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The Translation in Blood	By : Mayamahal Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 19003 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bioware or ANYTHING in the Mass Effect universe, including the characters therein. I make no money on this story.

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It was standard procedure to brief newcomers to colonies on the local wildlife, at least the dangerous ones, to ensure mishaps to a minimum. Generally, the 'shoot first, ask later' policy was acceptable in an emergency, but didn't go over well if the critter was cute, fluffy, young, harmless, rare, endangered, valuable, or an understated form of sentient life. In the beginning, when space exploration was new and humanity knew next to nothing about the new planets they discovered, they depended on scout drones to collect as much data as possible and report back to the Alliance, and then, once a colony was founded, they simply taught it to every incoming human and so on.
It was the only reason the sound of scales on dry dirt snapped Hannah into instant alert mode.
The Turian had done his best to get her comfortable, for whatever reason, although she suspected it was a perverse reminder of how completely at his mercy she was, and how easy she'd been to capture. He'd bolted a ring to a lower part of the cavern wall for the cuffs around her wrists, and another for a tether that bound to her ankles. It made it easier to sleep, curled on the floor, but it also made it impossible for her to escape. Instincts told her that if he'd intended to hurt her, he'd have done it sooner and have never been so ... accommodating. It seemed Turians had some measure of honor. Maybe. Although it appeared they were worse at the 'shoot first' policy than humans at this point.
She was dozing, cheek on her arm, laying on her belly when the scrape of movement caught her attention. Eyes snapping open, she immediately located the Turian across the cavern, sprawled in the back against the far wall. He was sleeping, breathing shallow and facing her, one arm tucked under his head, the other gripping a pistol. Quickly noting that it couldn't have been him, her gaze darted around the cave for-
Ah. There it was.
The blaze chameleon was known to be a fantastic creature, beautiful and sleek and a rainbow of reds when it wasn't blending expertly in to the surroundings. It was small, only about ten inches long from nose to back legs, trailing another ten inches of tail behind it. It was stealthy, slow moving, the only give away that same tail being drug across the ground; only the trail it left in the dirt could visually give away its location.
What was especially neat about this fellow, not only was it a predator for bugs and amphibians and the like, but it had no problem taking out bigger prey to feed its whole colony. One individual would slink out and use it's quick, potent, barbed tongue to sting, immobilizing animals as large as elephants into waking paralysis before calling in the family to come in and have dinner.
Despite this, however, the blaze chameleon had a high body temperature and was easy to spot via thermal scan, and even easier to keep away; it hated loud noise and apparently the bustle of a metropolis easily qualified, and the human outposts and colonies were prone to both. Still, as the only real animal danger on the planet, it was good to know the signs before you wound up a living buffet, with only the halls of your mind to scream in.
Those tell-tale marks were appearing in the dirt not four feet from Lt. Shepard, heading, bizarrely, for the Turian snoozing on the ground instead of the more fleshy bound, immobile human.
And now, Hannah was presented with a dilemma.
His death would probably make things easier in some ways, and there was no doubt in her mind she might figure out a way to get free of her bonds, high- tail it to the colony and figure out a way to get back in. But she had no idea how long any of that would take, and short of chewing through her arm, it would take a while to work the bolt free of stone. Even then, unless she intended to crawl, travel was going to be impossible.
And then there was the chameleon and all his relatives.
No animal alive would pass up a free meal, let alone two. She was all but certain that even if they waited until after they'd picked his bird bones clean, they would still zero in on her and treat her to the same fate.
It wouldn't be anything personal. The rain seasons were coming and some animals had a lot of mouths to feed.
Ick.
Decision made, she carefully sat up to the best of her ability, took a slow, deep breath, then let loose the loudest yell she could manage.
He was on his feet in a minute out of what had seemed a dead sleep, gun aimed at her, head whipping around. She pointed right at the trail in the dirt, shouting, "SHOOT RIGHT THERE! NOW!"
To their mutual surprise, he didn't question her. Shot fired, air burning of ozone and cooking flesh, he strode over to the smoking corpse not two feet from where he'd lain; known minimum barb distance for the blaze chameleon.
They were both breathing hard, Hannah closing her eyes in relief that it had all gone so well.
God, that could have been terrible. She tried not think about how fun it would have been to bite through her wrist in an effort to not be eaten alive.
She heard a soft, questioning rumble of syllables. She cracked open an eye to see him looking at her, gun pointed at the twitching lizard. she made a face at him.
"You can't look it up?" she grumbled at him. "And while you're doing that, cut a girl a break and let me sit up." She shook her manacled wrists against the bolt.
Grumbling under his breath, he moved to her and released her from the wall, taking a step back to scan the animal on the floor and tap in a few inquiries. Reality settled into his features, the imperceptible widening of his eyes and rising brow registering all kinds of surprise. Apparently, he wasn't quite as thoroughly briefed as she was on this deployment.
Maybe she'd blame it on the dehydration, or hunger, or the crappy bed, but she couldn't help what she said next.
"Just because it looks a little like you," she mumbled at him cheekily, "doesn't mean it's a friend."
His shoulders went stiff and he shot her an angry glare.
"And the proper response is, 'Thank you for saving my life'," she told him, legs curling under her as she sat up, settling her back against the stone.
ooo
He didn't try to communicate with her too much after that, showing a prickly manner compared to the acute professionalism the day before. She didn't care; it was hard not to feel the tiniest bit smug about saving his life. It was obvious he wasn't stupid and wouldn't forget it either.
It was getting warm again even within the confines of the cave, but there was a cross-breeze coming through from the mouth to whistle softly through a low opening in the back she'd missed the night before. It made the heat far easier to handle than out in the blazing suns and Hannah was not about to bitch about it.
The wait was both nerve-wracking and boring, if that was possible. While she felt oddly safe with her captor, her future was uncertain even on the ground, but she imagined the odds would be much worse once she was airborne and within the Turian fleet. Rules of war aside, she didn't know what to expect. She didn't even know if she was supposed to be afraid. The calm that had settled in her bones was an anchor she clung to despite how irrational it seemed, but in the end, she decided it was better than being panicked and terrified.
He'd given her more water while he had snacked on one of the rations he had, then moved to stand at the entrance of the small cavern. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was staring up and at the horizon. His back was to her, and as she shifted again to get more comfortable, she took the moment to look at him unguarded.
He was tall, easily seven feet, with broad shoulders that tapered down into a wasp-thin waist, flaring out to supportive hips balanced on well muscled legs that flared spurs at the knees, rooted on digitigrade legs. He wasn't as heavily armored as the soldiers she'd seen at the outpost, boasting thinner, flexible stuff that was both non-descript and matte; light didn't just avoid the stuff, it was practically absorbed into it. If he wasn't so mellow, the entire impression would have screamed, "assassin".
But then again, a good assassin didn't give the impression that he was anything but shadow... Although that still didn't make any sense. Assassins didn't follow single targets into the wilderness without knowing who they were, and experimental tech aside, there was really nothing strategically valuable about Lt. Hannah Shepard. Hell, her presence on this rock was practically a fluke.
Every now and then he'd shift, look off into the distance to the north, and then back again to the west. She was beginning to wonder what the blazes he was looking at, when she heard a distant echo, low and deep like thunder, and then a tremor through the ground.
"What the hell-" she began before she could stop herself, eyes going wide.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder, expression unreadable (but that was hardly surprising) as he stared at her for several long moments. He returned back to whatever it was that had his attention, shifting again but this time clearing his throat in what was definitely discomfort or anxiety or something. Whatever it was he was looking at was making him uneasy. That did nothing to help her own nerves.
The distant booms and resulting tremors continued off and on for the rest of the afternoon, driving Hannah crazy with curiosity and the first real trickles of fear. What was happening to Shanxi? Did they set off a bomb... or bombS? Was this even related to the fight? Was it a natural disaster?
Several times, she saw the Turian go stiff and drop his hands to his sides, only to bring them hesitantly back up to cross his chest. The ... jaw thingies on his face would flicker rapidly during these moments, a sign of anxiety she was coming to recognize.
She could only stare at his back for so long, however, and the heat and immobility eventually lulled her into a doze. Her dreams were fretful and agitated, visions of a toddler stamping through the dirt, people the size of ants scampering around her feet...
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The Translation in Blood