Date Published: 2014/01/15
Date Re-Edited: N/A
Warhammer and Mass Effect, are the sole properties of Games Workshop/THQ and Bioware/EA Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…
So be it.
Writing Styles
"Talking Normally"
Thinking/Projecting Thoughts
=Radio Transmissions/Synthesised Voices=
+=Computer Text/Coding/Written Text=+
Warhammer Date/Time Keeping
+=[Mark: +/- The Time since or before the Mission Started]=+
+=[Seconds:Minutes:Hours]=+
+=[Days (1 to 365):Years(1 to 999):Millennium (M3=2000/M31=30000)]=+
Chapter 7
- How to make Frenemies and Confuse People -
Part 2
+=Commander Shepard & Sergeant Sigmund=+
+=Citadel=+
+=Tayseri Ward=+
+=Transit Station=+
+=[043.183.M03]=+
+=[23.51.09]=+
+=[mark: +23.55.22]=+
The Wards from the air were… surreal…
Each Ward was the size of Neo York…
Each… a Megalopolis in their own right.
Shepard shook her head at that… she'd never actually been to the massive Archology. She had however had flown over the rebuilt Statue of Liberty, heading for the Kennedy Space Port… once… and in the distance… at the very edge of her sight… she had caught a quick glimpse of the towering artificial steel and glass mountains that covered lower Manhattan… No time for thoughts like that… she quickly turned her mind back to the real world as her eyes scanned across the open balcony level of the building she was standing in… until against her own instincts she let her eyes drift along the length of the Ward.
"A heavy heart, may lead to a clouded mind, Commander," came the heavily synthesised voice of Sergeant Sigmund from over her left-hand shoulder.
Damn… he's not only 'scary-quiet'… he's far too bloody-perceptive as well, thought Shepard sardonically.
"This place reminds me of my mother," Shepard replied, her brow creasing in thought, "well… that's not really true."
Her voice trailed off, as she turned to face the Steely Blue Giant.
"Actually it sort of reminds me of my Childhood," was her strangely meek reply, to Sigmunds – silent – prodding.
"When I was six, my mother had to be hospitalised for complications from her Eezo-Exposure – nothing major, a few benign tumours, nothing life threatening really – but for about six months we lived in the Upper reaches of Neo Seoul. Pretty much every Human-Biotic we have suffered from some kind of Element-Zero exposure in-Utero… Ezzo in the body is… complicated. Anyway the Hospital was real fancy – nothing but the best for people with Ezzo-Poisoning. It was like living in Central Park, there was greenery everywhere… but that wasn't the City I loved… No… I'm a Spacer, I've lived on ships most of my life. The City I loved… what truly captivated me… was the Under-City. It was like a never-ending Steel-Cathedral… filled with miles upon miles of vaulted passageways. Neon-filled Arcades, and mind-boggling big Geo-Fronts… It was a City of Millions… It was dark… but not bleak… It was enclosed… but not suffocating. It felt – when I was down there – like I had never left my Home-Ship. You could feel the hum of life-support… and… well… I was born on a Space Station… So the first time I saw the Sky… I thought I might just fall up into it…"
Shaking her head she continued, "I spent almost six months with my mother in Neo-Seoul. It was around that time, that my… 'Abilities'… started to manifest. When they had finished her treatment, they shipped us back to Arcturus, and I got sent to 'Biotic School'. There were no more than about a dozen of us at the time… but I'm getting off topic."
Turning to face the blue giant once more, she was struck once again by his sheer size.
Must be the armour, thought Shepard introspectively, out of it… well… he's probably smaller.
Thinking back to his face, the sheer size of –
She flinched as she remembered that nasty cut along his hairline… with all that blood matting his hair. His silver hair had been tinged red by it. Sort of like the light from that Neon-Sign over there. Her eyes flicked from his stoic Helmet to the sign. The sign had red cross, framed by a white square.
Shepard just smirked at that, some things were just universal…
"Come on Sarge, let's get you patched up," Shepard waved him over towards the Clinic, "then we can get you an Omni-Tool over in the Market over there… after that we'll be well on our way to finding that General."
They just wouldn't add up…
No matter how hard she tried…
The numbers, they didn't add up…
She'd been typing away on her Omni-Tool.
Over and over… for at least an hour.
And… no good…
No matter how hard she tried… She just couldn't get the numbers to add up. The Clinic was running at a loss… and as long as they –
Beep-Shlunk
She spun round to the door, only to catch sight of a shock-of-red-hair, standing next to a – Whoa…
Her thoughts returned to the matter at hand, when she asked with a hint of dread, "Hi… can I help you?"
Play it up, she thought desperately, claim ignorance and they might just go away… without –
"Yeah Doc," replied the woman warmly, "can you patch up my friend here. He's got a nasty cut on his head… can you take a look at it?"
Perversely… Doctor Michel brightened up immensely at that; a Head-Wound… in an enclosed space… probably filled to the brim with Bacteria. They'd need stitches, Medi-Gel, Antibiotics – and oh happy-day – maybe even a follow up visit…
I might just be able to cover the costs of this month's… 'Payment'.
"Come in, Come in," she waved excitedly to her new customers, her French-accent became ever more prominent as her excitement grew, "call your friend in, but… can your… ah… Mech wait outside please?"
The red-head just chuckled at that, while the blue giant next to her let out a synthetic sounding grumble.
"That Mech is my friend," she replied sardonically, her lips creasing into a quirky smile.
Damn it, the Doctor winced mumbling, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply –"
"It's no problem… Miss?"
"Doctor… Doctor Michel," she replied graciously, "your friend can have a seat on the left-hand bed that one was made to support Krogans."
"You heard the Lady, Sarge," quipped the red-head cheerfully, "Helmet off, and up on the Bed."
Doctor Michel turned her attention back to her new – and rather large – patient, as he crossed the room swiftly and sat down – carefully – on the examination table… which shockingly was actually groaning under his weight. Even seated Doctor Michel barely came up to the collar of his armour, she had to look up at him, and she'd probably even need a box to stand on while examining him. She was watching him in fascination as he reached up to remove his helmet and –
Oh… My… God… Those Eyes, that Nose, those Tattoos, that Hair… NO! Bad Hormones… Down!
Grabbing an alcoholic swab, she quickly and gently began cleaning the area around that terrible wound across his left temple. The more she cleaned it though, the worse it looked. She moved to clean the skin upon his bloodied brow, and found… something… shiny…
Shrapnel, she thought with a tad bit confused, so she brought up her Omni-Tool to scan his head and –
"Huh?" a look of absolute confusion – dwarfing any that had crossed her face before – splashed across her features as she read and reread the results, "that can't be right!?"
She closed down her Omni-Tool, rebooted it, and then ran another diagnostic.
Nothing…
She rescanned his skull… again, and she got the same results… again. She scratched her head, as she looked through the results once again, with a sense of deep – and growing – confusion…
Okay… back up a bit, she told herself.
Let's review the facts; the wound looked bad, but it's almost completely healed. The pink scar tissue was indicative of a week-old injury. The micro-fractures around the wound, while indicative of blunt force trauma, they could've been at least six months old… if the significant amount of bone knitting was anything to go by… Then there were his Biometric readings; according to my Omni-Tool… that metal isn't shrapnel… it is a trio of symmetrical platinum implants… Drilled half an inch into his skull! That wasn't the most surprising thing though, his skull had to be at least an inch thick! There was also some kind of implant at the back of his skull, some sort of like a Biotic Amp probably. And as for the Bacteria Screen… nothing… His wound was cleaner than most of my Surgical Tools –
"Ahem…"
The polite cough broke her out of her increasingly obsessive thoughts by the female Alliance Marine… that she had completely forgotten was even standing there… right behind her… very quietly… Ooops…
"Sorry about that… uhm – sorry… what was your name again?"
"Shepard… Commander Shepard."
"Well Commander… there is absolutely nothing with…"
"Sergeant Sigmund."
"Thank you… there is absolutely nothing physically wrong with the Sergeant… you probably should have had that injury examined a month ago when it happened –"
"It happened yesterday."
"Sorry… I don't quite –"
"I was caught unawares – with my Helm off – and received a nasty blow to the head… yesterday morning," clarified Sigmund evenly.
Stunned Doctor Michel meekly replied, "whatever you're on… whatever you're taking… I want some."
That brought a-lot of laughter to the small clinic, before turning seriously once more when Shepard asked, "so Doc… how much do I owe you?"
That took the wind from her sails… thus she was brought back down to Earth – figuratively – as the Doctor thought back on the last ten minutes.
"All I did was use an Alcohol-Swab, and run a quick Med-App… anyone could have done that… I can't charge you for that," she responded despondently.
"You okay Doc?" Shepard asked worriedly.
"Nothing you needed to worry about Commander," replied the Doctor dismissively… as she tried to redirect the Commanders concern.
She turned away from the marine as she moved to check the clinic's Med-Gel dispenser, when to her surprise a hand closed upon her shoulder and spun her around… to face a very scary looking Commander Shepard.
"With all due respect… Doc, that's a load of bullshit," Shepard casually informed her… ever so respectfully.
"I don't –"
"Listen up Doc… and be amazed. You've been acting weird since the moment we walked in; when we arrived you appeared scared by our very presence… well… more than most people anyway. Your clinic has seen better days… and yet you refused to charge us an arm and a leg for a mere consultation. And when I asked you what was wrong… You couldn't even look me in the eye. So… I'm going to ask you again, maybe with a slightly different question Doc… Who… is… extorting… you?"
Five minutes later Shepard left Doctor Michel's Clinic with a stoic – and above all quiet – Sigmund in tow and Shepard… she was planning her next move. The Tale that the good Doctor had spun, was… interesting to say the least. It had everything and big-budget blockbuster would need… intrigue… suspense… organised crime… blackmail… and of course let's not forget… a damsel in distress…
Oooooow… this is going to be so much fun, Shepard squealed in the confines of her mind.
Her face however was a mask set in stone, never once betraying her inner excitement, and all the while the cogs began to turn… the gears started to spin… and her mind spooled up readying itself for what was to come.
Plotting… Planning… Scheming…
We head to the market. Get an Omni-Tool. Confront this Morlan character. Swing by Chora's Den, have a chat with Septimus. Aaaand… we're outta here!
Shepard thought cheerfully as she almost walked over a man at her lying beneath her feet and to her surprise she found a familiar face. Slumped against a wall was a very dirty… erm- elderly gentleman, in a rather ratty and worn Enviro-Suit. It was his face… those greying… worn and tired features that tugged at a very soft place deep in her heart.
"Lieutenant Zabaleta?"
His reaction was immediate and shocking; he shot to his feet, back ramrod straight – the very paragon of a Marine on parade. He stopped… blinked… realisation slowly dawning on him… where he was, and… where he… wasn't. It was as if someone had cut his strings… his shoulders slumped… his purpose seemingly leaving him instantaneously.
"Captain Shepard? No… you're not the Captain, but… I know you… You're the Cap's Kid… Jane… my god you've grown," a very tired smile started spreading across his face… haltingly… his fake smile didn't reach his eyes… he was the very image of a broken man…
That hurt Shepard… it hurt her to see a man – once so strong and confident – so broken… It caused her stern features to crack ever so slightly.
"Hey Zabs, what are you doing here?" Shepard asked as delicately as she could.
"Well, I'm trying to get home…," he replied meekly trying not to meet her gaze.
"Maybe we can hail you a Sky-Car," Shepard offered diplomatically.
"Actually…," Zabaleta began uncomfortably, "I'm trying to get back to Earth…"
"What about your post at the Embassy?"
At this the Lieutenant broke down…
"They said I was Section 8 Jane… they want to dishonourably discharge me…They revoked my pay… I lost my apartment… Oh… God…"
He broke down crying into his hands, and Shepard moved to console him.
"It's okay Zabs… its okay… Listen… I know this Doctor, she runs a Clinic nearby… can you wait for us there… Tell her that Shepard sent you… we'll meet up with you in a bit."
"Thanks Jane… I just don't know what to do anymore," he mumbled weakly as he shuffled off towards the Clinic.
Shepard just sighed and turned to face the mechanically stoic visage of Sigmund's Helmet, he had been strangely tired.
"I supposed you want to know… well… how I came to know the Lieutenant?" she asked, her calm well-trained exterior masking the roiling turmoil beneath.
"It's not my place Commander," was his concise mechanical reply, "I have no… experience with men whom have…Lost their Minds. It simply just doesn't happen in the Legions…"
They started walking briskly down the concourse, on their way to the Market. Silence seemed to permeate the uncomfortable silence between them, as they advanced into the Neon lights of the Ward Markets. They walked past so many different vendors; the place was like a neon-lit microcosm of Citadel Space… they had everything you could want and everyone you could ever hope to meet. From Turians selling arms and armour, to Asari Tourists, to the stereotypical pair of Salarians arguing over tech. Hell… there was even an Elcor selling twentieth century human action flicks to a crowd of Volus passer-bys.
"Excitedly… Get the Greatest Hits of Arnold Schwarzenegger," she over-heard the monotone drawl of the 'excited' Elcor, "loving restored into 4D glory, hours of heart-stopping action awaits you!"
Shepard struggled not to laugh, truly she did, but it was all in vein, and a minute later – after she had caught her breath and stopped laughing – she picked herself up and saw exactly what they needed.
"Welcome to Ex-Pat, Earth-Clan *[Ssh-ck]* heading out to the Colonies? *[Ssh-ck]*," asked the rasping voice of the Enviro-suited Volus behind the counter in front of them, "I've got a great deal on Oxygen Filters *[Ssh-ck]*, discounted prices if you buy in bulk."
"That's okay, what kind of Omni-Tools you got," asked Shepard, cutting through the salesman's attempt sales-pitch.
"Well Earth-Clan *[Ssh-ck]* most entry level 'mark I's' go for about fifty Credits *[Ssh-ck]* and most three's usually go for two hundred Credits," he paused looking slightly shifty, "tell you what Earth-Clan *[Ssh-ck]* I've got a case of Savant IV's *[Ssh-ck]* I'll give you *[Ssh-ck]* two for a hundred and fifty Credits."
"What's the catch," Shepard asked the asthmatic-sounding alien suspiciously.
"No catch Earth-Clan *[Ssh-ck]* I just need to move some stock *[Ssh-ck]* I've got a shipment coming in next week *[Ssh-ck]* from Thessia *[Ssh-ck]* All paid for… all legitimate *[Ssh-ck]*," the diminutive suited alien assured her nervously, " I've got pre-orders for the most of it *[Ssh-ck]* already. I just need the space in the Warehouse *[Ssh-ck]*."
Shepard seemed to pause at this… stopping to think… to ponder… to wonder if –
"I'll take four."
Impressive…
That was the one thought going through Sigmunds mind as he set-up his Omni-Tool… which lay – almost daintily – in the palm of his massive hand. He would need more time to set it up properly, but he was already benefiting from the almost seamless translation software, that he had managed to link to the Sub-Dermal Vox-Link that he had imbedded in his skull – behind his ear. He had placed the Omni-Tool in a compartment in his backpack for now… he would figure out how to use those tiny gloves and the Haptic-Interface… later.
He had followed Shepard down a flight of stairs into a lower – closed off – Section of the Markets. Sigmund tensed when he spotted the crowds – there were far more Xenos down here – and many more of them were armed. He 'ignored' them… in a sense… and focused on Shepard instead; her commanding presence… her assured demeanour… it calmed him greatly. He still felt a spike in his heart-rate – a mere blip – as they approached the armed aliens in the crowd. But he managed to turn his attention from the possible conflict… to a more calculated observation of these… Aliens.
He carefully observed the diverse multi-species interactions, the hustle and bustle of the Market, it was almost… Human in a way. They advanced toward a thin little horned alien, a Salarian, according to the information packet Captain Anderson had given him. A strange species to be sure; they were short lived, and seemingly – pathologically – obsessed with the collection of Knowledge… or perhaps a better term would be data.
That would explain the… curious looks the frail-looking aliens in the crowd were giving us… well most likely just me.
Shepard approached the counter and started speaking with the Alien.
The 'Shopkeeper', he corrected himself.
Sigmund well… he kept an eye on the crowd. He knew that talking to the criminal that the Medical-Supplies were supposed to be handed off too… was a ruse. It would flush out the real Blackmailer; they would just have to wait till –
Ahh, he's taken the bait…
One of those hunched-backed frog-like aliens was advancing aggressively towards them, he was heavily armed and armoured. He appeared angry… this set-off Sigmunds innate sense of danger. Time slowed to a trickle… and stopped… He quickly analyse the dangerous… creature…
Theoretical:
Reptilian. Squat, with a large hump.
Height; Six-Three to Six-Four.
Bipedal… Krogan.
According to the Codex; they are aggressive and violent.
Biologically they have multiple organ redundancies.
Assume Hostile…
Practical:
Eliminate at range with Bolter…
0.002 Seconds after identifying the Hostile, his Bolter was up and sighted down upon the advancing Krogan.
"I have a solution, Commander," he communicated to her across his Helm Vox-Link.
Shepard turned round carefully – trying not to show her surprise – only to find the Krogan Mercenary frozen in his tracks. The Krogan didn't show any fear… or so it seemed… he seemed angry… defiant.
"Whatever that clan-less bitch told you… Human, is a lie! This doesn't concern you," spat the Mercenary, practically growling at them.
He looked at the Salarian – Morlan – and snarled, "I told Banes you'd screw this up!"
Deciding that she had enough of this Krogan dictating this confrontation she decided to take the initiative asking, "And who might you be?"
"I'm not important… just give us the Meds, and the Doctor keeps her precious little Clinic… and her legs," he muttered ominously.
Shepard was not impressed; she raised a clench fist and rapped a knuckle ever so casually on the silvered-body of his raised Bolter.
"You should reconsider your options my scaly friend," Shepard replied a layer of ice dripping from her voice with every word.
And so began their short and very one-sided staring contest, until… the Krogan blinked…
"This isn't worth my time," the Krogan spat venomously.
As he stomped off, Shepard called out mockingly, "Oh and next time you need to visit the good Doctor… pay. Or my friend will make you pay… dearly."
The Krogan stopped, looked back at Shepard… his face unreadable… Sigmund tightened his grip on his Bolter until… He nodded… once… turned and left. As the tension left the chamber, Sigmund's 'Fae-side' just couldn't resist heckling the 'Good' Commander.
"Really Shepard, you'll make me… make him… pay… dearly… really? That's the best you could come up with?"
They left the Lower Markets shortly after the 'confrontation' – through a little side-passageway – eventually the passage opened up revealing a long artificial chasm spanned by thick… flowing silvery-white bridges… spanning across the sides of the canyon which were festooned with multiple arcades stack one upon another… That is where they found themselves… walking along a straight and angular arcade… along an open balcony, heading toward a doorway at the end. They neared the door and found themselves in a courtyard – of sorts – suspended over the seemingly bottomless chasm bellow. Now that they were closer – the subtle curve of the canyon no-longer blocking their sight – Sigmund could see a garishly pink Neon-sign hanging over the door ahead. That was where they would find Septimus… Chora's Den.
This place isn't so bad, so far so –
Bang-Chunk.
Sigmund didn't get to finish that thought.
The first shot pitted the surface of his right pauldron.
He dropped down to one knee, as…
The second short ricocheted off the top of his helm.
And he slammed his shoulder down into cover…
Another shot slammed into his cover.
As he turned to Shepard… and froze…
She seems depressed…
And she just sat there… dejectedly… with her back against the barrier.
"I'm sorry Sarge," she mumbled with a sad pout.
Sigmund froze at that – mostly from confusion, "Whaaa?"
Looking down sadly… she primed a grenade.
Sigmund prepared to leap away from her when…
Fwump…
The grenade glowed blue… sailed over her right-hand shoulder…
Across the gap… over the chasm… and landed on a parallel walkway.
Booom!
Three Hostiles down.
Sigmund just sat there – well it would be more correct to say that he kneeled there…
As Shepard checked her Rifle…
"You know… about Lieutenant Zabaletta –"
She swung out of cover… popped off two rounds –
"… One less to worry about…"
That left a single – panicked – enemy that tried to run, but –
"Let me get that for you…"
The final Turian Assassin glowed blue…
Floated up… and over the guardrail…
Hovered between the two sides of the courtyard…
Until –
"Yaaaaargh!"
She dropped him…
"It's kind of a sore spot," she muttered self-consciously, as she swept the entryway for further Hostiles, "He used to babysit me back before… well… before Mindor that is…"
He spotted no further Hostiles, as they advanced towards the strangely named 'Gentlemen's Club' in a slightly less uncomfortable silence… it wasn't particularly uncomfortable… it wasn't that awkward either. No… it was professional!
"Uhm – Sarge… What's your opinion on half-naked Asari?"
Okay correction… it wasn't that awkward…Yet.
Ten minutes later and Shepard was impressed. They were heading back to Doctor Michel's Clinic, and she was lost in her own thoughts as she went over their 'intervention' with the dear General. Sigmund's conduct had been; exemplary… outstanding… amazing even!
He hadn't ogled any of the half-naked dancers… like I tried not to do *[Cough Cough]*
He hadn't stopped for a frilly pink cocktail drink… it was only one I swear *[Cough Cough]*
And… he hadn't lost sight of the lurking Krogan bouncer… I blame the nearest Dancer *[Cough Cough]*
And, and he had the Gift of the Gab… a Silver Tongue if you will. Not only had he managed to convince the General of the Error of his ways. Not only had he put the Steel back in the Generals spine. Not only that, but he managed to convince the General to apologise to not only Xeltan (the Elcor Ambassador) but to apologise to the Consort as well… in person!
If this guys just an NCO, I'd love to meet a Commissioned Officer, Shepard thought with awe.
"What are your thoughts on the Lieutenant… Commander?"
She was broken from her thoughts when the blue mountain standing next to her rumbled out a question from some up above her.
"I don't know… I just… don't know… if the Alliance drums him out, well… there's nothing I can do," she replied morosely, "the problems in his head… nothing I could possibly do can fix that…"
"Then why not remove the offending memories," was his measured and reasonable sounding response.
Huh…? She turned to look at him; she was incredulous, "excuse me?"
"Practical: a simple mind-wipe of the offending sector; no negative memories, no adverse behaviour… an effective solution," his response was – once again – measured and offhand.
"We don't have –"
"A pity… perhaps there is something I could do… with your permission of coarse Commander."
However before she could even answer him they had arrive at the Clinic. When the doors opened, they found Doctor Michel waiting for them… she was busy examining her Omni-Tool. However the moment they stepped into the Clinic she moved to greet them.
"Ahh… Commander, how did things go," as if by way of explanation, she gestured toward her Omni-Tool stating, "I was just reviewing the results of Mr Zabeletta's Med-Scans."
"They won't be bothering you ever again Doc," Shepard replied casually.
She turned to face the sleeping form of her old friend, her worry growing and asked, "How is he Doc?"
"*[Sigh]* Not good Commander… his vitals are elevated; his blood sugar-levels are dangerously low… his blood pressure is elevated… he's showing signs of both Malnutrition and Sleep-Deprivation… I doubt he's either eaten or slept in days," finished the little French woman despondently, she deflated slightly with every single word.
Eventually she summoned the will to carry on, "I gave him a sedative… but I doubt it will help… his blood pressure is still elevated… and even now his REM-Sleep-Cycles are all over the place."
An oppressive silence filled the clinic… the palpable dread of the future was disturbed only slightly by the laboured breathing of the troubled – and unconscious – Lieutenant.
"Do you trust me Shepard?"
Sigmund's mechanical query broke Shepard from her own troubled mental wanderings.
"I d-don't –" stuttered Shepard confusion filling her like a floundering boat.
Sigmund just seemed to grow in stature before her eyes…
"Do… you… trust… me?"
Shepard stared back at the imposing giant… liquid steel flowing down her spine as fire sparked to life in her veins.
"Yes… yes I do," replied Shepard with far more certainty than she felt.
Sigmund's helm swivelled round to face the good Doctor… one simple Command filling the air between them.
"Wake him."
"I d-don't th-think… th-tha-t –"
"I need him awake… for this to work… I need him awake Doctor," Sigmund interrupted as he removed his helmet.
The Doctor turned to face Shepard, she was obviously questioning the wisdom of Shepard's decision.
"Do it," Shepard ordered unequivocally.
Sigmund handed-off his helmet to Shepard – whom strained slightly under its surprising weight – as he advanced upon the unconscious form of Lieutenant Zabaletta. On his left Doctor Michel moved to revive the man. With practised ease she touched a glowing applicator – that she had flash forged from her Omni-Tool – to the crook of his arm. The reaction was immediate; the Lieutenants eyes fluttered… air hissed past his lips as his breathing quickened… and tiredly… he started to thrash – weakly – from side to side… the effort obviously exhausting him.
"Relax… son, your safe…"
A melodious Voice filled the Clinic… the Voice was enticing… it seemed to by-pass your ears… soothing a place – a primal place – deep within the confines of your mind. Much to Shepard's surprise she suddenly realised that it was Sigmund that was Speaking… the Voice… it was his.
"Re~st… brea~th in… brea~th out…"
Once more… once again the Voice soothed… as it stroked something buried deep… something almost… primal… the Voice that soothed the savage beast…
"Now…," a sense of finality echoed through the Clinic, filling every inch of the room, "think ba~ck… De~ep within… far… far… far ba~ck…"
Sigmund laid his hands… gently… upon the Lieutenant… one over his heart, and another upon his brow. At his touch the tension left the poor… man. Like a puppet with his strings cut, his body went limp… his face went slack and his panicked eyes became heavy.
"Think ba~ck… to Mindor," the Voice reached out, and gently stroked the memory.
Zabaletta flinched, whatever it was obviously hurt him… the memory… it pained him.
"Think ba~ck… remember… remember those Batarian monsters… remember the Horror… remember that… terrible… fight… remember the desperate battle…"
Again and again, the voice reached deep within them all, but only Zabaletta seemed to be affected. His breath quickened – he started to hyperventilate – the sound of his ragged gasps filled the Spartan clinic. He began thrash from side to side… and the only thing that kept his body safely upon the examination table, was Sigmund… and his firm but gentle hands.
"Think ba~ck… See them all… the Slavers… imagine with your minds-eye… see them for what they truly are… Who… Who stood between them… and the Colonists?"
Zabaletta gasped… his spine arching… his entire body tensing… but the Voice just carried on regardless…
"Lo~ok… Look behind you… look into their faces… young and old… their lives… their liberty… their freedom… they owe it all to You… You stood your ground…. You defended them… They are proud of You… the Alliance is proud of You… We are proud of You…"
Zabaletta calmed; his body relaxed into the bed… his eyes grew heavy once more… and a beatific grin sprouted along the tired corners of his mouth.
"Re~st… Sle~ep… you won… we will wake you when you are needed," soothed the Voice.
Zabaletta sighed as he closed his weary eyes, as he curled up on his side and within moments he was fast asleep… a deep sleep… a restful sleep. Sigmund stepped away from the bed, he turned to face Shepard… and once again the… Voice… spoke.
"Let him rest Doctor, by tomorrow he should have recovered fully… mentally any case."
It was hard… like swimming through treacle… but Shepard… had an Epiphany… she realised that it was Sigmund's Voice that spoke…
"What did you do… how?" Shepard was stunned; she just couldn't think properly… or make the words… make sense…
She just stared at him… entranced… those Eyes… they seemed to glow with an inner fire. The whites of his eyes… were dark… no they were pitch-black… they were unnatural… they seemed to burn through her and yet… they also seem to suck in all the light… His Voice echoed through the halls of her mind as he spoke…
"Positive reinforcement… Endorphins… it helps paint a… different picture… a different memory… of the terrible horror… that had once been the… Nightmare of Mindor," once more it was the Sergeant speaking as the power slowly bled from his… Voice.
"Wha'… do you – I don't…"
Shepard just couldn't understand… she couldn't understand… but she wanted to… she wanted to understand… what she just saw. And as if a gentle breeze had cleared all the bad air… Sigmund's eyes returned to normal as he raised his helm above his head… and spoke…
"Perhaps it's about time we returned to the Consort."
+=SSV Normandy Ground Team=+
+=Citadel=+
+=Presiduim=+
+=Council Tower=+
+=[043.183.M03]=+
+=[00.43.13]=+
+=[mark: +00.43.26]=+
Ashley felt like a third wheel… well that's not really true… she considered Kaiden to be the 'real' third-wheel. She was more like… a fourth wheel… on a Unicycle. They'd been waiting outside the Consorts Chambers for about an hour now, which was more than enough time for Ashley to tell Kaiden all about what Shepard had been up to… while he had been babysitting the Sergeant. She had told – in vivid detail – how a simple fact-finding mission had devolved… into some sort of Good-Samaritan Binge! In fact they had so much free-time, that Kaiden had enough time to tell her all about his little-chat with Sigmund. Not that it did them any good, because no matter how much information they received, they still had more questions than answers.
And then… nothing.
They had shared all the Intel they had. They had speculated… They had tried to draw conclusions… and now? Nothing… No new connections… No new insights… No new leads…
I wasn't made for this sort of crap…
And of course she had voiced her discontent…
"What are we supposed to do now, huh? Twiddle our thumbs?" I said.
"No, no… not at all… that's what Omni-Tools are for…," he said.
So while Kaiden had fiddled with the Apps on his Omni-Tool, she had played – on her own Omni-Tool – just a few games of Solitaire…
Okay, more than a few… Okay, more like a dozen… No more than say… Fifty…
After a while she decided to make a Vid-Call to her Sister… but before she could even bring up her Contacts – or even figure out what Time-Zone the Citadel was in – Shepard and Sigmund had radioed in. They were ten minutes out… and eight minutes later… they'd walked through the doors to the Consorts Chambers. But before she could even move or even ask for further orders the Consort had swept in… with grace and gratitude… Apparently Septimus had already apologised – in person – to both the Consort herself and Xeltan the Elcor Ambassador… Ashley hadn't seen him though… It was sort of funny… in an aggravating kind of way… And before Shepard could get more than a few words out… the Consort had swept her off her feet and headed up into her Personal Chambers, leaving those who remain behind more than just a tad bit confused. They'd stood there for a few moments like litter of concust kittens… until one of the Consorts Acolytes had walked up to them… probably to tell them to stop gawking… But no… apparently she had been instructed to cut the Sergeants hair.
Which was weird… who knew that a lot of Asari had a thing for Hair?
So… for the next hour they sat there in the main hall of the Consorts Chambers, while they were debriefed by Sigmund. While he got a haircut… and after the brief debriefing… well… Ashley was starting to think that Sigmund was some sort of Shepard doppelganger… or maybe a clone of some kind. It just sound like the trailer to a bad Action Movie; from their meeting with Doctor Michel, to Shepard running into a long-lost 'Family-Friend'. The Tale had everything… from Sigmund intimidating Krogan Mercenaries, to Shepard pouring her Heart out… While she single-handedly took out a squad of Turian Hitmen. Oh… and who could forget that it had been Sigmund who had talked Septimus into apologising… and if that wasn't enough he had apparently given that family-friend of Shepard's some sort of Counselling… he wouldn't say what though.
Just who is this guy?
If it had been anyone else trying to tell that tall tale – if anyone else trying to spin that yarn, or had tried to tell that tall tale… She would have called them a braggart or a liar… But… it was how he told the story that was so convincing. His… descriptions were… factual… In fact they were almost Spartan and very, very… self-depreciating.
If I were to sum it up in his words it would best be described as; 'Shepard did the talking… and I just stood there and looked scary.'
Sigmund wasn't all he appeared to be; as they say, 'looks can be deceiving'… He looked like a Barbarian, but he was well spoken… The way he spoke he sounded more like a Professor of English Literature from Cambridge, than a Spec-Ops Super Soldier from God-Knows-Where. The more she spoke to him… the more Ashley started to wonder. The way he spoke of 'Squad, Company, and Chapter'… it made her think… that was more than just another Alliance Spec-Ops Operator. Hell… he just laughed at her when she had asked, 'How many Super Soldiers the Alliance had'… she thought that he was about to give her the whole 'plausible deniability' crap… but no…
The Council Tower Elevator…
"You've got to be shitting me Sarge," Ashley quipped jokingly.
"I am not Chief," replied Sigmund, his morose voice tinged with static, "there are no Space Marines within the Alliance –"
"So you're not affiliated with –"
"There are no other Space Marines currently present within this Galaxy…"
Ashley seemed to deflate at the news, which brought a small chuckle to Kaiden's lips.
"So… you're all we got, huh?" Ashley muttered morosely.
"Not necessarily… I have it under good… authority that we will be receiving further reinforcements from my Legion…," replied Sigmund… vaguely.
"There's a whole Legion of you guys?" Ashley squeaked in awe, her eyes sparkling with amazement at the mere thought of –
"No," replied Sigmund dryly, Ashley deflated at that again… until Sigmund offered a minor correction…
"There's Eighteen Legions," he stated calmly.
Ashley's reaction was not surprising… her lower jaw rapidly migrated towards her knees.
"Eighteen…," Ashley mumbled breathlessly.
"Are you absolutely sure…," squeaked Kaiden just as breathlessly, "just trying to clarify…"
"Well… it's sort of correct… that's excluding the Titan Legions – their all under the auspices of the Collegia Titanica – and then there's the untold millions of Skitarii… then there's the Legio Custodiaes… they can be considered a Legion in their own right," he finished muttering in an offhanded manner.
Silence descended once more upon the elevator, as Shepard frowned in thought at Sigmund's ramble…
"Custodiaes? The name sounds familiar… are they those ones with the golden armour, with those… halberd things… and those wrist mounted cannons?" Shepard muttered distractedly.
Sigmund nodded in the affirmative… and the uncomfortable silence slunk back into the elevator like a bad-smell. Ashley started to worry about the Commander, she had been distracted and unusually quiet since her meeting with the Consort. Shepard hadn't spoken since her meeting with Sha'ira… Ashley sighed at that… it wasn't her place to pry, but whatever the Consort had told the Commander… it had seriously unnerved her. However… no matter how worried she was about the Commander… she still couldn't stop all the questions from buzzing around… and around… her preoccupied mind…
"May I ask just a few more questions Sarge," she mumbled meekly.
A blast of static left the filter of Sigmund's Helmet… in a strangely mechanical sigh of exasperation.
"You'll be debriefed when we return to the Ship, Williams," he replied tersely.
"Ahhhh… come on Sarge… plea~se…," she begged, while giving him, her best puppy-dog eyes.
Yet another blast of static later, he muttered exasperatedly, "Okay Chief… you get One Question… only one… that probably all we have time for anyway."
Thinking quickly, Ashley hurriedly asked, "what do those silver dots above your eyebrow mean?"
"They are Service-Studs," was his short and measured reply…
"Whoa hardcore… So… how many years do they represent… huh?" she asked, pushing her luck ever so slightly.
"Chief…," Sigmund grumbled mechanically.
"Ahh… come on… please… plea~se… You didn't really answer me properly."
"Fifty Years…," Sigmund muttered.
"Wow… you look good for Fifty, Sarge," replied a rather impressed Miss Williams.
With a chuckle Sigmund declared, "you misunderstand me Chief… its Fifty years… per Stud."
Now that… that left Ashley speechless, which left Shepard as the only articulate individual left in the elevator… it was up to her to pick up the Torch… of Curiosity!
"You're a hundred-and-fifty years old?" the Commander muttered flabbergasted.
"No –"
"But I thought you said –"
"You misheard me Commander," Sigmund interrupted the Commander, his tone was recognisable to any and all Kindergarten Teachers everywhere, "I have served within the Thirteenth Legion for almost a hundred-and-sixty-four standard-terran years… however I didn't join the Legion straight out of the Crib… Now did I? My one-hundredth-and-ninety-fourth birthday should be in about… fifty-eight days."
A stunned silence – violently – consumed whatever questions the others in the Council Tower Elevator may have had – and before they could muster their voices to… voice their doubts – the elevator arrived at… and opened to… the public side of the Council Chambers. As the rounded transparent doors – of the elevator – opened – as the panels slid into the floor and the ceiling – and a long… slightly dark… chamber lined with flowering Cherry-Blossom-Trees opened up before them. They filed out of the Elevator – quietly – and walked along a short catwalk at the bottom of a short canyon made of smooth black granite… ahead of them was a beautiful courtyard… suspended above a glistening pool… raised above a series of soothing waterfalls which lined the sides of the room.
However… before they could advance any further… their path was inexplicably blocked… by a pair of arguing Turians in uniform. But it wasn't until they nearly reached the suspended catwalk, that they caught the tail end of their heated argument…
"Saren's hiding something!" the Turian with the blue face-paint – and the weird looking holographic eyepiece yelled, this drew their full – undivided – attention of the entire Squad, "I need more time! Stall them!"
"Stall the Council? Are you serious… you have almost no leads… and even less evidence… This investigation is over!"
And with a sweep of his hand he dismissed the other Turian, as the white-faced Turian spun on his heel heading further into the Chamber. With a strange feline-like growl, the blue-painted alien turned away from his 'Superior'… in disgust… right into a group of very curious Alliance Marines… oh and of course… one lone – very confused – 'Super Soldier'. A flash of recognition sparked within his piercing blue eyes… as he advanced upon the curious squad.
"Commander Shepard?" he queried the Commander, "Garrus Vakarian."
He introduced himself as, "I was the Detective in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren."
But before Shepard could even start to interrogate the Detective further, Ashley's curiosity got the better of her.
"Who was the guy with the stick up his ass?"
Despite the flanging-like quality of Garrus's voice, the disgust he bore for his superior – or everybody else – was palpable.
"Please… that was a highly inaccurate assumption Human… it was flag-pole not a stick… and the piece of Varren-Dung in uniform was Executor Pallin… the head of Citadel Security… My Boss…"
This brought a round of nervous laughter to the group… before Shepard asked the question that preyed heavily upon all their minds.
"You don't like Saren do you?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow, "but isn't he a Turian like you?"
"Saren's dirty," he spat venomously, "he's a disgrace to the Species, and to every single serving Turian in Citadel Space."
He gave a deep sigh of resignation, before looking away from them embarrassed…
"Unfortunately… he's a Spectre… everything he touches is Platinum… Too much pressure… Not enough time… I couldn't find any evidence…"
Before they could continue the conversation further, Kaiden's Omni-Tool beeped…
"I think the Council's ready for us now, Commander," informed Kaiden.
"Good luck, Shepard," Garrus called out as he stalked off.
"Maybe they'll listen to you…," he threw a last passing comment over his shoulder as he stalked off toward the Elevator.
It was as they advanced further into the Chambers… as they rounded the pink-leaved trees… after they had advanced less than thirty-feet… before Sigmund spoke the words that were on weighing upon their minds in one shape or form.
"The Arbiters words rang true… this Challenge was poorly conceived… I doubt whether or not a verdict from this Tribunal would actually set Saren's plans back if at all…"
But before anyone else could get a word in edgewise, they were spotted by Captain Anderson… who waved them over.
"The Hearing's about to start… Come on," he declared.
He led the Squad up the main staircase, at the top of which Shepard, Sigmund and Anderson broke off from the rest of the Squad… as they walked toward Udina who stood at the Petitioners Podium. Udina was oblivious to their arrival, he was already ranting and postulating… and the Council – like everybody else in the Chamber – ignored him as best they could… in favour of the New Arrivals.
In an effort to return at least some semblance of Order to the proceeding, Councillor Tevos (the Asari Representative) raised her hand and declared, "The Geth attack is a matter of Great Importance… however there is no evidence to indicate Saren's direct involvement in anyway."
To the left of the Council, a giant silvery-red Hologram of the Spectre in question smirked at her declaration.
It was Councillor Spartacus (the Turian representative) who – before Udina could get a word out edgewise – declared categorically that, "Citadel Security has conducted a thorough investigation of the alleged crime… and there is absolutely no evidence to support your accusations… Ambassador."
It didn't matter what the Councillor said, it only seemed to enrage Udina further… and like a petulant child he started throwing a temper tantrum…
"We have an eyewitness that saw Saren kill Nihlus in cold blood!"
"We've read the Reports on Eden Prime… Ambassador," declared Councillor Valern (the Salarian Representative) dismissively, "and quite frankly… the Testimony of one traumatised dockworker… is hardly compelling proof."
"I resent that accusation," the Hologram of Saren complained theatrically, bemoaning his apparent persecution, "Nihlus was a fellow Spectre… and a friend."
"That just let you catch him off guard!" yelled – surprisingly – Anderson, as he jabbed an accusatory finger at the Hologram.
"Ahhh… Anderson," greeted Saren theatrically, as he tested Andersons name on his tongue like a fine wine, it obviously wasn't to his taste, "Why is it… Captain… that whenever humanity lays false charges… such as these… against me… You are always there… leading the charge…"
Anderson bristled at the snide… underhanded… comment… he struggled to contain his anger… and not vent his growing… rage at the very clear source of his ire. Seemingly oblivious to the chaos he was sowing – he was probably smirking internally at the havoc he was causing – and then… Saren turned his Holographic eyes upon the rest of the Delegation…
"Ah… and this must be your latest protégé… the 'Survivor of Akuse'… and I suppose that machine behind you is Humanities… latest technological marvel?"
The way he spoke… with snide sarcasm dripping off the cybernetic Turians of every word… was so…
"A broken woman and a murderous automaton… pfft… is this the best humanity has to offer? It isn't so surprising that the Beacon was destroyed… What's surprising is that your own Tech… didn't wipe your pathetic Species of the face of the Galaxy… First!"
"He has no right to say that, he –"
Udina didn't finish… as Sigmund's armoured gauntlet closed – painfully – upon his shoulder… Making him wince, and stifling whatever else he was going to say.
"I find it interesting… Xeno… that you seem to have knowledge of every minutiae of a Top-Secret Council Operation."
Sigmund's response was measured, and as impassive as the synthesised tone of his respirator.
"And so the machine speaks… huff… When Nihlus died, his files reverted to me –"
"Strange… I never met Nihlus," Sigmund interrupted, his tone screamed sarcasm, "And as far as I'm concerned… he had no knowledge of me."
Saren was trying to be as dismissive as possible when he replied that, "The human-made scrapheap thinks… it is our equal! Why wait… let's cast these insane humans from Council Space… before we have another litter of Suit-Rats on –"
"I have had enough of your foul tongue… Xeno!" declared Sigmund menacingly… the temperature dropped several degrees within the seemingly shrinking Council Chamber.
"This… machine tries to lecture us –"
"I am Man… not a Machine!"
Sigmund screamed as he tore his helmet from his head… the resounding silence deafened all those within the Chamber. As the Council tried to regain control of the people within the Chamber… Saren decided to stoke the flames of discord yet a tad bit further.
"Who do you think you are… Human?" spat Saren, "you have no right to –"
"ENOUGH!" Sigmund bellowed, his voice boomed out through the Chamber… rattling the walls and breaking the deathly silence.
And then the Voice spoke…
"I… am Brother Sergeant Sigmund Tyrannus…"
He drew his three and a half handed sword… with but a single hand.
"Librarian and Steward… under Ptolemy… himself…"
His sword spun round his head, with a deathly swish.
"Battle Brother of the Thirteenth Legion…"
He drove the tip of his blade a foot into the Chamber floor.
"And as an Officer and a Gentleman… I cannot let this slander stand…"
His eyes glowed back… as the energy began to swirl unseen through the Chamber.
"You have insulted my Honour!"
A cyclopean flame began to swirl within his eyes.
"You have insulted my Company!"
A clear sense of malevolence flooded the Chamber.
"You have insulted my Chapter!"
A terrible blue flame consumed the air, and blazed across his pauldrons.
"And… you have insulted my Primarch!"
With a Crack! Energy seethed along his gauntlets…
Arching across his blazing pauldrons…
Wreathing his head with a Halo…
Of azure lightning…
Saren… seemingly oblivious to the roiling tension within the Chamber… continued to prognosticate theatrically for an audience… that he had clearly already lost…
"Your pathetic display of Biotics… and your shameless theatrics, mean nothing –"
"You have made a grave enemy this day… Xeno!" the Voice cried as Sigmund cast his Helm to the ground, denting the metal plating that lay beneath boots.
"You don't intimidate me –"
"I swear upon my Honour…"
He raised a gauntleted palm.
"That I will hunt you to the very Ends of this Galaxy…"
And with a sickening squelch, he drew his blade across his palm. He then cast the blood from his clenched fist upon the floor in disgust. He then – with a flourish – sheathed his blade… as he reached out towards his Helm. Which miraculously flew into the palm of his hand… without the expected and tell-tale flash of Biotics.
With his Helm securely fastened upon his head, he turned and left the Chamber… taking the sense of Fire and Brimstone with him.
"This Farce is Over!" the Voice declared, as Sigmund stormed away from the Podium.
As he swept the crowd's eyes away from the Podium…
As he drew the gaze every man, woman and child…
He left a stunned Citadel populace in his wake…
Codex Entry: First Contact – Psykers
Psykers are a unique genetic mutation, seen within the human populace, and to a lesser extent certain other alien species. For an exact list of Alien Species possessing psychic attributes and/or traits see 'An Altered State of Mind' by Professor Mordin Solus. The term Psyker came to prominence in the early months of 2183, and was attributed to the Colonialist Imperial populace.
The abilities that most psychically gifted individuals manifest are diverse and varied, the most common of which include Telekinesis and Telepathy, and it is also not uncommon in certain instances of great stress for psychic individuals to manifest a limited form of precognition. Unlike Biotics, psychic abilities do not require Element-Zero exposure to manifest, they can however manifest themselves during periods of great stress and/or emotional turmoil. It should also be noted that those whom manifest Biotic abilities are also highly likely to exhibit latent psychic abilities.
According to joint research conducted by Magos Biologis Saxon-23 and the University of Thesia; the configuration of Neural pathways required to either manipulate or manifest Biotics is almost identical to those used by Imperial Astropaths (see. Types/Adept Disciplines of Psykers; Subfolder – Astro-Telepath) and Navigators (see. Types/Adept Disciplines of Psykers; Subfolder – Precognition and Divining).
Individuals whom possess psychic potential, yet have not manifested any abilities are deemed to be 'latent psykers'. Imperial Society is highly dependent upon the skills and abilities of Psykers; from their use in Long-Range Real-Time Telecommunications (via Astropath), to Navigation during FTL Space-Flight (via Navigator). It is therefore considered highly ironic that most Imperial Scholars and Leaders alike consider – and believe – that (regardless of their independence there upon) Psykers are considered the greatest threat to Life in this and any Galaxy. It is widely believed by most Scholars that a rapid uncontrolled increase in the number of latent rogue psykers led to the collapse of intergalactic civilisation. Human worlds were cut-off from each other by massive Warp Storms (see. Warp). The storms not only led to the collapse of most basic technologies but also spawned an endless stream of extra-dimensional entities commonly referred to as Daemons (see. Asari/Human Mythology: A comparative summary) that severely depopulated hundreds of worlds and saw thousands left barren. This time is commonly referred to as the 'Age of Strife' (see. The 'Old Night'). For further information see 'Before the Imperium' by Liara T'Soni.
The first Psyker that was encountered within Citadel Space was Sergeant Sigmund Tyrannus of the Thirteenth Legion (see. Council Hearing 2183-02-16 / 14:00 to 14:30; Citadel New Network), whom not only clearly demonstrated Pyrokinesis, but some form of as yet unnamed mind altering ability projected through his Voice.
Most Imperial Citizens seem to embody an almost Religious sense of Scientific Enlightenment, it is therefore quite amusing that Psykers are treated with an almost illogical amount of Fear and Dread. It is also interesting to note that most Psykers consider themselves to be; 'Practioners of a very old and esoteric art', it is alos not uncommon to find that psychically gifted individuals often refer to their own abilities as 'Sorcery'.
And there we go... I hope you enjoyed it... I'm sorry its shorter than usual (at only about 9000 words) but I added a Codex Entry, and spent a bit more time editing it than usual (about 2 days to be exact). I'm going to be brutally honest a say that I have not been answering any of your PMs or reading any of the Reviews. I was caught up trying to maintain the publishing dates that I promised that I sorta ignored everything else. In future I will read your Reviews and Comments beforehand and I will en-devour to reply to all of them (read as most of them... an then interpret as some of them... I have a lot of reviews).
But do not fear, I have already typed up Chapter 8 (Part of 1... of Twelve... Okay joking) and I am nearly finished with Part 2.
Next Update/Post will be on 2014/01/30
