[Mass Effect] Chapter #1 - Asterism

[Nikolai Odell]

One month after the devastating geth attack on the Citadel, the galactic community struggles to rebuild.

The Alliance fleet made a tremendous sacrifice to save the Citadel Council and earned humanity membership in their prestigious group. Now the Council is forced to respond to evidence that the Reapers - enormous machines that eradicate all organic civilization every 50,000 years - have returned. To quell the rumors, the Council sent Commander Shepard and the Normandy to wipe out the last pockets of geth resistance. Officially, they blame the invasion on the geth and their leader, a rogue Spectre.

But for those who know the truth, the search for answers is just beginning...

* * *

The Citadel was... different. Granted, Commander Odell had never set foot in the hallowed heart of Citadel Space before, but he'd seen enough holovids and heard enough stories to know that the sight before him was a far cry from the pristine beauty that the Presidium was meant to be. And even if that wasn't a clear enough sign, the burned craters on the Citadel's petal arms where areas of the wards had once been had certainly driven the point home.

The cause could be summed up in a single word: Saren. What had once been the name of one of the Council's most respected and feared Spectres had taken on a sinister new meaning: one that the peoples of the galaxy, and especially those living in the battle-scarred remains of the Citadel's wards, would not forget any time soon.

Odell didn't need to ask for directions: a quick glance at a computer terminal had been enough to help him navigate through the pockmarked gardens and charred walkways to the embassies. In his youth, it had been a useful talent to help him get one-up on the girlfriends who criticised his refusal to ask for directions; but as a soldier, it meant the difference between navigating safely from a point of ingress to a bunker's command centre, and accidentally stumbling into a barracks full of armed enemy soldiers.

Far enough from the Citadel Tower, the embassies had fared a little better as far as damage was concerned, but tiny impact craters from mass accelerator guns, and scorch marks from the plasma-hurling weapons that the geth used showed that this end of the Presidium, and it's occupants, had not escaped unscathed. The asari woman woman seated at the reception desk offered him a practiced smile, but it came with the distinct tightness around the eyes of someone trying to stave off pain: no doubt from the bandaged arm that she had tried to hide beneath her clothes.

"Commander Odell," she called in greeting as the human approached her desk, not giving him an opportunity to introduce homself. It was an impressive trick, but it didn't catch Odell off guard as much as it might have done with other visitors. A century or two ago, embassies back on Earth were dotted with members of various intelligence bureaus and security services: he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the Citadel Council had taken the opportunity to keep an eye on their allies' ambassadors.

Odell offered a little smile of his own. "You must be Saphyria," he countered; she wasn't the only one who could prepare in advance with a quick search through the personnel database.

Saphyria's eyes narrowed ever so slightly; apparently her know-it-all attitude was something she was territorial about. "Stairs to your right," she instructed, her eyes turning back to her console; clearly she had decided that this particular human was no fun to play with. "Follow the signs in Terran. The other signs lead to the volus and elcor embassies; I'd hate for you to get lured into a 'heated' debate with Ambassador Calyn, and be late for your meeting."

"Greatful: your concern is most appreciated," Odell offered, in his best immitation of an elcor monotone. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Saphyria's mouth.

Declaring victory, Odell fled at a casual pace; but every step that he climbed towards the human embassy made it feel as if gravity was somehow weighing down more heavily upon him. It wasn't some freak mishap in the environmental controls of course: it was merely the opressive cloud of dread forming over him as he stepped into the realm of the politicians. He'd spent his career avoiding them as much as possible; and now he was about to dive into their midst. Drawing a breath and rallying his strength, he jammed a finger into the door controls.

"- the Treaty of Farixen is clear! For every five dreadnaughts in the turian fleet, members of the Council are entitled to have three. And given our contributions and losses during the Battle of the Citadel, we deserve more: to match the turians, one Alliance dreadnaught for every one of theirs!"

The wall of sound slammed into Odell like a wave, Donnel Udina's grating voice carrying an overdose of emphasis and volume. If this was Earth's representative to the rest of the galaxy, it was no wonder that alien species regarded them as bull-headed and over-aggressive; it seemed like the only advantage to Udina being on the Citadel was the fact that politicians back on Earth were spared his presence.

"And where exactly are we going to find the funds to triple the size of our dreadnaught fleet?"

By contrast, David Anderson's voice was deep and calm, yet had a potential for power behind it that Odell knew first hand could be particularly intimidating when it needed to be. It seemed however that he had chosen to handle Udina with saint-like restraint, rather than succoming to the urge to inflict physical harm that was currently vying for attention in the back of Odell's mind.

"Perhaps we should siphen funds away from the donations we have made to repair the Citadel, or from the humanitarian aid to Feros, or Eden Prime? And where will we find the crews for such formidable ships - perhaps we can spare a few thousand men from the garrisons protecting the Terminus Systems, or the flotilla guarding Ilos?"

Udina tried to respond, but Anderson cut him off with a single, worldess look. "What do you think, Commander?"

For once, Odell found himself caught off guard. He had assumed his arrival had gone unnoticed, and it seemed that was at least half true, given the way Udina's head snapped in his direction. Of course, it was a mistake to think he could sneak up on David Anderson; men like him didn't earn reputations like his, and then fail to live up to them.

"With respect to the former Ambassador -" The use of the past tense caused Udina to bristle; yet another subtle victory for the Commander. "- recent events have shown that the Alliance can do more damage with a concealed knife than we can with an oversized broadsword. If we're going to pay to triple the size of any part of the Alliance fleet, we should be spending our money on more ships like the Normandy. If it weren't for the edge she gave us, we'd be living in a very different galaxy right now."

Anderson kept a straight face, but Odell could see in his eyes that it was a struggle; no doubt he'd backed up whatever school of thought Anderson himself subscribed to.

"Concealed knives and broadswords," he mused quietly. "I'll have to remember that next time I talk to the Alliance Parliament."

His attention turned to Udina. "As per usual, our meeting has run on far longer than scheduled," he explained with an edge of tiredness in his voice. "I don't know about you, but I for one could use a drink; and I know I'll enjoy it a lot more if you were someone else."

Udina was visibly seething, but he had the good sense to keep it to himself. "Councilor, Commander," he offered in farewell with a curt not to each, before retreating from Anderson's office as quickly as he could without it seeming like a storm.

Anderson let out a sigh that he'd clearly been storing up for quite some time. "I should have done more than just punch him."

"Sir?" Odell asked, with a quirk of an eyebrow.

That earned him a narrow-eyed glare from Anderson. "None of that," he warned. "And don't go calling me 'Councilor', either. Udina only does it to wind me up."

Odell couldn't help himself. "Whatever you say, Admiral."

Anderson let out a sigh, slumping heavily down into the chair behind his desk. "David," he insisted. "Just David."

Hands falling to the lowest drawer, he retrieved a bottle of something greenish-blue, and a pair of glasses. Odell had no idea what it was, but he wasn't the sort of man to turn down the offer of a drink; nor the offer of the chair that Anderson gestured towards. The turquoise liquid glugged as Anderson poured, air leaping down the neck as the alcohol made room. "It was Lieutenant last time we spoke, wasn't it?" he recalled, casually passing a half-filled glass to Odell.

"For both of us," Odell agreed, accepting the glass and sampling the aroma of the mystery liquid. He tilted the glass in Anderson's direction. "That was a lot of hair ago, sir."

A snort of laughter escaped from David. "Still a smartass, same as ever." He shook his head and sighed. "Not all of us have aged as gracefully as you, Nick. You'll have to tell me your secret one of these days," he chuckled, bringing the glass to his lips.

"You know me; I try to live the quiet life. Stay out of trouble. Avoid attention."

It was almost imperceptable, but the momentary hesitation when Nikolai had mentioned attention provided enough emphasis for David to pick up. He downed an enthusastic swig from his glass, before settling it heavily on the table, sucking air through his teeth as the alcohol sent warmth crackling down his throat. "You want to know why I called you here."

"Would be nice," Nikolai admitted. "Not that it isn't an honour to be summoned to the seat of galactic power by one of the four most influential beings in the galaxy."

That earned another brief glare, but the lack of sarcastic comment to back it up had Nikolai instantly worried. Silently, David retrieved a data card, and slid it into the port in his terminal. The holographic display shifted, displaying various graphics and star maps that Nikolai could more or less make out through the transparent back of the display screen.

"As I'm sure you already know: two weeks ago, the Normandy was shot down over Alchera. The official report blames the geth; but in all honesty, we aren't sure what it was. What Lieutenant Moreau described doesn't match anything in Citadel records; and the sensor telemetry that we were able to recover is all but useless." He hesitated, and frowned. "But that isn't the worst of it."

Nikolai's eyebrows climbed half an inch higher. "Our most advanced stealth frigate is gunned out of the sky by an enemy we can't identify; and there's worse?"

"The Normandy wasn't just a ship: her crew was important. Shepard was the first human to ever become a Spectre; and the team she assembled is the best demonstration of interspecies cooperation to date. A multi-species crew, aboard a ship with a multi-species design - that's pure political gold, and given the sitation that we're in right now, the Council wants to do as much as it can to monopolise on that."

He paused, turning his attention away from the screen and towards Nikolai. "The problem is, our example is gone. And the cynics are going to say that it's gone because it failed. Without this kind of precedent-setting team, the turians are going to cling to their them-and-us attitude to joint missions with the Alliance, and we're going to wind up with Citadel space split between the areas defended by humans, and those defended by turians. Where those areas meet, there will be cracks: and it's only a matter of time before someone comes in and exploits them."

Odell remained silent, processing the information as it was delivered. As Anderson came to a temporary halt however, he shifted a little in discomfort. "I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"I need you to build a team -" Anderson ploughed on. "- of humans, turians, salarians, asari. Hell, throw in a volus or a hanar for good measure if you can find any that are suitable. Build something that I can present to the Council as a replacement for Shepard and her team. Build something better: more diverse, more skilled, more versatile."

He paused again. "And make sure that if you find them, you can kick whatever killed the Normandy to hell and back."

A few moments of silence descended; Nikolai broke them finally with a nod. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Nick. That's why you're here."

[Nikolai Odell]

Odell caught sight of Udina lurking in the distance, but the former Ambassador scampered out of view as soon as he realised he'd been spotted. Odell didn't care; he was too busy processing his new orders, his grip tightening around the data card that he'd been given - recommendations from the Council of possible candidates for his unit. Anderson had assured him that the final choice would be his, but Nikolai knew enough to read between the lines. The Councilors would have recommended candidates who they knew they could trust, and could rely on to protect their species' own interests and abide by their species' agenda.

Promoted to politician, Odell thought to himself, darkly. A fate worse than death.

With a tired sigh, his wrist rose to his mouth, fingers triggering the controls on the comlink to open a predesignated channel. "Odell to Laren: I need a status report on operation find a bar that hasn't blown up yet, over."

[Nirax Essamus]

Fifty Fifth and Five was a smallish multi-species establishment that occupied the first five floors of the many buildings that stretched to the center of the citadel, close to the Presidium while not being well, part of it. While it would have been more notable in Turian space, it paid to be friendly to most species on the Citadel. Nirax was on shore leave for the first time in months.

While most of the supplies coming to the Citadel were being used to rebuild it, it was still and important staging point for the Asari and Turian militaries. After a month long sweep action of the Geth after six months of border deployment, Nirax and his three frigate task force needed supplies, and was ordered back.

He'd seen the after-action reports, and even hit remnants of the Geth fleet after the human Fifth Fleet gave chase, but nothing prepared Nirax for the sheer surprise of the Citadel's state. With six-month deployments followed by a two-week recondition and resupply, he'd seen the Citadel at it's norm, and now ravaged. His command ship ended up separated from the other two frigates, and ended next to a dock typically used by Alliance Forces.

Humans respond much differently to shock than Turians, Nirax noted. It was the most welcome he'd ever felt near an Alliance installation. The humans there didn't seem to begrudge him at all. In fact, one stated "we're all in the damn mess together. We all lost good people." Factually true, Nirax noted. But humans always had variable moods and motivations, and he suspected this kindness would be short-lived.

Nirax ordered a alcoholic beverage and sipped it while he went over after-action reports.

[Katrin Laran]

“Huh….” Was really all First Lieutenant Laran could mutter, her eyes scanning back and forth over the presidium. Work crews scuttled all about the walls and ceilings of the vast chamber busy patching massive rents ripped through the citadels supposedly indestructible hull. Looked like a giant claw had reached out gouged out a giant chunk of the station; which if scuttlebutt had any merit was pretty much exactly what happened.

Despite having taken the brunt of the damage, the Presidium looked in decent shape compared to the wards. Even after a month several sections still vented atmosphere to space. Guess the shiny lake and offices had precedence over the little guy.

So much for the seat of galactic power and civilization.

Katrin crossed her arms in front of her, well toned muscles cover the black tank-top tucked into her combat fatigues. She should have been here fighting instead of mopping up after two-bit slavers in the Verge. From the looks of plasma burns and bullet rounds perforating just about every visible, C-Sec and company could have used the help.

Shore leave, or whatever the brass calling this to cover up their little scheming and politicking, didn’t really seem much like much of a respite. Probably just more work to do as soon as Commander Odell returned from his meeting.

Still, there had to be a few places around here to drink up a headache. The Lieutenant managed a small smile on her usually dour face; Commander’s orders after all.

“You!” Laran grabbed a passing worker by the collar. “Where’s the closest watering hole?”

The startled salarian glanced back and forth, eyes falling on the half-empty lake and looked back to her and shrugged with a puzzled look (at least that’s what she thought it was).

“What.. no! Bar, man, where’s the closest bar?” Geez, you’d think after two and half decades that more aliens would have clued in to common human idioms.

At least the salarian’s eyes brightened. ”Oh, of course! Fifty Fifth and Five is a few blocks that way”

True to the scaly alien’s word, the bar wasn’t too far off. The small place seemed to have survived the brunt of the Geth assault. A mix of races greeted her. The handful of humans wearing System Alliance uniforms took notices and threw salutes in her direction. It wasn’t too often that someone walked into a bar wearing an Alliance Special Forces beret….or packing a holstered M-3 Predator pistol over the standard issue Strikers.

It didn’t take than a few drinks and some idle chatter with a few of the off-duty Alliance personal and C-Sec officers before her omni-tool buzzed.

“Fifty Fifth and Five a few clicks clockwise of the embassies, Sir.” Laran paused for a moment debating whether or not to prod the Commander a bit. To hell with it, this was shore leave until she was told otherwise. “ Bartender won’t mix up a ryncol, though.”

[Nikolai Odell]

Odell halted for a moment, eyes sweeping up the interior of the Presidium. The heart of the Citadel was a vast ring, the usually pristine garden paths weaving across her inner circumference, and the Citadel Tower carving a radius as it reached into the encircled void. It took a moment to get his barings, orientating himself relative to the wards in order to suss out which direction translated to clockwise from where he was.

Picking a direction he set off, eyes sweeping for any kind of signage that could provide him with clues once he neared his destination.

"I guess you'll just have to find a patron to knock you on your ass instead then," he responded into his comm, his brain already kicking up phantom aches and symptoms to remind him of just how badly his last ryncol session with Larin had gone.

He pushed those thoughts aside, wishing he'd thought to ask Anderson what the turquoise - and surprisingly pleasant - drink they'd shared in his office had been. With any luck, this Fifty-Fifth and Five would have their selection of beverages out on display; he was fairly confident he'd recognise the shapes of the alien script, even if he didn't understand the meaning.

"Radio the Chief, and let him know where we're at," he added. Odell had chosen to divide his forces, sending his teammates to scour different parts of the Citadel in search of an intact establishment that served cheap alcohol. Part of Odell was disappointed that Larin had responded first: Chief Cross had been sent to scout out some of the seedier parts of the Citadel, and while those were always a little more dangerous and a little less human-friendly, the presence of asari dancers usually more than made up for it.

His eyes picked out a sign that featured a number of repeated glyphs that Odell vaguely recognised as the asari symbol for the number five. "I think I've found the place," he informed his Lieutenant. "Find the strongest drink they've got, and order me a double."

[Ryder Cross]

Ryder had been dispatched to the wards with two basic orders, take a look around, and find a bar that was still open. So far he was having more luck with the former than he was with the latter.

The wards had taken a lot of damage during the Geth attack, and so far he hadn't found much of anything but people trying to scrape together some sort of semblance of life. So far he had only been able to make it all the way though Tayseri Ward and part of the Lower Ward on his way The Markets. Tayseri in particular had been absolutely decimated. As he walked through the stacks of debris he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to all of the people who had once lived in and visited the wards, or whether they would ever return. The Lower Ward had fared better than Tayseri, but given the destruction to Tayseri anything short of total destruction would look better.

The Lower Ward was actually fairly undamaged, considering how badly things could have been. Aliens of several species were moving about the ward. Some were trying to find others to see what type of assistance they could offer, however there were others who were seeking to feast on the mayhem. After having spent years studying and fighting pirates in various places in the galaxy with the Alliance Marines, it didn't take Ryder very long to spot the signs that at least one gang was operating in the ward. It also didn't take him long as he moved through the ward and spoke with a few of the residents who were on the street to learn that C-Sec was just not all that visible. Which made sense considering how many other issues they were dealing with at the time. However he made a note to try and speak with someone at C-Sec about what he had noticed.

Soon he found himself outside of what was left of the club, Chora's Den. At one time it had been one of the hottest clubs on the Citadel, but from all appearances, the once busy club seemed to have fallen into disuse. Or at least that's what it appeared, until a group of 3 individuals exited the club in front of him. As they came closer, Ryder could see that it was a pair of Turian's and a human.

"Well what do we have here? Your in the wrong place man."

Ryder wasn't sure whether they didn't care that he was Alliance military, or didn't recognize the uniform. Either way as the three men moved to surround him as best as they could he didn't care. It was pretty obvious that these men were a part of the gang that had been terrorizing the Lower Ward, and that in their mind he was about to be their next victim. A mistake that they were about to regret.

"I don't have any issue with you guys, I'm just looking for a place to get a drink."

"A drink? No drinks here man. But we'll gladly take your drinking money."

He didn't have a chance to respond before the first Turian attacked him, but as the Turian lunged at him, Ryder ducked down and flipped the Turian up over his back, rising again in time to block a punch from the human, and connecting with his own right cross to the man's jaw sending him reeling backwards. However the number game worked for the gang members as the second Turian grabbed Ryder from behind while he had his attention on the human, but a quick elbow thrust to the Turian's midsection released the hold quickly, and just as quickly, Ryder turned around and connected with a knee to the doubled over Turian's jaw, sending him sprawling backwards.

And as quickly as it had started it was done. It was obvious to the gang members that they had bitten off more than they could chew, and beat a hasty retreat back into Chora's Den. But Ryder knew that it was likely that there were more members of the gang in the bar, and if they decided to come back out with greater numbers, there would be no way he could fight them all off without any of his weapons, and so instead he decided to get out of the area while he was still able and to head for The Markets. As he was walking away from Chora's his omni-tool lit up.

"Go ahead."

"Chief, found a place called Fifty-fifth and Five."

It was First Lieutenant Laran, and her message was short and sweet as always.

"On my way ma'am. Just making some new friends."

Abandoning his plans to head for The Markets, Ryder instead headed back towards the Presidium where he knew Laran had been trying to find a bar herself.

[Nikolai Odell]

By the time Odell arrived, Katrin had already found a cluster of humans - a mix of Alliance and C-Sec, if the uniforms were anything to go by - to adopt her, and was in the middle of some sort of loud but good-natured drinking challenge. She noticed him enter, but Nick forestalled her gesture of invitation with a subtle shake of his head. Though he didn't look it, he technically was old enough to be Laran's father and, much as he enjoyed sharing drinks with his teammates, he had no desire to cramp the Lieutenant's style.

Instead, he selected a vacant stool at the bar itself, and began to sweep his eyes across the customers dotted around the various booths and tables. It was too bright and airy to become the kind of seedy establishment that you'd find in the wards, but it wasn't quite the high-and-mighty kind of bar that the upper echelon diplomats and politicians chose to frequent. It rested somewhere in the middle: the kind of place that you could have a few drinks without needing to watch your back, and where you knew the headache the following morning was from the booze and not the music.

It had been a while since the Alliance had trained Odell for covert observation and intelligence gathering, but he liked to take these sorts of opportunities to play games with himself, and keep his skills fresh. Take the two asari at the table in the corner, for example. They spoke to each other like old friends, talking to each other about the stresses and frustrations of their daily lives. Were it not for the way their fingers interlaced, hidden from view beneath the tabletop, he might not have expected anything else, but with that in mind he noticed more: the tenderness in one's voice as she consoled the other; the way one leaned ever so slightly towards the other as if longing to be closer, but unwilling to be so intimate in public.

For an idle moment, Odell pondered over their restraint. Same-sex relationships had been an accepted part of life for the better part of two centuries on Earth, and some sociopolitical historians cited it as one of the critical cultural evolutions that had saved the human race from over-population. But even if the other races on the Citadel weren't so accomodating, it seemed odd that the asari would be ashamed to express themselves: their race only had one gender, so it was hardly a social taboo.

"She's married," a voice suddenly explained.

It took a moment for Odell to register that the voice had been external, and not a conclusion drawn in his mind; it took a moment more to find the being who had spoken. Not tall enough to be percieved over the counter, Odell didn't notice the volus barman until he clambered up onto some sort of serving step or platform. His voice was synthesised, broken by the hiss of gas being exchanged through his pressure suit; it might have seemed sinister, were the volus not nearly spherical, and posessed of a face that looked half-bulldog, half-Bhudda.

"Excuse me?" Odell asked, looking for some sort of clarification from the volus.

"The one on the left," he explained. "Her husband is a drell, working as a guard at the hanar embassy. Those two have been lovers for centuries, on and off; and now she has to choose between the woman she loves and the man she married."

A pang of sympathy was struck in Odell's heart, though he did his best not to let it creep as far as his expression. "How do you know that?" he probed, with narrowed eyes.

"Rule one of interstellar travel, Earth-clan," the volus countered, reaching beneath the bar to retrieve a glass and a bottle of spiced Earth whiskey, pouring it over a handful of ice. "Never underestimate the barman's powers of perception."

That earned the volus a small smile, though Nick was careful not to overdo it. "Just because I'm from Louisiana doesn't mean I like Southern Comfort, you know," he pointed out. "That's like assuming everyone from England drinks Earl Grey tea."

The volus cocked his head to the side in an approximation of a shrug. "True, but while I am adept at recognising Earth accents, I am unfortunately not psychic. Simply asking you what drink you wanted would have been far less impressive an introduction, no?"

Nick chuckled at that. "You've got a point there," he admitted, tilting his glass in salute. "Commander Nikolai Odell, Systems Alliance," he added, by way of an introduction.

"Barman Elim Zora," the volus threw back, a slight hint of sarcasm in his words as he echoed the inescapably military way in which Odell had spoken. "Buy most people just call me Eezo."

For a moment, Odell had nickname envy, but didn't allow it to fester. "In that case, call me Nick."

"Very well, Nick," Eezo replied, with a respectful bow of his head.

The volus fell thoughtfully silent for a moment. "Based on my research of Earth culture, I believe I am now required to say 'What can I get cha?'"

The smile that Nick had been trying to avoid blossomed into a grin. All the efforts the volus was employing to set his customer at ease were working.

"There was something that Anderson served me earlier," he began. "Hexagonal bottle, sort of greenish-blue -"

Odell didn't even manage to complete his vague description before Eezo had disappeared beneath the counter, and reappeared with exactly the right bottle. "That's the stuff." Odell's eyes narrowed. "How the hell did you know that?"

Eezo shrugged. "It is not easy to come by through orthodox means," he explained, hesitating slightly. "Lets just say that Ambassador Calyn now owes me a favour."

Without another word, Eezo set about pouring a glass of the alien liquor for Odell, allowing a thick air of mystery to descend. Odell regarded him with a hint of suspicion; or perhaps it was more intregue. Eezo certainly seemed harmless enough: just exceptionally resourceful.

"If it's that hard to come buy, I guess I probably shouldn't ask you to leave the bottle," Odell quipped, before letting a mouthful pool in his tongue, then cascade down the back of his throat.

"I believe I can arrange for an introductory discount when I set up your tab," Eezo offered.

"Tab, huh?" Nick challenged. "What makes you think I'll be back?"

Another shrug came from Eezo. "The young woman with whom you exchanged silent greetings upon entering - the one on the bar side of the bar, attempting to consume her volume in alcohol - provided someone she called 'sir' with directions, shortly before you arrived. She also briefly contacted someone she referred to as 'Chief' to do the same - based on that, I can only conclude that you know as well as I do how hard it is to find a place to sit and drink around the Citadel these days."

He paused, letting his insights sink in. "Trust me, Earth-clan. You will be back."

Whatever Odell felt about the volus, it was definately suspicion now. The extraterrestrial seemed far more attentive than his casual surface attitude let on. He drove the point home as he jerked his head towards the door. "I assume the large human who just entered is this 'Chief' of yours?"

Nick's gaze followed to where Eezo had indicated, and the volus was correct: Chief Cross was standing - or perhaps looming was more accurate, given the Service Chief's formidable build - just inside the entrance. He threw a quick wave in Ryder's direction before turning back to the volus.

"You win, Eezo," Nick surrendered with a sigh. "And make it a tab for the team: Karin will probably be too drunk by the end of the evening to remember to pay you anyway."

[Ento]

At a table near the back of the bar, a group of humans and aliens crowded around. At the epicenter of the attention, a very sharply dressed Salarian sat with two blonde human women, wearing identical outfits. The women were sipping at a green Asarii cocktail called a Waylander. The salarian had a margarita on the rocks.

"Funny, you hack a few Geth, and people come up to you and treat you like a, what's the human term? Rockstar. Yeah, well half of it is knowing the nuts and bolts of the logic the geth are built on, and the other half is running enough stimuli through a model to anticipate certain behavioral trends. Everybody asks if Guardian is an AI, and it's not. Pseudonanosapient algorithm. It's a mimic designed around a set of behaviors performed in a vacuum. We call it the crucible algorythm. I think the human term is Game Theory? John Nash? They made a movie about him. Clever clever."

The salarian laughed a bit, blinking his enormous eyes as he sipped at his margarita.

"See, everyone overthinks the geth, and tries to brute force their way against them through unsubtle code. When you consider they're animals, but animals of another origin so to speak, you start to get the idea."

The group around him was hardly a professional panel, and there was probably not a single expert among them. There were, however, plenty of Citadel survivors of the geth invasion, as well as numerous Humans who had been to the colonies nearest to the Perseus veil, and had witnessed the ingenious work of the Salarian known as Ento.

"Did the Alliance seek you out to build the Guardian network?"

Ento shook his head, again sipping from his margarita.

"No, no, no. I was, aha, forced upon them as a suggestion by the Turians. That's, haha, another interesting story. Two years ago, I worked alongside Spectre Jaashri, know of her? She put me to work in a sort of cloak and dagger way to suggest that the Turian Hierarchy not protect their military data infrastructure with a firewall that had the strength of wet paper. Needless to say, a few Turians with egg on their faces, courtesy of Ento. They didn't take too kindly to that. Even went to a Turian prison, aha, for three days."

[Nirax Essamus]

Things were not adding up in the after-action reports. Descriptions of the weapons fire received by Council races did not add up with what Nirax had witnessed in the field. No, he would have to go outside the military sources to figure out what had transpired on the Citadel. He sighed quietly and turned off his Omni-tool. There was too much missing data, and he certainly wasn't going to search for it through the military network.

Given the inconvenience of clearance for information outside of Citadel space and the nature of the STG, Nirax had cultivated contacts to track the comings and goings to pirate and mercenary groups. It was his most sincere hope that those contacts on the Citadel were alive and well. They would be important to learn more about the Geth attack.

Right now, though, the cluster of humans fifteen meters away was growing rowdy. Nirax didn't bother with humans ordinarily, but these had different markings than normal Alliance soldiers. Outside of his contacts within the Alliance Fifth Fleet and a little bit of casual reading on Shepard (sad, that), Nirax hadn't extensively studied the units within the Alliance. A quick spin in her seat revealed a badge that said everything: N7, the highest level of ground training offered by the Systems Alliance. And she was downing alcohol at an alarming rate. Even drunk she would be dangerous. Turians recognized the need to let off steam, but humans were just a different breed altogether. Nirax shook his head.

"Eezo." He waved at the barman after his transaction with another human was completed. The volus barman waddled over.

"Hello again Tridend-clan." Eezo stated. It wasn't the first time Nirax had visited the bar. Eezo knew who he was.

"I'm interested in a unsecured net terminal. Could you recommend a place?" With all the damage to the wards, it would be easier to ask than to simply guess.

[The Citadel]

Eezo cocked his head to the side, demonstrating to the turian that he was thinking. Sealed inside their full-body pressure suits, the volus had no way of using their facial expressions to convey their emotions. While the elcor chose to describe aloud what their subtle body language was unable to convey to other species, the volus had instead chosen to exaggerate their gestures, in the hopes of achieving the same effect.

Eezo considered a variety of responses. Were he still in conversation with the human with whom he had just finished speaking, he might have provided a humorous response; asking if there were any senior employees at the embassies who he would enjoy rendering unconscious, for example. With Councilor Anderson meanwhile, who ventured to the bar whenever he wanted to quickly escape from the realm of diplomacy, he might have acted wounded at the accusation that he would know of something in such clear violation of C-Sec's data security regulations.

Nirax was exactly the wrong sort of turian for Eezo to try either approach. Essamus liked his answers the same way he liked his drinks: straight up, no twist.

"That depends on what you plan on using it for," was the answer he eventually gave.

[Ryder Cross]

Cross surveyed the bar the moment he walked in the door. It was fairly crowded, likely due to the fact that it was one of the few establishments open on the citadel. He also immediately took note of where Laran was before spotting Commander Odell and acknowledging his wave with a slight nod. If history was any indication, that would be the direction from which any trouble would come from.

After taking in the entire bar, and making a mental map of the room and anyone who looked like they might want to pick a fight with him or anyone else in the bar for that matter, he made his way over to the bar where Odell was situated.

"Commander." He didn't say anything else as his eyes once again scanned the bar. It was more then just the habits of a soldier who had seen more then his fair share of bar fights, it had been something that he had done since he was old enough to realize that situational awareness was something that could serve him well.

His eyes came back to the Volus bartender in front of him. "Beer. Terran if you have any, preferably German." It was a long shot on the second half, but the bar should at least have some sort of Earth brewed beer in stock and that would do.

[Katrin Laran]

Katrin was drunk. She knew this because her ears had started getting that funny tingling feeling. But being drunk didn’t mean that she was smashed. Contrary to popular rumor spread about her, the First Lieutenant did not let herself get completely shit-faced very often.

Genetics helped her out a bit in that department. Swedish or German maybe? She was quite sure of the ancestry all that well, but definitely one the put the alcohol tolerance stereotypes to work. Some sort of European pot-luck probably. But more importantly she was an Alliance soldier and there was protocol to uphold even while off duty.

“Ha! That’s game, drink up!”

In the after math of the Geth invasion morale on the Citadel definitely needed a boost so the lines of protocol could be stretched of course. Even something as small and silly like teaching a group of Turian soldiers that had wandered over to socialize with the rowdy humans how to play quarters.

[The Citadel]

Despite being mid-conversation with the turian, Eezo wasn't the kind of barman to ignore his customers; and so he spared a moment of thought to muse over the request of Nick's friend.

While most species on the Citadel were content enough with alcohol from a particular planet or colony, humans were - in his experience - much more picky, as the Chief had demonstrated. Earth was not a unified homeworld like Thessia or Palaven; and unlike the turians, they didn't wear distinctive facial markings to identify their clan or colony. Instead, the key cultural indication was vocal intonation, which is why Eezo had gone to such great lengths to verse himself in the different kinds.

Unfortunately, he was still learning, and the countries of the European Union were giving him trouble. There were several distinctive languages spread across dozens of geographical countries that had once been sovereign nations. Germany he knew was one of those old nations; and if memory served, either Australia or Austria bordered with it, though he was not quite sure which. It didn't help that one of the two was near Zealand, and the other near New Zealand.

Inside his enviro-suit, he let out a sigh subtle enough to avoid being detected by his vocal simulator. Earth was a very confusing world.

"Excuse me, Chief," he said with a slight bow, "I believe I may have something in the store room."

He glanced across the bar towards Nirax and, with a subtle movement of his hand, indicated that the turian should follow.

The store room was sealed with a security code; while those who frequented the Presidium weren't usually the type to become intoxicated enough to try and loot his reserves, there was always the risk of them mistaking it as the door to the bathroom, and that could lead to all kinds of unfortunate problems for his stock.

He waddled a weaving path between shipping crates and shelving units, some covered with dust while others seemed freshly placed. The store was arranged in a complex - though logical - system, that Eezo had adopted for two reasons. First of all, he always enjoyed the look of horror when he sent a fledgeling employee to search out an item for him; and second, it made it much easier for him to conceal items that C-Sec might not be too happy about him owning.

He halted in a corner, and hefted down a smallish shipping container, using it as a platform to hop up towards a computer terminal mounted on the wall. It was one of the same kind that residents of the Citadel frequently saw the Keepers using; except this one had been modified, isolating it from the regular network of systems. The modifications had gone unnoticed by C-Sec, but the Keepers were seemingly aware: rather than reversing his changes however, they seemed to have simply decided to leave the terminal alone.

Eezo turned slowly to Nirax, towering above him. "If they catch you," he warned, "You broke past the security door and modified the terminal yourself, Tridend-clan. Yes?"

[Nirax Essamus]

Nirax nodded slowly. It wasn't likely that he would be caught. Besides, no money had changed hands yet. This was an isolated area, and compared to several other establishments in the Citadel, did the vast majority of it's business legitimately.

"I'll be sure to buy a case of something for the crew." Nirax stated. The volus looked upward for a moment and waddled off. Their pressure suits made them difficult to read. He stared at the terminal for a moment, and then sat. He scrapped the networks for user-made videos of the Geth attack. Unlike the Eden Prime attack, there were 13.2 million people on the Citadel, and there were several recordings from Omni-Tools and other equipment posted. He flipped through the thousands of clips and tried to find one with a wide view. He found a leaked feed from Citadel Traffic Control that had an excellent view. There were several conclusions that were easy to draw.

One: "Sovereign" was not a Geth design, or it was radically new and reflected a new Geth thought process. While the Geth had gradually deviated from their Quarian originators, their designs still reflected the Quarians.

Two: Coordination fell apart when "Sovereign" was destroyed. It had clearly been the lead ship, and the focus of the attack.

Three: there were new weapons systems on "Sovereign". It did not look like anything fielded by any of the three primary Citadel forces, or other species, nor did it look Geth.

Four: There were strategic reasons to initiate a coverup. Nirax felt more comfortable with the lack of information through official channels now, but more uncomfortable about what it might mean if the Geth had this new technology and turned expansionist. If they had more of these new dreadnaughts, it did not bode well.

He checked the time, and decided he needed another drink.

[Nikolai Odell]

Eezo had disappeared, and reappeared a few moments later, brandishing something that looked suspiciously like proper, Earth-brewed alcohol. For a moment, Nikolai toyed with the idea of plucking several random drinks out of his head, just to test the scope of the volus' menu; but decided against it when he realised that Eezo had refilled his glass while he wasn't looking.

"Stealthy bastard," he muttered to himself, raising the glass for another sip before swivelling in his chair to face out into the bar.

His eyes fell on Laran for a few moments, checking up on his fiery protégé to make sure she wasn't getting them into trouble again. For the most part, Katrin was a cheerful and extrovert drunk, more likely to employ karaoke skills than karate skills when fully tanked up. That said, the quartermasters had been a little frugal with the fuse wire when they made her, and there were times when violence seemed like the simplest option.

Not that Odell minded all that much. The odd bar fight every now and again kept life interesting, and kept him limber; though somehow, he didn't think that Eezo would be all that pleased if they smashed up the bar.

After another sip of his drink, he tilted the glass in Katrin's direction. "Looks like the L.T. is making friends again, eh, Chief?"

[Ento]

"Excuse me."

Ento parted company momentarily with his groupies, more interested in the sudden spike in the number of uniformed Alliance officers in the bar. Always a source for Ento's curiosity to run rampant, the humans had only gotten more interesting after the pivotal events at the battle of the Citadel. Of course, they'd become a lot more profitable too, as his sudden rise in fortunes could attest to.

He had an eye for faces, and although some Salarians insisted that most humans looked alike, he was certain the man who'd just taken solace over Quarian rum for one was...

"Commander Odell?"

[Nikolai Odell]

Nikolai blinked, caught completely off-guard by the introduction. He'd seen the salarian coming of course; but he'd assumed that he had merely parted company from his companions to order the next round of drinks. Foolish, he realised in hindsight; given the way he'd seemed to be boasting and bragging to his onlookers, he probably would have just hailed the bartender loudly from across the room, expecting to be waited upon.

Searching his memory, Nick tried to place the salarian's face. It was difficult for members of any race to tell apart members of others, purely because their minds weren't hard-wired to pick up the species-specific differentiators. When you looked at a human, your brain processed the geometric shapes formed by the eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks, chin, and the relationships between them. Some of the species on the Citadel however had much more uniform facial structures; they relied on body language, facial markings, subtleties in skin pigmentation - things that until thirty years ago, humans had never encountered before.

In the interests of interspecies relations, Nikolai had been teaching himself to tell aliens apart, using criteria that he was hardwired - or at least extensively trained - for. It was those criteria tha confirmed that he'd never met the salarian in front of him before: he'd certainly have remembered if he'd met a salarian with such apparent success with the ladies.

He extended a hand towards the salarian; a human custom, yes, but one simple enough to be recognised across known space. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

[Ento]

"Aha, well, you cast a long shadow. Nearly as long as Sheperd's."

Ento half-blinked, a Salarian equivalent of a grimace.

"Sorry, I'm sure you have more on your mind than recounting your own laurels, as your people say. I'm Ento, maybe you've heard as well?"

He took Odell's hand, giving a careful shake, never really sure how many shakes or the energy of the shakes were appropriate in the human greeting, despite doing it many times. It seemed to be entirely personal preference.

"I suppose seeing a face like yours on the Citadel is more than just a chance encounter at a bar, no?"

[Nikolai Odell]

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Nikolai couldn't quite place it. The few snippits of conversation he'd overheard - the mention of the Geth in particular - clung to the name like pixels on an old-style vid screen, but he hadn't overheard enough to form a decent resolution just yet.

"Don't get too excited," Odell replied, over-emphasising his smile a little to fill in the blanks that his tone might not adequately convey. "The Council isn't out to appoint another human Spectre, or anything like that. My shadow may be long, but it isn't that long."

Nikolai shrugged, doing his best to downplay the fact that his meeting with Anderson was strictly classified. "I'm just here to visit Councilor Anderson," he explained. "He's an old friend of mine."

Keeping his tone casual, he decided to engage in a little conversational recon. "You seem to have drawn quite a crowd, Ento," he pointed out, with a quick nod in the direction of the salarian's groupies. "I'm not sure whether to envy or sympathise."

[Ento]

"Having a Councilor for a friend makes for good friends indeed, Commander."

Ento wouldn't push the matter further. You don't just come to the Citadel for drinks and talk about bases ball with a human Councilor when the rubble's still warm and not have some business on the side. That much would eventually float to the top. He could wait.

A waitress passed by, and Ento tapped at his glass.

"Another margarita por favor!"

"A margarita what?" the Asari waitress paused in confusion, and Ento sucked on his lower lip in mild frustration.

"Just...another margarita. Rocks. Always rocks, please and thank you!"

As she left, Ento shook his head.

"Oh, me? Well, not every battle fought against the Geth uses mass driver weapons. All I know is that I'll never pay for another drink on Victory Apex again, if I ever find myself on such a backwater."

Again a half-blink grimace, remembering Odell's origins.

"Well, you know how colonies are."

[Nikolai Odell]

Ento's answer had been delivered with the kind of mild supremacy with which most successful scientists spoke. It wasn't deliberate, and it wasn't arrogance per se; scientists merely considered themselves to be smarter than the average being - particularly soldiers; and often rightly so - and success made them confident enough to act accordingly, without thinking.

That said, Nick doubted that Ento would be lacking in confidence even if he weren't successful. Having only minimal contact with salarians over his years in the Alliance, he was left to wonder if it was a species-wide mentality, or just a personal quirk of this salarian in particular.

He was beginning to suspect the latter; especially with the Spanish. What was it with aliens and trying to mimick humans lately? Turians were always trying on human phrases at every opportunity; there was Ento and his accent and alcohol geography obsession; and now this. What was next - a batarian in a trenchcoat and sunglasses?

Nick offered a shrug in response to Ento's speculation. "Given my line of work, I tend to avoid earning public recognition where I can. Makes the job easier."

He grimaced the human way, recalling the statue that the colonists on Akuze had built after the whole thresher maw incident. Luckily, the carving was a poor enough likeness to avoid his face from being recognised too often, but he was always careful not to throw his name around too often, if he could help it. "Unfortunately, being recognised is sometimes unavoidable."

[Ento]

"It is, aha, a double edged sword, this name and face recognition, no? You must admit, there is some degree of utility in putting, how do they say, the fear of God into someone who knows they're dealing with a man who uses dead thresher maws as laces to tie his proverbial boots."

Ento paused, blinked, and sipped at his refreshed margarita.

"Perhaps a trade name is in order then? Live two lives? A public face and a face in the shadows? Yes, yes. But Ento digresses, just over similar lamentations."

He then relaxed somewhat, taking a broader look around the bar.

"Do you ever consider the absurdity of our current situation, Commander?"

[Nikolai Odell]

A grunt escaped from Nick's throat. "Maybe I should style my hair different and start wearing glasses," he muttered, though the comment was directed mostly at himself.

Attention wandering briefly, his eyes swept the bar just as Ento's did. They settled on the towering frame of a turian, appearing from the back room into which Eezo had disappeared earlier in search of Ryder's beer. Nikolai hadn't paid too much attention to him earlier - after all, a turian on the Citadel was hardly unusual - but the way that he carried himself, and the way he was dressed made Odell doubt that he was simply a member of Eezo's staff. He walked like a soldier, and stood like a man who expected his actions to set an example.

Despite his piqued curiosity, Odell's attention was drawn back to Ento and his direct question. "What situation would that be?" he asked, one last look thrown in the turian's direction over the rim of his glass, before he diverted his attention back to the salarian fully. "The one where the human race has gone from first contact to Council member in less than thirty years? The one where one man can wage war against a galaxy, and one woman alone is the only one able to stop him? Or the one where we're sat sharing drinks in the battle-scorched interior of what was supposed to be the safest and most secure space station in the galaxy?"

[Ento]

"All interesting analyses, mind you, but alas none of those."

He paused, conceding.

"Well perhaps tangentially interconnected to your last existentalist musing. How do we, as high sentient life forms who are essentially masters of our galactic domain, nearly wind up usurped by some Quarian's evolved toaster? Were the human Judeo-Christian God to exist, I imagine this is what he must have felt like during the Enlightenment era from your history."

He turned to survey some of the damage that was still visible from their vantage.

"Which begs the question that if you were to ask Sovereign for a piece of toast, would it remember its prime function? Heh heh."

[Nikolai Odell]

The world was turning ino a very confusing place: one in which aliens seemed to know more about the history and culture of his planet than he did. For a moment, he was struck by he visual similarities between the big-eyed salarians and the architype extraterrestrials that had permiated popular culture on Earth for the last couple of centuries: alleged abductors and experimentors from another world.

That train of thought was quickly supplanted: all the talk of toasters had reminded his stomach of just how long it had been since he'd eaten; and longer still since he'd consumed anything other than MREs and shipboard rations.

Philosophical debates were not Nick's forté at the best of times, and the end of a long day was an even less tolerable time to become involved in one. He dodged the subject completely, gesturing across the bar, glass in hand, towards the mystery soldier who was still keeping a fraction of his curiosity occupied.

"Any idea who the turian is?" he asked, simply.

[Ento]

Derailed but not undaunted, Ento turned, straw still stuck between his lips at an angle.

"Him? Apart from being from Tridend? I couldn't say. Military probably, though with Turians it's sometimes harder to tell than with you or I."

His eyes suddenly took on a conspiratorial glint, and he leaned forward.

"Do I imagine a few firing synapses in that head of yours, Commander? The famed N7 training telling you something a lowly prole like myself couldn't comprehend about our suddenly suspicious Turian? Like, how he checks his omni tool approximately every two minutes?"

He put away his very real observation of the Turian behind a mild laugh.

"Probably here for the same reason as you. We are still pretending we're here for the drinks, yes?"

[Nikolai Odell]

Alarm bells began to chime out a symphony in the back of Nick's mind. What he had initially dismissed as mild xenophobia, and discomfort with the unknown had resolved into something much clearer. There was something definately off about this salarian: more than could be simply dismissed as a quirk of his species.

His mind trawled through his memory, dredging up everything he knew about the salarians. They were renowned for their analytical minds - ideally suited for science, yes, but also for clandestine operations and intelligence gathering. While the turians had been the military muscle of the Citadel Council for centuries, the salarians were it's military mind.

Briefing details about the Special Tasks Group floated through his mind: a military scientist, perhaps? It didn't quite fit the profile though; Ento seemed more like a spy, probing for information like one of those god-awful Blasto movies. Nick couldn't put his finger on it: all he was sure was that whoever Ento claimed to be, the truth was something entirely different.

Anderson wants a salarian, Nick mused internally. Seems like as good an excuse as any to poke around in this guy's background.

Hiding his suspicions well, Nick shrugged off Ento's implication. "I'm just here to keep an eye on -"

The conversation with Ento, and the mysterious turian had distracted him so much that his vigil over Katrin had slipped. As he glanced in her direction, he began to regret that immediately.

"- my Lieutenant," he finished, with a wince.