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Today is the day that I put an end to this nonsense.
It had taken only a few hours for Garrus to convince himself to pull up the resignation letter, and sign his name. To his surprise, that had been the easiest part. For him to walk into Pallin’s office and deliver the letter himself? That had run closer to a week’s time. Garrus had always considered it a tragedy of cosmic proportions that his confidence dropped as soon as he was forced to deal with anything that didn’t have a firearm attached to it.
But he had finally mustered the courage to make the trek; he had even begun to empty his desk of belongings just to make the possibility closer to reality. Talking to the Executor was difficult enough, and the young turian wanted to burn this bridge as quickly and quietly as possible. There was nothing left for him at C-Sec.
When the Executor’s office door slid open, Garrus clutched the datapad to the point of shattering. His spine was ramrod straight, and he had even practiced flaring his mandibles to establish himself as the dominant speaker in the stairwell leading up to the office.
Garrus had planned and practiced every possible scenario.
It’s not C-Sec, Executor. It’s me.
I’m looking for career developments that have less red tape to cut through.
I’m going back to Palaven to be with family.
I’m rejoining the military.
I’ll tell you exactly where you can shove that book that you do everything by, Executor.
If he were truly honest with himself, Garrus knew the real reason he was leaving was the fact that Shepard was gone. True, she had never been C-Sec, and her rare encounters with his employer had always been antagonistic at best. But she had been his moral compass. She called him out for his loose-gunned, “whatever it takes” mentality. She had encouraged him to think and work honorably, and she had let him take the shot at Saleon because they both knew it was the only thing that could be done.
She had become his mentor, and more importantly, a friend like none of his brothers in blue had ever been.
And now she was gone.
As little as Garrus liked the Executor, he knew that C-Sec deserved better than the jaded, impossibly rough-around-the-edges turian that he had become. His desk would be better served with a more eager, more obedient person filling it.
He had planned and prepared in nearly every possible way.
What Garrus had not planned for, however, was for Solana Vakarian to be in the office, talking to his boss as if this were an everyday occurrence.
The elder Vakarian had her back to her brother. She was leaning comfortably in her seat, but she turned when she saw Pallin’s look of annoyance glide over her own head to land on the newcomer. Garrus could have sworn a look of irritation had flickered behind her eyes, before it was replaced with surprise and unabashed delight.
“Garrus!”
She bounded from her chair, and gripped Garrus’ free arm in the greeting of turian families. Her talons dug into his arm, and it surprised Garrus because if he were to expect any sort of greeting from her, it should have been formal and chilled. Solana was a politician, and formality was a necessity.
The smile on her face said “To hell with formality!”
She must have remembered that rule, though, because her cheerful demeanor was eclipsed by a disingenuous laugh, which she used to adjust her royal blue half cape, and return to her seat. She gestured for her younger brother to join her at the Executor’s desk. Garrus couldn’t help but notice that the Vakarian family crest graced her arm. It sent a tremor through him to realize that she looked so much like their mother.
He must have been chasing mental pyjacks, because he heard an annoyed grumble from behind the desk, and Solana’s mandibles struggled to hide a snicker.
Pallin’s irritation was comical.
“I wasn’t expecting both Vakarians in my office. Should I be expecting your father as well?” His talons tapped the desktop. It was obvious that he was directing the question at Solana, and it almost sounded like an accusation. Solana took it with good humor.
“No, Executor,” she purred, “You’ll have to settle for just the two of us. It is good to see you, my beloved brother.”
Her formal greeting almost set Garrus into a fit of laughter. Solana had always been careful with her words, often crafting them to trick him or any other hapless turian into doing something for her during their childhood. Now that she was a politician, her words, even the gentle ones like “beloved,” carried a certain darkness with them, as if she could brandish them like a poisoned blade. Garrus knew that if words could kill, she’d be a top-tier assassin.
“Solana, it’s… been a long time. I’ve missed you.”
Her smile did not quite reach her eyes.
“Mother has been asking about you.”
“Things have been… busy.”
“Ah, yes, breaking up terrorist cells, hunting geth, working under the first human Spectre…” her voice dropped off when she saw the expression on Garrus’ face.
The room became quiet.
“I saw the news. I’m sorry, Garrus, I know how hard it is to lose comrades.” There was no artifice in the sorrowful trill that accompanied her words. It had been a dark day on the Citadel when the Normandy had been lost, and Commander Shepard had been pronounced KIA.
Pallin interrupted their reunion.
“Vakarian.” He turned to Garrus, using his last name in the form of a question.
The younger Vakarian’s throat had suddenly gone dry. Here he was, about to slam his resignation letter on the Executor’s desk along with a tasteful monologue about where Garrus thought Pallin could shove C-Sec regulations. But a new idea was quickly forming itself.
“I… was hoping to speak with my sister.”
Both Pallin and Solana were taken aback. Pallin temporarily paused the cadence of his talons on the desk. Solana tilted her head ever so slightly, and opened her mouth just enough for him to see slivers of teeth. Garrus’ lie was unexpected, but not impossible to believe. Solana was the first to catch herself. She even took a chance, and played along with it. Her confused look melted into a beautifully vicious smile.
“Yes, my apologies, Executor. Garrus and I were planning to meet over drinks later this evening, but this is much more convenient. I messaged him earlier, asking to meet here. I hope that doesn’t put a damper on our own plans.” Her voice dripped nectar. It sent a shudder through Garrus’ stomach.
I had forgotten how good she was at lying.
“You wouldn’t mind giving us a moment, would you Venari?”
Garrus felt his gizzard turn slightly. Of all the unexpected reasons for his sister to be in this office, he had not put a lot of confidence in the idea of Solana flirting with the significantly older turian and knowing him on a first name basis. He wondered what else he didn’t know about the woman sitting next to him.
Pallin, none the wiser, chuffed.
“Very well. Make it quick.”
It was only when the office door hissed shut that Solana rose from her seat. It had been nearly three years since Garrus had been in the same room as his sister, and closer to a decade since they had spoken in private, face to face. He found himself absorbing everything about her like a sponge.
“Garrus, we’ve missed you back on Palaven. I am truly happy that we could meet.” Her elegant façade dropped ever so slightly. Her mandibles flexed into a wide, childish grin. Garrus was happy to see that that part of her personality hadn’t been consumed by her work.
Solana had joined the turian Heirarchy after several years in the military as an engineer and tactician. She had been offered the position of a domestic policy advisor on Palaven just as Garrus was trading his academy uniform for a military one. Their parents had been proud, and Garrus had been furious. She had always been a master combatant and infiltrator; he had accused her of settling for a safe seat in politics. She had spent many days cajoling and comforting him, claiming that the Heirarchy could be served with both guns and pens. Garrus had stormed off to a shooting range when they couldn’t settle their differences, and Solana hadn’t pushed the matter ever since. It had always left a bitter taste in the brother’s mouth.
Now, Garrus was surprised to see that Solana still moved and carried herself like a soldier. She wore the traditional wardrobe of a turian politician, but her curves and edges seemed too sharp. Homeworld politicians usually let the fine foods and cushy office jobs get to them. It was where the phrase “soft around the spurs” came from.
Solana was anything but soft. Her gold breastplate glimmered harshly under the Citadel lighting, and it mirrored the juts of her shoulders and hips so that she seemed closer to a warrior queen than a domestic policy advisor. Garrus imagined that she must have a well-stocked gym to keep her in such good shape. He was almost envious.
“Well, I wish we could have met under better circumstances, Solana.”
She flicked one mandible in an unspoken question. Garrus held up the datapad that glowed with his signature.
“I’m quitting.”
She trilled.
“You were never one for following the rules. Why start now?”
A rueful chuckle escaped him. Her good humor would never have been shared with their father. He realized, almost painfully, that she had always been supportive of his misadventures, even after she left the military. She had never questioned his choices or insulted his line of work. Even when he had accused her of “settling” nearly a decade ago.
Can I get an order of regret, with a dash of hypocrisy?
The thought made him let out a mournful sound. Shepard had always been fond of phrases like that; she was good at taking things like sadness and anger, and wrapping them into a nice little package that elicited a few laughs.
Solana must have picked up on his sorrow, because she turned to him, and gripped his shoulder.
“I understand how you must feel, Garrus. The Normandy was your home. Those were your people.”
The younger turian tilted his head away. He wasn’t quite willing to talk about it with his estranged sister. Not yet, at least.
“You don’t have to talk about it with me. But if you ever do, well, just know that there’s at least one turian who thinks you do our colony proud.” Her crooked grin returned, and it widened when Garrus quirked his mandibles in a gesture of gratitude.
It’s now or never, big guy.
Garrus didn’t even question the fact that his inner voice sounded exactly like Shepard.
“Solana, I have a favor to ask.”
Her mandibles pinched twice. “What sort of favor?”
“A big one. A favor where I disappear the moment I step foot out of C-Sec.”
---
Her eyes narrowed. Garrus had never been the type to ask for others’ help.
“What makes you think I can do anything for you?”
Her question must have knocked him down a notch, she saw him shift his weight, and he broke eye contact with her.
“You know how to manipulate travel accounts. You deal with travel and immigration policies all the time. You could wipe me from the record. I only need a few days.”
She eyed him, and decided to probe.
“Why would I want to erase your path? Going somewhere you don’t want others to find?”
Garrus bristled.
“Something like that.”
They squared off for a moment, twin blue eyes assessing each other in the void of the office. Solana could tell that Garrus’ fringe was raising, and he was expecting a fight. She decided to take the diplomatic approach, and let out an appreciative sound.
“I haven’t hacked a travel log in years! It would make for a pleasant distraction.” Garrus was still on edge. She shrugged, and sauntered over to the Executor’s personal computer. She wasn’t lying when she thought that Garrus’ request would be fun, but she was more than a little worried that he would notice that she was still very good at tech infiltration. Most politicians barely knew how to send an email; she’d have to tread carefully and play dumb to keep her cover from being blown.
Blackwatch agents are always in control of the situation. Don’t like the questions they’re asking? Lie. Redirect. Take control. You’re a politician, Solana.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”
Garrus stiffened at the playful tone in her subvocals; Solana had to try very hard not to laugh. Teasing her younger brother sometimes was just too easy. He waved his hands defensively, and shook his head.
“Honestly, I’d rather not know, sister. I fear I’d find out more than I’d like to know.”
Ah, so he thinks there’s something between Pallin and I. Let him think that. It’ll make my job much easier.
“Fair enough, Garrus. And don’t worry about your soon-to-be ex-boss, Pallin’s a pushover who can barely handle opening vid chats. He’ll never find out. I’m going to dovetail a couple new accounts from here. I’ll send them to your omnitool.” As Garrus reached down to activate his emails, she held up a talon in warning.
“These are one-time usage accounts. They’ll burn from the system after you use them.”
Garrus held her gaze and nodded. As she held up her own omnitool to extract and plant a few data clusters, he spoke up.
“You’re not going to lecture me about being a good turian, are you?”
“A normal turian sister would lecture you about family and your duty to your people…” she hummed as she began swiping through homescreens, “But we aren’t normal turians, are we?”
Her younger brother tilted his head down, looking slightly abashed. She grinned, and waved her talons up and down in a gesture that said to disregard her, all was well.
Hacking some travel accounts is a small price to pay to keep my little brother from finding out why I’m here.
It would take a few minutes for the accounts to link to the extranet, and a few more to be sent to Garrus. Solana took a risk, and used that time to implant the software that she had originally intended to put on the Executor’s computers. She knew Garrus had plenty of tech expertise, but she was working on a whole different level, and she could always defend her actions as some sort of precaution to override Citadel data tracking. Her hacking was what had made the Blackwatch take notice of her in the first place. She had only ever been caught once (fifteen years ago on a dare made by her bunkmate, and by a senior Blackwatch agent trying to access the same information); and she intended to keep her score at one after today.
When she looked up, she found her brother looking at her with an odd expression. It gave her a moment of doubt.
Has he found me out that easily?
She flashed her teeth in a show of mild irritation. Garrus tilted his head, and then shook it, as if trying to remove the visor that always seemed to be glued to the back of his head.
“I was just… reminiscing.”
“About what?”
“You know, Solana, for a time, I thought you were going to join the Blackwatch.”
Solana tilted her head. She was surprised with how perceptive Garrus was, though she hoped her surprise came off as ignorant.
You don’t even know the half of it, little brother.
Garrus leaned forward in his chair.
“You were always the better hand-to-hand combatant, teachers loved you, and you can still talk circles around someone twice your age. Spirits, I remember you talking about rifle mods at the same time your friends talked about parties and nice clothes.”
Solana held a hand to her chest in mock indignation.
“Jealous, little brother?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always been jealous, Solana.”
There was something raw and heavy in his voice.
She couldn’t blame him. While it was true, she was the eldest, and it was her responsibility to set an example for the Vakarians, it always seemed to be Garrus that lectured by their parents. Solana’s social aptitude made her blend into turian society; Garrus’ made him stick out like a snapped fringe.
For the slightest moment, Solana considered spilling her secret. She considered telling him that her job, her appearance, and her absence from his life was all a ruse.
Something deep within her gizzard wanted to burst out and tell him you were right Garrus, I am in the Blackwatch. You were right about everything from day one, and today I’m here to out your boss!
But fear built a wall somewhere between her brain and her mouth.
Too many seconds passed.
The computer pinged happily, and a few seconds later, Garrus’ omnitool let out a similar noise to confirm the reception of three new accounts.
Her brother let out a relieved sound as he scrolled through each account.
Solana waited for the Blackwatch payloads to link to the Executor’s personal and work accounts. Within the hour, she would begin to get massive data dumps that could range from C-Sec disciplinary reports to classified information about Palaven. The latter was her objective; somebody had tipped her captain off about the Executor digging through Palaven military records. Solana hoped it would unearth something that could be used under the guise of her advisor role. No matter what came up, though, it was bad news for Venari Pallin.
If any of the rumors turned out to be true, the Blackwatch would quickly have to decide whether Pallin was leaving the Citadel via extranet smear campaign, or in a body bag. Just another day for the Blackwatch.
Nostalgia and remorse pricked her like wild thorns.
I wonder if Garrus felt this way about C-Sec.
It was no secret that his military aptitude and obedience did not match up very well. His records were a bureaucratic script in which the words “insubordinate,” “trigger-happy,” and “aggressive” were almost guaranteed to be found. Solana knew, she had checked on multiple occasions.
She guessed that this had been his motivation for scampering onto the Normandy in the first place. After all, working with a Spectre had always been a dream of his. It had bothered her for many months that she never figured out why Garrus withdrew his application all those years ago when he was chosen as a potential candidate, and she suspected it had something to do with their father.
She wouldn’t be home for several weeks, maybe even months if Pallin had to be cut down slowly, but she resolved that the first chance she got to see her father, she would have a little talk with him about Garrus’ career.
As Pallin’s computer continued dumping and sorting, Solana found herself surprised at the number of times “Commander Shepard” flicked across the screen. Not that it was that big of a surprise; Shepard was a big deal in Citadel space, and she could imagine this human having her fair share of C-Sec encounters. The turian even caught a flash of Shepard’s military photo in an attachment on several files labeled “Classified.” She looked fierce, and unwavering. And oh, so human.
Solana looked away from her screen to observe Garrus. He was still on his omnitool, typing deftly while the orange light flicked and glimmered miniscule symbols and shapes.
She wondered if he had been happy on the Normandy.
And in the fashion that all sisters do, when nosing into the business of their brothers, Solana innocently asked, “Garrus… This… Shepard. You cared deeply for her, didn’t you?”
His talons froze. Solana could have sworn that she saw terror flash across his features. His mandibles pincered together, and then flared to show his teeth.
The unadulterated rage that bled from his eyes spoke louder than any words his mouth could have formed.
Solana held up her hands and waved in surrender. “No skin off my talons. She was a brilliant warrior and a good leader. I can tell she was a good influence for you.”
“She was our best hope, Solana. And she was my friend.” Garrus rose as he shut his omnitool off. He tossed the datapad, his original reason for being here, on the desk in front of her.
Garrus stood nearly half a foot taller than her, but Solana could see him shrink back into himself as he said the words. His throat was open, vulnerable. His teeth were bared, and his eyes glistened darkly. Solana had seen that look many times before on many other turians. It was a look reserved for family funerals and hospital waiting rooms.
Shepard had been more than a friend to Garrus. She didn’t know if it had been mutual, or just unrequited fraternal affection. Either way, she couldn’t hold it against her brother to have found a confidante in one of the toughest humans in the galaxy.
As Garrus turned to leave, Solana cut the data exchange on the desktop. She was sure that the terabytes of information she had stolen would take weeks to sift through, and she was not looking forward to huddling around the conference desk with her crewmates during those long, quiet extraction sessions.
She felt the question “Where are you going?” dance on the tip of her tongue as she followed him to the door. It was part curiosity, and part request. In another galaxy, it might have been fun to play hooky with her brother to shoot bottles off the rooftops one last time. She suspected that wherever Garrus was going, the targets would be much bigger, and probably move this time around.
But the Blackwatch didn’t hire wildcards that played hooky. They hired tried and true turians.
And Solana was a turain, both in body and spirit.
Before Garrus could swipe the access pad to open the office door, Solana gripped his shoulder.
“Whatever you do out there, do it to honor Shepard.”
There was an unspoken exchange of sorts. Garrus looked down at Solana’s omnitool, which was loading and sorting thousands of files. He tipped his head up, and the two of them unblinkingly flared their teeth, knowing that the other held secrets that didn’t have time to be shared in that moment.
Something between a smile and a snarl formed on Garrus’ mouth.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
-Two hours later-
Solana sauntered out of Pallins office, feeling immensely satisfied with her work. Her brother’s interruption had been sent by the spirits; it had saved her an hours worth of flirting and a possible trip to a bar with the Executor. It saved her from the trouble of drugging him, and the delicate issue of any advances he might have made on her if they had gone somewhere that served alcohol.
When she caught sight of her commanding officer, waiting for her on the Presidium commons, she also realized that she wouldn’t have to put up with his teasing for the rest of the trip.
Spirits, he might have even lost some credits on her success today, if the rumors about the ship’s betting circle were anything to be believed.
She plopped herself down on the bench, making sure she looked as smug and self-satisfied as possible.
Orion, her commander, pinched his mandibles, and watched various Citadel diplomats wander from one location to the next. But he didn’t turn his head to look at her.
“You’re back early.” His flanged voice could barely hide the curiosity.
“The situation… changed.”
“Do we want dinner in the Zakera wards, or do we want to stick around here?” Did we get the information, or do we need to rendezvous later?
“Zakera wards. My treat.” She purred. Good to go, though some actual Citadel food would be nice for once.
“I’ll see you in an hour, then.”
Solana nodded, and rose to find a dextrose restaurant that she could splurge on before returning to the spartan setting of her team’s ship.
She secretly prayed that some traditional turian cuisine would help brush away the melancholy that was riding her back. As she walked, she glanced down at the slim bracelet that doubled as her omnitool. It was troublesome, yet thrilling, knowing that she had illegally obtained information on Citadel officials (right in front of her C-Sec brother), and nobody on the station could do anything about it.
While she waited for food at a glitzy, turian restaurant, she sent an encrypted copy of the data clusters to Orion. They were broken in small bits, and mixed up like puzzle pieces, but it was an effective failsafe if anything were to happen to her between dinner and her return to the ship.
As she hit the ‘Send’ button to each cluster, she felt a weight lift away from her shoulders. It had taken months to prepare for this mission, and finally, her role in the mission was coming to a close. She opened a screen after her work was done, and began looking up flights to Palaven and Cipritine. It might be good to take a temporary leave of absence; seeing Garrus had reminded her that she was above petty squabbles and long-seated resentment.
Her food quickly came out. As she dug in, a happy sigh escaped her.
It would be good to take a break from this nonsense for a while.