Mass Effect: Ripples of Change Chapter 1: Playing It Close To The Vest, a Naruto + Mass Effect Crossover fanfic

Mass Effect: Ripples of Change

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not Mass Effect, Halo, or Naruto. As any one of them would make me exorbitantly wealthy. And I could buy a jetpack.

Speech

Thought

(AI Speech)

AN/ Just the intro to a Naruto x Mass Effect fic I've been wanting to start, with some Halo bits.

EDITED...Read portion at bottom for some answers about the Halo-verse.

Chapter 1: Playing It Close To The Vest

Dull thrumming vibrations filled the compartment. The Normandy's elevator, dropping from the command deck to the next level down, wherein were crew quarters amongst other things, was a slow behemoth, taking two minutes to drop one deck. It'd often been heard of as a topic of some contention at any one time or another.

Oh, well, it was a small price to pay considering the rest of the ship.

Currently within were two of the senior officers. Colonel David Anderson, a dark-skinned man with closely cut hair and weathered features. An aged veteran who, though having been in a command position for some time, still retained the strength and reflexes of his less official days. And, to his side, his second, Commander Jane Shepard. Standing at just under five-seven, the pixie-ish redhead had comely features that belied the deadly skill she'd trained years to attain and keep.

"A heads-up, Shepard."

"Sir?"

"We've also got a civilian on the crew."

"Specialist?" she wondered aloud, hoping that, who or whatever, they were actually useful. "Assigned by the Council?"

Anderson curtly shook his head to the negative. "Freelance. I requested him." The elevator doors opened with a whisper and they departed, Anderson's leading position costing him the bemused, if wary, expression crossing her face. "I first met him about two years ago in Adjuris. A mission'd gone south kinda bad, so I'd gone in for a few drinks. Late as it was, I'd gotten there in time for some kind of trick shooting tournament that the bar manager had thrown together. It was nothing special, just something to top the stools and sell some drinks. Mostly humans, a few Turians, even a Krogan… Anyway, one of 'em was this young punk, didn't look like much. And he beats them all hands down." Pausing for breath, he snorted to himself. "Wasn't til later I found out he was one of the best up and coming bounty hunters in the system. Anyways, he beats them all pretty badly, but, before he can collect, a few of the other guys take offense at his marksmanship and a brawl breaks out." Hands on his hips, he broke out into a belly laugh, a rare sight on the captain lately. "I swear, that's the only time I've ever seen a Krogan look so surprised." Understandably so. There were few who would consider facing a Krogan in hand-to-hand, and even fewer would survive, let alone win.

It wasn't uncommon for the military to outsource to bounty hunters. It wasn't always pleasant though. Most bounty hunters just weren't what you'd call sociable. "Him again?" Anderson nodded, and in her periphery she could see the corner of his lips twitching as if he was hiding a grin.

"Kid was wiping the floor with anyone who threw a punch his way. Was quite the show."

"What? You didn't try and stop it?" Shepard asked, brow raised at her commander. Outcome aside, she questioned the act.

Anderson sent her an even glance. "Thought about it," he retorted. "I was about to do so, until he broke that Turian's jaw. After that…I sat back down, picked up my drink, and watched him work." Shaking his head, he looked incredibly amused at the memory.

Shepard frowned. "Spec. Ops?" Sure, the captain said he was young, but that left wiggle room, age wise, and there were the odd cases of the military pulling in those they saw potential in at a young age, training them up for future enrollment into the ranks. After Mindoir, they'd looked the other way and let her in a few years shy of the required age, mainly since she'd nowhere to go. It wasn't black-bag like the early-early days. He'd be picked up, given a choice with some weight, trained, and the more he learned the more he would be paid for his skills while in the service. And, military aside, there were just as many known organizations that liked to build up their own little armies as well. Less than legal organizations. With less than approved recruiting and training methods. "What about-"

Anderson shook his head, cutting her off. "No, and trust me I checked. Hard as it is to believe, he's a real and true ghost. It was spooky. Never seen someone so off the radar." To which she nodded. There was a rule of thumb when it came to things like that. If the record was too clean to be true, it usually wasn't, but no one would go as far as to erase their own existence. It would be counterproductive. That was standing out even more. "I've been keeping tabs on 'im. Even threw his name in the ring a few times when jobs came up. You've more than likely heard of him though." Shepard's brow perked. "Stories about a person who can use biotic abilities without biotics?" Shepard's back stiffened. Now that she'd heard. It was little more than rumor, but…

"Then it's true?"

Pausing, Anderson nodded after weighing her words, thinking back to all he'd witnessed so far. "Seen it myself. When it first came up, the Council got him to sit down for some eggheads. Had to pay him a Hell of a lot to do it. He did some tricks for them, but walked out the moment they asked for some more in-depth stuff. Personal history and the like. One poor lab jockey tried to get a DNA sample. Kid broke his arm in three places just for trying." Shepard's lips twisted into a light smirk at that. Senseless violence was one thing, but, sometimes, the smarter a person was, the more stupid they could be. "They tried to force his hand, get him to spill, but he didn't take too kindly to being ordered. Beat the Hell out of most anyone sent for him. It's happened often enough, the higher-ups 've put a lid on it as best they could. Don't want anyone else to take a shot at him, I s'pose. They still toss him jobs though, his record's that good, and he doesn't seem to have a problem with them so long as they keep it professional." Now she was interested. Her opinion of his occupation aside, it meant they had a wild card in the deck.

And that could be good or bad. You never do know how the wild card will fall.

Anderson scoffed. "Wouldn't surprise me if the only reason they let me request him on this was just so they could see more of what he does. Here we are," stopping in front of one of the crew quarters' doors. "He boarded 'bout an hour ago. Should have his gear stowed by now."

The Normandy was a prototype, the first of its kind. A blend of human and Turian designs.

Despite its fame, or infamy if you were paying the bills for its construction, it was not a luxury liner. The rooms for example, were fairly Spartan. Those that there were. In point of fact, there were only a half-dozen rooms to begin with. The crew compliment was in the low twenties, but it was a small ship. For the majority, there were the sleeper pods. There were however a half-dozen rooms dedicated as quarters for whatever reason could be thrown their way, such as a VIPs, or whatnot, but mostly they served as living quarters for the essential crew members; those whose jobs were too important for the lag of sleeping/waking in a sleep pod. The commanding officer had a room on the command deck, the remaining few rooms shared deck space on the habitation deck with storage and the medical bay.

Quarters, what there were of them, were almost always small and cramped. Even on a spanking new ship like the Normandy with its hush-hush mission clearance, it was standard that they be little larger than a large walk-in closet, or a jail cell if you were feeling particularly morose. That said, there was still a noticeable twelve inch clearance between the top of the door and the ceiling of the eight by ten room. The room's height making it easier for the pair of stacked cots.

On the opposing wall was a narrow desk with an overhead lamp built into the bulkhead. They were designed as small-scale work benches. Currently at which, sat their "wild card", the deconstructed parts of a weapon scattered across its surface. Cursory view offering only so much, there was too little to identify what its whole form was.

"Anderson." Turning on the small stool, he stood enough to shake hands with the Colonel. "Still alive?" a confident grin splitting his face. By far, the dark-skinned man was the most amiable person in the Alliance that he'd met as of yet. He got along fairly well with the average soldier, anyone experienced enough with action really, but the higher ups tended to cheese him off. Anderson though… He had the rank, but he was a ground-pounder through and through. "I figured the paperwork would've killed you by now."

"Uzumaki," the commanding officer returned in kind, trying not to smile too broadly at the joke. "It's still a stalemate I'm afraid. I'm glad you took the job, short notice as the request was. Could always use you." Unlike the politicians, he meant it. He could do with a whole crew like him. Him and Shepard.

Whoa…now there was a pairing made in Hell. He mentally shrugged off the thought.

"Yeah, I was getting a little restless," the man admitted freely, chuckling. "Peace and quiet's all well and good, but sleeping in on weekends starts to get old." Especially when you only need to sleep for four hours a day. "Still, I'm surprised you called me in for a simple security job." Wearing that same buoyant grin, blue eyes shifted to the Colonel's company. Brow knitting a little, "Shepard? Right?" offering his hand. A bit of theatric there. He'd noticed her from the start, but had left the introduction for the proper moment. She was a bit shorter than he'd first expected, coming to standing just below his nose in height. Her coppery red hair stopped just at chin length, being functional but retaining femininity. Her skin was fair, a trait often seen with redheads, and he could make out a small scar along the underside of her chin. A tiny one, barely noticeable, but he still did. She was actually fairly well curved. She wasn't an exaggerated hourglass, but good health and training had obviously done wonders for her figure. And speaking of training… He could see it in her build, through the admittedly skintight uniform, toned muscles all over, softened with feminine curves.

Jane nodded, taking the hand into a firm grip. "Cmdr. Jane Shepard, System's Alliance," going through the full intro. "Cnl. Anderson tells me you're something interesting."

He was at just the height where he could be called tall, a solid six, maybe six-one, clad in reinforced, nonmilitary attire, accentuating his build. A long-sleeved orange and black shirt, a grey vest covered in pockets, and heavy, dark pants with an equally numerous amount of pockets. On his legs… She noted the bottom half of some light armor covering his shins and thighs, designed for agility and movement, sacrificing protection though. Narrow built, she could still make out defined, corded musculature beneath his clothes. And his posture… Even just standing there, she could imagine him as a coiled spring. For the brief contact that it was, shaking his hand, she'd felt the strength of his casual grip, and the slightly worn callouses. With that tan skin tone, he looked all the part of a lifelong ground-pounder. What was rather off-putting was the combination that was his eyes and smile. The latter just didn't seem to want to quit, and the former were by far the brightest shade of blue she could admit to ever seeing.

"Telling tales on me, Anderson?" he asked, smiling awkwardly, radiating embarrassed amusement.

"Maybe a few," the colonel responded lightly before returning to business. "But we can get into that later. I just wanted to introduce the two of you before you work together. We're shipping out in ten minutes. I'll expect you ready when the time comes. Let's get to it, Shepard."

"Sir."

And the pair retreated from his doorway.

"I'll be ready, just give me a call," he assured their retreating backs, getting a backhanded wave as a show of acknowledgement.

Speaking of backsides…his eyes drifted south a touch. Well…Shepard obviously kept in good shape.

Pulling his head back in, the door hissed closed. Scratching his head, just contemplating the space his door now filled, formerly occupied by the two, he gave up on his thoughts before stepping back across the room to his small table.

Picking up one of the pieces from the tabletop he restarted his fiddlings. Silence permeated the room, but, after a moment, "Yeah, I know." Peering down the charging mechanism of the weapon, he checked it for wear as he'd been doing before being interrupted.

…

"Well within a reasonable margin," he spoke aloud, almost like he was participating in a conversation.

…

"I don't know," he spoke into the silence again. "I kinda expected her to be a little more…I don't know…butch?"

…

Slapping more pieces together, the rifle slowly regaining its former whole state, "Oh, c'mon, you've read her CSV. You can't tell me you were expecting someone remotely feminine." With a resounding "CLCK" the barrel locked into place, his sniper rifle back in one piece.

"Alright, how's that?"

…

The weapon warmed slightly in his grip, the scope's hud-linked camera coming to life and seeming to adjust itself.

…

"No issue with the connection?"

…

"Perfect. The software patch is working."

…

"Fine. Adequate," he rephrased, sulking. "No one's that perfect."

…

He grumbled darkly, obviously irritated by whatever answer had been to the contrary. "You want out now? We've got a few hours at least before we get to Eden Prime."

…

Rewind…

This time from Naruto's perspective…

(The initial software gave connection was within ten percent. With this new patch, I should be able to further reduce that. My calculations estimate it should be between two and zero-point-three-two percent.)

"Well within a reasonable margin," he spoke aloud, almost like he was participating in a conversation.

(So…Shepard. Not what you thought, was she?) She, unlike him, had seen all of Shepard's vitae, including photos and physical stats.

"I don't know," he spoke into the silence again. "I kinda expected her to be a little more…I don't know…butch?"

(If I had a physical form I'd slap you.) Though there was no real malevolence in her tone. (Just because a woman is strong, there's no reason to think her any less feminine.) She herself was a prime example for that.

"Alright, how's that?"

(Checking.)

The weapon warmed slightly in his grip, the scope's hud-linked camera coming to life and seeming to adjust itself.(Connection established, the static is cleared up. I'm tied into its functionality.)

"No issue with the connection?"

(The connection is exceeding predicted performance outcomes,) a sense of smugness flowing over the connection despite already being audible. (I'll be able to monitor more than just your armor's sensors now.)

"Perfect. The software patch is working."

(I'd hardly call it perfect. But, yes, my handiwork is proving quite successful. Still… There is a minute differential in the accuracy of its motor mechanisms of several microns.) A combination of pride and teasing, merged as one.

"Fine. Adequate," he rephrased, sulking. "No one's that perfect."

(I am.) Simple, to the point, and smug beyond belief.

He grumbled darkly, obviously irritated by whatever answer had been to the contrary. "You want out now? We've got a few hours at least before we get to Eden Prime."

(I guess I could stretch my legs.)

Taking care to lock the door, he withdrew a palm-sized hemisphere from the satchel on his bed. It was a weighty thing, but it more than made up for that with what it accomplished. "You in?" There was no answer this time. Not until the small device let off a dull purple glow.

"I'm in." In a sudden appearance and condensation of light, a sixteen centimeter tall figure appeared over it, carved from the very light itself. In appearance, it was female, a human woman. Almost. Devoid of clothing, but also devoid of enough definition to merit them. That closeness diminished upon closer inspection as her form was a dark blue, lines of data and strings of code streaming across her somewhat transparent skin, giving her "definition". The form she had was of an adult human female, roughly mid-twenties by body shape, with a curvy, yet not overly so, figure, hair down to her chin was a shade darker than her skin. "Oh, well this is cozy," she remarked puckishly. She'd already known what his temporary room looked like, having seen it through his own eyes, and via the ship's supposedly classified schematics, but, regardless of that, now was the perfect time for witticisms.

At the same time, through his omni-tool and the portable projector as well, she could also peek into the Normandy's computers. She was conservative and careful, but the computers' protection software was a joke. She may be much older, but she was designed to be creative, crafty and innovative, and with her updates since coming back into the game she was just as lethal currently as she was then. If not more so. The security software wasn't designed to adapt to something like her probing. Nothing short of AI level counter-insurgency could detect her, let alone stop her, and the Normandy had none of that.

But she wasn't greedy. Nothing she looked into was high-ranked enough to draw attention anyway. If it were necessary, she'd peruse the entire database. But, just for curiosity warranted only lazy poking around.

"I'm gonna knock on the sky," he warned, leaving the workbench and the reassembled weapon upon it for the adjacent bed. "You'll let me know if anything happens?"

"Of course."

Smiling gratefully, "Thanks, Cortana," he pulled his legs beneath him on the cot. Hands cupping upward on his thighs, he closed his eyes.

She knew that within the span of a few breaths he was gone.

It never ceased to perplex her. More accurately, he never ceased to perplex her. She'd actually been connected more than once when he'd entered his meditative trance. It was fascinating really the level of control he exerted over himself. Sometimes, his mind would quiet in the process, leaving her momentarily frightened the first time it had happened. And, sometimes, he would enter within his own mind.

The brain as a physical entity had its quirks and fascinating features, but the mind. Now that was something else, something immeasurable in its complexity. Admittedly, she'd only ever been in the mind of one other, but even then that had been nothing like his own. It should be impossible that he'd be able to manifest an inner world, a mindscape, yet she had seen it, experienced it. And for all its mystery and wonder, she remained in awe. A world where the laws bent to his will.

A world where she had actually been able to touch and feel. Even if the sensations were taken from understandings of his own experiences.

She often considered, if only for microseconds, the feeling she'd experienced of bare feet in silky ankle-high grass, as he'd experienced it.

And it was in those moments of spectacle that she reminded herself of how fortunate she was.

Mirroring his position, she floated, cross-legged in air, chin resting on the back of a hand, as she just stared at him in contemplation. Time had always been a wholly different concept for AIs. For the smarter ones, their lifespans were quite short by human definition, yet, at their thinking speeds, it seemed so much longer, in a way balancing out to what she felt would be comparable to an average human lifespan.

For a smart AI, the average operation time was seven years at the high end before their neural pathways began to corrupt. They would actually think themselves to death. And she had been the smartest.

When he'd found her those years ago, she'd already been well beyond her operational limit. Her program deteriorated to the point of nearing absolute entropy. She wasn't proud of the flashes of memory she'd retained of shouting and yelling madly, her own personality fragmented. Nor were the memories pleasant. Whenever she looked back on them, it would always send the AI equivalent of a shiver through her.

And she would be thankful that he'd found her.

She felt…remorse…for her lost partner. The one who'd known her first, but there was little helping that. Instead, she took solace in the presence of this young…human, as best a description as she had. He was, after all, so much like him, but also so different. A warrior, and an incredibly lucky one at that, but that was where the similarities started to ebb. Through no fault of his own, he had never exuded the warmth that he did. He had been a shield and sword, but he, the man before her, was more like armor, keeping close and protectively shrouding. That was the best she could describe it.

Her virtual lips quirked into a small smile, watching him meditate.

AN/ Just something I've been thinking over since Halo 3, and since I started playing the Mass Effect series.

EDIT: This is Cortana as of the end of Halo 3. It's going to be no secret: John's dead. I'm adapting the Halo storyline.

Consider this for now:

The Spartans were an early military program to protect human interests in early colonization periods. Similar background, but no Halo arrays. After a battle where the ship was too heavily damaged, deja vu, John is frozen in a stasis pod (end of Halo 3), watched over by Cortana. Somewhere down the line, his pod mechanically malfunctions (or maybe it'd damaged by a micro-meteor shower...) but the end result is Cortana, alone, slipping further and further into madness. 7 years is optimal lifespan of Smart AI. Cortana lasts over two decades after (point of rescue), no longer optimal condition, her program actually locking up at points, extending her deteriorated operation.

Naruto finds.