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CHAPTER 8
1-24-2186
[ CRESCENT NEBULA | TASALE SYSTEM | ILLIUM | VISTA COVA | NOS FALLS SKY COURT | TRINITY SUITES: HAVEN PLAZA | FLOOR 82 ]
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Even at twilight, Illium shimmered like a star bound to the planet's surface.
Crimson and golden hues glossed the city's countless spires as they reached into the sky, interconnected by glossy aircar lanes that zigged and zagged as far as the eye could see. Hover-taxis and corporate shuttles moved in graceful streams between mile-high towers, sending ripples of neon reflections across the polished roads and walkways below. Amid the mesmerizing spectacle, the Nehrra'Dam touched down on a modest landing tier, its ramp groaning open to release its travelers onto the purple-silver tarmac of the Nos Falls Sky Court.
A single file of quarians, relinquished of their combat gear, descended, visors looking every which way at the dazzling metropolis. When Juel and Olasie stepped ashore, they moved aside and waited for Tali and John to make it down the ramp themselves.
Hands on his hips and her arms crossed, they watched their friend finally peek out from the Nehrra'Dam's door with John just behind her.
"Still crazy." Juel uttered just out of earshot from anyone but Olasie.
"Yeah." Was her swollenly sarcastic reply.
The full and complete context of John's death and sudden reappearance had been revealed to both of them during the several hours ride to Illium. Everyone else aboard the ship, however, was told only what they needed to know. That John was seeking asylum from Cerberus. No one seemed all that reluctant or opposed to the idea of helping him out, so John would be allowed to stay and granted the opportunity to bring his case to the Neema's captain—which Tali was confident there would be no struggle to get him aboard.
Somewhere nearby, the pilots Kor and Danna conferred quietly while Prazza stood a few steps away, tapping vigorously at his omni-tool. He was, by the sound of it, haggling with a logistics manager over shipping manifests and schedules. It looked like their delivery wouldn't be available until tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully, it seemed that Illium's port authority had decided to waive whatever fee would incur from having to stay longer than what was anticipated.
"What are your plans?" Tali asked, unable to dissuade the small smile that had permanently settled on her features.
"Not sure." Juel offered truthfully, peering out behind him to the marines mingling amongst themselves or taking pictures, "Maybe just… walk around. See what the place has got to offer. What about you two?"
"John needs to get some essentials. We'll have to run errands to get him everything he needs to stay with us in the meantime."
Kylie swung by and clasped her hands together with a smile, "Sooo…, there's a bar not too far from here. A bunch of us are gonna go. You guys wanna tag along?"
Juel shrugged. "Sure."
"Yeah." Olasie agreed, figuring that would actually be a nice change of pace, "I'll come along."
"You guys have fun," Tali said, already stepping back with John, "Don't overdo it."
Kylie was already fanning her hand, "We'll be fineee."
With that, they herded off, with Juel casting one last look at the two before following the ten or so quarians heading off for some fun.
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Eric Shepard was a man of routine. Not because he particularly enjoyed all the structure or the benefits that came with the habit, but because his life necessitated him to. Work life, over the decades that had spanned his career as an intelligence directorate, had leeched into his personal one as well.
His mornings were all the same. Early, with a fasted hour's long run, his reward a pot of black coffee ninety minutes after waking while he skimmed through the day's headlines he never afforded himself to trust. It was the bold and dark crap too. The stuff neither sugar nor creamer were capable of saving.
By the time the sun had risen, Eric was already gone, leaving behind only a kiss for Hannah if she ever happened to be home from tour.
A ten-mile commute in his old, but pristine 2016 Land Rover Defender, he'd roll into his reserved parking space to get his day started.
His office was about as nondescript as it came for a man of his position. The theme was a painfully boring white and black, with two desks, one for his sprawl of paperwork, the other for digital research and computer correspondence.
There, he would spend his working hours coordinating efforts and bickering with his colleagues.
Today was no different from any other day.
Lunch rolled around, and there, at the corner of his desk, an unassuming brown paper bag from the cafeteria upstairs, its contents spread haphazardly.
Hand holding his head, elbow propped up on the table, he read an article not all that remarkably interesting about coin, his other idly twirling an apple on the tips of his fingers.
Queensland's afternoon sun spilled through his blinds, painting faint stripes across his salt-and-pepper hair and the weathered lines on his face.
Surely, he looked like a man who had spent too many years knowing too much.
A small and muted tone of an incoming call broke his focus and he glanced down at the comm terminal trying to grab his attention.
The ID was there, clear as day, and he had to cock a high brow at what clearly had the name of a quarian.
Something about it also sounded vaguely familiar and he couldn't rightly recall why.
…Was it the one John would mention sometimes on his calls years ago? Back when he was still alive?
"Tali'Zorah…" He muttered, squinting.
He almost jabbed a finger into its 'dismiss' button. But something stayed him. A resigned sigh, curiosity getting the better of him, he accepted it instead.
"Eric Shepard." Was his gruff but perfunctory response.
The voice on the other end sent a jolt through him.
"…Dad."
The apple he'd been balancing fell and hit his desk with a speed that would definitely leave it bruised.
Eric was frozen. For a moment, the world narrowed to the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. But then anger overcame him and he stood to tower over his comm unit.
"Who the HELL is this?" He growled, the steel in his tone unmistakable, "What kind of sick joke are you playing? Do you think this is funny?"
"Dad—"
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Stop—"
"I'm going to find you, you son of a bitch."
"It's me-It's ME—It's me, Dad. It's me."
"Bullshit!" He pointed accusingly at the phone now, his scowl growing two sizes. His gut told him this was some cruel prank, a bad joke from someone with no soul. But something else in him whispered it might be otherwise.
"I was nine." John murmured, recalling a long and distant memory that was vague even for him, "You took me to the Torres Strait. Broke your rod trying to catch that barramundi. You made me swim after the line."
Eric felt his knees buckle and he collapsed in his chair. Seconds go by and he had to stop himself from having a premature heart attack.
"…Dad?"
"…John? My son?" He blinked away what was almost a tear, "Is that really you?"
There was a lot Tali could see in John's expression. By impulse, her hand went out to touch his shoulder and reflexively turned to face her with his vexed mess of emotions.
"Yes. It's me, dad. It's me. Where's mom? Is she home?"
"She's— she's on tour. Never mind that. Where are you? What are you doing? We thought you… we thought you were dead."
"I know. And my situation's really complicated. I can't be talking to mom right now. Something I'm going to have to get you caught up on when I can. And it's not something I can really discuss over the phone right now."
Eric's voice turned hoarse. "Oh, my son. It's so good to hear your voice. I've missed you so much. Your mother… she's… she's missed you too." His words were pressed thin by a shrill sigh and he took a few breaths to compose himself a little more. "Listen to me. I know your line of work is keeping you busy, and it probably explains why you've been gone for so long. But— but you come back and see us. You hear? You come here and see your mother."
"I will. I promise. I'll visit as soon as I can. But I have a favor to ask."
"Anything, John. We owe it to you."
"I'm hoping you didn't spend it all… but… I kind of need my money back."
"I can do that. We didn't spend a dime. Haven't touched it since you died. Hell…" He put a small frail laugh between his words, "We were debating on giving it up for charity, or donating it to Grissom Academy."
"Well," He gave Tali a small smile and stared up toward the passing aircars. "I'm kind of glad you didn't. Just whenever you can, dad. My friend is going to text you her routing and account number. It's Tali. You remember me mentioning her, don't you? Back on the Normandy?"
"Ah, so that's how I remember her. I saw her caller ID and felt like I could recall her from somewhere. I'll be waiting, son. Don't take too long to call back, you hear? Once I tell your mother, she'll be worried sick."
"I will. Make sure you tell her I said hi and that I love you both and that I'm safe. Tell grandpa and grandma too. Same email if you ever need to message me. I've got to get a new phone number, though. Once I do, we'll talk more soon."
"Take care, my boy. I love you. And I'm proud of you."
John killed the call, handed back Tali's omni-tool, and leaned over the edge of the dais.
"It was good to hear dad." John muttered.
"How do you feel?" She asked, slipping in an arm around him for a sideways hug. Reaching around, he gave her waist a small squeeze.
"Better, now that I've talked to him."
They both stared toward the endless canvas of molten gold of the sun refracting into prismatic streaks across the soft lavender of all the impossibly elegant shards of glass that made up the endless sea of towering skyscrapers.
This was the city of Vista Cova. A name given by the Asari as a promise of the views it encapsulated. A city that seemed to hold its own breath at twilight so as to not disturb its own regal beauty.
"Something else, isn't it?" John murmured, his voice low, a soft grin barely there.
Tali's eyes lingered on the city, though not truly seeing it anymore. The view couldn't hold a candle to the man standing by her. Finally, she peeled her gaze away, her attention settling on him.
"It's… quite the view, yes."
"Before we forget. Could you text your bank info to my dad? I really need that money."
"I'll send it now."
Still with an arm looped around his, she typed through her omni-tool. "But I highly doubt the money's going to land in my account anytime soon."
"Good point."
"It's okay, though. I still have plenty of credits leftover from what you gave me years ago. So, my treat."
"Thanks, hun. I'll need to get some things like food. Change of underwear. Maybe a nice Exo-suit just like yours for when I'm on the Neema?"
She sent the text message and gave him a curious smile. "That'd be a really good idea."
He nudged her shoulder jokingly, "You can actually pretend to be dating a quarian."
"As opposed to what? Just a human?" She scoffed and tried to glare at him. "Uhm, you saved the galaxy and helped kill a reaper. And you let me tag along. I'd rather just have you."
"Is that what it took for you to fall for me?" John gave her an exaggerated grimace, "I think you need to reevaluate your standards. I don't think you could hold the bar any higher even if you wanted to."
She groaned and gave him a light push. "Shuddup."
His stomach growled and he looked down to give it a pat. "I'm starving. Haven't had anything to eat since... well. Since I left that Cerberus sation they kept me holed up in. Did you know they called it the Lazarus station?"
Tali liked to think of herself as a reasonably composed woman. Politeness and patience were virtues she tried to hold close—traits she believed to be essential to your person. But at this moment, composure felt like a distant memory. The grudge she'd once buried against Liara, long dismissed as a fleeting resentment, was starting to resurface. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized—it hadn't disappeared. It had simply been lying in wait. She couldn't even really being to explain the enormity of hate she suddenly had toward that bitch.
Oh, Liara. You 𝓬𝓾𝓷𝓽.
She couldn't stop imagining how glorious it would feel to wrap her hands around that smug, blue neck. Not in a homicidal way, of course—just a quick, therapeutic squeeze. A stress-reliever, really. Just enough to watch those perfect eyes of hers widen in shock, maybe hear a little squeak of panic escape that lying-bitch's lips.
She looked sharply at him, eyes burning. " 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓲𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓪𝔂?"
She got a shifty glance from him. "—I'm hungry?"
"You came from the Lazarus station? You were the Lazarus project, weren't you?" Her canines bore into a scowl.
Liara lied to her.
John looked slightly taken aback. "How'd you know?"
"That 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 blue 𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱."
"What are you talking about?" Both of her shoulders were held in his grip.
"Liara knew about you the entire time." She accused with a sneer, "That damned whore kept you away from me. Why? Why would she do that?"
"Tali. I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I know you don't." She said between a hard swallow, "But I'm going to find out."
"Let's just sit down." He grabbed for her hand and walked her over to a nearby table that belonged to a cafe barren of anyone in its outdoor seating, "Tell me what you know."
Music played, but she could hardly focus on anything but Liara's unforgiving betrayal.
"Start from the beginning." He said as they both take seats outside the SouthStar café.
"There isn't much to share. She told me she was working on something with Garrus a few months after your death. Left a cryptic hint and all it said was 'Lazarus'. Then the hints stopped. I ran into her months ago on the Citadel and she lied to me about what it all meant. Told me it fizzled out and went nowhere because it had 'ties to supremacy groups'. Oh the irony of that lie."
"Why were you on the Citadel?"
"Getting Juel that robot arm." She answered pointedly before averting her stare up to the sky angrily, "—Everything she said was the polar opposite of the truth. Now. Here we are. You and I meeting on Freedom's Progress."
A moment of silence while she chewed on whatever was left of her feelings. Her soup of thoughts boiled away and she threw her hands up in the air before gripping the table frustratingly. "Why would she do this to me? How could she have thought this wouldn't blow up in her face?!"
"We can't be sure of anything until we actually talk to her."
"She left me in the dark. Kept me out of the circle." She remarked with a small growl.
"Have you considered that maybe she did it to protect you?"
"Protect me? Protect me." She mocked, "John. From what? What they would do if I got in on the secret? Kill me?"
"Maybe she did it for your mental well-being."
"Do you know how relieved I would have been, knowing you'd be coming back? I would have been there since day one to help." Her pointer was stabbing the table for every word she spit from her mouth.
"From Cerberus?"
"That's not even a question worth answering." She spat before giving him a glare and frowning, "She's going to pay."
John's head fell slowly and hoped the brewing shit-storm with these two women would pass with time. Some way to relieve this dense pressure amicably; and not through some biotic smashing, hacking frenzy, fistfight. If one thing was for sure, Tali would at least get two good blows to Liara's face before being thrown across the room. He'd give Liara that. She was a great biotic. But it wouldn't really matter. An enraged quarian who knew everything there was about a biotic amp might as well be a demon terrorizing nothing but a defenseless toddler.
Liara would lose that fight in the long run. Jesus Christ.
"Hun. Calm down. It's alright." He got up from his chair and sat down next to her. When he put a hand on her arm, he could feel the anger and anxiety literally radiating off her bones.
"I'm right here, Tali. And I want you to hold it together."
"I'm trying."
"Good."
When he pat her on the back, she got a reply from John's father. She took a look at the message and read it aloud. "Sent. You'll see it tomorrow probably. Be safe. Talk to us soon. -dad."
"Good." He said with a nod, "Now come on. Let's eat."
She kept her eyes on the table so she could garner enough will to reply. "I could really go for a drink," She said finally, "Think they got any liquor here?"
"I wasn't aware you drank." He offered his hand to have her stand.
She took his hand.
"Aside from a handful of times and your awful influence, no. But, I'd say, there's no better time than now to celebrate you." She said with a meager smirk.
"It's a café, Tali. Don't think there's alcohol here."
"Damnit."
He laughed and smiled. "How about this. We eat here, go get some of the stuff I need, and we'll drink. Maybe we can retire for the night at a nice resort."
She took a deep breath, willed away all the fire she had against Liara, and came to realize that she had John right now and a whole night to release herself of responsibility.
"I'd love that."
"Good." He said gently before they made their way to the restaurant's door. There, plain as day, was a picture of a familiar human dish.
"Ah. They got pho here. You know how good that stuff is?"
She took a look at the picture and its description "Noodles in a giant bowl of broth… spiced with… seelahnntro? basil, beef, chili sauce, onion, and bean sprouts. Grown locally! Veeitnuhmeese origin." She stared blankly at the picture for another moment, "They look like parasitic, intestinal worms."
"Trust me," He laughed, "It's delicious."
"Worms."
"Worms or not, that's what I'm getting." He opened the door and, with a little chivalry, let Tali through.
"Thank you."
"You're very welcome, Ms. Zorah." They walked past the lobby's empty podium to a booth and took their seats. Tali, emptily, engaged her toes to a steady beat over John's feet while they waited for a waitress to get them started with something to drink.
Some habits did indeed die hard. Tali's quirks were just as John remembered save the flirting. The past two years had changed absolutely nothing. He smiled at her usual routine of inspecting or messing with some of the objects included on the table's centerpiece. When she finally got bored with the spice shakers and sauce packets, she'd usually move on to the Dextro menu to browse through their purified selections.
"Anything good?" He asked before placing an affectionate hand over hers.
"Uhm… yeah. Wow. This looks good. Here. Look." Her finger hovered over a laminated picture of some kind of roast.
"Get it, then." He said, still grinning.
Her reply was a mumble. "I will."
Finding her selection on his own menu, he read it aloud for her to hear.
"A… sahmyahgh steak… boiled and tenderized in… sweet elilmehg… is simmered to perfection in this victorian style dish."
He had trouble pronouncing some of the words and he puckered. "It looks like a baked rock."
She giggled at his unwieldy pronunciation. "It's an animal raised on the fields of Caravehere, native only to some turian colony. I forget which." She added, "Other quarians I've talked to said it tastes amazing." She noticed how hungry she was as well.
They placed their orders and waited in companionable silence. When the food arrived, John immediately set to work, snapping apart his chopsticks with practiced ease and selecting a few dipping sauces with evident anticipation. Across from him, Tali ate her meal through her induction port, a contented smile gracing her face as she savored each bite of the delicacy.
"How are your worms?" She asked between a morsel.
"Delicious, thank you." He slurped, satisfaction ebbing out in a sigh, "How's your rock?"
"Oh my god, John. I wish I could share."
"I'll pass."
She didn't bother replying and gobbed her food.
"Tell me something, Tali." He opted to switch to his spoon.
"Mm?"
"Where'd you get that suit? My god. It just looks great on you. I would've said it sooner, but I wanted to wait 'till we were alone."
Her hand went to touch the frill of her hood. "You like it? My friends gave it to me as a gift." She snorted, hands smoothing the wrinkles on her realk with a tug to better fix her appearance.
"It's absolutely beautiful." He set his spoon down and reached for his glass of water before staring off with a lighthearted smile, "Didn't think you could get any prettier, really."
"Oh, stahhhp."
"Honest. Human women would kill to get a figure like yours."
She gave herself a good once-over and felt her cheeks redden.
"Keelah, you're making me blush."
All he did was shrug innocently. "So. What's it like living on a quarian ship? Get me up to speed with what I need to know."
She forestalled the question with a finger while she chewed. When she was done, she answered.
"Well! First, I'd like to say it's something that you could handle. Sometimes the jobs we get are a little touch and go, but it's nothing too difficult."
"What's your job?"
She let that question settle as she started to ponder what exactly her job was.
"What isn't my job?" She said finally, "Right now, as you've probably have guessed, it's engineering mostly. When I'm not doing that, I'm in the lab or running special missions like this one."
"A lab?"
"Yes."
"What are you? Like a doctor or something?"
"Well," Tali said, putting up a smug act, "Technically, I am. I have a doctorate in aerospace engineering, a major in math, and an associates in Eezo theory."
"You majored in math while you were in doctorate school?" He bristled. If she really was telling the truth, then his education paled in comparison.
"Mhmm. I finished the doctorate a year early too." She wasn't trying to boast, but it did feel a little good trying to impress him.
"How often do your folks do that?"
"Not too often."
"Uh-huh. Guess you could smoke me in a math test."
"Doubt it," Tali said, "Forgot how to do calculus. I can do a mean quadratic formula though."
"…Doesn't your job require you to do like… hard math?"
"John?"
"What?"
"I'm being sarcastic."
A tempered and genuine belly laugh.
"So what about you?" She asked while putting both her elbows on the table and interlocking her hands together, "I know you're smarter than you'd like to admit."
His chopsticks absently prod his food as he chewed over the words he was going to say to her. "I majored in mechanical engineering, actually." He said through a sigh, "That, and I got an associates in avionics along with an M.A. certification just for the hell of it. Did all of that with a dual-membership program. Full-ride scholarship with ANROTC at MMA. Only because I had kick-ass grades and a little pull from mom and dad."
"John. That's awesome."
"Okay, Dr. Tali." He joked, "You know, I'm surprised I hadn't known about this earlier."
"Not like you had a file on me. And it wasn't that important, I guess. Half the stuff I learned I still haven't used yet. Plus, nobody cares about credentials. Just results."
He agreed by nodding and pursing his lips. She continued.
"I got my associates when you were gone, though." Tali added, "Did it in my spare time. My played-down fact? Finished the last class with an eighty-two. So. I'm not that prestigious."
"Uh huh," He put down his utensil and put a hand on his forehead, "It's great to know my fiancé's smarter than me."
Her grin turned into a bright beaming smile. "Oh, shut up. I needed to round out my understanding." She said, grinning. Her hand propped up the side of her head. "So, do you really want to spend the rest of your life with me?"
"Yes. Suppose I'll have to get you a ring to propose and then we're engaged and… you know. All that cultural stuff."
"It's all semantics to me." She said before gliding a leg along his. He reached for both her hands and played with the ends of her fingertips. She acknowledged the affection by squeezing his own digits lovingly.
"John?" She whispered dreamily.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to go."
"Well." He stretched and let out a tepid yawn, "I'd pay for the meal myself, but… ya know."
"Making the girl pay for the first date? Smooth, John. I'm really feeling the courtship here."
He gave her a dumb smile and she paid for their meals with her credit chit.
Gathering their possessions, they took one last moment to make sure they hadn't misplaced anything, and left to take a stroll down the plaza.
She took his arm into her two and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Her gaze wandered upward, drinking in the velvet expanse of the night sky, where warm, glowing signs cast their gentle hues over the endless stretch of the boardwalk.
"Certainly is." He murmured before looking down at her, "Let's go ahead and find a place to stay, Tals. We can toast there. Then we'll do the errands in the morning. What do you say?"
"I'd love to."
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Quarians were a study in contrasts. Quiet and typically composed, their stoicism often left them misunderstood to the galaxy at large. It didn't help that they didn't often blend with other races beyond their pilgrimage and the occasional drifter who'd abandoned the fleet for a more normal life.
But get them into a bar, let the music pound, and the drinks flow? They became an entirely different species.
But, for Juel, he stood apart, a lone figure with a sealed container of liquor cradled in his hands.
His grip tightened on the bottle as he stared at it, eyes unfocused, as though it were a wall he'd been studying for hours. Around him, his friends reveled in the temporary freedom of the night, their laughter cutting through the dim haze of the bar. And yet, he was anchored within the confines of his mentally manufactured prison, unable to drift with the tide of their merriment.
He hadn't felt this bad in years. Not since that terrible, dreaded, life-altering, day.
At first, he'd convinced himself that drowning his mind in the company of friends and harsh liquor would help. A buzzing numbness, some poor decisions, and then maybe some greasy breakfast with a pounding headache to bring it all full circle. But tonight, the liquor in his hands was no escape, only a mirror reflecting back the truth he didn't want to face.
It wasn't really about Tali, not directly anyway. He wasn't jealous of her or Shepard, wasn't envious of their reunion. For the giant hiccup it had been, he was happy for her—he truly was. But seeing them together had reopened the wound he'd thought had scabbed. It was an ache that reminded him of what he had lost.
Serah.
His brows furrowed, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of her name. It had been years since that day, years of trying to move forward, to put one foot in front of the other. And yet, every so often, that pain would split, and the pain would come rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. He could still see her, hear her laughter, remember the warmth of her hand in his. And then he'd remember how cold it had been since.
"What's wrong, Juel?"
The voice startled him from his reverie, and he turned to see Prazza pulling up a bar stool beside him. He set down his drink and gave Juel a curious look. "We should be happy. No one got hurt, Prazza's alive, and we've got a day off to pretend we still live like normal people. It's a good day."
Juel uncapped his bottle, "Save for an entire city of people. Keelah se'lai you poor bosh'tets."
Together, they took generous swigs of their respective drinks. The burn of alcohol worked its way down Juel's throat, the harsh sensation briefly distracting him from the weight that lingered in his chest.
The bar's electronic music pulsed, complementing its sleek, modern ambiance. More than half of the patrons were quarian, their vibrant chatter and laughter weaving through the room like a second rhythm. Juel glanced around, taking in the lively chaos.
"Think they're pissed they have this many quarians running around their bar?" Prazza mused, swirling the beer in his glass, hoping to steer them elsewhere from the uncomfortable misery that had transpired on that human planet.
Juel smirked faintly. "Probably. But we pay and keep to ourselves. Mostly. They should be happy enough for that."
They both turned in their seats, surveying the scene they had been keeping their backs to. Some of the quarian and turian patrons, likely too drunk to care, held onto each other's shoulders, swaying and singing to an indecipherable tune. Salarian patrons sat further away, their gazes equal parts bewildered and amused as they sipped on their drinks.
Prazza broke the silence between them, voice quieter now. "So—it's none of my business—but we're men. What was that whole thing with Tali?"
"Drama. A lot of it."
"I gathered."
"You know enough to know that she thought he was dead."
"Yes."
"Was there… something between you two?"
Juel's head tilted slightly, and he shook it. "No. Nothing like that. I just… wish that I could've been as lucky as her."
Prazza wasn't fully getting the picture and Juel noticed. "How so?"
"I, uh, lost… someone," Juel muttered, not really sure if he should be getting Prazza caught in a conversation he had no intention of having. "Slavers and pirates. They took her away from me."
Prazza's grip faltered on his drink, realizing he'd wandered into serious territory. "Juel, I—I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Juel's voice was distant now, laced with some level of bitter acceptance. "She scuttled the ship with herself aboard before anything could happen. I think. It's about all a man can ask for at this point."
The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of unspoken grief filling the space between them. Juel finally broke it with a wry smile. "It's fine, Prazza. It's just—"
Prazza nodded knowingly before Juel could finish. "—That you wish you could've gotten a second chance too. Like them."
Juel lowered his gaze, nodding silently. "Yeah."
Sips from their respective drinks, a moment without words.
"…If it means anything," Prazza started, his voice softer now, "I'm here if you need me. You can always come by my place if you ever need to talk. I've got a good stash of beer, and my door's always open. You remember what deck I'm on, right?"
"Of course. I'll take that invitation, Prazza. Thanks."
"Good." Prazza stood, giving Juel a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'll give you some space."
Juel nodded, watching him walk back to the group of third squad gathered near the dance floor.
He downed another deep swig, the burn barely registering. The bar's energy buzzed, the noise and movement blurring into a distant hum.
He swirled the remaining liquid idly, eyes closed and focused on the dizzying buzz.
"You look like you've been shot."
The voice was bright, sharp, and entirely too close. Juel blinked, opening his eyes to see Olasie leaning on the bar beside him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hood slightly askew—clear evidence that she'd already had a few too many. She grinned at him, one hand firmly planted on her hip, the other holding a sealed glass that sloshed.
"Do I?"
"Ruminating by yourself? Staring emptily at your drink like you lost everything in a divorce? Keelah, Juel. Please don't tell me you're nursing a bruised crush on Tali."
"Wow." He rubbed his forehead embarrassingly at how diluted Olasie's filter was, "No."
"Well. I'd say, if Tali is gonna have a good time after putting us through the mess she made like that, we should let loose too. Moping isn't gonna get us anywhere."
That earned her a half lidded stare.
"Come on. You look like a bad wart. The dancefloor's calling your name."
He offered her a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine, Olasie. I'd rather just… think."
"Well, stop thinking," she replied, her hand already reaching for his arm. "We've been brooding since we got here. That's not allowed tonight. Come dance with me!"
"Uhm…"
She tugged his arm with a surprising amount of strength for someone who was clearly a little too drunk.
"No excuses!" she interrupted, her voice taking on a singsong quality that clashed with her usual sharpness. "You've got legs. You've got rhythm. And you've got me dragging you out there. That's three good reasons."
"Olasie," Juel said again, this time with a touch more firmness. He looked at her far-to-polished eyes that were also bright and determined, her grip on his arm insistent but not forceful. The sight was enough to pull a resigned sigh from his chest.
Without a word, he tipped whatever was left of his drink back, the harsh burn of the liquor trailing down his throat like a challenge. The moment it hit his stomach, he set the bottle down with a sharp clink and gave her a look.
"Fine," he said, surrendering. "Let's go."
Olasie beamed, her smile as infectious as it was lopsided, and she immediately tugged him toward the center of the bar where the others were. The music was louder here, the beat pulsing through the floor like a second heartbeat. Teri was already spinning with Kylie in an overly dramatic, theatrical way, while Darehk, now vertical and attempting a dance, looked like a malfunctioning mech. Even Lukh skipped to the beat, which was rather uncharacteristic of him.
As they joined the fray, Juel felt Olasie's hand slip into his, her grip firm and steady despite the sway in her step. She smiled up at him, her visor reflecting the swirling lights above.
"See?" she said warmly, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
He didn't answer and decided to just let himself get pulled into the moment. For now, he could let it all go. For now, he could pretend.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
The holo-feed crackled faintly as Miranda stood before the flickering image of the Illusive Man. She clenched her fists behind her back, the sharp lines of her Cerberus uniform pressed and pristine, though her expression betrayed a storm of frustration. Beside her, Jacob crossed his arms, his jaw tight as he stared into the glowing embers of the Illusive Man's cigarette.
"The data confirms it," Miranda said, her voice clipped but steady. "It's the Collectors. No doubt about it. The quarian's readings match the patterns we've been tracking for years."
"I mean, the footage also made it pretty obvious." Jacob butted in.
The Illusive Man leaned back in his chair, bathed in the cool blue glow of the relay display behind him. His fingers tapped idly against the crystal tumbler in his hand, filled with his ever-present brandy. "And Shepard?" His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of expectation was unmistakable.
Miranda hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she continued. "Shepard… has left. He refused to return with us to the ship. He left Freedom's Progress with the quarians."
The Illusive Man's gaze didn't waver, though the faintest flicker of something crossed his face—a mixture of disappointment and calculation. He exhaled a plume of smoke, its tendrils curling lazily upward as he absorbed the news.
Jacob, unable to contain himself, stepped forward. "He left us high and dry, sir. Straight-up walked off with the quarians. No explanation. No warning. Just gone."
The Illusive Man's sharp eyes cut toward Jacob, silencing him with a single glance. "Interesting," he murmured, his tone more thoughtful than reproachful. "Did he seem… conflicted?"
Miranda straightened, her professionalism snapping into place despite the sting of her failure. "It's clear Shepard doesn't trust us. Not yet. He questioned our methods, our motives, and—if I'm being candid—our very right to bring him back in the first place."
The Illusive Man swirled the brandy in his glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the holograms around him. "Shepard's skepticism was to be expected. The man has always been principled, stubborn even. It's what makes him valuable."
Jacob's frustration boiled over. "With respect, sir, valuable doesn't mean much if he's not here. We've lost him. He's out there with the quarians, and who knows what kind of trouble he'll stir up. If he leaks anything about us—"
"That won't happen," the Illusive Man interrupted, his voice cold and firm. "Shepard may question us, but he understands the stakes. He knows what we're fighting for. His loyalty lies with humanity, even if he doesn't realize it yet."
Miranda bristled. "And if he decides otherwise? If he aligns himself with the Alliance or worse, takes matters into his own hands?"
The Illusive Man leaned forward, his presence dominating the room even through the holofeed. "That's where you come in, Miranda. And you, Jacob. Shepard may have walked away today, but that doesn't mean we've lost him. Not yet."
He set the glass down with a deliberate motion, the sound sharp against the silence that followed. "You're both being reassigned to the SR-2, effective immediately. For now, Miranda, you'll assume command of the vessel."
Jacob blinked, his posture stiffening. "You're giving us the ship?"
"For now," the Illusive Man said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Until Shepard sees reason, the Normandy is our asset. I expect you to use it wisely."
Miranda nodded, her jaw tightening. "Understood. And the crew?"
"I'll see to that," the Illusive Man replied smoothly. "I'm sending you dossiers for recruitment targets. Operatives, specialists, soldiers—we'll build a team worthy of the Normandy. Shepard will see what we've accomplished, and he'll come around. He won't have a choice."
Miranda hesitated, then nodded again. "I'll ensure everything is ready."
"Good." The Illusive Man's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a low, menacing timbre. "But make no mistake, Miranda. I've entrusted you with this mission for a reason. I expect results. Do not fail me."
Miranda held his gaze, her spine rigid, though the weight of his words settled heavily on her shoulders. "I won't."
Jacob gave a curt nod of agreement. "We'll get it done, sir."
The Illusive Man leaned back once more, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "See that you do. Dismissed."
The holofeed blinked out, leaving Miranda and Jacob standing alone in the quiet of the comm room. Jacob let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, running a hand over his shaved head. "Hell of a day," he muttered.
Miranda didn't respond immediately, her mind already racing through the logistics of their new orders. Finally, she turned to him, her expression unreadable. "We have a lot of work to do."