"I am Gandalf the White, and I come back to you, at the turn of the tide."
The Two Towers, JRR Tolkien.
General Jamie Graham sat in Hector's command chair, gently snoozing as the seat rocked back and forth from acceleration.
He drooled slightly, his mouth open as he laid back in the seat. His Dinochrome Brigade uniform's smart-fabric collar had inflated to make a pillow.
His hand began to slide off the armrest, and was about to fall to his side and wake him.
The armrest gently tilted, and put his arm into a more comfortable position.
Graham rolled slightly to his side, his rest undisturbed.
Every once in awhile, the seat would jerk as two-millimeter long slugs of hydrogen were shot out of cannons around 86% the speed of light surrounded by plasma.
Occasionally irritating, but nothing to stop the young officer from taking a nap.
He was completely oblivious to the fact that a nuclear landmine had detonated underneath one of the Mk. XXXIIIs treads, and made that corner of the tank hot enough to boil water.
He didn't care that enemy aircraft would occasionally get blasted out of the sky 10 klicks out, or that a Reaper had attempted to flip them upside-down by tunneling underground.
Stupid plan in retrospect, trying to flip over a 32,000 ton vehicle roughly the same size as your own was not going to guarantee success.
Graham didn't care about any of that. All he cared was that his uniform's caffeine stocks were out.
All his friendly AI cared about was making sure his commander got his rest.
Though he would never admit it, Hector could never imagine unnecessarily waking up the human he trusted most.
Graham suddenly awoke with a start at the sound of the hatch opening, his uniform pillow deflating to form a proper collar..
General Partinax entered and pulled off his hard suit's helmet, taking a breath of fresh air.
"Radiation's clearing up, but it's not exactly safe to be outside without a sealed uniform. Don't know how Hector's avoiding the stuff, but it's still sticking to our gear."
"Durandal Bolo Assembly Facility builds...built its Bolos to last." Graham groggily muttered.
"Finally found a tonic of some kind. Spirits, you'd think that a general could get coffee or something quicker than this."
Graham sat up, moved out from under the bubble dome, and stretched, mumbling, "Turian coffee, huh? I guess my immune system had gone too long without getting assaulted..."
Partinax snorted, "No, good old dirt coffee."
"What?"
"Damn," the Turian pulled up his omni-tool and pressed several controls, "Okay...I said 'good old ground coffee'."
"Oh...You guys should really invest in neural implants. Makes translation so much easier." Graham tapped the back of his neck for emphasis.
"Anyway," Partinax continued, "Scouts from the 15th armored found some human coffee in a burnt out store, and sent it over. They said it was a thank-you note, something about saving their landing boat during the landings."
"I've lost track of how many we've saved…" Graham muttered as he gratefully took the offered package, and moved over to a panel on the wall, deploying a futuristic coffee machine. "Wish we could've gone after those Reapers that managed to get away though. We just didn't have the fuel, or the missiles to waste."
He sighed regretfully, but determined, "Least we saved who-knows-how-many POWs."
The coffee machine began to make obnoxious noises, signaling that it was near completion.
Partinax shrugged, "And taking the capital of Taetrus back was far more beneficial to the war effort than finishing off some beaten horde of Reapers. Think strategically, general. Think strategically…"
Graham removed the cup from the coffee maker, and took a long slurp.
He turned back around with a nod, "Morale's going to improve now that the Reapers can't taunt your people anymore."
Partinax made no physical reaction, but Graham guessed that was a sore spot, "Those damned AI were broadcasting that footage across half the galaxy. Thanks to our pride, we lost a massive amount of equipment and blood trying to take it back."
He grimaced as he spoke, and made a fist with his right hand for a moment, before exhaling and releasing.
Hector's calm voice emanated from one of the speakers, "Despite the benefits of retaking this planet, it has brought to mind a number of concerns, considering the amount of weaponry expended during this campaign. Despite my best efforts to conserve ammunition, I still only possess a limited stockpile."
Hector displayed several percentages on the bubble dome. Most were at high levels, around 90% was the average. "Current numbers remain satisfactory, but it will remain an issue in the near future."
A schematic of a Bolo's manufacturing capability appeared as well, "Much of my expendable ammunition I cannot manufacture, such as guided missiles, most types of mortar and artillery shells, and several variants of anti-personnel ammunition."
Graham nodded, "He's right. With his onboard manufacturing and power cells, Hector can keep himself safe, but it'll be a lot harder to defend an entire invasion force spread out across the theater like this. Without drones or missiles..." he shook his head.
"It may not be wise to engage in these planetside skirmishes quite as often until I can be brought up to full strength." Hector concluded, "In addition, it would be beneficial to improve my combat loadout with organic armored fighting vehicle and aerial support. This could reduce my ammunition expenditure by as much as 25.8% on average during battle. Drone consumption would also be reduced by usage of the organic support vehicle's sensors."
"Alright then, let's get a few gunships and some Jiris AFVs, those have worked well so far." Partinax offered, nomming on what could best be described as a Varren sandwich.
"Bolos require specialized equipment, general." Hector interjected, "The vehicles I require must be able to carry out a variety of specific duties. I appreciate the effort, but I must decline."
Partinax seemed flustered for a moment, but could not hold in a short chuckle, and faked a hurt tone, "My word, Hector. You really know how to make a general feel wanted."
"He's right though," Graham interrupted, "We can't keep going with makeshifts, and laser clusters won't be able to hold out forever either. I have no idea how we're going to replenish the ammo for the AP guns. We've both got different types of ammo. I've thought about replacing the turrets with some of your -excuse me- inferior copies, but with that comes a ton of modification. I don't think your technological base can handle the mods that we need."
He stomped the floor for emphasis, "Just getting them out of the hull would be difficult. No nuts and bolts. Usually we'd have specialized equipment, but we'd have to use your people's gear. Duralloy is kinda hard to cut through."
"Then what do you need to keep going? Partinax asked, eager to keep his new friend and amazing war machine in the fight.
"Hector? You have the schematics?" Graham asked.
"I have checked the general's record, and he possesses little background experience in the area of military engineering. To attempt an explanation would be futile…"
Graham glared at a visual pickup, and Hector finished his thought, "...However, this is a unique situation."
A holographic screen appeared in response, with several file names displayed and no additional information.
Graham looked at Partinax, and gestured forward. "Touchscreen!"
Partinax hesitantly moved forward, and hit the top one, "Dragon-class hovertank".
"FV-77B Dragon-class Stealth Hovertank:
Designer- Durandal All-Purpose Vehicles
Manufacturer- Lima Arsenal Assembly Plant
Self-Aware- Limited
Complement- Minimum (1) Crew Required
(6) Maximum crew
Sensors and Processing Systems- [REDACTED] Radar
[REDACTED]
[REDACTED]
Electronic Warfare- Mk. 75 SRBOC
[REDACTED]
Main Armament- 20mm Hellbore
Secondary Armament- 4 lateral Gatling Laser Cluster
Tertiary Armament- Defensive VLS System
Design- Developed for stealth operations and minor skirmishes in organic support of Bolo Mk. XXXIII in response to Melconian [REDACTED] to assist in operations [REDACTED]."
Partinax's eyes practically popped out of his head as he looked at the types of materials listed for construction. He noted that the description read more like the specifications for a Fleet vessel, rather than an armored fighting vehicle.
The general hastily hit the second file, "Wyvern-class flyer".
"Lockheed Martin FR-60V Wyvern-Class Flyer:
Manufacturer- Boeing Aerospace Defense Systems
Self-aware- No
Complement- (2) crew maximum
Armament- Standard: Gatling Laser Cluster, Micro-missile launcher
Mission Loadouts: 8 Hardpoints
Avionics- [REDACTED]
Design- Organic aerial support for Mk. XXXIII as a result of experience[REDACTED].
If it was possible, Partinax's eyes got even larger.
"These are only samples of the standard frontline equipment that the Concordiat issued." Hector explained, putting a little bit of fear into the Turian's heart at the possibility of facing a force equipped such as this.
"It's gonna be...tough, getting all this stuff together," Partinaxx coughed as he browsed through other files for creating replacement ammunition, "I don't even think half of these minerals are on the table of elements…"
"We'll figure it out. That's what we do best!" Graham grinned.
"Strange…" Hector's voice echoed through the chamber. Graham suddenly grabbed ahold of the front of Partinax's jacket, "Did he just say that something was strange?!" He asked with a hiss.
"Almost...Intriguing." Hector chuckled, and Graham rapidly stepped away from the other general.
He glared at one of the visual pickups, "Damn you, Hector, stop messing with me!"
"Apologies, my long-range sensor array must be malfunctioning."
"What makes you say that?" Graham asked.
"I am detecting a Cloud Defense Force Faster-Than-Light drive signal."
Graham's face changed from one of confusion to determination, and he leaped back into the command couch, several displays appearing before him.
"Is it a glitch?"
"Negative. All arrays are functioning within acceptable parameters. Signature is genuine...Stand by, receiving identification codes. CNV Mako, FFG-654, Piranha-class frigate."
"Piranha-class? That's...That's an obsolete class, isn't it?" Graham tapped his foot anxiously, and thought deeply to recall the details.
It felt like a lifetime ago, but he recalled the information fairly quickly "It did only got retired a few years ago. Guess someone could have reactivated a few and fled during the invasion."
"Incoming transmission. Appears genuine, and you will be pleased to hear it."
There was a wash of static, and a transmission came through clear.
It was being delivered by state-of-the-art systems designed by the Concordiat of Man, and built by the Cloud Defense Force.
"This is Captain Alita Kyle of the CDF Naval Arm to Bolo Hector of the Line. Do you copy?"
Graham collapsed back in his seat in a dead faint.
XXXXX
"What gives you the right?" Sparatus shook his finger at the human before them, standing on the pedestal before the Citadel Council with his arms crossed and a bored expression on his face.
"The same right that gives you the ability to judge who lives and who dies? The same right that gives you the ability to deem what species are worthy?" Thomas Reuter, astronomer-turned-computer expert-turned-diplomat asked.
The entire council resisted the urge to facepalm. Every time they ran into a new species they encountered this issue.
Tevos replied cooly, "We did not order the Genophage unleashed. We did not order the Quarians to be sent into exile. Our predecessors did. What shameful acts have your ancestors done that you are not particularly proud of?"
Reuter's left eye twitched. "The Melconians…" he muttered.
"You have a point there…" He grumbled more loudly, "But that still doesn't give you the right to keep an entire species on a bunch of spaceships! Or to keep the Krogan down for a thousand years!"
"There were several movements even one decade after the Krogan Rebellions to get rid of the Genophage, and to help the Quarians, but after several laws were passed...Well...It's all been caught up in committee." said Valern, almost embarrassed.
Reuter couldn't help but laugh, "Bureaucracy, tell me about it. Listen though, you can't keep the Krogan down forever. It's evolution, one of these days they were going to wise up anyway, so why not help them now in a way that doesn't get them to try and exterminate half the galaxy?...Again?"
The disgruntled Council would never admit it, but with the galaxy on the line, they had no choice but to agree.
"This motion passes," Tevos said, "In exchange for hyperspace technology, continued cooperation with the Bolo Combat Unit, and general technological exchanges, the Council will deactivate the majority of CDEM units, grant all rights any sovereign government can expect to the Urdnot Federation, and allow for temporary repeal of all agreed-upon points included in the Tuchanka Armistice."
With an electronic beep instead of a gavel hammering, the meeting was adjourned.
Reuter exhaled with a woof, and deactivated the pad that bore his notes.
He unfortunately noticed the look Councilor Udina had on his face, the I want to talk your ear off face.
Reuter quickly turned and walked down the steps towards three figures who showed similar signs of extreme relief that he had.
One wore the blue and silver of the CDF, and the other two were Urdnot Wrex and Commander Shepard.
"Good job, Tom." The first congratulated, "We managed to actually get something done that any actual diplomat probably would've taken a year to do!"
He glared at Wrex, "Or what one Krogan may have completely ruined."
"What?" The Krogan shrugged, "I woulda just...given them a nudge."
"Yes, Wrex. Your claymore shotgun would really nudge them." Shepard laughed.
"Thanks, colonel," Reuter accepted, "Dealing with these guys is a breeze compared to…" He shuddered, "Never mind. We did it, though. The Krogan can finally kick some ass!"
Colonel Prescott nodded, "Those damn Reapers may have an advantage for now, but hopefully we can get some big guns built. Let them know they've been in a fight."
"I hope so, colonel, for all our sakes." Shepard agreed, "These Reapers are worse than anything we've faced before."
Prescott replied, "Concordiat equipment will at least give them a run for their money!"
He sighed heavily at the mention of the Concordiat, "It's a shame the war wrecked so much. We must be the only ones who remember the Concordiat. I don't know how you people were able to recover so much, and so little of Earth's history during the rebuild."
He realized that Shepard was staring at him with a strange look on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me.."
Shepard shook it off, "No, it's not a problem...I'm just confused. What's the Concordiat?"
"The Concordiat of Man? The mighty empire that protected half of a galactic arm with the Dinochrome Brigade?"
Shepard shrugged. "Graham mentioned it in passing...But then a lot of things he said didn't add up. Melconian, Deng, Quern, plasma cannons, handheld energy weapons, the Bolos...Before he came here, we didn't know about any of those things. I didn't even know the word Grakaan!"
Prescott shook his head, "That's not important right now, commander. We have much bigger problems on our hands."
He motioned for the rest of the group to follow, but Reuter shook his head.
"Sorry, I've got to talk with the negotiators, and," Reuter explained, gritting his teeth for the last portion, "Udina. I'll catch up with you later!"
On cue, they heard Udina's outrage tone of voice ring out, and hastened to the elevator.
"Does anyone like that human?" Wrex asked as they quickly hit several random buttons, just to avoid a conversation.
"His mother, I should say." Prescott commented, and all three laughed.
That was another weird thing Shepard had noticed about the people of Cloud.
Their jokes were always short and to the point, almost as if they were expecting someone to be watching who could take it out of context…
"So, colonel. You were saying?" Shepard asked as the elevator hummed.
"Even with all the weaponry we might be able to manufacture, we have no guarantee of victory."
Colonel Prescott's demeanor completely changed; gone was the cockiness and confidence he displayed in the Council chambers during the meetings, replaced with caution and anxiety.
"We can give the Reapers a fight, but the majority of the galaxy's forces are still equipped with mediocre gear. Seeing all the infrastructure from the races we've encountered, I don't think we'll be able to get modern equipment any time soon."
He leaned back against the wall of the elevator, "We can probably meet in the center between our two tech areas, but…"
He sighed, "I don't think we can manufacture enough of the right equipment to guarantee a victory. Hellbore construction's still a long way off, missiles development isn't doing too well, and we're losing colonies every day. Hector may be good, but he's not invincible either. His ammo's only going to hold out so long, and the Reapers have god-knows how many reserves."
"So, what do you suggest?" Wrex asked.
"We need allies. More than what we've got. We need the Concordiat's old friends...And foes."
The elevator went completely silent, and the three rocked back and forth in the stillness as the lift passed edges in the rails.
Shepard coughed, "Excuse me?"
"We need the Melconians in this fight. We need the Deng. We need the Harpies, we need everyone, maybe even the Malach! Anyone who was even a minor annoyance to the old Concordiat would be helpful."
The idea of something that could be a threat to this Concordiat...Shepard shuddered, but ignored the feeling.
"Can you get a list together of all the races you know about? I'll forward it to the Council, and they'll send ships to track down every lead. Hopefully we can get them to ignore any...minor issues experienced in the past."
Prescott tugged at his collar slightly, but Shepard said nothing.
The fun of diplomacy…The commander thought with a sigh.
XXXXX
The Reaper fleet flew towards the Volus homeworld of Irune, casually avoiding the wreckage of the Turian defense forces that would lay forever nestled in the gentle grip of gravity.
The organics' damnable enslaved AI was not here to defend the pitiful and weak ammonia-breathers of this world. Any remaining defenses would be soon dealt with.
Only a token force, little more than a handful of Sovereigns, and twice as many destroyers, would be required to protect the massive transports that would cleanse this world.
Sensors began to light up as an unseen perimeter was breached, and a Volus satellite began to transmit some sort of signal via a primitive quantum entanglement array.
Its destruction was swift and efficient. Calling for help would not save the organics.
Within minutes of the signal's termination however, there was a mysterious energy spike that came from the heart of the fleet.
Impossible, the flagship said only a second after signal detection, detecting nothing beyond the reading, undoubtedly an error. Conduct repairs immediately.
Unlucky for the flagship, it was not a false energy reading, or a virus that had spread across the fleet.
4.3 seconds after the energy spike appeared on sensors, the flagship Reaper completely disappeared into oblivion, along with a quarter of the Sovereigns, and an eighth of the destroyers.
They did not explode, nor were they vaporized or shredded by enemy fire, they were just...gone.
Gone into the blue vortex that had appeared in their place.
Several ships had been caught in the vicinity of the anomaly's appearance. Though not unlucky enough to be destroyed, they sustained heavy damage.
A third of the total remaining Sovereigns were crippled, along with a number of the destroyers.
Various sections of their hulls had been stolen by the vortex. Plating connected to those areas were warped beyond comprehension, by the savage and unearthly weapon that had devastated their comrades.
Fire blossomed in the sky as the power cores of several Reapers were breached, and began to melt down.
Within the few seconds it had taken to appear, the vortex weapon had annihilated or critically damaged a third of the Reaper detachment.
Only the vortex was not just a weapon. It was a method of transportation.
From the jump point soared a single ship, the name CNV Spartacus proudly adorning its flanks; missiles launched from their silos, riding on columns of fire as turrets began to turn and spin to life, targeting critical components.
The little destroyer had barely begun to show its teeth, even after a pair of Sovereigns exploded.
Charged up, the plasma torpedo launchers moved independently to target the crippled and helpless foes.
The rest of the combat detachment, surprised but still functional, made thruster burns that would put them on intercept courses with the CDF destroyer...When the second trap was sprung.
The bright blue vortex tore its way into existence with a flash. Hungrily, it absorbed a fifth of the remaining combat capable Reapers, and nearly a quarter of the troop transports.
This time, it was not a destroyer that emerged from the hyperspace window. Out flew instead, the Escort Carrier CNV Mirai, CVE-182.
Her battle scars barely even scabbed over, the Mirai bared her canines, and the main cannons burned into a Sovereign on an intercept course.
Drones, far more primitive than those the CDF commonly used, glided out of the rotating launch bays as she launched a dozen missiles.
They charged their plasma torpedoes while the carrier's AI calculated a firing solution.
The Reaper troop transports kinetic barriers did little to stop the stealthy atomic warheads. They glided right towards the enemy hulls, using mounted lasers to burrow tunnels wide enough to fit the warheads.
Once they had embedded themselves, the lasers clustered themselves in pre-programmed manners. Then warheads detonated.
X-ray beams cut right through the Reaper hulls, racing ahead of the atomic fire to make sure every bit of the vessels were properly cooked.
A hole was punched in the enemy lines. The fire let up for a moment, and allowed the organic vessels to fly right into the Reaper ranks with reckless abandon, firing as they flew untouched between ships.
Those few Reapers that managed to calculate firing solutions only succeeded in damaging themselves, their formations were too tight.
What seemed like insanity to some made perfect sense to others. It was an ancient tactic known as "The Ackbar Slash", forcing the enemy to choose their targets wisely to avoid hitting their allies. Little could be done to stop the organics.
The drones took heavy casualties from close-in weapon systems, but grimly flew inexorably onwards toward the largest enemy ships.
As one, when each squadron met their target, they fired. The first troop transport was gutted, armor rent asunder and hull thousands of years old disintegrated in an instant.
Another was destroyed. Then another. Two Sovereigns went up, along with their escorts.
In seven minutes, the fight was over. The torpedoes tore apart the convoy, terminated the Sovereigns, and destroyed all but a few destroyers.
The speed and swiftness of the attack sent the Reapers into an uncharacteristic full-scale retreat, and left the Cloud Defense Force vessels completely untouched.
"Ensign, what's the projected retreat trajectory for those things?" said Captain Lewis Moxley, former member of the communication division assigned to the Chryse CDF Operations Facility back on Cloud.
He now commanded the Spartacus, being one of the few naval officers who had survived the Killing and gotten into the fleet.
"They're heading for the mass relay." The ensign reported, "Command to pursue?"
"Negative. We can't waste the ordnance, and we don't have the drop on them anymore."
The Spartacus' battlescreens had taken heavy damage during the mad dash from Cloud, and had been further drained by activation of the hyperdrive.
Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, simply walking into enemy fire would recharge the shields. However, along with the majority of the systems, the battlescreen energy capacitors-responsible for channeling enemy fire into usable energy- were unfinished, untested, and like the shield generators, heavily damaged.
"Once the jump engines are recharged, we'll head to the next target. No sense chasing them either way, they're beaten. 'When you surround an army, leave an outlet free. Do not press a desperate foe too hard'."
The navigator grinned, "'He who will win knows when to fight and when not to fight', eh?"
"No matter what, Sun Tzu stays with us." another officer commented.
"Amen," said Moxley, before asking, "How's the hull holding up after that jump?"
The engineering officer hit a few controls, "Doing about as well as you'd think, sir. We'll need to reinforce it at some point."
"How about the engines themselves?" Moxley asked.
"Taking a long time, but they're charging."
The Spartacus was lucky for a destroyer; most standard Concordiat vessels below cruisers did not have hyperspace generators, due to their expense and power usage. Standard FTL was just so much cheaper.
While it did not grant the combat benefits of jump points, was much safer and easier to use. Without precise data for a hyperspace window a ship could end up splinched in an enemy ship instead of beside it.
The CDF however, due to their limited number of naval vessels before The Killing, decided to cram as much as they could onto whatever ships they had. Thus, the little vessel could, every once in awhile, make a hyperspace window, with the proper data.
"See if we can make a broadcast to all of Irune, let's tell them they're safe." Moxley ordered, killing time until the engines were back online.
XXXXX
Shari Barstow, cyberneticist-turned-footsoldier-and-back, sighed in relief when the idiot finished his latest rant about the "evils" of AI.
She had stopped listening about twenty minutes ago, and was browsing the rudimentary extranet for something interesting to read when the Salarian finally stormed off.
Moron. she thought as she left the modest break room and proceeded down the hall towards the lab, Like your power armor project is going to outshine a Bolo. Can your big 'Gundam' project shoot down something in orbit? Didn't think so.
The idiot had been assigned to a team developing heavy powered combat exoskeletons, better than the ATLAS mechs they currently had.
Whenever Barstow or any of her team appeared in the breakroom, he constantly bothered any in sight.
This was one of the other reasons they hadn't had too many volunteers, and many transfers off; hostile work environment to say the least.
Barstow sat back on her stool, placing the coffee to the side, precariously balanced on the edge of the table .
They couldn't build holographic memory systems yet, and regular integrated circuits were too primitive for proper Bolos, so they needed to build the biomechanical cells used ever since the mark XVs, with the technology they had at hand.
Today was an off-day unfortunately. Shari could see several warnings displayed, the cells weren't growing right.
"Lousy obsolete junk!" she muttered, slapping one of the computers as it buzzed in disagreement.
She noticed the reflection of a Salarian behind her in the device's screen.
"Gundam guy, go away please."
"Apologies, but I do not know what you are talking about." The voice was rapid, and less pretentious than the other Salarian's had been.
"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." Shari said quickly as she spun around. This Salarian looked out of place, however he was not wearing a military uniform, so he hadn't gotten lost as part of a tour.
"Energy weapons are down that hall, power armor's to the left, AFVs to the right." She guessed that he was another transfer, lost on his first trip here.
The Salarian nodded, but didn't walk away. "I was searching for the AI development area. Is this not it?"
Barstow raised an eyebrow, "That's right," She scoffed, "Who'd you annoy to get in here? Everyone thinks we're making IBM-100 or whatever in here."
"HAL-9000. Kubrick made a reference to IBM, but that was not the name of the machine. You are the one working on bio-mechanical computational equipment?" The Salarian changed topics in an instant.
He strode over and looked at the variety of displays and jars on the table.
"What?"
"Did not offend anyone to gain entrance. Merely wanted to see what work was being done in this area. Worked with several AI in the past. Hmm..."
In an instant he pointed out a flaw Barstowe hadn't noticed in her code before. Quickly she repaired it, and the equipment registered the cells returning to normal.
"Thanks, that's been bugging me all day." She turned to the Salarian who was writing notes down on -strangely enough- an actual pad of paper. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Barstow!" an angry and pretentious voice called out as the door hissed open.
She rolled her eyes and looked over at the Gundam guy, she didn't care enough to find out his real name.
"What do you want this time?"
"Your team-"
The other Salarian suddenly went slack jawed, staring past her at the first Salarian.
"Professor Solus? W-what are you doing here?"
"Gaeran!"
The professor exclaimed happily, and explained, "Here on leave. Thought I would combine work with pleasure. Still working on your Tactical Bipedal Armored Fighting Vehicle, I trust?"
He spoke precisely and without a stutter, reciting the name from memory smoothly.
Gaeran merely opened and closed his mouth several times, "I-I...Yes! Yes I am! What are you doing in here though? With the…"
He stopped speaking before he could insult the AI team.
"Simple." The professor replied, "Have experience with many fields, but have most experience in medical. I thought I could assist with biomechanical cells being developed."
"Uh…"
"Busy now. Talk later? Was in the middle of a conversation."
Gaeran nodded rapidly, "Um...Yes! See you later professor."
"Barstow." he acknowledged in the least offensive tone he could muster before turning about.
Professor Solus noticed Barstow's confused look, "Promising student from several years ago. Always had trouble with social interactions, unfortunately. Strong opinions about his work worsened relationships."
He turned back to the worktable, activating his omni-tool before smiling at Shari, "Professor Mordin Solus. What can I do to help?"