As I reviewed the inventory available to Spectres, I realized with mild disappointment that overall, what my corporation produced for internal use—if it was inferior to what the Spectre requisitions offered—wasn't inferior by much.
Still, what they had was good enough, so without shame or hesitation I began placing a fairly large order—armor, weapons, tool drones, ammunition, various weapon and equipment mods, rations, some crew equipment—in short, everything that came to mind. And that was on top of the list Jane had already prepared and sent me, and Tali's short list.
"Tali…"
I called her again. Real irritation could be heard in my voice.
"…I believe I told you that you must make a list."
"I did. I have everything I need, and that's why—"
"Tali…"
I cut her off.
"…If it so happens that during the mission we run short on consumables, or you personally lack something we could have ordered now, but you didn't because of your modesty, I promise you: we'll go to the med bay, where I'll make you take off your suit…"
"E-e-e-e!"
Tali's quiet squeak told me she'd probably thought of the wrong thing. Though I was thinking about that too. It's just that having sex in the med bay with Dr. Chakwas present was definitely not something I'd do.
"And what exactly did you think of, you underage pervert…"
Open mockery colored my voice.
"…In any case, whatever you imagined, get it out of your head, because I'll take my Army belt and beat you across the lower ninety."
"I don't have a lower ninety!"
A quiet, indignant, offended squeak was my answer. And I couldn't tell what offended her more—me ruining her wet fantasies, me getting her measurements wrong, or the promise of spanking…
"Tali, when a human talks about 'the lower ninety' in relation to a girl, in one hundred out of one hundred cases it means the ass. So yes, I promised to spank you. And believe me, after that you'll only be able to sleep on your stomach."
"Why the med bay?"
She asked softly. The question left me mildly perplexed.
"Well, as far as I know, quarians have weak immune systems, so to avoid illness—or stop it before it starts—we'll do it in the med bay. Now, if you don't want to find out what it feels like when an Army belt meets an admiral's daughter's firm ass, you'd better order everything you need and everything you don't need but might theoretically be useful for you and the ship. Understood?"
"Yes!"
She squeaked it, and I smirked—there was an entire spectrum of emotions in that sound.
"And just so you know, an admiral's daughter has felt an admiral's belt on her ass! So I doubt a soldier's belt will surprise me much!"
I don't know how much courage it took her to say that, but after that line the call ended. All I could do was shake my head.
Deciding to stay at the requisitions a little longer, I finalized Jane's request for the Citadel representative—so he could deliver what the Corps didn't provide for one reason or another. Then I decided to contact C-Sec after all.
"Good afternoon. This is Spectre Shepard."
"Oh… we've heard, we've heard…"
A slightly lazy human voice answered.
"…So how can we help the most esteemed Spectre?"
Now there was mockery in his voice.
"I heard C-Sec detained a krogan named Urdnot Wrex. I need to speak with him."
"Then come on in…"
"You didn't understand. I need to speak with him now. So stand up and walk over to him."
"You…"
The C-Sec officer was clearly about to say something venomous and contemptuous, but he quickly realized what he was about to say—and to whom. He fell silent for ten seconds.
"As you command."
He said it with extreme reluctance. It was audible how hard he was forcing himself. Still, five minutes later—during which I could hear him walking—I heard the rough voice of an upright lizard.
"So what do you want from me?"
His voice was mocking. It was clear he didn't view the situation as anything that could harm him. Most likely he was only in C-Sec custody because he couldn't be bothered to fight the entire Citadel.
"Someone wants to talk to you."
"And who wants to talk to me?"
"A Spectre. Unfortunately, I don't have time to run across the Citadel, so I had to make use of a C-Sec employee."
"And what does Spectre Shepard want from me?"
His voice sounded a bit more interested.
"I see you're up to date. Good. You're a mercenary, right?"
"Yes."
"I want to hire you."
"Hire me?"
Disappointment crept into the krogan's voice.
"Yes. I'd like to offer you a contract for an indefinite term. Roughly until the Council assignment is complete."
"To be the Council's dog…"
There was enough irritation—and desire to tell me to go to hell—in Wrex's voice to scoop it with buckets.
"Not a dog. A mercenary for John Shepard, who is willing to pay very generously for your services, krogan. And when I say very generously, I mean it."
"What, you'll buy me a ship too?"
"Why buy? I'll transfer one of my corporation's ships slated for decommissioning—if your skills are truly up to standard. I don't need dumb meat that charges forward without looking and gets the landing team killed. I need an experienced, clever, strong merc who knows when to retreat, when to talk an enemy down, and when, instead of a firefight, to just drop a bomb on his head."
"Hm… so not a dumb brute. Interesting… but there's a problem. C-Sec detained me."
"Do you have your omni-tool?"
"Yes."
"How should I send you the contract?"
The krogan gave me his number, and I sent him the contract immediately—one of the standard mercenary contracts my corporation uses for especially valuable hires. In the bonus section, a ship was listed.
"Sign it."
"Heh… fast."
It took less than ten minutes for Wrex to read the contract. Then I received his reply. Naturally, he signed it—so I could act.
"Release Urdnot Wrex."
I issued a short order. The C-Sec officer grumbled and started to comply. First he demanded an official request, and he was officially told to shove it. Fortunately, I knew perfectly well that all conversations—including this one—were recorded, and my word was more than enough to ensure no claims would be made against that particular C-Sec employee.
"Wrex, while you're getting to the ship, make me a gear list. I'm at the Spectre requisitions right now, and I intend to milk them dry before we take off."
"Oh, so you provide equipment?"
"Yes."
"Understood, boss…"
There was mild mockery mixed with respect in his tone.
"…Then expect a big list. The gear stays with me after the contract is over, right?"
"Partially. Anything taken from the Corps requisitions must be returned if you choose to end our cooperation. Anything bought specifically for you counts toward your reward. That's in the contract."
"Yeah, yeah… there was something like that. A lot of clients use a standard contract, and it's better to confirm they know that clause than listen later about what a disgusting bastard I am for trying to profit off a poor, miserable client who has been patching his last pair of pants ten times."
"Understood…"
I shook my head. I never did that. Aria taught me quickly to respect contracts and fulfill at least the letter—and preferably the spirit—of any agreement. Though the spirit can be sacrificed if keeping it would cause serious losses. The letter, however…
***
About three hours later.
***
I reached the Normandy, and life was boiling there. The turian armored vehicle had been unloaded, replaced by two Makos. Above them, on hastily made clamps, two shuttles were hanging. The cargo bay was so packed you could barely move, and there were also containers of equipment inside.
"Captain!"
Jane, seeing me, hurried over.
"Everything alright?"
"Yes… there's just one thing I wanted to clarify. What do we do with Williams?"
"Put her off the ship. I don't need her aboard."
"Ahem…"
Jane shifted uncertainly from foot to foot.
"Speak. You know I don't bite—especially since, technically, you're now the head of the landing team."
"Technically, you say?"
She smirked a little, displeased.
"Well, you're responsible for making them work together, preparing them, keeping them from tearing each other's throats out during deployments, and ensuring they follow my orders on deployments. But on deployments, I'll run the operation. Still, if we have to split up, you'll command the second team."
"Got it… then may I request that Jenkins be removed from the landing team, and Williams be kept?"
I closed my eyes and counted to three.
"Make your case."
I suspected my tone turned colder, but when I looked at her again, she didn't look scared, or uncertain.
"You said yourself this is my landing team now. I'm assuming that while you said to follow your orders on deployments, it means you'll give the general direction and I'll be the one commanding in practice…"
She tilted her head slightly, questioningly.
"Let's say you're close to the truth."
"In that case, I believe he's not prepared enough for the upcoming operation. On the other hand, Williams has flaws, but she's an experienced fighter. At least we won't have to check whether she plugged in new power cells to the shields."
"Are you sure?"
I stared at Jane intently.
"A recent check showed she lacks the necessary skills for a soldier, because she prefers to think about orders and evaluate their moral side. And as a lieutenant, she can't assess her own capabilities or predict possible consequences…"
Off to the side, I could clearly see Williams listening to our conversation. Her fists were clenched very tightly—she was angry.
"I'm sure."
Jane nodded.
"I'll hold you responsible for her screwups…"
"Sir, are you trying to talk me out of it? All you have to do is give the order and she'll be taken off the Normandy, but either way it'll be together with Jenkins."
"I'm not talking you out of it. It's your decision, and I won't challenge it. But I want you to understand every consequence. I'm already disappointed in her, and it's you who's keeping her here."
"I understand."
Jane nodded decisively.
"Good. If you understand, then keep her. But as much as possible, our contact with her outside deployments should be minimized."
"Understood."
Jane nodded.
"Alright. We're going to search for the archaeologist Liara T'Soni, who's working on Prothean ruins. And for some reason, Saren needs her."
I said it with mild confusion.
"Anyone not assigned to the crew must be sent back to the Citadel. Everyone else will report readiness within fifteen minutes. I need to contact a couple of acquaintances and plan our actions."
"Understood."
Passing through the CIC, I motioned Presley over.
"Commander?"
"Charles… I have a request. Obviously it's difficult right now since we're about to depart, but by our next visit to the Citadel, I want a list of everyone who would not like to continue serving under my command."
"Sir?"
He looked uncertain, as if asking who would ever admit something like that.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to throw anyone out. I'll arrange a transfer—with the evaluation they deserve, not a black mark. We're facing difficult, extremely dangerous missions, and taking people on them who don't want to be there…"
I shook my head.
"Understood, sir."
"Good. Then prepare the ship for departure. I'll give the order soon."
"Understood."
Presley nodded, and I continued to the comm room.