His shoulder did not move as much as Spender’s hand rebounded. “No reason at all,” Calix replied through what passed for a turian smile. Even he knew he’d done nothing to soften it.
Subtly shaking out his hand, the human backed away with a cheerful swagger. “Just remember me when things get tight,” he called as he turned away. With that, Spender turned and left.
Irida stepped up beside him as Spender vanished around the corner. “Well, that was pleasant.”
“That was… awkward,” he corrected.
“Maybe. But telling.”
No kidding. The abrupt turn around once he’d understood Calix’s role as head of life support hadn’t exactly been subtle. He looked down at the asari, shrugging his ignorance. “Well, whatever that was, thanks for not tossing him head-first out the door.”
The asari grinned up at him. “Thanks for standing up for us. Again.”
Two of the crew bent behind the array of wires and burners to restart the open flame. Three more poked at the still which, now that Calix thought about it, probably used other supplies to make its contents. Perhaps Spender’s concerns weren’t just power-mad gesticulations. The thought left Calix with a new worry.
Suppose Spender, all things considered, had a point? The man’s obvious stock-exchange aside, the concern about rations would eventually crop up. What if it had already started?
He grimaced at the idea, but let it go. For now.
Nnebron rolled his shoulders as he glowered at the door. “Pencil-necked politician,” he muttered. “Coming in here like he owns the place. Like he owns us.”
“Relax,” Irida said. She patted him on the shoulder. “Politicians are paid to be that way. All of ’em.”
“Still not right.”
“Maybe not,” Calix said thoughtfully. He surveyed his team. His people. Hard workers, every one. Locked away with life-support systems day in and day out, conscious every moment of the hundred thousand lives that counted on them.
First, they lost Garson.
Then they lost the ability to work as a true team, divided instead into round-the-clock shifts. Now some middle-management politician wanted to ration supplies? Save them? For what?
Maybe the leadership knew something the rest of the crew hadn’t been told yet. About the arks, or maybe this mysterious Scourge.
Across the room, one of his team shouted, “Yes!” as the gas flame flickered to life. The mood in the room lightened palpably.
Irida nudged him. “Something on your mind, boss?”
Calix rolled his shoulders, but it didn’t ease his tension. “I’m just thinking,” he said slowly, “what purpose it serves for Spender to start fretting over supplies before any sort of orders come down from Operations.”
Nnebron folded his arms, his black eyebrows knitted. “You think something’s up?”
He hesitated. Then, with a shrug, he admitted, “I’m not sure. But maybe it’d be a good idea if we keep tabs on maintaining our own supplies.” And keep Spender on our good side, he added silently.
The asari tipped her head, just as thoughtful and cautious as he.
“You got it, sir.” Nnebron dropped his arms. “Now let’s get some grub before it runs out.”
“Grubs?” Irida asked, appalled. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Figure of speech,” Calix told the horrified asari.
“Right.” She grimaced again, nodded, then followed the kid through the crowd, all asari grace to his lanky gait. Calix watched them both and wondered if he should have said anything at all. He didn’t want to stir up trouble. He just wanted to make sure his crew was taken care of.
He knew from experience how easy it was for untested leadership to forget about the crew in the unseen spaces—engineering, sanitation, all the things that just seemed to operate. Invisible to anyone who didn’t make it past deck three.
The fact that Spender came all this way…
Calix didn’t like it. Something was brewing up there in Operations. Something they knew, maybe, that the rest of the Nexus didn’t.
Would Kesh know? Probably not. Tann wouldn’t allow that.
Sloane, then? He’d have to ask. Find some excuse to talk to her without Spender or any of the others around. Until then, his first priority was the well-being of everyone in this room.
“Hero of the hour gets first dibs!”
With a firm shake of his head, Calix put his everything’s all right face on again and joined Nnebron at the modified grill. “Okay, okay. What is this stuff, anyway?”
“No idea,” one of his team said with glee. Andria lifted a plate filled with still-smoking things that looked like twists of some kind of meat-like substance, piled high with dark red sauce.
It smelled acrid and sharp, vinegary and… amazing, Calix decided. But he knew immediately his gut would reject it. “Smells wonderful,” he said tactfully. “But if it ain’t dextro—”
They all paused.
Looked at each other.
Then rolled into a riot of laughter. “Gotcha,” Nnebron shouted. Na’to, grinning, pulled out a plate of something that smelled almost as good, but didn’t cause his gut to cramp in anticipation.
This was shoved into Calix’s hands, leaving him laughing with his team. “Who won the bet?”
“Whether you’d be dumb enough to play nice and eat it?” Irida asked, snickering as she handed him another bottle. One labeled for turians, some kind of sauce.
“I bet you would,” Nnebron added.
A red-haired human with her hair pulled high up her head raised a hand. “I bet you’d be too smart!”
Calix raised the bottle of sauce to her. “Thank you, Andria. At least someone has faith in me.”
The team melted into relief, into relaxation and—what he most wanted for them—recreation. Most didn’t even hear the clang from the door, but Calix turned in time to see Spender walking away, waving over his shoulder. He’d left a box just inside the room.
“Hey, go grab that, would you?” he said, tipping his head at Nnebron.
The young man crossed to the package and opened it. “Oh, shit! Barbecue sauce from Earth!” Well, now. “The suit wasn’t kidding.”
“I wonder where he got it,” Calix mused, impressed despite himself.
“Don’t ask,” Nnebron warned him, already dragging the box to the gathering. “Don’t jinx it. Don’t even think about how many years it’s been lying around. Just shut up and eat!”
Calix chuckled. “Have at it, team.” He raised the plate in his other hand. “Don’t let it go to waste.”
While they still could.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The krogan didn’t get rest. They kept working. They worked, and they worked, and even when some of the softer crew got days to rest, the Nakmor were still working. Why?
Because that is what Clan Nakmor did.
But did they get thanks for it?
No. Because that’s what everyone else didn’t do.
Same shit. Different galaxy.
Arvex picked up a curved panel of welded steel with one hand, tossed it up into the air to seize it at a better angle, and casually flung it at the farthest wall. It did not fly as fast or as hard as he’d hoped, but this was the problem with the area—not with Arvex’s strength.
Gravity on this side of the station was set at minimal. Saved on power, apparently. Nevertheless, despite the almost graceful arc of the plate’s trajectory, it hit the far wall with a strident clang.