; she would let him get to it on his own time.
"Now, you should know this… Taetrian tradition is to choose the colony's Primarch from the generals of the first five legions. The honor calls back to the Unification Wars, when the first five legions fought to the last individual. Well… my grandfather, General Ignis Aurelia, was in command of the Taetrian First. It would not have looked good for him to acknowledge my father, or me."
Shepard nodded mutely. The Hierarchy could say it was a meritocracy, but they still kept a remnant of an older honor culture. Clans, connections, and reputation still mattered. Shepard could understand that, and she would still resent it. How much suffering had it caused? Nihlus could try and hide it, but it was still here.
"At the time, the Primarch's health was failing; everyone knew a transition of power was coming." Nihlus finished. "I know you can figure out the rest."
Shepard was not going to say anything to that, in the interest of not opening her mouth and inserting foot. She was perfectly happy to let Nihlus vent. Talking about things would help him, and she did not want to be the one to say something that would only dam it all up again.
"I am happy to say grandfather did not get the position." Nihlus added cheerfully.
"Oh and of course… you ended up in a position that is technically above him in certain circumstances." Shepard said.
Nihlus tipped his head down and smiled a full toothy smile, his eyes twinkling with undisguised mirth. "That is ironic, is it not?" He asked.
Shepard was seized with the oddest impulse at that moment, seeing him so positively cat-that-ate-canary. She could not help but want to share in the unbridled happiness he was radiating. Nihlus was certainly basking in the outcome of this roll of the cosmic dice. He now had another reason to love his job. Shepard knew him enough to know he would bask in it like basking was going out of fashion. She raised her hands and put them on his shoulder. The smile vanished, replaced by curiosity instantly. "It is times like these that probably make people believe in some higher power." She mused as she put her head on his shoulder.
How did one go about hugging a turian exactly? She was savvy enough not to try and wrap her arms around his waist, but going higher did not look comfortable. It was an awkward gesture, but Shepard hoped was universal enough. She wanted to communicate that she understood him, that she was on his side. She could even appreciate life's ironies. She wanted to think she got the message across when she felt his arm wrap around her at mid-back, even as he shifted her slightly forward. Shepard let him, soon enough she was practically hugging his side.
"I think I won the ultimate prize," he rumbled, contentment in his voice.
She felt him lay the side of his head against her crown, a pillow-soft gentle pressure, even as his arm tightened, pulling her as close to him as he dared. She smiled and closed her eyes. His body warmth was like a blanket wrapping around her, comforting, tender, and somehow right. She really did not want to move away. Yet as the seconds ticked by, another feeling seemed to bubble up out of some weird corner of her psyche. Shepard opened her eyes a little when she realized that this feeling was giving her the worst case of déjà vu she ever had. Where had she experienced this before?
She tried to rake her mind for why this proximity felt so familiar, but her mind was coming up with nothing but blanks. This was literally the first time she had ever hugged a turian. Even using the term "hug" was stretching it a little. So why was this giving her déjà vu?
Author Notes: That last scene took way longer than it should have. But I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless. And yes, I am evil. I am playing the "can't remember" card, though I am avoiding as much of the cheesy soap opera drama as possible. Now on to planning where I want to go next.
General Notes:
Nothing really…
Chapter Notes:
Nothing really…