Chapter 03: Fitting In
"Ahh, Minuteman space station, a glorified nowhere hole in the middle of the ever backwards Horse Head Nebula. Home to pirates, criminal cartels and the ever so lovely Noveria 'look out for our berserk Rachni' research corporations. What a grand view it is to take in. Yeah right." Jeff Moreau snorted, taking another pull from his drink as he looked out the station's wide windows to look at the mostly empty starfield. "Come on over to these coordinates. We have a new ship for you to test out. It's just like your old one, only better. But you can't use it yet, and no sneaking aboard!" He raised his voice in a scratchy falsetto mockery of the communications that had brought him here. "Assholes."
As assholes went, they were really nice for an organization that made a living by turning nightmares into reality. Better than the Alliance jerks who just wanted to bury everything. The old saw about failure being an orphan took a big about turn when it came to the Alliance. Most of the Normandy crew had been understanding about it. Garrus had been sore for days, but that had been because of the Commander. Still had a pole up his butt, but at least he wasn't going to beat him over the head with it, and he hadn't held the grudge long. Nobody really expected a capital ship from who knows where with beam weapons that sliced straight through armor to suddenly just appear out of nowhere and see a stealth frigate without warning. But the Powers-That-Be had in their infinite wisdom appointed a paternity suit for failure, and it all landed squarely on Joker's head. The psychiatrists had locked him up for days after the interrogations were over, looking for anything to pick his bones with, maybe toss him out with a dishonorable discharge. Well, that hadn't worked out like they hoped. He'd still ended up permanently grounded though.
"See how they like getting along with second rate helmsmen." He snorted, tossing the empty soda can into a waste receptacle. The healthy flyboys from his old class had finally gotten what they wanted, contributed to it the way they murdered his accomplishments with snide little comments and needle jab gossip with the officers during his downfall. Brittle boy out of the way in the corner where they could give him the occasional condescending pat on the head, assured that their their mediocrity wouldn't be challenged by the 'wimp'.
It hadn't been long after his grounding when Cerberus showed up and made him an offer he couldn't refuse... just without the baseball bats. It didn't take much to put the hurt on the glass bones kid after all. But they hadn't called themselves Cerberus, and they didn't bring bats either. Fuchisky Orbital Concerns they had called themselves, a completely legit starship manufacturer listed in the Galaxy 500 of top conglomerates with an impressive track record longer than a dreadnought of building the fastest and twitchiest spacecraft ever. Drive our shiny new ships they'd said, find if there's a problem with them, make them better, and we'll see about fixing your legs better than before as a bonus. He didn't even need the second offer to be convinced. Flying was the only thing he ever cared about. Heck, flying was his legs. And with the Alliance wanting to bury him rather than see him as even a single bar rated shuttle pilot, he kissed those jerks goodbye.
And it was good. He got to fly their latest prototypes, have his suggestions on their design taken seriously, and they hadn't asked him any questions about his past. That suited him just fine. In retrospect, he should have seen it coming, how they played him but good. Once he had gotten comfortable with the ships, the money and the power assists for his legs, they'd hit him with the big question. How would he like to fly the real hot stuff? Just a few more responsibilities other than testing their consumer line ships. Courier jobs and the like. For Cerberus that is. He'd almost balked at that, certain that the Commander would come hurtling out of deep space and trash him zombie style if he did. Unlike most people, he'd seen what Cerberus had been up to, and that made his skin crawl.
"And he would kick my ass." He muttered aloud, scuffing his boots on the floor. The Commander wasn't the sort to die easy. Sure, he had seen him get spaced in a suit that couldn't hold more than an hour of air, and then get blown up with the rest of the ship, but he was equally sure Shepard was going to show up some day and commence some unholy ass kicking. Probably starting with him. Crazy, he knew, mixed with more than a bit of denial since rescuing his ass was the only reason Shepard didn't take the first escape pod out. But Shepard had built a career on crazy. Zombie Shepard was just another flavor of his particular brand of crazy.
But he signed up anyway. Why the hell not? They were doing a lot more for him than the Alliance ever had. There was also that whole 'you can check out, but you can't ever leave' vibe they had going, but he didn't really need that to start taking Cerberus paychecks. Well, maybe it had disturbed him, just a bit. Flying was everything to him sure, but doing it for an organization like Cerberus felt like betraying the Commander and everything he'd done. But they'd thrown in another bone along with their offer, the not so subtle rumors of the colony attacks. Work with us, and you'll be a part of the effort to put a stop to this, since everyone else seems to be sitting on their thumbs. They hadn't outright said it, but they'd hinted at the Reapers being involved, which was a change, since the last time someone mentioned them seriously, they'd been vacationing on planet Denial. But if the Reapers were involved, well, that was alright then wasn't it? The Commander would have wanted to keep on fighting them until the threat was over, he even went rogue from Alliance command to do it when they were chasing Saren. So long as they didn't make him start doing the freakier things that had solidified Cerberus's reputation as nightmare fuel, he figured he was in the clear.
And they gave him back his baby. They'd rebuilt the Normandy, everything from her sleek engines to that distinctive slope cut nose crowned with twin sensor fins that no other ship in the galaxy had. Sure, she was a bit bigger than the old Normandy, and he hadn't really put her through the paces yet, but who cared about that? He was never the hero type, but saving the human colonies, his baby back, and they were asking him to helm it? It was like a dream come true. All he needed now was to actually sit behind the helm and all would be right with the universe. Except for the colonists who'd vanished in the Terminus systems, but that was why he was here.
Course Cerberus was hiding around the corner to beat him with the other shoe once he got over the experience. He kinda expected that. The Normandy was a warship, and you didn't build something like that, or get the best damn pilot there ever was to fly it, if you weren't going to toss it into some serious fire. The getting shot at part, he didn't worry much about. They didn't tell him who was going to be the captain, but his money was on some Cerberus flyboy, or flylady. Sure, he figured they were going to do something about the colony attacks, but he'd never been under a Cerberus captain before, one who was probably going to start doing things that were going to give him nightmares. With him at the helm. Which was great. Really. Jeff Moreau, AKA Joker, AKA the kid with glass bones. Wanted dead or alive for crimes against humanity. Mom and Dad would be so proud. Still, they gave him back his baby and fixed his legs so he could walk, okay maybe hobble, without having to use crutches or powered limb assists nowadays. He figured he could check out what their captain was like first. It wasn't like he could back out now anyway.
And that's why he was cooling his heels in the hallway of this middle-of-nowhere station when he could have been staring at the new Normandy hidden away in its darkened hanger bay. The captain-to-be was having a meeting with the Illusive Man in the room across the hallway, the Cerberus boss as rumor went. Best as he could figure, that meant someone with big brass on their chest, if Cerberus ever got around to handing out medals for accomplishments rather than anonymous paychecks. That was square. He didn't really see the point in having the whole prestige thing in medals anyway. It's not like you ever wore them unless you were on parade. But it was his experience that the higher you went in any organization, the bigger the asshole you got. Didn't really make a difference what kind of asshole. After his stint in the Alliance, he had seen all the kinds he figured there ever could be in the universe.
Speaking of assholes, there came one of the few exceptions on Cerberus payroll, walking down the hallway.
"I see you're waiting to get a look at your new captain." Jacob strolled up to Joker, ever present sidearm strapped to his waist, combat bodysuit pressed and shiny down to his polished boots, clean shaven and crew cut. Joker by comparison was distinctly slovenly with his rolled up shirt sleeves, wrinkled pants, not to mention his scraggly beard and mustache. Cerberus wasn't as big on uniformity as the Alliance was, but apparently Jacob was ex-Alliance marine, the sort who took the whole military spic and span thing with him when he changed jobs. Still, he was one of nice guys, for a guy who knew a thousand and one ways to fold him into a pretzel and dump the remains in a trashcan before anyone was the wiser. Jacob just lifted an eyebrow at the state of his uniform and turned to lean on the railing behind him. Yeah. Way too nice.
"Just making sure we don't get anyone... special as captain. You know, like a krogan warlord, specially one of the old school ones." He hastily added when the Cerberus operative lifted yet another eyebrow. "Would be an interesting experience, if a short lived one." He suddenly stabbed a finger out into the empty hallway, growling in a poor mimicry of a krogan's deep bass voice. "We will feast on the Salarians, wipe out the Turians and drop the Asari into the sun. Our vengeance will be complete against those who've stolen our destiny! The Krogan horde will rise again!"
Jacob just chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. "I think that's going to be rather unlikely Moreau. You should know better than that by now."
He just waved his hands in surrender. "Yeah, yeah. Cerberus has that 'by humanity, for humanity one and all' creed, I know. It's just that I'm going to have a captain looking over my shoulders again, and I don't have any idea what he's going to be captains had a bit of a standardized thing going for them in how to act, but you guys don't really have one of those, long as you get the job done." Jacob didn't respond to that, and he fell silent for a while, thinking about whether to get another drink or wait out the silence with Jacob. In the end, he picked the third option. "I mean, Cerberus let me fly again, so that's good, but I'm a bit worried about the kind of person we'll be getting. Sure, we're supposed to be stopping the colony attacks, but who knows what this guy has in mind to achieve that? I don't know."
"Fair enough." Nodding, Jacob crossed his hands and leaned further back on the railing. "I wouldn't be here either if Cerberus didn't walk their talk about protecting humanity. Doubt we'll have much trouble with your new captain walking the talk either from what I've seen." He paused for a moment. "What if I were to say it was someone you already knew?"
"Oh come on, it's not you is it?" Panic flashed through Joker at the thought. "I mean, no offense, you're a nice guy and all, but you being a captain isn't really... wait. It's not Miranda is it?" If the idea of Jacob as captain had made him panic, that thought of the Cerberus officer placed in that role had him frozen in terror. She had the smarts for it, never doubt that for a second. But he could see that her reputation was well earned from the few encounters he had with the stone cold lady who had a mind that was like a... he couldn't even think it. She'd find out somehow and he'd never survive the reprisal. He'd be lucky to get spaced in a day, if he didn't do it himself first.
"Could have been her." A wry grin made it's way onto Jacob's face as Joker shuddered. "Almost was in fact because of some... technical difficulties. But there was a last minute change in lineup, so you'll have the commanding officer the Illusive Man originally planned for." He paused, waiting for the ex-Alliance pilot to breathe a sigh of relief before dropping his next surprise. "She'll still be attached to your unit though, as the Cerberus operations head and liaison."
"What? You..." Joker scrabbled for words, stumbling over them before throwing his hands into the air when he spotted the bemused expression on Jacob's face. "You know what? That's it, I'm done." He descended into a moody silence, grumpily wearing a hole in his boots with a steady regimen of floor scuffing. Jacob just stood there with his back to the railing, a patient expression on his face. Long minutes dragged by before Joker finally gave in. "Ok, I'll bite. Who's the captain going to be?"
An eye flicked his way before flicking back to the door where the new captain was supposed to be. "Guess you should know. Makes no difference whether it's now or a couple of minutes later." He took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and dropped his biggest shocker.
"Commander Shepard."
He must have looked like a fish, hanging there with his mouth open, but he couldn't help it. Shepard, alive? He wasn't going to go all 'braaaains' on them was he? Then reality asserted itself and Joker snapped his mouth shut with a click, glar daggers at Jacob. "Ha, real funny Jacob. Next you'll tell me you've gotten Saren back from the dead as a two for one deal."
"It's no joke, Moreau. Here, take a look"
He fished a datapad from a belt pouch and held it out for Joker to see. The pilot blinked. It was a human face, scarred in a lot of places with the telltale glow of cybernetics lurking under some of the deeper cuts while the skin had a dry, leathery look that could have indicated implants for burns. Tubes were plugged into the broken nose and mouth, but even with the limited view, there was no mistaking that distinctive face, square chin and all, that would have set him out among a thousand. There was a time stamp on the video, indicating it had been taken three months ago. But the man had been spaced. Nobody had shown up to make a rescue for days after the Normandy broke up. There wasn't any way he could have survived unless... very slowly, he pulled his eyes from the image. "You son of a- you guys had him all this while, didn't you?" His eyes narrowed. "And what technical difficulties?"
Jacob just shrugged. "We didn't pick him up floating in space if that's what you're thinking. Lot of people wanted the body, we just ended up being the ones who held it the longest. As for the technical difficulties..." He shifted from foot to foot, the first sign of discomfort he had ever seen in the man. "Let's just say that some people really didn't want him to wake up from his coma and we had to take a few shortcuts to get him up in time. You might have some difficulty recognizing him now."
"Facial reconstruction surgery?" Joker snorted. He didn't buy the man's story yet, but this was Shepard he was talking about. "Aw, that wouldn't change him much. The commander's got this way of talking and holding himself up that really sets him apart you know? Wouldn't change a thing if he looks a bit different."
"We'll see soon enough." Jacob replied cryptically, nodding his head towards the meeting room where the door was starting to slide open. "Just try not to panic too much."
"Why, did you guys turn him into a floating jellyfish like the Hanar?" He riposted halfheartedly, directing his attention to the opening doorway as well. "Cause, that would be really awkward and- whoah, the commander rates a security mech bodyguard now?"
A YMIR assault platform was stomping out the doorway, servos whining as its optics flicked from one corner of the hallway to the other, settling it's attention on the two of them and changing course accordingly. Joker lifted an eyebrow at Jacob, noting that unlike the bone white paint jobs most mechs had, this one was painted in the grey tones of the special forces marines, with signature single red stripe running down one shoulder. Jacob just stood there watching the mech closer with a patient look on his face. The eyebrow went even higher when the doorway slid shut with nobody else following the mech out. "You can't mean-"
"That's no bodyguard Mr Moreau" Jacob quietly answered his unspoken question, snapping to attention at the mechs approach. "That's Shepard." He fired off a quick salute. "Commander."
"JACOB" The mech bobbed its head in acknowledgment, and then turned its sensor pod towards Joker. "JOKER. I THINK YOU ARE AS SURPRISED TO SEE ME AS I AM TO SEE YOU"
Absently, Joker put a hand under his chin and pushed his mouth closed, trying not to stare at the hulking mech in front of him and failing miserably. Beside him, Jacob's bemused expression widened into an open grin. "I said you might have a bit of problem recognizing him didn't I?" He heard that, but Joker's mind was in too much of a shocked fugue to give him a more deserving reply than a raised middle finger. Eventually, he took off his cap and scrubbed a hand through his unkempt hair, looking uncertainly at the mech.
"Well... at least you can't eat my brains then. You can't eat can- uhm, forget I said anything."
Metal plate clanked under his feet as he walked down the passageway of the command deck, looking at the familiar bulkheads and consoles while trying to contain his sense of wonder. The ship wasn't exactly the same, bigger than her predecessor, her internal spaces sufficiently large enough to house a small fabrication plant in the armory and science lab, facilities that the original would never have been able to house. But the layout was similar enough that he could practically navigate the entire ship by memory alone, as if he had never left the original Normandy, or watched it's funeral pyre as the enemy's weapons sliced through her armor like paper.
Similar, yet starkly different. He stopped by the elevator access, noting another Cerberus logo stamped under the level indicator, just like those stamped on the uniforms of the crew. That had been a surprise, learning that such a secretive organization actually had an identifiable logo. His previous encounters with Cerberus personnel had always been thoroughly anonymous. Perhaps the Illusive Man saw this exception as a mark of personal pride, or as a reminder to the crew of where their loyalties lay, or maybe it was just an affectation of the shipyard staff. Whatever they intended, he saw it as a reminder of the kind of organization he was working with, and to be ready for the inevitable betrayal. Summoning the elevator, he wondered if Joker had felt the same as he had when they recruited him.
It hadn't been long since his reunion with the ex-Alliance pilot, and the ever quipping Joker had been more than ecstatic to show him the new Normandy that was to be his command, firmly ensconcing himself in the new leather seats once the impromptu tour was over. After Shepard assured him that his brains were quite safe in his head of course. Joker's sardonic sense of humor was as much a piece of familiar comfort from the ship that had been his home as the ship itself, even if he was wearing a Cerberus uniform. It was a strained sort humor, Joker hadn't been briefed on his condition before their first meeting, but if Joker could face him in the eye and still make a gallows humor joke about brain eating robot zombies, he could believe that Joker was taking the news remarkably well. There had been an awkward moment when he confessed to working for Cerberus for several months already, but Shepard wasn't willing to hold it against him when he had explained his reasons, or what the Alliance had done to him and the rest of the crew. Other than that, the helmsman had been more uncomfortable about the unprecedented addition to the crew than he had about his machine body.
"Mr Moreau, sabotaging the bridge cameras is not 'personalizing your workspace'."
"Just a little grease on their lenses, in case they get all squeaky and noisy... like ship cancer does."
The helm controls were located at the bow end of the command deck, and he was next to the elevator access on the starboard side, yet the voices carried easily enough across the distance, both from gesticulating human and pulsing holographic orb that was the ships cyberwarfare artificial intelligence. Privately bemused, he stepped into the elevator and let the door close on their little tit for tat. Joker had reacted venomously to the Enhanced Defense Intelligence, shortened to EDI, the moment he had found out about it, immediately setting about ways and means of reducing its presence in the helm short of active sabotage, something he had cautioned the pilot against. In truth, he shared Joker's concerns about an artificial intelligence on the ship, even one shackled to a very limited set of functions, seeing how all four examples of synthetic sapience he had come across in his service to the Alliance had unanimously tried to kill him in ways from mundane to ingenious.
But EDI hadn't tried to kill them yet, and from the initial discussions he had with the artificial intelligence, he had to admit that it's capabilities would be incredibly useful in any ship combat they found themselves in. He tried not to think dwell on the fact that all those incredibly useful capabilities would also be equally effective against him in his current condition. So long as EDI remained a benign AI, he could live with the fact that it's other function was to be a conduit for the Illusive Man's shipboard surveillance taps. What he would say and do to the Illusive Man if he had a choice in the matter however, was a lot less forgiving. Investment he may be, but the amount of trust the Illusive Man was asking from him was no small measure, and trust was a two way lane that didn't require constant surveillance.
The elevator doors hissed open, revealing an aged but familiar face who blinked once at the sight of him, and then crinkled a faint smiled as recognition lit up in her eyes.
"Commander Shepard, what did I tell you about relying too much on artificial performance enhancements?" Doctor Chakwas shook her head in mock exasperation, hands on her hips, sounding all too much like a doting aunt finding her favorite nephew in the middle of some minor indiscretion. Like stealing cookies... or stimulant abuse.
"OVER RELIANCE BECOMES DEPENDENCY YOU SAID" He lifted an arm to the sensor pod that was his head, his thoughts about the Illusive Man's surveillance put aside for genuine delight at seeing another familiar face. A simple mental command had the gun sheathes snapping open and close a few times. "IT APPEARS TO BE TRUE"
"Maybe next time you will listen to me when I give advice as your doctor then." She admonished with that faintly amused smile, moving away from the elevator and allowing him to step out. He had to hunch so as to avoid hitting the lower ceiling in the crew deck, something that she didn't fail to notice with a brief shake of her head. "I watched the Normandy crumble with you on board. It's good to see you still alive."
"AT COST"
"So it seems commander." That faint smile dampened a little, and she sighed. "A heavy price at that." She gave a small shake of her head, motioning for him to follow. "I think it best we continue this in the sick bay."
Medical, like every other room on the ship, was larger than it's analogue on the original Normandy. The shipyard outfitters had spared no expense in cramming the available spaces with top of the line scanners and robotic surgery stations. Filled as the room was, there was still enough space for the desk laden with all the accouterments that doctors seemed to gather. Chakwas took one of the open chairs, craning her head to look Shepard in the sensor pod. "I read the medical reports regarding your recovery and the circumstances surrounding it you know. I didn't know quite what to make of it when I first saw it. I thought it a joke in poor taste. Especially what happened at the end." A half smile, half grimace, made it's way onto her face. "It didn't take long for them to show me otherwise. How are you feeling commander?"
He paused on the brink of answering, considering her question for a while. Physically, he had little cause for complaint. There was no pain, no discomfort, and if his limbs still moved a little stiffly at times when he willed them to action, he could put that down to the limitations of the hardware in which it was built with. As far as he could tell, he felt perfectly fine, what was left of him to feel anyway. But at the same time, everything was... dulled was the only word that came to mind. He didn't feel blood pounding in his ears when he was being shot at, or pain when something punched through shields and armor to strike at him.
There were alarms and damage alerts instead, warning him when something had gone wrong. But they were on the fringes of his attention, easily overlooked unless he paid attention to them. Compared to the pain and fatigue he would feel as a human, they just weren't the same. Sensory loss he told himself, a natural consequence of shifting everything to machine senses. It wasn't as if he had forgotten what it was like to be human. Akuze, Elysium, his actions on Torfan, those memories defined him, pushed him to keep going no matter what, and they would stay with him his entire lifetime. He would deal with the loss of senses, maybe adapt to them somehow. But he didn't see any point in burdening the doctor with something that couldn't be helped at the moment.
"WELL ENOUGH TO WISH THERE WAS MORE OF THE ORIGINAL CREW"
She smiled and shook her head, taking his words at face value. "Our commander, ever the unshakable core. Most people would have been changed by the kind of trauma you endured, but not you I see. It's good to see you back on your feet, such as they are."
"WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE ALLIANCE CHAKWAS"
Now the smile vanished as her eyes took on a distant look. "After the Normandy was lost, things changed. Most of the surviving crew were reassigned and they grounded poor Joker. I was assigned to the Mars Naval Medical Center." She sighed. "A very respectable position, but it wasn't a starship. I told myself that it was simply time to come to terms with the losses we suffered, but the truth was that I was to be kept out of Alliance affairs the only way they knew how. I began to miss the creak of bulkheads and the subtle vertigo when the momentum dampers kicked in, but my requests to be reassigned were always rejected. And then a most curious man came along, asking if I would work for the organization he represented. I believe you might have met him."
"CERBERUS. JACOB"
"Quite so" She nodded, leaning back in her chair as she looked to the ceiling. "It was half a year ago when he came to my office, with the medical logs detailing your recovery. I didn't believe it at first, but the evidence the man had brought was very compelling. When he said you were being brought back to save the missing colonists, that was all the reason I needed to leave the Alliance." She turned her gaze from the ceiling and directed a stern one at him. "I don't work for Cerberus commander, I work for you. I trust that your dealings with them will be ethical."
Joker had expressed the same sentiment, though the pilot had been far more verbose and sarcastic about it. None of the other crew he had talked to had been as wary of the organization as he hoped they would be. That these two did, and would likely back him up if things did come to a head, was a comforting thought. He bobbed his sensor pod in reply, and then paused, considering one thing he had not thought of. Joker already knew the stakes and the risks, but committed all the same even before he had known about him. Chakwas was here because he was, and he wouldn't have her follow him without understanding the risks.
"THIS IS A HIGH RISK MISSION. CHANCES OF NOT RETURNING IS VERY LIKELY"
She crinkled a smile at his implied question. "We survived Saren and the Reapers, Commander, as well as the destruction of the Normandy. And now you're here to save those colonists from whatever it is that's taking them away. I've lived a full life, and I have no regrets. If we don't survive on this mission, I want to at least know that my life was spent trying to give the rest of the crew a chance that I've had." She sobered momentarily, leaning forward in her chair. "Tell me commander, if you don't mind my prying." She waved a hand at the sick bay window, gesturing at the mess hall and beyond. "What do you think of all this? Working with Cerberus."
He replied instantly.
"THERE IS A HIGH CHANCE OF REAPER INVOLVEMENT IN THE ATTACKS. THE COLONISTS MUST BE PROTECTED. I DO NOT FAVOR OUR ARRANGEMENT WITH CERBERUS BUT THEY ARE THE ONLY OPTION AT THIS TIME"
"Our immovable core, always ready to do what he believes in." She teased with an amused expression on her face. "They just don't make them like you anymore do they commander?"
He shifted his sensor pod left to right, focusing on the articulate, angular metal blocks that were his arms.
"I HOPE NOT"
It didn't take long after saying his goodbyes to Chakwas for Shepard to finish his tour of the ship, chatting briefly with some of the crew before finally coming to a stop in the cargo hold that would be his impromptu quarters for the foreseeable future. The captain's quarters that were to be his had he been sufficiently intact at the time of his awakening were... not suitable to house his current body. Lacking both space and the equipment needed to maintain and repair his body, the captains quarters would remain sealed until they had luxury of time to refit them. Given the nature of their mission, he found it unlikely that they would have the time or resources to do so until the current threat was dealt with. For now, he would make do with the mech maintenance scaffold the Cerberus technicians had hastily installed in one corner of the cargo bay.
Making do... he swung his optics across the expanse of the cargo bay, noting the drop shuttle hanging from the ceiling gantry and the fabricator modules installed in the central command post. The old Normandy would never half been able to fit more than half the things he saw in the cargo spaces, even disassembled. In retrospect, he was making do with far more hard resources at his disposal than he ever had when he had the full backing of the Alliance military. Politics and necessity had made him a Spectre, a direct agent of the Citadel Council, but it certainly hadn't meant an opening of credit chits to fund necessary equipment acquisitions. By comparison, the Illusive Man had practically showered money not just on bringing him back, but outfitting his mission with the best tools available, while giving him nearly total free reign with command decisions.
He couldn't help but make comparisons to the human ambassador, Udina, who had constantly stonewalled his best efforts to fight against Saren with endless red tape and complaints designed only to deflect criticism away from the politician and dump them straight onto him. If he had the Citadel Council and Udina's full backing, Saren's mad plan would have been on the wrong end of orbital bombardment on Virmire, instead of getting away to lead his assault on the Citadel itself. Little wonder why more than half the crew were former Alliance specialists. Talented but individualistic, they were disaffected by the stumbling blocks endemic to Alliance politicking and ended up leaving for an organization that cared more about results than it did about politics. And the results showed. He could see the appeal in the promises of the organization himself.
Except it was Cerberus that was funding all of this. The other crew didn't have the experiences he had with the organization, their bloody reputation considered to be exaggerations and ghost stories for the most, at least among those that had heard of their reputation. Mess sergeant Rupert Gardner, the two engineers Garbriella and Kenneth, they hadn't even heard anything at all about Cerberus but the name. To them, Cerberus was the only one who was fighting the Collectors, and by extension the Reapers, while the rest of the galaxy hid in the lockers and pretended that everything was fine. He knew better than to believe that they were just that.
The hiss of elevator doors opening prematurely ended his musings. He turned to find one of the Cerberus crew joining him on the cargo deck, her ginger hair instantly marking her apart from the crew that he had already met. That piqued his curiosity. Aside from outfitting the shuttles for orbital drops and the odd maintenance, no one had a permanent station on the cargo deck. Which meant she had left her station, whatever it was, to see him. She walked up to him, stopping at a short distance before saluting.
"I'm Yeoman Kelly Chambers. I've been assigned as your administrative assistant."
Administrative assistant? Now he found himself genuinely curious. It explained why she was here, but that was a posting he didn't expect to hear for anyone on a warship. In the corporate world, where that usually meant an administrator, just without that many responsibilities or authority, it was expected. On a warship, much less a Cerberus military vessel? Whatever paperwork he had to deal with could be handled by a VI.
"I'll manage your messages," She continued smoothly, "and help you monitor your crew."
Manage his messages? Go through his mail she meant. 22nd century communications technology didn't mean real time communications all the time across intergalactic space, so having an internal mailing system in the Cerberus network for mission updates made sense. Unless whatever junk filters he had attached to his account was so thoroughly outdated that they'd let through any kind of trash, spam mail not being a unique earthling invention in the millennium or so of galactic civilization, she was another pair of Cerberus eyes, except they were a charming green, and in official capacity. Not that it was necessary. He had trouble believing that anything of note that ended up in his account wouldn't also find it's way to the Illusive Man's eyes the moment they arrived. But monitor his crew? What did that mean exactly?
"And I must say, it's such an honor to be working under you Commander Shepard." Chambers added with a smile, sounding every bit as earnest as he was suspicious.
"GOOD TO HAVE YOU ABOARD" He replied perfunctorily, wondering how to deal with this particular situation. Professional respect, he could deal with. The crew knew who they represented, what they were doing, and who he was supposed to be. Probing where their loyalties lay, and how best to bind them to him, was something he could do at his own pace. But earnest admiration like Chambers here was always difficult to deal with, determining the plant from the honest ones wasn't easy. He decided to play for more mundane information instead. "YOU MENTIONED MONITORING THE CREW"
"I monitor their mental states Commander." She answered demurely, shifting her weight subtly to one side, looking quite at ease. "As a trained psychologist, my job is to keep a lookout for any particular signs of mental stress and help them adjust to it. If there are any serious issues that the crew has, I bring them to your attention."
The Alliance had crew filling similar roles on their larger ships, so her explanation made enough sense that her role didn't seem out of place. Not really. But he hadn't ever heard of it called monitoring the crew. "SHIP COUNSELOR"
"That's one way of looking at it, but not officially" She corrected. "People are more wary about expressing themselves when they know that someone is analyzing them. I can do my job better if they don't really know that I'm watching them."
Sensible and clever. Of course by telling him this, that either meant she wasn't as clever as she implied, or she was trying to get his trust. If she was one of the honest ones, he could use that as his link to the rest of the crew. He decided to test it out anyway.
"YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED TO THE NORMANDY. HOW DOES IT FEEL"
"How does it feel?" She sounded surprised at the question. "I was hand picked by the Illusive Man to fight the greatest known threat to the entire human race. How do I feel? Honored, exhilarated, terrified." She said the last word with a faint quaver to her voice, but then it perked up again as she continued. "But mostly, I feel encouraged knowing that you're with us on this fight. Under your leadership, we can't fail."
Oh. One of these ones.
"WE WILL DEFEAT THE COLLECTORS"
Her eyes lit up at the statement. "I trust you implicitly commander. The moment I met you, I knew I could close my eyes, fall back, and you'd be there."
He bobbed his sensor pod in reply to her claim, but kept from saying anything else. He'd be there? To laugh at her naivety, or to catch her? Definitely one of those types. She either had a good act, or... he really didn't want to entertain the thought. Odd now that he thought of it, he didn't remember seeing her put off even slightly by his countenance so far. Not once. She hadn't flinched or looked away when he brought his sensor pod to bear on her. Most of the crew had been a little too intimidated to look him in the... eye, so to speak. Under other circumstances, he might have found it charming. As it was, he found it to be a little disturbing that she was acting as if he was still flesh and blood rather than cerebral matter and war machine. And then it hit him. She was trying to put him at ease, treating him as a normal, if accomplished, human being! He revised his initial impression of the woman. Smarter than she looked and sounded. That didn't mean he trusted her, yet. But she could be a valuable ally if things came to a head.
"PERHAPS WE WILL TALK LATER. THERE ARE MATTERS I MUST ATTEND TO"
The spark in her eyes dimmed a little, but she nodded and flashed him a quick smile. "Of course Commander. Maybe we'll talk later."
He watched her go, remaining there until the elevator doors hissed shut before turning his back on it and heading to one of the alcoves in the cargo bay. Hand picked by the Illusive Man, a trained psychologist, and being unusually friendly for someone she had just met? He would not have put it past the Illusive Man to try and send someone who's job was to persuade him to work fully with Cerberus, whitewashing their past with earnest smile, sparkling green eyes and assurances that they weren't 'all that bad'. It wasn't a bad ploy, but it could be turned around to his advantage against Cerberus if it became necessary. And it wasn't as if the charms were entirely lost on him, lack of necessary parts or not. The mech vocalizer hissed with a flat sound that would have been it's closest analogue of an amused snort.
He stepped into the maintenance alcove, the scaffold unfolding to its full height with the pneumatic hiss of hydraulics as automated sensors scanned his body specifications. Articulated robotic arms unpacked from the scaffold, triple digit manipulators latching onto and removing armor plate from his torso and arms with mechanical precision. Constant bursts of data chatter from his diagnostic VI and the scaffold guided the process, fueling docks clamping onto open ports, hissing with He3 fuel while a separate pair of mechanical arms probed his back, extracting spent life support canisters of nutrient rich solution and installing fresh ones. He remained still throughout the process, recognizing the irony of it all.
The former Spectre expected Cerberus to dispose of him sooner or later if he couldn't be fully turned to their will, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. The Illusive Man would not need to turn EDI or the crew on him if he decided that he was becoming too great a threat to be allowed to live. He could simply lock out the scaffold remotely with a sleeper program, one buried so deeply in the core systems that he would never find until it went live, and wait him out.
He had spent a great deal of time examining his body ever since returning from Freedom's Progress, not just to find his limits, but to determine what made his new body tick, what could be improved on and more importantly, how dependent he was on Cerberus support. The answer was a whole damned lot. Even if he discounted the precision control equipment embedded in the machine body and the daily calibrations it required to keep from malfunctioning, the sophisticated array of life support systems and spinal nerve taps embedded in this body needed regular maintenance just to keep him alive and maintain control of the machine. Cut off from resupply and repair, it would not last very long before the components started to break down, leaving him paralyzed and comatose before death claimed him. And it wasn't as if he could get it elsewhere. The highly oxygenated artificial cerebral fluids circulating in his system alone didn't have a counterpart anywhere in known Alliance space. He needed Cerberus.
That didn't mean he would just just give up, lay down and die, or bend to the Illusive Man's will. Saren had given up, and nearly doomed the galaxy in the process. He wouldn't make that mistake. He had met that challenge alone and unsupported on the crumbling defensive lines of Elysium during the Skyllian blitz, had faced it again while his squad died in the Thresher Maw infested ruins of Akuze. Those experiences had shaped his focus, hardened him to the horrors the galaxy could throw at him. And he had taken those experiences to merciless and bloody victory on the battle scorched world of pirate held Torfan, leaving nothing alive in his wake. He didn't know if he would be forced to act before the Collectors were dealt with, or if he would even survive the fight against them, but he would plan accordingly.
For now, he would work with Cerberus. Whatever the Illusive Man's real goals were, the Collector attacks were an undeniable fact and the commitment of the Cerberus crew to see the attacks come to a preferably violent end at least, were genuine. But even if they hadn't, he had an obligation to put a stop to the attacks. Dying didn't erase the principles and duties of an Alliance marine that easily, no matter what anyone thought. He had told Chakwas that the colonists had to be protected, and he'd meant it. But to do that, he needed an army. Or a really good field team.
Information permeated his consciousness as he accessed the mech's internal memory storage, calling forth the missives Illusive Man had sent him while the scaffold continued it's constant hum of activity. Ruthless the man may be, but Shepard had to admit a faint admiration for the man's skill at planning. His revival, the new Normandy, designated SR-2, and the dossiers of highly talented individuals scattered throughout the galaxy with skills the Cerberus head believed would be of use to him. Mercenary veterans, former Salarian wetwork operatives, a Krogan warlord and an incarcerated biotic savant were among the list of names he had been provided with. Recruiting them, the hows and the when, that was his problem. And that was a problem in itself. These were very talented individuals, their accomplishments ranging from impressive to downright horrifying, and not always in a good way. The savant had brought down an entire space station, smashed it into a moon, on a whim? That spoke volumes about potential, but also mental instability.
Not that he had much of a choice. These were the people he had on hand to gather for the upcoming fight against the Collectors. Tali had her own mission to attend to, and the most of the others from his previous crew had vanished into thin air. What little the Illusive Man was willing to divulge on those that hadn't vanished was that they all had their own concerns and were unavailable. He didn't believe that was the whole truth, but without knowing their whereabouts, searching the entire galaxy for them would be an exercise in futility. He could imagine what the Council's response would be to the idea of Collector attacks, seeing how they had denied sending any aid when the Geth had shown up on Eden Prime. The Collectors were a 'human' problem that should be dealt with by the humans and no one else, unless he could find hard evidence of a link to the Reapers.
That left the Alliance. But he had done his work on them, searching on public extranet sources for the Alliance response to the attacks. He avoided looking in secured Alliance databases with his old security clearances. Even if they still worked, unlikely, he was still on a Cerberus ship, using Cerberus communication networks to access them. He didn't see any point to giving them any more than what they already had. But the publicly available information was exactly as the Illusive Man had claimed. The number of attacks downplayed, convenient communications service failures on the attacked planets they didn't list, empty platitudes, but no announced results, plans of actions or progress towards identifying, much less stopping, the threat. All in very tiny articles contemptuously hidden in the back of extranet news sources. He could tell when the Alliance was stonewalling.
Which meant he was on his own, with whoever else he could persuade to join the fight. And that meant going back to the dossiers, and picking out who would be the first he'd try to recruit. The krogan warlord, the mercenary veteran, the Salarian operative or the super powered biotic psychopath serving multiple life sentences for over eight hundred counts of murder? If he could have, he would have sighed. He tapped into the ships communications circuit, dialing the helm speakers with a thought.
"JOKER"
The communications line crackled for a bit with the unusual sound of static before Joker replied. "Sorry about that Commander. Thought you were EDI trying to sneak around the mute button or something."
He forbore asking on what that 'something' was. "SET COURSE FOR THE SAHRABARIK SYSTEM."
"WE ARE GOING TO OMEGA"
Author's note:
Joker's one of my favorites to write. You can just close your eyes and picture his sarcastic, ever quipping nature that isn't quite a joke, but funny all the same. Seth Green really does bring his character to life. And yes, Kelly does seem a bit sappy here, but she's been sappy throughout the game, and certainly doesn't seem put off by interspecies relationships. Extreme cybernetics? Probably not as off putting either. Or she's just that good a psychologist.
As to biotic Mecha-Shepard, since he never was one to begin with, and biotic training takes years, I think we can shelve that idea for now, as interesting as the idea could be. Still, the possibility of non-standard upgrades are always there.
And come on. Just 6 reviews? Is the story that bad or something?
