Garrus stood outside the Council Chambers, waiting for the Primarch and four of his turian superiors to pass through. The first round of peace talks was about to begin.
Despite the initial reservations, he was excited. His reluctance to believe that anything could ever come out from colliding pride and confronting ambitions was now giving way to something else. Something so simple in its feel and taste, yet powerful enough to make his chest burn with renewed life. Hope.
Katie was here, on the Citadel. She was changing everything for him again. Shifted his perspective in ways he hadn't expected. The position the Hierarchy had put the Primarch and the turian delegates in, with all their demands and claims, didn't seem so unwinnable. Relations with humans, their ten-year enemies on the battlefield, looked repairable after all. And the future of their two species was no longer so dark and oppressive. Now that he was hopeful. And so Garrus walked into the Presidium Chambers with the confident stride of a turian who suddenly had something to hold on to.
Hope. It was the strangest feeling.
The Council Chambers was a grand, circular room bathed in ambient light that reflected off the polished silver floors. Soaring, semi-transparent holographic screens lined the walls, displaying maps of the galaxy, various trade routes, and reports from distant outposts. The ceiling was a vast, domed expanse, intricately carved with patterns that shimmered with a subtle bioluminescence.
The asari Councilor Tevos stood with composed elegance, flowing robes emphasizing the natural grace of her form. Beside her, the salarian Councilor Valern seemed to be in constant motion, even when standing still—his slender fingers fidgeting rhythmically and his gaze darting sharply from delegate to delegate, betraying the relentless calculations in his mind. In stark contrast, the turian Councilor Sparatus embodied military precision and calm. His restrained impatience was betrayed only by the occasional twitching of his mandibles.
The turian representatives followed Primarch Vakarian with disciplined precision, their expressions hard and unreadable. The humans, led by Admiral Shepard, were equally composed, though there was a subtle undercurrent of anxiety in their movements.
Tevos gestured for the delegates to take their seats at the table made of polished obsidian. It was large enough to comfortably accommodate the delegations from both sides, yet intimate enough to ensure that each representative was within easy speaking distance of the others. In front of each seat, a small holographic console was embedded into the table, projecting data, notes, and relevant information to aid in the negotiations.
Shepard's place was directly across from the Primarch; the five Alliance military officials faced the five turian high command counterparts.
Garrus's eyes locked with Kaidan's, their gazes on each other lingered for what seemed like a bit too long. Ice-cold gray looked into the calm blue. Alenko's scars twitched, if only slightly, but enough for the turian to notice. Other than that, the human's face was unreadable.
As the delegates settled into their seats at the table, the Council members seemed to be waiting for someone else. Finally, the doors to the chambers opened once more, and the asari attaché announced, "Spectre Saren Arterius."
What? Garrus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. What would a Spectre do in this meeting? Not just any Spectre. Saren? He scanned the faces of the people around him. There was the same uneasy stir among the turians. Even greater indignation among humans. Alenko's eyes immediately darted to the door as he completely forgot about the blue-marked major.
"Finally," Sparatus rumbled.
The turian who entered the chamber stood taller than most of his kind, broad shoulders and ash-gray color giving him an imposing presence. The hide between his plates was even paler, accentuating the cold quality of his appearance. His eyes were chilling, devoid of emotion—some would say life itself—one of them gleaming with an artificial blue light that betrayed its synthetic nature. His mandibles grew longer than those of the average turian, and his fringe was more pronounced. These features, unsettling to humans on a normal day, were exaggerated to an intimidating extreme.
But the most striking aspect was his physique. Saren's left arm had been replaced with a cybernetic prosthesis, connected to the living tissue of his chest and shoulder. Wires and cables formed a complex synth-net neural interface, snaking from flesh to metal, allowing him control and sensation over the artificial limb. The interwoven metal muscles emitted a faint blue glow and looked eerie, almost otherworldly. The skeletal reinforcement of the replacement added a terrifying level of destructive power to the arm, making it not just a tool but a deadly weapon.
Everyone knew the official story. Saren Arterius had lost his limb in the brutal fight with the krogan warlord when he had single-handedly held the line against raiders assault in a struggle to save an entire colony. But there were many rumors about what had truly happened, some more unsettling than the other. The victory seemed too clean, too convenient, and people whispered of how Saren had struck a deal with krogan before double-crossing them and wiping them out.
Nothing could be proven, of course. Arterius's record remained officially unblemished. But Garrus couldn't shake the unease he felt when he saw the Spectre's cold, mechanical gaze.
Even the turians stirred nervously at the sight of the Spectre, though for reasons different from the humans. Saren bore no facial markings—his ashy plating was devoid of any color of affiliation. In turian society, markings signified history and honor. To remove them was to erase one's past, an act seen as a rejection of accountability. In a culture that prized this virtue above all, the 'barefaced' were regarded with deep suspicion. Garrus knew that the Spectre removed the markings himself, showing just how much he didn't care for the rules anymore.
Spectres… Major Vakarian knew all about them. Spirits, he wanted to be one ever since the boot camp. A wet dream of every turian pup who just started the basic was one day to become the ultimate badass. These super agents had no command structure. They were granted exceptional authority, including the power to decide matters of life and death across the galaxy, and answered only to the Council, which in some cases preferred not to know the exact details of how they accomplished their missions.
What could be more appealing than that? Roaming the endless galactic space, bringing peace and stability to its furthest regions. Quelling rebellions, punishing scumbags, saving civilian lives, making a name for yourself.
Garrus had spent countless hours watching the vids about the Council's elite operatives, always on some assignment to preserve order. He had applied to the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance training program straight after the basic. The screening process involved extensive background checks and psychological evaluations. Candidates typically had to have years of military or law enforcement experience before even being considered, yet he had applied nonetheless.
That was the only time in his life when Garrus hoped the family name would get him through the initial qualifying stage. The son of the very Castis Vakarian, the esteemed and well-respected general of the Turian Hierarchy. That had to mean something. And it did. Just not what he had hoped. It was many months of anticipation later that he found out his father had blocked his candidacy for good, robbing Garrus of a chance to ever feel what it was like to step out of the Vakarian name shadow, to be free from the Hierarchy and become his own man.
Garrus knew his father hated Spectres and despised their extralegal freedoms. Castis, ever the stickler for the rules, disapproved of their unorthodox methods. "Don't be fooled by the glamour, pup. They are no heroes," he would always tell young Garrus, seeing the posters on his bedroom walls. "They are nothing but government-issued thugs."
That was back when they still talked. Garrus remembered the day when he discovered his father's unilateral decision about his future. His jaw clenched, mandibles pressed tight against his face, he swallowed the shock, knowing there was no point in confronting General Vakarian about a choice already made and enforced. He went on to serve the Hierarchy, fulfilling his duties as the good turian he had been raised to be. But deep down, he never forgave his father.
To this day, Garrus respected and admired Spectres—every one of them, except Arterius.
Saren was notorious across the galaxy. Intelligent, cunning, and highly capable, he quickly gained a reputation for ruthless efficiency. He had little regard for life, saving it only when the Council deemed it necessary or when information could be gathered. Despite his methods, he remained the Council's top agent for over twenty years. They shielded him, kept him close, as the Spectre handled the dirty work they couldn't publicly acknowledge.
Watching Arterius now, Garrus couldn't help but feel disgust at that smug face. In his eyes, the Saren had stained the reputation of his fellow agents. Their values meant nothing to him, as he twisted the main principle of the Spectres—'Never kill anyone without a good reason'—into his own cynical motto: 'You can always find a reason to kill someone.'
"What is he doing here?" came the angry voice of Admiral Shepard.
"Spectre Arterius is here on the Council's personal request," Sparatus answered calmly, anticipating human's reaction. "He might provide some much needed expertise into the discussion."
"Expertise? Is that what you are calling it in the Citadel space?" Shepard scoffed with disdain, eyes never leaving Saren. "Good to know."
Arterius stayed silent, meeting human admiral's stare with the cold of his pale gray, almost dead eyes. His face and whole demeanor conveyed his indifference to the lesser male's pathetic outburst. A slight smug twitch of his mandibles came and went unnoticed by most.
"I assure you, Admiral Shepard, Spectre Arterius is here in his capacity as the peacekeeper…" Tevos, the asari Councilor, spoke in a calming soothing voice, so typical of her kind.
"That would be a first," Shepard snapped, standing his ground.
Garrus couldn't help but agree with the man. The admiral had every right to be angry. In recent years, Saren had become a vocal critic of human expansion, openly opposing the Systems Alliance's aggressive push to establish Earth's people as a force to reckon with. Unlike other species that had taken centuries to achieve what humanity accomplished in less than a decade—while simultaneously waging a war—humans had risen rapidly. This swift ascent stirred resentment among many turians, as well as other races who, despite being part of the Citadel community for longer, found themselves with a 'lower' standing compared to the newcomers.
Saren's animosity, however, went beyond mere words. He frequently inserted himself into Hierarchy operations against the Alliance, his presence often unsolicited and unnecessary. "Just for the sheer fun of killing some scatterborns," the Spectre would say with a cold gleam in his cybernetic eye.
Reports from the frontlines painted a chilling picture. His tactics were brutal and often seemed designed to maximize terror rather than achieve strategic objectives. Some whispered of him prolonging engagements unnecessarily, toying with enemy forces before crushing them with ruthless efficiency.
The Primarch had a personal dislike for the barefaced. Arterius's smugness and disregard for law was one thing. But his abominable behavior on the battlefield was something completely other. Yet there was nothing Castis could do about it. The Spectre was free go wherever he pleased and do whatever he felt necessary. The Citadel Council was the only body the ashy-gray turian answered to, making him untouchable for the Hierarchy and the leader of Palaven.
"Your flexibility speaks volumes about your ability to negotiate, Admiral," Saren's voice came in hoarse and rustling tone that unnerved Shepard—something the human could never show. "A true diplomat indeed."
"Specter Arterius, Admiral Shepard, please," Sparatus spoke with impatience. "I urge you to remain civil. After all, that's why we are here."
Valern leaned forward, his eyes blinking rapidly. "The Spectre is not here to take sides or influence the outcome. He is an observer and advisor to the Council. His expertise in conflict resolution and interspecies diplomacy is unparalleled."
"We assure you," Tevos continued, her gaze sweeping across both human and turian delegations, "that any bias, perceived or real, will not be tolerated. The Council remains committed to fair and just proceedings."
The admiral gave the Councilor a long and heavy look, but said nothing else.
Sparatus gestured the Spectre to take a seat. Saren's heavy footsteps echoed in complete silence as he walked to the back of the room that had a row of chairs lined along the wall. He chose one and sat down, the same calm expression on his face.
The turian Councilor visibly relaxed and stepped forward. "Esteemed representatives of the Systems Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy," he began. "We convene today in the hopes of bringing an end to this costly and destructive conflict. The Citadel Council will oversee these negotiations with the aim of fostering understanding and compromise between your peoples."
Tevos added her melodic tones. "We urge both parties to approach these talks with open minds and a genuine desire for peace. The galaxy watches and waits for the outcome of these discussions."
Primarch Vakarian rose, his posture rigid and proud. "The Turian Hierarchy is prepared to engage in good-faith negotiations," he stated, his gaze sweeping across the human delegation. "And we are willing to address the root causes of this conflict to forge a lasting peace."
Admiral Shepard stood as well, matching the Primarch's formality. "The Systems Alliance shares the sentiment, Primarch. We come here seeking not just an end to hostilities, but a foundation for future cooperation and mutual understanding."
The salarian Councilor cleared his throat and spoke, "Let us begin with the first item on our agenda and one of the latest trouble spots: the dispute over newly discovered eezo territories in the Skyllian Verge."
A murmur rippled through both delegations. The Verge had been a flashpoint throughout the last couple of month, reigniting the war, as both sides coveted its resource-rich systems.
Admiral Septimus Oraka leaned forward, his voice gruff. "The Hierarchy maintains that our prior claim to these regions is legitimate and based on established galactic law. Human expansion into these territories was reckless and illegal, driven by the greed for resources."
Vice Admiral Hackett bristled visibly. "With all due respect, Admiral, are you honestly saying the turians are not driven by the same motivation? Humanity takes special caution into choosing the prospects for colonization. The only reason we are even there is because our own system lacks the element zero, something turian space has in plenty."
"That's what you say now," Oraka responded with a scoff. "Yet this is not how it started. Or are you denying the many breaches of well-established laws."
Hackett winced at the words as the purple-marked turian was clearly referring to the initial colonization by the humans, before they learned about the territorial borders defined by the Council.
"Humanity was unaware of these so-called established laws when we began our expansion. The Alliance was simply exploring new frontiers, as any spacefaring species would."
Primarch Vakarian's mandibles flared in irritation. "Ignorance of the law does not excuse its violation."
Admiral Shepard took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. "You said the same about the activation of dormant mass relays. Are you sure you want to go there, Primarch? Or should I remind you that if the turians had attempted communication before opening fire, this entire conflict could have been avoided."
The chamber erupted into a cacophony of voices, with both human and turian delegates uttering accusations across the table. Councilor Tevos called for order.
"Honored Representatives, please," she interjected. "We must focus on the future, not rehash past grievances. What solutions can we propose for the Skyllian Verge?"
A tense silence fell over the chamber. Admiral Shepard glanced at his team, catching Kaidan Alenko's eye. He gave the major a slight nod, encouraging him to proceed with their prepared proposal.
"The Alliance offers a joint development initiative," Alenko said in a steady voice. "We suggest dividing the disputed territories equally, with collaborative mining operations that would benefit both our species."
Primarch Vakarian's eyes narrowed, but there was a glimmer of interest in his expression. "An intriguing proposal. However, the Hierarchy would require assurances that human expansion would be limited to agreed-upon zones."
Shepard nodded. "We're open to discussing such limitations, Primarch. Perhaps we could establish a joint commission to oversee development and expansion in the region?"
"And what of security?" asked Oraka. "The Verge is notoriously unstable. Who would be responsible for maintaining order?"
"A fair point," Shepard conceded. "We propose a joint peacekeeping force, with equal representation from both our species."
Oraka turned to Castis Vakarian in a silent exchange, their subharmonics buzzing slightly with vibrations undetectable by human ears.
Shepard waited, hiding his irritation at the turians' clear advantage in discrete discussions.
When Primarch spoke his tone was thoughtful. "That indeed might be a way to proceed, Admiral. I will relay the proposal to the Hierarchy and return with their response."
Shepard offered a brief nod. That wasn't so hard, was it?
With the dialogue moving forward, Councilor Valern raised another contentious issue. "We must also address the matter of technology sharing raised by the Systems Alliance."
A ripple of unease passed through the turian delegation. Lorik Qui'in spoke up, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "The Hierarchy will not be strongarmed into giving up our technological advantages."
Lieutenant General Randall Ezno, responsible for the R&D division within the Alliance Space Program, leaned forward, his tone conciliatory. "We're not asking for military secrets, Vice Admiral. But surely there are areas where cooperation could benefit both our species?" he lit up the screen in front of him sharing the data with other delegates. "Medical technology, for instance, advances in eezo manipulation…"
As the two delegates delved into a long discussion of the proposal details, Garrus found his attention wandering. His gaze drifted to the humans on the other side of the table, shifting from face to face until in settled on one. Memories flooded back—the acrid smoke and the cries of his people, wounded, dying, covered in blue. Garrus saw Alenko was right there with him, at the barricades of the Shanxi comms tower.
Resentment crackled between them like an unstable mass effect field, drawing curious glances from other delegates. Admiral Shepard, noticing the silent confrontation, cleared his throat loudly. "Perhaps we should take a brief recess," he suggested.
There were no objections. The officials began to leave the chamber for much-needed air and refreshments. Garrus and Kaidan found themselves moving toward the doors at the same time. But before they could reach the exit, Saren Arterius slid between them, his cybernetic eye flickering with a sinister light.
"How touching," he sneered, voice dripping with mockery as his gaze darted between them. "Old enemies, side by side. Tell me, Vakarian, does the sight of your handiwork fill you with pride? Or just regret that you never finished the job?"
Alenko's scars twitched, his fist tightening, but Garrus was faster. He spun to face Saren. "Watch your mouth, Arterius. Your presence here is already an insult—don't make it worse with your petty taunts."
Saren's smirk widened, his tone sharp as he leaned closer. "Taunts? Or is it the truth that cuts a little too deep? We both know whose hands are truly stained."
Primarch Vakarian stepped between them, his voice low and dangerous. "Enough, Spectre. Don't forget your place. Your conduct is unbecoming of these proceedings."
Saren's laugh was cold and mirthless. "My place is determined by the Council, Primarch, not by you or your Hierarch. And my conduct is for them alone to judge."
Castis's eyes narrowed, taking in the turian's bare face. "Yet your actions reflect on us all."
Saren's cybernetic implants pulsed. "And entertaining peace with these humans doesn't? They're children playing galactic politics, and you're the one indulging them."
Admiral Shepard stepped forward. "We're here in good faith, Spectre. If you can't approach these talks with an open mind, perhaps it's best you excuse yourself."
Arterius's gaze locked onto the human, cold and calculating. "Open minds get filled with delusions, Admiral. This galaxy isn't the peaceful playground you imagine. You'd do well to remember that."
With those words, he turned and stalked out of the chamber. The delegates watched him go, a mixture of anger and frustration on their faces.
Primarch Vakarian turned to Admiral Shepard, his jaws twitching in what the human had come to recognize as embarrassment. "My apologies, Admiral. Saren does not speak for the Hierarchy. I assure you, his views do not represent those of the turian command."
Shepard nodded, though his unease remained. "I appreciate it, Primarch. But his presence is a distraction we can ill afford."
"I completely agree," Castis said, surprising the human with his quick acquiescence. "I have voiced my protest with Sparatus, however, the Council remained steadfast on having the Spectre present. Arterius was right about one thing—he doesn't answer to me or the Hierarchy."
Shepard studied the Primarch's face, recognizing the shared frustration. Their mutual distrust of Saren was an unexpected common ground—the first real point of agreement for the two leaders. Perhaps, the admiral mused, this sentiment could be a starting point, a small crack in the wall of hostility between their species.