Category: Mass Effect
Rating: PG13
Genre: General
Summary: With the burden she carried, it wasn't surprising Shepard would turn someone for support. Jacob Taylor just never expected it would be him.
Confidant
"System not designed for specialized ammunition."
Jacob had just toggled through his shotgun's interface to power on his ammo mod when the intonation alerted him to not only the presence of a mech, but also that it had a visual on him. Taylor, in his precipitous sprint for the door, came to a clumsy stutter-stop and scrambled for cover. By reflex he threw himself backwards over a storage crate, which had been unceremoniously dumped along the wall to be dealt with another day.
"Damn it!" he grunted as he hit the floor, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Live rounds snapped over the top of the storage unit, passing through empty air where he'd been standing moments before, and the former marine reproached himself for dropping his guard. Jacob had assumed most of the LOKIs had moved out of their usual haunts in the maintenance areas. Their numbers had thinned out considerably the further he pushed into the station, and he attributed this to their being busy chasing the survivors to the evacuation terminals.
He stayed crouched with his shotgun hugged to his chest and waited out the assault. A lull gave way to the hiss of an ejected thermal clip falling to the floor, but the lieutenant held his position.
"Input manual authorization code Lambda-24966!" he tried.
"I'm sorry, your authorization is not valid. Please see your supervisor," answered the mech pleasantly. It followed up this helpful bit of advice with another stream of burst fire from its machine pistol.
If I live through this, I will be writing Hahne-Kedar a strongly worded e-mail, thought Jacob, already formulating a plan of attack. He didn't know exactly where the robot was, and in this dim lighting the seconds wasted searching could cost him his life. He was familiar with its simplistic combat programming, however. The mech would walk right up to him if given the time, giving him a clear shot when he was ready. Holding out too long would give it time to signal for backup, but Jacob decided to take that chance. He was in his element with close quarters combat. Superior training and weaponry would win this for him: All he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike.
The steady clacking of metal feet on the floor grew louder, but it was the purr of whirling gears and coursing electricity that assured him the thing was getting close. Dark energy cascaded over the soldier's body in a protective barrier and he readied himself.
"Excuse me," uttered calm, polite voice from what seemed directly overhead.
"You're excused!" Jacob leaped up, and the shotgun jerked against his shoulder with an ear splitting roar. The exclamation was as unnecessary as it was ridiculous, like a line spouted by a padded action vid star. If any of his underlings had lived long enough to bear witness they would have ribbed the lieutenant for it. If they had lived.
The LOKI unit, just on the other side of the crate and without the sense to strafe around it, reeled from the point-blank blast. The impact threw its liquid balances out of equilibrium, and sensors behind the acrylic faceplate flashed in alarm. Jacob pumped his shotgun and watched with distanced resentment as the robot staggered back, its delicate arms flailing about in an unintuitive effort to recover.
The second shot was devastating to the mech's compromised armor. Thousands of microscopic particles ripped through what was left of its defenses and butchered the fragile mechanical innards, setting the hollowed out chest cavity alight with frenzied sparks. The LOKI folded over itself and crumpled to the floor, system lights shorting out in sequence. Last to go were the optics which flickered at the ceiling, its last unfocused blinks into space before the mech died.
Knowing the tendency for the synthetic guards to detonate following battle, Jacob decided against checking the downed mech for distress signals. Time was already running out on the imaginary deadline he'd imposed for getting to Medical. He was almost there, but couldn't know how much longer Lazarus had. She could already be dead. To Jacob's knowledge there was no organized rescue effort. He was it. That thought in mind, he replaced his thermal clip and kept moving.
The decision to equip the LOKIs with lethal weaponry was not Jacob's, though in all fairness he couldn't say he would have done things differently. Lazarus was too important to be defended with stun guns and concussive rounds. Synthetic guards made up about a third of the station's population and over half of its security force, a choice that was based upon the philosophy that reducing the number of non-essential human personnel on the project meant it was less likely to suffer internal sabotage. Every man had his price, but robots couldn't be bribed or blackmailed.
A robot could be reprogrammed though, and Jacob was certain that the revolt was an inside job. Hahne-Kedar implemented redundant system auto-corrects in their software similar to the data restoration process that made geth resistant to hacking. The only way to turn the entire inorganic crew over at once was to override the command system at the central hub, meaning somebody had gotten into the mainframe and reset the IFF. There was only one reason Jacob could think of that would drive a person to do it: Comatose and unable to defend herself, Lazarus didn't stand a chance if a mech wandered into the recovery suite.
The door led to a walkway that overlooked the medical plaza. It opened obligingly when Jacob approached, and in doing so betrayed the upheaval occurring inside the pavilion. From the racket of shots echoing off the expansive ceiling he could tell the commotion was coming from the ground floor. Jacob checked his flank before crossing the path, then peered over the balcony with deliberate care.
There were four mechs. They failed to detect the lieutenant as they advanced on their target, metal plated backs to him, reciting pre-programmed quips over a barrage of gunfire. Black pock marks charred the walls, but the highest concentration was on an impact-resistant glass hand rail. Long strands of light from tracer rounds lit up the room, a stretch that was rapidly diminishing as they marched ahead with mindless conviction.
A single combatant struggled to return fire, but found herself quickly overwhelmed with each attempt. There was no opportunity for a clear shot, so she resorted to firing blind when she popped up from safety. Taylor caught a good look on the last exchange and realized that, instead of the monochromatic uniforms worn by the station staff, this survivor was decked out in combat grade protective gear. Deflected shots rippled over kinetic barriers, but the shield flickered dangerously under the hail of bullets. The wearer hunkered back down just before the power cells were depleted.
Lazarus. Jacob's brow knitted together when he realized what he was looking at. Shepard was alive. She was fighting He'd known the commander was almost ready, but he'd been expecting to find her lying torpid in the medbay. She was supposed to be in an induced coma until she finished healing. Instead she was up, alert, and in a bind that would only end badly if Jacob didn't do something.
"Shepard!" His voice boomed, but either the commander couldn't hear him or she wouldn't risk breaking cover to look. Her situation with the mechs was growing urgent as they moved in. A few seconds and they would be rounding her cover. Jacob turned his attention to the lead mech in the patrol and reached out with his hand.
Mnemonic gestures triggered the necessary neural impulses to generate mass effect fields. Motions varied by teacher and method, but in the asari sponsored programs in the transitional period between BAaT and the Ascension Project, simplicity was key. Jacob's physical prompts to manipulate dark energy usually corresponded with the desired effect. A throw field was enacted with a wide swing of the arm. A simple lift could be carried out with an upward flick. The more aggressive version of that, a pull field, took a little more effort. Jacob clenched his fist, imagining himself squeezing the far-off mech into the palm of his hand, and drew his arm back.
The LOKI at the front of the pack was yanked into the air and soared over its accompanying units; the second in line wobbled uncontrollably until it fell over. All of them lost sight of Shepard, fixated on the unexplained ripple of gravity. When the opportunity presented itself Shepard leaned out and took aim. Her pistol barked with each shot; heat hissed from the holes she put through the mechs' armor, and the two not affected by Jacob's pull were gunned down before the toppled LOKI could get back to its feet. That one didn't last any longer than its predecessors.
"Commander, are you hurt?" Jacob tried again after the final robot was finished off. Its metal corpse floated along in the gravity well, care free and trailing smoke.
Shepard searched for him, but once her eyes located Jacob on the balcony her pistol followed suit. She didn't walk out to meet him, but instead stayed crouched behind the guard rail.
"I'm alive," she said after a pause, probably unaware of the weight that statement carried coming from her. "Who are you? One of Miranda's people?"
Jacob was thrown by the astute question, then rationalized that Shepard couldn't have made it this far through a station of swarming hostiles without some help. A few simplistic droids wouldn't have caused Commander Shepard much trouble after killing a Reaper, but that was a lifetime ago. Miranda wouldn't let harm come to Shepard now.
"I'm Jacob Taylor, head of security. Are you clear down there?"
Shepard peeked out into the gallery, but her gun stayed trained on him. "For the moment. Every few minutes another group comes in, so I've been pinned here."
Jacob stopped to map out in his head where they were, trying to see it from Shepard's perspective, and considered the access points near her. The mezzanine was the crossroads for the most restricted decks, and security presence was thicker here than on the research levels. In addition to the small army LOKIs they had eight of the platform's twelve Heavies to dodge, and running in to one of those in the narrow corridors would be catastrophic. If he was right in his assumption that the security hack was part of a plot to kill Shepard they didn't have long before droids came flooding in from all directions.
"Listen. Evac shuttles are on the other side of the station. Ahead of you, right below me there should be door. Go through it and keep straight until you hit a stairwell on your left side. I'll come down and meet you there."
"And if there are mechs?" Shepard countered.
"I think you know what to do." At least I hope you do. "If you run into trouble just hold them off and I'll take them from behind. Be careful in the halls. We've got armored units with artillery-grade weaponry patrolling this sector, so check your corners and watch your back."
Shepard shook her head, frustrated. "I'm running out of thermal clips. I don't even have replacement cells for my shields!"
"That armor you're wearing is top of the line tech. Keep your head down and your shields will recharge. As for thermal clips… I don't know. You're just going to have to play it by ear."
The door at Shepard's back disengaged and slid open. One light mech marched out, followed by the rest of its sizable patrol. The orientation symbols on their faces were all flashing red, and they drew their weapons on Shepard without pause.
"Look out!" he warned, far too late to be of any use. Shots cracked through what was left of Shepard's shields. She gave an agonized cry, and blood spattered on the glass of the guardrail.
Jacob, swearing every swear he knew, didn't waste time holstering his shotgun. He dropped it to the floor and reached for his more range appropriate pistol, keeping an eye on Shepard as she whipped around the corner to get out of the line of fire. She was limping badly, and the move would only buy her a few seconds at best.
"Commander, run!" He let off a few suppressive shots to draw attention away from her, but he had to keep his aim too high to do any good. Shepard was positioned dangerously between himself and the mechs, and he hadn't come all this way just to shoot her in the head by accident. "I'll hold them off and catch up with you downstairs! Go!"
She didn't protest. The former spectre hobbled along the rail and made a break for the exit. Jacob waited for her to move out before engaging the synthetics. Once she was out of range he took aim.
His targets were farther off than what he usually practiced on the shooting range, but Taylor's marksmanship proved superior to the mechs. The scatter on their submachine guns kept most of them from being any real danger at that distance; only one was outfitted with a Predator heavy pistol, and even then the LOKI's accuracy was deplorable. They fell under a combination of well-placed shots and biotic interference, becoming a danger to the lieutenant only when they were directly underneath him, and even then that was debatable given his vantage point. It took him a few minutes to neutralize the group, but when the last lay on the floor crackling with electricity Jacob holstered his pistol, gathered up his shotgun, and set off for the rendezvous point.
Being in charge of security required Jacob to know all the ins and outs of the station. The stairwell at the end of the path wouldn't get him to Shepard, but there was another flight on the other side of the deck that would. He ran through the deserted North corridor, past the tissue grow labs, and took the stairs at the end of the hall reserved for cryogenic storage. This unit had gone dark once the project moved to Stage 4, so the area was virtually untouched by the rebellion. Jacob hoped it was the same case downstairs, but he started to second guess himself. What if he had unknowingly directed the commander straight into an enemy squad? Would she be able to defend herself? The woman was alive, but there was no way to know if Shepard was... well, Shepard. Her skill could have degraded, her memories possibly lost.
Jacob chose to sacrifice caution for expediency and picked up the pace. No way he was going to let Lazarus be killed on his watch. He'd sooner take an YMIR armed with nothing but butter knives than invoke the wrath of Miranda Lawson.
When Jacob finally got to the ground floor Shepard wasn't there. The lieutenant looked up and down the corridor several times, breathing hard and sweat on his brow. No sign of the wayward commander. He demanded of himself an explanation for how he could have possibly lost her in the span of five minutes. Had he gotten mixed up about the doors? Maybe she went through the wrong one. Hell, she might have decided not to wait up for him. Could have gone ahead, believing she could make it on her own.
"Check! Check!" Jacob jumped at the frantic plea in his ear. His omni-tool blinked into being on his arm at the incoming transmission, trying to isolate the frequency and reduce the static. The caller continued, "Is there anyone alive out there? Hello? Goddamn it."
After a steadying breath Jacob answered. He thought recognized the voice. "That you, Wilson?"
"Taylor? Where the hell have you been? Your brainless staff were fish in a barrel without you!"
Were. The word stung the lieutenant, but he'd known their chances when he left them. Somebody had to save Lazarus. "I'm just off the Pavilion, and-"
A high pitched hum interrupted him. He knew what the noise was, but before he could locate the source Jacob felt the cool muzzle of a pistol press into the back of his head. He swallowed hard.
"...I've got Shepard with me." He finished the statement as calmly as he could, not having to look to know it was her. A mech would have shot him dead immediately. She needed Taylor for information.
"Shepard's alive?" Wilson continued, oblivious to Jacob's plight. "How... You got to get her out of there. Here, I've just made it to the server rooms. I'll link into surveillance and plot you a course through. Start towards B Wing; not as many mech signatures there."
"Yeah. I'll work on that. Stay on this frequency." Jacob clicked off the comm.
"You people have some serious stones," Shepard growled. Her cloaking device's power cell depleted, the commander shimmered back into view in a flurry of distorted colors and shapes. It seemed she had discovered the recharging shield wasn't the only new bell and whistle available on her armor. "Normally I would celebrate Cerberus' experiments going bad on its own people for a change, but somehow I've been caught in the middle. You are going to start filling me in."
Jacob relaxed as much as his rushing adrenaline would allow, accepting with silent resolve the poor outlook of his situation. There were reasons why Shepard wasn't to be told she was in Cerberus custody until she'd met with the Illusive Man. Jacob initially felt the approach was dishonest, but he understood that Shepard's violent history with the organization warranted caution. To make sure things went right they would have to handle Shepard's awakening like a nuke with a mercury switch. Instead she came to in a besieged facility, her last memories being of her ship under attack, and it was just Jacob's luck that he was wearing the logo of her perceived enemy on his chest.
He'd have to make his words count. "I know that you need answers. I'll do my best to fill you in when there's time, but at any second a squad of mechs can come pouring through any of these doors, and then what? I'm no good to you dead, and you're no good to the galaxy dead, so can we put the mining me for information on hold until we get to an escape shuttle?"
"Right. I'm really going to let you shoot me in the back."
Jacob frowned. "Cerberus didn't save you just to drop you again on our terms. We need you alive. Everybody does. You're the only person who can stand against the Reapers."
Hoping that reinforcing the threat of their common enemy would be enough, Taylor turned and looked the commander in the eye. It was the closest he'd ever come to Lazarus, able to see for the first time the scarred up vision of the galactic hero that had saturated the vids two years earlier. He knew the scientists' ambitions, but Jacob never believed all the artificially generated parts grown and harvested from vats could possibly be assembled into such a perfect likeness of that dead spectre. Before him stood the Commander Shepard, beads of sweat on her brow and dark smears of blood on her greave.
Was she really Shepard though? She looked the same, save for some scuff marks. What about beyond the aesthetics? It didn't matter; he had a duty to protect her all the same.
"You are the most important person on this station." Jacob meant it. For all the lives of friends lost, he was sincere in his belief that if Shepard got out okay, their deaths wouldn't be in vain. "Most of the staff have died defending you. I will too if it comes to that. But Shepard, sitting here waiting to be ambushed is not going to help. I need you to trust me."
It was obvious that she was weighing her very limited options. She didn't stand much of a chance on her own in a station that she was unfamiliar with, outnumbered by enemies that couldn't think twice about opening fire. She needed Jacob, and not as a hostage. It wasn't like she could fumble through the unfamiliar station, fight the mechs in her injured state, and keep an eye on her hostage all at the same time. With barely contained suspicion in her eyes Shepard stood down, but it wasn't an unconditional acceptance. She had lowered her gun, but her guard was still up.
"I don't trust you, but I'll follow you for now."
It wasn't the answer Jacob wanted to hear, but he figured it would have to do. "Fair enough, Commander. We should meet Wilson in the server rooms. This way."