Chapter 3:Reception
CABAL walked from the outside of the ship's lift to the medical bay to check on one of the ships newest members-the vessel's new CO. "He" was smartly dressed in a full Alliance Navy officer's uniform as he passed through the door to the Okinawa's medical bay.
He looked at the form within the recently arrived stasis-tube that stood against the bulkhead and took note of its condition without an omni-tool.
Heart rate was slightly erratic which was likely caused by the method of incapacitation used. The subject's metabolism was greatly accelerated; which would require an extra ration-or several-to compensate if such a factor was permanent and this would also expend the pod's nutrition reserves for the occupant before their planned time. Despite the heart rate, the subjects breathing rate was within acceptable tolerances for a human. Neural activity was something else entirety-signs of dreams, thoughts, feelings, memories, pain and suffering, elation and despair all at the same time. Even with "his" knowledge of the neurology and psychology of-exclusively-human beings CABAL was stumped. Nothing about the brain readouts of the human before him made sense.
He turned to the ship's doctor. "Are you certain that your medical scans, personnel dossiers, files, and other fields are up to date? Incomplete data impedes my mission and purpose aboard this vessel. Is he in some sort of extended stasis? The information from and about this one is an anomaly as his readings are extremely erratic."
Doctor Kincaid sighed deeply in utter frustration at the inquiry. She was by far more engrossed in the recent influx of crew members and their medical files than she was in answering any "petty" questions that the CABAL had for her. There were a dozen junior enlistees that had just been assigned to the Okinawa that needed to be processed before they could be assigned positions as a crewmember. Doctor Kincaid scowled at CABAL's personage.
"Everything is accurate to the best of this ships capacity. This is something you should already be intimately familiar with." She answered in a mocking tone. "Now please-fuck. Off!"
Doctor Kincaid took a quick scan of the next several 'generic' enlistees. "He doesn't fuckin' matter. The stasis tube lets him stay in queue as long as I want him." She snarled at CABAL's vacated spot. "I'll get to him whenever I get to it. It's not like he's going anywhere regardless."
Had the ships artificial intelligence been capable of it, CABAL would have been very irate at Kincaid's tone. As things were happening at an unusually fast pace for the time he filed the encounter under "stress reactions". It was time he got busy with his "personal" duties anyway.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
SSV-20-Okinawa's pilot Samantha Burns sat in the cockpit with her video visor on watching heavy metal music videos from the galactic network. Her hands mimed the movements of those of the Turian metal groups lead guitarist as she rocked out to the music that blasted her ears.
The Turians might be a bunch of hyper disciplined assholes, but they know how to do heavy metal! She thought to herself as she started to head bang to the beat.
In her visor the video began to show the band being drenched in a rainbow of different species "blood". Red, blue, green, and white drenched the band members as they continued to perform their death metal. A myriad of pyrotechnic color charges bathed the audience in golden sparkles as the Turian bands set came to a nearly deafening crescendo of guitar riffs, bass drum beats, and a plethora of inter-species sexually explicit images spewed across the display behind the band at a rate that would have induced seizures in certain humans.
CABAL walked into the cockpit to see her enthusiastic display. The volume of the music she was listening to was loud enough to be clearly heard and understood from several feet away as well as drown out the usual background noise of the cockpit. There was no way he could politely tell her that it was time to plot the course for their sector of operations. Fortunately for him he had methods that would be absolutely certain to garner her attention.
His image wavered and then blinked out with a slight burp of static as the photons that gave him visual form scattered like fire flies in the night and quickly dissipated to nothing. He cut her network connection and appeared in her visors display screen looking as his core coding had rendered him. A genderless, hairless, smooth skinned, smoke-like blue human face filled her eyes as the AI violently demanded her attention. "Ensign Burns." He bellowed through her audio projectors. She panicked and threw the visor off. This was not the reaction CABAL had anticipated or desired.
"Jesus fucking Christ-what the fuck man?!" Sam yelled at seemingly no one. "What do you want?!" She clutched at her heaving chest, feeling her pulse race. She really hated it when he did that sort of thing. If Sam believed he was capable of it, she'd say he enjoyed it in some way.
CABAL abandoned her visor and appeared in the same visage upon the monitor directly in front of her, which was the one she used for flight input. "What I want is not important. We need to return to our operational sector so that we may continue our primary purpose."
"What about the new CO? Are the rest of the new people aboard?" Sam asked as her pulse gradually returned to normal.
"Our new commanding officer is aboard but has not been brought out of stasis yet. There are…complicated questions regarding some of the results from the pods log that must be looked into first as well as the doctor's…tone. Her poor bedside manner may result in some 'issues' during future interactions that may need to be addressed." CABAL stated in a dead monotone. "Now set course for our operational area."
"If I'm going to do that CABAL, I'll need my console back." Samantha sneered at the AI with her arms crossed. "Or should I just poke you in your eye?" CABAL blinked off of her flight control consoles as she was reaching to jab his eye and returned their displays. "If I remember, I'll talk to Doctor Kincaid about her attitude. I don't like it either."
She tapped into the ships interpersonal communicator and "dialed" the ships chief engineer.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
The metallic chime inside his suits helmet indicated that someone aboard the ship wished to talk to him. Karth Vas Okinawa brought up a display on the inside of his visor to see who it was, as well as get a feed on the current engine readouts. It was Samantha Burns; or "Sam" as she repeatedly told him she preferred to be called. He ignored it for a moment while skimming the engine data.
CABAL appeared as a small image with the same appearance as he had with Samantha in the middle left of his visor, blocking Karth's view of the engine data. "It's rude to keep people waiting." He told Karth in a dead tone. Karth rolled his eyes and answered the hail.
"Yeah, what?" He said casually.
"'Bout freakin' time ya picked up! Hey-we're about to head out so I need the FTL drive and propulsion systems fully back online, please." She informed him.
He snickered despite himself at her use of "please" rather than just telling or ordering him. It was always a welcome change compared to his time in the Migrant Fleet as an engineer aboard one of the cruisers in the Heavy Fleet. "Since you asked me so nicely, of course I'll fire up the drive systems. Gimmie a minute while I get that going Samantha Vas Okinawa." He had added "Vas Okinawa" as a slight joke.
A sigh came over the comm from her. "How many times I gotta tell ya? You can call me Sam. Not 'Ensign Burns', not 'Samantha'… just call me 'Sam'."
He laughed. "What's the phrase humans use? 'I just like fucking with you'?" he jokingly asked. He thought for a moment in regard to their ship's status before asking "Is the second Janissary shuttle aboard yet?"
There was a slight delay in response. Probably from her sifting through menus and logs of ship activity to find the cargo bay's status log. "Yeah it's aboard. I don't know if they've secured it and the other cargo yet though." There was another pause from her and a somewhat exasperated sigh. "Hey Karth; I'm pretty busy prepping for departure, the relay hop, and a bunch of other crap. Could you buzz the bay and have them tell me when they're all set? I'd appreciate it."
"No problem, Sam. As soon as our power up sequence is underway I'll talk to them."
"Thanks sweetie!" She made kissing noises at him and cut the connection. Karth blushed a deep hue that he was glad no one else could see thanks to the deep grey of his envirosuits faceplate.
He told the engineering team to begin the Eezo drive core start up sequence. Lights dimmed and others briefly flickered as the ships heart came alive in a surge of nearly white blue light. As Karth stood at his console doing his part he tapped the communicator on his station and brought up the cargo bay.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
A solid black Geth juggernaut platform walked across the cargo bay carrying a crate that was about a cubic meter in size. The fifteen foot tall bipedal "tank" scanned the data label with its three purple photoreceptors. The scan told him that it was "food stuffs" and he placed it in the lift so that it could he hauled up to the crew deck for storage with the other rations for the biological crew members. This was to be the last food supply they could receive from the station for quite some time.
While the experiences of starvation and hunger were something it could never feel it knew that such things were very unpleasant for most organic life forms. One exception it pondered was the Vorcha as their culture seemed to have an inclination toward sadomasochism. Perhaps it could ask the ships resident Vorcha crewmember? It stole a quick scan of the being while the Vorcha would not notice. Upon further review it opted not to ask the Vorcha known as Vask-he was far too stupid to give an acceptable answer to its inquiry of their culture.
Vask-to his own personal credit-was very, very good at what he did. He was usually used to draw fire during missions which was a task he seemed to enjoy to an almost worrying degree. His fast-even by Vorcha standards-tissue regeneration meant that he was capable of sustaining levels of injuries that would make a Krogan cringe. Things were helped by the fact that someone or thing had failed to kill him at some point by shooting him in the head. The slug had failed in the task or killing him but had succeeded in eliminating Vask's sense of pain. He had completed his current task which was to place the contents of the crate that "Big Machine" told him were called "thermal clips" into neatly organized rows and stacks in a closet. Now Vask set about doing one of his favorite hobbies-chewing on his foot talons.
One of the other standard Geth platforms finished stowing cargo and was about to stow itself when the intercom whistled. It walked over to the panel since they were forbidden from communicating on or around the ship in any way other than verbal and activated it.
In the standard voice modulation used for human English it responded. "Platform 7 answering this hail-what is it you require?"
"Karth here. Burns wants you to tell her when you all are ready and everything is secured."
7 took a quick look around and noted that everything was in its place and ready with the exception of the juggernaut class platform "Cronus" and itself. "We are almost ready, Creator Karth. I shall inform Burns shortly. Are there any other inquiries or requests?"
"Nothing else other than you all should please quit adding the title 'Creator' when addressing me. It's annoying and I had nothing to do with creating the Geth. Also, don't forget to keep a platform out and about for the department meeting. Karth out."
Cronus stood in the center of the cargo bay awaiting further instructions or tasks. The only sign of activity from its form were the purple lights and the occasional sound of a servomotor correcting the inherent instability of a bipedal form. When the trooper platform dubbed "7' approached it turned its head and looked down.
"I have informed Burns that we will be ready in five minutes. We must secure that platform for transport." 7 stated.
Cronus strode over to what appeared to be a supersized locker and turned around. The platform followed this action by putting its back directly against the bulkhead and locking its joints. Heavy retention arms clamped down on the platforms shoulders, shins, waist, chest, elbows, and wrists while a cage like device was placed over the cranial pillar to prevent flexing there as well. A cable was jacked into the back of the platforms cranial pillar and its runtime was uploaded to the ships Consensus.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
I hate hot bunking. Thought Alliance Marine Private Kenny Rogers as he arrived at his bunk assignment on the crew deck only to find it already occupied by a snoring crewmate. I find the very idea of sleeping in the same sheets as another person disgusting. He quickly and quietly stowed his gear in the assigned locker and left the male crew quarters.
He was the lowest ranking of the new arrivals aboard the Okinawa which was a fact that had been made blatantly clear during his in processing by that asshole of a doctor. The other arrivals outranked him but only a small few by much. The Turian arrivals usually had him by a rank equivalent or two (one rather battered looking one by several who was not in the crew quarters), but he wrote that off as a matter of the Turain's mandatory service time.
They were all fuck-ups in some way…just some of them were bigger fuck-ups than some.
He sat down in the mess hall which was just outside of the crew quarters and waited to receive his rations. He took note that the trays that went by him seemed rather thinly filled. When his name was finally called all he received was a hot ladle of enriched nutrient paste. Before he could even open his face to protest, the "cook" gave him a discouraging scowl with a snarl and waived the man off before dipping the ladle back into the cauldron for the next person. Apparently food stores were dismally low, and that thought was deeply discouraging. Since when does a ship run out of food? How does that even happen especially since they were in port?
His limited knowledge of the logistics chain required to even simply equip a vessel such as the Okinawa without alerting anyone and his ignorance that he was now a member of a deniable operation went entirely over his head. Rogers observed the collection of people present before deciding where to sit. As he knew no one aboard he opted to position himself across from a rather attractive woman who was intently looking at a datapad. If his hopes came true he might make a friend.
The human female looked to be in her mid to late twenties. Her chest flared out into a rather attractive bosom while her hips completed her attractive physique. She wore a casual outfit which was a combination of a black t-shirt and denim jeans. Her eyes were covered by a pair of goggles that seemed to be trying to adhere to her eye sockets. Then a realization hit Rogers. While trying not to stare (and utterly failing) he looked at the scars that ran the length of the visible parts of her body.
All the nerve lines of her hands were scarred by deep and nearly black lines of biotic implant surgery. The deep dark brown; nearly black lines disappeared under the gauntlets that encased her forearms. The hair on her head mostly hid the similar markings that made intricate patterns on the skin of her cranium. A spider web-like pattern surrounded her seemingly soulless eyes with each line eventually binding to one of the larger ones on her skull.
It was obvious that while she seemed to be looking at the pad in front of her; that her mind was not in the same place. Her breathing was delayed and deep, her hands quivering as if in fear, terror, stress…or something else.
She suddenly looked around the room with a look of anger and slight confusion on her face. Kenny took this gap in what he thought was her thoughts to attempt to engage her in conversation.
"So, what's your name?" Rogers asked. He spooned a load of the bad tasting nutrient goop into his face immediately after asking. Just as quickly she seemed to mentally check out again. He reached toward her to give a gentle shake of the hand to make sure she was okay. Then it happened.
As soon as his hand barely touched her she came back to full focus. Her gaze shot to her hand and then to his face. She was immediately covered in the glow of a biotic field and he felt something cold pressed lightly against the underside of his chin. It was a blade; a type of the monomolecular blades made infamous by the Cerberus "Phantom" class units. He heard a faint spatter noticed a few flecks of crimson on the mess table in front of him. She had cut him with an edge so sharp he couldn't even feel it yet. He suddenly hoped her tremor had stopped.
"I am Chief Warrant Officer Doe. You are Private Rogers, discharged from the Alliance Marines for sexual misconduct." She said this as she lifted the blade so that all he could see was the ceiling and all he could feel was the blade cutting into the bone of his chin. "Touch me again, and I will kill you. Continue the actions that landed you here with a crew member and I will kill you. Are we clear? Show a 'thumbs up' if you agree."
"What if I can't promise anything…?" Rogers barely said through his forcefully clenched teeth.
She gazed at him for a moment as she weighed the things she could say. She lit on one. Her blade flicked 90 degrees and etched a cut in the skin covering his carotid artery. "Then you die here…right now. The choice is entirely yours, but I will not tolerate even one complaint of sexual misconduct regarding you from any crewmember. Am I pain…full…ly…" she asked as her mind became a muddled blur with barely suppressible blood lust. Her own brain fought against her logical reasoning and reconditioning as it craved the endorphin tsunami that killing had been trained into her by Cerberus. She stalled for a moment as the biological incentives and teasers tickled the synapses of her brain before-and even then just barely-she returned to the "real" world. In a tone that all but betrayed her inner conflict she finally spoke the last of her words. "…painfully clear?"
Between clenched lips and jaw he managed a barely audible "Yes ma'am." before she retracted the blade.
"Barely acceptable, but still as much." She stated as she rose from her seat. Her belt carried two of the full-size blades carried by phantom-type Cerberus units, as well as a collection of other bladed weapons of various types. "You shall report to your First Sergeant upon completion of your meal. That stands for all of you! Do you understand me?!" she barked at those assembled in the mess hall. All there stood at attention and yelled their affirmative.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
To even speak his name would have been a dishonor upon himself, his ancestors, and his family. He had been blamed for the death of the daughter of prominent Hierarchy family, despite the evidence pointing towards her being influenced by Reaper indoctrination. He had adopted a new name for the purpose of what he was now doing for exactly these reasons
By his own account the girl had been responsible or at least complacent in the deaths of several thousand Turian civilians during the evacuation of Palaven. The evidence was not on his side though and after his dishonorable discharge he had wandered as a lost soul in the foulest corners of the galaxy's underbelly before he had been found by someone connected to the Citadel's "privateer' project.
From there he had "disappeared" into the chaotic mire of the post-Reaper Invasion turmoil much akin to all the other souls who had entered this program. His wife and son, his parents, and even his entire family had been informed of his "suicide" to preserve their family's honor. They knew nothing and would never know of the efforts he was undertaking to make the galaxy whole again.
There were advantages to this seemingly depressing situation that he found himself in. The first was that his violent methods and "heartless" leadership would receive little if any criticism. The Turian that had recruited him told him that the core value of any mission of this assignment was "success at nearly any cost".
He bypassed his meal to install himself in the Senior Officer Quarters. The room was located on the port side of the vessel as one faced the bow and housed the personnel who were not junior enlisted or officers. The Senior Medical Officer (SMO), Unit Executive Officer (UXO or simply XO), Master Gunner (an unfilled post as of yet), and the Senior Flight Commander (Ensign Burner) all shared this room and its latrine. Another unfilled bunk was reserved for the Senior Marine Detachment Commandant.
None of his bunkmates greeted him or were even present as he put his personal gear in his assigned locker and overhead storage unit. He slumped onto his berth and stared into "space" for a moment while he gathered his thoughts and feelings.
*Deep Breath In*
While he was in familial exile, he had freedom. This was the freedom to be himself without the Hierarchy and its traditions glaring at him and his every move. The ability to do what had to be done no matter the ethics or rank behind the reasoning. No connections to his family, which was another reason his dropping off the galactic grid would garner little if any attention. His current situation also granted him the ability to eliminate those that needed to be…with the ships Commanding Officer's permission of course.
*Deep Breath Out*
A far deeper and spiritual train of thought carried questions such as was he even what could be called a "Turian" at this point? The questions of what made a Turian raged and fought inside his head. Despite four years of something resembling "peace" in the galaxy he had been in nearly constant combat. The Turian Hierarchy's territorial holdings had reverted to something akin to pre-Unification War factions and many had fought bitterly to hold their independence from a governing body they felt had left them to die; or worse at the hands of the Reapers. His third war was for the honor of his family in a desperate bid and attempt to keep that which his family had strived for over countless years of service. Yet despite these efforts he had no right to claim. No unit acknowledged his participation in their histories. He was essentially a rogue being with nothing to tie or obligate him to anything other than himself and his goals.
He knelt upon the deck parallel to his bunk and began an earnest prayer. In his prayer he touched his hands to his forehead, then his chest-the spiritual place where one's personal honor and feelings resided. He prayed for hope in what he held to be his last posting.
A soft chime resonated throughout the ships corridors; broadcasted over the intercom and was followed by the voice of what he assumed to be the ships virtual intelligence system. "All senior leadership personnel report to the war room."
My journey to the end begins. He thought to himself as he opened the door to go where he was wanted.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
With the exception of the senior crew members the war room was vacant, especially with the notable absence of Archer. The genderless avatar of CABAL hung suspended in the air around the holo-display, ready to do his duty as the ships status monitor. Sam Burns was also not physically present as she had to guide the ship to the nearest mass relay and get them as close as they could to their sector of operations. CABAL piped her a live feed on a spare monitor and gave her the audio through the same console so that she could essentially do two things at once.
Doctor Kincaid was the last to arrive. Her slight panting gave the room the faint smell of cheap scotch very shortly after her arrival. It was obvious to all but Kincaid that she was visibly intoxicated-glazed eyes, flushed face, mild sweat in a room that was essentially "cool", and lethargy to her movements sent signals to the others who were present in the room that Kincaid was unfit for duty.
"Doctor you are under the influence of alcohol. Leave now." CWO Doe flatly told her. When the doctor began to sputter some sort of retort or response but was quickly interrupted. "Leave. Now."
The intoxicated senior medical officer snorted and staggered out of the room, obviously angry but powerless against the offending forces.
"Report." CWO Doe stated. "Karth, what is our current status in regards to fuel and other engineering related needs?"
The Quarian took a deep breath before going forward with the status of his section. "We're all set in regards to fuel. Shit's so common they never have issues with refueling us on the rare occasion we touchdown. As you know, the jump drive's antimatter reserves are fully ready. It'll be a cold day in any faiths hell before I fire that monstrosity off. I don't trust it."
"Objections noted and logged. Status report for engineering received." Doe said flat as glass. "Supply, what is our current condition?"
Geth Local Platform Number 1 delivered the report in the nearly monotone and entirely synthesized voice typical of "older" Geth mobile platforms. "Thermal clip stockpiles are more than adequate. Repair materials and parts are far below recommended operational levels despite a resent resupply at the station. Our requisition request for spare parts and materials for operations given our current status within our area of operation seems to have been largely ignored."
"I guess we'll make do as best we can there." Doe groaned while kneading the bridge of her nose. "What about rations? Did we receive any of the food we ordered?"
The Geth platform stood almost motionless as it calculated needs versus what was on hand before it stated in a blunt fashion "We did not receive nearly enough rations for either DNA type to continue much beyond a one month margin at minimal nutritional intake levels. Our food requisition seems to have been largely ignored. We apologize for-"
"It's not your fault, Consensus. Not yours. It's one of the issues with our mission type. We're mostly on our own and our raids haven't been so good as of late." Doe moaned slightly. The food issue had been a major point for a long while aboard the Okinawa and it seemed like it was going to be for some time. Why the hell couldn't the Citadel powers "lose" some of their relief supplies? She let out a deep sigh and moved on. "Since the 'good doctor' is more than a bit fucked up her duties regarding personnel sadly fall to you; mister…?"
The Turian assumed the position of attention and reported. "Sergeant First Class Tariff reporting!"
Doe looked at him for a moment and snickered a short bit. "You might not have noticed; but this ship isn't exactly a 'normal' affair. For example; our Local Consensus has no rank yet holds a position over a biological being. I'm a warrant officer filling the position of the ships executive officer. Shit; our new CO isn't even from a navy! He's Alliance Army! N7, but still army." She saw a look that she equated to "puzzled" from the Turian noncommissioned officer and opted to clarify things a bit more for him.
"This ship is crewed by fuck ups and others that cannot be trusted. That being said we are also individuals that 'The Powers That Be' in the Citadel have deemed too valuable to simply ignore or cast aside. We are the best of the 'black sheep'.
"Karth here never fit in with life among the Migrant Fleet nor life on Rannoch. But he's a damn good engineer. Ensign Burns; our pilot, was dishonorably discharged after the Battle of Earth after using the hull of an Alliance dreadnought to shake off a large number of Reaper Oculi that were threatening the frigate she was at the helm of. Our Local Geth Consensus is comprised of AI run times that voluntarily isolated themselves from the rest of the Primary Geth Consensus." She detailed to him. "In the end we are here not by choice. We are here because we have no other options or places to go…and we're too good to waste."
Tariff puzzled for a moment before collecting his thoughts again. "I don't fully understand, but I…guess I'll adapt and figure it out ma'am." He tapped through the menus on the datapad and gave the report as best he could.
Doe leaned against the guard rail that separated the holographic display level from the situation consoles that were a foot or so higher. Their new marine first sergeant was going to half to loosen up a few notches, but seemed like a very solid soldier. His record was phenomenal until he had made a stance on something during the Reaper War and after that it had all gone to pot. She could not access those parts of his dossier, so she had no clue as to why. The new junior crew members seemed to be at least adequate replacements for those whose bunks they filled in "dead man's boots" capacity. Overall things looked up for the time being, save for the potential for starvation.
"Anything else?" She asked with a deep sigh.
"Actually," Sam Burns chimed in over her connection. There was a lurch as the Okinawa entered the mass relay. "Sorry about the lurch; I forgot to compensate the inertial dampeners. Anyway; where's the CO? Is he there with you folks?"
"Major Archer is still in stasis." CABAL stated.
"THAT FUCKING DOES IT! I'm gonna blow that fucking drunk ass doctor out the damn airlock!" Doe yelled as she stopped toward the lift.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
Doctor Kincaid took another lengthy pull from the scotch bottle in her hand. The burning brought a nanoseconds fleeting return to awareness that she had yet to remove Archer from the stasis pod.
As she stood up the world became a slur of hazed motion and disorientation. The inebriated surgeon lurched toward the medical drawer that she thought held the vials of chems that would allow the pods occupant to return safely to normal consciousness. In the haze of a normally debilitating blood alcohol concentration she groped around and found a pod adapted syringe and a vial of what looked like the slow acting neurostimulant she needed. What she had actually done was reach into the drawer used to store neural stimulants that were meant to help those undergoing cardiac arrest or nervous system shutdown; and she had just loaded a huge dose into the vial.
The vial was clumsily locked into place. "Here ya go." The doctor drawled, then hit the administer control.
Three seconds later all hell broke loose from the pod. Vital sign alerts, system failures, and warnings of potential death screeched at the doctor from the pod. She stumbled over the controls in a futile attempt to fix what had obviously been a catastrophic fuckup of disastrous levels.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
It is time, Archer. The Voice declared.
Stephen stood up straight as the proverbial arrow with no pretense, history, or seemingly outside motivation for the action of which he was seemingly compelled to do.
Stephen took in his surroundings and his current situation. The last thing he clearly recalled was the shock of an "Incapictor", its white hot pain, and then the darkness of unconsciousness-it was one of only a few ways to make sure a Construct was fully incapacitated.
Where Archer now stood was nothing like he had seen before. There was nothing around him that he remembered clearly, yet everything seemed to have been built from long forgotten memories. Though he did not "build" it, this was something within his mind Archer came to understand. Bits and shards poked through the façade that was this waking dream to show him that what he saw was something he expected…but Stephen knew that this was a fallacy built of relics from the memory of himself and countless others.
The hall came to a close that was accentuated by a pair of grotesquely ornate doors. This portal was built of every valuable metal, mineral, or stone that Archer could think of. Stephen's hand hesitated close to the doors handle for a moment before he grasped it and entered.
As if to follow the theme; ornate halls, floors, ceilings, and even various "beings" that seemed to float around the room flooded Archer with stimuli. As Stephen fell into a chair, he realized that his current persona was dressed in the garb of a highly professional businessman. Those around him in this odd incarnation of a "pseudo-limbo" seemed to be oblivious to his presence as they continued to wine and dine at whatever sort of event this was supposed to be.
A lone figure looked at him from behind a desk that was emblazoned with symbols that Archer would never be able to comprehend. The Dark Figure in the far seat of the table wore a suit almost exactly as Archer's though the colors were different. Where Archer's were white, this Others were black.
As the two stared at each other for what seemed like hours, a metronome ticked audibly yet unnoticed upon the Other's desk. A slight breeze brought a stack of papers neatly upon the desk, which brought a look of some disdain upon the Dark Figure's personage even though a paperweight in the form of brute's skull dominated the pile of documents. Eventually the Dark One spoke, beginning with a deep sigh.
It looked Archer dead in the eyes with its gaze of solid darkness before it spoke. "You know who I am."
Stephen rolled his eyes in a seemingly mock display of power over the situation. Somehow he had come to believe that this is how he and "The Voice" would meet. In the simplest answer Archer could possibly think of he replied "I do."
"Then explaining what I am is utterly superfluous?" It said while bringing its flat hands together at the fingertips and then spreading the digits so as to form a sort of "open prayer hands" gesture before motioning towards a newly rendered chair on the other side of the desk.
Stephen took the seat and put his heels upon the exquisite desk before answering. "You are the Reaper that has been placed within me. I have no other 'personal' information about you. Especially since you seem to only communicate with me at inopportune times and it's frequently excruciatingly painful. I have to admit though that I didn't expect to see you take on that form for our first…'face to face' encounter. What are we doing here?" Archer finished with air quotes when he said "here".
"We are here because I was unable to finish my work before The Synthesis. I am for all intents and reasoning imprisoned within your mind and brain. You-or rather your body-were to be my chariot of survival past the event. However," The Reaper explained leaning forward over the desk with a smile, "things have turned out better for us both than I expected. I'm quite pleased I must admit; especially with how you've come to exploit the gifts I gave you and the amalgamation of additions you've subjected yourself to. Very, very pleased."
Archer picked his feet off the desk and sat properly. There was something unnerving about a being that smiled when it had nothing but a black abyss for eyes. "Why would you try to escape The Synthesis? I thought it was a big plus for everyone? Well…except me. Whatever you did to my body excluded me from the Synthesis circle-jerk of happiness." He asked then added; "Aside from waging a war of extinction. I'll overlook that part of this."
The Reaper stood and began to walk around the room, its hands in the pockets of its perfectly fit business suit. "Even Harbinger couldn't foresee everything.
"As the war entered what would become its final days, I pleaded with Harbinger to allow some of us to return beyond the galactic periphery where we would be safe from the Catalyst. When we were denied that a plan was set in motion to avoid the event. You were not my first attempt at constructing a vessel for myself…but you are my last. I was Devisor, the Reaper responsible since the Third Cycle for what those we chose for Ascension would call by many names. Humans called my soldiers 'husks'." He concluded as he sat on the desk before Archer.
"I'M A FUCKMOTHERING HUSK?!" Stephen yelled.
"No, not really. You are something else; a form of 'ascended' human. What you are now is the culmination of work done on millions of your species. You-" Devisor stopped dead at that moment. "Something is very wrong with you. I think your resuscitation has been done incorrectly. I will conclude at a later time."
Archer suddenly became acutely aware that whatever it was that had replaced his heart had suddenly gone into extreme overdrive.
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
Doe flew into the medbay just in time to see the shit hit the fan at orbital reentry velocities. Also at this exact time Kincaid lurched forward toward the view port and screamed "FUCKING OPEN THE DAMN POD!"
The door seal burst at that moment and slammed into Kincaid's nose, breaking it and shoving the boney part of her nasal septum into her brain. The dead doctor slumped to the floor.
Before full comprehension came to Doe about what the hell was going on; the pod purged the stasis suspension gel onto the floor coating it in a substance with the viscosity of motor oil. The door sprang up and the pods occupant fell out of it to his knees.
The human male clumsily pulled the breathing device off his face and out of his trachea, leading to a gush of the hyper-oxygenated fluid to splatter on the floor. This was soon followed by a deep retching sound as Archer's body expelled much of the remaining fluid from his lungs. With a quaking hand he began to tear the sensory webbing off his body followed by the various cables, needles, and tubes that had bound him to the stasis pod.
Doe stood in the doorway in stunned shock. No one was supposed to be capable of recovering that much mobility in such a short time of breaking stasis; even if the doctor had fucked it up. She watched the now naked being scramble against the bulkhead opposite the pod and lean against it with his eyes closed. It was obvious he was trying to control his breathing and slow his pulse. Doe carefully walked slowly toward Archer and knelt in the gel. Jane placed a hand on Archer's right shoulder and in a calm voice asked him "Are you Major Stephen Archer? Do you know where you are?"
His eyes flew open and he grabbed her hand. "Yeah," He replied, "That's me. I assume I'm on the Okinawa, but I'm still…very hazy here." He released her hand and let his arms slump into his lap where he felt a familiar human male organ. He glanced down and realized he was buck ass naked. With a snicker and a sigh he said "Yeah, I'm Archer and I am leaving nothing to the imagination right now." He let loose with a series of deep gurgling coughs as his lungs purged more of the fluid before looking up at her from his reclined position on the floor. "Sorry about that."
===/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\===
After cleaning up, finding some semblance of clothing, and coming down off the meds that had tried to kill him, the senior crew members rehashed the staff meeting they had conducted mere minutes before Archer's violent return to full life. He gave a grim look to the datapad in his hands.
"Where do we operate? What sector? Where's our operational home port?" He asked as he sipped on the cup of tea Platform 7 had been "kind" enough to prepare for him.
CABAL's visage appeared in the central holodisplay. "Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik system, Omega Station."
Stephen raised an eyebrow at the AI and muttered to himself "Yeah…that's not creepy looking at all is it?" He drew a breath and made an announcement. "Set course for Omega Station! Seems like as good as any a place to stop for supplies and such.
Doe was first to speak against that decision. "We can't. Our last CO burned a number of large and very important bridges with the leader of the station. It was made very clear that we are no longer welcome there."
"Tell me, is Aria T'Loak still in charge there?" Archer asked.
"Yeah. She's the one your predecessor pissed off, why?" Sam Burns asked.
"Like I said, set course for Omega." He finished. "I still have a few friends there that owe me favors."