Author's Notes: And yet more readers, thanks everyone for follows, and for the comments!
To answer the questions about the Yahg (and the Raloi), it's a little bit of a spoiler, but it's a fair question, since canonically the Yahg were pointed at as the most likely species to emerge as the dominant power on this coming cycle. The short of it is, no Yahg. The slightly longer answer is that I could have used the Yahg for this fic, instead of making up a slightly avian species like the Drakat, except that it ties closely with one of the main themes about this cycle, and having a species like the Yahg, which ascended right after the end of the previous cycle, would change the dynamic.
What theme? Well, it's going to be repeated over and over, so the penny will surely drop if it hasn't yet.
So, the Reapers went om nom nom on every sentient species last time. Now you know (and the point of specifically saying it is that the only way to know otherwise would be to wait until the end of the fic to make sure they don't appear, which would be an annoying politician-like non-answer :D)
Severing the connection to the ship felt strange to Shepard. While he was aware, in a very strange way, that he was just an AI, he could swear he had felt the ship as an extension of his own body. It had been such an experience that now, being back in the cargo bay, he had an indescribable feeling of loss. His projection appeared atop the console, and the cameras followed the movement of his head as he looked around.
Well, back in the cargo bay again. Not a s-
A scratching sound caught his attention, interrupting his thought as the cameras darted around. It didn't take him long to find the origin. A fuquee, curled up behind one of the broken merch. He was looking at the new addition to the hold - Shepard's projection - with big, scared eyes, taking slow backwards steps.
"What the- How the hell did we miss this?" He raised the volume of his voice. "Oi! What are you doing here? Your ship has left!"
Shepard's loud voice and aggressive questioning seemed to have the opposite effect Shepard had intended, making the fuquee pull back, even more scared. Without waiting for any more explanations, he turned and bolted to the door.
It didn't do him any good. The door was sealed – and Shepard knew it because he had been the one to seal it.
"Wait up, I'm not going to hurt you!" Shepard called. The fuquee ignored him, and continued his desperate clawing at the door. "Hello, can you understand me?"
Shepard's voice wasn't what stopped the little guy, but rather the noises coming from the other side of the door. Someone was working the panels, and almost immediately the door itself opened up. There were three drakats on the other side: Dho'klee, who was at the front, and the two guards who had accompanied him before. The guards had their backs to the door, so they never saw the fuquee as he gave a little start, and scrambled to hide on the other side of the room. He made it as far as spitting distance from Shepard, then he seemed to realize where he was going, and turned on his metaphorical tail again.
"What the-" Dho'klee said.
"What?" one of the guards replied, turning to him.
"No, nothing. I'll take care of this," Dho'klee replied hurriedly. He stepped in and, with a quick button mashing, closed the door behind him.
The fuquee was behind the merch scrap now, and by the way he was breathing, very quick and very shallow, he looked rather terrified.
"You should tell your leader that we've got an extra passenger, Shepard said. "We should go back-"
"No," Dho'klee interrupted.
Shepard was about to protest, but he thought he caught something in Dho'klee's voice. He wasn't angry as before, or had interrupted him out of spite. He wasn't even looking at Shepard. He had his eyes on the fuquee, and despite the difficulties Shepard was having reading his expressions, he thought the drakat looked like he was worried.
"Why? What's wrong?" Shepard said.
Dho'klee stepped closer to the rodent, who pressed back against the wall, eyes fixed on the drakat.
"Opposable thumbs, huh?" Dho'klee said.
The fuquee looked at his hands, and with a sudden gesture, he hid them behind his back. He shook his head, but Dho'klee didn't seem to care. He looked up and tilted his head side to side. Thinking, maybe. Or relaxing. Shepard had done it without thinking, but he had fallen back to his usual pattern of careful observation, face of his projection motion and expressionless. He had a feeling problems were starting to pile up, and he had to figure out how to solve it.
And he didn't even have his guns with him. Negotiations always were better when everyone was armed.
"Opposable thumbs?" Shepard said, neutral tone.
"Yes." Dho'klee left the fuquee alone, and got closer to the terminal. "They're considered unnatural by the fuquee. Usually treated rather roughly by the others."
Shepard's eyes narrowed as he looked at Dho'klee, but he didn't look like he was lying. His expression looked almost... Tired. Weary. "That has to be the stupidest-"
"Yes, it really is," Dho'klee said, craning his neck up and stretching again before continuing. "Thumbs, skin tone, feathers," he said the last word with palpable venom in his voice. "Nothing is ever too stupid a reason to hate others."
That made Shepard think back about his own time, and he ended up nodding in agreement. Dho'klee was more right than he'd have liked to admit. "And why aren't you telling your Cap- your Leader?"
"If I did, he'd just put him in an airlock and be done with it."
He looked at the fuquee, then at Dho'klee. "You're joking."
"I wish," he replied.
"But you won't."
"I won't." Dho'klee looked at Shepard, a slight movement of his lower mandible. Not as pronounced as the ones he had made before. A quick check with Legion, and he knew his biometrics weren't too altered either. Not anger, then. "Shepard, you don't know anything about our Galaxy. You're a fifty thousand year old AI, and if you don't want to get deactivated, you're going to have to stop doing this kind of thing."
Shepard took a moment to consider his response. Far from getting himself into more trouble, which he had expected, it seemed to him that Dho'klee didn't exactly disapprove of his actions. There was also something about the way he was talking to him, like he was a perfectly normal sentient being.
Come to think of it... That's a little unusual.
"Shepard-commander accepted us into his crew," Legion chirped.
You should have seen what I told EDI the first time I met her.
Shepard let his memories pour for LEgion while he thought about his current situation. The worst thing of all was that Dho'klee had a bloody good point about the Galaxy. Shepard knew only two things about it: Jack and Squat.
"I take it you don't like the way the fuquee are treated," Shepard said, still cautious.
"No, I don't. But what about you? Why do you care?" Genuine curiosity.
"Why? That is no way to treat others; not when it's simple bigotry against an entire race."
"Hm? So bigotry against an individual is acceptable?"
"Some people can earn it," Shepard replied, dropping his expressionless mask for a moment. He grinned, a gesture that caught Dho'klee's attention. It was a calculated move, to make himself look more like a sapient entity. Which he was, after all. "So, what are you going to do?"
"For now? He can stay down here." Dho'klee turned to the fuquee. "Stay hidden in here, okay? If you need it, there is a lavatory to the left of the door." He paused for emphasis. "Stay. Hidden. I'll bring you some food, until we can figure out how to smuggle you out of here."
The rodent looked at Dho'klee for a few seconds before nodding vigorously. If reading Dho'klee was difficult, reading the fuquee was even harder. All Shepard could see was fear.
"And now, to answer your other question, what am I going to do about you?" Dho'klee said.
"If you're planning on deactivating me-"
"No, no, nothing of the sort," Dho'klee said, mollifying Shepard. "But you can't do anything like that again. If you do, it's both of us paying the price. Do you understand?"
"You're putting your ass on the line for me?"
"I'm what the what?"
"No, nevermind." Shepard took a few seconds to consider his reply, deciding not to look at the gifted equine in its molar cavity. "All right, you win. No more hacking. Where are we headed?"
"Refueling, then we're off to the next system on the list," Dho'klee replied, somewhat cryptically. "This is an exploration and recovery vessel, after all."
"Dho'klee, I think I am the most important discovery you could have made. I need to warn you about the Reapers."
"Reapers?" Dho'klee replied, mispronouncing the English word.
"An ancient race of machines. The Reapers destroyed all sentient life in the Galaxy fifty thousand years ago, when the hideout where you found me was constructed. Including my race."
"Fifty-"
"It's our unit of measurement, the time it took Earth to go around the- around its star. About 0.43 cycles." Shepard waited, but Dho'klee didn't say anything. "And before us, the Reapers wiped out the dominant race of the galaxy, the Protheans. Fifty thousand years back."
"That's..."
"Impossible? Many people found it hard to believe too. I was there, Dho'klee. I saw the first Reaper arrive to the Galaxy. They will be back. They do this every fifty thousand years."
Dho'klee fell completely silent, trying to digest the information. Shepard saw him struggling with it, and very quickly figured he would likely reject it. Refuse to believe him. He couldn't blame it, though, but it was a problem.
"You have the recording from Liara. We should be able to translate it for you, or make some compatible language files for-"
"What are you talking about? What recording?"
"The one that was playing when you entered my hideout. Remember? The female with the crests on her head?" Shepard said, gesturing with his hands over his head.
"I... We didn't take that with us..." Dho'klee replied, his voice faltering.
"WHAT?! How- Why? We have to go back for it! She's got all the information on the war with the Reapers!"
"We had to abandon the site, a merch ship appeared in the system! We barely escaped with our lives!"
"And if we don't get that information we'll all be dead. Again."
"We didn't have a choice, Shepard. Why don't you have that information?"
"I don't know!" Shepard replied. Now it was his turn to look up, breaking eye contact to try and gather his thoughts. When he looked back at Dho'klee, he had taken a step back, and was eyeing him warily. Either breaking eye contact, or Shepard's change of tone, had put him on the back foot. With a mental sigh, Shepard tried to rein in his annoyance. "I really don't know, I didn't build the hideout." He gestured behind Dho'klee, and pointed at the pair of turret-mounted guns that had been guarding his hdeout. "You had time to take those weapons."
"Of course we did! Weapons like that, if we can replicate them, they can change the course of this war!"
Shepard stopped his train of thought, looking straight at Dho'klee. The direct eye contact between him and Shepard's projection seemed to calm the drakat somehow. He filed that information away.
"War?" Shepard said. "You mean the merch?"
"The merch, and if things keep going the way they are, the Ar'alee too. Either we stop this war or the Galaxy's going to tear itself apart. By the time your Reapers show up there won't be anything left for them to destroy."
That was more new information for Shepard, and something he hadn't considered. Once again he was reminded that he had no idea what the galaxy looked like – sentient species-wise. None whatsoever. He was going on the assumption that he'd find the same Galaxy he had left fifty thousand years ago. Maybe with different shapes, different colours, but all the same. The council, or whatever form of government they had, sitting at the Citadel with thumbs, tentacles, appendages, or whatever they had, stuck up their collective butts. Lots of bickering, perhaps some tension between old enemy races...
It has been fifty thousand years, hasn't it Legion?
"Forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-three point one three years, Shepard-commander."
They haven't gotten to the point of establishing a common alliance at the Citadel?
"Insufficient data."
"Maybe I can help you," Shepard said.
"How is fifty thousand year old knowledge going to help us, exactly?"
"I don't know yet. But maybe that way you'll all listen to me." A mirthless smile appeared on his face. "That's how it usually works."
Dho'klee made a gesture with his hands pushing at the air wide and away from himself. "Just don't get me into trouble anymore." He turned, ready to leave, but Shepard stopped him before he did.
"Dho'klee. I'm going to need to update my knowledge of the galaxy if I'm going to help you."
"Right now, what I need from you is to stop messing with the ship."
Shepard furrowed his brow. That wasn't going anywhere. He seemed to have acknowledged him, but now he was retreating rather hastily. He didn't want Shepard doing anything. "Do you believe what I have said?"
Dho'klee stopped by the door, and turned to look at Shepard. "No. Maybe. I don't know. I truly don't," he replied. He looked at the fuquee, who was still watching the exchange without saying a single word. "Stay hidden like I told you, you hear me?" He waited for the furry alien to nod back, then he looked at Shepard.
With a nod, Shepard switched his projection off, and the cargo bay plunged into darkness. Making sure neither of his curious charges were visible, Dho'klee left them, closing the cargo hold as he did.
Shepard waited quietly for a while, cameras tuned to the low light and low powered sensors on. He wasn't sure whether the guards would stay posted outside or not, but it seemed as if the only thing he could do was wait.
He hated it. Hated waiting, and more than that, hated not having any power. He cursed inwardly, and then tried to calm down. A very strange experience, given his lack of body. Usually he'd start with some breathing exercises, and trying to focus on his physical sensations as a way to begin meditating. But it didn't work at all.
This is a problem.
"Shepard-commander?"
Do you think we can go through the firewall undetected?
"The topology of the network has been altered since our last incursion. We-"
No, wait, nevermind. I agreed not to do this again. Have you found the origin of that merch beacon?
"Negative. Frequency and intensity changes have made our tracking methods ineffectual. We are establishing a consensus."
Okay, keep at it.
SAFE. Survive, adapt, fight, escape. Yeah, the little stunt with the fuquee ship hadn't helped much; right now he needed to survive. Finding a way out was going to be a much bigger challenge.
Maybe not. The idea is not to make enemies out of them.
"Shepard-commander, we are detecting changes in the vital signs of fuquee-runaway."
Shepard scanned the room with the cameras, but couldn't see anything. With a mental sigh, he turned his projection on, the light of which pushed the shadows of the cargo bay away. As he expected, the projection caught the attention of the fuquee. He was curled up in one corner, trembling noticeably.
"Legion," Shepard said, raising his projected arm to his left ear. "What's the current ambient temperature?
"Two hundred, seventy-eight point two Kelvin."
"Yeah, figures. Open the vents and run a diagnostic, will you?"
"Yes, Shepard-commander."
"Hey little guy," Shepard called. "Hey!"
The second, louder call grabbed the alien's attention, and he turned to Shepard with sleepy but alarmed eyes, ready to bolt.
"Calm down, I just wanted to get your attention." He pointed at the vents on the side of the platform. "Come sit down here, it'll be warmer."
The fuquee looked at Shepard for a while, and at the platform, but didn't move.
"I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I don't know what you've been through to stowaway in this ship, but you are going to be just fine. Come on, trust me."
Shepard's words, spoken in a calm, even tone, seemed to slowly coax the fuquee closer to him. A timid little hand made its way to the front of the vent, and almost immediately, the rest of the fuquee followed, curling up facing the warm vent.
"Better, isn't it?"
The rodent looked at Shepard and nodded repeatedly.
"I'm Commander Shepard. Can you tell me your name?"
The fuquee didn't say anything at first, then made a squeaking noise Shepard couldn't ever hope to repeat.
Wait, how come I can't just replay a sound I've heard?
"Shepard-commander was programmed as closely to the original organic programming as possible."
Right. Guess that makes sense.
"Okay, that's not really going to work, I'm sorry. I'm going to have to give you a nickname."
The fuquee didn't seem particularly interested. He made a small shrug, and curled up again, trying to keep warm. He had his hands to the vent, and looked quite content.
"You know-"
Shepard's question stopped abruptly, as his microphones caught a noise outside the door. He switched his projection off, and the room plunged into darkness.
Steps. Several. They seemed to stop somewhere nearby, and he could just make some voices outside. Whatever the conversation was, he couldn't really tell. After less than a minute there was a sound that could have been laughter, and the footsteps moved away.
Whew.
"Intrusion attempt."
In... What?!
The holographic projection of Shepard appeared in an instant over the console, and with it, the fuquee jumped back in surprise. Half the front panel of the console had been dismantled, and several cables were hanging loose.
"What the hell are you doing?"
The fuquee made a small jump and a squeaky sound, dropping a couple of bolts in the process. He looked ready to bolt, but, after the initial sharp question, Shepard talked in a soothing voice to calm him down. "I'm not angry, but I want to know what you were doing."
He looked at the terminal, at Shepard, at the terminal, then at Shepard again, and started making some squeaking noises.
Shepard raised his left hand to his ear. "Legion? You getting any of that?"
"Negative."
"Okay, look, I really can't understand you. Can you understand me?"
The fuquee nodded. At least that gesture was universal.
"Were you trying to break the terminal?"
He shook his head, side to side over his shoulders. Not exactly a no, but since he wasn't nodding...
"I take it that's a no," Shepard said, and smiled. The fuquee nodded in response. Got that one right. "Very well. Were you trying to take any parts out?"
He shook his head again. Shepard considered his next question for a moment.
"Were you trying to connect somehow?"
The fuquee was about to shake his head, but stopped, thought about it for a few seconds, and then made an ambiguous gesture with his hands.
"Something like that," Shepard finished for him. He was looking at Shepard expectantly, rapidly twiddling a metallic brace in his hands, and thoughts were racing through Shepard's metaphorical head. He had no means to do anything, and a single and very reluctant ally in Dho'klee.
Well, maybe I can use him after all. Not exactly Tali, but... Guess I'll do what I can with what I have.
"Carry on then," Shepard said, and watched with a smile as the small alien went at it again.
The fuquee continued with his work, and soon had one of the access points exposed. Even so, he looked rather disappointed. He kept rooting through the different panels, until he had taken all of them apart.
Quite a feat, as he had no tools.
"What are you looking for?"
Shepard realized his folly as soon as his words were out of his mouth. The fuquee screeched, chirped, and gestured wildly with his hands, but didn't get anywhere near communicating with Shepard. Finally, when they were both starting to get tired of it, the fuquee stopped, and just started gesturing with his hands.
Up, down, he pawed at the air and started again.
"Oh, right, you're looking for an interface."
The fuquee squealed in delight, something that Shepard found disturbingly adorable for some reason, and nodded vigorously, half a dozen times in the space of a second.
"I don't think we..." Shepard's voice fell when he laid his eyes on the crate containing his gear. "Scratch that, I have an idea. Pick up my omni-tool." He pointed at the box, and his fuquee companion looked only too happy to oblige. He started rooting through the box, coming up for air every so often while holding a piece with both hands over his head. "No, that's my helmet. The Omni-tool looks like an oversized thin glove. No, that's an actual glove. It's more like- Yes, that's it."
The Fuquee looked at the strange device he was holding with a badly disguised sense of wonder. The sleeve part of the omni-tool, with the micro-fabricator and the omni-gel deposit was the largest part, and went all the way to the fuquee's elbow. Much too big for him. The wrist clap was also too wide, and the part that should have just covered part of the palm was engulfing most of his hand. It was obvious he had never seen anything like that, given how curiously he was turning it in his hands, and how much attention to every tiny detail he was putting.
"That's an omni-tool," Shepard said, trying to explain but not managing to get the fuquee's attention. "It should let you type things if you- right, that's-"
*SQUEAK!*
As soon as the interface was brought up, the fuquee dropped the omni-tool like a hot potato and jumped back behind cover.
"It's just the interface," Shepard finished. He raised his left hand to his ear. "Legion, can you connect to the omni-tool?"
"Connection established."
"Right, see if you can translate the interface."
"Processing initialized. It will take thirty-seven seconds to complete."
It was enough time to get the Fuquee interested again. For all his flighty attitude, he seemed to be driven mainly by curiosity, so Shepard let him nosey around until he took the omni-tool again. Less than a minute, and it was ready to use. The idea that the omni-tool was still in working order after fifty thousand years was surprising, but it brought back to mind the ridiculous advertising vids the Asari used to run.
Don't settle for less than you deserve. Other technology is made to match the short lives of those other species. Only true Asari technology is made to last millennia. Serrice Council.
And the ad closed with the skeleton of what looked to be a dead salarian, with a still active omni-tool on his left forearm.
That caused a stir. And sales.
Shepard chuckled. Those Asari are really something... Were something...
It wasn't working. He kept running into the wall, where he'd think something, then realize everyone was dead. Gone. And he was trapped in a holoterminal. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.
Maybe not him.
I never thought I'd be the last survivor again. Of the whole damn galaxy this time.
For now he had something simpler to think about. Communicating with that alien.
"Okay, that over there, yeah, at the bottom," Shepard said, gesturing at the omni-tool. Out of habit, he made the gesture with his hand to bring a worn omni-tool interface up, and to his surprise, a holographic interface popped up over his arm. "Interesting," he muttered. He started going over the functions; not surprisingly, the micro-fabricator wasn't there, but all communication and infiltration modules were.
His examination was interrupted when a big furry head stuck its nose right through his holographic arm, trying to take a closer look at what he was doing.
"Hey! Step back, that's too close."
And distracting, Shepard thought. Seeing his holographic projection being distorted by the fuquee walking though it was very strange.
He complied after some grumbling, and looked at Shepard with wide, expectant eyes.
"Right. Look, bring the main interface up, like this," Shepard explained, demonstrating as he spoke, "and here's the input module. You can type on the keyboard."
The fuquee followed well enough, even though the omni-tool was much too big for his smaller hands. But when it came to the keyboard, he merely looked at it, clearly at a loss of what to do.
"Look, it's very simple." Shepard typed a short message, linked up with the omni-tool, and sent it up. He realized his mistake the instant he sent the message, but it was too late. The fuquee's omni-tool pinged loudly, he made a squeaky scream of surprise, dropped it, and jumped back three meters to hide behind the nearest piece of recovered scrap metal.
*Sigh*
Shepard didn't say anything. He just looked at the fuquee for a while, until he decided to come out of hiding again. If he was going to keep reacting like that, it was going to be a very long day.
Not that I have anything better to do...
"Yeah," he said, when the alien took the omni-tool again, "just open the message app. And that's mine, see?" The way the Fuquee's face lightened up, it could have been a gift from the gods, coming down from the afterlife just for him. He read the very simple greeting, and looked at Shepard. "You can just type a reply, hit that arrow and- yeah, you got it."
It was fascinating to watch. The fuquee tried one of the keys, looked at the result, hunted around the keyboard for the next. Missed. Got more and more frustrated, still not typing, tried another couple of keys, didn't like the result, and before Shepard knew what had happened, the alien started clawing at the holographic keyboard in frustration, moments before flinging the omni-tool across the room, breathing heavily.
"All right," Shepard said, his voice light and amused. "Guess we won't be having many conversations then. But the point was to show you how to use the omni-tool to access the console," he finished, pointing down at the base of the projector.
The fuquee looked at him for just a moment, and the change in demeanour was almost instantaneous. He bolted across the room, rooting through the trash and the recovered items, and squealed once in delight when he found the omni-tool.
I have to admit he's rather entertaining.
Explaining how to use the remote access interface didn't take long. He still didn't seem to like the keyboard, and seemed rather incapable of using it – at least without losing his temper and throwing the omni-tool away – but the rest of the interface wasn't complicated at all.
"All right then, have fun," Shepard said, and raised his hand to his ear. "Legion, let he take a look if he wants, nothing too serious.
"Acknowledged."
"Any idea where we are?"
"Negative. Blue shift in energy signatures indicates we are currently travelling at FTL speeds, destination unknown."
Shepard didn't like waiting. He had always been a man of action. Waiting... Nothing good ever happened when he had to sit down and wait. But this time, there was bugger all he could do. Sit back and relax. Wait for Dho'klee to show up again. Regardless, eventually they'd have to come and talk to him.
"You know," Shepard said, getting the fuquee's attention again. "I think I have a nickname for you now. How do you like Sprockets?"
The fuquee looked at him, not really understanding the English word.
"It means sprockets," Shepard said, now saying it in Drakati.
He seemed to think about it for a few seconds, his gaze wandering up to examine a very interesting rivet high up the wall. Then, he shrugged, but Shepard could see he was trying not to smile.
Curiouser and curiouser. He doesn't need to know Sprockets was a cat though.
It was at that time that the ship came out of FTL travel. Thanks to Mass Effect generators onboard, most ships back in his day made the transition to sub-light speed smooth enough that it was impossible to tell from the inside. At best there was a tiny period of time dilation, so small that it was pretty much impossible to measure, but made for a strange feeling one could grow accustomed to notice. Maybe a shift in the vibration frequencies that could be felt from the hull.
The time dilation on this ship was more noticeable. Close to a nanosecond, by his internal readings.
Sprockets noticed too. He looked up from the omni-tool, sniffing around as if something was wrong.
"Time dilation," Shepard said. Sprockets looked at him blankly. "You don't have a similar thing in your ships? It can be noticed if getting out of faster-than-light travel is not smooth."
The fuquee seemed to think about it for a moment, but then shook his head and shrugged.
"I'm starting to think you guys have the best tech in this time period. And yet you have never seen an omni-tool, or something like it?"
Sprockets squeaked excitedly, starting another incomprehensible tirade. But as Shepard showed no signs of understanding, he jumped up on his feet and started another pantomime. He showed him the omni-tool, and then stretched his arms far.
"Your version is a lot bigger?"
Their conversation was interrupted with a tremendous blast that shook the entire ship. With it, the ship's flight became much more erratic, and it was as if pandemonium had exploded. Shouts, screams, orders barked for all hands to man their positions. Sprockets squeaked in panic, and ran to hide behind Shepard's console.
"Never a dull moment," Shepard muttered.
