After Shepard's Meeting with the Council
“So it’s just not a typical alliance,” Donna said, as they wandered through what was known as Presidium Commons. “Like NATO, where the States got everyone involved in Afghanistan because they called it an attack.”
“Right,” the Doctor said. “The Council is more like the UN.”
“So there are certain, what, member species?”
“Right. And you lot are the newest — humans have only been on the Council for three years — so you’re still feeling your way around.”
“So Councilor what’s his name—”
“Udina.”
“Councilor Udina can’t actually make anyone do anything.”
“No, he can’t. And they’re not compelled to help, either.”
Donna gazed over the Presidium. It was gorgeous, the way they’d built greenery around the large reservoirs in the center with bridges elevated above them. She couldn’t believe this existed in space. “Well, what if they attacked here?”
“That’s the usual plan,” the Doctor replied, examining a store’s inventory. “This station’s actually a big mass relay, connected to one out in dark space — that’s what they’re calling the stuff in between galaxies. Usually the Reapers send a signal off to one of those—” He pointed at a bug-thing that trotted by at that moment, completely oblivious to its surroundings. “And they open the relay. Everyone on the Citadel, which is usually the seat of power, gets killed and the Reapers take control of the relay network and slowly kill everything.”
“So this.” She pointed down. “Is a giant mousetrap.”
“Exactly. Well, sort of. It’s more like a . . . in America they have these roach motels. It’s more like that.”
“Right . . . Anyway, think we can find a postcard?”
“Why do you want a postcard?”
“It’s for my gramps.”
The Doctor waved her up to the terminal. “Here. I was trying to get us a pair of omni-tools. Kind of look silly walking around without them.” As Donna leafed through the screen, looking at the cards, he thrust his hands in his pockets. “I should really stop you sending those. Spoilers and all.”
“Try me, spaceman,” Donna muttered. “My gramps loves these. And he doesn’t show them to anyone.”
“Haven’t stopped you yet, have I?” She glanced over and they grinned. Donna found a postcard she liked — a nice view of the Presidium, taken from one of the bars cutting across it. “Good choice.”
“I thought so.”
He stepped past her and quickly did something with the screwdriver, and the clerk handed over the postcard and what looked like two watchbands. “Have a pleasant day.”
The Doctor nodded and half-waved as they walked towards a bench. “Okay,” Donna said, nodding back to the clerk. “So that right there. That’s an asari.”
“Yes.” The Doctor snapped his omni-tool onto his wrist. “There we go. Much better.”
“And that’s a salarian.”
“Yes.” He dug in a pocket and found a small black stylus, handing it to her. “You’ll need that.”
“Thanks. And that’s a . . . turian.”
“Turian.”
“Turian.”
“What’s that one?” He pointed, and Donna jabbed him with her elbow.
“That’s a human.”
He rubbed his arm, making a face. “I was just testing you.”
“So . . . What’s that then?” She pointed the stylus at a squat alien waddling past them, wearing a full-body suit that somewhat resembled a dog with large jowls.
“That’s a volus.” The Doctor had opened up his omni-tool, an orange glow around his wrist. “Orange? I didn’t want orange. It’s too . . . orange.”
“Can you change it?”
“Yes.”
“So . . . volus.”
“Yes.”
“And the gorilla-elephant thing?”
The Doctor’s head snapped up, looking in the direction she pointed, and he laughed. “Yeah. It does kinda look like that.”
“What is it?”
“That’s an elcor.”
Donna shook her head. “I’d love to see the relationship that came out of.”
The Doctor laughed. “How are you even getting those back?”
“Spoilers,” Donna echoed sarcastically, finishing her message.
He shook his head, fiddling with his omni-tool. “There we go. No more orange.” He started looking for the secured network he knew the Normandy ran on, glancing out at the Presidium. It’d been years since he’d been there. He’d forgotten how pretty it was. Donna glanced over at him.
“What sort of color is that?”
He looked hurt. “It’s chartreuse.”
“You made it chartreuse. Why would you make it chartreuse?”
“Why not? Try it out. Char-treu-se. Char-treuuuu-se. Char—ow!” Donna poked him with the stylus.
“Oh, don’t be a baby.” She handed it back to him, and he dropped it in a pocket. “Really? Chartreuse?”
“Isn’t it fun to say?”
Donna nodded, a slightly introspective look on her face. “It is, yeah.” Her attention was caught by something drifting by, and she stared after it. “Doctor?”
“Yeah?”
“Is that a jellyfish?”
“Yes.”
“. . . it’s floating.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“But . . . it’s floating.”
“I noticed.” His wrist dinged. “Ah, there we go. Tapped into the Normandy’s communication’s. They can’t leave us now.”
“You think they would?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Don’t know. Doubt it, but if Shepard has to get out of here in a hurry, we’ll only have a few minutes to get up there before she leaves.”
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