"So, this Oath of Substations thing..."
"Oath of Subsumation," Samara gently corrected the human commander as they waited for their elevator to reach the pier where the Normandy was docked.
"Yes, that." Commander Shepard steepled her fingers, the shorter, dark-haired woman looking up nervously at the tall and powerful Justicar. "So that means you have to do whatever I tell you, right?"
"The oath allows me to swear complete allegiance to your agenda, superseding even the Justicar Code," Samara explained.
"Good. Because I don't want you to do that."
Samara was about to warn her that any actions against the code could be punished once she was released from said oath, but the Commander's reaction gave her pause. "You...don't want me to?"
"Yes!" Shepard insisted, momentarily distracted as the two stepped out of the lift, past the workers still loading crates aboard the sleek stealth vessel ahead of them. "If I'm screwing things up, or doing something morally repugnant, I don't want you to follow me without question. Call me out, knock some sense into me if you have to, alright?" The commander looked at her almost pleadingly as Samara tried to comprehend what she was asked. For all the cautionary tales given about the third oath and how it meant it was to be used only in the most dire of circumstances, being asked NOT to follow every order given was quite unexpected.
"A rather interesting request, Commander." Samara couldn't help but smile, just a little bit. "I will of course do my best to...not comply."
"Thanks, that means a lot to me." Shepard stopped to check a manifest on one of the cargo crates before she jogged back to the Justicar's side. "People make a lot of hay out of me being some great savior of the galaxy, and I'm really not. I'm only ever as good as the crew I bring with me."
"How refreshingly egalitarian."
"It's true!" Shepard grinned. "I do everything I can to make sure everyone on my team is well cared for. It's what let us defeat Sovereign, and it's why we'll defeat the Collectors." She stepped aside to let Samara board the Normandy first, hopping the gap between the dock and the ship after her. "Speaking of which, we should be able to set you up near stellar observation on the lower deck. Room's pretty soundproofed and it's a great place to meditate."
Stunned into silence by such a generous offer for space, Samara's attention was drawn to the airlock doors rotating and letting the pair onto the ship proper. Momentarily drawn to the unusual mix of turian with new unfamiliar design elements, no doubt human innovations, she followed the Commander as she approached a pair of crew members in black and white uniforms.
"We're almost ready to head out, Commander. Just a few more supply trains to load," the redheaded woman in the pair announced proudly, reading off from a datapad.
"Excellent. And how are the new rations?"
"Everyone's happy with them as far as I know." The woman licked her lips hungrily. "So nice to finally have natural chocolate again..."
"Oh Samara, this is our yeoman, Kelly Chambers. Primarily responsible for keeping this ship from falling apart. Kelly, this is our latest squad member, Justicar Samara."
Samara gave a curt nod as 'Kelly' returned a salute, before curiously looking the human over. Unlike the trim and fit Commander, this woman appeared to have gone more then a little soft, sporting a prominent belly and some definite fullness around her face. Was she perhaps pregnant? Quite the coincidence, since the blonde assistant with her also looked to be a little round around the waist too.
"Shepard!"
The shout drew Samara's attention to the tall, statuesque woman striding towards the group, her dark brown hair tumbling flawlessly onto her shoulders, bedecked in a white hexagonal-patterned catsuit with black sleeves and knee length high-heeled boots. Despite hurrying along and looking rather irritated, there was an ease and a grace to her movements that gave Samara pause...at least until she spotted the gut the woman was sporting pushing out against her belt and stretching out the geometric pattern around her middle.
"Oh, you must be the Justicar," the woman said in her odd, elegant accent. "Pleasure to have you onboard. I take it Shepard here briefed you on the mission?"
"Thoroughly," Samara agreed, trying not to stare too much at the slight wobble around the woman's midsection.
"Excellent. Now if she could be more thorough explaining these bloody weapons upgrades..."
"Oh right, that." Shepard leaned towards Samara a bit. "This might be a while, so I'll cut you loose here. Feel free to move in and say hello to the crew! And THAT will be an order."
Again, Samara tried not to smile too much as she and the other woman went off to argue about ship protocol, though her eye was again drawn to the width of the heavier woman's...well, lower half. The Justicar had some pointed thoughts about the habits that these crewmen had developed, but she elected to keep them to herself as she strolled along the length of the ship, admiring it a little more. Shepard obviously had a lax command style, but so long as it was effective, the Justicar had no reason to criticize it.
However, a side door opened up to let in a few more crew members discussing something in hushed tones. They looked up to wave politely at her, and Samara almost forgot to acknowledge them as she caught herself staring; like the others, they had rounded middles as well. Taking the doorway they left open, Samara glanced around at the other crew members milling about doing their duties, some reacting with shock and surprise while others were more friendly and said hello, which Samara always responded to with a curt nod.
And to a man, they were all overweight. Not a flat stomach or a slender figure among them.
Trying simply to process the absurdity, it was perhaps a cruel irony that she followed a path that led her to what had to have been the ship's mess hall. Predictably, it seemed to be the busiest area she'd found so far, with lines leading up to the kitchen area and the tables nearly filled with members of the crew happily indulging in rather generously proportioned meals.
A few crew members did stick out. Sitting alone at one table was a scarred salarian, quietly humming to himself between bites of his meal, a heavier then normal gut sitting in his lap as well. Equally solitary and unusual in the crowd was a somber looking drell, his hands folded in front of him as if in prayer, and the softness around his face and arms betraying that he was on the hefty side like the rest of the crew.
Well, most of them, as the sound of a soft belch drew Samara's eye to a rather distressing sight. Seated closest to the lines snaking out of the kitchen was a gray-scaled turian with a medical patch on his cheek as he munched on a blue-tinted sandwich of some kind, seated across from a quarian hidden behind a purple helmet and dark colored hood, a straw in the induction port of her mask leading to a large cup.
And unlike the others on this ship, they were not soft around the middle or notably chubby. No, they were outright obese. The turian's extra chin wobbled as he gulped down his meal, one hand moving down the vast expanse of his gut filling his lap, while the quarian's suit creaked and squeaked trying to contain her growing figure, with her wide hips and backside overflowing the bench below her. Samara couldn't possibly think of a justification for this; the other members of the crew being overweight was one thing, but these two looked to be over three hundred pounds, and rapidly heading towards higher numbers!
At that moment though, Samara became acutely aware of the fact she was being stared at just as intently by the crewmen here as well. Trying not to wonder if it was because her being thin made her an outlier, the Justicar settled on her next move, heading towards...
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