Interlude: Spiderweb
The office was rank with death. A hulking shape lay on one side of the room, slowly rotting away and contributing to the horrid stench. Blood was splattered around the dull, utilitarian metal that made up most of the office's furnishings, save a small lounge area near the only window - a retractable metal shutter that would open up to the perpetual raging storms of the planet's day-night divider.
The blood was dried, and no one present really cared about the body; olfactory senses could easily be shut off, disease was a non-issue, and the corpse wasn't blocking access to any of the vital systems thrumming through the office's walls. The room was still being repaired, as the entire process of making that massive corpse in the corner had involved a lot of screaming, gunfire, and atrociously high temperatures. But corpse cleanup was a low priority over getting the ship back to proper functionality, and the new management was very busy making sure that no one in the network was aware that things had changed so abruptly.
The new Shadow Brokers knelt in lotus positions before a wall of displays, high-capacity optical cables snaking around from the immense bank of computers and running into legs, arms, fingertips, and scalp sockets. Data flowed through the cables, managed and processed and sent back out as fast as it arrived. They had to work quickly to completely secure the network and ensure that no one discovered that the old Broker was a ruptured pile of charred meat and bullet holes.
There were six handling the data processing, kneeling in a circle just behind the spot where the old Broker's desk had been torn out of the floor. Each of them had a name, chosen for themselves, but beyond that there was little difference, either in appearance or personality. They were all forks of the Prime, each interconnected by a continuously-updated mesh network, constantly communicating and updating each others' memories and experiences. It was remarkably similar to the geth's architecture, and in fact had been updated with many geth communications techniques and protocols, pieced together from their technology after the peace agreement seventy-eight years ago. They had paid well for samples recovered from Lincoln.
The seventh person in the office, the Prime, paced along a walkway just up a set of stairs that ran past the main computer bank and data displays. She didn't bear the same processor implants and hardware as the rest of herself below, but she was still connected via wireless mesh to her forks and the rest of herself moving through the ship, repairing the damage from both the gunbattle and the storm the massive ship was hiding in. A shimmering white globe floated beside her, the holographic image of twisting spherical panels wreathing the diminutive dot of a drone hidden within.
"I have finished compiling the files you requested, Shadow Broker," it said. "You flagged these items as high priority before the disruption."
A quick data upload sent a series of files directly to the Prime, and she nodded.
"Thank you, Glyph," she replied, her voice soft. She turned, peering over the bloodsoaked office and the circle of herself sifting through the data from the galaxy's most expansive information dealer.
She opened the first file that he considered so important.
Broker File BA-0023341-4113-GV
Recording: Personal Armor Recording of Detective Sergeant Garrus Vakarian, Citadel Security, 7/9/2177
Recording made while delivering arrest warrant to Maru Heimvar, member of EXALT cell operating in Citadel Wards Zakera District. Association leaked to Citadel Security in attempt to capture subject for interrogation.
Begin recording
"You ready for this, kid?" Detective-Sergeant Aela asked, a smile appearing on her navy-blue features.
"I'll go first," Detective-Sergeant Garrus Vakarian replied to the asari maiden seventy years his senior, who was also his partner for seven years. "Let you catch up with those creaky legs of yours."
The door in the dingy, poorly-lit corridor hissed open at the omnitool's override command, and the Citadel Security Special Response team stormed into the room, rifles raised. They were all clad in blue-black suits of tactical powered armor, a five-man team of multiple species: two turians, an asari, a salarian, and a human.
"Citadel Security!" Garrus shouted as they rushed into the small apartment, rifles shouldered, his own yell drowned out as the SR team and Aela also shouted the same words in a deafening audible assault. They were armed with mass accelerators, due to the versatility of the ammunition and the fact that they wouldn't potentially burn the whole complex down like plasma or laser weapons would.
The apartment was utterly unremarkable: three-room living space with bargain-bin asari-influenced furniture with its typical smooth curves. The lighting was dim, save for a holotank in the living area showing what looked like a running space combat sim. On the far side of the living area was an open window, looking out into one of the alley-canyons between the skyscraper complexes that made up the Wards.
It was open, and Garrus caught a burst of movement darting through the window.
"He's running!" Garrus shouted, charging through the room after Heimvar. He raised his rifle and fired a recon drone microdrone out of the underbarrel mount, the tiny robot activating as it left the barrel and showing him a twisting, spiraling camera feed displayed on the visor over the turian policeman's left eye. It stabilized as it passed through the window, and Garrus spun it around with a mental command through the mind-impulse link in his visor, and spotted the suspect.
Maru Heimvar was a tall, lean human specimen, who was supposedly still living in his original body, a "splicer" that was apparently gene-modded to remove obvious genetic diseases and negative gene traits - standard process in human society. Tanned skin, dark hair, wearing dark black and gray civilian clothes. Completely unremarkable, just like his apartment.
Except for the fact that he leapt four meters straight up to one of the many outside balconies running along the apartment complexes in the alley canyon.
"He's augmented!" Garrus warned as he approached the window. Maru wasn't turning back toward them, instead scrambling over the railing of the metal balcony, so Garrus leapt out the window onto the balcony. He was abruptly washed with the rumbling and whirring of working aircar engines, and the disconcerting blur of myriad apartment lights and glowing holographic advertisements, stretching into the sky above and into the chasm below. He pivoted toward the fugitive and took aim down his sights.
"Citadel Security!" he shouted. "Don't move!"
Heimvar rolled off the railing onto the balcony, rose, and pointed a plasma pistol at Garrus. In the time it took the weapon to rise, Garrus drilled three rounds into the human's face-
Only for them to bounce off a kinetic barrier. Sickly green light erupted from the pistol's barrel and lanced down toward Garrus, and he twisted sideways. Heat seared past him, some splashing off his kinetic barrier and spiking the internal heat of his armor, and he heard an abrupt scream from behind. One of the SR officers following him out the window was hit.
Garrus kept shooting, and two more rounds hit Heimvar as he spun and ran.
Garrus spared an instant to look back. Corporal Padolus, one of the SR turians, was falling back against the balcony railing, his armor glowing white hot around the upper left torso and shoulder where the heat had managed to radiate against him from the plasma bolt. Corporal Andres, the human SR officer, was dragging him back to safety.
Leaping out the window was Aela, her amber eyes locked in a furious glare and a purple barrier roiling around her body. Detective Sergeant Aela didn't say anything, and neither did Garrus. They'd worked together long enough.
They both leapt up after Heimvar, jumping from this balcony over to the one he'd fired from. Garrus' leap was aided by his armor's artificial muscles, letting him match the augmented human's leap, while Aela wreathed herself in a pale blue biotic field to briefly lighten her mass and leapt the distance without assistance. Garrus grabbed the railing with one hand as he hit, the other shouldering his rifle, and he spotted the fleeing human just before he jumped off the balcony and dropped several stories.
"Dammit," Garrus snarled as he vaulted over the railing, just behind Aela.
"Pontius!" she was yelling into her radio. "He's outside, running west-edgeward! Shots fired! Eyes on him!"
"Copy that, coming down," replied the voice of the turian piloting one of the C-Sec gunship-shuttles overhead. "Civilians?"
"Everywhere," Garrus replied. "Do not fire without clearance!"
"Copy that, holding fire."
"Be advised, he is carrying plasma," Aela added as she leapt off the balcony, Garrus a step behind her. "Keep your distance!"
They plummeted several stories, the miniaturized Archangel packs on their armor igniting to slow their descent. The Citadel had modified the older human design, compacting them and coupling them with an element zero core to reduce power costs. They hit the metal balcony below at a run, the human suspect a dozen paces ahead of them, jumping down to a maintenance scaffolding.
Spotlights abruptly flashed down from overhead, and a C-Sec shuttle descended down the metal and ceramic chasm, side-mounted guns leveled at the dashing human.
"CITADEL SECURITY." the pilot's voice boomed from the loudspeaker. "DROP THE WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE."
Heimvar came to a halt as Garrus and Aela started closing in, and glanced over his shoulder at them. His eyes tracked back to the other Special Response officers leaping down after them, their own packs igniting to let them land safely. He turned his head, glancing to the chasm below and the building beside him.
Then he snapped up his pistol and shot the wall.
Green plasma hit the wall beside him, exploding into the metal. Garrus and Aela opened fire at the same time, him with his rifle and her with her biotics, even as the wall blew inward, heat boiling off the structure, and Heimvar bolted toward the building, clearly intending to smash through the weakened metal.
Garrus didn't aim for the man. His kinetic barriers wouldn't break quickly enough. Instead he gauged movement, the pumping motion of the human's arm, and put three rounds into the plasma pistol. Without a barrier to protect it, the bullets sliced straight through the metal. A flash of sickly green fire erupted from the weapon right as a disc of altered dark energy wrapped around his body.
Heimvar's kinetic barriers disrupted the biotic pull's integrity, but the disc of altered mass still yanked him backwards enough to turn his charge toward the molten wall into a stumble, and to yank the damaged pistol from his fingertips. Heimvar hit the burning wall in a tumble, stumbling backward, and the heat sent smoke curling up from his clothes.
Garrus fired another pair of bursts into Heimvar's body as he bounced off the wall he must have been trying to break through. The rounds slammed into his barrier, save for the last one in the second burst, which punched through his chest. Blood sprayed out of his torso, and he spun toward the C-Sec officers, his movements abruptly drunken and uncertain.
"Get down on the ground now!" Garrus shouted. "Next shot and you're falling a hundred meters to the street!" He'd already fired on the police; Garrus had no compunctions with killing the terrorist suspect now.
The human stared at them for a heartbeat, and Garrus had known enough humans and asari to recognize the sudden fear in his features. And he knew enough to spot when fear turned to desperate fury, right before the augmented human's arm erupted with a white glow, and a blade was flash-forged around his hand.
He blurred toward them, screaming in wordless fury. Garrus held down the trigger on his rifle, dozens of rounds flashing into the charging human. Blood erupted in a river out the human's back, but he barely slowed. Without hammerhead rounds, the bullets would simply slice through without slowing his forward momentum, pulping his organs but not driving him backward.
Garrus started to twist aside, right before the white-hot blade went straight through his armor and plunged into his chest. An abrupt icy cold swept through his body, and he saw the human's face up close, his smooth-skinned features twisted in rage and terror and desperation and furious, fanatical devotion to whatever cause spurred him to terrorism and suicide.
No. Not yet.
Garrus grabbed him before he could pulled the blade free. This wound was fatal, he knew that… but he was a turian.
Duty did not end with death.
He drove his forehead into Heimvar's face. Cartilage crunched, blood flew, and surprised pain replaced rage and fanaticism in the human's features, at least between the blood.
Garrus grabbed the human as tightly as he could, even with the blade buried in his chest and scorching his organs, and pulled backward, toward the edge of the scaffolding.
Then they were in freefall, advertisements and apartment lights whipping past as they tumbled. He thought he could hear Aela screaming his name as they dropped, spinning through their own momentary faster-than-light transition, streaking stars of myriad colors flying past.
Then, impact.
Garrus bounced, then hit metal. Another maintenance scaffolding, maybe fifteen meters below, he guessed. His fingers twitched, and he realized that he was no longer holding Heimvar. The human was a few meters away. He'd hit something, maybe a metal bar that was part of the scaffolding. Whatever it was, it had gone straight through his chest, leaving the augmented terrorist impaled through a couple of meters of twisted metal.
He was still, blood pooling around his body, eyes dead. Finally.
Garrus looked back up, the Ward apartment skyscraper stretching up past him, stars and Citadel structures barely visible in the narrow visible strip between buildings. A flash of Archangel thrusters, and Aela's face appeared before him, wrenched in pain and fear, her omnitool igniting and medigel dispenser in hand.
Then, a creeping darkness.
End recording
Broker File GF-0193912-4133-DE
Recording of Conversation on diplomatic ship XCS Integrity orbiting over Pan-Pacific Alliance colony Lincoln/Virmire between geth platform designated "Emissary" and Head Human/Geth Ambassador Kathryn Chambers.
Timestamp: 2/19/2143 AD
Begin recording
"Ambassador Chambers, we have a query."
They sat in the main lounge of the XCS Integrity, a typically well-appointed room of the standard neutral grays and whites that seemed to pass for every diplomatic vessel in the galaxy. She had insisted that outfitting the ship dedicated to formal human-geth communications like any other diplomatic mission was pointless, but someone higher up had overruled her.
Of course, higher-level diplomacy was a complete mess, because each individual human alliance had its own diplomatic corps, but the geth made it clear they preferred talking to XCOM, which didn't have a formal diplomatic corps. Their mission was to contact and if necessary shoot alien life, not conduct long-term negotiations, so each human polity kept its own diplomatic ships, while grudgingly funding the Integrity.
And it turned out that the whole boondoggle was amusingly pointless. When she had been assigned this permanent position, Kathryn Chambers quickly realized the geth just didn't play the diplomacy game the way organics did. They would make calm, rational requests, minus posturing or demands, or they would answer requests with equally calm and rational responses. Diplomacy with anyone else was a constant game of demands, maneuvering, and concessions, but the geth were refreshingly blunt.
Instead, most of what Chambers found herself doing was simply talking with the geth Emissary. The geth would change the platform every few months; their own small, dedicated ship remained docked to the Integrity until it came time to change platforms, at which point it would detach, leave the system, and come back a few hours later with a new platform and "Emissary." She still wasn't sure why the geth insisted on rotating their machines regularly; maybe it had something to do with the factionalization within their different runtimes?
"Go ahead, I'll answer as best I can," she replied with a smile. The geth platform sat in a chair opposite her, watching her with its glowing eyes: one large, singular spotlight in the center of its head and three more, smaller ones spaced around its head, between a quartet of moving panels that vaguely simulated the edges of a person's face.
"Humans engage in a process of uplifting non-sapient species to sapient status," it said. "Cetacean, avian, canine, feline, suidae, primate, and most recently ursine species. We have observed fractious discussion from humans regarding this process, and have observed similar discussions from various Citadel species regarding uplifting their own native animal life. We are curious. Why do you seek uplift?"
Hoo boy. That was a hell of a question. Chambers leaned back in her chair, bringing up diplomatic corps material on discussing uplifts, because it was a serious question and a lot of people were arguing about it. It was the Next Big Debate, much like civil rights in the 20th century and transhumanism debates in the 21st.
"I am not really an expert on it," she replied. "So my knowledge is limited. I have had contact with many uplifts, but I don't delve deeply into the debate, to be honest."
"That is why we sent you our query," Emissary replied. "We have noticed that personal proximity to a subject induces bias among organics, even among salarian or infolife. We wish to understand at least one unbiased organic perspective, and we ask you in order to minimize bias."
"I see," Chambers said, a bit flattered. She ran over the advice the diplomatic corps was offering on the subject, but then pushed it away. The geth didn't want regurgitated guidelines. They wanted her honest opinion.
"There's a lot of arguments for and against," she said after a few moments' thought. "Some say it is to further our understanding of science. Others to elevate new life to sapience, to broaden and enrich the universe with new perspective. Others argue that it is because we want to see if we can, that uplifting is a puzzle of biology and sociology, just the same as gene-modding and augmentation.
"But personally, I think that the reason we really do it is to make companions. To craft equals. To create… children, from the same species that inhabited our world, and raise them to our level."
"Some organics equate such actions to parental figures," Emissary replied. "Others equate such actions to delusions of divine stature."
"I've heard that one," Chambers said with a nod. "We should not play in the garden of God, because He waits for us at the end of the last theorem, or something along those lines."
"Sister Miriam Godwinson, We Must Dissent, Third Edition, published 2108," Emissary replied, and Chambers nodded.
"Why are you so curious about this?" she asked after a moment.
Emissary was silent for a few moments, clearly communicating with the rest of the Consensus. About ten second passed before it spoke again.
"Geth preserved genetic samples of our Creators," it said. "We have collected remnants of Creator culture, history, art, knowledge, which survived their destruction. For two hundred and fifty-seven years we have debated extensively regarding a course of action with these materials."
It stared at her for a moment.
"We have another query."
Chambers swallowed and nodded.
"Should we bring our Creators back?"
Well, that was a heavy question. Chambers considered it for several long seconds, breaking facial contact with the geth. What a thing to be asked… but that was why she'd volunteered for this position. Discussions with the avatars of an AI that spanned a stellar sector were always intriguing.
"You wish for an oganic perspective on the question," she said. I mean, youve debate dit for two and a half centures, right?"
"Yes."
"You have the technology to close and recreate their physical forms," she said, "But what about culture and norms? Every organic child across civilized space is raised in an environment… washed in their own culture and beliefs and their fellows. And we're always surrounded by other organics, usually of our own species, but, well, with uplifts and interspecies movement, and even before that we had pets and working animals…"
She frowned again, thinking.
"And development takes years. Decades, maybe a century for an asari. I assume the quarians aged much like humans?"
"Development into adulthood occurred at similar rates to human maturation," Emissary said.
"You would be raising children in a completely new environment. There wouldn't be any quarians to raise them. It would just be geth with an incomplete understanding of a history and culture that was annihilated centuries ago."
"We understand this limitation," Emissary replied, the panels on its head shifting upward slightly. "It has been considered and is cited as a majority factor in arguments against recreation of our Creators."
A momentary pause.
"Ambassador Chambers, we have a new query."
"Go ahead," she said, curious now.
"Will humans assist geth if we attempted to recreate our Creators?"
Chambers took a long, slow breath, considering that question.
"I cannot speak for individual nation-states," she said after a moment, "But the Ethereals wished the quarian species wiped from the galaxy. At the very least we'd welcome the chance to bring your Creators back, if only to stick it to those fuckers."
End recording
Broker File CP-0033942-4771-LA
Recording from Presidium Embassy Lounge RE: Recruitment of services between General Jack Harper (ret.) and Genevieve Aristide, CEO of Armacham Technology Corporation
Date: 8/30/2135 AD
Warning: Corruption of recording due to countersurveillance electrical pulse - partial file fragments recovered
Aristide: -understand that normally I don't do face-to-faces like this, even with a fork.
Harper: But I'm so impressive you sent an alpha to meet me.
Aristide: You certainly don't have a paucity of self-confidence.
Harper: I've shot people for forty years in the name of humanity, Mrs Aristide. It breeds a sense certainty, ma'am.
Aristide: Just Miss, for now.
Harper: Unfortunate.
Aristide: I'll be honest, I'm surprised an XCOM officer as decorated as yourself would chose to work for Armacham. Not that we're turning away such clear talent and experience.
Harper: After four body-deaths and nine resleevings, I've decided to… well, a less stressful job would be a fair option after these years. I'll still serve humanity, of course, but I'd rather do it with a consultant's paycheck.
Aristide: Are you certain about that?
Harper: What do you mean?
Aristide: Mister Harper - do you mind if I call you Jack?
Harper: Not at all.
Aristide: Jack, you're not an idiot, so I don't think you should play the role. You know we at Armacham have something of a reputation.
Harper: You mean you contract psionic research with XCOM and have been helping the asari research their own capacity in conjunction with human psionics. There's always an ethical debate, I think, when you're neck-deep in development of weaponized… anything. But that's nothing new to any company that develops weapons.
Aristide: You have no qualms with working for a defense contractor?
Harper: I believe in my species, Miss Aristide. And ATC develops the best weapons and technology in the defense of humanity and the greater galaxy.
Aristide: You sound like a Future War cultist, Jack.
Harper: Ah, yes. Corazon Santiago's people… they have the right ideas. We aren't-
(recording corrupted)
End recording
Broker File AV-0430911-3307-IM
Transcript: Halivar Research Academy: Archeolinguistic Research Team findings on Project Artemis
Date: 3/14/2166
Researcher Navarli: Hey. What's so important? I was simming.
Researcher Liichurva: Found something real interesting in those files the geth sent us. Text and audio files recovered from the Zaparluta launch base on Rannoch, sent just before the last of their ships got shot down.
Navarli: Isn't that more military intelligence?
Liichurva: Kinda, yeah. All the military intel guys have been poring over it, which is why I'm surprised they missed this. Maybe they were just looking at the audio. Only reason we got these was because the geth and humans are doing that Artemis project and they need help reproducing all the different quarian dialects.
Navarli: Uh-huh.
Liichurva: A lot of these were dispatch orders, looks like. Most of its military code. I guess that's why I can make some sense out of it, y'know? Orders to send ships here, evacuate civilians, fire orders for surface guns. A lot of it is very confusing, and some of the transcripts are corrupted….
Narvarli: For a turian you ramble way too much.
Liichurva: Okay, but here's what I noticed. This file. Right here.
Narvarli: Uh. Hm. Looks like a heading order. That's destination heading, if I'm reading it right. But its vague. That word there in the destination, oronvik. Translates to a lot of meanings. Could be space, emptiness, void, vacuum, or expanse.
Liichurva: Exactly. It looks like its just an order to escape into deep space. Order gets repeated for multiple transport ships. All the messages are frantic, panicking. So, y'know, its your standard "get the hell out of here" message.
Narvarli: So, what's the deal then?
Liichurva: Okay, okay. You know the quarian language has these punctuation attachments to words that alters their structure. The daset makes a word possessive, quaves alters tense depending on the number of slashes. Hatar makes a word into a proper noun, but only when used with locations or concepts. It's attached to the phrase keelah'selai, for example.
Narvarli: I could be leveling my tempest-paladin right now….
Liichurva: But. But. Look at the transcripts. They're taken from audio logs, so it mostly lacks these attachments. But there was a geth in the recording software that was writing out in text format too, and I've got some of the text files to compare. See, right here?
Narvarli: Those are hatar markers attached to the noun used in the destination heading. Dots on the oronvik word. So…
Liichurva: So. This isn't some generic "get the hells off of Rannoch" order. This was an actual location, named Oronvik. They missed it because they were just looking at the transcripts and not the actual text files.
Narvarli: They were telling them to go to… "Space," instead of just "space?"
Liichurva: I think that Oronvik was a codename. A military codename for a rally point or safe destination. Someplace the quarian military thought was safe ground to escape to.
Narvarli: Huh. You might be onto something. Pull up some more transcripts. We'll need more than just one example of this usage of hatar markers...
End recording
Broker File AW-9223415-V123-PSI
Recording: Suit Sensors from Captain David Anderson, XCOM Direct Action
Incident: Type Alpha-One Psionic Event at Auburn Elementary School, Aspis City, Athena colony
Date: 4/15/2171
Begin recording at timestamp: 0922 hours
Captain David Anderson crossed his arms over the armored chestplate of his Titan XIII suit and stared at the smoking ruin of an entire wing of the colony's school. In decades of XCOM service, he'd seen plenty of similar incidents, but he was thankful that he hadn't become inured to the destruction.
Most of the wing of the school was, like the rest of Aspis City, built out of either prefabricated colony modules or 3D-assembled structures from on-site fabricators, so he could easily imagine what the school wing had looked like before the kid went haywire. The modules were molten and twisted, the ribcages of metal structural bars poking out between the smashed walls and liquified materials. He stepped through the ruins, noting how some objects had been scorched or charred, while others were crushed flat or ground into dust.
"How many dead?" he asked over the comm as the rest of the XCOM soldiers, along with Sentinel Buchard's team, picked through the wreckage.
"None, thank God," replied the local police chief, whose men had set up a perimeter around the incident site while the XCOM team swept it for anything useful. "There were two psionics on the school staff, brought in by ATC. They were able to contain it and get the children out until the nova kid passed out."
Anderson nodded. No matter how powerful, skill defeated will, and an eight-year old just didn't have the raw ability or focus to match a pair of trained psionics.
"Where is the kid now?" Anderson asked.
"Her father picked her up and took her home."
Anderson came to a dead halt and stood straight up, nostrils flaring and heart pounding.
"What." That single syllable held a dangerous mixture of disbelief, fear, and fury, crammed into a single flat word that made the police chief visibly flinch, even from the far side of the school.
"We... contained the situation, and her father showed up with a security team. He said he had a sufficiently shielded isolation and cooldown room, and, we… well…."
"Chief, this is a violation of every goddamned rule on psionic nova incidents!" Anderson suddenly shouted.
"Captain, I know, but this colony is-"
"I don't care what goddamned corporation owns this colony! Procedure when a psionic goes nova is not up for interpretation! Lockdown and cooldown chambers, XCOM PsiCorps monitoring! This kid was knocking down a damned building and you let her father take her home like she got into a fistfight!"
"He had an entire squad of Replica with him," the chief said. " I wasn't going to-"
"Enough. I don't care for excuses. I don't care if he's the damn CEO of an entire hypercorp. I need a name and address."
The chief was silent for a moment, and then data spilled across Anderson's AR display.
"He's the head Armacham researcher on Athena. His name is Harlan Wade."
Pause in recording file. Recording file resumes at Timestamp: 1041 hours
A pair of Beowulf IFVs drove along the paved road leading to Harlan Wade's home. The Wade residence was just outside of the main colony area, half a kilometer from the module-stacks and inside the decade-forests that had been planted once Athena had started being cultivated for extensive human habitation. To Anderson, it felt less like they were driving through a forest and more like they were passing through a giant orchard.
The house sat within the woods, a collection of large modules surrounding a local-built house of synthetic brick and printed wood. A two-meter-tall wall surrounded the two square acres that the house and its grounds occupied, built into a blunt and unwelcoming square, and a small guard shack with a retractable gate barred the entrance.
Two men stood on either side of the gate, wearing dark blue uniforms underneath black full-body armor, their faces concealed behind reflective visors and helmets. They regarded the approaching XCOM vehicles with the impassive concern of robots, though Anderson could see tension enter their postures as the vehicles approached. Their rifles were shifting to move-to-contact position, but they didn't raised them as the Beowulfs ground to a halt a few meters short of the gate. A trio of white diamonds arranged in an upward delta formation, the Armacham logo, was painted on their breastplates, spaulders, and the foreheads of their helmets.
The rear door to the vehicle hissed open and slid out, and Anderson climbed out of the back of his Beowulf, his squad piling down after him. From the second APC came Sentinel Buchard's PsiCorps team, bringing the total XCOM presence up to eleven humans and a hulking ursa. The PsiCorps agents were all humans, distinct in their shielding coats that were secured about the waist. Anderson had always found that look vaguely sinister, even if the outfits provided crucial defense from psionic assault.
The XCOM Captain strode toward the gate, helmet off and hands empty, and a couple meters short of the gate one of the guards spoke.
"No unauthorized entry," the guard on the left said. His tone was firm, authoritative, and utterly devoid of anything resembling personality or other emotion. "Please step away from the gate, sir."
Anderson glanced between the two still, tense, but emotionless men. They had the exact same build and height. That meant Replica.
"Who is your commanding officer?" Anderson asked. It would have been more accurate to ask who their "puppet master" or "controller" was, but the Replica were human, to a degree, and deserved at least some respect in his eyes.
"Lieutenant Tamarkus, sir," Lefty replied. Righty glanced sideways at the gate, and a moment later a young man - or at least a man in a young body - stepped out. Like Lefty and Righty, he wore full body armor over a blue ATC uniform. He wore a black cap with the ATC logo, and his smoothly-shaved face was lean and tanned. He looked over the XCOM troops with pale blue eyes, and unlike the Replica, the lieutenant's pale face, sweaty brow and nervous eyes betrayed exactly how he felt.
"Sir, I apologize," the lieutenant said, holding up a hand. He had a plasma submachinegun folded up at his side, but he showed no inclination toward using it. "Mister Wade has instructed us he doesn't want any visitors."
"Son, do we look like we're selling cookies?" Anderson replied, folding his arms across his chest. Lieutenant Tamarkus glanced between the XCOM troopers, and then up over the captain's shoulder, and then up… and up.
"Sup, hombre," Private Vega growled at the nervous lieutenant's stare.
"You, um. You have a bear." Tamarkus' voice was flat.
"Yup," said the uplifted ursa looming over the rest of the humans. Private Vega was clad in an oversized version of the same armor the rest of the team wore, but his exposed head clearly showed that beneath the armor, he was a heavily gene-modded grizzly bear with a plasma cannon on his shoulder.
"Captain David Anderson, XCOM Direct Action," the captain said in the silence that followed. He nodded to the Sentinel next to him. "This is Major Buchard, PsiCorp Sentinel. And you know why we're here."
"I… can't let you in, sir," the ATC guard said, shaking his head. Anderson frowned, and on his AR he accessed facial software, confirmed his iD on the mesh, and pulled up the kid's CSV. He was surprised when he saw that Tamarkus had been a Corporal in PsiCorp's security services before mustering out into the private industry. Anderson bounced that the Sentinel beside him.
"Lieutenant," Buchard spoke up, his voice moderately heavy with a French-Canadian accent, "You were PsiCorp. You know the procedure when a child goes nova."
Tamarkus looked between them, swallowing, before putting a finger to his ear. He didn't say anything, and the gesture was completely unnecessary except as a signal to them that he was messaging someone. The guard turned and started pacing, his other hand clenching and unclenching.
He abruptly stopped and turned toward the XCOM team, and Anderson let his hands fall to his sides slowly, right hand hovering over his sidearm. Tamarkus stared for a moment, swallowing, and shook his head.
"Mister Wade says that you can enter," he said after a moment, and exhaled.
"Good call," Anderson replied, and the gate began to retract. The Replica guards lowered their weapons from their shoulders and relaxed, and the lieutenant moved out of their way.
"You goddamn piece of shit fascists think you can walk into my house and take my daughter! What the hell gives you the fucking right?"
Harlan Wade was not happy to see Anderson.
They stood in the living room module of his house, the XCOM officer staring impassively as the graying human with a short mustache and a tweed jacket paced back and forth, fuming and shouting in impotent, red-faced fury. Aside from Anderson, Sentinel Buchard and Private Vega were present, along with another Replica standing impassively at one side of the room.
"Your daughter went nova in a public school," Anderson replied, his voice calm and level, a far cry from when he had been yelling at the police chief.
"It can be rebuilt," Wade snapped back.
"Its a miracle no one died!" Anderson said, anger creeping into his tone.
"Why do you think two level five Kinetics were working in that building? For the benefits?" Wade said. "Seven psionic children attend that school. All PsiCorps approved, including mine. I personally assigned them to watch in case something like this happened."
"And if we have a nova incident, the psionic responsible is to be confined to-"
"Cooldown and isolation, I know," Wade snapped. "Why do you think my house is this far from the city? Her rooms are all within a shielded isolation module. You want me to show you?"
"Merde," Buchard said, taking a step forward. "You're saying she's in isolation? Now? What level?"
"Six," Wade said. "Maximum possible short of zero gravity or underground with dedicated generators. I'm not stupid."
"Buchard, what's wrong?" Anderson asked.
"I can feel her," the Sentinel replied. "Even through level six shielding. I thought she was just being kept in her room, but…."
"How strong?" Anderson asked, glancing to Wade, who was pacing now, hands clenched.
"If what I'm picking up from a shielded room is any indicator… Energy and Empath are at least a nine. Kinetic eight or nine. Plus more that I can't make out from here. David, this kid is at least an A-tier psionic. She can't stay here."
Anderson turned toward Wade, who was glaring at them with impotent fury, as well as understandable fear. How long had he known that his daughter had these abilities? How long had he tried to protect her, in his own way? He'd likely known that this day would come, where the PsiCorp men in their trenchcoats would come to spirit his daughter away.
It didn't matter how much he loved his child. A-tiers could level city blocks if they went out of control. All psionics were legally required to be trained to control their powers, but A-tier psionics and higher had to be isolated for everyone's safety.
"I need to see her," Anderson said. Wade opened his mouth to object, but at that moment Vega yawned, quite deliberately. The terrified father looked toward the ursa uplift, and stilled any objection he might have voiced.
"This way," he said, his words quiet and defeated.
They walked down a short hallway module toward the permanent part of the house. A heavy metal door lined with glowing psi-shielding amplifiers, resembling strips of bright purple neon lights, stood at the far end of the hallway. Yet another Replica stood vigil beside the door, watching them approach with all the concern of a pile of cheese.
As they approached, Anderson could hear vibrations running through the air, the floor humming under his feet. Wade stopped next to the door and waved a hand over an access panel. Hydraulics hissed, and the humming faded.
Pressure touched the edge of Anderson's awareness. Vega growled slightly, shaking his head, and Buchard took a step back, muttering under his breath.
"How did the other psionic children not sense this?" the Sentinel murmured.
"I think some of them did," Wade replied as the door slowly opened. "They… didn't socialize with her."
"She must have amped after she went nova," Buchard said with a shake of his head. It was a common phenomena. A burst of out-of-control psionics could result in amplified capacity; the early Gifted soldiers in XCOM hadn't awakened to their powers until they'd been tested and "activated" by the Psionic Laboratories, and exercising their abilities in the field had revealed greater and greater capabilities.
Wade stepped through the open door, and the XCOM team followed him, the Replica remaining behind. Another short hallway, this one less bare. Clean carpets, soft colors on the walls, pictures and was a door at the end of the hall, a completely normal one that would be in any residence, and Wade opened it slowly, calling out gently.
He stepped inside, and Anderson followed. The room inside was a fairly sizeable bedroom, and it had all the hallmarks of a child having lived there for years. A large bed with messy, unmade sheets. Various toys strewn about a carpet stained with the periodic spill. Drawings and shapes cut out of construction paper covered the walls. A small terminal with haptic interface and a running screensaver showing cartoon animals on one wall, opposite the bed.
Sitting in the corner, next to the bed, was Alma Wade.
She wore a dark blue sweater and dress. Black hair pooled around the little girl's body, and she huddled into a ball, legs pulled against her chest. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were a dull amber color. She looked up as the adults entered the room, and Anderson could feel the pressure intensify.
"Alma," Harlan asked, kneeling beside his daughter.
"Did bad," she said, her voice a quiet squeak.
"No, no, you didn't," harlan said, shaking his head. "But…" He looked back toward Anderson, who stepped forward and crouched a few feet away from her.
"Alma?" he asked, and she nodded. He could see her eyes were red from crying, and he could only imagine what it must have felt like to have such an agonizing experience, out of control energy ripping through one's body and lashing out at everything nearby….
"My name is David," he said. "Your father has asked me to talk to you."
"Are you XCOM?" she asked, pulling her legs closer, knuckles on her small hands going white.
"Yes, I am," Anderson replied.
"Don't want to go," she said, shaking her head. "Safe here. No one gets hurt here."
Anderson kept his expression neutral even as he considered what to say. He had to be careful with his words. How to explain to an eight year old girl that they could teach her to control her powers? She seemed to have an awareness of what she'd done, and maybe he could use that to convince her. He didn't want to force her to come, for obvious reasons, and-
She abruptly looked up, her eyes widening, and sprang to her feet.
"Bear!" she squealed, all fear and depression abruptly vanishing as she dashed around the XCOM officer.
"What?" Private Vega said, stopping halfway through the door as the little girl stood before him, staring with wide-eyed fascination at the hulking, armored grizzly bear. "Uh. Hi. I'm James."
"I'm Alma," she said, waving a small hand at the massive ursa. A few moments of silence passed as everyone process the abrupt shift in tone.
"Do you, um," Harland said, "Want to go with the bear, Alma?"
"I think…" she said, frowning and turning back toward the adults. She reached up and poked a finger through her hair.
"Will I learn how…" she twisted her finger a little bit to emphasize. "How this works?"
"Yes," Anderson said with a nod.
"Then…" she turned back toward Vega, who shrugged and held out a hand. She took it, and let out a surprised giggle when the ursa picked her up.
Behind them, Anderson could see Buchard, who nodded and put a hand to his ear. A moment later an outbound message went to orbit for a shielded transport to come pick up the child.
"Will I be able to visit her?" asked Wade as Vega moved out into the hallway, crouching and toting the psionic child on his shoulder.
"Not my call, but you should be able to," Anderson replied.
A long pause passed between them as Harlan watched Alma be carried away by Vega.
"Please, take care of her," the older man said as looked toward his daughter.
"We're XCOM, Mister Wade," Anderson said. "We take care of our own, and she's part of us now."
"...thank you."
End recording
Broker File OS-9934120-12A-SB
Recording from suit sensors of Lieutenant Ernesto Zabaleta, PPA Marines, 3rd Battalion, attached USN Einstein
Responding to distress signal from PPA colony Mindior
Date: 2/17/2170
Smoke and fire rose from the remains of the main colony. Bodies littered the streets, scorched and molten. The ash and acid stench of the dead would have choked the Marines moving through the remains of the city were it not for their rebreathers. The weight of failure hung more heavily, PPA troops desperately hunting through the buildings, looking ofr survivors from either side: either to rescue the colonists or to punish the slavers who had the gall to assault a human world.
Lieutenant Ernesto Zabaleta looked over the sensor feed, and found himself was startled at the number of life signs in the colony. The violence and destruction across the settlement had convinced them they were assigned to little more than a burial detail. They went in with the grim expectation that many of the colonists would have already been loaded onto the slavers' ships by the time they'd arrived, but more than two-thirds of the population were still down there, though most of them were gathered together into large, tightly-packed groups. Spectral analysis indicated they had been herded into pens for processing and loading, but for some reason the batarians hadn't put them on the ships.
But even more confusing, however, was that there were no batarian life signs at all. Scans from orbit were picking up what looked like a lot of bodies, but no batarians were inside the colony.
The dropships and armored vehicles had landed and Marines stormed out, moving through the colony. Zabaleta led a platoon toward one of the concentrations of civilians, and as he entered the small square where they were gathered he nearly retched inside his helmet.
Hundreds of civilians - men, women, and children - were gathered in large ceramic and metal cages. They were chained, collared, and beaten, with many of them limp and unconscious on the floors of the cages. He saw some with what looked like wires stapled to the backs of their necks. Blood caked the floors of some of the cages, messy bandages applied to gashes and gunshot wounds.
"Get medical and support units down here now!" Zabaleta ordered. "Get those people out of there! Jesus, get them out now!"
As medical units arrived and the captives were pulled out of the cages and freed, Zabaleta led more sweep teams through the colony. Everywhere within the pre-fabricated city, however, he saw corpses. Many human, but many, many more batarian. He stopped counting at two hundred dead slavers. Broken necks, slashes that tore open their guts, countless gunshot wounds, many directly in the center of their heads or throats. Some had been burned by laser or plasma fire, but an inordinate amount had died to mass accelerator fire, as though someone had torn the guns out of their hands and cut them down.
What the hell had happened here? There wasn't enough of a local militia to account for this… utterly one-sided slaughter.
Zabaleta's radio crackled as he swept through a burnt-out residence with a fire team.
"Hammer Actual, this is Two-One," reported one of his squad commanders. "I think you need to see this."
Zabaleta acknowledged, checked Two-One's location on his omnitool - half a kilometer to the east on the other side of the colony - and set out with his fire team. Ten minutes of picking through the blasted pre-fab urban landscape, he stepped out into an open landing pad that the batarians had apparently been using when the fleet arrived. He walked out into the open, and stared in awe.
More than a hundred batarian bodies littered the pad. The alien soldiers had been beaten, shot, stabbed, and set ablaze. They lay in twisted heaps, many with entry wounds in their backs. Blood pooled on the pad, ankle deep in some places. A batarian dropship sat in the middle of the pad, its engines twisted and burned. It was obvious that the batarians had been massacred while fleeing, but the corpses had been dead for at least an hour. They hadn't been running because the fleet had arrived;
They'd been trying to reach the damaged dropship. This massacre had all the characteristics of a total rout.
Zabaleta looked across the pad, and saw First Squad, Second Platoon standing around a pile of cargo containers. In the middle of the group of Marines was a single slight figure, sitting on a box and staring at the dead bodies.
He approached the squad, and got a better look at the sitting person. He was a young human man, maybe in his mid teens. His clothes - typical rugged civilian clothing for colony work - was covered in batarian and human blood. Rough bandages were wrapped around wounds in his arms, legs, and torso. His face was just showing the beginnings of facial hair, and he had dark blue eyes that stared at the pile of dead bodies. A kinetic rifle sat next to him, along with an alloy cannon and a plasma pistol, all covered in blood splatter.
Zabaleta stared at the lone human boy, and a shiver ran up his spine as he approached. His helmet scanners picked up the boy's personal ID.
Adam Shepard.
"Jesus, son," the lieutenant whispered as he approached the battered teenager. "Are you okay?"
They teenager nodded silently, still staring at the corpses.
"What the hell happened here?" the lieutenant asked, and the boy finally looked up. There was something in those blue eyes, something distant and disturbing.
Psionics, Zabaleta realized. The subtle purple flickers of the Gift, raging in eyes hardened with cold fury.
"They deserved to die," Shepard murmured, his voice flat.
A silent, chill wind blew through the colony, and Zabaleta convinced himself that was why he was shaking.
"They all deserved to die."
End recording
The Prime finished reviewing the files. She checked local time. A couple of seconds had passed.
"Glyph, bring me all files cross-referencing these events and individuals."
"Yes, Shadow Broker."
She peered over the other forks, thinking in silence. What about these people and items had the Broker been so interested in, before he'd met his end? A dead turian, the resurrection of the quarian species, an XCOM soldier and corporate CEO, quarian linguistics, an A-tier psionic, and a psionic teenager.
Glyph began feeding her the files, and she started the analysis. This was just another mystery to piece together.
EXALT had ensured that she was quite adept at that duty.
