[Mass Effect] Chapter #1 - Asterism

[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.