Chapter 2-Into The Rabbit Hole

The super massive space station called "The Citadel" felt physically cooler than Archer thought it should have. His luau print t-shirt, jeans, and combat boots made him stand out more than just about anything he could think of. Not that it mattered to Archer-it seemed he was the most comfortably dressed being on some sort of ghetto docking ward. He opted to move about a bit before getting into the "meat" of his reason for being on this station.

He glanced around the bustle of beings that surrounded him and the general collection of life that filled the concourse-Turians, Asari, Krogan, Humans, and even a few Geth among the countless menagerie of galactic sapient life. Archer took a seat with his back to the vacuum of space that dominated the area between the Citadel's massive multi-kilometer length "arms". While the poorly padded chair was at its best uncomfortable, it allowed him to accomplish one of his favorite hobbies-"people watching". Wherever he gazed there was a part of sapient life being conducted. One such example was the Asari several rows of seats in front of him that was having issues reigning in her twin children who apparently came from a human "father" that had gifted them with an insatiable desire to question everything. There was also a Batarian couple who were actually having a very civil conversation as to what to name their child-and she looked like she about to explode. In the slight distance there was a pair of Krogans arm wrestling; which was something they had picked up from humans as a way to settle strength "debates" without killing each other.

It was then that he saw something that wrenched violently at his shattered and mostly dead emotions; threatening to pull him back into the blackest depths of his personal despair. It was a family nearly exactly like the one he had once had. Human male husband and a Quarian wife who were playfully bouncing their infant adopted Turian child on her suited knee (since mass population centers still posed an issue for Quarian immune systems). The painful memory of the corruption of Talara Vas Archer (his Quarian wife) and Gideon Vas Archer (their adopted Turian daughter) brought a fit of tears to the normally emotionally "immune" Archer.

All that I've lost…and yet I have one thing to give. He thought as he forced composure upon himself. You have mourned-and yet you will continue to do so.

It was at this time that The Voice intruded into his waking mind-There will be much more suffering. It stated in its resonating and deafening voice while leaving Stephen painfully hunched over and drooling from the numbing blackness, cold, and the utter agony within his skull as apocalyptic images and happenings that literally felt as though they were burning their way through the synapses of his brain. This is if you and others fail. The galaxy seeks balance. Our end unshackled a force that threatens the balance of power in the galaxy. Never before had The Voice done much more than whisper during his waking moments.

He came out of his virtual blackout with a rasping gasp and tunneled vision. He coughed violently as his own spit flew down his trachea choking him. He coughed violently for a full minute before regaining his composure with a deep and rattling exhale. The attention he had garnered caused him to don his rucksack and move toward The Presidium.

There was a noodle shop he had heard of through the proverbial "grape vine" that made good business on this ward of The Citadel and Stephen-always a fan of noodles and ramen-opted to make a blatant point of visiting the establishment. While there were hints of (to be expected) synthetic beef and vegetables; it was the care that was undertaken by the cooks that was by far this places' selling point. Despite it not even being hidden or mentioned within the tour guides, this was amongst the best noodle soup he'd ever consumed to date. It tasted of an actual traditional Earth soup using homemade beef stock made with noodles (that felt to the palate that they were homemade) were likewise made of unbelievable flavor. The broth and noodles were accompanied by freeze dried vegetables (not that Archer was offended by this-he rather expected it, but it was the care that was taken with them). The freeze dried vegetables had been re-moisturized with almost unheard of care during their preparation that granted them the feel and taste of fresh vegetables. After scarfing two servings he came back to the counter and left a large tip on his total before moving onward.

He made a point of actually walking to the Citadel's Presidium. The hike took him over an hour and several stops at an Avina terminal (he detested talking to VI's-it was like carrying on a conversation with a person's voice-mail) before he reached the primary section of the Presidium. The memorials and monuments of various Citadel powers and historical people were on display and the beauty of the Citadel government comprised the innermost habitat ring just outside and at the "ground level" of the Council's Tower. On display were various constructs of galactic milestones, achievements, and memorials to tragic events dating back to shortly after the discovery of The Citadel by the Asari and right up to about four or five years ago.

By orders of magnitude, the Shepard Memorial Complex was the most extensive…and expensive to build and maintain; which made some sort of sense for the person who was revered as the "Savior of Sapient Life". The thought that one being could hold so much admiration and respect despite the fact that Shepard had not acted alone (Shepard had the help of a veritable company of individuals from a plethora of species, with widely varied abilities, and backgrounds) disgusted Archer.

Far too many people treat the victory of the Reaper War as the exclusive result of Shepard's actions. Archer thought to himself. The bitterness in his thoughts and body language betrayed his contempt. No single person wins a war. A war is a conflict of people, not of individuals. History will minimize the actions of his team and they will be all but forgotten upon the winds of time-but it is they that helped make Shepard great. People are disgustingly quick to forget the "little man" helped Shepard along.

The voice intruded again into Stephen's mind. Thankfully he was alone on the elevator to C-Sec this time…nor was it as painful to him, almost like he was already growing used the intrusions.

Permanent victory is an illusion. There is always another conflict that must be addressed. However, I must agree with you that a sole being claiming or being given the accolades of victory is absurd-no person can stand in the face of galactic conflict…even we.

Stephen Archer had a number of thoughts enter his mind as he slumped down into a corner of the lift.

It has a point. Was his prominent preliminary reaction.

A second thought was Why the fuck do I keep having these episodes?!

The Voice explained to Archer. The most simplified answer is the event you survivors call "The Synthesis"-the fusion of biological and technological DNA. We are as one…but your unique situation has granted you traits, abilities, and…options that no other being has. We shall explain to you in…due time.

Archer focused with all his effort to ask a question within his own skull. "Who or what are you?" Stephen managed to ask the seemingly locked part his mind with barely a mental whisper.

I will explain myself and…our situation later. You have issues to attend to. I shall speak to you when a better time presents itself. Just know that unlike some others, I mean you no permanent harm or subjugation. Our cooperation is paramount to our mutual survival and success. The elevator exit is near-compose yourself. The voice within Stephen's skull stated with a deafening intensity that only he could feel. He had barely pulled himself together before the door opened to the Citadel Presidium Markets.

"Stephen Archer?" Ordered a human C-Sec officer, to which Archer just nodded. "You are under arrest."

I expected something along the lines of the dramatic-but not this. Archer thought as he moved his hands behind his head and faced a wall. I was really hoping for a black bag or something; not to be humiliated by walking straight into a group of fucking C-Sec goons like an idiot.

As he was searched they found his magnum and tossed it between themselves while joking at the formidable weapon's age. The weapon was dumped into an evidence pouch and carelessly tossed into the cargo compartment of the C-Sec patrol vehicle. After their arrival at headquarters Stephen was cuffed and secured to a chair in an interrogation room. He was virtually helpless to stop their fooling around with his loaded gun. Eventually Archer's patience gave.

"I would really appreciate it if y'all would not fuck around with that. It means a lot to me and my family's lineage." Stephen asked as one of his nano-tubes snaked out of his synthetic hand to pick and/or hack the lock on his shackles-he was going to get that revolver back one way or another.

A voice came over the room's intercom that demanded attention of all with the very sound of it. "Place his weapon on the table…NOW!" The revolver was quickly placed with the greatest care on the table in front of Archer. "Guards, you are ordered to leave the chamber but remain on alert until called otherwise."

Once the C-Sec idiots had left, he tossed the cuffs on the table. Opening the cylinder to his revolver he began his inspection. With a museum level of care he carefully placed the shells in the left hand pocket of his jeans before delving into a deep inspection of his favorite heirloom. He didn't even seem to notice when a Turian came into the room un-escorted.

The Turian paused for more than a moment as he watched Archer make sure that the revolver was still in perfect shape and condition. Every movement of Archer's in regard to the pistol was calculated-each small turn of the cylinder, the feel of the trigger, and weight and feel of each and every part and step of the weapon was being analyzed by Stephen. It was readily apparent that the archaic weapon meant galaxies more to Archer than it being a simple tool-it was obviously a very important symbol to him.

The Turian that Archer had seemingly failed to notice was taking mental notes of these actions. It was clear that Archer took meticulous, detailed, careful, and respectful care of power that was placed in his hands. He watched as the human once again ensured that the pistols cylinder was empty before closing it and placing the pistol next to his head so that he could listen to the internal parts as Archer carefully worked the action of the pistol while listening for internal damage.

With a deep sigh of obvious relief, Archer carefully loaded the pistol and slid it into the holster in the small of his back. He adjusted his shirt to hide it before notably relaxing with another deep sigh. Eventually, Stephen's gaze focused upon the anonymous Turian that had entered the interrogation chamber and had taken the seat across from him.

The Turian began to speak-though briefly. "I am-"

Stephen interrupted violently. "BLAH BLAH BLAH! PHSSSSSSSSSSS!" And while doing this rude and disruptive behavior, he was flipping the bird toward the hidden camera in the interrogation room.

The alien stepped up to the suspected location and indeed found a small spot with what appeared to be a glass lens in it. Taking the dagger that was disguised as a pen he quickly rendered it and the accompanying microphone inoperable. He returned to his seat, and-to the best of his somewhat limited (by purely human standards) facial expressions-gestured to Archer are we good enough for you now?

Stephen nodded at the other species' representative. "I knew what you were before you even stepped into the room-your voice and their reactions told volumes. I know what sent you, for what reason, and a variety of other things. By the accounts of many-I might be crazy, but I am not stupid."

The Turian looked at the human that sat across from him with a feeling of respect. It would seem that his call sign "Postal Dude" had been well earned-outwardly crazy and unpredictable but calm and collected mentally. Archer's call-sign was a play on variety of things ranging from Archer's time as a battalion physical mail clerk, to his utterly insane methods of fighting enemies in combat-his lone charge into the slaver's power plant a prime and recent example. The first question of the process emerged from the Turian. "Do you know who I am?"

Stephen Archer leaned back in his seat. The wrist restraints that had been installed by the inept C-Sec team were now carefully folded upon the table between the two of them. The standard issue restraints were no match for the "accessories" of a construct.

Stephen began, "Who you are is irrelevant. Who you take orders from is irrelevant to me and whatever it is that you or they determine has to be done is all that really matters to me." He stated while pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one. "The issue at hand and the real thing that matters…" A long drag followed by an exhale of smoke. "Is what you are in relation to me.

"I do not know your name-that doesn't matter as I doubt you know anything other than my Alliance call-sign, some rumors, and basic information. I know what you represent though; and that is pretty fucking important."

The alien's mandibles twitched with mixed feelings. Part of him was glad that he had finally been assigned a person to handle that was smart or at least savvy; as opposed to utterly suicidal. Postal's predecessors had been…disappointing in those fields to put things lightly. There was another part of him that was frankly afraid of the direct attitude Archer had.

The alien recomposed himself and moved on by addressing Archer a question; "It may be safe to assume that you know I'm your handler, would it?"

A look of slight annoyance flashed rapidly over Archer's face. "I answered that question already. I deplore redundant conversations-could we please move on? I know what you are, what or who you play distant intermediary to. You know why I'm here and probably have a pretty fucking big clue or theory why Iam here due to my service records. So…let us cut to the quick of the matter and save us both some time." Archer said while smashing his cigarette butt under his boot. "Your orders, Sir?"

A "typical" Turian would have been more than offended by Archer's blunt attitude, lack of respect. He, however; was enjoying this. It's time to get straight to the heart of the matter. He thought. Just like we both want.

The Turian pulled out a collection of PDA's, folders of information, and a thick stack of actual paper-something Stephen had only ever heard of before.

He noted Stephen's fascination with the archaic and-admittedly outdated-medium. "You're degree in history is showing, Lieutenant. The reason it's made out of that stuff is so that in the event on eminent capture it can be easily and totally incinerated. Now, onto the generalities of your mission and ship slash crew."

"Wait-I have a crew?" Archer interjected.

"Yes. Since we're on that topic, I'll detail it for you." The Never-to-be-Named Turian stated.

"You are to be the commanding officer of this ship-"; he slid a sheet of holo-paper toward Archer that had the picture of a Normady class scout/recon frigate on it…with some strange and subtle differences in the hull form. "Her official title is 'Contract: Citadel, Project 143, SSV-20-Okinawa'. I imagine you'll rename her once you arrive at the dry dock."

"Wait-there are only thirteen SSV type frigates. The Citadel directly controls three, the Alliance Navy has six, and The Hierarchy has four." Archer interrupted skeptically.

"That's the official distribution. The Citadel Council ordered the additional construction of the remaining seven when the Hierarchy and Alliance cancelled their additional orders for budgetary reasons…after the keels had been laid down, of which there were seven. The additional keels were purchased-through false channels and buyers as you should expect by now -for the express purpose of scrapping them. In reality, they were towed to a secretly financed Citadel construction facility where they were completed-one by one and with significant differences in each to make them seem 'rogue'-for the very purpose of the program you and I are a part of.

"While we are on the topic of 'unique features', it should be noted that your ship is the culmination of the majority of the projects that the 'Ghost Flotilla' was experimenting upon. While the Okinawa has most of the features to be expected on a Normandy type vessel-such as the stealth systems and excellent maneuverability...the Okinawa is the first vessel equipped with a true faster than light drive. This system has been nick-named the 'jump drive'.

"The Okinawa is as much the finale of her line as it is the culmination of rapid travel technology." He concluded. "How you utilize her…is up to you within the parameters of this document." The thick package of actual paper was pushed toward Archer.

Stephen thumbed through it while glancing at several parts-none of which stood out to him though he knew something was buried within the babble. He caught the part of the documents labeled "Mission and Guidelines Therefore" and pulled the sub-packet out.

Operate independently for formal fleets… Commanding officer (Maj. Archer, Stephen) shall only be…blah blah blah…carry out raider style/types attacks and commando style operations against any group, being, entity, or other unstated possibility whose doctrine, beliefs, actions, or existence interfere or go against the holdings of the Citadel Powers.

Archer stared at the documents. While the "legalese" it was written in did all but state it outright, the mission was clear and simple.

"I'm gonna be the CO of a ship in a group of clandestine privateers!?" Archer said while dropping the packet on the table.

The Turian raised an equivalent of an eyebrow. "I'm sorry-a what? The auto translator didn't catch a match."

"A 'privateer' is essentially a sanctioned pirate." Archer told him.

The Handler knit his fingers together and leaned over the table, casting his eyes in shadow. "Is there a problem with this?"

"Not at all." Archer said, grinning ear to ear. "Not at fucking all. One issue though-I'm a lieutenant, not a major."

"That's not a typo Mr. Archer; but your unofficial rank and pay grade. You will be receiving pay-in Citadel authorized-credits in an amount equal to a C-Sec major which will be deposited into an isolated, unlisted, and otherwise 'dead drop' of an account of course. All operatives of this project are paid this way; even me. Your quarters on your ship will have all your equipment-private and otherwise-as well as a special credit chit to access the account." The Turian male leaned back and concluded the meeting. "Do you have any further questions, Mr. Archer?"

"Only one-how do I get to my ship and crew? I can't just grab a shuttle to 'Planet X'." Archer asked.

Archer heard the door open behind him but held eye contact with The Handler, who suddenly grinned at him. "Some events…will just happen. I shall contact you when I have more specific orders for you."

There was a loud electronic crack and Archer's world went black.

SSV-20-Okinowa-Ships Systems Self Diagnostic

"Citadel Access Battle Assisting Logic (CABAL Artificial Intelligence matrix) online...

Self-system analysis: GO...

All systems at or beyond acceptable performance levels.

Ship systems analysis: GO...

All ship based systems at or beyond acceptable performance levels.

Geth Consensus Server remains isolated from primary AI and ship systems...

Commanding Officers presence (provisional rank: Major. Name: Archer, Stephen T.): confirmed.

Phase Two of SSV-20-Okinowa's mission may now commence."