Chapter Text
“Welcome to Eden Prime, consul.”
Kur’gil Ishahn inspected the human in front of him, as she extended her hand with a professional smile. Surprisingly tall. Surprisingly broad, particularly in the shoulder. Reading her dossier, he had considered that she might make a good domestic servant; now, he could only imagine her working in the fields.
He ignored the gesture and made a deliberate show of looking her up and down. “Ambassador Shepard. Your pictures fail to properly capture your hideousness.”
He expected her to withdraw her hand after the insult, but instead her smile grew broader. “They caught my good side. Now, are you authorised to negotiate, or should we swap insults like children until your guards decide to put you back on the transport and go home?”
Ishahn was stung and almost took the bait of Shepard’s insult. By suggesting that he might not have authorisation to negotiate, she implied that he was junior to her. And by calling attention to his guards – two men from the Special Intervention Unit, sufficiently unambitious to be trusted with his protection and fully armed – she implicitly compared his physical courage to her own.
Shepard had no guards, no visible weapon, and no armour except a sharp blazer and a sleeveless dress.
He coaxed a grimace out of his scowl and briefly shook her disgusting hand. “It has been a long journey. Show me to our consulate.” And he set off across the landing pad, away from his shuttle, hoping that she would have to run to catch up. Instead, he found her immediately at his elbow.
Cursed woman. The recorded height on her dossier – 6’6”, an unnatural height for a human female – still hadn’t prepared him for just how much of that height was legs.
“This way. We’ve secured diplomatic immunity for your guards, but I’d suggest they confine themselves to the consulate in future to avoid incidents. Your own immunity shouldn’t be as much of a problem, and I’ve asked the local police to respect your privacy.”
Another insult. It translated roughly to ‘you never fought us, and didn’t kill any of our people’, which she had correctly guessed as a point of honour in the Hegemony. He could feel his guards’ smirks as they fell in behind.
Eden Prime was turning out to be a model colony; however, since it was situated at the intersection of the Terminus Systems and Hegemony space, that also made it a prime target. Had it been a less ideal world, it might well have been abandoned, but instead the Systems Alliance had doubled down.
A tripwire fleet – the cruisers Birmingham and Dakar, and frigates of the 52nd and 57th Strike Flotillas – formed part of that. The cruisers could hold off anything smaller than them, while the frigates’ torpedoes meant there was a risk that any capital ship being sent to attack the planet would be lost. With combined crews totalling a thousand, they were a minimum force providing maximum deterrence.
Then there was the 2nd Frontier Division: Marines stationed on the colony to hold the surface and make life difficult for any occupiers. They only had two brigades, but the brigades were above full strength and the division totalled around seven thousand troops.
Eight thousand lives, Jane Shepard reminded herself. Eight thousand people I can protect by doing my job today.
A Batarian consulate on Eden Prime wasn’t going to prevent attack – in fact she was certain they planned to use it for spying on the defences, hence why they had agreed to set it up – but it would provide a direct line for diplomacy once the shooting started. Maybe enough of a line to make the Batarians back down once their ships began to fall apart, and let them know the game was up when the reinforcements arrived. That would save lives, Batarian and Human alike, and it would make
She led the Batarian consul off the landing pad and towards a waiting skycar. In the distance, a defensive gun battery was just visible – it was actually still under construction, but the crews were off that day and it looked functional enough to make a point.
As she sat down in the back seat of the skycar, the driver – Gunnery Chief Williams from the 212 brigade – gave her a very unsubtle glare-stare in the mirror. Williams was a career soldier with a battalion-sized chip on her shoulder, and she somewhat resented being posted to guard an ambassador who was, in turn, reluctant to even allow herself to be guarded.
Of course, Williams also resented having to share space and oxygen with Batarians. Ishahn and one of his guards sat down on the back seat, the other one dropping back. The car took off, and Shepard steeled herself for small talk.
I hate small talk. She pointed out of the window as they rose into the air. “Your consulate’s been set up in Harrison, the capital city. You’ll have 120,000 square feet of space to work with, including a skycar access point to get your people there directly from the spaceport. I’ve given you the details for several local construction companies without ties to the Alliance military, for you to use in establishing your premises – as promised, we’ve provided the land and the basic buildings.”
Ishahn glared again. “I assume we will not be allowed to land shuttles directly within the compound.”
“That’s correct.”
“So much for trust.”
Shepard turned back towards him and almost dropped her smile. She felt a welling-up in her gut, a flicker of her biotics threatening to churn up what she’d had for breakfast on the way to knock Ishahn out of his seatbelt and through his bodyguard.
We don’t trust you, consul, any more than we trust the Hegemony. You’re a thieving, slaving bastard and the only reason I’ve put the hours of bureaucratic cat-wrangling into getting this consulate set up is because it might convince your government to back off a little sooner once the shooting starts, and that might stop a few people from getting torn apart. My only trust in you is that you’re too much of a coward to let your government smuggle a nuke or an army into this consulate. And if I’m wrong, and you help them launch an attack on this colony, I’ll find you, and I’ll tear you apart in revenge.
She didn’t say any of what she thought, though – thankfully, her diplomatic retraining kicked in. “Trust is earned, consul Ishahn. I hope we’ll get the chance to earn a little from each other in the next few months.”
She tried to ignore Ishahn’s look of amused hatred, and the almost-snort from Williams in the driver’s seat, and the complete apathy on the face of the Batarian guard.
They dropped off the Batarians, and Shepard stepped out of the door to see them into the building, leaving Ashley Williams alone in the car. She resisted the urge to drive off.
Fucking political parade duty bullshit.
Out in the field, she’d be setting up camp for the night by now – exhausted, on-edge, underappreciated and overworked, and she’d be loving every minute of it as the platoon set up their shelters, camouflaged them, and heated up their rations. Here she was busy babysitting some broken-brained diplomat who’d crashed out of the Marines, while her people got soft.
She knew why this was. She knew why she always got the shit jobs. She knew why–
Someone tried the door, and then knocked on the window. Shepard. Ashley unlocked the door, and the ambassador slumped into the front seat. Diplomacy was apparently a limited resource. “Drive. Alliance consulate.”
Ashley took them up and hit the autopilot, while Shepard stared straight forwards and the Batarian consulate disappeared behind them. Once they were well above it, and in the traffic stream, Shepard spoke again. “Have we got problems, Williams?”
“No, ma’am. Traffic’s good.”
“You’re full of shit, Williams.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.” If her unwanted boss wanted to play bitchfest, Ashley sure wasn’t going to lay back and take it.
The atmosphere in the car could have stopped bullets. Shepard turned and looked Ashley in the eye for a moment, and then faced forward again. “You know what, belay the consulate.” She tapped the panel in front of her, offering a route update to Ashley’s controls. It took them to a burger joint. “You hungry?”
“I ate earlier, ma’am.” Bullshit. I just don’t want to spend more time with you.
“I didn’t. Let’s go.”
Fuck.
Alright, Jay, you’re nearly through your shift. Two more weeks of working for your uncle, and you’ll be twenty and off to technical college.
Jay worked a crick out of his neck, and waited for someone else to show up. The dinner rush had subsided, the deep-fryer was off, and he was thinking of asking to go home early.
Another car rolled up, and the window rolled down. Jay blinked at the sight of an absolutely amazonian woman in a three-figure dress and her armed, armoured driver – he felt like he was having some kind of religious experience for a moment, before recovering and fixing his gaze on a point about three inches above her head, just to be safe. “Uh – welcome to Bijoy’s Fusion Burgers and Shakes, what can I get for you today?”
“Can I get, uh…” The amazon took another look at the menu and nodded to herself. “One double mapazha chicken burger, make that a meal, large fries and a large namkeen lassi. Extra lime pickles. Two paneer dosa, side of poppadoms, one small peshwari naan, side of thoran, large side of neyyappam, large side of banana fritters, small side of pineapple fritters, and a black coffee, no sugar. Thanks.” She turned to her driver. “Want anything, Williams?”
The driver then looked at her passenger in a way that made Jay consider taking cover, before visibly giving up. She even sighed. “Gimme an iced latte.”
Jay couldn’t stop himself - he’d been working this job for so long, it was instinct. “Would you like to add our fresh masala whipped cream?"
The glare he got from the driver was blistering. “Uh – t-that’s a no, then. That’ll be forty-seven credits in total.”
The passenger paid and left a tip, and Jay turned back to the kitchen. “Turn the fryer back on! Gimme a double mapazha chicken burger, large fries, extra lime pickles…”
...And your drinks. Namkeen lassi, black coffee, iced latte.”
“Thanks.”
Shepard rolled the window up, her entire lap and half the dashboard now occupied with cardboard boxes of delicious-smelling food, and Ashley found herself seized by a morbid curiosity. “Have…you eaten today? At all?”
Shepard was just staring at the food with a big grin on her face. “Biotic. I eat like this every day.”
And you still fit in that fucking dress. Jesus. Ashley wasn’t sure if she should be in awe, or if she should add jealousy to her reasons for not liking the ambassador. “Must be nice. You know, moving things with your mind, academy scholarships, extra food allowance, no weight gain…”
“Yeah – it’s pretty nice.” Shepard frowned at her burger. “Pain in the ass with formal wear, though. If I eat too quickly I still bloat, and then…”
She mimed ‘bloomp’, spreading her arms a bit around her midriff. Ashley almost laughed, and had to fix her scowl back on. Fuck – you don’t like her. She’s keeping you on this duty. This is a bullshit assignment.
Shepard tucked a napkin into her collar and took a big bite of the burger. Chew, swallow, happy noise. Repeat several times. She ate fast and turned to Ashley. “Look, Williams…I figure you don’t like me. There’s got to be a reason for it.”
“No problems, ma’am. I’m a professional, you’re my boss.”
“I’m a professional too, and I’m not your boss – I’m your objective. Is it because you’d rather not be on embassy duty?”
Fucking hell, she’s not quitting. “Guess your kind really can read minds.” Calling biotics ‘your kind’ was the ultimate ‘do not’ when talking to your biotic boss, but fuck it.
“We can’t. Or they’d put us all in diplo-school, and the Asari would run the galaxy by…scratch that last part, they kind of do. I’m just pretty good at reading people, and you’re pretty easy to read.”
Ashley gripped the wheel a bit. “Oh, thanks.”
“It was a compliment–”
“Whatever, ma’am. I’ve got nothing against you, but you got it right. This wasn’t my first choice of assignment.”
“So we’ve got a problem?”
“Not if you need me to drive you places, secure your building, and jump out of this car to save you when your whole ‘doesn’t need bodyguards’ schtick fails. Only got a problem with pointless small talk. Ma’am.”
“So it’s the assignment? Not enough excitement for you?”
“Small talk, ma’am.”
“Suit yourself. Here’s your drink, by the way.”
“...Thanks.”
Ashley sipped the iced coffee as they passed by a bus. Kids going home from school. It was all so civilian.
They paused outside the consulate, and Ashley pulled them into the motorpool. “After you.”
Shepard unfolded herself out of the car, like an inflatable snake popping out of a can of chips. She hadn’t finished her food on the drive, so she filled one massive arm with paper bags. “Thanks.” And then, a little more warmly, as Ashley got out of the car and re-checked her weapons: “I know this assignment isn’t your choice. You and your people are doing a good job, you let me know if I can do anything to make it less of a pain in the ass.”
Ashley almost smiled, then frowned, then grimaced, and then straightened up her face and nodded. “Aye aye, ma’am.”
Ashley returned to the barracks, dis-armed and dis-armoured, and clambered into her bunk. Her bunkmate, Corpsman Bhatia, poked her head over the side and looked down at her. “How was the pickup, Chief? The guys are on tenterhooks about our new neighbours.”
“Urgfhgdt.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah, just – gimme a minute. There’s nothing to brief the platoon about, except we’ll need to provide security when the idiot goes over there for coffee and handjobs.” No need to worry about calling the ambassador 'the idiot', at least in this room.
Ashley felt she could be honest with Bhatia – the older, married woman was a calming influence on the many hotheads, headcases and hardasses in her charge, and as the platoon medic she was used to hearing people’s gripes. “The worst part is I don’t know if I really hate her. She’s not what I expected from this assignment, but it’s still a bullshit job.”
“And she bought you coffee?” Ash could practically hear the grin on Bhatia’s face. Ash thought back, and…she hadn’t paid for her own coffee. The ambassador had bought her coffee. Son of a bitch. She scrambled out of bed and up the bunk-bed ladder, feeling the need to have a proper argument face to face. Nirali Bhatia was already bookmarking her novel, and grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Don’t read into it, alright? She wanted to stop for food.”
“Food too! I thought I smelled spices! Was it that fusion place on third?”
“I didn’t eat anything –”
But Bhatia had expected that, and she wiggled her eyebrows with the full, earth-shattering force of a middle-aged, happily married woman making a dirty joke. She didn’t even have to say anything out loud; Ash laughed and dropped back down the ladder, before throwing a pillow up just perfectly so that it would land on her corpsman’s face.
“Oh – I’m going to get you for that, Chief!”
“Come get some!”
And so they fought with pillows, and forgot that the whole outfit was getting shafted because they had a Williams in charge.
Jane Shepard sat down at her desk, spilling her coffee in the process – she was carrying too many things. A bit splashed on her hand, but before it could scald the skin, her biotics flared and splashed it across the room. Dammit, no control.
She tapped her terminal and up came a dozen new messages: construction companies asking for more money to build what the Batarians wanted, the Batarians already asking for more resources, the Alliance asking for more progress reports on this diplomatic venture…she knocked back half her coffee in one go.
At the bottom of the page was a ray of hope, at least: a message from Captain David Anderson. Her old friend was going to be swinging by Eden Prime for a shakedown cruise in the next week or so, and he wondered if she would like to grab a beer. She answered that first, and – light at the end of the tunnel secured – downed the rest of her coffee and a banana fritter before moving on with the rest of the work.
She also composed a brief message to the commander of the 212. “Extra Marines unnecessary, consulate guards can handle security, et cetera.” But then she thought about it, and deleted the message. No harm in taking extra precautions. And it was nice to have someone around her who’d just tell her outright she didn’t like her.
The information moved through the usual channels. A dockworker with criminal connections passed information to his bosses, who passed it up the chain – but somewhere along the way, someone was playing both sides. A local police department picked up on information they had no use for, and stashed it away in case it was needed for a case. And so it passed into the realm where Saren Arterius could touch it, and he grabbed it with both hands.
A discovery. Extra resources, equipment, experts, express-delivered to a dig site on a human colony world. Eden Prime. Prothean relics unearthed.
Saren smiled. It was fitting that a human world should burn first.
First? No. There needn’t be any more. Only this one. Yes. Only this world would burn. Only this world would be the first. All those which followed it would not burn.
For some reason that logic satisfied him, at least for long enough that he could forget it and carry on with his task.