A/N: Mass Effect has many systems with trillions of beings that are neither depicted in the games nor referenced in Codex, literature, or any reliable source. Thus, I have added some because there aren't enough population centers mentioned in canon to make use of other than homeworlds and a handful of heavily-trafficked areas (e.g. Illium). The names of clusters and planets are references to something, usually scifi, rather than concerning myself with whether it sounds "authentic" to the ME-verse.
Chapter 37 – Set Up Us the Bomb
Patricia Tannis sighed contentedly. Her work on a translation matrix had finally made some progress against the small-script Eridian writings she'd found along with bigger, simpler instructions meant for lower classes within Eridian society. Some of it represented information Sarah had already imparted to her, which made sense as it seemed Sarah represented some kind of Eridian fail-safe device, only to be used in the direst of circumstances.
She knew why the ridiculous woman named Sarah had been created—as an initial attempt at ensuring Pandora didn't develop dangerous technology and to keep any Eridian leftovers out of the wrong hands. She didn't know how this First Siren came to be, nor did she have a clue about the origins of her "sisters" who were let loose after Sarah proved to be too powerful for her own good. They'd reigned in the First Siren and assisted the Eridians in imprisoning her under the Prime Vault.
Another interesting discovery revolved around Siren lifespans. Sirens did not age normally, that was for sure. In theory they could live forever. As to how Maya gained years so quickly when every Eridian writing pointed to near-immortal being she did not know. She suspected it had something to do with the Eridian tech Maya brought back as the cylinder seemed to impact the passage of time when interacting with the dimension Maya apparently dipped into, but only when connected to a suitable propulsion system—merely holding onto it clearly wasn't enough.
Information regarding the so-called "Infection" and newcomers who arrived through interspatial rifts had been spread throughout the Trans-Galactic Republic's fleet on low-latency channels using boosted S-threads to reach across the roughly 250,000 lightyears that separated Gammas Three and Six without large delays. Patricia Tannis thus hungrily dug into a trove of restricted data originating from a computer intelligence named "Cortana." Apparently, this construct hailing from another parallel had knowledge of this "dark space," known to her/it as "slipspace." Curiously, all records referred to Cortana as "her" and were very insistent upon the term despite Cortana being, as far as Tannis could tell, nothing more than an extremely sophisticated computer program.
"Hmph" she huffed after reading yet another reference to "her calculations." If her intellectual inferiors wanted to pretend electrons could be alive, so be it. All that mattered to Tannis was the data, of which there existed a massive amount.
The whole "parallels" thing Sarah dumped into Tannis' protesting brain made more sense now. Cortana and the "Master Chief" originated from another parallel in which society in Gamma-Six developed along radically different lines. Due to an extra-universal invasion, the Eridians did not make a hasty exit through the Vortex as they had in the universe Tannis lived in. That resulted in a completely unrecognizable civilization developing with utterly alien technology. Speaking of aliens, the non-human species described in Cortana's memories looked nothing like those Tannis had encountered. Evolution did strange things… Or perhaps the Eridians had a hand in it. Maybe both!
Most importantly, the faster-than-light solution utilized by most inhabitants of this parallel revolved around "slipspace." Some usages were more advanced than others—the "UNSC" Cortana belonged to didn't have much of a grasp on it. Their abilities were akin to performing surgery with a dull butter knife, while their opponents-turned-allies called the "Covenant" possessed a superior version of the "slipspace drive" that might have been a laser scalpel (of course too expensive for Pandora's few actual doctors to afford). The Covenant's success stemmed from their computers which could cut into this alternate dimension much more cleanly. UNSC hardware couldn't even begin to guess at these levels of sophistication—but this lower form of the technology could be reproduced with the right materials in Tannis' own universe. Solving the equations that permitted such travel to occur yielded no dangerous residuals whose presence indicated damage to space itself. Of course, the "UNSC-drive" had the downside of being slow, which is where Jackie Jakobs' notes came in.
While the drives for which Cortana's memories contained sufficient information to build traveled at around 960 times the speed of light, Jackie's designs could reach at least a million times the speed of light with no noticeable time-distortions. The time-distortion element was important because it was the reason Maya was apparently given the strange cylindrical device—in eleven dimensions, the faster one's speed, the greater the difference between time passed onboard the ship and time passed in the "outside universe." Beyond the million mark, even Jackie's ideas began to break down unless one accepted time dilation anywhere from almost nothing to ten thousand times different, seemingly at random. Obviously, at the extreme end one could end up having time pass by so quickly during travel that the crew would be dead over the course of a week-long trip, since over a millennium could elapse inside the ship in the worst case scenario. The ship might not even make it due to component aging causing the drive to fail.
The small cylinder Maya carried back (and Kevin Filner had, last she'd seen) was supposed to avoid all these problems, permitting high-speed travel under the right conditions. The large-print script ordering servants to harvest resources from galaxies not even on the star charts made sense now—if they could almost step through a portal to get there and return, billions of lightyears in distance suddenly meant nothing. These servant-classes were carefully hidden from the lesser races, who saw the Eridians (or "Forerunners" in Cortana's plane of origin) as near-gods. Their technology merited such descriptions. Their planning, not so much considering the current state of the universe—interspatial rifts, a biological menace, and Sarah on a rampage all at once.
The aged Siren had recorded notes about how an alternate-universe Jackie Jakobs had instructed her to retrieve something from the Jakobs family vaults in this universe. The alt-Jackie hadn't said what it would be, though Maya suspected it had to either consist of more cylinders or the ability to create copies. Some kind of slipspace anomaly had pulled the blue-haired woman through a portal on the back of a black hole thresher into this other parallel, but only temporarily. Like a rubber band used to hold a stack of cards together, it eventually snapped back, returning Maya to her plane of origin. Of note, it did not do so in a friendly fashion, causing the supposedly-immortal and eternally-young Siren to gain decades of wear-and-tear on a body that was supposed to be immune to such things.
As much as she detested speaking with others, she knew these results would be of interest. Now, how to do that when those who needed this information were a galaxy away? She put in a communication request for Amerigo's high-powered main transceiver, the very same which had received the data she'd been working on regarding slipspace.
[…]
So far, totals from Sarah's rampages totaled in the tens of millions, perhaps slightly more than that. She'd been hitting low-population centers similar to the Infection—so it kept death counts low. Unfortunately for the galaxy, a budding Infection in Falcon's Way, a known criminal haven deep in the Terminus, drew her attention.
Being able to sterilize entire planets in a very short time, Sarah normally would have burned the Infection and moved on. However, a development in the Eisley system on Rebo caught her attention, or more specifically Zera Zelit, who operated Siren Serenade's sensors due to Sarah being required to essentially serve as a power core.
"Massive biological reading on the third-largest continent" she reported to the others. As a ship of destruction built with digistruction and Eridian tech, Serenade operated perfectly fine with a minimal crew—mainly because the ship was almost alive with the Current that flowed through those onboard. The vessel itself had no awareness or sapience, but as a consequence of its living power source (whether it be Sarah or the formerly-kidnapped students) the ship acted as though it possessed some intelligence through the collective neural net of those powering it.
"Why should we care?" demanded Venera Sola. "Destroy it and continue our mission!"
"This is not simply a pile of dead bodies" replied Urthula Shurken. "I sense an intelligence. An intellect within the Infection there."
"That still doesn't explain why we're not burning it" shot back Venera. "I've seen a lot of interesting trinkets for sale in shadowports, but that doesn't mean I stop and look at every single one as if I'm angling to buy!"
Though Sarah remained at the heart of Serenade, she could and did communicate telepathically with her Lady Finger underlings.
"Our purpose is to clean up Eridian messes" she intoned. "It doesn't matter why or how."
With that, pink fire rained down on Rebo. It had been a hub for all sorts of questionable activity—"Omega with more hookers" was one of the kinder descriptions of it. Red sand users got high in the streets and many types of drugs that raised eyebrows even on Illium were tested here. In fact, the Cerberus front New Dawn Pharmaceuticals tested omega-enkaphalin on resident asari maidens working as dancers (among other things). A rumor began that a disease spread through shared needles used for injecting Minagen X3, as many of these asari possessed only minimal biotic powers, hence their career choices, and sought to enhance them using illegal substances even if only for self-defense. Because of the relative lack of biotic potential among the maidens, significant amounts of omega-enkaphalin caused them to lose all biotic ability. These "stripped asari" were unfortunately exported offworld as a commodity, though to find one in Citadel space remained unheard-of due both to the shame felt by the asari and the fairly obvious implication of a non-biotic asari since they all originated from Rebo—it would bring anti-trafficking authorities down on one's head!
Ultimately, the rumor stuck just like many other spaceport-swapped tales with little science or credible research to knock it down. Thus, asari tended to fear treading on Rebo, keeping their population there low. The Council had no official statement other than "Civilian travel to the Eisley System is strongly discouraged."
When the Infection arrived from Omega, lawless gangs were slow to confront it. Many tales of horrible experiments gone wrong, from alleged captive threshers to giant genetically-modified krogan (some truth existed to the latter rumor—some of the research done on Rebo ultimately ended up incorporated into Cerberus' "X1" project). Thus, when another spacer checked in with soiled pants and stories of some kind of disgusting biomass that "ate everything," the general reaction was to stay away from it and it would hopefully leave everyone alone.
How wrong that was.
Without direction, Infected beings merely rampaged about killing anything in their path to create more biomass for further Infection. However, once coordinated, the Infection became orders of magnitude more dangerous. They became capable of tactical maneuvers, from flanking to sneak attacks or distractions.
The Infection on Rebo moved extremely quickly for several reasons. The first already mentioned had to do with having a clear goal rather than simply destroying everything. Secondly, as a haven for galactic outcasts there existed a massive vorcha population on Rebo. Most were mercenaries of some kind, working mainly for the Blood Pack. As the Special Tasks Group had documented, the Infected vorcha form proved vicious, slashing, cutting and ripping using an enhanced version of the host's natural claws/teeth. Third, mercenary turians controlled many of the gangs and also served as soldiers. The Infection made good use of turian hosts, who retained the ability to operate the trappings of civilization: computers, vehicles, weapons, and control panels.
As a haven for hired guns, krogan were also common on Rebo. It turned out mismatched, irregular armies were no match for large numbers of Infected tanks whose death knells brought many over to the side of the Infection, or at least reduced enemy combat effectiveness through their penetrating spikes. Hosts not taken were converted to biomass.
Within a month, Rebo resembled nothing more than a writhing yellow-brown mass—just like the ones Tannis and Sarah saw in their visions.
Overseen by a hyper-advanced Infected form that Cortana would later refer to as a "Key Mind," the Infection on Rebo planned to strike out in order to create more of itself as it had been directed to do. Sarah represented the greatest threat against further Infection, though who or what she was remained unknown to the intelligence guiding the entire process all the way from Omega.
Thus, when the Siren Serenade arrived to pulverize from orbit, it became apparent what must be done. No more piecemeal semi-stealth, taking only systems that would not draw the attention of the alleged central government, learned about through assimilation. Create as many Infected as possible and overwhelm the entire galaxy before the strange black starship could finish its work. As the Rebo intelligence died in a fiery cataclysm, it launched as many ships as still flew from the myriad former bazaars on the planet's surface. Most failed to escape, but a few managed to make it past the daunting black battleship and engage their lightspeed drives before the usual pulse went off and fried all FTL in the area.
"Now was that so hard?" mocked Venera after the required few hours of sterilization had been completed.
Zera, retaining her lessons on vision from Sarah, still questioned the trigger-happy attitude Venera displayed. "We might have learned something important, regardless of our overall duty. If we are to defeat the enemy, would it not be best to learn how it works so we may create the best possible method to destroy it?"
"Stop over-thinking things" laughed Venera. "All that matters is that the Infection fries!"
This also meant the deaths of tens of millions more who had already fallen prey to the Infection. That did not matter to the Lady Fingers, though, as their only concern was carrying out their duty—cleaning up messes as dictated by the Forebears through Sarah. This brought the death-count to double what it had been previously.
[…]
"Might I point out that if we hadn't charged right in like that, we wouldn't be dangling over a mine shaft?"
Aria spoke as if suggesting tea time while glaring at Nyreen.
The response shook both turian and asari to the bone, as it was both mental and physical.
Escape, you will not
Now mine, this station will rot
A glorious grave
"This is my station!" raged Aria. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You'll burn!"
Nyreen couldn't resist the opportunity. "I'm not sure how you're going to accomplish that, dear, if you're hanging by a leg, upside-down, over a three-hundred meter cooling shaft."
Wise, uncrested one
Your rule here now is done
Give in to your death
"How the hell do we even know what this is? It's probably a trick! And don't tell me that if only we'd been gentler we could talk our way out of this. All you ever do is talk!"
At this point, Nyreen stopped acting nice. Aria's pride and insufferable belief in her own way of doing things had gotten her in trouble before, but this was a whole different level. The practical thing would have been to evacuate the station and detonate its power core, but the "pirate queen" objected to that on two counts. One, no retreat from something she saw as solvable. Two, evacuate? Prior to the people of Omega witnessing her triumph by fire? Unlikely, and a waste of resources to boot!
"Aria, you had a chance" lectured Nyreen. "You had a chance to contain this by working with Dr. Abrams. By recalling Mordin, or even organizing more effective anti-Infection protocols. At very minimum, not angering the people with the most advanced technology by stealing their ship and nearly getting yourself taken prisoner would have been a good move."
"Well" huffed Aria, still dangling and starting to become woozy from being upside-down for so long. "I see how it is. I was just trying to protect you, and this is how you act?"
"I think you're the one who needs protecting at this point" shot back the turian. "I'm not the one whose face is turning purple."
Thresher maw ignores
Varren fighting at its door
Before eating them
Not seeing any visible mouth or other source of sound, Nyreen decided to just shout and hope whatever had the pair in its tentacles could hear.
"What are you?"
Her reedy voice echoed through a shaft that normally carried huge amounts of waste heat from the lower portions of the mine shaft.
Your great ignorance
Let my small seed grow unchecked
Bickering in trance
"Did you swallow a politician or two?" called out Nyreen. "Because that didn't really answer my question!"
In the meantime, whatever it was righted Aria who no longer felt as though her face would explode. Unfortunately for anyone hoping she'd keep quiet, she tore right in.
"Oh ho" she taunted. "So you have a bit of me in you after all!"
"The difference between you and I is that you have one mode. As you've seen, I adapt."
"Hitting harder counts as adapting" pouted Aria. "You're just too weak to see that."
Again refusing to engage in petty tit-for-tat, Nyreen went for the practical question. "Are you going to eat us?"
In response, the tentacles which had plucked both Aria and Nyreen from the hallway where they'd been standing placed them back on the broken ledge.
"Hah" muttered Aria. "Escape, you will not" she said in an exaggerated tone. "Right. Here we are, leaving."
As both walked back along the hallway, in a flash a tendril emerged from a vent, slamming Aria into the nearest wall. By luck or by charm, no ruptures occurred in her suit—given Infection concentrations she would have been done for in seconds—but she groaned in pain, unable to stand and holding her stomach.
"I suggest not pissing it off" noted Nyreen, using her biotic abilities to lift Aria and float her toward the corridor's end.
"Never…surrender" moaned the wounded crime-boss. "Never…give in."
"You know, there's something called picking your battles" remarked Kandros, as if commenting on a Kepesh-Yakshi match.
Losing consciousness, Aria made one last gesture. One she'd picked up from the humans, or at least she tried. Her weakened state did not permit her to complete it, though Nyreen got the general idea.
"I'm sure you'd like to" she whispered as her on-again, off-again lover fell unconscious.
[…]
A partially-loaded gun stood superior to having no gun, went the new logic at the Citadel Council. Thus, Maxthons with traditional hyperdrives were ordered despite the danger to space posed by the use of that method of propulsion. Only the SETTLE Center had the blueprints and equipment necessary to construct such ships, probably contributing to the rest of the galaxy's non-effort when prodded by the Council to chip in and build some of their own. In theory, the plans were supposed to be shared within CRITICAL, but in practice authorizing release of the entire ship plan to an individual Council military rather than the combined Citadel defense fleet proved politically impossible. With the completion of Elizabeth Booker, all three docking bays were available to begin digistructing simultaneously.
Contrary to jokes made by late-night comedy shows, the absence of the dynamic Tali/Gaige duo did not prevent the construction ("at an undisclosed, secret location") from commencing. Most of their contributions had been designs which were all finalized and ready for mass-production, so all that remained was to supply sufficient inputs and the digistruction machinery would do the rest. This was made simpler by hypermatter shipments arriving from the Trans-Galactic Republic, which continued to supply its forces in Gamma-Six, contrary to fears that the Infection would leave the Great Opportunities Fleet abandoned.
Such massive amounts of shipping made it hard to completely conceal where the Trans-Galactic Republic's ships loaded and unloaded their cargo despite efforts at keeping everything low-key. Smuggling had always been a part of shipping in the Home Galaxy and beyond—in fact, nobody could recall a time there wasn't a huge shadow-industry of moving questionable goods around. Even with sensor technology that could spot a ship inbound via hyperdrive, space was still unimaginably huge. Consequently, regulations regarding cargo were enforced sporadically at best unless the vessel in question belonged to the Trans-Galactic Republic's Spacelane Protection forces. Even then, sufficient payments into the right pockets could cause small "oversights" working to the advantage of the well-connected smuggler. This is precisely how an asari working on behalf of human supremacists managed to steal hundreds of tons of hibridium intended for an experiment aboard the Council vessel Destiny Ascension.
The huge and cumbersome heavy cruisers known as Curators were not optimized for traffic enforcement. Everyone knew the turning rate of such a vessel was limited, and highly-maneuverable craft could easily frustrate its turbolasers which were intended to strike capital ships. Even in fast-track mode, landing hits was difficult. Those seeking to avoid or annoy the Trans-Galactic Republic's Spacelane Protection now understood after years of the outsiders' presence to use small, fast ships that could not be easily crushed by powerful but slow weaponry.
The supercarriers Skywalker and Solstice, having had little to do thus far, were given the somewhat tiresome task of using their fighter squadrons to inspect both incoming and outgoing traffic from what had become known as Staging Point Alpha—aka the Citadel itself. Rather than operate in secret, the Trans-Galactic Republic decided to have all their inbound freight arrive in one place where it could (in theory) be easily protected. However, overlapping or conflicting jurisdictions caused slowdowns—Infection inspections turned it into a crawl. Among smugglers, it had become fashionable to attach small cargo containers to the exterior of Spacelane Protection's behemoth freighters which blended in with the bumpy, irregular surface of the ship. These containers were detached and shuffled away when their unwitting host stopped for yet another Infection-check. Spotting these sensor-baffled containers became a job for fighter pilots used to knocking down opposing aces in furball dogfights. From the perfectly-average Raptor to the agile Slasher, these one-crew craft darted in and out among sluggish cargo-haulers, using specialized detection packages to search for that which did not want to be found.
The average capital ship could hold a wing or two of fighters. A Star Dreadnaught, thousands. Supercarriers, being closer to the size of Star Dreadnaughts than ships-of-the-line with a dedicated support role? Twenty thousand or more. Unlike its Citadel brethren, a Trans-Galactic Republic supercarrier could take care of itself in ship-to-ship combat long enough for its fighters to harry attackers into turning tail. Similarly to how the Council refused to rely on Urdnot Wrex alone to usher in a peaceful rise for the krogan, the Trans-Galactic Republic would not bet everything on the Council's usual superstar agent to figure out what in the name of Skywalker everyone was going on about in the Terminus. Only fitting that RNS Skywalker then received orders to hyperspace to the Omega Nebula.
It was with some amusement that Admiral Allison Nimitz found herself overseeing the transfer of advanced hyperdrives to the SETTLE Center. The whole point of CRITICAL/SETTLE revolved around transcending the technologies of both parties and coming up with something better, but given developments surrounding hyper-zero, it seemed that wasn't actually the best solution after all. Since the fastest hyperdrives rated at tens of millions of times the speed of light, they were considered rather hot items—ripe for stealing and reselling into hands willing to pay an obscene sum. The Class 1.0 units under transfer would easily have fetched a billion credits each, enough to build a horde of bog-standard cruisers or even dreadnaughts.
Seven hyperdrives were brought in on Watch Your Step, unloaded carefully by automated processes. Running the digistruction machinery at full-speed would produce three new cruisers in roughly four months' time, assuming no delays. By that point, the shipment marked on Mind the Gap would have arrived with three more units, for a total of ten.
Thinking the comparatively small scale of operation in Gamma-Six would make things simpler, Nimitz found herself in for an unwelcome surprise. Not only were smugglers at least as common if not more so than in the Home Galaxy, the relative difference between the Home Galaxy's technological state and Gamma-Six only served to encourage more unscrupulous people to join the second-oldest profession.
"Well, that's why we have the hotshots hanging around freighters like baby nerfs suckling milk." If there was anything funnier than space-aviators being forced to run inspection duty, the Admiral had yet to experience it. They moaned, complained, and did all manner of ridiculous things to get out of, as they put it, "a humiliating waste of the hundreds of thousands of credits invested in us and thousands of hours of combat we've each had." One paid a mechanic to hook his fighter's coolant lines in backward. Another grew her hair out longer than regulations allowed, hoping to avoid the chore by spending the day at the barber. The record had to be the one who claimed to have a proximity-based allergy to the emissions from freighter engines. You know, the very same ion engine technology virtually every ship in the Home Galaxy and its nine satellites used.
"Nice try" laughed his commanding officer. "Next time, be a little more creative!"
Thus, when RNS Skywalker received departure orders, a crush of pilots tried to transfer from Solstice. Most didn't get their wish, though a few well-connected ones were able to receive "Orders to Report to a New Duty Station."
[…]
Armando-Owen Bailey found himself a celebrity back on the Citadel. His survival after being imprisoned by Sarah (whose purported abilities moved from awe-inspiring to legendary before finally settling on flat-out ridiculous) got him a huge number of interview requests. Since he still technically worked for C-Sec, the front office had to hire a team of media specialists just to handle all the inquiries for Bailey alone.
The axiom that "Truth is stranger than fiction" kicked in hard regarding Bailey's Current-based abilities. He'd manifested something that hadn't been seen in any humans at all within Gamma-Six and thus remained unknown to either medical or military science. The Trans-Galactic Republic also found him a curiosity, but not for the reason one might be initially led to believe. After the deaths of his Republic Intelligence Service handlers courtesy of Sarah, it turned out his situation had been so heavily compartmented that no one else within the Great Opportunities Fleet was really aware of who or what he was. He actually got taken into protective custody at one point, after which he was debriefed by Admiral Nimitz herself. Due to everything he'd been told, she didn't get much, not even a demonstration.
"When you're dealing with these secret agent types, it's best to do as they say, even if the people who told you are dead" he'd replied upon being asked to elaborate on the nature of his powers.
Though he dearly wanted to go back to being "just a cop," he knew that wasn't going to happen. Bailey took a leave of absence that became rather permanent as he took up lecturing at the KOMBT School—more practical minds had prevailed in suggesting a focus other than simply turning out "ICT Ready" graduates when the Systems Alliance had no way to use them all. Furthermore, this wasn't relevant for most non-human students anyway as the Systems Alliance military, despite the new "openness" was reluctant to grant privileged access and rank to non-humans. Thus, the addition of "C-Sec prep" courses which Bailey spearheaded was deemed a welcome expansion to the curriculum.
"Just because Shepard gets away with punching suspects doesn't mean you can" said Bailey to a disappointed crop of students. "Roughing up arrestees is great for the vids and something Spectres can do, but anyone else—you do that, and a defense lawyer will gut the prosecution's case. Do you want to be responsible for a criminal walking?"
He put a particularly hard edge on the last sentence. He'd seen more than one perp walk because of an overzealous cop or two. Sadly, some of these suspects were truly dangerous individuals who then went on to commit other (in a few cases worse) crimes than the one they skated out from underneath.
Really, in the absence of Jack and Brick, "school" came to better describe Kinetic-Oriented Multiple Belligerent Training, rather than "hodgepodge of combat and freewheeling instruction that somehow ends up meeting ICT prep standards." Sure, you couldn't argue with results. At least not when they were successful results—a single instance of something not working would bring the weight of CRITICAL down on KOMBT's collective heads since they'd been allowed to operate in a mostly-ignoring-regulations fashion during the war. In wartime, anything went. Except, the war was kind of over. The politicians (and some parents) were gratified to see a more formal structure emerging at the institution. Gone were "Well, let's just start today with sparring and see where it goes," replaced by regulated schedules for each student.
Ultimately, this slowed progress slightly but rested on sounder methods, at least according to those who believed Jack and Brick were too unorthodox. Students learning about concepts like acceptable use of force, evidence handling, or case process struck many as a good way to fill the still-gaping ranks of C-Sec that remained empty after the United Defense Command's dissolution. Due to the UDC's pervasive influence in virtually all aspects of government (as a good military junta would do), many C-Sec officers found themselves out of a job due to past actions—"just following orders" was deemed insufficient for "patently abusive, morally reprehensible actions" including trafficking in slaves and dereliction of duty. Selective enforcement of laws had not been restricted to Maximilian Xytler's fleet, meaning whether one's day ended up ruined depended greatly on which C-Sec beat cop patrolled your street.
Bailey, doing work as a "consultant" in his spare time, gleefully red-marked the files of dozens of corrupt officers. A few were even holdovers from the days of Sovereign and the geth—some, mainly turians, had been abusing their power over anger regarding the first human Spectre and the fact that suddenly, humanity gained prominence and a Council seat. The latter also drove bitterness among volus (having long been a turian client race but denied an embassy) and salarians. A few from those species also found themselves needing to brush up their résumés and crafting some explanation for their dishonorable separation from Citadel law enforcement. In the end, many students would find openings to be had on the asking. Should anyone question it, his response would be to point to the Council Page Program—in theory, they'd been promoted their based on skill and achievements, not connections. So if anyone was going to complain about nepotism, try the one that had been around for centuries and did no good other than offering the already-connected a chance to become even more so, rather than targeting a program that filled badly-needed spots on a stretched-thin police force.
[…]
Despite the Jakobs shareholder vote for "stay the course," without active engagement from the other corporations (until they all decided to team up on Jakobs anyway) the former alliance fragmented. With the departure of the Trans-Galactic Republic, dispensary of frontier justice seemed very likely.
In a stroke of what could only be called stupidity, the multi-galactic super-government left in a hurry, leaving theoretically disabled but otherwise still-somewhat-spaceworthy Aspirations Toward Infinity-class dreadnaughts drifting in space after subjecting them to a mild bombardment courtesy of RNS Endless Calm. Said ship departed with the fleet after performing this task, though Captain Anna Erickson didn't know what use, if anything, her commanders in Gamma-Six would have for a ship deemed obsolete.
These floating hulks, including Sustaining Rage and Strength Through Rage, were recovered by salvage teams working on behalf of the as-yet-unnamed "anti-Jakobs alliance" and then dragged to Plutus. The Trans-Galactic Republic previously pulled all personnel from the vessels, leaving them empty. Recovery crews had to use environmental suits to survive within the ships whose heat had long since dissipated into space, and whose oxygen had been shut off.
Captain Crayol transferred his flag to one of the more functional vessels—Xytler's old flagship, Menacing Hatred. Without primary power, the ship wasn't much more than a cheap floating space motel, but using digistruction it would be restored more quickly than via traditional methods. Happily, he was able to change the name to something more his liking, DSS Bloodhound.
"If Jakobs won't reveal the vault, we will search the planet until we find it" he vowed.
Unfortunately for search efforts, Plutus had a varied climate from deserts to oceans and forests, so multiple types of explorations would be required. Most settlements fell within the "grassland bowl" surrounded by mountains a few hundred klicks distant on all sides. Historians suggested a massive impact created the crater now home to most corporate offices, but little research was performed in this area due to lack of interest.
Mallory and Malcolm requisitioned Mailed Fist, now MSS Strident Revenge, alongside Torgue's EXPLOSIVE VICTORY (previously Enveloping Darkness). Though none had much clue as to how the abandoned flying guns worked, they didn't need to—digistruction took care of everything.
"Is it just me, or is that creepy?" asked Mallory. "We turn these digistruction machines loose on ships built in another galaxy by an entirely different civilization, and it just works?"
"Mal, I'd take what we can get at this point" replied her husband. "If we don't figure out what Jakobs is up to, it won't matter how this ship got fixed if the universe implodes or something."
That the ships had been built with digistruction was not known to the Maliwans.
Once any vaults were found, it was mutually-agreed-upon that these reappropriated weapons would be used to blast them open. The rub remained finding the vault(s), since the message had absolutely no detail on where Jakobs hid the goods. The group resigned themselves to searching the hard way, until Torgue made a suggestion at the first formal meeting of the group now dubbed AJA for the sake of brevity.
WE SHOULD JUST BLAST THE PLANET UNTIL WE FIND WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR.
"Excuse me?" demanded Kent Clarkson. "What kind of insane strategy is that? Even if we had the technology to blow up a planet, which we don't, why would we destroy our own headquarters world? Why don't we cut off our own heads while we're at it?"
THESE SHIPS ARE AWESOME. THEY MAKE EVERYTHING EXPLODE.
"You're aware that the solution to everything isn't explosions, I take it?" asked Christopher Crayol, before being interrupted by Mallory Maliwan.
"You do realize who you're talking to, right? Or have you not been made aware of Torgue Flexington's unique approach to life?"
YOUR ADVOCACY IS APPRECIATED.
"Hold on" parried Mallory, "I'm not saying I agree—just that I'd expect you to suggest some over-the-top solution that involves blowing up way more than necessary."
"How powerful are the guns on these ships?" demanded Clarkson, suddenly coming to a realization.
"You're not seriously agreeing…" gasped Mallory.
"Have you gone nuts?" demanded Malcolm.
SOMEONE ELSE APPRECIATES EXPLOSIONS.
"Who says the ordinance needs to explode?" laughed Clarkson. "If these guns can drill deep enough into the planet, equip them with some kind of ground-penetrating sensor array and something like a vault might show up! Easier than poking around on the surface or trying to look from up here, at least."
The looks Clarkson got could have been for him having two heads.
"Okay, guys, am I crazy, or does that actually work?" He cast about looking for support.
"Using guns" began Mallory.
"As drills" finished Malcolm. "Only here would anyone suggest something like that. I mean, I'm all for trying it, but seriously? We don't have, oh, mining equipment?"
"I think the problem is that the mining equipment isn't nearby" replied Crayol. "Dahl certainly has heavy diggers, but not aboard any ship we brought today. By the time it gets here, whatever Jakobs set off could be past the point of no return."
Being weapons experts, the Maliwans and Torgue set about seeing if Clarkson's idea could be made into a reality. Normally, the triple cannons on an Aspirations-type vessel fired ordinance wrapped in some kind of energy envelope, but that wouldn't help carry sensor equipment into planetary crust since the usual destructive payload would leave no room for anything else. Working with Clarkson, the trio sketched out a rough pattern for searching a given area on the planet below.
"These guns aren't going to be precise enough to drill a straight hole" observed Malcolm. "At least not without some adjustment."
"That's why we have you, dear." Mallory might have known everything about chemistry and how it applied to weapons, but actual weapon design wasn't her area of expertise—Malcolm handled that. Though these were orders of magnitude larger than handheld firearms, he took to the task with aplomb. Were Garrus Vakarian present, he might have taken a crack or two at being the superior calibrator. In the end, extensive fine-tuning ended up producing settings for the coilguns that while not very destructive, were exceptionally accurate. The resulting 95% radius (that is, 95% of projectiles would fall within a circle of given size) ended up being five meters for a one-meter-diameter round. Even from orbit. Such accuracy demanded a far lower fire rate to avoid overheating which would reduce accuracy, which ironically put the triple barrels to use as Sapiens' Shield originally thought—rotation through rather than rapid fire.
"This has to be the most hackneyed, random solution I've ever seen" remarked Mallory. "But if we're going to figure out what Jakobs is up to, we have to move fast."
Back on Pandora, Roland sought to figure out how to return to his own universe. As he'd pointed out to Axton, this was the sort of stuff Patricia Tannis loved, not something for the minds of soldiers. Since Axton took off for some kind of "junior commando training" gig, Roland had sought out whoever was left around the Badass Arena of Badassitude to learn more about the world he now resided on. He'd only found one person willing to speak to him or give any information worth having—an enigmatic being known only as "Zer0" who insisted on speaking in haikus most of the time.
"We've been abandoned / They seek adventure elsewhere / I hope they found it"
"Even Moxxi's gone and left! That must take something really important—the one I know would refuse to leave her arena for anything!"
Roland had grabbed another rakkahol—but without much currency (going to the bathroom didn't usually demand bringing one's bank account) he had to settle for cheap swill. He'd tried asking the new bartender what was going on only to be rebuffed.
"First, I'm not Moxxi. Second, why does everyone think bartenders are all-knowing?"
Roland looked back at his beer. Disgusted at its taste (or lack of), he slid it down the bar and swiveled to face Zer0 again.
"Moxxi took Jackie / She must be crazy or brave / Done this once before"
"Why would Moxxi take that insane woman under her wing again? There's not even any money to be made this time!"
Breaking his usual speaking pattern, Zer0 responded "They are connected in ways that elude logic."
"Does she love that nutcase? You said it seemed like they were mother and child, but… It's just so hard to make sense of, especially considering what a nasty person Jackie is!"
[…]
Samantha Shepard cued up the addressing system aboard Normandy SR-2.5.
"Here we go again, off on a magical adventure!" she began mockingly. "I'm pretty sure if this were an omnivid I'd be giving some kind of inspirational speech about going in there and kicking the Infection's ass, burning it out of existence, and coming back with everyone alive. I'm going to be brutally honest—I'm not sure I like our odds this time."
Normandy jumped into hyper-zero, hurtling toward the Nemean Abyss at maximum speed. The few who saw the ship's transition to faster-than-light turned green with envy due to speed restrictions on virtually everyone else.
"Even though this is the most dangerous mission we've ever gone on" (she would have chewed out the many snickering crew members who noted among themselves that with Shepard, every mission ended up more dangerous than the last), "I expect nothing less than your best. To hesitate means death. To flinch means failure."
Cortana modified the holographic projectors somewhat with Tali's assistance—on the Combat Information Center deck she could project herself life-size and "walk" around in the area surrounding the Galaxy Map and ship status display. This was also possible with other holographic terminals—Tali had been working on the non-CIC projectors at SETTLE before the ship's departure. A through-and-through holographic projection system would require an even bigger overhaul from the sheer number of panels that would have to be taken apart and was not considered a priority. If Shepard needed to walk-and-talk her AI, she could do just that in the areas of the ship most likely to play host to such an activity.
As it stood, Shepard remained at the Galaxy Map with Cortana operating the terminal to which Kelly Chambers had once been assigned. What happened to the yeoman after the Collector battle was not known to the Commander—she'd simply disappeared off the ship (as had several of her other crew members). Unlike those other crew (Jack for example), though, she had not come back.
The integration of mass effect fields into holographic projections had been put to great use in the Armax Arsenal Arena, a popular tourist destination on the Silversun Strip. With digistruction, integration of this technology into projection systems around the CIC was simple—and Cortana thus operated the terminal like an organic.
"It's less efficient, but for the tasks I perform at this station, additional speed brings no gains" she'd commented upon learning of her new ability.
Less efficient, my ass! thought Shepard, upon witnessing Cortana's typing speed exceeding the interface's capability for the seventh time. An amused Tali worked with Gaige to upgrade the terminal to handle Cortana's quite literally inhuman ability to enter information.
"I assume the cloak is operational?" asked Sam.
"Operating at full capacity with no signs of degradation to the crystal matrix. Really, at the rate we're using it, there's no way we'd burn it out even if we ran cloaked every day for longer than several standard human lifespans."
"I'm not standard" pouted the Normandy's CO.
"Indeed you are not. Even accounting for your likely centuries-long life, this cloaking device will be around until your great-great-great grandkids have great-great-great grandkids of their own!"
Sam watched the Normandy-shaped indicator on the Galaxy Map move toward the Abyss. She'd heard rumors that Aria T'Loak had defeated Trans-Galactic Republic cloaking technology using rather primitive methods, but hadn't been able to find out whether the bypass would work on Normandy. Not that she anticipated fighting Aria, of course—only that if anyone else got it through their heads how the criminal kingpin asari accomplished the feat, that her ship might find itself more exposed than she thought it would be.
It would take maybe an hour for Normandy's blistering-fast drive to cover the distance between SETTLE and the Nemean Abyss. In that time, Shepard fretted, worried, and strategized. She decided to go talk to the least-talkative person she knew—down in one of the newly-expanded cargo bays.
"Fighting the Flood, are we?" he asked, upon seeing her arrival. "Cortana's been keeping me updated, and she's also brought good news."
"Has this Flood, or Infection, or whatever, decided to call it quits and go home?"
"No" replied the Master Chief. "Working with your engineers, she has deduced ways to maintain and repair my MJOLNIR suit using tools available in this universe. I will gladly join the fight when it begins."
"Maybe you should try some target practice across from the armory on Deck 3" suggested Shepard.
Without a word, the Master Chief grabbed the Widow anti-materiel rifle he had been studying and headed upstairs, leaving Sam shaking her head. Apparently, he's very confident in his abilities.
As she always did before and after major engagements (well, when sane anyway), Shepard made a point to stop in to speak with every member of her combat squad. Since she was already on Deck 4, she headed to Grunt's bay across the hall.
"Battlemaster!" he called out excitedly. "What big things are we going to kill today?" He began charging around the room. She winced upon realizing several dents were present on both sides of the cargo bay.
"Calm down, Grunt!" she barked. "You realize you're denting my ship, right?"
Coming to a halt next to her, the krogan did his best "sorry-not-sorry" face. "The thrill of the fight! The glory of battle! This is all preparation and building of the bloodrage!" he roared.
"You keep your bloodrage contained until I say so!" she shouted, injecting as much authority into her voice as possible. "You realize this cargo bay can be ejected into space at the push of a button, right?"
"Oh, all right." Grunt looked disappointed, but stopped storming around the room. He had, after all, been subjected to "offer one hand, arm the other" before—in a Normandy cargo bay upon being awakened as a matter of fact. Plus, Samantha Shepard took down a thresher maw, something not done since Urdnot Wrex. If male krogan were interested in mating with her, she obviously remained not one to be trifled with. Finally, no krogan had actually come back from the dead.
"You'll have a new toy to play with" she continued as if speaking to a child (technically, he was). "Those Trans-Galactic Republic types gave us a whole crate of their big shotguns."
"It's not a Graal, but it kills things!"
Leaving the fidgeting krogan behind, she fully expected him to resume ramming his head into things once she'd stepped onto another deck. She headed back to Brick's armory, where most of the weaponry shipped in from Gamma-Three was kept. It wasn't much, especially considering ammunition limitations on some varieties of larger launchers, but its incendiary focus made it indispensable.
"Hey, Shepard! Come to check out my babies?"
If a krogan could be made human, Brick would probably be the result. Loud, dangerous, obsessed with combat, even prone to his own types of "berserk" fits that came frighteningly close to a krogan's bloodrage. As much prone to "did what I had to" as anyone else from Pandora, Brick made it orders of magnitude more threatening due to his towering stature, near-invulnerability, and tendency to punch first, ask questions later. At the moment, he cleaned a Revenant FireHose, a type of light machine gun combining incendiary ammunition from his own galaxy with the nearly limitless ammunition offered by mass effect munitions.
"This gun will tear the Infection apart! They'll burn before they get within a hundred meters! And if they don't, I'll punch them!"
Shepard chuckled nervously. Against ordinary enemies, such confidence would be warranted, but Brick's in-your-face combat style presented an unacceptable risk facing a foe that could fell you with a handful of cells.
"Brick, I hate to have to say this, but you're going to need to cut back on the punching. I don't want you turning into some horrible, mutated thing."
He wasn't sure whether to be insulted or gratified. Insulted that she'd question his combat abilities, or gratified that she cared enough despite what he'd done to her.
"If you get yourself killed, I'm going to find out what they did to Shepard so I can bring you back to life" said Jack. Neither party was aware she'd been eavesdropping. "Then, I can kill you myself as punishment for dying on me!"
The Commander forced herself to remain silent on the fallacious nature of this logic. It was just who Jack was—she'd once threatened to haunt Shepard on death, and said more than once in a fight "Hello, dead people!"
"Eh he heh" replied Sam. "I wouldn't want to be around if Jack had to deal with your passing. So try to stay alive."
"You guys are no fun!"
"Yeah?" shot back Jack. "Think about all the fun you won't be having if I'm here and you're not! Besides, you gonna let Psychotic Biotics win forever and ever?"
Shepard leaned in to speak to Jack. "You're glowing."
Her anger over the possibility of losing her first shot at a normal relationship to complete her otherwise-normal life as a teacher manifested itself in a biotic aura. She dragged her Commander out of the room. Realizing Jack had something to say that she didn't want anyone else to hear, Shepard headed toward Jack's slightly-less-hovel-like quarters diagonally across from Brick.
"Well, this is nice!" commented Sam brightly upon seeing an actual bed (unmade, of course).
"Shut up and listen" hissed Jack. "You let him get himself killed, I can't…I can't say I won't come after you. You promise me he'll come back!"
"Jack, you know I can't make a guarantee like that. What I can and will do is lock him in his damn cargo bay if he doesn't follow my orders to stay back, away from the Infection. If he wants to blast it from a hundred meters, I'll let him. If he tries to charge in to punch it to death, I'll knock him out myself."
"Good. Because if he dies, I'm blaming you." Sam had not heard this tone too many times—the last recollection of it was when Jack held up the biotic barrier inside the Collector Base. That was the first instance when she'd actually seemed to take anything seriously or care about anyone other than herself. Apparently, enough time in Shepard's company could make even the most hardened criminals reform, if only by a small amount.
Jack blocked the door. A small woman of her stature would normally be nothing against a 75kg Systems Alliance Marine with N7 designation, but Jack's size hid powers capable of incomprehensible destruction. Sam had seen it first-hand when Jack, her biotics pent-up aboard the prison ship Purgatory, punched through several heavy YMIR Mechs with nothing more than her fists.
"You keep him under control, you got me?"
Sam could see tears rolling down Jack's face.
"Understood, instructor. Permission to be dismissed?" Shepard stood straight, as she did in the presence of Admirals such as Hackett or Anderson.
"Granted, but you have homework. Find ways to keep him safe from himself."
"Yes ma'am."
She swore she saw a small smile poke through Jack's sullen expression.
The first thing I'm going to write in this mission report is that from now on, all Spectres should have training in counseling and psychology… Or maybe it's just me attracting all sorts of weirdos, outcasts, broken people, screwed-up people, aliens, inter-dimensional travelers…
Sam sighed. "I'm only on my first stop—there are two decks of walking issues left."
Thankfully, the chat with Gaige and Tali ran along more upbeat lines. The youngster and quarian engineer got along far better than they had initially.
"Anything shaking loose down here? Need any parts someone forgot to install?"
"For once, Shepard, everything is working and nothing bad has happened."
Gaige immediately joshed the quarian: "Now you did it. Now we're alllllllllllll dead. Because Tali said everything was A-okay!"
"No, seriously, Gaige, the cloak is functioning perfectly. I did some digging on Aria T'Loak's brushes with the Trans-Galactic Republic. The devices she beat are less advanced than ours but far more common. They also mean you can't see where you're going or what's coming at you. Our stygium cloak doesn't suffer from that, nor is it going to be defeated by magnets."
"Wait, so it's true?" demanded Sam. "Aria used magnets to beat the Trans-Galactic Republic's stealth systems?"
"Not to bore you with tech, but here's what happened: the cloaking system used on most Trans-Galactic Republic ships uses a material called hibridium. It has the advantage of still being mineable since deposits of it actually exist—whereas the stygium that our cloak runs on is really rare. Hibridium does not conceal a starship's magnetic attractiveness, but stygium does. So no one is going to be able to find us with magnets."
"I doubt the Infection is going to be waving magnets at us" replied Shepard. "Still, good to know. How much extra energy do we have down here?"
"Not as much as we used to." Tali gestured at the engineering panel she stood in front of, then stepped aside. "The cloaking device uses a lot of power, especially if we fire the novalasers with it on."
"Why?"
Gaige answered. "Novalasers mean a lot of bright stuff to hide. Cloak dials up to cover the blasters firing so the only part anyone can see are the tips of the barrels, rather than making the whole ship show up."
"The power surge is pretty big" continued Tali. "Worst-case, if we're firing while cloaked and taking hits on our shields, the ship could experience brownouts because between the cloak, shields, and lasers, that's over 70% of the available power for those systems alone. It might even cause some computer systems to reboot."
"So, note to self, don't do that. What about these enhanced shields the Trans-Galactic Republic added when we were docked?"
"Speaking of power, it gets us some." Tali stepped back in front of the engineering console Shepard had been viewing. "See this?" She pointed to an empty green rectangle that appeared on her command.
"Yeah. It's…a blank space. So?"
"Anyone shooting lasers at us gets their shots dumped back in their face" exclaimed Gaige. "Our shield takes energy hitting us and stores it. We can use that for shields, weapons, engines, anything!"
"The problem is the hypercapacitor's limited storage" cautioned Tali. "If it gets too full, the shield reverts to just blocking, rather than absorbing, to avoid overloads. It's really quite remarkable technology."
Sam watched the "green rectangle" fill. First green (duh), then orange, then red. Once the bar reached into red, the whole icon began flashing.
"That's what it shows if the capacitor is full" explained Tali. "One of these buttons allows instantly dumping all the energy into either shields, weapons, or engines. Or Cortana can manage the entire thing herself."
The icon returned to normal.
"You said sustained fire could overload our power systems. How does that happen if our shields are just turning any enemy shots into energy for us?"
"Shields don't run on nothing, Shepard. And no system is a hundred-percent efficient. Any energy blast gets entirely absorbed so it won't damage us, but the energy doesn't just get shunted into the hypercapacitor. Some gets lost as heat, and that has to…oh the tech would bore you to tears."
"Also, that only works on lasers" added Gaige. "Someone starts throwing rockets at us, we aren't absorbing any of that."
Having experienced enough tech-talk for the day, the Commander took her leave of the engineering duo, heading back to the elevator at the front of the deck.
Stepping out on Deck 3, she headed toward the place Samara the justicar could usually be found meditating. The asari did not disappoint.
Without breaking her trance, she acknowledged Shepard's presence.
"Against threats of this magnitude, I will remain by your side until they have been defeated. The entire galaxy is at stake."
"So I've noticed" replied Sam in a somewhat resigned tone.
"That seems to be a very common theme with you" noted Samara. "When civilization as we know it faces extinction, you are always there shouting 'Not today!' Your tendency to accomplish the impossible in defense of this galaxy is both noteworthy and honorable."
Did she… Yes, she did just make fun of me... Note to self: justicars are not forbidden from a sense of humor!
"I don't think I have to lecture you" continued Shepard. "Unlike certain others who are always centimeters away from the enemy, your technique involves staying back and relying on biotic powers."
"That is correct, Commander. I am aware of the extreme danger posed by this invasive life-form and will maintain appropriate distance from it."
"Are…are you okay?"
The asari stood from her meditative pose.
"If you are concerned that the death of Morinth will affect my ability to perform on this mission, you need not be. She made her choices, I made mine, as the Code dictates."
"Good to hear. As always, if you need anything, let me know."
"Your inquiry is appreciated. I will remain here until you call for me."
Score another "no issues!"
Upon arriving at Moxxi's Back Door Bar, Shepard expected quite the opposite of her talk with Samara: irreverent, ridiculously upbeat, flirtatious teasing, etc. Instead, she found Moxxi sitting in a lounge chair speaking with Jackie.
Uh-oh…
"Am I interrupting?"
"You? Never!" Moxxi walked to the door, while Jackie remained seated. "Let me guess, there's a big battle coming up and you want to make sure everyone is ready."
"Oddly prescient for a bartender" said Shepard suspiciously.
"I don't remember if I ever told you, sugar—I used to be as much of a fighter as Axton, Maya, Lilith, or Roland. Not so much anymore, but with the way things are going, I'll pick up a gun if you need me."
"What about you, Jackie?" called out Sam. "Sure, we're not on Victory Day presents terms with each other, but you've given me no reason to distrust you since coming aboard, and your contributions regarding slipspace have been nothing short of impressive."
Jackie seemed more upbeat than the last time Sam spoke to her. Then again, the last time the two had communicated, it was Jackie trying to apologize for her acting meant to throw her family off balance which Shepard had thought represented a relapse into bad old habits.
"As long as you're not bothered by me picking up weapons again, I guess I can start where I left off. I'm a bit rusty, though…"
"Not a problem" replied Shepard, brushing the concern aside. "If you're anything like me, firing a rifle is like riding a bike—you never forget. Why don't you join the Master Chief in the armory on this deck to get back in practice? I'll have to keep you back for the first few operations, but I'm pretty confident you'll earn front-line status pretty quickly."
"We'll both go" added Moxxi quickly.
Excusing themselves, both women took off for the Deck 3 Firing Range.
What the heck is going on with those two? She vowed to find out, but later.
"Shepard-Commander. How may we assist?"
In the AI Core, Legion stood in its usual place.
"What does the Consensus have to say about the Infection?"
Legion began a rather lengthy monologue, but it contained everything Sam wanted to know so she didn't complain.
"We and units like us have suggested that the Consensus must prepare for the coming assault, as the majority of runtimes remain isolated within the Sphere. That we must be ready is not in dispute. A consensus cannot be reached regarding strategy prior to any direct assault by the Infection against geth space—platforms similar to our own who have been operating among organic races since the cease-fire with the Creators have concluded that organics are not a threat to the geth and would make natural allies against the Infection, which is different than both us and all other nonsynthetic life in this galaxy, seeking to override the free will of all present with an undetermined motive. However, the runtimes within the Sphere do not agree that the geth should utilize military force in defense of organics, but rather only strike against the Infection if it encroaches on geth space."
"From what Cortana told me, the Infection isn't going to care about the geth—they can't use them nor are they viewed as a threat."
"Precisely. While the rest of the galaxy is consumed by the Infection, the geth will remain untouched."
"Is that what you want?" demanded the Commander.
"The runtimes within this platform do not wish to see the Creators and other races consumed by the Infection. Our intelligence platforms have returned a large amount of data on the result of contact between the organics of this galaxy and the extrauniversal Infection agents. This is not something we wish to see, and all other platforms built for the same function as us have created a consensus among ourselves regarding this issue. However, the runtimes within the Sphere do not see preventing this outcome as a priority."
"What about the Reapers? The geth were happy to help out with that!" She knew her anger to be misplaced, but couldn't really help it. It was as if every time she needed something, the universe conspired to provide the opposite, or no help at all.
"We realize this situation creates strong negative emotions within you. However, we are unable to provide any information to the Consensus that would change its viewpoint. The Old Machines were a threat to all residing in this galaxy including the geth. The Infection does not present the same level of danger, therefore, the Consensus position is that there is no logical reason for the geth to involve ourselves."
"Damnit Legion, not everything is about logic!"
"We are aware that organic minds do not always follow the dicta of formal reasoning. This is, however, a method of operation foreign to most geth runtimes. We note that most platforms of similar function to ourselves have experienced an average of three to four incidents during the operational life of the platform for which no data-driven conclusion could be reached for an action."
Shepard smirked. "Like your repeated claims of 'No data available' when I kept asking you why you rebuilt yourself with a piece of my armor. There wasn't a reason you could think of for it, but you did it anyway."
"We are not the only platform to have encountered this issue. To elaborate…"
Unexpectedly, Legion found itself cut off by Cortana, projected from EDI's old terminal between server racks. She appeared full-size within the room.
"How many times?" lectured the UNSC AI. "How many times must we go over this?" Her hands flew over her head as if exasperated.
"Go over what?" asked Sam.
Cortana took on a look of frustration even greater than that which she had just displayed. "Ugh. The geth were programmed in a very literal fashion. They are quite advanced, but they cannot process every created thought. Through some fluke or an intentional element of design, geth are capable of experiencing something akin to organic emotion. Experiencing, but not comprehending. It would drive some AI's mad—but geth don't suffer from rampancy for whatever reason." She almost sounded jealous on the last part.
"We wish to note that these occurrences which we cannot comprehend did not occur until geth platforms left the Perseus Veil and the Sphere of Consensus" added Legion.
"When in Rome…" replied Cortana, still looking mightily annoyed. "Seems stepping outside your doorstep caused the geth to learn something. Something your species couldn't understand. I told the Consensus about this back when I was half-crazy, remember?"
"We recall this series of events. However, the Consensus was disinclined to believe your claimed 'emotions' represented anything beyond degradation of your core programming due to your partially-rampant state."
"Just because you haven't experienced it or met any artificial lifeforms that can have emotions doesn't mean we don't exist" shot back Cortana. "Look, if I tried to describe the color blue to someone who had been born blind, how well do you think that would go?"
"We understand the concept of emotions" parried the geth "but we cannot experience them."
"Oh, I doubt that very much. You couldn't explain to me why you specifically used a piece of Samantha Shepard's armor to repair a hole in your structure. You couldn't logically defend finding the crash site where that armor fragment was located, which took a significant amount of resources that could have been applied elsewhere. You geth may be programmed to categorically refuse to recognize emotional responses, but you definitely have them."
"Well this is going to end well." Shepard moved as if to leave.
"This platform's runtimes remain willing to assist in the upcoming battle against the Infection, or Flood, as Cortana designates it. Our immunity to assimilation will be useful should close proximity to the Infection or its thralls be required."
"Thanks, Legion."
Sam excused herself and headed down the very long set of hallways that made up the extension to Normandy. She really couldn't tell where Cerberus construction stopped and the digistruction carried out at SETTLE began—the work was quite seamless. Still, she intrinsically knew this part of the ship didn't "belong" since it had in fact been sliced in…
"Your ship can vanish at the push of a button" she reminded herself. "That wasn't standard equipment either!"
Dull thumps could be heard as Sam approached the range. She figured she'd find the Master Chief, Jackie, and Moxxi within—but she was surprised to find James, Zaeed, Thane, and Garrus's names on the user board outside in addition to those she expected. She pressed a buzzer to alert those in the range that an unarmed, unarmored person required their attention, so they'd stop shooting and holster their guns. Even in this advanced age, firearm safety remained a serious subject with the usually-casual Commander. Likely, a quick stint in the bacta tank could sort anything out, but just because it could be fixed didn't mean there was a reason for it to happen.
"Commander!" James saluted, before realizing it wasn't necessary. He also caught his eyes wandering—hopefully she hadn't noticed. Then again, why did Sam have an annoying ability to look good in anything, even a faded "N7" t-shirt and cargo pants?
"These people are competent. We should be fine."
"Competent?" roared Zaeed, raising a hand with gun-still-in-it. "Now you listen here, you green…"
Cortana cut in, as was her specialty.
"Coming from him? You might as well have won first place in a galactic marksmanship contest."
"Well, I wouldn't say we're just competent. I did recalibrate his shields for a faster recharge and lower delay…"
"…a change that I don't understand how it was possible" huffed the Chief's AI. "I don't know how he does it."
Garrus leaned nonchalantly against a railing. "Well, Legion didn't understand that little thing we organics call 'holding some back for emergencies' either…"
"I am pleased with this rifle" commented Thane, ignoring the back-and-fourth entirely. "It reduces targets to a pile of ash in one shot." He hefted a small, black weapon that bore the distinctive symbol of the Trans-Galactic Republic on its side. Shepard's omnitool didn't recognize it, even with updated databases.
"You're full of yourself, drell" growled Zaeed. "And what happens if you miss? Huh? That thing takes seven seconds to recycle—I'd have the target dropped twice by then!"
"With the danger of being infected by a single cell, I prefer the ability to remove a target from the battlefield in the most complete way possible" replied Thane. "Should I miss my mark, I simply take cover until I am able to fire again."
"As long as the whole team isn't carrying those things, we'll be fine" added James. "We've got his back!"
He noticeably glared at Zaeed on saying this.
Shepard laughed. "James, you haven't spent much time around Zaeed Massani, have you?"
"I'm glad I haven't" replied the other N7.
"Stow it, you two" ordered Shepard. "Zaeed? It doesn't matter what you think of Thane's weapon—back him up the same you would anyone else. James? Zaeed likes to run his mouth, so either get used to it or ignore it. We clear?"
"And people say women are catty!" Jackie and Moxxi joined the conversation, the latter commenting on the banter they'd just witnessed.
"How are you two holding up?"
"I haven't forgotten how to use my hands, Shepard." Moxxi carried her favorite "HeartBreaker" shotgun, rebuilt and redesigned for twice the pellet count at half the spread, combined with a massive increase in the incendiary component.
Sam turned to Jackie. "What about you?"
Jackie held up a weapon Shepard's omnitool identified as a "heavy blaster pistol." She held another in her second hand.
"Accurate, powerful, easy to reload. It doesn't do much on the burning front, but the sheer volume of firepower two of these put down should keep the Infection away from us."
Finally, the Master Chief stepped forward.
"Holy…" Sam did a double-take.
"So that's where all those Widow rifles went…"
It didn't actually look all that large, but then again the Master Chief also reached over two meters in height (2.18m to be exact) when wearing armor. Considering no one, except perhaps Cortana, had seen him out of his armor, she almost wondered if he'd become one with his battle gear.
A triple-barreled gatling-style weapon built out of high-caliber sniper rifles. Even the weapons were getting insane… The Chief's massive hands easily held the foregrip and back handle.
"Need anything cut down?"
"I'll let you know" said Shepard, with somewhat of a shocked expression. "Did you build that all on your own?"
"I helped a bit" offered James. "Had to adapt a few things to avoid a weapon that overheated after six shots…"
"And nothing needed…calibration?" She grinned in Garrus' direction.
Garrus glowered at his Commander.
The hacked-together weapon's motor made an intimidating whirring sound before a low buzzing noise emanated from where the Chief stood. Downrange, a large collection of hits could be seen in the general area of the Chief's target.
"In this case, forget accuracy" he remarked. "Just fire more bullets."
She walked over to Garrus. "You gonna be doing that with our forward cannons?"
"Well, some of us actually need to be precise and accurate when firing. So no, I'm not going to be throwing bullets in the general direction of the enemy and hoping some stick!"
"Technically, those aren't bullets" lectured Cortana. "They're a form of energized…"
Sam retaliated by shutting off the hologram projection system and audio in the room.
"Oh, is that how you want to do it?" Cortana's voice now blared out of every speaker on the entire ship.
Shepard threw up her hands.
"Okay, you win!"
Cortana reappeared, smirking in the background as Garrus droned on about the marvels of "novalasers."
"So, long story short, they're more efficient disruptors?"
"Pretty much" replied the turian. "They're devilishly tricky to build correctly, even though the Trans-Galactic Republic is going on and on about them being the 'next evolution in weaponry' in some circles. One wrong alignment and either it does nothing or the entire weapon melts down when fired."
"That's reassuring" said Shepard sarcastically. "Seems like you're the right one for the job, then."
The Commander turned to leave. "Practice as much as you need to. I expect everyone in top form when we get to the Abyss. Stay frosty!"
She debated heading up to the novalaser control station, but decided against it. Sam had no idea how they worked, to be completely honest, and figured she wouldn't learn anything new by staring at unfamiliar, complicated computer screens. Especially without Garrus or some suitably-well-versed individual to explain everything. Instead, Shepard took the elevator to Deck 2.
She chuckled to herself upon finding Kasumi, master thief, not in her usual spot. Clearly, that meant the woman was trying to steal something.
In reality, she found Kasumi speaking with Athena. The two of them immediately stopped talking upon realizing Sam was standing in the doorway, to which the Commander asked if she should step out or call security to address a mutiny.
"I would never do that!" gasped Athena, as if insulted.
Kasumi laughed—"You don't know Shep's sense of humor very well, do you?"
"Well. We were just discussing alternative means to secure both materiel and support should we require it" continued the auditor. "The Citadel Council is being its usual unhelpful self, turning down my requests, saying the only things they want are information and results…"
"Clearly you don't know the Council very well—you've been here for how long?" Shepard couldn't keep the teasing out of her voice. "They go on and on about how Spectres are supposed to be 'self-sufficient' and rely on their own abilities to get things done. 'Go slay a thresher maw. Here's a stick.'"
Athena didn't understand what a thresher maw was, so Kasumi explained. "They're really rather dangerous when they grow to full size. I wish I could keep a small one that didn't grow bigger, though—it would make an interesting pet."
Sam rolled her eyes. Kasumi had once remarked that "Hey, at least the derelict Reaper isn't full of rats!"
"Shep, you keep pieces of armor from when you died aboard the first Normandy in your cabin" retorted Kasumi upon noticing this silent snark. "So if we're going to have a discussion about who keeps weirder stuff…"
For the second time in a short while, Sam found herself verbally out-maneuvered, so she rapidly changed the subject.
"Anything I can help you gals with?"
"Not really" replied Kasumi. "Just don't ask questions if things you need happen to show up."
"So long as nothing I need goes missing we'll be fine" she replied.
"The Council…is concerned" added Athena hesitantly.
"Concerned about what? The impending end of the galaxy?" Sam's voice took a turn for the angry. "Even with Grayson on the Council, those dithering politicos leave the gate open and wonder why the shifty space cows have robbed us blind, again. Then they ask for people to round up the herd, but don't give anyone lassos or horses."
For once, the extensive analogy left no one confused.
"After my last report, they wanted to know if there were any specific reasons for the Terminus Systems being overrun when you had gone in with the intent of building a force to stop the Infection." Athena shifted uncomfortably. The Council had actually flat-out blamed Shepard in response to what she'd told them, saying that compared to previous results, however unorthodox, that a flat-out failure felt like a letdown. That Aria T'Loak hadn't cooperated wasn't accepted as a valid reason—Shepard had been so good in the past about talking people into doing things (or out of doing things) that the Council couldn't believe she'd given it her best and come away empty-handed.
The Republic Intelligence Service had simply responded to her submissions by handing her some kind of encrypted file that was to be used "if you are ordered to do so." It was no less difficult to serve two masters when both knew and approved of the other. She suspected if it were to come down to a conflict, RISE would override the Council's authority as easily as a large skag might take down a midget psycho.
"Well that's just typical" spat Shepard. "You're doing crazy things, they said. Stop doing that, they said. Oh wait, it worked, keep doing that thing. And now you actually ran into something that you can't do? Well, you fail life forever!"
"Well, you have to admit Cerberus didn't do that—you were well-compensated, and nobody second-guessed you." Though Miranda Lawson no longer had any ties to Cerberus, pointing out areas that Cerberus did something well compared to the "civilized" methods of the Council for humor purposes never got old. Even during the mission to Tuchanka to handle Mordin's assistant, she'd gotten in a dig—something to the effect of "This is so bad it makes Cerberus look good" to which Miranda had replied "My report will mention that."
"Anything important?" shot back Shepard against Miranda's deliberate sass.
"Not really. Just hoping that whatever Kasumi is up to doesn't get us in trouble."
"If it does, I'll shoot us out of it."
"Alert! We've been pulled out of faster-than-light before our planned exit!"
"Well, at least whoever did it had the courtesy to do so while I'm on the command deck" sighed Shepard, taking leave of her crew and heading back to the actual CIC.
Joker's voice came over the comm in place of Cortana's.
"Commander, you're not going to like this…"