Perhaps both.
He’d also noticed the lack of Sloane and Addison. An astute observation from a simple life-support technician.
“It is a minor matter, actually, and yes, I will be brief. I do not,” he added dryly, “have any Tupari on hand, and I believe it best for everyone this way.”
Calix smiled—Tann thought he did, anyway. The mandibles moved. The… fringe-y teeth-like exoskeleton of his mouth seemed to shift. But mostly, he simply waited, hands clasped behind his back as if this were some kind of military meeting. When he shook his head, Tann felt it less a dismissal and more a gesture of boredom.
Jarun Tann began to feel an unease he did not care for. It was one thing to have entered into a conversation for which he had not truly prepared. To do so knowing little about the other participant made things considerably worse.
Well, it was time he gave it his best. Sparing little, he gave the same speech he’d given to Kesh. Entirely true, if not necessarily for the justifications given. Critical information, in the hands of so few, was dangerous under normal circumstances. With the Nexus in its current state, biometrics offline, the main database damaged and the state of its backups unknown, keeping the stasis maintenance overrides in the heads of just two people bordered on the criminally negligent.
“I hope,” he finished tactfully, “to avoid consequences of either.”
Calix watched him. “So you want me to give them to you?” the turian asked.
Tann leaned forward. A touch of the conspiratorial, a signal that they were, after all, on the same side. “I merely want to catalog this knowledge—”
“Why not ask Kesh?”
And there, the interruption. Tann was beginning to see it as a sign that others found him not worth hearing out. It grated. But he answered. “I did.”
“And?” he asked.
Tann suspected the turian already knew the answer, and only wanted to hear him say it.
Fine. Let the turian score a point. “She declined.”
Again, that sense of a smile. The mandibles, a bit of a crinkle at the less rigid skin around the eyes. He glanced around at the room again. “The very definition of backroom politics.”
Perhaps, but he needed the turian to understand why. “Look, Calix, you must understand the natural mistrust Nakmor Kesh has for me. For all salarians.”
“Your people earned that.”
“So,” he pointed out, “did yours.”
That earned him a slow, thoughtful stare from the engineer.
Tann continued. “Neither point requires debate. The fact remains, however, that sometimes in such a, er, leadership dynamic, approaches must be taken that avoid bringing such prejudices into the equation.”
Calix rubbed at his jaw. “And you think I’d be willing to risk going against my direct superior.”
“As opposed to going against the Initiative director?” Tann delivered it as a counter, but a thoughtful one. Something for the engineer to chew on.
Did turians chew? Calix didn’t seem to take the time. “You do realize I work directly for Kesh, right?”
“I am aware of that.”
“And if I go to her, tell her about this meeting?”
Tann spread his hands. “You would merely reinforce what she already thinks of me. I would be no closer to my goal, but at least I would have tried. You, on the other hand, would no longer be the engineer I choose to confer with in station matters.” He paused briefly. Put on a show of thought. “Perhaps the other turian engineer. What was his name?”
“Her.” A short, curt correction, and then Calix put his hands on the desk. Positively loomed. “What is that goal of yours, really? Don’t give me any more of that crap about cataloging critical knowledge.”
Tann stared into the turian’s intense eyes. Was it the mention of another turian? The loss of leadership? He weighed his words carefully. “It occurs to me that in the very near future, we may find ourselves in a situation where hard decisions must be made.”
“Go on.”
Jarun Tann leaned back, forcing an air of comfort rather than withdrawal. He kept one hand on the arm of the chair, the other on the desk. Open to attack. Not that he expected attack; he merely wanted the turian to see how little defenses Tann put between them. “I worry that other prominent figures aboard the Nexus are incapable of making such decisions.”
Very slowly, Calix nodded. “I agree that time may come,” he said, also slowly. For a moment, Tann thought he’d won. Broken through.
And then the turian pushed away from the desk and took a step for the door. “Sorry, Director, can’t help you. Not in the way you want.”
Blast. Tann stood, one hand flat on the table. “Why?”
The turian shot him a look Tann would swear was almost pitying. His skin tightened, body tensing with the fury that roiled under Tann’s careful veneer. “Because,” the turian said simply, “I believe in that old Earth phrase: ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely.’”
That was it? Calix Corvannis refused to share information because of some fear? “You must understand that there are Dalatrasses, Primarchs,” he added, to reflect the turian’s own society, “who retain possession of so much more.”
“Yeah. That’s why.” Calix’s words were sharp, practically a slap across the face. “So here’s what I’m prepared to do. I will keep this conversation between us, and take your altruistic motives at face value. If you require a stasis pod override, and the situation is too sensitive to gather consensus, go ahead and come to me.”
Tann sat back into his chair, the springs creaking. “So you can tell me to go ask Kesh?” he asked bitterly.
The turian shook his head. “I won’t. As much as I might want to, I actually do understand what you mean about the complex nature of inter-species dynamics. If your reasons are sound, I’ll handle the override process myself. Good enough?”
That… was acceptable. Tann knew when to take a deal. “That will do.”
“Good. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got a station to save.” He did not wait for Tann to dismiss him.
Nobody ever did.
After the door closed, Jarun Tann sat for several long minutes behind the desk. Not moving, his gaze unfocused. A casual observer might think him in a trance, or just asleep. His mind was quite busy, though.
Certain assumptions and expectations had to be changed. Much else he had been able to predict with reasonable accuracy, and account for. But Calix Corvannis, a mere pawn on the chessboard, had just proven himself quite a bit more astute than that. A turian who made easy friends with a krogan. Who did not jump at the chance to rise.
An interesting wildcard. But yet another wildcard all the same.
Eventually Tann shook his head. He needed sleep, he decided. Almost as much, he needed a friendly conversation.
He found he rather disliked always being made to feel like the bad guy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sloane slumped back in her desk chair, rubbing both hands down her face. Every bone in her body cried out for rest. Every strand of hair, every cell. How many days had it been since she’d had anything approaching a good night’s sleep?
Her laugh sounded saltier than even she’d expected. “Not a chance,” she told her open palms. Pressing them against her eyes didn’t help, either.
At least now she had some downtime. Until the next meeting. Or emergency. Or whatever else. It’d come. Sloane didn’t understand everything about the Nexus’s many technical issues, but she knew a floating fixer-upper when she saw it. If nothing else, there’d be another glitch, another fire, more supplies growing legs, another thing breaking.