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TWELVE: THE TEST


The month of May went on and my training drew closer to the final exercise before graduation. Everything was proceeding normally for the most part, although a few issues continued to confound me.

"Reapers, you say…"..."Ah yes, Reapers…"..."Oh shit, Reapers!"

Dropping my imitation of the turian councilor, I growled in frustration at the thought of him, his colleagues, and the prospect of having to pull their heads out of their collective asses and face the Reaper threat.

How can I get this done without banging my head against the wall that is the Citadel Council?

Not that I by myself would make much difference, anyway. Shepard and the crew would have to be assembled before that task could even be considered. However, I was wondering if there wasn't something I could do to tip the scales a little.

Given my current lack of any evidence for the Reapers, all I really had to go on was my experience of being sent to this universe. That information was something that I wasn't going to give up without a good reason. It would have to happen eventually - there was no way I could hide it forever. But it had to be to the right people at the right time.

Who do I know of that is in a position of authority or influence, yet can be considered reasonable?

Who can be convinced easily enough? More importantly, who can know about this and keep it under wraps?

I ran my remembered knowledge of the Mass Effect universe through the algorithms in my head, hoping for an answer.

Then, it hit me.

Of course!

Sha'ira. The Consort.

Then, my Eureka moment deflated almost instantly as I remembered what it took to get an appointment with her - likely a wait of several months, plus a sizable sum of credits that I simply didn't have.

"Damn." I muttered, putting that idea on the backburner for now.

Anderson? Eh...depends on if I can even get access to him. Same with Hackett...hell, I'm not even Alliance military.

Benezia? No, she's probably already close to Saren at this point...too risky.

And it's not like I have the time to travel off the Citadel anyways.

I scowled at the realization that while Special Response was a pretty good way to get myself ready, it didn't leave very much time or opportunity to get the rest of the galaxy ready.

Grumbling, I got up and spent a few minutes cleaning out random crap around the apartment, before a thought struck me.

The Council. The three Council races. Each with a representative.

Tevos is the asari Councilor.

Tevos is an asari.

Asari can join minds with other people.

Why the fuck didn't Tevos just meld with the Commander and see for real whether or not Shepard was telling the truth?

I held out my hand, and the UPLINK module/M&M appeared in my palm.

Aeshia?

Hold on a second.


Hey, what's up?

You already know, don't you?

Yes. But I'd rather hear you say it.

I'm wondering why Tevos never melded with Shepard. She told her to go find evidence...but it was right there in the Commander's head.

Well, Alex, describe politics with a few words.

Corrupt? Self-serving?

She snorted. Anything else?

Complicated.

Yeah. Keep in mind that things aren't always as they appear. Now Tevos might have seemed like an idiot to deny the existence of the Reapers, but she's not. Look under the surface. I guarantee you that there's more than what initially meets the eye.

I frowned.

Now, as for your question. How likely do you think it would be for some head of state to get all mental touchy-feely with a hardened military veteran, even for something like this?

Not very.

Ok. And what's the Council's primary responsibility? Simple. Upholding the stability of Citadel space. Upending normality to ready the galaxy for a bunch of synthetic hunter-killer machines does not promote that goal in the slightest. If they took every claim like this at face value, everything would be a mess.

I sighed. True.

Look at it from their perspective. Nothing in the slightest that even mentions this has come up before. Then Shepard comes along. The first person to bring up the Reapers also claims that her worst enemy is in league with them. How does the Council know that she isn't just making this stuff up? Later, the hologram on Virmire. How can they be sure it isn't bogus? Any programmer could make something like that with a little time. Then Sovereign itself. Ok, it looks a little advanced for the geth, but who knows what they've been up to? It doesn't automatically mean that the Reapers are real and there are thousands more like them coming. Even if Tevos had melded with Shepard, the information might still have been faulty. Prothean beacons were never designed to interact with human physiology.

I suppose. I thought, feeling slightly dejected.

But the Reapers are real. They've been doing this for millions of years, and they've become very good at covering their tracks. Therefore, you're gonna have to find more than just what you ran into during the first game.

Also, I'm sure some figures in the scientific community would be interested in the Reaper hypothesis. Maybe they can find some lines of logic that you wouldn't have thought of. See if you can't contact them. You'd have to get someone with scientific credibility and connections to help you get started, even if it's not much. I wonder if there's anyone on the Normandy like that?

I blinked.

Talk later.

A small shiver passed through me as the channel closed. Conversations like that were still a very strange sensation. After all, casual conversations with powerful beings capable of altering universes at will weren't exactly within my realm of experience.

But what the hell, I'd roll with the punches regardless.

With that, I had a lot of thinking to do.


May 20th, 2182, 11:36 A.M.

SPECIAL RESPONSE DIVISION BAY 5/6

At C-Sec, an unharried yet efficient movement of people was underway.

"Mount up."

"Everything good?"

"Yeah."

"We're going!"

The doors of the Special Response personnel carrier slammed shut, enclosing me and nine other armored figures in a surprisingly well-lit interior.

From the front, Carehn leaned toward us. "We got some info coming in. Check your omni-tools."

A series of chimes filled the air as everyone did so.

[ATTACHMENT] MissionBrief

Opening the attachment, I read:

This exercise assumes a complicated scenario. At 0300 hours, a number of convicted criminals connected to the terrorist group Purity First escaped while they were being transferred from a C-Sec holding block to vessels headed to their homeworlds. Escapees are armed with stolen weapons. Two separate groups have been taken over a passenger ship and a warehouse. Information on each AO is as follows:

Passenger ship: Registered as the MSV Masyaf. Currently in a holding pattern outside the docks. Its path out has been blocked by ships from Patrol, and negotiations are ongoing. A claim by the convicts to have taken crew members and passengers hostage has been verified. Current enemy strength is estimated at 7-9 hostiles.

Below was a set of blueprints for the ship's internal layout.

Warehouse: Unknown layout, unknown enemy strength. Escapees' motivations for choosing warehouse as holdout location unknown.

In the event of hostilities, four teams will be involved. Teams Two and Sixteen will assault the ship while Five and Six cover the warehouse.

Standby for further instructions.

A different chime on my omni-tool indicated another message. Opening it, I read:

Final exercise. Kill it.

-Paryn


In movies about the military or police, filmmakers rarely focus on authenticity or adherence to how things actually work in real-life. People watch these movies for the exciting parts. That's why they never show you the endless waiting that usually took up ninety-nine percent of our time.

Snipers often get the worst of it. They usually occupy a spot for several hours or even days at a time. Since they can't afford detection, they avoid any more movement than is necessary. Cramps? Deal with it. Bugs? Let them bite. Don't even get into what they do when taking care of bodily functions.

So there I was with Sheoquol on a low rooftop lying prone and facing toward the warehouse. We had been in position for the past two hours, scanning the area through our scopes.

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I swiveled to observe an asari appear briefly at a third story window, look out, and then move on.

I called it in. "White, Three, Delta." - White standing for the front of the building, Three indicating the story, and Delta representing the fourth window from the left.

"Roger, White Three Delta."

There wasn't very much activity otherwise, which eventually led to conversation as we passed the time.

"Doing alright, Alex?" Sheoqoul asked.

"Yeah." I replied. My stomach growled. "Some food would be nice after we missed lunch."

"Those rations in your belt really aren't too bad." the salarian said, not breaking from his scope. "But I admit, a plate of lasagna would be nice."

"What!?" I sputtered, banging my cheek on the stock. "You know about Italian food?"

Sheoquol nodded. "You humans have great culinary ta- White, Two, Aeghor."

"Got it, White Two Aeghor."

"-taste."

"What restaurant do you go to?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"Ristorante Monserrato, on Zakera Ward. On the expensive side, but amazing food." The salarian smiled at the thought, as if recalling a religious experience.

I grinned. "Take your hungry partner there sometime, will ya?"

Sheoqoul smiled. "Gladly. Hmm...I admit, I'm curious about what else human cuisine has to offer..."

I grinned again. "I gotta introduce you to Japanese food sometime."

Despite my cravings, a late linner-dunch came in the form of our field rations. Shortly after, we were relieved by snipers from Team Six, allowing us to catch some rest.

For the next sixty hours, we waged a war of attrition on the terrorists' will, trying to sap their resolve and wear them down. When - more likely if - the assault came, we wanted them as tired, confused, and demoralized as possible. Our hostage negotiators made sure every demand had a return. If the terrorists wanted water, they'd have to let medics on board to check on the passengers. If they wanted food, they'd have to let the children go and then we'd give it to them - with a mild sedative sprinkled in to make them more relaxed. With each demand and subsequent gain on our side, control of the situation drifted further away from the terrorists and more towards us.

However, the standoff took its toll on us, too.

The ship team got the worst of it, having to constantly stand to when something seemed about to happen, only to stand down again. Then the whole cycle would repeat itself a few hours later. Every time they stood to, we did as well, because we had to assume the terrorists inside the ship could communicate with their buddies in the warehouse. It wore us down, surging into position, ready for action, only to have to relax again. Interrupted naps and meals were the norm.

Meanwhile, the scale of the situation soon became apparent to us. One of the passengers on the ship was apparently a high-ranking volus official in the Vol Protectorate, and another passenger was the wife of an important diplomat.

A bureaucratic headache ensued. The volus embassy on the Presidium demanded to have a say in final approval of all assault plans. A denial led to them raising hell with the Council, almost causing Team Sixteen to be pulled out. The diplomat whose wife was on board showed up personally at the docks and tried to fly a small ship out to appeal to the terrorists. Ships from Patrol had to be scrambled to intercept him before he could dock and potentially become another hostage. Of course, Patrol ships passing so close to the hijacked ship raised the terrorists' hackles and almost forced an emergency assault. C-Sec HQ had to juggle orders from the Council not to cause a diplomatic incident and the volus' increasingly insistent demands to launch the assault.

At that time, I was extremely glad that I was a shooter and didn't have to personally deal with all that crap. Still, as they say, shit rolls downhill.

Finally, on the third day, negotiations all but broke down. The terrorists issued a final 12-hour ultimatum for their demands to be met, or they would kill all of their hostages.

A message was sent to the terrorists that their demands had been met. The supposed arrangement was that most of the hostages would be released, and the ship allowed to exit the Citadel's immediate airspace. It would then eject the remaining hostages out via escape pod and immediately jump to the mass relay.

What they didn't know was that Teams Two and Sixteen were squeezed into the ship promised to the terrorists. The moment the ships docked and the airlock opened, they sprung from their Trojan Horse and launched the assault, 'killing' all the terrorists for the cost of only two officers and a hostage injured.

Simultaneously, at the warehouse, Teams Five and Six exploded into action.

An old truck was rigged to remote control. Set on fire, it then "careened" into the street directly in front of the house and blew up spectacularly within the confines of a mass effect field, which contained the explosion but nevertheless drew several of the terrorists to the windows.

On the roof, the other snipers and I watched as they clustered around. Like moths to the flame, I thought, and like the moths, then they die.

I centered my crosshairs on a human male, breathed. and squeezed the trigger, registering a hit and causing systems in his omni-tool to discharge an electric shock, dropping him to the ground.

It would be a good time to mention that fortunately for the 'terrorists', we were using blanks and laser systems to simulate hits instead of live ammunition.

That didn't make our attack any less aggressive. I shifted my fire and dropped another target, mirroring the other Special Response snipers who were doing the same thing as well. As we fired, assaulters from both teams darted out of side alleys and stacked up at the door, which was quickly removed as an obstacle. Through my scope, I saw them blow the door and file in. We didn't see any more tangos at the windows.

For several minutes, we listened to the sound of gunfire from within the warehouse until the all-clear came in.

"This is Five Actual. Warehouse secure."


A few hours later, we swapped places with Teams Two and Sixteen and simulated the assault on the ship while they took a turn at the warehouse.

Every single one of us with the exception of Carehn - who was stuck coordinating with HQ - took the time in between to get some desperately needed sleep. The last thing I remembered was passing out on the floor next to Seruai and Nthiluay. The next I knew, we were being shaken awake twenty minutes before the assault to allow us some time to prepare.

As soon as we got into our Trojan Horse, I blinked a few times, got rid of the remaining vestiges of sleep by slapping myself, and donned my helmet. The transit was short, and all too soon, we were docking. Taking up a position at the door, I found myself side-by-side with Tonadim. He looked at me, but said nothing. I ignored him, flicking my safety off and training my assault rifle on the door.

The airlock opened, and I drilled three rounds into a surprised-looked terrorist with a pistol as my mind went on autopilot.

Go!

I exploded out of the airlock and into the ship proper, the rest of the team thundering inside right behind me. Turning a right, my rifle cracked twice and with a small jolt, a tango went down. Scratch two.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tonadim take out two more tangos in as many seconds. Then, we hit another closed door, and Seruai stepped up, slapping a Masterkey into the door lock as Nthiluay stacked up opposite me. We extracted flashbangs and held them at the ready.

"Breaching."

The door shot open, and we hurled the devices inside.

Flashbangs are a handy tool. The light that it emits trip the photoreceptor cells in the eyes like a million suns, while the loud blast disturbs the fluid in the ear, causing severe disorientation. When these effects are unleashed in a confined space, they are magnified to devastating proportions.

BANG.

Then the world was a cacophony of screaming hostages and a superimposition of our calm, precise double taps over sporadic incoming blindfire, which lessened rapidly as we advanced through what looked like a lounge room. A asari began to rise up and I pushed her down again, and then someone with a gun made a break for the stairs and I was snapping my rifle up when Nthiluay dropped him.

Then all too suddenly, the room was quiet.

"Cabin clear, all hostages accounted for." Carehn reported. "Lead Five elements, advance and secure the bridge."

"Affirmative." Paryn replied, taking the lead. "Up the stairs, people!" I hurried to file in behind her, finding myself next to Tonadim again.

"Six elements, securing sleeping quarters."

We found the bridge door to be locked as we approached, and what sounded like shouting coming from the inside. Suddenly, the lock turned green and the door opened.

The hell?

Inside, we found two humans and a turian in grey armor on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Paryn and Tonadim moved to secure the humans, so I slung my rifle and moved toward the turian.

His hands moved, producing a small, metal sphere.

They twisted.

Oh shit.

"GRENADE!" someone yelled and time seemed to slow down as my pistol slowly expanded in my hand, swinging upward and aligning with the turian's face and-

POP-POP-POP-POP

I dropped my pistol, dashed forward and slammed the turian's body down over the grenade, covering it up and waiting for the-

BANG.

A concussive blast jerked me slightly upward as the turian took the brunt of the impact.

Silence.

Then coughing.

"Bridge secure." Paryn said with a note of amusement in her voice.

The turian below me coughed again. "Damn." a familiar flanged voice groaned. "I'm taking tomorrow off."

I laughed in equal parts relief and disbelief. "Garrus? What are you doing here?"

"Roleplaying terrorist at your service. Can you get off me now?" he muttered.

I snorted. "As you wish, buddy." I rolled off and stood, removing my helmet. Extending a hand, I hauled him to his feet. Looking him over, I noticed the scorch marks on his armor.

"You're lucky that was only a concussion grenade." Paryn observed, removing her helmet. She grinned. "Looks good on you, though."

Garrus made a sour face, and we broke down laughing.


A/N: Hope you guys liked it. Getting a lot of new readers here. Reviews/input appreciated!

As always, thanks go to my beta reader Digital Sage.

Who got the video game references I planted in here? There are two of them. First to spot both and mention them to me via review gets an internet cookie.

The buildup to the SR assault was helped greatly by research done from the book Inside Delta Force by Eric Haney. Credit due where appropriate.

The name of the Italian restaurant borrowed from ElectricZ's heartwarming threeshot Friends Like These. Check it out and smile.