Tank Bred

"Grunt," the krogan muttered, pacing in a small circle, "my name is Grunt."

Images flashed through his head, pictures of ships and humans. He could feel the images crowding him every time he looked at something, sifting through them to try to find meaning. Okeer's voice rumbled in his mind, droning on about everything, exhorting him to... to what? It was maddening. The images were meaningless. Sick of the tiny room, infuriated by the nameless itch goading his hands, Grunt made for the door.

It cycled open on smooth runners. Grunt felt a flutter of mild surprise as he stepped across the threshold. Shepard hadn't locked him in. A female human warlord, odd as that sounded to his ears. It wasn't Okeer, the voice of the Tank, that had greeted him when it had finally been drained, but this human. She wore the scars of battle, wielded a weapon with ease, and promised worthy enemies. The first things to make any true sense.

The hallway beyond the door was faced on one side with broad windows overlooking the same cargo bay he could see from the room the Tank was in. There was a door on the opposite end of the hall, and another set in the middle, wide and beamed. Grunt approached the middle one. The doors opened to an elevator that looked large enough to carry cargo, though not a vehicle. Their drops ships, then, must have been limited to the cargo area. Grunt stepped in and examined the small display set against the back wall. It listed five decks. Deciding he would start at the top, he touched the icon.

A glowing blue ball popped into existence to his left. "If I may be of assistance," the ball said, "Deck One consists of Commander Shepard's private quarters and is off-limits to unauthorized personnel."

Grunt peered at the curious pixellated shape. "Are you the ship's mind?"

"I am a full artificial intelligence, created by Cerberus to operate the electronics warfare suite of the Normandy. I also carry out the tasks normally associated with a virtual intelligence. I am called EDI."

"Ee-dee." The krogan cocked his head. "Why don't you look like a human? The Tank says humans prefer talking things to look like they do."

"I am unable to speculate on the decisions of my creators. However, this shape uses ninety percent fewer memory resources than a full-body humanoid projection, as well as generating seventy percent less waste heat."

The Tank had not concerned itself a great deal with artificial intelligence. There were images in his head of spindly beings with sloped heads and single, backlit eyes. They were shooting... then a curtain came down in front of them and they disappeared. Were they unworthy foes, then?

The little blue ball could hardly be called a foe. "What is on the other decks?" he asked.

"Deck two is the command deck- it houses the Combat Information Center, the laboratory, the armory-"

"Armory!" Grunt brightened. "Take me there."

The blue ball vanished, and the doors behind him cycled closed. Grunt listened to the hum of the mechanisms behind the walls as the car began to rise- they were quiet and new-sounding, barely above the pervasive hum of the rest of the ship.

He stepped out of the elevator into a wide space dominated by a large holo-projection of the galaxy. The center podium and the profusion of computer terminals along the walls identified it as the command section of the ship. Two humans standing close to the elevator turned as he came through, and he recognized the scars on the dark-skinned one's face- Shepard.

"Grunt," Shepard said with a nod, "welcome to the bridge."

He peered around the open space. "The Tank imprint says that this is a turian command layout. The warlord kept back and above subordinates, instead of among them."

"The original Normandy was co-designed by humans and turians," the commander replied. "So you'll find elements of both design philosophies aboard."

The Tank said nothing of humans and turians building warships together. How much did Okeer leave out? "The ship... Ee-dee said the armory was on this deck."

Shepard raised an arm and pointed to his left. "That door will take you there."

Grunt nodded to Shepard and followed her direction through a door, a short hallway that branched away to the left and another door. A wide, well-lit room opened before him. The walls were lined with racks and computer equipment, and there were several tables and work benches spaced throughout. Grunt immediately recognized the guns and gun parts laid out, and itched to touch them. There were two aliens standing together in the room, talking over a sheet of metal on the table. Both turned to Grunt as he entered.

The male human had dark skin and a suit of armored fatigues, emblazoned with the same horned orange logo that many of the other humans wore, though conspicuously not Shepard herself. The turian wore armor, of course, but it was scorched and scarred and there was a hole in the collar. His face was scarred as well.

Tank imprints flashed through Grunt's head. Turian- weak at the waist and wrist, heart low and left, vulnerable to poisoning from conventional food. Strong spine, military training, good shots and good discipline, quicker than krogan but slower than asari. The best were worthy foes.

"Grunt," the human greeted him. "Shepard said we might see you soon. I'm Jacob Taylor, the armory officer. This is Garrus Vakarian."

Grunt pointed to the turian's battered face. "Did you get that scar in battle?"

"Yes. A batarian in a gunship hit me with a missile."

The krogan nodded. There were many imprints of warriors surviving terrible wounds- Okeer wanted Grunt to respect that. "Did you destroy him for it?"

"Shepard did, blew up the gunship."

"You didn't do it yourself?"

"He'd just finished dealing with about a hundred mercs, their mechs, and their leaders," Jacob said. "I think we can let one batarian slide."

"Hm. A good battle then," Grunt rumbled, low in his chest. "And a good scar to show for it. I have none yet, but I'll earn them soon. I'm here for weapons."

He reached for the assault rifle sitting on the table, but Garrus' hand came down on it in a sharp movement.

The turian's gray eyes glittered as he pulled back a few centimeters. "Not this one."

Grunt growled softly, feeling the heat of challenge under his plates. He heard the human move, and a few seconds later, a rifle presented itself in front of him. The krogan broke Garrus' steady gaze and took it eagerly.

"Elanus Risk Control assault rifle." Grunt squinted. "Vindicator M-15? Yes. Three shot bursts, very accurate and good stopping power. This will do for enemies at range, but weak in close quarters."

"I might have just the thing," Jacob said. He turned and walked over to a weapon cabinet set into the wall. A few commands to his omni-tool opened it, and he withdrew a shotgun and tossed it to Grunt. "Shepard likes this one."

Grunt caught the gun and hefted it, feeling its weight, then frowned. "There were no imprints on this gun." Not knowing irked him. He was supposed to know every weapon.

"Lieberschaft 2180," Jacob said. "Lovingly called the 'Eviscerator' by the mercs. It's not military- the ammo and charge shape mechanism violates certain weapon treaties." He handed Grunt an oddly-shaped, striated ammo slug.

"You don't honor your treaties?"

"The Alliance military might, but Cerberus does what needs to be done to win. The Reapers don't give a rat's ass about our treaties."

Grunt chuckled in agreement. "Words are not weapons."

He slung the assault rifle over his shoulder, and felt it click into the gun mount on the back of his armor. He then slid the ammo slug into the shotgun's magazine, took a heat clip from a stack on the table and fed it into the side of the gun. The Tank's imprints on heat clips were recent, hurried- an image of the one-eyed robots again, focusing on their guns. He cocked the gun to engage the ammo slug, flipped off the safety, chose an empty section of wall, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Your 'Eviscerator' doesn't eviscerate very well," he rumbled, turning to Jacob.

Before the human could answer, the blue ball popped into being beside the weapon locker. "All weapons on board are equipped with software-based governors. Only senior officers are authorized to use firearms on board, unless the order is given for the governors to be removed, such as in the case of a boarding attack."

"How do I know this will work when we fight?" Grunt asked.

Jacob folded his arms. "I'm the armory officer for this mission, Grunt. If the guns didn't work, I wouldn't be doing my job."

"And Shepard would have you killed for incompetence?"

The turian made a small noise that might have been a laugh, but the human just shrugged. "Well, I hope not, but if the guns don't work then I sure as hell deserve to get gunned down in the field. But there's not shortage of weapons. What you need, we'll provide."

"Do you have a fabricator here?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes."

Grunt drifted for a moment, feeling through the imprint images. There were so many images of krogan warriors, and all of them were armed. There was one gun, one shotgun in particular, that he'd come to covet.

"Ee-dee?" Grunt looked around to the terminal by the gun case. "Where are you?"

The blue ball reappeared. "How may I be of assistance?"

He walked over to the AI. "There are many imprints in my Tank, many images but also images of weapons. Can you see them?"

"There is a considerable repository of data stored in your cloning tank. Two hundred and fifty-four unique weapons are listed. Can you specify your request?"

"A shotgun. As long as an adult male varren's head, grip far back, muzzle diameter... the width of my thumb. Heavier than a newborn krogan."

"Five weapons fit your approximate measurements." The blue ball vanished, replaced by floating projections of five different shotguns.

Grunt recognized the one he wanted immediately. "That one! Can you make it?"

"EDI, does the imprint contain fabrication specs?" Jacob asked.

"Affirmative." The four other weapons disappeared and the one remaining shotgun swelled to actual size. "I am downloading the data now. However, this design is protected by FRM, and requires raw materials we do not currently have on board."

Grunt had to resist the urge to reach out to the tantalizing holographic image. "What does that mean?"

Jacob shook his head. "It means that one part is left out of the fabrication specs. It'll need to be bought separately, and it'll be expensive."

The krogan growled in irritation.

"But," the human went on, "Shepard will probably be able to find it for you. If she can scare up Serrice Ice Brandy on Omega, I'm sure we can get this gun made for you."

The image of the gun vanished, just as the door behind Grunt opened. He turned to see a female human come through, dressed in the same black and white uniform most of them were wearing. Grunt tried to place her, but he had trouble telling humans apart, as most of them lacked distinguishing scars or coloring. No humps or proper plates, either. All he was sure of was that it wasn't Shepard.

"Hello Grunt," she said. He noted that she didn't show her teeth. She wasn't challenging him. "It's good to see you up and about. How are you settling in?"

"I have weapons now, even if they don't work in here. I'm ready to fight." He cocked his head. "Who are you?"

"I'm Yeoman Kelly Chambers."

"Yo-man? That's a strange name."

"Um, no that's my rank. Kelly is my name, Chambers is my... clan name."

"You have many females on this ship," Grunt observed, turning to Jacob. "Are they warriors, or for breeding? Because this one is awfully scrawny."

"I am not-" Kelly flared, then drew herself to her full inconsiderable height. "I was hand-picked by the Illusive Man to serve as a member of Shepard's crew!"

"Illusive Man. Is he a great warrior?"

This time the turian did laugh. "No, he sits behind a desk. Shepard is the one who fights."

"Then why serve him?"

"He's the reason we're all here!" the yo-man said. "I may not be a warrior, but I handle a lot of duties on this ship, including when you get to eat!"

Grunt blinked. Was it hunger that he was feeling? "Where is there food?"

'Kelly' smiled at him, with perhaps a note of triumph in her expression. "Come with me, we'll find you some dinner."

She turned and walked back out the door. Grunt settled the shotgun on his back and followed her back to the elevator. They rode down one floor and emerged into a hallway that wrapped around into another wide room ringed with sloping bulkheads. Grunt recognized the area as a mess hall. Images of warriors sitting together sharing a kill flashed through his mind. But this place held only a handful of humans, all of which were staring at him. The krogan crossed the room after the yo-man, who stopped in front of a counter by the side wall.

"This is Mess Sergeant Rupert Gardner." Kelly indicated the man behind the counter.

"Which is a fancy way of saying the guy who does all the dirty jobs," the man said with a smirk. "Grunt, huh? Let me guess, meat?"

On the counter in front of him, there was a pair of trays laid out with plates heaped with some kind of food. Curious smells were drifting across his scent glands.

"Is that meat?" Grunt asked, pointing at the brown lumps.

"Yeah, chicken-"

Grunt reached out and picked up one of the pieces of meat and popped in his mouth. Rupert made some kind of vocal protest, but Grunt ignored him. While the Tank had shown him images of food, the krogan was not prepared for the actual experience of flavor. He crushed the meat and bones with his broad teeth, filling the scent glands in the roof of his mouth with an overwhelming burst of intense sensation.

Through the haze, he realized that the male human was waving his arms in consternation. Grunt didn't care. Hardly finished with the first piece, he reached for the second one, but Kelly's hands closed on his bracer and steered him away.

He growled at the yo-man. "I want more," he said around his mouthful.

"Yes... well, these meals are hardly fit for a warrior like you, are they?" Kelly said. "Give Rupert some time to prepare something more worthy. Why don't you go back to your, ah, quarters, and we'll have a good meal for you soon."

Grunt considered killing her and Rupert and taking the food- they were both unarmed, easy kills. As he chewed, he regarded the chunk of meat on the other plate. It was rather small... and Shepard might punish him for killing her servants, might not let him fight. Then he would have to kill her too.

He swallowed the meal in his mouth. "Fine, I'll wait."

With a certain amount of annoyance, he allowed himself to be led back to the elevator. A few minutes later he was back in his room with his tank, absently licking the flavor off his greasy glove. He paced. The weight of the weapons on his back was comforting, but still the unknown feelings crawled in his head.

"I think I hate waiting," he said to the empty room.

Grunt had no idea how much time passed until the door opened, only that it was far too long. The female, Kelly, appeared bearing a tray heaped with steaming things. Heady smells flooded the small cargo hold. Perhaps wisely, the human put the tray down and retreated. She said something too, but Grunt was too focused on the food. He lost himself happily in the rush of sensations, the crunch of bone and the tearing of flesh.

The door opened, snapping him back to the now. Grunt looked up sharply and moved to protect his meat. A strange-looking human came through the door, with no head-fuzz and dark orange pants. It took a moment for Grunt to realize that it wasn't wearing any kind of shirt or armor, instead its bare skin was painted in a riot of patterns.

"Hey," the human said. Grunt realized with surprise it was a female.

"What do you want?" he asked, eyes narrow with suspicion.

The painted female leaned against the shelving units and folded her arms. "Cool it, I'm not here for your food. I heard they flushed you out of that tube finally, so I just had to come see the 'perfect krogan' for myself. I come from a lab too, after all. Name's Jack."

"Jack." Grunt tested the word, noting the lack of clan name. "You were tank-bred too?"

"Might as well have been."

"Are you a yo-man?"

The human squinted at him. "A what now?"

"There was another female, she said she held the rank of yo-man. Is that a rank for clanswomen?"

Jack laughed, loud and sharp. "Holy shit, I am not one of those Cerberus yuppies."

"Then what are you?"

She raised a closed fist. "Just like you, krogan. I was bred to fight."

Grunt looked her up and down, dubious. "You're very small."

Jack snorted and gestured with her hand. A flare of bright blue energy flashed across her body, and a crate that had been sitting against the wall flew across the room and smashed against the back wall. "I can still throw you across the room any day of the week, Lumpy."

Imprint images flashed again. Human biotics were supposed to be weak, but that display had seemed anything but weak. The imprints of biotic krogan were few, but something to watch. What was he supposed to feel about them? Grunt wondered why Okeer hadn't made him a biotic, they seemed powerful and feared.

She leaned forward with a predatory smile. "And get this, we get to fight Collectors soon. I overheard Lawson when I went to the can. We're eight hours away from some colony dump that they're supposed to attack, and we're gonna hit'em there."

Grunt frowned. There were no imprints of 'Collectors'. "Shepard spoke of enemies that threaten galaxies. Are they the 'Collectors'?"

"Hell if I know, I always thought they were a myth. But they've been wiping out whole colonies, so they have to be able to put up a good fight, right?"

"I hope so. The Tank said I am perfect, but those are meaningless words until I prove myself."

"Seems like they're lining up to take a shot at Shepard, so you'll get your chance."

Grunt considered his food. His belly was getting full. He wanted to keep all of it for himself, but the imprints also told him that warriors shared the kill among themselves. There were no krogan here to share with, but Grunt was still curious. What did Okeer want him to feel?

He picked up a piece of meat and held it out to Jack.

"What's that?" she sounded dubious.

"Cooked meat. It's good. The man on deck three made it."

Jack hesitated for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Eh, what the hell. I've eaten scarier stuff." She took the proffered piece and tore a bite off.

"Your marks, are they for camouflage?" Grunt pointed at her painted skin.

"Huh?"

"To scatter your silhouette, make you harder to hit when you're moving fast."

Jack blinked, then laughed loud again. "Hell, you know, I never even thought about that? But I guess you're right." She took another bite and chewed, then grinned at him. "Gotta say, you're all right, for a krogan. Better than all these stuff-shirt military assholes, anyway."

She ate in silence for a minute, then stood up and stretched. "Well, I better get some shut-eye before the big scrap. Thanks for grub!" With that, Jack walked out.

Grunt contemplated the leftovers of the meal. He wanted to be hungry so he could eat again.

"First, I'll sleep," he said to the nagging voice of Okeer in his head, "then, fight. It will be good."