Just a BioWare Fan

Stormy Weather

Thankfully, Captain Anderson proved to be as anxious to confront the ambassador as his trumpet player. Kaidan got a reply while he was still assembling his meal.

Having a deadline settled his stomach further. By the time he’d finished eating he had begun to look forward to clearing the air. It almost doesn’t matter what Udina says, he thought. I’ll just be glad to be done with it.

The next morning dragged with routine problems and fixes. The green recruits under his training could tell their Lieutenant still hadn’t fully returned to them, though they assumed he still suffered from his migraine rather than simple distraction. He’d long ago earned enough respect to keep them on diligently on-task without his scrutiny, a fact for which he was thankful as he found his thoughts turning every five minutes to the afternoon’s confrontation.

Something’s Gotta Give

In a low voice, Kaidan told the group about the camera and microphone he’d found in Jenkins’s crushed pin. “I wasn’t about to confront Udina right there but Captain Anderson and I thought you should know.”

Pressly leaned back with a low whistle. “No wonder they always put the spike-heads on the right.” Jenkins, whose eyes were already round with surprise, turned to stare at the navigator as comprehension dawned. Pressly nodded knowingly, as though none of this were a surprise to him.

A passing wave of suspicion left Kaidan dismayed. Pressly enjoyed the way Jenkins looked up to the more-senior officers and was just playing the world-weary cynic. He didn’t exactly embrace alien relations but there was no way he was a good enough actor to have sat through all of those discussions about the insignia with Kaidan and Anderson without giving away that he knew something.

Kaidan’s hackles rose a bit. He’d heard rumors of an organization within the military, an analog of the distasteful Humans First political movement that held the occasional rally on the Citadel and, in his opinion, set back the cause of human integration into galactic society every time they opened their mouths.

Such a speciesist group within the Alliance would have access to technology and funding about which the rabble busily spouting human superiority in the Zakera Ward wouldn’t even know. It would explain the band’s presence at the cross-species receptions as the only people in the room not subjected to careful scans.

“Is that what this is about?” Kaidan unconsciously kept his voice low, the wheels turning in his head. A scandal confirming the existence of Cerberus, it there was such a thing, within the military could destroy the tenuous alliance that held the two species together on the SR-1 project.

Two more relatively uneventful weeks passed, filled with work and practice and three performances. On a Thursday evening the band met in the same corridor in which they’d gathered for their first Turian-Human dinner show.

Ambassador Udina strode down the crowded hall toward them, nose first, in one of his innumerable white tunics. He gave the crew a once-over before every performance, though he’d never found reason to complain. His persistence finally paid off.

“Where’s your pin?” Udina snapped at Jenkins.

The corporal paled and fumbled with a flap on his dress blues. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “I just had my uniform cleaned and I hadn’t put it back on, yet.” His shaking hand fished out the little note but it fell from his fingers. Udina made an impatient noise that prompted Anderson to step in to help.

The men met Chakwas at the rear entrance to the hall where the first reception was held. The dim corridor bustled with people of every species, the work that went on behind the scenes that few people even considered. Jenkins kept dodging trays of one thing or another that the serving crew carried past at impressive speed.

“Turians can’t even eat real food,” Pressly observed as a passing tray of some mysterious meat left a lingering, pungent odor. “The cooks have to make two full meals.”

“Half the species in the galaxy have different metabolisms,” Kaidan said, irked a bit by the navigator’s superior attitude. “It’s not like they chose to evolve that way, any more than we did.” Pressly shrugged and they both dropped it.

Kaidan hadn’t thought about how awkward parties would be to throw on the Citadel. You’d have to make sure that the right species got the right food or all of your guests would be off to the infirmary instead of celebrating. As he pondered how much must have gone into pulling off Chakwas’s birthday party Udina strode down the hall, beak of a nose in the air, impatiently maneuvering around various aliens without ever deigning to speak to them.

The weeks passed quickly. Kaidan and the others found a real groove in rehearsal and spent more time together outside the practice room as well. Despite his enjoyment of his day-to-day duties he hadn’t pursued much of a social life since his last shipboard assignment. The Alliance discouraged fraternizing with subordinates and, under normal circumstances, he simply didn’t see other officers much.

He found himself out for raucous evenings with the others. Jenkins warmed up slowly, intimidated by the ranking officers and the age difference, but he turned out to have a talent for imitation that kept the group in stitches over drinks.

Pressly acted as the perfect foil for Joker’s derisive sense of humor, a straight man with a face of iron. Kaidan was never sure whether he truly didn’t understand the pilot or just loved egging him on for comment after sarcastic comment. Even Dr. Chakwas showed up from time to time, sipping a glass of wine and smiling indulgently at the hi-jinks of her band. Some nights Kaidan felt more like he was living out a classic vid from the 1940s rather than his own life.

“I just thought I should get to know you a little better, since we’ll be spending so much time together.” Kaidan cringed at stilted how that sounded. “I barely know any of you except Anderson, and him mostly by reputation.”

He asked some general questions about what ships Joker had served on, why he’d joined the Alliance, and where he was from. Joker’s answers were typically evasive but his love of flying and his disdain for most of his fellow pilots was clear. He admitted that he’d been yanked from his last assignment for insubordination not long before Chakwas had come up with the idea for the combo and that getting everyone together had kept him from going insane while he was stuck on the Citadel. The doctor’s name cropped up again and again in Joker’s stories, in fact.

“So, are you and the doctor close?” Kaidan finally asked. Joker chuckled. “Well, she’s seen me without my pants more times than every other woman I’ve known combined,” he replied with a leer.

Kaidan worked his way through knots of beautifully-dressed party goers, accepting praise and answering questions as he went. He tried to appear aimless but worked his way toward the grim-faced gentleman at the edge of the crowd. His curiosity had been roused by the sort of superior satisfaction the man had shown at watching a group of aliens enjoying human music. Why on earth, so to speak, would he care?

Finally, Kaidan drew near enough that someone in the group with whom he was chatting thought to introduce the man. “This is Ambassador Udina,” the Asari said with visible, if restrained, distaste. “He represents you Humans to the Council.” The ambassador appeared to be looking down his hawk-like nose at her and the Asari beat a rather hasty retreat, leaving Kaidan alone with him.

“The aliens appear to have enjoyed your show,” Udina said, his somewhat nasal voice surprisingly rich from such a pinched-looking mouth.

After a quick stop at home, Kaidan grabbed a cab for the open park in which Dr. Chakwas's birthday party was being held. He stepped out, trumpet case in one hand and tux draped over the opposite shoulder, eying the stage visible in the distance with Joker's keyboard standing on one side. Deep blue curtains had been set up to create a small backstage area.

As he walked over he eyed the crowd, drinks and hors d'oeuvres in hand or talon, groups mixing and reforming as everyone greeted or introduced each other. It seemed the good doctor had friends of many races. A few dozen colorfully-dressed Asari chatted with white-clad Salarians and face-painted Turians in muted tunics. He saw a few enviro-suited Volus and even a Quarian standing with a trio of enormous Elcor. Humans circulated as well, most in Alliance navy but a few in civilian clothes. He hadn't expected such a crowd. The butterflies of excitement grew a little more frantic. Kaidan increased his pace and ducked behind the stage with relief.

He found Anderson already there and half-changed. “Quite a gathering out there,” he observed. Anderson grunted in agreement. It seemed Kaidan wasn't the only one intimidated by the size of their audience. As he pulled off his shirt Pressly stepped through the hanging cloth with a whistle.

The group ended up getting together every two or three days, each time pretending indifference but leaving with smiles on their faces. Chakwas had put together a fabulous set, upbeat tunes and fun songs all, classics sure to get toes tapping and hips moving. The mix of featured instruments allowed each of them to shine without anyone being overshadowed. They enjoyed showing off in the safety of their practice room, getting inventive with their solos and throwing in key and tempo changes to keep each other on their toes. Kaidan couldn’t remember a group with which he’d so quickly clicked. He hadn’t had a migraine since their second rehearsal and his staff had caught him humming in the halls on-duty more than once.

As Dr. Chakwas’s birthday drew near their nerves began to show, however. Everyone started making mistakes more frequently and Kaidan thought Jenkins might break down altogether when they met for a rehearsal the night before the party. “I’ve never played in front of strangers,” he confided afterward when he, Kaidan, and Anderson had stopped for a drink. “I mean, the families of my friends or the crew on-board, sure, but no one who wouldn’t have clapped no matter how badly I squeaked my reed.” He looked positively nauseous.

She was an older woman, in her late 50s but very fit. Her chin-length silver hair shone and she looked casually elegant in tan slacks and a navy blouse. “Dr. Chakwas,” Moreau exclaimed, still playing a counterpoint to the melody. “I told you I could find you a band.”

“Indeed you did, Jeffrey.” The doctor smiled. “However did you recruit them all?”

The music jangled to a stop. “Recruit?!” Jenkins spun to look at the others. “You mean we had a choice? I thought these were my orders!” Moreau's grin became decidedly shifty. Kaidan chuckled a little, despite a flicker of anger at the trick. He would have volunteered to join a jazz combo anyway but Moreau's message about the first rehearsal had seemed like an authentic assignment right down to the tone and return address. He'd have to watch the tricky keyboard player.

Lieutenant Commander Kaidan Alenko shifted his trumpet case nervously. He'd never met any of the people with whom he was supposed to play here on the Citadel and he wasn't sure if they'd know or care about his other rare abilities. But he'd been blowing the horn since he was four and he supposed in the end that was the only skill that would matter to the others.

He opened the door to the rehearsal room and found a beefy older man tuning an upright bass. A keyboard sat empty several feet to the right. The man introduced himself as David Anderson and offered his hand. Kaidan had heard plenty about Captain Anderson before but no one had ever mentioned that he was a musician. “An honor to meet you, sir,” Kaidan said.

He took out his beloved trumpet, set aside the case, and began warming up with some scales, tuning as he went. The two were doodling around a bit, each getting a feel for the rhythm of the other, when the door again opened and a young man entered hesitantly. He carried a saxophone case his right hand and a beret in his left, the scrub of dirty blond hair on his head showing that he'd recently been wearing the latter. A reed poked from one corner of his mouth. Alenko and Anderson broke off and introduced themselves. “Corporal Richard Jenkins,” he offered, speaking around the reed from long practice and looking intimidated at the rank of the two men with whom he was intended to play.