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The Competition
By : logsig123
Category: +M through R > Mass Effect
Views: 4311 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own the Mass Effect series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from this story. - Chapter List
The sun is setting behind Ilium's skyline, coloring the landscape purple and red. John and the others are inside the prefab, talking to the Master Sergeant and his men. Three of them are a little bruised and battered, but still remarkably good-natured for all that. We seem to have made something of an impression on them. Alcoholic beverages have appeared out of nowhere, some even I could drink, and toasts are being offered. But I'm just not in the mood for boozing and being admired. I lean back against the Kodiak and stare at the sunset.
The door opens and I hear John come up behind me. "Garrus. You forgot this." I look. He tosses something to me. I catch it: a silver ring, a little more than two centimeters across, still warm from the last of the sun's rays. Up close, I can tell that the metal is platinum. "What's this for?" I ask. "If you make the shot, you get to keep it." John leans back beside me. "That's the tradition, in the Alliance." His fingers idly trace the weathered outline of the shuttle's door seal. "It was something to aspire to in training. Something to be proud of. If you did make it--" He smiles. "It meant you weren't completely useless." I nod. The turian military doesn't have that particular tradition, but we do understand the spirit of competition, of reaching towards an ideal. "So I'm a real sniper now? " I say. "Maybe. We'll see if you amount to anything," he says. I chuckle, then sigh. "I know you let me win, you bastard." I brandish the ring. "Did you keep yours, or does it not count because of the fucking time limit?" John rolls his eyes. "I already have one. I've done this sort of thing before, you know." I turn the ring around in my hands. I wonder how long it's been hung up there on the wall of that ugly green shack, waiting. How many have tried for it? How many of these rings has the Master Sergeant given away, here on Ilium? Perhaps none--it is, after all, an Alliance tradition, and this isn't the Alliance. The metal shows some age, but it doesn't have the nicks and scars you would expect from being shot at, day after day. The outer surface is smooth and polished, both edges are straight and true. But there are some scratches on the inside of the band--I look closer. No, it's fine engraving. John Shepard, 2074.12.07. I stare at John. He's smiling to himself. "Who-- a relative of yours?" He nods. "My great-grandfather. I never knew him." His eyes look into the distant past. "I’m told this dates from a competition in Colorado Springs. The best military snipers from among all the nations of Earth. This was before we discovered mass effect physics, before the Alliance." He glances at me. "Before first contact," he adds softly. "Hell," I say. "I can't take this, John. It means something to you and your family." I hold it back out to him. He raises an eyebrow at me. "My mother spent half a day of shore leave looking through old storage crates for that, and an unreasonable number of credits to have it couriered to me here. Show some appreciation." "Oh. Um. In that case, of course I'll keep it," I say contritely. "With gratitude. But that seems like a lot of effort to go to, just for a friendly shooting competition." I shake my head slowly. "You humans are so sentimental about the strangest things." He laughs, for much longer than my remark merits. I hear an emotion in his laughter that I can't quite identify. His hand is covering his eyes, so I can't see them. "We do hang on to our traditions," he says, finally. He looks at me then, with that look I've come to recognize as the one reserved for me. "I'll get the others. It's time to go home."- You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
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