Nnebron straightened his shoulders. “We were setting up the cookout, sir, when this—” Behind him, Irida cleared her throat. Nnebron coughed whatever he’d intended to say and amended it. “When this guy comes sticking his face in where it don’t belong.”
Before Calix could ask anything else, Spender rounded on his engineer. “I am an advisor to the acting director, and Deputy Director of Colonial Affairs, and you will mind your manners when you speak to your superiors.”
Calix saw Nnebron’s mouth open, the flicker in his dark eyes. He headed off the man’s response.
“Nnebron, go stand with the others.”
One look. Just one, but to his credit, the engineer didn’t argue. Instead he shook his head and retreated to join the rest of the crew.
Okay, Calix thought. Good. One potential fuse out of the blasting cap. He turned back to Spender. The look on his face pissed Calix off—smug victory, like he’d just won a hand of cards. “All right,” Calix said calmly, “I’m going to ask a third time…”
He didn’t have to. Irida spoke up when nobody else would. “It’s like Nnebron said, sir. We were preparing the food when he—” she gestured, “—came in asking about permissions and requisitions.”
“And then?”
Irida looked at her feet, confirming what he already suspected. They’d gotten rowdy. Her mouth twisted.
“He pulled the plug on the…” She paused. Frowned. “What do you call it again?”
“Barbecue,” Nnebron supplied. A sullen mutter. He was still glaring daggers at the bureaucrat.
“Illegal use of Nexus materials,” Spender interjected flatly. “Under no circumstances should rations and materials be used for this… whatever nonsense you call it.”
Calix’s eyes were still on Irida, and he didn’t have to look. He just assumed the guy was waving his hand around. He seemed like the type.
Nnebron sneered. “We weren’t doing anything wrong!”
Exhaustion warred with impatience. Calix turned to face the aide. “Spender, right?” A brisk nod. “Listen. This team has been working around the clock for days. They deserve some time to relax.”
The man took a few steps forward, holding his tablet as if it provided some kind of backing. “It’s not their time off I’m concerned with,” he replied. “But dried supplies? Reconstituted rations? And that!” He pointed at the still. “That’s not even covered under regulations!”
He tapped the screen, but didn’t bring it close enough for Calix to read.
“This is a partial list of supplies,” he continued, “as per current efforts to inventory. Since we don’t know how long we’ll be carrying out repairs, it’s imperative that we keep a thumb on the amount and accessibility of rations.”
The murmurs behind him mirrored Calix’s sentiments neatly. “There’s been no prohibition that we’ve been made aware of,” he said. “Show me the authority to restrict?”
There wasn’t one. He was sure of it.
Spender held Calix’s stare, though. “I am the authority. Director Tann tapped me for the task. I decide what you can use—” he nodded toward the cooking gear, “—and what you can’t.”
Tough words, but Calix sensed little backbone behind them. His people knew a bootlicker when they saw one, though; it was something of a game for them.
One he needed to keep under wraps. Gossip was all well and good, but not in opposition.
A new tactic presented itself. “Look,” Calix said, summoning all the conciliatory smoothness he could muster. He spread the three digits on each hand. “My team has been working hard keeping everyone alive. They deserve a cookout. Without some downtime, a little boost to their mood, mistakes might start to happen, and nobody wants that, believe me.”
The assistant director’s fingers tapped a tight rhythm on the readout. “I demand to speak to your supervisor. Head of your department.”
Calix stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
He sighed. “Irida.”
The asari’s voice came quick and remarkably poised. “Yes, Calix?”
Without looking away from Spender’s narrow-eyed stare, Calix said, “Tell the boss a William Spender, Assistant Director of Colonial Affairs, wants to see him.”
The first tic of discomfort began to distort the sides of the human’s so-stern mouth.
“You got it,” Irida said, her voice pleasant. “Hey, Nnebron!”
“What’s up, Violet?”
“Tell the boss someone named Spender, Assistant Director to something or other, wants to see him.”
Spender’s fingers picked up rhythm.
“Sure thing.” A pause, and then, desperately trying to hold in his amusement, Calix heard Nnebron half-turn. “Hey, Nacho!”
The salarian heaved a sigh. “It’s Na’to.”
“Whatever. Tell the boss some dude is—”
Spender made a disapproving grunt at that.
Never one to miss a cue, Na’to muttered, “I am not a secretary.” But nevertheless, raised his voice and called out, “Corvannis, sir, there’s a human to see you.”
Calix put on a theatrical note of inquiry. “Oh, yeah?” He drawled every word. “What for?”
Na’to’s shrug echoed in his tone. “Nnebron didn’t say.”
“Got it,” Calix replied as Spender’s skin began to turn red at the fringes. Or hairline. Whatever. Calix didn’t so much as move a muscle. Not one twitch. He just paused long enough to make his point, then said cheerfully, “I’m Calix Corvannis, head of life support. What can I do for you?”
His team smothered laughter behind hands, coughs, clearing of throats.
Calix expected an explosion. Expected swearing, a fight, whatever this guy did when he blew his top.
What he did not expect was to be humored.
The glare, the tight lips, it all changed. The transformation was so abrupt Calix couldn’t help but admire the savvy of it. He could almost see the political calculations going on behind those beady eyes, the effort of will that faded the apoplectic spots of anger. Spender’s face practically lit up. “You know what? You’re right. I’m being a hardass and that’s unfair to you and your team. I’m terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, Officer Corvannis.”
“Uh…” Some of the fight went out of Calix’s spine. Even his team had stopped laughing.
Including Nnebron. And that said something, right there. The kid was attitude in a uniform.
Spender spread his hand wide. “I should be thanking you. Here you are, the folks keeping us all alive, and here’s me, the guy who can get you what you need without all this needless posturing. Seems like we should be friends.”
Calix didn’t relax. But he did chuckle, a dry, knowing sound. “Got off on the wrong foot, that it?”
“Exactly,” Spender said. “Exactly. The fatigue, the constant fear of the Scourge, it’s making us all a bit screwy, isn’t it? So forget what I said. Enjoy your party.”
The gathering stirred behind him. He felt a nudge at his back plates. An elbow, probably.
Nnebron’s, definitely.
Taking the cue, he folded his arms over his chest and said amicably, “We’d enjoy it more with something good to drink.”
Just how much was the human willing to be the go-to guy?
Apparently, a drink wasn’t over the line. Spender raised his hand and snapped his fingers, then pointed at Calix. “I’ve got just the thing. A case of something special I set aside. I’ll have it brought down.”
“Very kind of you.” And smart of you, setting things like that aside. Calix filed a little note on that particular revelation. Spender, it seemed, wasn’t quite as straight-laced as he pretended to be.
“See?” Spender said, clapping him on the shoulder. “No reason we can’t help one another out from time to time.”