by Joan Jett
Shepard watched me for a few moments, then smiled in amusement and turned to his own meal. He divided his attention between his sandwich and the datapad.
"What are you working on, Shepard?" I asked, once I had dulled the edge of my appetite.
"It's an after-action report to the Alliance Navy procurement bureau." He washed another bite down with a sip of the bitter drink he called coffee. "Now that we’ve seen action a few times, there's an issue I think we need to correct."
"It seems to me that the Normandy has performed very well."
"It has. The ship itself isn't the issue. It's our ability to deploy troops to the ground. We only have the one landing vehicle, the M-35 Mako, for space-to-ground insertion. The Mako is agile and well-armed but it only has room for three crewmen. Maybe four, if everyone is willing to get cozy. The Normandy has a Marine complement of seven, and that's not counting me and all the specialists I might want to take on a ground mission."
"Cannot the ship deploy troops directly? You did that with Kaidan's team on Asteroid X57."
"That only works under specific circumstances. There needs to be a clear approach vector. Also a good LZ, nice and flat, not under direct enemy fire, and yet not so far from the objective that it takes too long to travel the distance on foot. Not something we can count on in any given mission."
"I see." I thought about the problem while I chewed on another sporkful of noodles. "There is some extra space in the staging bay. Perhaps we could add a second vehicle?"
"That might work, though it would be tight. Or maybe we can trade up for a larger AFV, something that's designed to carry a few passengers for forward deployment. Anything to loosen the tactical bottleneck we're experiencing now."
We were interrupted by a new voice. "Wow. I guess I know who to bet on in the next pie-eating contest."
It was Lieutenant Moreau, the ship's pilot, walking carefully to seat himself next to Shepard. He had spoken loudly, attracting attention from some of the others around us.
I looked down at my plate. I had made a very substantial dent in the pasta, although several meatballs remained to be reduced into submission. "I hardly think I’m the most avid eater on the Normandy, Lieutenant Moreau. There's Wrex, after all."
"Well yeah, but nobody has to watch him eat. Besides, he's easily five times your size. I can't figure out where you're putting it all." He glanced over my body and leered in a manner I had learned to recognize.
"That's simple enough, Lieutenant," I said, using my most delicate voice and smiling sweetly at him. I clenched my right fist and called up dark energy, creating a halo of swirling blue-white light around my hand. "Some of us are better able to burn it off."
Laughter rang from all sides of the crew mess.
Even Shepard chuckled. "I don't think you want to engage the good doctor in a battle of wits, Joker. She's better armed than you are."
"No contest. Sorry, Doc."
I shook his hand to show I kept no hard feelings. Gently, of course. I had heard of his medical condition. "Please, call me Liara."
"Cool. Then I'm Joker. Anyone says Lieutenant Moreau, it makes me think I'm about to get my ass kicked."
I looked down my nose at him. "I will remember that, Lieutenant."
He widened his eyes in mock terror, and then turned to his food. Soon he and Shepard were deep in a technical discussion of whether adding more space-to-ground capacity would affect the Normandy's trim in flight.
Soon enough I finished my meal. I leaned back in the chair, just breathing, enjoying the sense of comfort and repletion. As I sipped from the last glass of springwine, I became aware of Shepard’s regard again.
"I'm curious about something, Liara."
"Yes?"
"I've noticed that you often drink wine. Is that cultural, or a personal preference?"
I smiled, secretly pleased to see him paying attention to my habits. "I suppose it’s cultural. Asari are omnivores, like humans, but I think our natural diet has a higher proportion of sweet fruits in it than yours. It's natural that we should experiment with fermentation of fruit juices to produce wines. In all of our dominant cultures, wine is the preferred beverage."
Joker shook his head, amused about something, but he declined to share it with the rest of us.
"I'm more of a coffee drinker," said Shepard. "That's a different case, a drink invented by one culture because it was based on a specific plant that only grew in one region of Earth. Later it became popular throughout our species, and we carried the plant to be grown everywhere the climate permitted."
I made a face. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I don't think coffee is ever going to be a popular import for asari."
"That's okay. More for us." He extended a hand across the table. "Mind if I try that?"
I hesitated. In asari custom, sharing a drink from the same cup is a gesture with very specific meaning. I glanced at his face and saw an unmistakable glint in his eyes. Yes, he knows, and it amuses him to do this in front of his unaware crew. I made a small smile and handed him my glass. His fingers brushed mine as we made the transfer, and I felt my heart skip a beat.
He knew how to explore wine. He swirled it in the glass to release its aroma, sipped it, held it in his mouth, and breathed lightly through pursed lips to let the flavors develop. "Nice," was his opinion. "Sweet, no harsh overtones . . . and a very strange finish. I've never tasted anything quite like it."
"Well, naturally it was not produced from grapes. We have a similar fruit, small and very sweet, but its chemistry is different. Some asari vintners have imported grapevines from Earth, and are experimenting with them, but they have not become widespread."
"What is this called?"
"It's a springwine, made from the first harvest of the year, produced near my home city. I often drank a vintage like this while I was growing up."
A reminder of home, I thought to myself. A comfort while the pain of Benezia's death is still raw.
Shepard nodded soberly, understanding the unspoken implications. He returned the glass to me so I could finish it. I raised it to my lips with a subtle smile, holding his gaze while I took the last draught.
Then a thought occurred to me. I sat quietly, toying with the empty glass, while I considered the implications. "Shepard, I have an idea.”
He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow, inviting me to continue.
"Among my people, we have a custom that involves wine. A group of friends will gather to share a meal and drink wine. One is elected to serve as the master of the occasion. She begins the meal by proposing a toast, and then by opening discussion for the evening. She may give a short speech to which the others are expected to respond, or she may ask a question which another participant is expected to answer at length. After that, the participants discuss the issues raised until the last glass of wine is finished. There are always exactly three glasses of wine, no less and certainly no more; the rules are very strict on that point."
Joker could contain himself no longer. He threw his head back and laughed loudly.
"What's so funny, Lieutenant?" Shepard demanded.
"Sorry, Commander, don't mean to offend. But I will bet you ten credits I know exactly what the translators will call it when Liara tells us the original asari word for this drinking-party thing."
"You're on," said Shepard, handing him the datapad.
Joker tapped at the haptic keyboard and handed the datapad back to Shepard. Then he looked at me with an expectant expression.
"We call it a symposion," I said reluctantly.
Shepard took his credit chit from one pocket and keyed in a transfer to Joker's account. The pilot looked smug.
"How did you know?" I asked Joker.
"I wasn't absolutely sure," he admitted. "But ever since we humans met you asari, the software in our translators has tended to drop into Classical Greek every time it comes across an asari word that doesn't translate exactly. And what you're talking about sounds a lot like something the Greeks used to do."
"How strange. Were these Greeks an important culture in your people's history?"
"Very much so," said Shepard. "Their classical civilization was at its height about two thousand five hundred years ago. It's extremely influential even to the present day."
That didn't sound very impressive to me, until I adjusted for the short length of human generations. Then I realized that the Greeks could be compared to the Calydonian culture, an Athame-worshipping people who lived about thirty thousand years ago on Thessia. The Calydonians pioneered many of the structures and institutions that later became characteristic of asari society.
"Joker, I didn't know you studied ancient history," said Shepard.
"I didn't, not beyond what we all got from those required Human History classes in the Alliance military schools. But every pilot and navigator in the Alliance eventually figures it out. All those star maps we got from the asari after First Contact? Every cluster or star system that was first explored and named by the asari, the names got translated into Greek for us humans."
"Fascinating," I said. "I wonder why the designers of the translation software made that choice. Are there other ways in which we asari resemble your Greeks?"
Joker shrugged. "Couldn't say."
"It would be interesting to find out. You see, Shepard? Serious discussion and debate over a meal can be an excellent way for the participants to learn from each other."
He glanced at me sharply, and I could almost hear his mind working through the implications. "You're suggesting this as a way for our crew to bond. Including with the non-humans on board."
I nodded. "Certainly. Not everyone would want to take part, but for those who do it would be a useful opportunity to share perspectives. Besides, our mission is as much investigative as military. Who knows what insight might be crucial?"
"All right. Several members of the crew have already set up clubs and special-interest groups under the morale regs. No reason you couldn't do the same. Talk to Petty Officer Tanaka about setting aside part of the mess for a special seminar once a week or so."
I smiled and lowered my eyes, grateful that he was willing to try my idea. "Thank you, Shepard."
"Just one thing: the drinks are on you, Liara. I may be a Spectre, but even I am a little afraid of what might happen if the Alliance procurement office finds out I'm indenting for whole cases of booze."
"I think I can manage. Next time we get back to the Citadel . . ."
Chapter 15 : Battles Won and Lost
22 March 2183, SSV Normandy, Interstellar Space
Another thing changed after Noveria as well: I began spending more time on the staging deck.
Many of the humans had not expected a bookish archaeologist to perform competently in combat. Fortunately I had the advantage of basic commando training, completed in my youth at Benezia’s insistence. Even before I first met Shepard, I could at least fend for myself with small arms, basic close-quarters combat, small-unit tactics, and wilderness survival. I also possessed a strong biotic talent, exceptional even by asari standards, well-trained through decades of practice. Add to that fifty years of working at isolated dig sites, sometimes having to deal with mercenaries or pirates looking for loot. In all I had probably survived more life-threatening situations than most of the human soldiers on board. So when Shepard invited me to support him on Sharjila, Asteroid X57, and Noveria, I at least had a little experience to draw upon.
None of that made me a soldier. Noveria taught me that I fell short in some areas, including raw physical strength and endurance. There was only so much I could do to improve, being asari and built on a rather slender frame. Still, physical exercise and training would make me more effective. So I took to spending up to two hours each day in the ready room, honing my body and learning from the Marines.
Private Dubyansky volunteered to teach me. As Alexei healed from the combat wound taken on Asteroid X57, he came off the light-duty roster and needed physical training to come back up to standard. As part of that effort, he gladly demonstrated the human combatives system for me, more direct and brutal than anything I had learned before. I didn't like the style very much, but I worked hard to master the holds, throws, and strikes.
As Alexei explained, the Alliance military didn't expect to decide battles through hand-to-hand fighting. Instead the style helped to instill an aggressive "warrior instinct" in its practitioners. I can attest that it worked; something about the aggression and violence of the style affected my psychology. After a training session I often felt more confident, ready to take on challenges of any sort.
When Alexei had other duties, I spent my exercise time working with the weights and resistance machines in the ready room. I walked, and later ran, on the treadmill. I found a quiet corner of the staging bay and practiced the martial-art forms, the cheironomia, that I had learned decades before.
Not everyone welcomed my presence in the ready room. Most of the Marines thought of me as belonging on the crew deck and in the mess hall. When I started my new regimen of physical training, it took me out of the context they had come to expect, and they no longer knew quite how to respond to me.
It didn't help that all of them had heard the usual rumors about asari. Several of the Marines seemed unable to avoid interpreting my presence among them in sexual terms.
Petty Officer Bayard wore a sour expression whenever he saw me, as if it offended him that I should look so much like a female human without actually being one. Corporal Müller and Private Fredericks developed a habit of sidelong stares and crude speculation about their "chances" with me, when they thought I was unaware. Meanwhile the female Marines, Chief Williams and Corporal Chase, showed no such interest; instead they simply seemed to resent my presence. I think they regarded me as a disruptive element in whatever silent sexual competition took place among the crew.
I tried to let none of this affect me. I had no sexual interest in anyone on board. Well, almost anyone. There was one significant exception, so if anyone else was pursuing him then there would most certainly be some competition! Even so, as long as no one tried to interfere with me and I distracted no one from their duties, I saw no problem that needed to be solved.
I did make one concession to human sensibilities: I refrained from training in the nude. The dark-blue outfit female Marines trained in was distracting and uncomfortable, but I wore it. Exercising in asari fashion would likely have started a riot on the staging deck.
* * *
Matters came to a head several days after Noveria, while Normandy was still patrolling the Argos Rho region.
In a distant corner of the darkened staging bay, I practiced some of the cheironomia forms: slow, graceful movement while deep in a meditative state. Suddenly a voice interrupted me.
"Hey, Liara."
I centered myself and opened my eyes. The distraction stood before me, watching me with dark brown eyes and a challenging expression.
"Good morning, Ash."
"I like that you've been training," she said. I didn't see any deception in her face, although her body language somehow spoke of anticipation. "I was on my way to the ready room myself. Care to join me for a sparring match?"
"I'm sure I am far from your level of skill." It was true. I had watched Ashley perform her combatives drill. She was very skilled, a ruthless fighter and extremely fast.
She smiled, acknowledging my compliment. "You might be surprised. Dubyansky tells me you've taught him a trick or two. Besides, it's good for you to work with someone more advanced now and then. Keeps you sharp."
"That's true. All right, Ashley, I will come."
As soon as I entered the ready room I understood.
Shepard was there.
Stripped to the waist, he worked with one of the machines, using the raw physical power of his arms and upper torso to overcome over a hundred kilograms of resistance. I could see every detail of his musculature in operation as he repeated the form. Perspiration glistened along the lines of his neck and should
ers.
Suddenly I found myself . . . quite distracted.
"Hey Doc, quit eating the eye candy and come on." Ashley again, ironically amused.
Surprised, Shepard glanced over in our direction. I did my best to ignore the flush darkening my face, and followed Ashley to the sparring ring.
I see what you are up to, I thought to myself. You think to put me in my place in front of an audience, in front of Shepard. Well, you may very well win our match . . . but the battle is not the war.
Kaidan came over to meet us, a small frown on his face. "What's going on here, Chief?"
"Just a friendly sparring match. I'd like to see how much she's learned."
I could see he was about to intervene, order her not to pursue this. I forestalled him. "I agreed to it, Kaidan. It will be interesting to see whether I can stand up to Ashley for any length of time."
He still looked uncertain, but he made a reluctant nod. "Okay, if you're sure. Standard rules, three falls out of five, and we'd better get the protective gear out."
Ashley shrugged. "Ah, I'll be careful, Lieutenant."
He gave her a severe glance. "Protective gear, Chief. That's an order."
We took a moment to put on the padding, gloves, headgear, and mouth guards used during sparring matches, with some improvisation to protect my fringe. I could see Shepard watching from a distance as he applied a towel to his chest and shoulders. The turian, Garrus Vakarian, watched us as well, his mandibles twitching with obscure amusement as he made some comment to Shepard.
Then we squared off, Ashley's eyes locked with mine, and Kaidan gave the signal to begin.
Ashley came in straight, two steps and a lightning-fast combination strike toward my face to see if I could be intimidated.
By the time she arrived I was elsewhere. She was very fast. But then, so was I.
I shifted my weight and glided under the blows, lashed out and caught her in the side, spun to face her as she recovered. She grinned at me, pleased, and came in more carefully the next time.
It was rather like fighting a hailstorm. Using the human style I could block one attack, then two, then three, dodge a strike, move smoothly to the side to force Ashley to reorient herself. Nothing stopped her. Before long she hooked my ankle and sent me crashing to the floor. I slapped the mat.
