Verity
a Mass Effect fan fiction
Chapter 1
Revised 10/30/15
POV: Commander Verity Shepard
Location: Serpent Nebula Cluster / Widow System / The Citadel
I made quick and friendly eye contact with the two human guards outside Ambassador Udina's office. They flanked the open door like statues, but when they saw my ready smile they loosened up, cocking their heads at me in an informal salute.
"Norman. Torrez," I said in greeting. I exaggerated an uneasy look over their shoulders into Udina's office, much to their amusement. They both knew I hated these meetings.
"How's the Ambassador this fine morning?" I asked.
"Vexed," Torrez said with a wry smile.
"Vexed?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow in sarcastic surprise.
"The keepers rearranged his office last night. Again," Norman supplied.
Through the open door I could see that he was, indeed, vexed.
Ambassador Udina sat at his desk like an irate orchestra conductor, squirreling away offending holographic data with his hands until nothing appeared before him except the bright and steady symbol of the Systems Alliance. It was then he saw me at the open door ― only a brief glance, for his attention was skittering from one thing to another― and he hastily called out to me, "Come in, Commander! Take a seat."
I sighed loudly for my audience, the two guards conveying one last sympathetic smile as I left them behind, the door closing behind me with a graceful swish.
Success is sweet, I thought. It'd taken a great deal of perseverance on my part to get the guards to relax around me. As an N7 marine, I normally elicited reactions ranging from awe to intimidation, and that was not fun. I didn't want to be the aloof commander: cold and distant. I wanted to be loved, not just admired or feared. I believed in loyalty built on trust and friendship over duty.
Idealistic, I know, but that was Captain Anderson's fault. The old man was the closest thing I had to a father figure, and he had instilled in me the impetus to look hard at who I really wanted to be in life.
Walking into Udina's office, I made a game of picking out the changes. At first, they seemed slight. The keepers' rearrangements seemed restricted to aesthetic adjustments of furniture (a green planter looked backwards, and one of the filing cabinets was definitely higher up on the wall). But the closer I got to Udina (he and his enormous desk were the "center of the universe" when it came to his office), the more I felt disconcerted.
I took a rambling seat along the L-shaped lounge pivoted before his desk, ingraining myself with these new spatial dimensions. The angle's all wrong, I thought, leaning back with my legs spread. And I'm further from the door.
Still, it was a beautiful office, no matter the changes, and while I rarely enjoyed the company, the view was always breathtaking.
The ambassador's office was among the largest of the Citadel Embassies, a testament to humanity's growing influence in the galaxy. It was twice the size of the embassy shared by the elcor and volus, and boasted one of the best views of the Presidium grounds far below, thanks to my favorite feature: an overhanging balcony, all open, instead of a solid wall, or even glass. It cut a broad swath behind Udina, flooding the office with artificial light.
The simulation of a bright blue sky was… convincing― that's all I could say for it.
I was beginning to miss the real thing.
Five months, Shepard, I told myself. Five months on The Wonder of the Universe, the almighty Citadel.
But it felt like much longer.
Five months wasn't a whole lot of time as military appointments went (I'd served seven years on an interstellar warship, after all), but this was the first time I'd been cooped up on a space station, living stationary (relativity-speaking), and I was slowly realizing (in moments like these, the "sunlight" on my face) that I much preferred the natural skies of being planet-side, or even the sterile reality of living on a warship (with no artificial environs other than terra-gravity), than the picturesque, creepy-perfect day/night cycles so flaunted on the Presidium.
It's not that I couldn't appreciate it (artificial or not, it was beautiful), or even that I had some snobbish inclination towards natural over unnatural (though I probably did, being born on Earth). No, it was the fact that all this beauty was tirelessly created and maintained by the mysterious keepers, and they were unsettling to me.
Very unsettling.
There was, in fact, one in the room.
My meandering eyes caught one lurking behind a white pillar, connected to a data nodule. Unobtrusive. Silent. It was a pale fleshy creature with four spider-like legs, and on its back it wore a boxy collection of cybernetic implants― which looked like a child's book bag, strangely enough.
I stared, wincing, as one of its long, puke-white antennae twitched spasmodically. Ugh.
There were few things that disgusted me (I saw blood and guts and … well… weird on a near daily basis, living among aliens and all), but put a keeper in my vicinity and that was it! I felt sick to my stomach, and the last thing I needed was for Ambassador Udina to think he was the reason for my discomfort.
We both knew there was bad blood between us, but at least we tried to keep it polite when we were forced to interact. Retching on his lounge chairs probably wouldn't be construed as polite.
It's not just the keeper that's got your insides all twisted up like a bag of snakes, I thought.
I stared into the sunlight, trying not to think about what I'd just left behind to get to this meeting. I'd face it later, and with Garrus. Not alone. It was too much to face alone, and there was nothing worse than gnawing at a problem that couldn't be tackled right this second.
But worry I did.
I sat up straighter on the lounge (the cushions were way too soft for my liking), bringing my legs together in what I hoped was a more formal, businesslike pose. Let's get this over with, Udina. Nowadays, I was acutely aware of my body language, a natural side effect of living aboard a space station with millions of sentient aliens whose cultural norms I was at risk of inadvertently offending at any given time.
It made life exciting.
One time I offended an elcor. Yes, an elcor, as impossible as that sounds. (A story for another time, but let's just say the elcor have assimilated Shakespeare into their culture very seriously, and apparently "biting one's thumb" is offensive. Do elcors even have thumbs?).
But that was before I met Garrus.
Mentor, friend. His little pearls of wisdom about dealing with other aliens was continually priceless. (Not to mention his insights into human behavior was actually pretty frakkin' revealing, coming from an outside perspective and all. You can bet I've done some soul searching since I've met him). Given the fact that he was also a turian, of all things, I considered our friendship a victory in itself, an indication that old wounds were healing (though neither of us personally served in the First Contact War, having been too young― so maybe our friendship wasn't that miraculous, but I liked to think it most definitely was).
Frak, I hope he's okay, I thought, that worrying bag of snakes wiggling into my consciousness once more, but only briefly.
Not now.
They taught that early in the military.
Compartmentalize.
I pushed strands of tousled red hair away from my eyes, looking across Udina's mammoth desk to where he sat consumed by feverish activity, absorbed in whatever elaborate chess maneuver he was performing with dozens of datapads strewn about his desk. They were clearly not in their proper place, having no doubt been "rearranged" by the keepers, and only his careful ministrations were putting them back to rights again.
He was― since the moment I walked in― also utterly ignoring me.
It was a game we played (maybe politics versus military, if you truly wanted to simplify things). Me, waiting. Him, enjoying me waiting.
But today my long suffering (ha!) patience was wearing thin. I do have other places to be, Udina, I thought, my gaze boring into his downturned face like one of Garrus' beady black-eyed stares that could (I'd seen it) make a grown man cry.
I decided to speak up.
"Did the keepers steal anything?"
It was a curiosity of mine. With all this involuntary rearranging, you'd think there'd be more concern over the keepers, but it was hands off, no questions asked. Keepers were allowed unfettered access to basically everywhere on the Citadel, and it was illegal to stop them or sabotage them or even scan them. One day it'll be against the law to even look at them, I thought with a snort― though, of course, they were already practically invisible, given how little attention they garnered. They were just background noise to most people.
But me? … I had my eye on them.
"Steal? Pft!" Udina snorted, shaking his head.
"Yes. Steal," I said, leaning forward over my knees, my hands pressed to my stomach. I hadn't had a real chance to sit down in hours. I was hungry, yes, but this... this was the nauseating clench of anxiety deep in my gut, trying to pull me off this stupid couch and out the door as fast as I could. Frak! Garrus needed me, now more than ever, and of course Udina just had to do this now! Arg!
I must have vocalized my frustration in a low grunt or growl because Udina suddenly looked up at me and blinked like an owl, as if suddenly aware, that, oh, yes, I was here for a meeting that he'd called.
He mumbled, as if an afterthought, "The keepers are incapable of―"
His eyes jumped to my armor, and he stopped. Just stopped.
His hands fell to his side, datapads forgotten, and his eyes zip-lined back and forth across my armor in disbelief. Yes, that's blood, Udina, I thought. And those are bullet holes. By now he was probably used to seeing me fully armored, pistols at the hip, but never like this, fresh from a fight. The blood was still sticky wet; it glinted in the light, a barely visible tint of green against the backdrop of my armor's patterning of night black and dark green camo.
Truth be told, it wasn't that bad (the two guards at the door hadn't batted an eye, but maybe they were trying to act cool around me; and it was, by no means, a real gore bath), but to a nonmilitary type like Udina, it probably looked rather shocking.
Udina, though, was probably more bothered by the fact that it was alien blood spattered all over me. He didn't give two fraks about violence between humans, but if an alien was involved Udina just had to stand on his frakking pulpit and cry about anti-human sentiment―
He exclaimed, all accusation, "You were on a mission?!"
"I've come straight from it," I said, unnecessarily. "You did indicate this was an emergency. Priority-One."
In response, Udina narrowed his eyes at me. Great.
Yeah, okay, my tone was a tad offensive, and I could have said "emergency" without the sarcasm, but I really, really didn't want to be here.
Still, the last thing I needed was for Udina to realize how little I respected these meetings. He probably did, but thatwas part of the game: not making it obvious, and I'd just broken that rule. While these meetings weren't all that frequent (thank God!), I still thought they were a huge waste of time. Everything under the (artificial) sun was an emergency to Udina. He blew things out of proportion, scattered blame like wildfire, and most of all, he seemed to elicit a certain joy in questioning my every move.
Captain Anderson had warned me it wouldn't be easy working on the Citadel, but still it came as a shock to realize how embroiled I'd become in the political system.
This game we played, for one. Annoying as frak, mostly now, with Garrus waiting for me. I didn't want to be here AT ALL.
"Shepard, will you―"
I was getting worked up, breathing harder.
I couldn't stand it anymore― sitting here, waiting, not doing anything, but I paused mid-gasp, the alarm in Udina's eyes suggesting I should at least try to explain myself before running out the door. I knew he didn't like being left out of the loop (who did?), but I couldn't trust Udina to keep his nose out of it. He could seriously frak things up for me.
"It was a long night," I said, cautiously.
Udina crossed his arms. "Care to fill me in?"
No. Just trust me, I wanted to say.
He glared at me, waiting, a perpetual scowl set in its usual place right below his hawkish nose and hazel eyes. It always astounded me, when I had cause to look straight at him, how beautiful the color of his eyes really were. A kaleidoscope of greens and browns, speckles of gold; all of it lost on a rather plain face. He was a middle-aged man with soft hands. I looked at my hands. There was blood under my fingernails; green blood.
"Well?" Udina growled, still waiting. He hated waiting.
I sighed. Frakkin' hell.
"I've made an arrest. Dr. Saleon."
Udina shot to his feet. "I knew you wouldn't leave it alone!"
Great. Now he's ballistic. I blew out my nose in annoyance, my mouth sealing shut in thinly veiled fury. You didn't see the bodies. You have no frakkin' idea, Udina.
"Where is Dr. Saleon being held?" he demanded, waving his hands across a row of comm activators. Holograms sprang to life, rising up from the white-washed planes of his desk. "I have to inform the salarian councilor before it's too late."
"C-Sec, of course," I answered, slightly offended.
His (lovely) eyes lashed out at me, "And good thing. If you'd gone for Alliance custody, I cannot tell you―"
I cut off his angry tirade. "I'm not stupid. I know."
We had an impressive embassy under our belt, but that didn't mean we were best friends with the Council races. Humans were still greatly mistrusted. (Just ask Udina; he'll give you an earful).
His hands tickled over the holograms like he was playing a vertical piano, and I just glared at him, doing nothing. Stay calm, Shepard.
I said, nonchalant, "I wouldn't bother. The doctor's probably through processing by now."
Please let him be through processing by now. Or better yet: dead.
Udina just shook his head and kept going at it, his face growing darker by the moment. I wanted to knock him to the floor.
In fact I swear my biotics were tingling. I could feel all my anxiety and annoyance funneling into my fists, crackling at the edge of violence.
I sat on my hands.
"Stay out of this, Udina," I growled. But, of course, he couldn't― like a bag of snakes, we were too tangled up.
He shot me a particularly nasty look. "Do the words 'political shit storm' mean anything to you?" Saliva spat from his mouth. "Dr. Saleon is highly connected. He's family to the salarian councilor. Do you hear me? The salarian councilor! For crying out loud― and he's a highly regarded geneticist, which is extremely important to the salarians' culture. You can't just arrest him!"
"A highly regarded murdering geneticist," I retorted.
"Jesus―"
"We have reasonable suspicion and ev―"
"We? Don't tell me you've been working with that―"
Okay, now I was really getting mad.
"AND EVIDENCE," I said, raising my voice to hysterical levels.
Before I knew it, I was up on my feet, leaning over his desk and glaring at him, eye to eye, with all the venom I possessed.
"Jesus Jon Grissom Christ!" He looked ready to burst into flames, but at my sudden close proximity he noticeably backed off. (Yeah, I had that effect on people. N7 with biotics― the intimidation factor did come in handy time to time).
Into the forced calm, he said, darkly, "You're putting your Spectre candidacy in grave peril, not to mention the entire Human Embassy. The salarian councilor specifically warned us―"
He stopped short, an alarm blaring.
He stated in disbelief, "The salarian councilor is refusing to speak with me."
My heart lifted in relief. The salarian councilor's intervention was a real threat, one I was hoping Garrus could delay until I returned.
I backed off his desk. Sat down.
As I regained my composure, he scrambled at the controls. "I have to try again."
I just leaned back, trying to relax while he continued his frantic activity over the holograms, grumbling and swearing. Finally his hands came to a reluctant standstill. Poor guy looks utterly dejected, I thought, laughing to myself. With one last prodigious sigh (for my benefit, no doubt), he shut down the holograms, one by one, until the symbol of the Systems Alliance shone bright and steady once more―his dormant system holosaver.
In the sudden silence, I met his gaze over the white barrenness of his desk, and for a long awkward moment neither of us spoke.
He slapped his hand down on the desk, rattling a pile of datapads so violently they clattered to the sunlit floor. "Dammit, Shepard! Didn't I tell you to back off?"
I clenched my fists. "I can't, and I won't. His victims are human. His victims are asari, and turian, and, yes, even salarian, his own kind. When the truth comes out, it won't matter who he is, only what he is: a monster."
He shook his head. "You've put ten years of diplomatic progress in jeopardy, not to mention your own Spectre candidacy! How do you justify―"
That's it! I leapt to my feet, angling towards the door. I couldn't deal with this right now. Garrus needed me. I should never have left him alone, but Udina's frakkin' comm alert―
I'd been with Garrus, dragging the hand-cuffed doctor through the long, crowded halls of C-Sec towards Executor Pallin's office when I'd first received Udina's comm alert on an encrypted Priority-One channel reserved for high-ranking Alliance officers. I had to leave.
"He'll be here when you get back. I promise," Garrus had said, noticing my hesitation. (The encryption was Priority-One, but with Udina I had my doubts about these so-called "emergencies," his meetings tending more towards political mumbo jumbo than actual life-and-death crises I was trained to handle. But I had my duty. So I went).
We'd spent all night chasing the bastard.
Dr. Saleon had led us through all five Wards before we finally snagged him in Zakera, at a docking port. He was trying to board his get-a-way, the MSV Fedele when I snagged him with my light pistol, right through the leg. Nonlethal. Kneecap shot.
If I hadn't shot him, he'd have gotten away, possibly forever, and I couldn't let that happen. Not after what Garrus and I had found in that last secret laboratory we'd snuck into, the doctor's handiwork resting on bloodied operating tables.
We both wanted inside the Fedele to investigate, but by then Citadel Security was on top of us and we had to bring him in, or risk being arrested ourselves for attempting to board private property without a permit, thanks to Executor Pallin's refusal to get involved in our investigation. (Dr. Saleon's protection from a plethora of higher-ups was a serious obstacle, to put it mildly).
Even now, I could see Dr. Saleon's smug smile in my mind; it widened as C-Sec officers had poured in around us, demanding to know what we were doing to the "kind doctor" and to "back away at once!" Dr. Saleon had been limping, his knee blown out, green blood gushing from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest (Garrus' pepper shots, normally nonlethal, but without medical attention…). No one else saw the doctor's smug smile. It disappeared into a face twisted by howls of rage at this "injustice" and screeching accusations that we were assaulting him. Damn right we were assaulting him.
None of the police officers knew about my work with C-Sec, otherwise we might have gotten away with boarding the Fedele right then and there, dragging Dr. Saleon along in case we needed him to get through security barriers, or just to have a place to quietly interrogate him (we'd never had the chance before). Had the police officers been higher up the chain of command (and therefore in the know), or in a special division (not just conventional police), or had they actually worked with me before (like I did with Garrus), I probably could've talked my way unto the MSV Fedele, but as it was Garrus and I had trouble just getting them to lower their frakkin' weapons.
Garrus flashed his detective badge, but still they came at us like rabid dogs. What, was I arresting Salarian Jesus? I just concentrated on maintaining a chokehold grip on the doctor's scrawny neck. Salarians were a squid-like people, thin and squirmy, with an amphibious delicacy to them. I never felt more disgust for an alien than at that moment.
I didn't care if I squeezed the life out of him. I'd seen too much, what he'd done … The blood all over my armor was his, and as far as I was concerned it wasn't enough blood.
But Garrus had touched my arm. I'd been strangling the doctor to death and I hadn't even realized― "Let go, Shepard," he'd said, and I did. God help me, I did.
From there, I'd marched Dr. Saleon straight into C-Sec custody, only to be interrupted by Udina's comm alert.
"You won't get away with this, human! You have no proof!" Dr. Saleon had bellowed at the top of his lungs as I left him behind with Garrus, right outside the Executor's office with a dozen angry C-Sec officers in tow. They had followed us the entire way back like a cloud of locusts, eating away at my patience.
No proof. It echoed in my ears, making me sick. An ocean of frakking proof. Down the drain.
It was a wall we'd been climbing for months (almost as long as I'd been here on the Citadel), but now that Garrus and I knew about the doctor's ship, it changed everything! The MSV Fedele was our chance to get ahead of it! Stop Dr. Saleon's sabotage and destruction of evidence. Why hadn't I thought of it before? Of course the doctor would have a ship, something highly mobile and disconnected from the space station. A medical research vessel, protected by law―
A flood of panic rose inside me, amplified by urgency and fear. I never should have left Garrus! Frak! Too much was hinging on Dr. Saleon's arrest and that ship of his. If Udina was right― if Executor Pallin surrendered to salarian pressure and released the doctor―
Udina's irritated voice cut through my frantic thoughts. "Commander, forget Dr. Saleon!"
(WHAT?)
"This meeting supersedes everything." He was leaning over his desk, his hands planted in front of him, staring me down.
I'd made it half way to the door.
Lost in my own thoughts. But now―
"Something's happened, Shepard, and it's big. You need to hear it."
I said through gritted teeth, "I left Dr. Saleon for this. It'd better be good."
The look he gave me said everything. Maybe for once Udina's so-called emergency really was an emergency.
I slowly returned to the lounge. Sat down, stiff as a board. A feeling of disquiet fell over me as Udina said, "Commander, you're being pulled off the Citadel immediately. Captain Anderson has asked me to relay your new orders."
"Pulled off…?" I heard my breathy, shocked voice as if from a distance. 'The hell is going on? It took a moment for my brain to switch gears. I mentally pushed Dr. Saleon aside and blurted, all flustered, "Wait― the Alliance scratched my contract with C-Sec?"
"You never had an official contract with C-Sec. It was all under the table."
I know, I wanted to scream at him.
"I meant my Spectre candidacy," I said, gritting my teeth.
My work with C-Sec was meant to be a testing ground. I was being vetted by the Council for Spectre status― secretly, as I'd been told, for political reasons. "Officially," I was just a security liaison between Citadel Security and the Alliance Navy, but even that job title was circumspect, buried beneath the more commonly known "Commander." Or as Garrus put it: "Human. Female. Military," and with a grin that stretched his mandibles, "Badass."
Udina lifted his hand, as if erasing details that didn't matter. "Look, the Alliance is not changing their mind about you. You're still being put forward as our best candidate for Spectre status, and the Council is still in approval―"
I sighed. Thank God!
Udina added, (rather smugly, the frakkin' jerk), "But after today, when they find out about Dr. Saleon―"
I cut him off. I wasn't worried about that. I was dead sure about Dr. Saleon. Nothing would sway my decision to bring him down.
Instead, I asked, shaking my head, "Why are you acting as a go-between for Captain Anderson?"
The captain was my commanding officer. It was strange, to say the least. Plus Udina wasn't military.
"Because of the political nature of this mission. You've been handpicked for it, Shepard. This comes straight from the top."
With the flick of the wrist, he pulled out a palm-sized datapad from inside his desk drawer (safe from his earlier onslaught that had left a clattering mess all over the floor) and slapped it down on the desk in front of me. I reached above it.
Alliance encryption briefly flickered across the screen as my left forearm swiped across it, initiating upload of the data to my activated omni-tool. A burst of orange, holographic light briefly encircled my arm, indicating successful connection.
It hurt my eyes.
I was more tired than I cared to admit― and hungry. The anxiety was still there, aching deep in my gut, but after all this back-and-forth drama with Udina, I was finding it difficult to concentrate. This business with the Alliance required my full attention, I knew, but my thoughts kept drifting to Dr. Saleon and that ship―
Distracted, I glanced at the streaming headers on the encrypted data uploaded to my omni-tool. It was straight from Alliance brass. Frakking hell. The timing couldn't be worse…
He nodded at the datapad. "How versed are you in Prothean technology?"
I snorted. "Can't say archeology is one of my specialties." Was that what he meant? Seemed a rather obtuse question.
And unexpected.
I'd be surprised if anyone in the entire Milky Way galaxy was a true Prothean expert. Sure, I could recite the basics (every Alliance recruit took a galactic ancient history class). The Protheans were an advanced, spacefaring civilization that mysteriously disappeared about 50,000 years ago, leaving behind ruins upon which all modern day technology was based. Several examples came easily to mind: the Prothean-constructed mass effect relays that allowed instantaneous point-to-point spaceflight (scientists were still puzzling out how), or the Prothean-derived mass accelerators, the engineering marvel behind modern weaponry and shield tech.
Even the Citadel was a relic of the Protheans.
The space station wasn't just home to millions of aliens. It was unequivocally the political center and cultural heart of the galaxy, an "enduring monument to our ancient benefactors," as the Council liked to say all over fancy plaques throughout the station.
And if the Alliance was running a military operation involving Prothean technology, it could only mean one thing.
"What did we find? A weapons archive?"
If the answer to that question was inside the data transferred to my omni-tool, I'd read the fine details later. For now I expected Udina to give me the short version.
And for once, it actually seemed like Udina's definition of emergency coincided with mine.
Weapons archive or not, it was risky business securing Prothean ruins.
Often they were outside Council space on uncharted worlds, vulnerable to smugglers, mercenaries, shady corporations and terrorist organizations. Even the occasional religious zealot could pose a serious security risk. The hanar (a species reminiscent of Earth's jellyfish) were known to flock to ruins in droves, preaching the truth of the Enkindlers (as they called the ancient Protheans), all the while obstructing excavation or sabotaging research. In the eyes of the Citadel Council, the self-proclaimed leaders of galactic society, it was a serious crime to obstruct the investigation of Prothean technology. Offenders weren't just breaking the law, they were "undermining the progress of society itself." (See, I pay attention to politics, Udina).
But as much as the Council encouraged individual species to share their Prothean research with the wider galactic community, it was still very common for discoveries to remain hidden, secreted away under the guise of self-interest.
Okay, yes, humanity was guilty of that, but we did eventually "share" what we learned with other aliens through capitalistic means. All that research had to be funded, after all.
I fingered the bullet holes in my armor (Dr. Saleon's cheap shots― what kind of doctor walks around with a gun under his lab coat?). The bullets hadn't penetrated the underlying biomesh, so I hadn't needed to apply medi-gel to myself. But case in point… The last time humanity discovered a major Prothean ruin, it turned out to be a treasure trove of medical breakthroughs in biotechnology. Sirta Foundation, an Earth-based megacorp, had spearheaded the advancements in medi-gel technology, all built upon Prothean research.
Eventually, our research had been shared― well, sold actually.
The Ambassador certainly proved his worth then, I'll give him that. Medi-gel was technically illegal under genetic modification laws, but Udina managed to quell the Council's objections, allowing legal sales of the medi-gel product (instead of black market dealings).
It was a major win for humanity.
In all honestly, the initial backlash was surprising (maybe Udina was right about all that anti-human prejudice in the Council). The medi-gel product was just too beneficial to ignore. It saved lives. Saved my life on more than one occasion. Taking bullets was an inevitable part of my job, despite fancy shield modulators and armor plating. Dr. Saleon's bullets were just a taste of what kind of damage I received on a normal basis. If I was doing my job right, I thought, dryly.
But a weapons archive. Wow. Now that was a different story. Did we hide it under our bed or share it with the world?
Ambassador Udina nodded at my question, "Your hunch is correct, Shepard. It is a weapons archive."
"Scary."
"The researchers have ruled out biological, nuclear. Could be some kind of superluminal application we haven't seen before. I don't know. What I do know is that a Prothean beacon was unearthed approximately five days ago on Eden Prime. The data I gave you is preliminary research, and even then it's overwhelming. The beacon's unlike anything we've ever encountered before. This is going to change our world."
Again, I thought.
The discovery of Prothean technology (on Mars, in the case of humanity) was the whole reason any of us were even out here, navigating the stars, interacting with aliens. Mass effect made interstellar civilization possible because it connected us― across billions of light years, eons of isolated evolution, it connected us.
I understood Udina's excitement. This beacon was supposed to be good news. Another discovery, another breakthrough― humanity following that inexhaustible hunger to know what's out there, and to progress. Always, to progress.
But I couldn't celebrate, not until I knew exactly what we were dealing with. I'd seen too many abuses of power to be excited― and that's exactly what this Prothean beacon represented. Power. Superiority. Just look at the asari. Considered the most advanced civilization alive, and why? Because they found Prothean technology first.
Udina must have sensed my silent misgivings. He leaned forward over the desk, gazing down his hawkish nose at me. "This is a good thing, Shepard. Look, I know you're not a Prothean expert. You'll of course be running security at the site, but I'm here to make sure you understand the political repercussions of what we're about to do."
"What we're about to do?" My mouth fell open.
Here it comes. Frakkin' politics.
"The Alliance has decided to share the beacon."
I stood up. Started pacing. When bad feelings about something come over me, they really come over me. This beacon was bad business. I could feel it.
Udina looked amused. "You don't agree?"
How could I agree? Share or not share― what did we actually know about this beacon?
I grappled for words. "Share the beacon? What― with the Council?"
"Yes."
I stared at him. He seemed pleased, almost proud, as if this entire deal was his idea. Maybe it was!? Did Udina have that much power with Parliament back on Earth?
I stammered, half thinking out loud, "You? The Council?"
It made no sense. Udina was always telling me: 'The Council is anti-human,' 'the Council is holding back humanity,' 'the galaxy needs real leadership…' From where I stood, Udina lived for defiance of the Council, but now he suddenly wanted to trust them?
That beacon could be humanity's only advantage, and he just wanted to give it away? For what?
I was tongue-tied in frustration, and Udina was eyeing me like I was crazy. I sat back down.
"I-I don't understand. What about all that anti-human bullshit you're always going on about―"
"That 'anti-human bullshit' is the truth," Udina snapped. "The Council's always preaching that we need to be part of the galactic community, but for them it's a one-way street. The Council wants us to expand and settle unstable regions like the Skyllian Verge and the Attican Traverse, but at the first sign of trouble they don't want to help us out. How many human colonies have to be slaughtered by batarian raiders before they lift a finger? Well, this beacon changes everything."
I was shaking my head throughout his speech. "I don't understand. How does this beacon change everything, Ambassador?"
"Because it's something the Council wants." He leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. "Prothean tech is the most valuable commodity in the universe. If they want in on our discovery and research, the Council has to commit resources. Not just related to the beacon, but for our colonies. They need to help protect our planets and ships and people, like they protect their own."
"So you're buying political currency with this beacon, is that it?"
"For the sake of humanity, Shepard," he said, and with such passion I almost felt guilty for arguing against him. It's true our human colonies were dangerously vulnerable, spread thin across the universal frontier. The last seven years of my life had been devoted to protecting human assets as we expanded beyond the Local Cluster― dozens of settled colonies, hundreds of industrial outposts, countless ships and millions of lives― the Systems Alliance needed marines like me as never before in history.
Udina drove his point home. "Look, if we did everything the Council told us to do, of course they'd let us join. They'd love to have us then! But we don't want to be puppets." He said that final word with thick scorn.
"You want real power."
"Yes. The kind that actually shapes interstellar policy."
I bit my lip. "Okay," I said. Frak me. "Okay, I get it, Udina. I agree."
"Yes!" Udina said, pumping his arm (rather comically). My support meant that much to him?
"But I'm not too keen on our timetable here," I said, glowering at him. I'm not completely won over, Udina, I thought. "Why are we rushing to share the beacon? Why not study it first on our own, figure out what we're dealing with..."
Udina nodded, a smile budding on his lips. He motioned towards the datapad. "We have. Preliminary research suggests―"
"―suggests we should be cautious," I interjected. "Just the idea of a Prothean weapons archive should scare the hell out of everyone. Protheans were supposedly the most advanced species ever to exist. What if we accidentally unlock something we don't understand, can't control."
The implications were mindboggling. Did I really have to explain this to Udina?
"Leave that to experts, Shepard. The researchers."
"But―"
"Look, it's a risk we have to take, and Parliament is inclined to agree with me. I'm sorry, Shepard, but the decision's already been made."
Look, look, look! I was sick of his frakkin' "Look!" I wanted to grind my jaw, but my face was too frozen in frustration to move. If Udina thought he had an explanation for everything, he wasn't looking hard enough.
He continued, unfazed, "It's already happening. The Council is committing resources as we speak. They want us to move the beacon to the Citadel for proper study as soon as possible, and we've agreed. It would do us some good for the Council to have a daily reminder of what we have to offer them."
"The Citadel?" I swear I could feel my eyes bug out. "That's not safe," I said, cutting the air with my hand. "There are way too many security risks, not to mention a large civilian population."
"Work with me, Commander," he said, shaking his head. "Like it or not, we're sharing that beacon, and sharing it now and where they want it." His eyes burned. "Whatever it takes until we're accepted into the Council with real power, not just as puppets."
I read between the lines.
Until he was accepted into the Council.
I wanted to laugh. Was that what this was all about? All this urgency and "now, now, now" for his pride and ambition?
It's not breaking news, Shepard, I thought, dryly. I'd been on the Citadel for five months now, long enough to realize Udina's personal ambitions extended far beyond the realistic expectations set by the Alliance. He wanted to be the first human Councilor. He wanted to make history.
The thing was, political progress seemed to move real slow around here. I saw the odds stacked against Udina. I really did.
If Udina wanted to become the first human councilor, he'd need significant political changes to happen within his lifetime. Realistically, that seemed a long way off, even with all that humanity had achieved in such a short period of time on the galactic stage.
And when I say short I mean short. Thirty years compared to centuries of those who came before us.
The advent of humanity was preceded by dozens of unique alien races all over the Milky Way. Spacefaring civilization flourished with the rise of the Council and its three Councilors: a trinity of power shared by the asari, the salarians, and the turians. Everyone else either catered to them as "client races" or tried to stake a claim in the lawless Terminus Systems.
Still, I believed humanity's record-breaking embassy achievement was a big deal, even if it wasn't enough for Udina's liking.
Garrus had privately told me some aliens were actually pissed about it.
Like really pissed. He said they felt humanity was trying to bully their way to the top. That humans were largely viewed as aggressors. Too unpredictable and too independent. Even dangerous.
That humans hadn't earned anyone's trust, only their suspicion.
"What about you, Garrus? Do you trust me?" I'd asked him at the time.
It'd been a semi-serious conversation about humanity's sudden rise in the universe, shared during one of our long hunts for one of Dr. Saleon's secret disappearing labs. We'd been joking (alleviating frustration and exhaustion), and I'd truthfully asked the question in jest, not expecting a heartfelt answer. But Garrus had surprised me and responded very seriously, his alien eyes rock steady, black and soulful.
"Yes, Shepard," he'd said. "I trust you, completely."
I admit I had felt a little uncomfortable, then.
We never really talked about our feelings, or our strange friendship, turian and human. He was my first alien friend, my only alien friend. I'd asked, changing the subject, "And Udina? Do you trust him?"
"You're the only human I trust, Shepard," he'd said. "As for Udina, I can't imagine him as some kind of fourth Councilor. I think he wants to be the only Councilor."
I could see what he meant. Udina came across as power hungry. Ambitious, if you wanted to put it in a good light.
Sure, Udina had been elected to his office as Ambassador, but if he became an actual Councilor, that was unimaginable power. Galactic power, way over our human Parliament. He wouldn't just be in charge of Earth's progress and stability, but the civilized universe as a whole, too.
Despite being vetted for Spectre status by the Council, I actually knew very little about its three Councilors. No personal names. Just species. Asari. Salarian. Turian. Each representing billions spread across the known galaxy. Very few were granted face-to-face audiences with them. I even heard there was a six month waiting list.
I, for one, had only ever saw them as holographic feeds over the extranet.
Between the three of them, they had more power than all the leaders of human history combined. The Council was the height of galactic power, a millennia-old rule founded by the asari, the first to discover the Citadel. We were still mucking through the Iron Age on Earth when the asari welcomed the salarians into the Council, and eventually the turians by virtue of their role in crushing the Krogan Rebellions. This was the balance of power that had existed for centuries― three species, three councilors― and now humanity was on the outside looking in.
And Udina wanted to change it all right now. Forward progress on a human timescale, not alien. (The asari reportedly lived for centuries, so of course they'd take their sweet time).
Personal ambition was all well and good, but not when it compromised humanity's future. Or safety, for that matter.
If this beacon was going to be used for political leverage, somebody had to get serious about the risks. We shouldn't be rushing into anything! There's a reason the Protheans went extinct, wasn't there? We could only speculate on their disappearance, but what if it was some kind of nightmarish situation involving a doomsday weapon? What if that beacon killed us all? It might seem outlandish, but we had to consider the possibility and adapt our reasoning to our changing world. Thirty years ago, just the idea of living among actual aliens was outlandish, yet here we were, travelling the stars!
"We have to be careful," I said, but I might as well have said nothing. Udina was ignoring me again.
He was fiddling with the comm activators at his desk, moving his hands and fingers in intricate maneuvers across the touch-sensitive controls. Frak, was he trying to contact the salarian councilor again?
I squeezed my fists, silently stewing with worry. What was I going to do about Dr. Saleon? How much time did I have? If the Alliance was pulling me off the Citadel, things tended to move fast―
"Captain Anderson has just arrived," Udina informed me, glancing at data streams illuminating his desk in bands of flashing text.
My head snapped up. "He's with the Tokyo?"
I'd served on that warship for seven years. It'd be good to see the ship again, and the man who commanded it. Captain Anderson was like family to me.
"Yes. They've just docked," he said. He met my gaze. "They're here for you. Like I've said, the Alliance has agreed to move the beacon to the Citadel for proper study. Your orders are to secure its recovery and transport. Captain Anderson will brief you further."
"Of course."
"They'll only be docked for a few hours, gathering personnel, supplies. From my understanding, there's several scientists aboard the Citadel who will be joining you, and you'll be responsible for their safety on route. The Council wants the beacon secured as quickly and cleanly as possible. We're all racing against the clock now."
You're telling me, I grumbled to myself, flexing my fingers. Dr. Saleon's green salarian blood was drying, flaking off my skin.
Udina's eyes darkened. "As for your Spectre candidacy, need I remind you the salarian coun―"
"I know," I said, cutting him off. "You don't have to explain the political situation around that."
I stood. Gave Udina one last look. His eyes were angry.
"Don't interfere with Dr. Saleon," I said, harshly, pointing down at him. Yeah, it was a bit threatening, but I didn't want him undermining my investigation as soon as I walked out that door. It was bad enough I was now running out of time to deal with the doctor before I left.
"Fine. Have it your way," Udina replied, equally harsh. "But when the shit hits the fan over this― and it will― you can bet I'll be keeping my distance. It's a scandal, Shepard. A career-breaking scandal. Is that what you want?"
I turned away from him.
He growled at my back, "Don't think you can ask me for help when the salarians revoke your Spectre candidacy. I warned you―"
"It won't come to that."
I was fuming. Halfway to the door.
I didn't want to see Udina's face again for a long, long time.
"Commander! All I'm asking is that you delay whatever criminal investigation you have against Dr. Saleon. Wait until we've secured the beacon."
"If I wait, I could lose him," I snapped. Possibly forever. He had a ship. The Fedele.
And space was a very, very big place to hide.
"And we could lose everything. There's too much at stake, Shepard. Not even Dr. Saleon is worth it if we lose the Council's endorsement of your Spectre candidacy!"
I whipped back around and glared at him. "Do you really have to spell it out?"
If a human were to be accepted for the first time into the Spectres, it would go a long way towards humanity's push for a seat on the Council. That made Udina's political future gravely dependent on my success. And, oh, how he must despise that fact!
The Systems Alliance had tried before― and failed.
We never talked about it.
But it had been Captain Anderson. Humanity tried to get him to be the first human Spectre, but for some reason I had never learned, the Council had decided to reject his candidacy in the end. At the time, Anita Goyle had been Ambassador. In some ways, it'd been her failure, too, for putting all her political weight behind him.
Now it was my turn.
I was supposed to be the one that corrected history's mistakes. People called me a war hero. People said I'd make the perfect Spectre.
I just wanted to protect people.
Spectres operated as a shadow organization, behind the scenes, beholden to no one but the Council itself. Of course the Council preferred to use diplomacy and negotiation when possible, but sometimes more extreme measures were required, off the books, and that's where the Spectres came in. They were the Council's secret weapon of choice― and its last line of defense.
I figured I could do a lot of protecting with that kind of authority.
"Maybe I should spell it out," Udina snapped. "Because you're not just risking your career, you're risking mine."
"If I fail, you can always back another candidate," I said, sourly.
He sure as hell hadn't back mine. My original nomination had come from the support of Captain Anderson and Admiral Hackett, not from Udina's circle of influence. (Udina had instead backed an Alliance officer I knew only by reputation, a certain Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko).
And with that I marched out of his office, taking considerable pleasure as the door swished shut behind me, cutting off Udina's angry reply.
A very bewildered Norman and Torrez greeted me upon my hasty exit, flanked on either side of the door. No more smiles for them. I left them behind with a curt nod, my heart racing ahead of me. No time to waste.