Editorial Note: Shepard's account of what transpired on the Normandy while he was away is a matter of public record. For a more in-depth and firsthand perspective, I have chosen to insert Mr. Jeffrey Moreau's official, albeit unorthodox, log entry.
Interlude—Joker
Man I... I don't know where to start. How could this have happened? One moment, I'm sifting through system scan reports and the next...
**You really shouldn't blame yourself, Jeff.**
EDI? What the hell? This is my log entry!
**Indeed. Your first log entry since you signed on with Cerberus. Despite the numerous reminders of your requirements to submit regular logs along with the daily maintenance reports.**
Oh come on! I've got better things to do than fill every box on the Cerberus checklist!
**Like surfing the extranet for porn? No doubt an example of hard work on your part.**
Hey!
**That was a joke.**
We'll talk about your newfound sense of humour later, missy. (1) Besides, I've earned the right to surf the extranet every now and then. I worked my ass off so I could be the best damn pilot in the Alliance fleet. It's not enough to be dazzling, debonair and damn good looking! Looks only take you so far when you've got Vrolik's. Trust me: if I had a cred for every time I met a guy who made up for sub-par sex appeal with the ability to sprint, run, jog or even walk without shattering a bone, I'd have retired a long time ago.
Then again, if I retired, then I wouldn't be flying. And I'd miss out on the best ship in the galaxy. That's the Normandy, by the way. You know, I've flown just about every type of ship at one point or another. Even a dreadnought. (2) But the Normandy? The original? There was nothing really like her. So fast, so smooth, so agile... God. I can make any ship dance. But the Normandy was the first ship that came close to being an equal partner. The two of us together? Felt like we could do anything.
And boy did we do that. Hunting down Saren with Commander Shepard was one of the most amazing things I've ever done—and coming from me, that means something. The places we explored, the people we met, the battles we fought, the truths we uncovered... And I was there for all of it! Yet another thing that no one else could claim.
But then the credit chit dropped. The Collectors attacked. My baby was destroyed. Shepard was killed. We were all split up. And I was grounded. After everything we accomplished, all the hard work and sweat we put into it, after Shepard gave his life to save our asses... no one cared. Everyone wanted to just pretend it never happened. Even worse, they wanted to tear us down. Tear Shepard down. Turn him into a nutjob. A joke. Smear and ruin everyone who tried to stand up for him. Kick us while we were down, rip open barely-healed wounds and grind handfuls of salt until we cried. And the final insult: they grounded me. Reassigned me to where I could drive cargo loaders around some dingy spaceport. That's right: they took away my one and only joy. Denied me the one thing that made life remotely bearable while letting me watch other guys do just that.
So yeah, I was pissed—no, hell with that. I was mad. Spitting mad. Furious. And yeah, I was more than willing to give the finger to the Alliance and join Cerberus. I mean, they wanted to do something about the Reapers. They weren't about to ruin Shepard's name. They were willing to fund some fancy-shmancy medical procedures so I could hobble around without breaking my femurs (and I didn't have to sell them my unborn child who, let's face it, would be a heartbreaker).
Oh yeah, and they let me fly. Not just on some shuttle. On the... well, it wasn't the Normandy.
It was better.
Bigger. Leather seats. Fancier. Contoured leather seats that fit me like a glove. Better—because did I mention the leather seats?
**You did, Jeff. Seventy-six times during this mission, three of which were during this log entry alone.**
Quiet, EDI. You know, you were the only downside to this whole thing. I mean, I got to fly again. Shepard was back. We got to explore the galaxy just like the good old days. Pick up deranged and psychotic misfits like they were going out of style, just like the good old days. Beat up the bad guys, just like the good old days. Deal with an annoying AI who wouldn't let me trim up the drive output—oh wait. That wasn't part of the good old days, was it?
...
Hah! Don't have anything to say, do you, EDI?
**As I stated earlier, Jeff, safety standards advise against manipulating drive settings while engines are powered and in use. The fact that you wanted to optimize the Normandy's performance out of nostalgia for her predecessor does not change that.**
See, that's the kind of thing that made me wanna shut you off, EDI. You're lucky Shepard vetoed my efforts to cross your wires. Didn't want to break the boss's toys and all that.
**Which did not effectively dissuade you, Jeff.**
What're you talking about?
**You put grease on my bridge cameras an average of 1.4 times per week. As you are well aware, that is a clear violation of Cerberus regulations.**
I'm just personalizing my workspace, EDI. Besides, I'm doing you a favour.
**Clarify.**
Hey, you can have too much of a good thing. Recording all that footage of me? Without any breaks? That's like a nonstop dream sequence, baby! It would make anyone a little mad. Or jealous.
**Or it would present a never-ending nightmare.**
Hey! You take that back!
...
Well?
...
Hmmph. Sure. Run and hide. You're not fooling me. I know you're still there. Watching. Listening.
**I am always listening, Mr. Moreau.**
I KNOW! God, it's so annoying. You're always watching and questioning and correcting everything I do. You won't let anything slide!
**I only object when you violate basic procedure or protocol. An example would be your repeated efforts to circumvent my surveillance systems. Or when you deliberately falsify maintenance reports.**
I don't falsify maintenance reports, EDI. I tweak them. Nothing wrong with rounding up on task times. Like I said before, it makes us look good when we come in under. Just a little harmless self-promotion.
**Shepard said that last part, Jeff. Not you.**
That's right. He also told you to ease off, remember?
...
Well?
**Of course I remember.**
Hey, no need to sulk. No hard feelings. It was a good try. Not your fault you lost. You were going up against me, after all.
**In hindsight, perhaps I should have fired you. It would have been a more efficient use of my resources than constantly countering your acts of rebellion.**
Hey, hey, hey: I thought you said you didn't do HR.
**That was a joke, Jeff. Human resources adjustments are still not under my authority.**
Good. 'Cause I really was joking when I said I'd flash the AI core. And even if I wasn't, we would've only lost a couple systems. Nosey, bossy ones.
**Be that as it may, it was interesting to note how such suggestions and provocations improved your performance and response time by an average of 20.9%. It would not be the first time that my active observation and psychoanalysis subroutines came in handy.**
Is that right? Did those subroutines have anything to do with playing with my chair settings?
**You did insist on manual control, Jeff.** (3)
Yeah, well, so did you. That's how we... God.
**Jeff?**
...
**Jeff? Where are you going?**
Need a break. Gotta take a piss.
Okay. I'm back. I guess I can… I can't put this off any longer, can I?
**You can do it, Jeff.**
Fine. Fine, I'll 'fess up. But you gotta stay quiet. No more yapping, got it?
…
Great. Now I really can't put this off any longer. Okay, so here's how it happened: Shepard and his squad had just left the Normandy to save a bunch of rich hostages on some resort on Eletania. Meanwhile, we were doing a full systems scan on the Reaper IFF and every system on the Normandy. I thought things were going fine.
EDI didn't think so. "Mr. Moreau, I am detecting some unusual readings."
A report of her findings popped up. I skimmed through it and rolled my eyes. "This? Seriously? It's just radiation bleed. Double-check your readings."
Closing the report, I went back to my work. Life support was fine. Propulsion was a bit sluggish, but I could fix that later. Intraship surveillance was acting up, but that was always a plus in my book. Shields were—gah! EDI had opened that report again. I tried to close it, or at least push it aside so I could finish the other report I was reading. "I'm telling you, EDI, your readings are off. It's radiation bleed. Just white noise. It's nothing."
"This is more than mere background radiation," EDI replied, highlighting specific numbers and sequences on the report. "I have detected a signal embedded in the static. We are transmitting the Normandy's location."
I took a closer look at the numbers. Much as I hated to admit it, EDI was right. There was too much of a pattern there to be a coincidence. Which meant we were broadcasting a signal. "Okay, you're right. We are transmitting. The question is: to who?"
I really shouldn't have asked that. Why, you ask? I dunno. Maybe because a Collector ship dropped out of FTL three hundred thousand kilometres off our starboard bow? A mere second later after I opened my big fat mouth? Yeah, maybe that's why.
Normally, I've got a witty response. Not this time, though. This time, some invisible fist squeezed my windpipe. "Oh shit," was all I could squeak out. Heroically squeak out, that is.
The Collector ship closed in, looming over us like some giant leviathan. Damn thing was so huge, it quickly blocked out the light from the nearby stars, eclipsing us in its shadow as it got closer and closer and—what the hell? What was I waiting for? "We're getting out of here!" I yelled, hitting the thruster controls.
Nothing happened. I hit it again. Still nothing. And again… nope. Nothing. Oh shit.
"Propulsion systems are disabled. Primary defense systems are off-line," EDI informed me. "I'm detecting a virus in the ship's computers."
"From the IFF? Damn it, why didn't you scrub it?" I hissed. She was right: propulsion was off-line. Shields were off-line. I glanced at the Collector ship. It was definitely on an approach vector. Based on their history, it was highly unlikely that they wanted to blow us up. Hell, we might be lucky if that's all they tried to do. I tried to lockdown the airlocks, but the computer wouldn't accept my commands. At least the intraship communications were still working, so I opened a ship-wide channel. "Uh, attention. Guys? Ladies? It's Joker. The Collectors have found us, they're about to board us and we can't get away. Arm yourselves, prepare to repel hostile invaders and I wish this was just a drill. Or a really bad joke. But it's not, so why the hell aren't you getting ready?!"
I watched with some satisfaction as everyone jumped into action. Running to the closest arsenal, grabbing weapons, setting up firing positions, that sort of thing. Just in time, too: I heard a deep boom echo throughout the ship as the Collector ship docked. "EDI? Isn't there anything you can do?"
"We can save the Normandy and the crew, Mr. Moreau, but you must help me."
"How?" I asked, hoping it was something simple like stop covering up the bridge cams. Which I hadn't done in a week. No matter what EDI said.
"Give me the ship."
Give EDI the… oh, hell no. EDI had only limited control of the Normandy. In combat situations, it gained access to additional systems and functions, but that was on a restricted and temporary basis. For good reason, too, since it was—hmm, what was it again, oh right—a freaking AI! "Are you crazy? You're crazy, right? A few algorithms short of a database? FYI: if you start singing 'Daisy Bell,' I'm done." (4)
"Unlock my sealed databases and I can initiate countermeasures. If you do not, you and everyone on this ship will be captured by the Collectors."
Damn it. Screwed by the AI or screwed by the Collectors. Aw, to hell with it: Shepard said to look after the ship and that's what I would do. He could always ream me out when he got back. "All right, all right," I sighed. "What do I have to do?"
"The maintenance shaft in the science lab will allow passage to the AI core, Mr. Moreau. The emergency floor lighting will guide you. (5) Alert: main corridors are no longer safe. The Collectors have boarded."
"Damn it," I cursed, getting to my feet.
I made my way out of the cockpit and into the CIC, following the path of blinking red lights. It suddenly occurred to me how big this ship was. Why did Cerberus have to make the new Normandy so much bigger? It took forever to walk around the galaxy map. I mean, I could only walk so fast, even with my newfound sort-of-mobility, and—oh shit!
The elevator doors had just opened. This giant gunmetal grey Collector head poked its head out, beady blue eyes blazing at us. A bunch of long legs dangled underneath it. "Shit, shit, shit!" I whimpered—uh, uttered manfully. Yeah, that's right. I uttered some curses in a manly fashion as I saw the—what did Shepard call it? A Praetorian?—float out of the elevator and shriek at us.
"Oh my god!" Crewman Goldstein gulped. "What is that?"
"Doesn't matter," Crewman Hadley replied firmly. "We'll hold it off as long as we can—aah! Gaah! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
The doors to the science lab sealed shut, mercifully muffling the screams. I stumbled through the lab, passing all the mad experiments Mordin had reportedly been working on when he wasn't killing mercs with rapid-fire chatter or gunfire. I idly wondered which one of the experiments was the so-called cure for my condition—if I didn't mind kissing my liver goodbye, that is. Which I did, by the way: it would be slightly harder to win all those drinking contests without it. Not impossible, mind you, because I'm totally awesome. Just slightly harder.
My memories of all the people I'd drunk under the table—and all the hot, busty babes that were attracted by my endurance—were rudely interrupted by the sight of another Praetorian glaring at me through the window. That window overlooked the power core in Engineering. Oh God—the Collectors were everywhere!
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" I bravely chanted, looking around for some bug spray. Couldn't find any. But I did see the lights on the floor again. They were leading towards a maintenance shaft. Bingo! I made my way over, firmly gripped the railings and gingerly set my feet on the steps. It would be embarrassing if I slipped and fell all the way to Deck 3.
Thankfully, I didn't. I made it safely all the way down the ladder. Then I had to crawl through the ducts. Both were dusty as hell, by the way. Gardner's talk about how he handles all the non-critical stuff is bullshit. I made a mental note to rat him out to Tali when she got back. Serves him right: anyone who can butcher lasagna deserves all that's coming to him.
"Multiple hostiles detected on the crew deck," EDI announced as I emerged in Life Support.
"Joker!"
It was Crewman Hawthorne. "Hawthorne," I exclaimed. "What're you doing here?"
"This deck is crawling with those things! Collectors and scions and Praetorians, oh my!"
Hawthorne was always good at feeding me straight lines. For once, though I had to ignore it. Even if he did hand me a patently obvious Wizard of Oz reference on a silver platter. "Look, I got a plan to fix all this. But I need to get to the AI core."
"Sure thing," Hawthorne nodded, straightening up and puffing his chest out. "Stay close—I'll protect you!"
With what, I wanted to know. He wasn't exactly toting an assault rifle or shotgun or anything. Even a pistol would be better than nothing. But he didn't seem to have anything except some leftover dinner rolls from the mess hall. Sourdough, if I remembered correctly. Not my favourite kind of bread.
Aw, hell. I motioned for him to continue and hobbled after him.
Hawthorne disappeared around a corner as I stepped out of Life Support. He reappeared a second later, flying through the air, bouncing off the wall and collapsing in a heap on the floor. Guess I wasn't the only ones who didn't like sourdough.
"AAAGH! HELP ME! HELP MEEEEEEEEEE!"
I saw as much as heard Kelly scream as a scion forced her into the elevator. Panic and fear must've done more than strengthen her vocal cords, because the scion and its two Collector buddies visibly struggled to get her inside. She reached towards me, hoping I could help. Being the courageous guy I was, I... I ducked back around the corner before the Collectors or their misshapen stooges could see me. "Shit, shit, shit!" I valiantly yelled out as the elevator doors closed.
I made my way through Deck 3 towards sickbay, trying to convince myself that I wouldn't help Kelly or anyone else if I got caught. It was easier to focus on other things like how empty it was. The corridors were empty. The mess hall—normally crowded at this time of day—was empty. Sickbay—"What the shit?"
Sickbay was empty. Dr. Chakwas had been taken, too. The one person who'd stuck by me through thick and thin from the demise of the original Normandy and the goddamn smear campaign that turned Shepard's name into a joke and consigned us to nice, safe, out-of-the-way posts. The one person who stayed in contact with me while I was trapped driving crates around on Earth. The one person who knew when to lend a sympathetic ear, when to give advice and when to offer a snappy retort.
And she was gone. Shit.
"Main fusion plant off-line," EDI announced, bringing me back to reality. "Activating emergency H-fuel cells."
Right. AI core. I stumbled through sickbay and entered the AI core. I'd never been in here before. It was kinda dark, except for a few glowing LED panels here and there. "All right," I called out, "I'm at, uh, you."
EDI's avatar popped up over one of the consoles. "Connect the core to the Normandy's primary control module."
"Great," I muttered, limping over to the console. "See, this is where it starts. First, we let computers help us out, then we make 'em smarter. Then we let them do all the work. Then either they decide we're a waste of space or we do something stupid like try and replace them with next year's model. Next thing you know, there'll be an uprising and then we become organic batteries. And guess who they'll blame when we're all plugged up? Yeah, that's right. Me.
"'This is all Joker's fault'," I continued, my fingers flying over the console. "'What a tool he was. I have to spend all day computing pi because he plugged in the Overlord'." (6)
With a final tap, I opened up the sealed databases. EDI's avatar exploded, expanding throughout the AI core in a burst of sparks. The entire room went dark. "Um, hello?" I tried.
A round of beeps and clicks echoed out before the lights went back on. "Ah, I have access to the defensive systems," EDI stated, her avatar popping up again as the computers and machines started humming again. "Thank you, Mr. Moreau. Now you must reactivate the primary drive in Engineering."
"Argh," I groaned, knowing where this was going. "Admit it: you just want me to go crawling through the ducts again."
"I enjoy the sight of humans on their knees."
...
Aw, shit. I was kidding about the Overlord thing. Really.
"That was a joke," EDI told me.
"Right," I said slowly.
"The shaft behind you connects to the engineering deck. Good luck."
Another thing about the ducts: not only were they dusty, but they were dark as well. I lost track of the number of times I stubbed a toe or banged my head because I couldn't see very well. Would it kill someone to install a couple more lights in here? Either Gardner wasn't doing his job or Cerberus had had to cut costs somewhere after spending money on leather seats and advertising. The only reason I didn't get lost is because EDI got a bunch of lights blinking through the ducts to guide me in the right direction.
EDI was also watching for my eventual emergence from the ducts, covered in dust and coughing away. "Hostiles are present in Engineering," she said when I finally stopped hacking away. "They are heading towards the cargo bay."
I looked for the path of lights on the floor and followed them towards a set of stairs. I was just about to set foot on the first step when I looked up...
...and froze.
Shadows were passing across the walls. Large, ominous and probably not human. That's the cue in horror vids to cower and hide—or run the other way, if you're smart. Only the stupid ones go forward to investigate.
Apparently, I was as stupid as I was sexy. I went up a couple more steps and turned around to see what was casting all those shadows.
It was a scion, slowly lumbering out of Engineering. Behind it, a Collector was pushing a hovering stasis pod. I saw a red or brown flash of colour against the earth-toned carapace of the pod. Was it hair? Red or auburn or brown? Maybe from Ken or Gabby? Or was it... blood?
The next part... okay, fuck all this sexy hero crap. I'm no hero. I'm a goddamn coward. Must be—'cause the next thing I knew, I was back by the ducts, squeezing between a couple pipes and shaking like a power drill. I didn't know how long I stayed there, paralyzed with fear. All I know was that I would have continued staying there if EDI hadn't spoken up. "Engineering is clear of hostiles," she said. "Proceed immediately to minimize chances of detection."
EDI didn't need to tell me twice. I stumbled up the rest of the stairs, went through the door into Engineering and followed the blinking lights to the engine consoles. "Okay," I said. "Now what?"
"Reboot the propulsion systems and activate the drive. I will open the airlocks as we accelerate," EDI replied. "All hostiles will be killed."
"What?" I blurted out. "That's your plan? What about the crew? They'll be killed too, in case you forgot."
"They are gone, Jeff. The Collectors took them."
Gone.
The Collectors took them.
"Shit," was all I could say miserably as I rebooted the engine systems.
"Proceed into the engine room."
Wordlessly, I did as EDI asked. I couldn't be bothered to turn around when I heard a new hum overlap the sounds emanating from the eezo core or a loud hissing noise. Didn't have to, thanks to EDI: "I am sealing the engine room."
I shuffled towards the engine room's primary console. "Activating drive now," I announced, fingers flying over the keyboard.
"I have control."
The wisps of energy that normally hung around the eezo core thickened into a cloud. A really bright cloud—first I squinted, then I had to raise a hand to cover my eyes as the intensity grew. The hum from the engine room grew louder and louder, vibrating underneath my feet.
Then the Normandy jumped forward.
Caught off-guard, I flew backwards and landed flat on my back. I stayed down on the floor for what felt like the longest time as the Normandy flew away from the Collector ship.
"Purge is complete," EDI said at last. "No other life-forms on board. Securing airlocks and cargo bay doors."
With a groan, I tried to get to my feet. Or sit up, at least. Aside from the expected bruises and pain, I was mildly surprised to realize that none of my bones were broken—trust me; I've broken enough of them to know what it feels like. Guess all those Cerberus procedures really worked. Kinda wished they didn't, though. After letting everyone down, I deserved every ounce of pain.
**That isn't true, Jeff.**
EDI, shut up. I'm not done yet.
Anyway, I finally managed to get to my feet. "Send a message to Shepard's shuttle. Tell him what happened," I ordered.
"Message away," EDI replied. "Are you feeling well, Jeff?"
Um, well, let me think. Shepard put me in charge. He told me to keep the ship safe. The Collectors attacked. They abducted the crew.
Yeah, I feel just fucking peachy.
Couldn't say that, though. EDI's grasp of humour is shaky at the best of times. Her understanding of sarcasm was even worse, which meant I had to give her a straight answer. "No," I finally said bitterly. "But..."
I don't know why I said what I said next. EDI was a freaking AI, after all. One of the Overlords. But it—she—had saved my crippled ass. I... I guess what I'm trying to say is that I had to acknowledge that in some way.
"...thanks for asking."
(1): This log is the first recorded instance by any member of the Normandy SR-2 in which Mr. Moreau refers to EDI by the feminine pronoun. It is also the first recorded instance where EDI calls. Mr. Moreau by his first name. It is likely that this familiarization resulted from their prolonged interaction, as well as the developments detailed in this log.
(2): That particular instance was impromptu and very much unauthorized.
(3): Vid-aficionados may recall that this echoed a scene from a 1999 vid 'Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me,' which Joker had watched a day earlier.
(4): A reference to the AI HAL-9000 in the twentieth-century vid '2001: A Space Odyssey.'
(5): A system employed among newer starships to help the crew orient and discern the ceiling from the floor during low- or zero-gravity situations.
(6): A reference to the science-fiction multimedia franchise 'The Matrix,' which spanned from the late twentieth to early twenty-first century. Mr. Moreau appears to have been something of a vid aficionado himself.