With massive apologies to both Deep Blue Something and Audrey Hepburn, whose movie I have yet to see.
Kolyat futzed with the human-style fabric wiping devices, the so-called "napkins," for the fiftieth time since Bailey had let him off. Early, this time, and not at his own request. No, that had been at the Commander's, and just like everyone else in the galaxy seemed to jump at her beck and call, Bailey was no exception. What is it about this human that has everyone in an uproar? Even Father. He remembered her well, or at least the feeling of her fist smashing into his jaw. He remembered the flickering of C-Sec warning lights reflecting in the jet-black hair as she told him Father was dying, and the strange look he'd seen in her tiny blue eyes. A weird look that said, I've been where you are now. I understand. It wasn't exactly the look he'd wanted to see just then, not when she and Father had destroyed the life he was trying to build.
The greens seemed more or less done on the stove—not that he could tell properly done from overdone—and he dumped them into a bowl. He'd tasted one of the poached fish-eggs earlier and it had seemed more or less adequate. Nothing quite like what you could get on Kahje, but they'd survived import well enough. Well enough for human tastes, probably. He chopped asari tuber-roots he'd baked earlier into large chunks and drizzled a little of the sauce the Zakera Café chef had recommended on top of them once he'd dished them onto three plates. Three. The same number of plates that Mother only occasionally brought out, when Father actually bothered to show up for dinner. He swallowed at the memory, and took a few deep breaths to try to calm his suddenly-pounding heart.
Whatever it is that you expect from Ellen, she will likely shatter it to pieces the moment you meet her. She's nothing like I expected.
He fiddled with the napkins again, and no matter how he folded them, they seemed just as wrong as the number of plates on his tiny table. He lay the bowls at the end that bumped up against the wall. She'll expect more than what you've scrounged. Why that bothered him, he couldn't say, and that bothered him even more. He had enough time to set the human-style eating devices by each plate, but only just. He'd just begun to adjust his floor cushions for the fifty-first time when he heard that thin but deep voice through the surveillance bug Father had insisted he install on his last visit. Kolyat, I've opened you up to more threats and danger by accepting this mission. Be safe and be prudent. That is all I ask.
"God, I feel like such an idiot! What if…"
"Calm yourself, Siha. Kolyat isn't a thresher maw."
"Yeah, the maw's easy. You know, you shoot it, and eventually it dies."
"I hope you don't plan to shoot my son."
"No, but I already punched him. Ohgod… What if he hates me, querido?"
If he heard her voice properly, she sounded like she was ready to flee. Run away from me? I can't be hearing that. And what does 'querido' mean?
"And rescued him from prison, Siha."
That was her? How did she pull that over on Bailey?
"Oh please, I just…"
"Yes, I know, all you did was to 'wink and nod.' You realize that Kolyat likely hears everything we say?"
"Wait, what? Ohgod… You're kidding me, right?"
His hands dropped from the floor pillows as he fought to keep his jaw firmly closed. He stared at the napkins again and fought the urge to fold them the opposite direction. By the gods, she's frightened! Shouldn't that have eased his own twitching? And yet her fear forced him to the table, and the plates, and the utensils he'd probably laid out completely wrong according to human customs. He moved the "fork" to the right side of the plates, and the "knife" to the left. I should have asked Bailey how humans do their "place setting."
"If he heeded my advice, we're likely in range of any cameras or listening devices he installed."
"Seriously? He can hear everything? Oh son of a… Now he knows what an idiot I am."
She can't be that simple-minded, can she?
Maybe it was best to just get the inevitable over with. He rearranged the last fork and knife in what he hoped was the right way before he triggered the lock.
The hair was just as he remembered, jet black and almost meticulously in-place by human female standards, but for a strand or two that insisted on sticking out from its rounded shape. Her eyes, though, rather than the steady, almost steely blue he remembered, had widened to almost drell-like dimensions. Her cheeks had turned a brighter red than he'd remembered, and the flush bled up to her temples. She'd clenched her mouth into a straight line, but as he stared at her, she forced them open into a reasonable semblance of a smile. That didn't seem to ease the way she clutched at his ever-placid Father's hand. Her knuckles had turned almost white against her otherwise deep skin. He felt a momentary surge of pity for her as he noted Father's amused half-smile. None of this matched with her well-pressed black and white uniform or the assault rifle and pistol she'd strapped on.
"Kolyat, this is Ellen Shepard."
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for pun… I mean, wait. Um… Hi?" She stuck out a hand and then stared at the ground, her cheeks a brilliant red.
"Come in," he said.