The Prankster's Hero
Author's Note: The events of this chapter take place after the Alliance assault on Torfan and before the events of Mass Effect 1 (as detailed in 'Accidental Hero of the Galaxy').
Chapter 3: The Little Butcher of Torfan
When I first met David Anderson, he was a Lieutenant Commander, come to attend the graduation ceremony of my class at OCS. It seemed that I made an impression. Something about poking fun at a pompous windbag in front of a whole slew of newly-minted officers. Apparently that's the kind of thing that sets your resume apart from all the others. Not that I ever submitted anything to him, but still.
Since then, our paths had crossed now and again. Each time, I picked up something valuable from Anderson. He'd given me a two-hour face-to-face discussion on the merits of accepting an offer to undergo N7 training, when all I'd originally asked for was his two credits worth in an e-mail. There was that time where he provided several examples on when to crack the whip and when to be a little more lax with exerting one's authority—along with a well-thought-out rationale for each scenario. And then there were all those times where I had to do some op and whatever ship Anderson was serving on happened to be providing some kind of support.
"Shepard! What are you doing here?"
I just wish we could have found another reason to bump into each other. "Same reason you are," I replied, snapping to attention.
He returned my salute. "At ease, son."
"Can't, sir," I said with a straight face. "Haven't met my quota for pulling muscles."
Anderson got the reference—the first time we met, in case you forgot—and laughed. Not a polite laugh. A genuine, heartwarming laugh that was just shy of belly-shaking. "Do you know the Commander?"
"Not personally, no," I shook my head. "Though I don't think that matters. I've bumped into a few people who were invited. I don't think they wanted to be here."
I should explain.
We were here to attend the launching ceremony for the Alliance's newest dreadnought, the SSV Tai Shan, which had been assigned to one Commander Zhao. Notorious for his horrible temper, borderline megalomaniacal arrogance and alarmingly ambition. The only reason he was tolerated was that he was also a keen strategist, albeit an infamous one. His greatest accomplishment to date was his role at Torfan, when the Alliance launched a series of attacks against the various criminal bases stationed there in retaliation for the Skyllian Blitz. Zhao had pursued the batarians stationed there even after they ran, at the cost of many of the men and women under his command. While it was never conclusively proven, it was quite a coincidence that those people were the rawest and least experienced members of his unit.
Since then, Zhao had embraced the moniker that others had given him: The Butcher of Torfan. He parlayed that infamy and fear into a string of impressive accomplishments. Which led us to this meeting, here on Arcturus Station. "I heard that Zhao had to travel all the way back from the Verge."
"I heard the same thing," Anderson agreed. "What do you make of it?"
"On the surface, it makes sense. Arcturus Station has several drydocks, after all. Makes sense that they'd launch the Tai Shan on her shakedown cruise from here."
"But..."
"But scuttlebutt has it that Zhao might have been moving on to bigger things. He could've been promoted to Captain before cruising on the fast track to becoming one of the youngest Admirals in Alliance history. Which might have been a problem, given that he kinda has a temper and doesn't really understand the concept of diplomacy or tact. It's possible that he could embarrass the Alliance. But he's done enough to warrant some kind of promotion. So maybe he was offered his own command of the next Alliance dreadnought—both as a consolation prize and to short-circuit his career path before he causes an intergalactic crisis.
"If so, dragging him all the way back here—away from his men and women, where he was obviously in command—would reinforce the message that he's not the big shot he thinks he likes to think he is. That there are people out there who's kept an eye on him, noted his ambition, and don't completely approve of everything he's done."
Anderson nodded in approval. "That's what I'd thought," he confided. "Though I wouldn't say that out loud. Zhao has just as many supporters as detractors, he's very good at the political game and he's almost turian when it comes to responding to anyone who offends him.
Meaning he'd go after them and destroy them so thoroughly that they would never pose a threat or amount to anything ever again. I was about to reply when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. "Speak of the devil."
The Butcher of Torfan himself was walking down the corridor. Which gave me a perfect opportunity to see him in action as a commander.
Some commanders are just there to fill a slot. A placeholder. A temp. Maybe a manager. The kind of commander that was easy to ignore. They might be obeyed, maybe even respected, but there would never be any kind of real loyalty.
Other commanders were like Anderson. Charismatic, affable. You always knew when someone like Anderson was around because he just drew your attention like a magnet. He could inspire more than a need to serve. He could inspire loyalty, awe, devotion. A desire to give everything you had; to go above and beyond what was required.
Then there were people like Zhao. Ruthless. Ambitious. Caring only about themselves, not the crew or the ship. He drew attention because people wanted to know what he wanted, who had drawn his ire and how quickly they could get the hell out of his way. He inspired the nervous loyalty borne of fear and terror.
Case in point: the poor ensign who'd accidentally bumped into him. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I could definitely see how she cringed, each time a direct response to the finger Zhao jabbed into her shoulder. She burst into tears and bolted as soon as he was done with her. Anderson and I exchanged a look. We didn't need to say a word.
Zhao walked in our general direction. He didn't adjust his course to intercept us, probably because the Great Commander Zhao would never do that. But he did slow down, just as he was passing us. Almost as if he'd missed us. "Anderson."
"Zhao," Anderson replied, somewhat curtly.
"What a pleasant surprise," Zhao said silkily. "I had no idea you were in the system."
Translation: we may have the same rank, but I didn't bother paying attention to your coming or going because you're so gosh-darned insignificant.
"Are you staying long?" Zhao inquired.
"Another day."
"Ah. Then you'll be able to attend the launch of the Alliance's latest Kilimanjaro-class dreadnought."
"Yes, I will. That's the Tai Shan, isn't it?"
Somehow, Zhao managed to control himself and not puff his chest out. He couldn't keep the smile off his face, though. "It is."
"I understand you've been granted command. Congratulations, by the way."
"Thank you. It's gratifying to know that the Alliance finally recognizes all my hard work. Perhaps one day it will do the same to you."
Translation: I'm the hotshot that everyone adores and you're still a nobody, even if you did somehow become a commander. Let me open up that wound and rub salt in it for you.
"One day," Anderson smiled politely. "Well, I won't keep you. You must be exhausted after your long trip, after all."
Zhao's smile slipped, ever so slightly.
"I'll want to arrive at the Tai Shan bright and early. Docking Bay 38, isn't it? I wouldn't want to be late and have to fight through the crowd."
The smile was definitely gone now. "Tomorrow then," Zhao hissed before walking away. He never did acknowledge me. How rude.
"I take it there won't be a crowd," I murmured.
"I'm afraid not," Anderson murmured back.
"And Zhao knows it?"
"Oh yes."
Hee.
"Though I notice you didn't point out to Zhao that the launching ceremony was set on April Fool's Day."
"No, I didn't."
We exchanged knowing looks.
"I should go," I said.
"Of course," Anderson replied. "I'm sure you have… things to do."
Anderson was right, of course. I did have things to do.
When most people think of dreadnoughts, military as well as civvie, they tend to think of firepower. Big, honking machines of destruction capable of inflicting over twice the damage of the nuke that hit Hiroshima during World War II with a single slug. The fact that said slug was typically in the twenty-kilogram range. Or maybe even the fact that those slugs were accelerated to about 1.3% of the speed of light, creating enough kinetic energy to cause that big explosion. There's a reason why the Treaty of Farixen limits how many dreadnoughts each Citadel race can build.
Most people also think of how big the dreadnoughts are: anywhere from 800 metres to a whole kilometre. Basically, to accelerate a dreadnought's weapons to the speeds required, you need a big gun. A really big gun. Which means you need a ship big enough to hold that gun. You can't just weld a dreadnought cannon to a shuttle and call it a day. So there's a certain ooh-and-aah factor involved when you see one of those babies.
What most people often forget is that a kilometre-long vessel has a ridiculously huge surface area, one that was originally the same colour as whatever alloys were used in the construction of the hull plating. To fly a dreadnought in, say, Alliance colours, you need to add paint. A lot of paint. Paint that was typically applied by drones. All I needed to do was find some other paint for to cover the Tai Shan and to reprogram the drones.
Turned out that getting the paint for my 'custom job' was pretty darn easy. All I had to do was hack a few inventory requests and 'accidentally' order the wrong lot numbers. When they arrived, whoever was responsible for shipping would curse at the mistake and order that the paint be returned. But that would take time. Until then, they'd be stored in one of Arcturus Station's cargo bays. The same cargo bay that the proper paint colours were stored.
Reprogramming the drones, though… that was slightly trickier. They might be glorified maintenance drones repurposed to do some painting, but they were still drones that were flying around an Alliance military starship. Which meant they were very, very closely monitored. No way I could hack them remotely. And I certainly couldn't wander by the Tai Shan to snatch the drones. There were a lot of eyes and ears—electronic and otherwise—set up in and around Docking Bay 38. Eyes and ears specifically set up to monitor the Tai Shan every second of every minute of every… well, you get the idea. Not to mention all the special patrols that had been set up.
The cargo bay where all the paint was being held was another matter entirely. The surveillance systems there were nothing more than the usual ones for a cargo bay in an Alliance installation. Same with the patrols. Same as usual. No reason to be on alert, aside from the usual concerns. And yes, no one thought it problematic that the dreadnought and the paint for said dreadnought were in two separate locations.
Of course, going to the trouble of sneaking into the cargo bay and reprogramming the drones would be all for naught if someone actually wandered into Docking Bay 38 and saw the Tai Shan while she—yes, I did say 'she'—was getting a custom paint job. So I had to tweak the scheduled patrol routines to make sure any guards stayed outside Docking Bay 38.
Which meant I had to make two stops: one to find a terminal to hack the patrol routines outside Docking Bay 38 and another to enter the cargo bay and hack the drones.
Of course, to do all that, I really needed a schematic of Arcturus Station. One more detailed than the bare-bones and overly sanitized version available to civvies. One that included things like alternate paths, ventilation ducts, maintenance hatches. Maybe even the occasional password or two, though that wasn't strictly necessary. I'm not greedy, after all.
Thankfully, I had a source.
That source was currently sitting across the table from me while we scarfed down our lunch at 'Cha Sieu.' If my admittedly sketchy Cantonese was accurate, that meant barbequed pork. Mmm... barbeque...
Apparently, it had just opened a couple months ago. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of establishment. Literally: someone had demolished a whole section for renovations and upgrades, never used up the whole space and let the remainder lie unused for years. Some enterprising civvie decided to ignore all the zoning regulations and procedures, made some installations and upgrades and turned it into a restaurant. Naturally someone protested. Naturally that protest got caught in the usual quagmire of bureaucracy.
Despite the name and the distinctly Chinese menu, it didn't really feel like a Chinese restaurant. Mostly because the entire staff was Caucasian. Maybe it should have been classified as fusion or something.
Still, the prices were cheap, the portions were huge and the food was very good—in a greasy, definitely unhealthy sort of way. Aw, screw it: I'd passed my last physical with flying colours—though I heard the word was still out on my psych eval. Besides, I had serious reservations about the nutritional content of the food they served at my last posting. This couldn't make things any worse.
"I swear, you should go pro," I insisted. "Start a blog or something on best bargain restaurants throughout the Alliance or something. Travel the galaxy and eat at all sorts of places on someone else's dime. Or credits."
"Tempting," Serviceman 1st Class Morgan Grimes conceded.
"It's gotta be better than your dream of being a Benihana chef."
"Yeah," Morgan said, "but I already have a very delicate balance set up between the important things in life and slacking off. It's a science, really. Or an art. Or both. Point is: adding something like that to the mix would screw it all up. You wouldn't want all that hard work to go to waste, would you?"
"Perish the thought," I declared. "Speaking of important stuff: did you get what I asked for?"
Morgan looked over his shoulder in an exaggerated motion. Then the other shoulder. I did my best not to do a face-palm. Don't get me wrong: Morgan's a great friend, but his flair on the dramatic could occasionally border on excessive. Too many vids, if you ask me. Thankfully, I only had to suffer a couple seconds of this charade before he discovered a newfound interest in the table. At least, that's what his exaggerated head-tilts and eye-stares told me. Taking the cue, I reached underneath the table and accepted the package he handed me.
"They're only partial schematics," Morgan apologized. "Security VIs would go bonkers if you tried to download the ins and outs of the entire station. But it covers this quarter of the station. Plus, I got a couple of the passwords you'll need."
"Thanks, Morgan," I said.
"No problem," Morgan grinned. "I just wish you could stay a little longer. I couldn't believe it when you contacted me and said you'd be in the neighbourhood. Some big ceremony or something, you said?"
"Launching ceremony for the Tai Shan," I confirmed.
"Didn't I hear Commander Zhao was offered command of her?"
"That's right."
Morgan scowled. "Did I ever tell you that I met the asshole before?"
"No." I was a bit surprised. Morgan's usually pretty easy-going. Zhao must've really honked him off.
"Happened almost a year ago. Zhao was still a lieutenant commander at the time. Came in one day and asked for a ton of medi-gel. We didn't have that much to spare. Sure, there was some extra, but we were saving that for a medical relief convoy that was due to leave the following week. So we said no.
"Next day, he's back. Seems he just got promoted. Now his request is an order. Guess that refugee camp's gonna have to go without that medi-gel they desperately needed. But hey, they suffered all this time, right? They can suffer a little longer!"
"Wow," I marvelled. "I knew Zhao was a ruthless bastard but... did he actually get away with that? Did he get the medi-gel?"
Morgan looked disgusted. "Yeah. Management decided to side with him."
"You're kidding," I sputtered.
"Wish I was."
"But... what about the refugees?"
"One of the privates was dating a sales rep for the Sirta Foundation. Once he told her, she talked to her superiors and convinced them to sell a new lot of medi-gel to the refugee camp at cost. Everything worked out in the end—no thanks to Zhao. Always wished there was something more I could've done."
"Technically, you were—"
"—just following orders," Morgan finished with me. "I know, I know. I... I just... that... doesn't really cut it."
This put me in a bit of a quandary. When I asked Morgan for his help, I'd been a little cagey on my reasons. Plausible deniability. But this wasn't been the first time I roped other people into one of my pranks. And the little bearded man was clearly troubled.
"What if I were to tell you that what you gave me would help get back at Zhao?"
Morgan looked confused. Then delighted. "I knew it! I knew you had a reason for those schematics. Give 'em back to me."
"What do you have in mind?" I asked as I handed back the OSD containing the schematics.
"Showing you a shortcut," Morgan grinned.
The first stop would be inside Arcturus Station's Security Office: so that's where I went.
Not through the front door, of course. That would be silly. And counterproductive. Which was why I was trying to mind my own business—and hoping everyone else did the same—while I climbed up a maintenance ladder in a side corridor. No one stopped me or asked what I was doing. Heck, no one even glanced in my direction. Just goes to show: if you act like you belong there and aren't doing anything suspicious, most people will just ignore you.
Even if you're bypassing the maintenance hatch because you forgot to bring any omni-gel and were too cheap to melt down your surplus weapons, equipment and upgrade mods. Well, no, that's not true. More like you're bypassing the maintenance hatch despite having a decent amount of omni-gel because you're too cheap to actually use it.
Once I opened the hatch, crawled down the maintenance tunnel and entered the Security Office, that's when things got interesting. Even though I was a member of the Alliance, I didn't really have any reason—or authorization—to be wandering around. Which meant I had to sneak around and avoid being caught by any vid-cams or Alliance personnel—because sneaking around would definitely look suspicious. I crept down a hallway and quickly peeked around the corner. The coast was clear. I just had to hug the right wall, manoeuvre around the crates that were inevitably stacked up here and there, and avoid the vid-cam as it panned up and down the corridor.
I made it to a door and got through just before the vid-cam might have caught me. Took a left, passed a wilting plant that someone had placed in an effort to brighten up the place, reached the corner and stuck my head out. Bad news: there was a pair of Alliance soldiers in the hallway. Good news: they were engrossed in a serious discussion of last night's biotiball game and there was a ventilation shaft a couple metres from the corner. I just had to crouch down, slide around the corner, pop open the grille and enter the shaft. And try not to sneeze at the dust.
According to what Morgan told me, I had to crawl through the shaft and take a left. I'd pass a couple grilles on my right, but I had to ignore them and look to my left. The first grille I saw would lead me to where I wanted to go.
So I followed Morgan's instructions. Sure enough, I wound up in Lt. Commander Penn's office.
I did a quick look around. Mostly to make sure that I was alone and hadn't stumbled on Penn taking a nap or something. But it was also a good opportunity to scope out the room. The ceiling and walls were grey, but a surprisingly warm tone. Navy blue floor... no, carpet. Someone had gone to the trouble to add a personal touch to this place. Not to mention expense: I couldn't imagine the Alliance springing to pay for these renovations. There was a bookshelf—full of datapads, though there was the occasional honest-to-gosh book. And a sofa, which looked well-used, judging by all the rumples.
Then I saw what I was looking for. The computer.
It was on a desk. That was standard-issue. So was the lamp. The small Alliance flag dangling from the side of the monitor was the only real personal touch. I nudged the chair aside—didn't want to sit down and risk leaving something behind, which I know is kinda funny considering I was probably leaving bits of DNA or something behind with every step I took but humour me—and began hacking the computer.
Only took me thirty seconds to break in. A minute or two to compose the e-mails containing 'updated security patrol patterns' and find everyone I wanted to send them to. Three minutes to re-read it and make sure the new patrols were correct.
Then I sent them off, swiped a few credits from a desk drawer that really shouldn't be left unlocked, crawled back through the ventilation shaft, snuck around the corner while the soldiers were still talking biotiball, went through the door, manoeuvred my way around the crates and the vid-cam and back into the maintenance tunnel.
This time, I only went halfway down the maintenance tunnel before taking a right. That detour led me into a large air shaft. One with very loud, very deafening fans. I went down the ladder as quickly as I could, then entered the ventilation shaft on my right and followed it all the way to the end. By the time I emerged into the corridor, my ears had recovered.
OK. Now I had to take a left—and quickly duck back because there's some guy standing right there talking to someone on his personal comm. Thankfully his back was turned. Of course, I had to wait for him to finish yakking away and resume walking. Once I was sure he wouldn't be turning back, I quickly ghosted around the corner, entered the appropriate password—thank you, Morgan—into the keypad beside the first door on the right and entered the room.
I made a beeline for yet another ventilation shaft, shoved the wastebasket out of the way and began crawling on my hands and knees again. Good thing I wasn't claustrophobic. Once again, my target was the first room on my left. Belonged to 1st Lieutenant Wagner, formerly Staff Lieutenant Wagner before he got busted for setting up one too many vid-cams in washrooms and private quarters and streaming the feeds to his computer. Not that that stopped him, of course.
It just meant he had to be a lot sneakier. Burst transmissions uploading files to random extranet sites. Only accessing those sites on random days and only for a short time. Using a lot of computer tricks and countermeasures to make sure he wouldn't get caught.
Just the sort of thing a guy like me could use to hack the vid-cams around a certain cargo bay.
After that, I logged onto the dodgy site of the day—still using Wagner's computer—and began downloading a bunch of files. I left the room with his computer still running. With the extranet browser still open and the files still downloading. I figured Arcturus Station's Cybersecurity Division would be on his ass sooner or later. Wagner might not be my primary target, but I had no compunction about shining a harsh light on his slimy little life.
Then I just made my way back to the side corridor where this whole adventure began. Now to get to the cargo bay.
I waited for an hour or so—long enough for all those security guards to read their e-mails and begin their revised patrols—before going down and entering another maintenance shaft. This one housed the power conduits that kept the lights on in this particular section. It's not as dangerous as it sounds, believe it or not. The conduits are shielded and insulated. And there's actually enough room to stand upright. Not entirely upright in my case because I'm a bit taller than regulation-standard, but as long as I didn't dangle from and swing along the conduits like some damn, dirty ape, I'd be okay.
Three lefts, a right, a left, a right, another left, another right, and one more left led me to a ladder. The ladder led me up to a door, which opened once I hacked the sucker. I'd barely taken a dozen steps before a kinetic barrier blocked my path. Thankfully, the controls were accessible via a computer console built into the wall. Commence hacking...
Twenty seconds later, the barrier went down. Go me.
No guards here, thanks to the e-mails I'd sent. Just a vid-cam that was laughably easy to avoid. A krogan could somersault through its blind spots. Not that I was complaining, mind you. I passed through a locker room. So many lockers. So much loot. It took all my willpower to resist my kleptomania. Eyes on the prize, Shepard. Eyes on the prize...
Having made it this far, the cargo bay doors were ridiculously easy to hack. Or maybe I was getting into the groove. All I knew was it took less than ten seconds.
Then I had to wait for the maintenance drones programmed to paint the Tai Shan.
The drones were in constant contact with each other. It was the only way to make sure they didn't waste time and paint going over some other drone's work. All I had to do was infect one of them with the virus I'd whipped up and that drone would spread the digital love to all the others.
And if Morgan's intel was right, a maintenance drone would be arriving in three...
...two...
...one...
...
God, I loved that little bearded man.
It didn't take me long to find a couple drones to hack. Which was good.
I managed to get out of there without tripping any alarms, running into anyone or otherwise getting caught. Which was great.
That left me with a whole lot of nothing to do for the rest of the day. Which absolutely, positively sucked.
Oh, I found a way to pass the time. Wandered around Arcturus Station. Checked my e-mail. Wandered around some more. Surfed the extranet. And surfed some more. And before I knew it, it was almost time to sleep.
My, how time flies when you're having fun.
Just as I was about to shut down my extranet browser, I got an alert. Someone was trying to contact me for a real-time vid-call. Over a military communication channel. Must be important. I hoped this wasn't serious. Like red alert, priority one emergency, drop what you're doing and run headlong into another crazy mission because you got your N7 badge and saved Elysium and are totally a hero and the universe definitely hates your guts serious.
Holding my breath, I reached out and accepted the comm request.
...
...
...
"Helllllllloooooooooooooo? Chuuuuuuuuuuuck?"
I blinked. "Ellie?"
"How did Devon get into med school?"
"Um..."
"I mean he's smart and hot and everything but he's so totally unoriginal. Look at what he says all the time: awesome. Awesome to see you! Aced your exam? That's awesome. Ran a couple dozen kilometres today? Awesome. Speak ten languages? Awesome. Cooked an awesome meal? Awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome. You know what the problem with that is?"
Wow. It has been a while since I faced a rapid-fire rant from my older sister. Well, older, surrogate, non-biologically-related, spiritual sister. "Well..."
"It's entirely self-defeating! You know what I mean? If everything is awesome, then awesome by definition is simply mediocre!"
"Have you told Awe—er, Devon that?"
"I can't! He's pulling a double-shift tonight! By the time he's done, I'll be on shift! So we'll never get to talk! Or have awesome sex!"
"ELLIE!" I yelled. "Really didn't need to know that."
"Oh. Did I say that out loud?"
"Uh: yeah."
"Eek. Wow. Probably should stop talking now. Or using words. Which is a shame because words taste like peaches. All words. Which is odd, right? Because you'd think different words would taste like different things. Like when you're mad or angry then they'd taste like jalapeno peppers? Or when you're happy they'd taste like apples. Or if you're sick, then everything tastes like cherries. Or if you're sad, then they'd taste like... whatever you eat or drink when you wanna wallow. Right?"
"Sure," I said slowly.
"Okay. Sorry you had to listen to all that. I just had to vent. And I might've had a bit too much to drink. God, I'm gonna have such a hangover tomorrow."
"It's fine, Ellie," I said. "Really. But maybe you should talk to Devon about this. Or write him a note."
"Yeah, you're right."
"We'll talk later, okay? When you're sober."
"Probably a good idea."
"I thought so."
"Maybe the words will taste like something else."
"Maybe."
"Bye, Chuck."
"Bye, Ellie."
Well.
That was random.
...
And it gave me a wonderful idea...
Launching ceremonies are usually the same. The people in attendance are different, of course. The docking bay or starport can vary. The ship, needless to say, is always different.
But there are a lot of common factors. Everyone's always in dress blues or formal civvie outfits. There are always a lot of speeches about how great the ship is, how great the CO is and what a great day this is for the Alliance. Each speech covering the same content, sometimes even using the same catchy phrases. The CO always repeats what everyone else said before, then thanks each and every person who helped him or her out along the way. And there's always coffee, tea, water and snacks. All free, which was good because that was the real reason why at least half of the audience actually bothered to show up.
This would be the first launching ceremony I attended that fell on April Fool's Day. And what better way to suffer through this formal crap than to prank someone? Now I've pranked my fair share of people. Some of them just for fun. Some because they'd earned it through their misdeeds. But few were as genuinely horrible and despicable as Zhao.
It was with that in mind that I donned the clothes I abhorred. There must be a special place in hell reserved for the genius who instituted the idea of a formal dress code. I didn't always think that way, mind you. It was a feeling that developed gradually, after way too many debriefings, ceremonies, lunches, parades, dinners, politicians, celebrities, celebutantes and a God-awful statue of yours truly.
But I digress. Today wasn't about me, after all.
I bumped into Morgan on the way over. "Well?" he asked.
"Done."
"No problems?"
"Nope. Thanks to you."
Morgan beamed as he rubbed his hands in glee. Then he grimaced as he tugged at his collar and scratched his neck. Guess I wasn't the only one who wasn't fond of formal dress uniforms. "Can't wait to see the look on Zhao's face!"
"Shh!" I cautioned.
"Yeah, yeah," he dismissed. "You know I can keep a secret."
"Really?"
"Name one time when—"
"N7 Code of Honour: Alliance at War. Final mission."
"Yeah, but that was—"
"N7 Code of Honour: Shanxi Ops. Opening cinematic."
"But that was the most amazing—"
"Easter egg at the end of the latest Batman reboot."
"But Bruce Wayne finally got together with—"
"Ellie's fifteenth birthday present."
"I thought she wouldn't want that. How was I supposed to know—"
"Ellie's fourteenth birthday present."
"Come on, Chuck. I said I was sorry."
"Ellie's—"
"All right, all right, all right. Geez! I thought we would never speak of that ever again!"
"Shepard!"
"Sir!"
"Oh, thank God!"
Morgan was saved by Anderson's arrival. I quickly made introductions. Within a few minutes, they were merrily chatting away. Not that I was surprised: they were both sociable people. The more they got to know each other, the less attention they would pay to me as I hacked my way into the station comm systems.
I finished just before Commander Zhao—also known as Zhao the Legend, Zhao the Conquerer, Zhao the Batarian Slayer, Zhao the Invincible, Zhao the Butcher of Torfan and Zhao, God's Gift to the Systems Alliance, Humanity and the Galaxy—arrived. Along with various other officers and REMFs and dignitaries.
This would be the point where lots of boring, repetitive and utterly predictable speeches would be made. All in the cargo bay, so we could use the Tai Shan as a backdrop. So we dutifully shuffled inside.
Or tried to. There was a sudden bottleneck. Followed by the odd choked sound. Eventually I made my way into the cargo bay and looked upon my handiwork.
It has been said on many occasions that Zhao acted the way he did because he was compensating for something. I have my doubts about that, if only because inadequacy alone couldn't possibly explain the sheer amount of arrogance, bullying, ego and venom that exuded from his every pore and spat out of his big, sneering mouth. But I'd always kept it in the back of my mind.
It has also been said, on several more occasions, that dreadnoughts bring a certain... image to mind. They're very big. And long. And thick. And fire things out one end at very fast speeds. Do I really need to spell it out? I hope not. Because it's not something you can forget. I certainly couldn't, even though I tried really, really hard to keep in the darkest recesses of my mind.
So it was with that in mind that I renamed the Alliance's latest dreadnought from one of Earth's mountains—the traditional nomenclature for naming ships of that size—to The Little Zhao.
And just in case the association might have slipped anyone's mind, I repainted it pink. A certain shade of pink. 'Nuf said, I think.
Well, except for this: sometimes, I think I really do outdo myself.
The number of snorts, choked sounds and silent quivering shakes was increasing exponentially. Sorta like the pace at which Zhao's face was turning red. It would just take one more thing, a catalyst if you will, to set everyone off.
"Everything is awesome!
Everything is cool when you're part of a team!
Everything is awesome!
When we're living your dream!"
I had to remind myself to drop my mouth along with everyone else as the obnoxious, bubbly, sugary-happy and undeniably catchy pop music burst out over the PA system. Just pretend to be like everyone else, Shepard...
"Everything is better when we stick together.
Side by side, you and I gonna win forever, let's party forever.
We're the same, I'm like you, you're like me, we're all working in harmony."
As if on cue, we all turned to look at Zhao. He was so furious, he was practically vibrating. And his face... well, I'd be lying if I said I had seen one redder than the one I saw right now. I wish I could take a picture with my omni-tool, but that would give it away. Note to self: hack the station's vid-cams.
"Everything is awesome!
Everything is cool when you're part of a—"
And that was when everyone lost it. The repainted and renamed Tai Shan, which explained so much about Zhao. The music, which was the complete antithesis of everything Zhao stood for. It was just too much. So we all burst into laughter. Loud, over-the-top, belly-shaking, tears-streaming-down-face laughter.
Well, except for Zhao, who was too busy storming out of the cargo bay. But he didn't count.
"Shepard," Anderson gasped when he finally got a hold of yourself. "Where... how..."
"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I managed.
Any further denials were interrupted when Morgan collapsed to the ground, howling with laughter. He took me out on the way down. I probably got a concussion.
It was all totally worth it.
Author's Note: Yes, this is 'Everything is Awesome' by Tegan and Sara (featuring The Lonely Island), from The Lego Movie: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack. I just had to put to this at the end.
