SSV Normandy, Widow System, Serpent Nebula
2183.07.14
The meeting with the Council had been an unmitigated failure, but Shepard had seen the face of her target: Saren Arterius. Shepard slammed her fist into the punching bag with a grunt and her dog-tags ricocheted off her chest with a silver flash. I will find him.
Shepard's ears pounded with the electronic music playing through her earbuds. Sweat poured down her body as she continued to work off her fury in the ship's darkened hold—her hands had been shaking when they returned to the Normandy, and Shepard needed a serious distraction. Despite Shepard's genetic and cognitive enhancements the mental repercussions of combat could never be completely ignored, in fact, her accelerated reflexes and augmented eyesight made certain memories sharper. She could still hear the snap and crack of bullets and the harsh ring of her breath echoing inside her helmet. She could remember the cold fire coursing through her bloodstream that made every icy second deep and clear and painful. She missed it.
There was a large part of Shepard that loved the cocktail of fear, fire, and fury. Feeling sick to her stomach, Shepard slammed her fist into the bag, delivering 10,000 newtons of force to the bag in a crack of thunder as reinforced bones and muscles whistled through the air. She wanted it to be an enemy. Damn it, Jane, damn it!
The Commander danced back from the bag and swiped a bottle from the top of a metal crate. She took a swig of TM86 whiskey and then slapped the bottle back down on the container. She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist and breathed in the scent of sweat, blood, and adhesive. The tape on her knuckles was frayed and stained with dots of dark blood.
She was angry at herself. She was angry that she had lost men on Eden Prime. She was furious that Saren was going to get away with it, that she couldn't pound him into a broken pulp. Shepard tightened her fists and with a hoarse cry launched a fresh attack. Her tags slapped her chest as she launched a second punch. Two hexagonal identity discs were hung from around her neck. They glittered as they caught the thin beams from the lights mounted in the lockers along the wall. The rest of the cargo bay was abandoned and Shepard had deactivated the overhead illumination. Blue guidance lights gleamed around the doors, the edges of the walls, and the access to engineering. The Normandy was quiet and empty but for a skeleton crew. The remaining personnel had been given shore leave after their efforts assisting recovery operations in Eden Prime.
They had lost time helping the survivors, Shepard knew it. During those precious hours Udina had been struggling, and failing, to surmount the great wall of Council bureaucracy. Shepard ticked off their failures in her mind: the Council Committee for Interstellar Defence had already heard and rejected his request for Citadel reinforcements for human colonies; the Committee had rejected his request for access to Spectre files; the Committee for Citadel Intelligence had launched an investigation into reports of geth operations outside the Perseus Veil—and it was expected to take twelve months to produce its preliminary report.
By that time we'll be old and dead, Shepard wanted to spit. The Commander transitioned into a series of kicks, lashing out against the bag over and over.
Udina had secured one seeming success. The Council had agreed to meet with them and hear their testimony against Saren. But it had all been for nothing. They had prepared their testimony and transmitted videos from Eden Prime but the Council had not been prepared to hear it. Shepard knew that the Council had shut down the Citadel Security investigation before it had even begun. The Council didn't want an investigation. They didn't want to see the evidence. They had classified every scrap of information about Eden Prime.
The Council had rejected their accusations and accepted every lie and misdirection Saren Arterius had given them as sneered down from a holo-projector. Shepard had wanted to take out her assault rifle and lay waste to the elaborately manicured asari gardens and quiet arcades, just to wake them up, shake them out of their conceited stupor. With a sharp cry Shepard launched a furious assault that sent the punching bag creaking on its chain.
The Council wants a formal apology for my 'libelous accusations' and 'illegal threats'? Fuck them. What do I care about intergalactic relations… Shepard chugged at the bottle, her throat convulsing as she swallowed the liquid fire. With a gasp Shepard released the bottle, a few drops dribbling down her chin. She hit the bag, bottle in hand, relishing the sting in her knuckles. I should have said something. I should have kept trying—but they had made up their minds. It would have been a waste of breath. But I meant every word. He can't hide behind the Council forever. I will kill Saren the next time we meet. How was that for a threat?
She dropped the bottle to the deck and her whole body went taut as she swung her fist upwards in a brutal uppercut, driving all the strength of her hips and core into the blow. The bag lifted on its chain and then fell back with a clang. Shepard's slitted eyes burned. She was done waiting for Citadel Security or Ambassador Udina to do the job. Captain Anderson was right. Shepard was going to have to find the evidence herself.
I won't stop. Nihlus, Lee, and Jenkins gave their lives for this mission. Shepard's chest was so tight she couldn't breath. With a supreme effort she let out a howl and launched herself into a series of hammering punches, her knuckles stinging, the music providing the beat. Jane let out a hoarse yell and seized the sides of the bag with her taped hands, driving her knee into the tough material over and over until the skin was scraped clean.
A voice whispered in the back of her head, escaping out of the fuzzy, warm mass of alcohol. Crimson memories oozed across her mind, visions of death and destruction. Warn them… Warn them. Warn them!
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Shepard yelled, and slammed her forehead into the bag.
The music grew distorted. Boom. Boom. Boom. Jane saw white spots dancing in front of her eyes and her body sagged. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sweat-stained smell of the punching bag. She swayed as the bag tilted forward under her weight. How am I supposed to stop what's coming? I don't want to see it anymore…
"Commander?"
Boom. Boom. Boom. The voice was distant and muffled but she recognized Lieutenant Alenko.
Shepard winced. Her arms felt leaden. She raised her hands with great effort and removed her earbuds with unsteady fingers and pushed them back into a slot in her omni-tool bracelet. The world grew loud and hard and very close. Shepard opened and closed her mouth a few times before she could growl, "Why aren't you taking shore leave on the Citadel, Alenko?"
"I just got back, sir. Citadel sure is a big place."
Shepard peeled her sweat-streaked face away from the bag, tucked her tags inside her red-and-black N7 tank top, and turned to face the Lieutenant. Alenko's uniform was neat and pressed, as always.
"Forget something, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, ma'am, just need to get to my locker. How about you?"
Shepard rolled one shoulder and made an noncommittal noise.
Kaidan hesitated. "Kickboxing, Commander?"
Shepard glanced at the punching bag. "Yes, Lieutenant, I am. Anything else?"
Kaidan colored faintly. "Right, ma'am, sorry ma'am."
Shepard struggled to stay calm. "No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Bad day." She winced as she started peeling the tape off of her hands, "You should get going, Lieutenant."
"Yes, ma'am," Kaidan said, hesitating, "The Council is wrong, ma'am. I'm sorry they treated you like that."
It took all of her energy to nod. Reluctantly, Kaidan moved around her and opened up his personnel locker and began putting neatly folded clothing in his bag. Shepard stared at him for a moment and fought with herself. She was supposed to say something, she knew that. There. "Kaidan, thank you. For your concern."
"Your welcome, ma'am. I will bring the Marines to the briefing at 0600?"
"Roger that—" Shepard's eyes jerked to the side at a sudden rustling sound, like someone was touching the hairs on the back of her head: warn… warn… God. I'm going insane.
"Are you…okay, Commander?"
"Minor scrapes, Lieutenant. Nothing serious. You're dismissed, Lieutenant."
"I… Aye-aye, ma'am."
Shepard waited until the sound of Kaidan's retreating footsteps had faded away. She clenched and unclenched her fingers—they felt like thick, dull bands of heated metal.
Warn…them…
Shepard sunk her bare knuckle into the bag with a hoarse cry of anger.
Shepard sat alone in the dark, ate a protein pack, and drank a gallon of nutri-ade in the deserted mess. Her head was spinning slightly. Her limbs were leaden with fatigue but her heart was still fluttering like caged bird. When she was done Shepard chucked the empty canisters in the recycler and then made her way back to her quarters. With shuddering fingers she tapped the access panel to the Senior Officers Quarters and stepped inside. The lights sparked into life and revealed the spartan interior: bare walls of blue metal, the white polymer chair and desk with a folded computer, closed compartments inside the bulkheads. She shared the small chamber with Lieutenant-Commander Charles Pressly and Greg Adams, the Chief Engineer. They rotated through the two bunks separated by a six-inch strip of deck. Pressly and Adams had attached their degrees and commendations to the wall in plastic frames while Shepard's wall was empty. On the desk were three in/out boxes for their data-pads—Shepard's contained a pile of paperwork and requisition forms, as well as information Shepard had downloaded from the Naval Intelligence Codex containing research on the geth and the protheans.
Shepard stared at her bunk and the folded sheets. She wasn't tired, and, more than that, she didn't want to go to sleep. She was worried about what she would see if she closed her eyes, afraid of what she had seen in the darkness on Eden Prime. I have to warn them, but they'll think I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Yesterday, I thought we'd be going after pirates and slavers. Now, I think the entire galaxy is in danger from an ancient army of machines because of the beacon. Yep. I'm definitely crazy.
But she didn't lie down on the bed. She turned on her heel and started pacing back and forth from the top of her bunk to the door. It took her four steps. Then four steps back.
Concentrate. Saren is the target. Stop Saren, stop the Reapars. See, it's going to be super easy! Jane snorted. She fiddled with her tags and closed her eyes, only to open them rapidly, blinking to erase an image of seas of blood and mechanical pincers… Keep concentrating. There has to be a way to expose Saren. I just have to find the evidence.
She was the commander of a squad of special forces operators trained in infiltration, intelligence, and assault. Shepard could do this. She just couldn't find the right pressure point. But she just couldn't think straight. Her thoughts were a total mess; she could hear a distant scraping sound, like someone was scratching at her door. Sweat was beading on her forehead. Jane growled and scraped a hand across her face and nose and left her hand there like a claw, nostrils fluttering and hot breath warming her palm. Think, damn it! Images of flesh and machines, ripping and tearing. Stop it!
Her breath was coming in ragged gasps.
"You really need to talk to someone, Jane," Shepard panted.
But she couldn't. She couldn't talk to Captain Anderson or Doctor Chakwas—both were obligated to report her condition to the Alliance and her career would come to a screeching halt. Jane knew that Anderson and Chakwas would never do that to her, but that made it worse; if she confided in them, they would be forced to keep more of her secrets, and that would risk their careers as well as hers. She couldn't do that to them. That left her with few options, none of them good. Alenko was her subordinate and seemed like stickler for the regulations, Lee was dead, and everyone else would think she was insane. Shepard knew that her safest best was a civilian doctor on the station, but she shoved the thought aside. She didn't want someone poking around in her head. Besides, Jane rationalized, she had other priorities. Like saving the galaxy.
Shepard paced to her desk and flicked a button on her stereo. Loud music began to play, echoing inside her small room. Waves of sound drowned out the scratching noise in her ears. She sat down at the desk and sprayed Medi-Gel on her ripped-up knuckles. She knew that the Doc would kill her for not using barriers and the thought brought a small smile to her lips. But without the adrenaline rush of the beating she had delivered to that poor unsuspecting punching bag the smile faded quickly. The fire was gone. Leaving only angry ashes and a splitting headache.
She removed her small back-up pistol from a locked compartment. She checked the magazine and removed the metal block, setting it on the desk with a solid clunk and a twinge of pain from her battered fingers. Her trembling fingers ran along the red metal of the Stinger.
Shepard wiped at her forehead. She raised the pistol and sited down the barrel, tilting her head. Dark red hair kissed her shoulder. She pulled the trigger and an empty click sounded from the gun. Her gun hand began to shake. Shepard tried to control it and couldn't as the shakes grew stronger, the gun starting to waver in a wider and wider circle—"Fuck!"
Shepard threw the pistol across the room into the wall; it hit with a clang and fell to the floor with a thud. With a second cry she swept her leaden arm across the desk sending data-pads raining onto the deck and clattering off the bulkheads.
Breathing hard, a noise escaped Shepard's lips, something close to a whimper. Pull it together, Shepard, she spat to herself. She clutched at her tags and dragged them out of her shirt. She turned the two metal disks over in her fingers. She hadn't felt like this since…Akuze, and then Elysium. After Akuze it had been the nightmares. Honestly, she still had them occasionally. Elysium had brought it all back. All of the questions about everything, her family, her past, her missions. She had been dragged into the spotlight and hosed down by the press.
Shepard rubbed her finger across her tag, feeling the embossed number and letters on the discs. Shepard closed her eyes. Come on. You got this one, Shepard. This one you can change. Rise to the task you have been given.
It was something Anderson had told her a long time ago. She clung to the words like a life-raft and began to breathe more easily. she would get the job done. Break it down into pieces and take it one by one.
Suddenly, Jane felt something wet touch the top of her lip. She frowned, wrinkling her nose, and raised two tingling fingers to her lip and rubbed at her nose. When she withdrew her hand, her fingers were red with blood.
We rise to the tasks we are given. Or we die trying.
Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula
2183.07.15
Tali'Zorah careened around a corner and barely avoided a stack of metal crates. They toppled over and one metal box clipped her right hip. She was glad for the padding on her enviro-suit but the impact still sent into her into a spin and she let out a gasp pain as hot fire radiated out from her other side.
Tali stumbled to one knee and a flash of light and nose ripped through the air where her head had been, burning through the cloud of steam and industrial fumes that hung in the alley like a fog.
Tali threw herself behind a fallen crate with another thunderbolt of pain in her side. A second later a blast of impactor rounds score the spraycrete floor beside her. Chips banged on her shields and across the walls of the alley. The quarian raised her Edge pistol to her chest, panting in ragged gasps, waiting to return fire. She pressed her hand to her right side where she had been shot a few minutes prior. Sticky dark red blood had stained the wrap of purple cloth around her waist. Her enviro-suit had sealed the site of the wound, but she had no Medi-Gel to alleviate the pain or restore her blood. Thankfully it had only been a graze just above her hip. One more centimeter and the impactor would have torn a hole in her side.
A harsh voice rang down the alley, "Where are you, quarian? You can't hide in the smog forever!"
Another gun roared and a wash of fire raced past Tali. Tali whimpered inside her visor. The holographic display was crowded with glowing windows flashing with crimson alerts and Tali's head spun. Ugh! She pressed a button with a shaking hand, clearing her display, and looked around for anything that could help.
The low ceiling was dense with piping and conduits. She looked at the wall, where a stained asari glyph was rendered unreadable by a missing panel of spraycrete, revealing the wall of the station beneath and the geometric pattern of dots inscribed by the original builders. There was a standard sliding door a few meters down the alley—and that gave Tali an idea.
"You should never have come here, quarian, not with the bounty on your head! Every hunter in the Wards is on your keel, rat! You're dead now!"
Tali bit back an angry retort, Don't give away your position, that would be dumb, Tali. You need to put your cunning plan into action! Come on!
With shaking fingers Tali opened up a hacking program on her omni-tool and aimed the laser communicator at the holographic control to the door, identifying its unique code and locking on.
"Come out! Don't make me go in there," the turian screeched, "It will be worse for you, you little bitch!"
Footsteps boomed on the panels that covered the white bones of the station. Tali's wound track throbbed as she slid along the stained wall towards the door; she continued to type, her fingers dancing over the controls. "Come on, Tali'Zorah, come on…"
Tali reached the edge of the door and planted a damping mine with trembling hands before sending a signal to the door. It opened with a hiss, sending billows through the cloud of smog.
The mercenary roared, "There you are!"
Tali threw herself through the open door and scrambled forward on her plated knees. She looked behind her just as the bounty hunter stepped through the door. The mine exploded in a wave of electrical sparks. The holographic panel on the door flashed orange and the door snapped shut like a vise. Tali screamed as the turian's shotgun jerked and another blast flew over her head. Then the doors squashed the turian between them and he let out an unimaginable sound of horror—Tali heard the squealing pop of the armored shell compressing, and then a wet crunch.
Tali's pistol fell out of her hand and she pushed herself backwards to the wall—she retched and she forced herself not to vomit in her helmet. The rebreather whirred, utterly calm and normal.
Dark blood was leaking out of the popped armor and pooling on the floor. The orange holographic control flickered and sparked on top of the body. It was an organic. A living being. Tali clutched at her throat and groaned.
"Come on…" Tali said to herself. "It… he…was trying to kill you! He shot you. You had to do it!"
Tali stood, biting her lip as a tremor of pain shook her whole body, and stared down the alley, similar to the one she had just vacated but taller and wider. "You had to do it, Tali'Zorah, now you have to move… have to…"
After Decian Chellick had ordered her to leave the station Tali had been escorted back to the docks in Kithoi Wards, but she hadn't taken passage on a ship. First, she couldn't afford it. Second, she still needed to save the galaxy. It was really annoying. Tali had returned to the Lower Wards and holed up in a cheap hostel. Using their terminal she had submitted her data to the C-Sec tip-line. A few hours later the bounty hunter had shown up and Tali had barely escaped.
Tali shook her head, trying to clear it of the panicked, ricocheting thoughts, to no avail. She had figured out that Saren must have connections to the Council and access to the Citadel Security computer systems. She felt stupid, wrung out, and tired. And, though she didn't know how she could think about it, but she was incredibly hungry for real quarian food. The galaxy was strange. Maybe she could just lie here and think about how hungry and tired she was. Come on. You have to keep moving. Tali groaned and patted at her battered suit with her free hand, "Alright, alright... Where did my pistol go…"
She fingered the scoring on her armor, shuddering. Tali's head swam as she looked down at her side. Dark circles of blood seemed to follow the spirals on her silk wraps, whirls of red drops raining down in a purple sky. "Oh, Ancestors, that makes my head hurt…" Tali whispered.
The deck plates receded into infinity, small lights flashing. Tali retched again, but then her hand found something solid.
"There's my pistol…" Tali whispered, and bent to pick it up, swearing at another strike of pain to her side. "C-Sec tried to confiscate you," she stroked the pistol, "But I'm not some criminal, no!"
Pistol in hand Tali began to stumble down the alley, away from the dead turian. He was the latest bounty hunter. She guessed that he had picked up her trail when she purchased dextro-rations in the lower markets—it was that or starve, because she couldn't eat the contaminated food. He had pursued her into the warren of ducts and repair corridors and hadn't let up. Over the past day she had been forced deeper and deeper into the Wards. Now, she was lost, and she needed medical treatment.
The Citadel was immeasurably vast to Tali'Zorah—the entire population of the Migrant Fleet would fit comfortably into just one district of a single arm. The amount of underused space confused Tali. There were empty halls, arcing balconies, the sealed air-car tunnels. The asari had rediscovered the Citadel over 2600 years ago, and they had built their towers and columned halls in twisting asari patterns atop the ancient grid maintained by the keepers. Pink and purple asari flora flourished beneath artificial light while murmuring fountains graced the concourses with aromatic mists. The silent Keepers were slowly trained, like beasts of burden, to operate in and around the cities of their new tenants.
The Wards corridor swirled with billows of orange. Tali stumbled and put a hand on the grey spraycrete wall. Her thick fingers left a dark trail along the smooth surface. Something banged and rattled further down the alley and Tali gasped. She raised her other hand, pistol trembling slightly. She paced forward slowly, her toe-pads pressed to the metal plates. She blinked, trying to clear a funny, wavering light from her eyes. Maybe my visor is acting up again…you know, something like that…
The garbage chute banged again and a rank smell came from a rent in the metal plates. The rusted metal was streaked with waste. "Just garbage," Tali breathed, lowering her pistol with a wince. Her right side was burning hot. "Keeper needs to repair that… Keeper needs…to clean up the bodies… Good proteins, very efficient, just like the Flotilla. Into the vats!"
Tali laughed and that hurt, a lot, so she retched again.
There were endless bubbling tanks of fabricators and protein vats buried in the hull of the station, providing the Council with unlimited manufacturing power to sculpt the surface of the Citadel. They factories operated far below them on the spaceward side of the station. Tali wished that her people could witness the awe-inspiring sight of thousands of gas-sifters and asteroid miners bringing the raw materials to the Citadel to be processed… If the quarians had the Citadel at their disposal, they could have rebuilt the entire fleet twice already. "No time to rebuild the Fleet," she mumbled, "Need to find the med clinic first..."
She peeled herself off the wall, swearing at the sudden stabbing pain in her side. Tali rounded the end of the alley and a door hissed open, revealing a long, red-lit tunnel filled with air scrubbers and strange nooks and steps. She stumbled down the stairs.
"Stairs on a space station, so many stairs, it's stupid!" she growled. "Ouch!"
The red air seemed to thicken and waver in front of her eyes. She forged her way through it, pulse increasing, and then passed through another door. She emerged on the other side of the maintenance corridor and saw a Citadel Public Transit station and the illuminated hatch that led down to a air-car tube. The gleaming holographic icon wavered in her vision and Tali scrubbed at her visor. She drew closer and scanned the terminal, "Presidium, Citadel Security—bosh'tets—Central Archives, really!?" She linked her omni-tool and scanned rapidly. "There, med-clinic, confidential, certified in quarian medicine, Upper Market. Was that so hard? Who programmed you?"
Tali groaned and bent slightly, and then straightened, "Two hundred credits? You rich asari bitches..."
Tali paid the price, and watched the last of her funds dwindle. Almost immediately the air-car access shaft opened. Avina's voice echoed down the tube, "Please board your vehicle. Thank you for using Citadel Public Transit. Please board your vehicle."
The ride to the medical clinic passed in a blur of noise and colour. Tali suspected that she was passing in and out of unconsciousness. Under other circumstances she would program herself an injection of stimulants but she was so close to the clinic that she didn't want to have any drugs in her system. So, when the air-car lurched to a halt she cried out in pain and swore at Avina as the VI announced in a cheerful tone, "You have arrived at your destination!"
Tali threw open the hatch and painstakingly lowered herself onto the landing pad. A helpful mech unfolded from an alcove and guided her inside the white plastic-paneled chamber. She had made it.
Codex: Humanity and the Systems Alliance/Genetic Engineering/Enhancement
In the years before first contact, human genetic research was quite advanced. However, after making first contact with the turians and joining the Citadel, there were concerns that such modifications might lead to Earth's unique biodiversity being lost, so the Alliance Parliament passed the Sudham-Wolcott Genetic Heritage Act in 2161, leading to strict controls on genetic modification. As current law stands, modification of natural abilities is legal, but acquisition of new ones is not. For example, using gene therapy to increase muscle mass is legal, but adding the ability to digest cellulose is not.
Some genetic enhancement is provided for free to Alliance military recruits, while the average citizen must pay for the privilege. The process can take years to reach fruition in a recruit however, once complete, Alliance soldiers are provided with increased muscle mass, skeletal reinforcement, heightened senses, and improved pulmonary and cardiovascular efficiency, while recruits into the N7 program are rumored to receive even more genetic and surgical enhancement. Extensive training and cognitive behavioral therapy is required to learn to control these improved abilities. Recruits who achieve proficiency with their enhancements quickly are often selected for increased training and minor cybernetic modification. Modification of the ocular nerve and adrenal gland allow for brief bursts of high-speed situational processing, an ability known in the Alliance Marines as "bullet time."
In the ongoing arms race against alien races and unmanned combat mechs genetic enhancement is essential to maintaining humanity's position in the galaxy. [Updated 29-May-2016]