Events of the chapter: The first intergalactic post-war summit begins. Kaidan & Miranda discuss the future of their careers, galaxy leaders go toe-to-toe, and Garrus finds himself stuck between a rock and hard place.

PART II
Chapter 15: An Emergent Layer*

2 years, 3 months after the end of the Reaper War
The Citadel, Sol System

The Velorum Grand Ballroom hadn't functioned as a ballroom for nearly three years. For a time, it had housed refugees, its starkly elegant space transformed into a bank of single cots filed like so many shoes in a closet. In place of clinking glasses and the lilt of chamber music, the ballroom had filled with the silent prayers and ragged sobs of those wanting to return home but who had found there was no home to return to.

On the morning of the summit, a dedicated team worked to restore a measure of the ballroom's former splendor. They prepared each place at the table with care. They tested microphones and updated agendas. They hung tasteful art on the walls. They placed signage and prepared check-in points. And while the pomp and circumstance of old had died, everyone involved understood the importance of appearances; there would be order, and there would be thoughtfulness, and there would be intention behind every perfectly squared nameplate.

C-Sec had also been hard at work. Many of the officers had worked through the night cycle and were now completing one last sweep of the area. With the galaxy's most prominent leaders and experts gathering in one place, the summit would be a convenient opportunity for attack. The culprit could be anyone: mercs who had amassed resources in the lawless months before and after the war; malfeasant corporate blowhards with too much time, money, and hubris; warlords who had taken advantage of thin forces to seize power; separatist groups who wanted nothing to do with a renewed galactic alliance; even the name 'Cerberus' had been whispered as a possible threat, and despite the wide belief that their network had been eliminated or diminished to the point of impotence, memories of their zealotry and limitless cruelty—of all they had wrought during the war and their experimental antecedents—stung like a fresh welt, chastening the public and making them wary of anyone or anything that so much as cast a shadow in the shape of humanity's cur.

Scattered alongside C-Sec's patrols, security teams and members of several militaries were also on duty. They'd been sent ahead by heads of state to secure private areas and transportation corridors, and to provide extra protection for docking bays.

Garrus was amongst them, along with a small platoon of turian soldiers, all of whom had volunteered on behalf of the Hierarchy delegation. It wasn't a job normally done by a general, but his familiarity with the Citadel and C-Sec made him feel strangely comforted. If asked why he'd volunteered, he might have said he was worried about retribution from rebels, but less selflessly, somewhere in the shadows of his mind, he feared losing the Primarch would push him further up the chain of command. He was already dangerously close—much further and he would never be able to refuse the responsibility.

So this is how the day began. With security details finishing their inspections, and the rest of the Citadel standing by, waiting to see how the galaxy would move forward through a fractured and tenuous reality.

Kaidan stepped out of the shower and checked the time. He didn't have long. He poked his head through the doorway. Miranda was still asleep in the bed, the sun shining through the window and crowning her head with a soft ring of amber light. For a moment, he thought of planting a kiss on her cheek, but considering her erratic schedule for the last three weeks, he thought it best not to wake her.

Making the most of the quiet, he finished his morning routine. Shaving with a safety razor had taken some practice, but Miranda was right: those clean cut lines really did flatter his jawline. Not bad. He admired his shave job as he patted his face with the cedar balm she had gifted him. It was an important day, after all, and he needed to look sharp. Appearances still mattered in this world, for right or for wrong, and if you looked like you had your shit together, then the assumption was you did. Face-to-face or in the public eye, someone was always watching and judging.

Kaidan had never thought of himself as someone suited to politics or diplomacy—those were the domains of the cunning, the resilient—but enough of his colleagues had praised him for his level head and clear-sighted thinking that he was beginning to get ideas. The summit would be a first-hand glimpse at what it took to negotiate on a galactic scale. An unprecedented scale. And he would be present to witness the entire process.

There was new motivation to pay attention too. Admiral Bhatt's name had been thrown into the ring for new human councilor, and if she accepted the job, it would trigger the swiftest rise in rank since the Alliance's inception; two years on and the ripples of attrition were still being felt. Being promoted wasn't out of the cards, but if it was, he wanted to be knowledgeable and prepared.

As he finished pulling his slacks on, a soft moan and the rustle of bedding caught his ear.

"Hey, sleepy head," he said, leaning in the doorway with an elbow propped against the frame. He smiled at Miranda. With her hair spilled on the pillow in ratty whorls, she looked positively ordinary.

"Hey, handsome." She held her hand above her eyes and squinted at him. "Big day today. How do you feel?"

"I don't know…nervous? Nauseous?" Kaidan glanced down at his belt, the ends still unbuckled and hanging down."Bloated?"

Miranda threw the covers off and snorted. "Hardly bloated," she croaked as she crept over. Her warm hands slid down his undershirt and over the muscles of his stomach. "You'll be taking part in a major moment in history, you know."

"Observing from the sidelines is more like."

"Don't be so humble! You helped organize this summit." Grasping the ends of his belt in her laggard hands, she set the prong into its hole and buckled it snugly. "But why observe from the sidelines? With the appointment of a permanent Council, they'll be eager to reinstate the Spectre program. You could have a direct hand in making things happen."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

It was an understatement to say it had only 'crossed his mind'. He'd thought about it a lot. As it was, his first stint as a Spectre ended before it had really begun, and it had begun inauspiciously. Councilor Udina, defacto political leader of the Alliance, had betrayed his people. Perhaps it was fitting he had died by the hand of his own man.

But with the loss of Arcturus still a freshly gaping wound, the catastrophic hemorrhage of political leadership had thrown the Alliance into shock. Nations and colonies, lacking a figurehead or governing body, were forced to rely on the military for guidance or risk toughing it out without a united front.

Not once did Kaidan regret his actions. It was the right thing to do. In another ending, he might have stuck it out with the Spectres, but that moment had slipped into the stream of time—a brief reflection in the slackwater, sundered by a tide of events that swept everything up in its roar.

In this moment, however, Miranda's curious eyes swept over his face.

"Would you go if they asked you back?"

"I'm not sure…maybe?" His gaze flicked to the freshly pressed jacket hanging on the wall behind her. The gold bars of its epaulets seemed to gleam, lambent even in the shadows. "I'd have some things to consider. My mother being the first. I'm all she has left, apart from Cousin Daniel, but he's out in the Terminus Systems, on Anhur. No way to know if he's even alive." He reached around Miranda to slip the jacket off its hanger. "Being a Spectre is a lot of responsibility, and a hell of a lot riskier."

To his surprise, she was frowning—not at him, but at her reflection in the full length mirror beside the bed.

"I don't know, Kaidan. Your mum's a pretty busy woman. Independent. She seems to get along just fine if you ask me." She dragged her fingers through her bed-knotted hair. "It's not like she's decrepit…far from it. The woman doesn't look a day over forty. "

"She'd be thrilled to hear you say that," he said as he put his jacket on.

"Oh, I told her as much." Leaning in closer, she inspected the skin around her eyes. "Granted, I don't know how well she took it considering I didn't have any trousers on when she walked in."

Kaidan laughed. Being caught by your mom at age 37 wasn't the same as being caught when you were 17.

He stopped laughing. Miranda had a point. Maybe his hesitation went beyond filial duty.

"It could do you wonders to be striking it out on your own," she said shrewdly. She turned back to him and folded his jacket shut, then began doing up the buttons. "No more whinging about Mikhailovich or obsolete policies."

"Whinge? Since when do I whinge?" he asked with a slight whine.

"Mmm…perhaps 'whinge' is an exaggeration."

Judging by her flattened smile, she didn't find his faux incredulity as amusing as he did.

"But we're not here to fuck spiders. There's a job to do. And all that red tape is only going to worsen as negotiations drag on." Smoothing the fabric along the length of his placket, she nodded slightly as if to say "yes, this meets approval".

Kaidan pivoted toward the mirror to see for himself. Everything was in its right place, aside from the short, gold chain on his epaulet dangling down his chest. He pinched the loose end between his fingers and attached it to the top button of his jacket. What was the chain for anyhow? It seemed a banal detail, the kind whose meaning had been taken for granted or lost in time—a vestige of some other era.

He narrowed his eyes at himself and tugged at the hem of his jacket with both hands, then the bottoms of his sleeves. The jacket hugged a little snugger than usual. He caught Miranda studying his reflection, and he straightened his shoulders in a self-conscious reflex.

She held his gaze obliquely through the mirror. "Ask yourself: who will be doing the real work? The kind you can't push off to someone else. Greasing palms and cheap talk? Anyone can do that." Miranda's piercing expression deepened. "Stopping undesirables from exploiting the situation…that takes another breed entirely."

"Are you saying the Alliance doesn't do real work?"

"No. I'm saying they'll be hamstrung by their own policies, by lack of agreements with the right people. A Spectre might answer to the Council, but at least they've got free reign."

There was that bluntness again. A diplomat she was not. A wry smile crept at his lips.

"Are we still talking about me? Because it sounds like we're talking about you."

"Me, a Spectre? Never." She let out a half-hearted laugh as she turned away from the mirror and plunked down onto the piled up comforter of the bed.

"Come on, Miranda," he said, spinning around. "We both know you'd make a perfect Spectre."

"Yes, you're not wrong. But they'd never consider me. My past is too problematic. Sill too much oversight for my taste, anyhow."

"But its alright for me, huh?" he asked playfully. Being in a relationship with such an indomitable woman was daunting, but at least it was never dull.

She leaned back onto her hands and crossed her bare legs. The corner of her mouth curled as she kicked a foot toward him. "I'm not you, darling."

"Oh, that much is clear…" His voice was low as his gaze traced a line from her foot, up to her pearly calf, danced along her thigh, and beyond.

It was too easy to let himself get distracted, and Miranda was making it easy to be distracted.

On second thought, where was the harm in a little distraction? Better to relax the nervous system a little on a day like this, right? Just like he'd been taught in biotics training.

Miranda's eyes tracked his as Kaidan lowered himself onto the bed. He leaned in to kiss her and crept the tips of his fingers up the bottom of her shirt, his hands sliding beneath its fabric to cradle her bare waist. Before he could pull her in further, she pressed her hands to his chest and began to kiss back eagerly. Her breath grew loud and greedy. Emboldened, he surrendered his weight and sank into her, and they fell to the bed like the fated lovers of a black-and-white movie.

Suddenly, her hands pushed at his shoulders to break their kiss. She held a finger to his mouth, letting it barely graze his lips. "You'll wrinkle your uniform, General."

Kaidan sighed. "Ahh, you just had to remind me, didn't you?"

Miranda grinned.

Clearing his throat, he sat up and checked the time. "Damn! I'd better hurry. I'll miss the next shuttle I wanted to get there early. Will you lock up for me?" He pushed off the bed and hurried to check himself in the mirror one last time.

"Can't wait for me?" she asked, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

He'd almost responded, "I love you, Miranda, but you take too long doing your hair." Instead, he said, "You take too long doing your hair."

A year had passed without either of them saying the words out loud. They were mature adults. They'd had relationships before. And they had feelings for each other that went beyond companionship. Surely the word 'love' wouldn't ruin anything.

Yet, he hesitated to say it. "Not now" he'd tell himself again and again. It isn't the right time.

Miranda pulled the sheets into place with a crisp tug. "Not even going to stay for coffee?"

"I'll grab something at the corner, on the way."

"Suit yourself."

"Good luck this week. Rear Admiral Chavez tells me the protectionists are pretty well dug in."

"I don't need luck, dear," she said, abandoning the bedding. "I just need my wits, my gun, and a little trick or two." Miranda snapped her fingers. A halo of biotics enveloped them as she placed her hands in his and smiled.

"I'll be rooting for you, Ms. Lawson."

"Same to you, Alenko."

The silence in the ballroom pulsated. Attendees sat slack-jawed at the Dalatrass' last statement, everyone too aghast to do anything beyond suck air.

Garrus happened to be looking straight ahead when the Dalatrass ceded the floor. On the opposite side of the table, Admiral Hackett whispered something into Prime Minister Osoba's ear, and Kaidan, who was seated behind them, was making a face like he'd caught the whiff of something rotten.

Finally, the Prime Minister's raspy voice cut through the shock. "The Treaty of Farixen strictly prohibits the building of new dreadnoughts beyond the stated limits."

Dalatrass Linron did not recant. "Considering the state of affairs, the Salarian Union sees the treaty as null and void. The decimation of the turian and asari militaries has left Council space weak and vulnerable. As such, the Union seeks to build more dreadnoughts." She lifted her chin, seeming to address the wall rather than anyone in the room. "We are, after all, the only Council race with adequate resources to do so, and we will not have our territories go undefended."

Garrus could almost see Wrex's shrill, hot breath ripping through the slits of his nose.

"Bah! That's a load of pyjack crap and you know it. You don't get to just call off a treaty!" A contemptuous chortle erupted from the battlemaster's throat.

"The krogan leader will remember to watch his language please," the moderator reminded him.

"You have resources because you left everyone else to do the dirty work!" His hands clenched into fists, and for a moment, he appeared poised to slam them through the freshly waxed tabletop. "And what did you offer? A single fleet? The STG? Some science and tech, I'll give you that much. But tell me, Dalatrass, how many liters of salarian blood were spilled? How many made the last stand alongside us on the battlefields of Earth? Cause I sure as shit didn't see any of you come the end."

Wrex's breath was scorching now, so white Garrus was sure he could feel it on his neck.

"There's only one salarian I know who had any real guts, and he's dead," Wrex spat.

The Dalatrass scoffed. "So the quarians receive a slap on the wrist for adding canons to their liveships, do they? Without an embassy or position? Yet, we cannot consider the Treaty void? Do you not see the hypocrisy here?" Having worked herself into a fluster, she paused to take a long breath. "Need I remind you of the Union's efforts to re-enable the malfunctioning relays? Our monumental task to rebuild infrastructure throughout Council space? If we possessed ulterior motives, why not build the ships in secret? We've chosen to disclose our intentions as a show of cooperation. And at great expense to our people, if I might add."

The back of Wrex's hand swatted through the air. "Oh boo-fucking-hoo! Think we're all a bunch of suckers, don't you?" he belted. "Well, this isn't the Rachni Wars, sweetheart. What's that human saying? 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—go screw yourselves'?"

There was a click as the moderator cut Wrex's audio. "Mr. Urdnot! You are out of line!"

Vulgar whispers twirled about the ballroom, the coffered ceiling doing little to absorb the tittle-tattle.

Calmly, the moderator waited for the noise to subside. When it didn't stop, she tapped her finger on her audio pick-up, and everyone in the room recoiled. "We recognize that these meetings have the potential to become very…intense," the matriarch articulated with care. "There is much at stake. But it would behoove all attendants to remember the level of decorum expected at a formal gathering such as this. Do not forget: the entire galaxy is watching."

The crowd hushed. As an elder statesman, Matriarch Coralis possessed a powerful presence, one marked by restraint and quiet attentiveness. "Thank you," she said. Her keen eyes recognized Primarch Victus reaching for his indicator. "I now give the floor to Primarch Adrien Victus of Palaven."

"Thank you, Matriarch. If I may, I'd like to suggest we vote that this…digression be pushed to the supplementary list."

"Very well. Voting is now open for the additional item: Salarian Union regarding Treaty of Farixen."

Disdainful as her grimace had been, the smug satisfaction now varnishing Linron's face made Garrus want to wipe it off. He looked at Primarch Victus to gauge his reaction, but as usual, the drawn plates of his face gave nothing away.

The Primarch canted his head toward Wrex again, who had taken to pounding his thigh with his fist. "I know it's difficult, but you won't get anywhere with them like that," he whispered.

"I've played nice long enough," Wrex replied, not trying very hard to keep his voice down. "These fly-eaters think they can keep pushing us around."

"Be patient. We need to stick with our plan."

"Fine. But only because our boy here promised me a front seat at the reckoning." Wrex glanced over his shoulder and snickered at Garrus.

"A deal's a deal."

Salarian payback would be sweet indeed, but truthfully, Garrus was more concerned about the inevitable request—scratch that, demand—for more krogan colonies. Wrex was a friend, but there were limits to what friendship could and could not curtail.

"Thank you for your patience. The voting period has now ended," said Matriarch Coralis. "The majority has voted for an amendment to the agenda."

Mandibles relaxing, the Primarch let out a faint sigh. "Thank spirits for that. At least we'll have some time to prepare arguments. Garrus, can you let Professor Mithrenus know we'll need the entire historical division on stand by?"

"Yes, sir."

The first time Garrus spoke with the Professor, he had the feeling that he'd met him somewhere before, but couldn't quite place him. But the Professor recognized his name right away, and his silty voice lifted in excitement as he asked after his mother, their family, and her career all in the same breath.

It had been awkward explaining his mom's condition. He was of molting age the last time he'd seen Mithrenus, and his memory of the Professor was fuzzy at best. The Professor and his mother had been close colleagues at one time; they'd served together in the 38th Ferox Legion, before she'd moved onto her position at the university. His dad never really liked the Professor—said he was a gutless man who indulged in "unbecoming" flights of fancy. His reasons for his opinions weren't clear, though from what Garrus could gather, there was more to it than simple derision. Something from his parents early days? A romantic rivalry? It was hard to imagine his dad being the jealous type—not a very Castis-like trait in his eyes.

Regardless, the Professor's position could easily have been his mother's had her life been untouched by illness. So many things stolen away by a villain no bigger than the end of a pin.

No sooner had his thoughts begun to drift home when he realized he'd missed the motion for recess. The moderator's voice cut in again. "Motion to recess has passed. The assembly shall reconvene in exactly two hours."

A parade of long, zipped-up faces scraped past as the turians took their time in leaving. Several meters ahead, the asari delegation spread across the egress like a wave of blue dots. Garrus narrowed his eyes.

"Is it just me, or were the asari awfully quiet about that dreadnought stuff?"

"I see we had the same thought,"said the Primarch Victus as he tucked his chair into the table. "Normally, they're the first to speak out against violations."

"It runs counter to my knowledge of the treaty's history and interpretations, but a vote on compassionate grounds seems within reason, sir," said Primarch Vaelen. Before he'd become leader of the Lapus Cluster, the Primarch had been a revered legal scholar.

"Still, I think their actions warrant closer examination," replied Victus.

And that was when Garrus saw it: Matriarch T'naris shooting a furtive look over her shoulder, and Dalatrass Linron lifting her head with a snap in the Matriarch's direction.

That was intentional. It had to be.

But something didn't add up. A few months ago, two other representatives, Dalatrass Emora and Matriarch Deneya, had rendered the planning sessions into miserable spectacles. Both had refused to back down from even the most trivial details. Why, then, did the furtive look between T'naris and Linron feel anything but coincidental?

"Hmmm," uttered Garrus, still standing in place at his seat. "The asari lectured the quarians about their Thanix cannons but didn't vote for outright removal. What do you suppose they're aiming for?"

Primarch Victus signaled to the group that he was ready to leave. "I don't know, but we need to find out before the end of the week. That's when we'll be tackling all the additional points of order."

Garrus kept his eyes trained on Matriarch T'naris as she disappeared behind a glass-tiled partition, her opaque figure shaded by the wispy vines dripping from above. When he reached the doors, she was gone. Whether what he'd seen was real or not, maintaining situational awareness had always served him well; he just happened to be in a ballroom instead of the battlefield.

In the atrium fronting the Velorum, under the towering leaves of a Palavenian palm, the Alliance contingent spoke amongst themselves, cloistered and half-shaded from prying eyes.

Kaidan hung back as Admiral Hackett reiterated the talking points he would present to the Hierarchy. They had all agreed that the Admiral should be the one to present them. He'd cultivated a rapport with the Primarch in the aftermath of the war, and their partnership continued to prove both fruitful and hardy.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been the Prime Minister's job to elicit propositions. But Prime Minister Osoba had only held office for three months. The interim government that had formed from the ashes of Arcturus had finally exhausted its utility, and the electorate clamored for a return to more familiar things.

The summit would be Osoba's chance to establish relationships with other leaders, and that meant he needed experienced people at his side. Who better, then, than the men who'd already forged their bonds in the crucible of war? A war that had demanded cooperation and compromise. It was why Kaidan had been chosen to attend the special assembly; he'd worked alongside some of the galaxy's burgeoning leaders, had aided their people, and had served the Council as a Spectre. A shrewder person would say he grasped their missteps and vulnerabilities—that they were weapons to be put to use—but Kaidan saw them less as weapons and more as tools. He saw the potential to be a conduit, and he saw the potential for the Alliance to cement their place in the post-war sphere through careful strategy and alignment. And while he didn't feel qualified enough to be an admiral, or a diplomat for that matter, he knew his seat at the table had been well considered.

Admiral Hackett had just finished carving his list down to the barest bones when the Prime Minister pitched his head to see around him. The turians were funneling out of the ballroom and stalking toward them in silence, their expressions as adamantine as their carapaces.

"Primarch Victus!" Osoba called out. "Just the man we wanted to speak to."

"Prime Minister Osoba, congratulations on your election." The Primarch strode toward him and extended his hand.

"Thank you, Primarch," said the Prime Minister, giving his hand a firm shake. "The winning margin was much wider than we expected. Competition for the job wasn't the most robust. Not that I'm complaining."

Victus' mandibles flared playfully. "I don't suppose many people envy being responsible for all this right now." He gestured widely to the space around them.

"Envy? I sure as hell don't."

"Admiral Hackett. It's good to see you back to your old self." The two soldiers exchanged salutes.

"Old self? Oh, I am feeling pretty old these days." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it along the side of his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Relax, it was a joke," he said, smiling, and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Say, we just wanted a quick word. Do you have a few minutes?"

Victus' brow sank as he leaned in toward Hackett. "Is it about…that, then?"

Kaidan furrowed his brow as he tried to sort out which 'that' the Primarch was referring to. He turned to Garrus for a clue, but the ever-vigilant soldier was preoccupied with scanning the crowd in the atrium.

Admiral Hackett also seemed wary of the company around them. He glanced over his shoulder before addressing Victus. "We should speak in private."

Primarch Victus acknowledged him with a brief nod and signaled for his guards to follow.

"If you'll excuse us, gentleman." The Admiral pointed the way with an open hand, and the three leaders slipped away to seclusion, with their security details trailing close behind.

The rest of the entourage scattered, but Garrus and Kaidan exchanged a knowing look. While they had never been close, they had shared an unspoken camaraderie throughout the years, and whatever feelings of personal friction there may have been at one time had been put to bed long ago. Here and now, they stood as equals: as right hands to the galaxy's most powerful figures.

"Vakarian," said Kaidan, saluting.

"Alenko." Garrus saluted back. "So, just us underlings now."

"Weaklings is more like," another voice blustered.

An approaching shadow engulfed Garrus from behind, and raucous laughter rattled the leaves of the palms above.

Kaidan smirked. "Nice to see you too, Wrex."

Their imposing friend shoved his way between them and dropped to a bench at the edge of the plant bed, a sigh heaving out as he propped an elbow on his knee. "So….this is going well, huh?"

"About as smoothly as a vorcha pick-up line," said Garrus, fluttering his mandibles.

"It's only Day One, boys," Kaidan reminded them. "We'll have to keep our big-boy pants on for the rest of the week. After that…"

"You were planning on taking yours off? I didn't take you for an exhibitionist, Alenko," Wrex said with a wicked grin.

"Gotta to take the edge off somehow."

His dry reply made Garrus sputter. If Garrus had been sipping a drink, Kaidan was sure he would have choked on it right then and there. Playing the straight man in a group of jokers had its benefits.

"Hey, what were you two whispering about earlier, in the ballroom? Care to share with the class?"

There was silence as Garrus glanced at Wrex, and Wrex stared back at him, the line of his wide mouth gaunt and curled.

Wrex wagged his head. "Nothing important," he said, staring past Kaidan. Something had caught his attention.

Kaidan looked over his shoulder to see Tali pounding towards them from the far side of the atrium, arms swinging wide. She stopped at Garrus' side and perched a hand on her hip.

"Were you just going to leave me out of this cozy little chat?"

"Well if it isn't my favorite niece! I'd get up to hug you, but my knees have been killing me." The bench creaked as Wrex shifted forward. "We were just talking about how Kaidan here was gonna take his pants off."

"Kaidan!" Tali gasped. "I'm surprised at you. If you could kindly leave your trousers on, thank you very much. This is a professional setting."

Playing along, he crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "You don't seriously believe him, do you?"

"No, of course not," she deadpanned.

"Got to keep yer fancy guns, huh?" asked Wrex.

"On compassionate grounds. You were listening, weren't you?"

"I don't know, I might have dozed off while the volus ambassador gave that speech about terraforming. Blah blah blah soil blah blah geology blah blah blah."

"That stuff is kind of important, Wrex."

"Well I know that, but it doesn't mean I have to like it."

Kaidan was quiet as Wrex and Tali continued to trade quips. He watched his friends' faces and was struck by an unusual thought: what an anomaly they were.

They were people of different species, brought together under the leadership of a tenacious woman. People who had traveled the galaxy on the same vessel, with the same mission. Who had become friends through shared victory and loss, and who were now poised to steer the future of the galaxy. There was no other group of friends in the universe who could claim the same path.

It was a hopeful thought.

But on the other side of that hope, there was quiet fear. The crew of the Normandy had once set aside long-standing prejudices and fraught histories to achieve a singular goal. Now there was a chance they'd be locked in opposition, each of them advocating on behalf their own people, desperately panning for prosperity and salvation, for the things they'd lost in the war. Their own allotment of peace. Could old alliances bear the weight of entire worlds? Or would they now find themselves cold and shut out? Bitter, perhaps?

The idea saddened him too much. Kaidan shut it out of his mind as Wrex's deep guffaw shook him back to the present; the laugh was world-weary but comforting. He could still enjoy this for what it was, even if it wasn't forever.

"What are you doing tonight, Kaidan? Care to join me and Garrus for dinner?" asked Tali.

"I can't, Admiral Hackett asked me to attend an event hosted by the hanar primacy. Thanks, though."

Kaidan glanced at Garrus. He wasn't paying attention to the conversation at all, instead staring down at his omnitool with a pinched face, preoccupied with whatever had popped up on his display. A faint growl rumbled from the turian's throat.

"You okay, Garrus? You seem a little out of sorts."

"Yeah. I've just gotta make a quick call." His mandibles tightened as he flicked something on his screen like it was an obnoxious fly. "As much as I'd love to just shoot the breeze with everyone—no sarcasm intended—my afternoon is back to back."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, you're too good for us now," said Wrex, who made a shooing motion with his hands.

"Still on for dinner, Tali?"

"Yeah, of course. Say hello to Shepard for me."

"I will. The next time I speak with her, anyway. I'll see you all later."

Kaidan gave him a quick wave, but he'd already turned around and was hurrying away.

Searching for a quiet corner, Garrus swiveled his head about the room. Light flooded through the glass ceiling, breaking between the fronds of a giant fern and streaming into his eyes. He squinted. There was no quiet to be had. There were too many people milling about, the dense foliage and blooms doing little to dampen their chatter. He hated having make a quick escape, but he'd already missed his reminder to call Sol; he couldn't wait any longer.

He took cover under the overhang of a second floor balcony and brought up his omnitool. After five rings, there was no answer. He rang her again. No answer. He called one more time. Still no answer.

Crap.

He'd already missed the last two chats with his mom and foisted off most of her medical correspondence to Sol. He could only imagine how pissed off his sister would be now. Garrus pressed his back to the wall, letting his head drop back, and it hit the glass with a clipped thud. He was done with it all. Just done.

He looked out blankly onto the atrium floor. A quick figure crossed his field of vision: Tali cutting across the rotunda, toward the corner of the breezeway where Admiral Raan and Admiral Koris waited for her. Spirits, she walked fast. She seemed taller than before, too, standing alongside Admiral Raan. It had been less than two years since he'd seen her last, but he could see in her square, uplifted shoulders, in the surefooted breadth of her stride, how different she had become. Different than the friend he'd left behind, and worlds different than the fledgling pilgrim he'd first met in the Citadel alley. That nervous and earnest girl. Girl no longer. A woman, an admiral. It made for a remarkable story. She could have sold the vid rights to her biography, if she'd wanted to.

But Garrus' story wasn't all that pedestrian either. When he retraced his steps, he followed a swift, but serpentine path to the present: from insular cop, to space-faring Spectre hunter; from vengeful vigilante, to respected war advisor. And now, that same man had become a general in the turian Hierarchy, someone within a talon's grasp of the Primacy. All this in the span of five short years.

All this, yet he'd failed, again, to call his family. It was all too easy say "later" or "another day", "there's something more important happening right now". Important? What was more important when his mother, who hardly remembered he existed, slipped further from his fingers each day? Someday there would stop being a "later".

The question Sol had asked him months ago looped through his mind: "Are we bad kids?". Bad kids. He heard the words in his father's voice, not Sol's, and he clenched his teeth to bear the phantom pain. Dad's not here anymore, Mom. Dad's not here. He would try to call one last time.

But the sound of footsteps pounding the tile made him jerk his head up. General Pallas, second in command to Primarch Vaelen, approached, and his boots squeaked as he came to a sudden stop.

"Vakarian, Major Paetrus has just contacted me. He's sent a request for spec ops to move from the Laupus Cluster to Palaven. I've already signed off, but he needs you to give the okay."

Garrus stared back blankly. He'd heard the words but his brain hadn't processed their meaning.

The General gave him a pointed look and let out a sharp breath."Did you not receive his message?"

"Oh," said Garrus, feeling confused. "I'm sorry, I must have missed that." He turned his omnitool on and scrolled through the last few messages. Major Paetrus had indeed sent him a request, but he must have swiped past it at some point that morning. "I don't know what happened. I'll make sure he gets that right away."

"Before lunch, yes?" General Pallas shook his head. "I'll see you at the joint session."

Garrus gave a curt nod, and the General stomped away, clearly annoyed that Victus' right hand had fumbled over something so simple and time sensitive. He brought up his omnitool again and opened the Major's message. It can wait two minutes, Garrus. Two minutes, five, ten—no one is going to die. Call your sister.

The line rang. It was already too late, he knew, but he left a voice message anyway.

"Hey Sol, it's me. I must have just missed you. How's Mom?" Without thinking, he stopped to listen as if Sol could answer him somehow—a placeholder for connection. "Um, if you get this before her appointment, can you ask the clinic to send me another copy of the last bill? Looks like there's an error. They're asking for full payment for the last test. That should've been covered. Oh, and Administrator Octana got back to me. She said Mom's eligible for the additional stipend, but the deadline is end of this week. But you'll need to call her yourself. I'll be in meetings for the rest of the day. Message me when you get this. Thanks." He'd almost hung up. "H-hope you're holding up. Love you, sis," he added awkwardly.

It was something, at least.

The moment he hung up, his omnitool pinged. It wasn't Sol but Primarch Victus.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, struggling to keep his subvocals from betraying him.

"Garrus, we need you in the Rigel Room, on the second floor. I've spoken to Admiral Hackett about our plan and he has a few questions for you, directly."

"Yes, sir. Be right there."

Garrus straightened his back and rolled his shoulders. Duty called.

Die for the cause.

*emergent layer (or overstory) - the topmost layer of the forest where the tallest trees poke through the canopy. This gives them the best access to sunlight, but may also expose them to harsher conditions such as strong wind. It's also harder for these trees to bring water up the entire plant, resulting in smaller leaves.

Song: "Wake Up" - Arcade Fire
If the children don't grow up / Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up / We're just a million little god's causin' rain storms / Turnin' every good thing to rust