List of places where Mass Effect is/was banned:
- Singapore
- Fox News
The Mass Effect 2 Manual
Xebron Towers
The Citadel
A glittering spire amongst a host of similar stalagmites of metal and glass, the Xebron Towers were unremarkable examples of structures for their designed purpose. Mostly they were used as flats or condominiums, but in this district that was not an atypical example of what sort of function these buildings were meant to achieve.
Despite housing being the pervasive main use for the tenants, that did not mean that rent came at a discount. Citadel life sadly came at a premium—being able to technically own any sort of accommodation on a space station was considered a luxury. After all, what other artificial spacebound satellite could scores of people hope to reside in relative comfort in this galaxy? The Citadel occupied that particular niche that was both looked fondly upon by both the wealthy and the downtrodden.
It was certainly a symbol that attracted the delight of the extravagant as well as the disgust from the austere, the Citadel.
Despite the implications of affluence, Sam McLeod very rarely used his apartment on the Citadel these days. He had been using it the most when he was a bachelor and had been justifiably living in it, but ever since he married Nya his use for the place had steadily dwindled and dwindled as he focused more on his house back on Earth, as the both of them felt that being planetbound was better place to live and to raise a family. He still kept the apartment, mostly because the rent had been paid off for several years already (and had gone down quite a bit since the war) and in part because he simply liked the idea of having his own place on a structure out in space. Sam would be the first to profess that he was quite the old romantic about the idea of space and harkening back to humanity's golden age as an inspiration for his desire to venture out past an atmosphere in the first place.
The apartment itself was not terribly extravagant, considering the Citadel's average for residence ostentation. Sam did harbor the belief that he probably had more space than he should, being self-aware enough to recognize that having somewhere to lay his head that was the size of a high-tier hotel suite might be considered in poor taste. The apartment had a luxuriously furnished living room, an expansive kitchen, one gigantic bathroom, and two bedrooms—a master bedroom and the other which was used as a home gym. Standard living by any measure, yet a substantial upgrade considering the net average on the Citadel had to bunk with roommates or worse, slept in rooms no bigger than a broom closet.
The building had its own cleaning service, so the apartment was practically immaculate, save for the trail of clothes and enviro-suit trappings that now made a scattered track from the foyer towards the larger of the bedrooms. A low and wide bed on thick stilts enraptured gravity in the room it inhabited, flanked by an enormous poster window that let the bright glow of Earth drape across the bed. Individual cities and geographical features could be picked out by the naked eye at this distance. Storm cells, dotted pinpricks of distant fire—the mosaic of city lights, and the hardened scars of canyons etching their way across the ground.
A beautiful sight, though it remained thoroughly ignored by the two occupants of the room at this moment.
Nya'McLeod laid in middle of the bed with her head against a hill of pillows, stark naked, with a blanket covering her body just below her chest. A large lump underneath the sheets was situated further past her body, appearing to rest over her waist. Nya's hands were groping at something underneath the sheets—the lump, perhaps—as her head turned this way and that, soft moans coming from her mouth. Her eyes were rapturously shut. She sucked in her bottom lip as her back twisted and arched.
The quarian had been in her current position for nearly ten minutes now, though the presence of sweat at her brow suggested she had been active for far longer than that. The mound that was squirming underneath the bed sheets was moving in an active and purposeful rhythm, keeping a steady pace to hammer home an undying attention.
The infinite dusk of space intertwined with the world's light, creating canyons and rivulets upon the bedsheets. Gentle breath escaped from the quarian's lungs, a light harmony that encompassed the void of the room. Muffled noises murmured from below the sheets, a firm but stoic resonance. Nya could feel an unyielding touch set itself upon her skin—a leech fixated upon one simple spot. Unmoving. Unrelenting.
After a while, Nya could not take any more. She gave a groan as she lifted herself up, the planet's glow throwing sharp shadows across the curves of her breasts. "Sam…" she had to gasp, "Oh… no… no, Sam."
The fumbling under the sheets stopped. A pink hand reached out from underneath and yanked the coverings back. Sam McLeod sat up from where he had been attending to his wife after wiping his face, a mirthful look upon him.
"Was that one of those 'No means no' kind of 'no's?'" the man inquired.
Nya grinned, though she was out of breath. "It was one of those 'I can't go on anymore' kind of 'no's.'" She held out her arms and her husband brought himself up to fall into her embrace.
The two then proceeded to progress with the sort of maudlin displays of affection that typically went hand-in-hand between a couple deeply in love. They hugged each other close, their eyes never drifting from the other. Their touches ran along each other's back, sheets crumpled at their waists. The iridescent tessellation of lights—from buildings, spaceships, or outerworldly debris—flowed past the window in a dripping haze, the very same window that the pair had just made love in front of without a care in the world. They had found each other together, wrapped in the soft light of the world down below, rapt with pleasure as the gentle darkness of the apartment made battle with whatever illumination dared to trespass through the open window. They had been two distinct shadowy shapes then, thrusting and writhing in tandem, their thoughts turned to themselves and only to themselves.
"Mmm," Nya murmured into Sam's neck, her shoulder-length hair splaying out over the pillow.
"Yes?" Sam asked as he lay on his back, eyes closed in bliss.
"Nothing. You just feel good, is all. The house gets lonely without you."
The man cracked an eye open and smirked. "Hopefully tonight was able to make up for some of that time."
"Just some," Nya teased after delivering a yawn. "Uh. You definitely wore me out."
Sam lightly chuckled. "So I guess you're saying that you aren't up for another round?"
"Ugh," Nya turned around and buried her head in her pillow for a moment, her smooth gray skin temporarily blending in with the filtered shadows of the room. "I don't know how you can still think about sex after this."
"I've been on a ship in space for months, dear. My imagination can only get me so far when I'm away from you."
The quarian lifted her head up, projecting an unamused stare while her hair dangled freely. "You're trying to milk this moment for all it's worth, aren't you?"
Sam shrugged as he opened both eyes, making a very matter-of-fact face. "Wouldn't you? Obviously it's a little different for me because even when I'm around you I don't get to see your face every second. I just like having more moments like that, is all."
"Mmm," Nya murmured again as a wide smile nearly split her features. She laid her head upon Sam's chest. "You're a very sweet man."
The two laid there for several long minutes, but did not fall into a deep slumber. Sam's eyes remained opened as his gaze was drawn to Earth outside, lazily rotating as the edge of the sun began to creep along the curved horizon. The glittering cities down below disappeared underneath the encroaching illumination. Swaths of vibrant color immediately replaced them. The ropes of light—columns of spaceborne traffic—vanished along with the luminescent grid, made into sparkling motes as the day began to brighten.
Sam idly ran his thumb along Nya's hand. His other hand traced an aimless pattern upon her back. The quarian's loose embrace around his chest tightened a bit as she gave a tired mumble.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Nya suddenly said, nearly startling Sam for how clear her voice was.
He had to think before giving an answer. "Nothing in particular, actually."
"Come on," Nya scoffed. "You've got to be thinking about something."
Sam pointed a finger at himself. "Human male, Nya, remember? Now, I don't know if other species suffer from the same problem but, on occasion, in which case I mean quite often, there are just moments in the day where I can simply space out. In which no one topic ever fully gels in my mind. It's all vagaries and nonsense that just pops into my head that doesn't even make that much sense if I think about it too hard. And on the occasion when we are thinking of something rather strongly and you do ask me what it's about, it's usually so stupid that you'll never want to ask that question to me ever again."
"Fine," Nya propped herself up on an elbow as she rolled her eyes. "I'll be a little more direct then, you simple human. When I was on top of you earlier tonight, we were saying… some things that… you know…"
"Pillow talk?" Sam bumped his eyebrows.
Nya looked upward before sheepishly nodding. "Yeah. Now, you seemed to like what I was saying to you, but it got me wondering a bit."
"Wondering if the Vega of the current stock market implies that I should take up a different option strategy rather than the position I took last week?"
"N-No… I… I don't… what the fu-?!" Nya stammered, absolutely thrown off at being handed such an inane statement from her husband's mouth. But Sam was grinning, fully knowing that he was just spewing nonsense purely to mess with Nya. "No, moron! What I was trying to ask you was… aw, this is stupid… was there anything you wanted me to say to you in particular when… when you telling me that you're close?"
"Ah," Sam suddenly took a few years off his face as a youthful grin imparted itself there. "You want me to tell you what I think the sexiest phrase from your mouth would be?"
Nya looked back and forth before nodding as though she thought she had made herself quite clear.
Sam now put on an exaggerated expression as he considered the ceiling, his fingers tapping a random tattoo upon Nya's skin. "Sexiest phrase I want you to say…"
"Anything," Nya bobbed her shoulders.
"Okay," Sam sighed before he quickly lifted his index finger, lightly tapping the quarian on the nose, causing Nya to giggle unexpectedly. "But I want you to promise not to laugh when I tell you."
"I won't! I won't laugh."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay," Sam let out a breath and gave the sheets an adjustment so that they were lying straight across his waist. "The sexiest phrase I want you to say to me is…"
Nya's eyes widened. Expectant. Anxious. Curious.
"'Dinner's ready.'"
The speed at which Nya's expression fell could have broken the sound barrier with its velocity. From inquisitive to confused to disgusted and finally to just outrageously annoyed. Sam could feel Nya's body slump against his own. I think I just killed a part of her, he noted to his amusement.
A three-fingered hand gradually rose into the air. It lazily swung forward and caught Sam's cheek in a slap at the speed of molasses. Sam blinked as Nya's fingertips grazed his skin. He could not stop chuckling after that—his deeply miffed wife had now buried her face into his chest, her fists now tenderly beating upon his body as she was playfully irritated at the man's blatant gall and intent to vex her.
"Not the answer you were expecting?" he asked, knowing that he was merely digging his own grave but, as much as he tried, he could not stop making jokes.
Nya's head came back up, eyes lidded with pure aggravation. "I don't know why I put up with you."
"Good looks, great sense of humor, and unbelievably amazing in bed?"
"Better add 'excruciatingly modest' to that list," Nya snorted but her face softened as she brushed a stray strand of hair from Sam's eyes. "Cross out your supposed great sense of humor and I'll agree with you."
Sam gripped Nya's shoulders as he looked at her with serious intent. "Consider it done," he said lowly, but with enough gravitas to emphasize the fact that he was still playing around.
The two managed to see the amusement in the situation and shared in their cachinnation together. They then turned on their sides and gradually moved closer and closer to the other in the bed, their lips about to touch when, all of a sudden, a series of muffled noises from the floor above rudely drew their attention.
"What the hell is going on up there?" Sam grumbled, annoyed, his eyes shifting towards the spot right above him, his wife's gaze quickly following suit.
An alternation of muted thumps, obscure voices, and otherwise subdued shuffling sounds were reverberating throughout the room, all centralized upon one particular spot at the ceiling. Sam and Nya squinted their eyes, trying to perceive what the source of all the commotion was. They could pick out two distinct voices—one man and one woman—but the circumstances of this sudden clamor were unknown as of now.
Sam blinked as he turned to lay upward on his back, shoulder-to-shoulder with his wife. "Did we always have such a thin ceiling?"
"I think the apartment above us got new tenants a month ago," Nya suggested.
"Apparently they like to make a lot of noise. They arranging furniture up there or what?"
"No… I think they're…"
The couple abruptly paused, their eyes widening in surprise as the distant voices grew in volume and took on a ragged but even rhythm. The human and the quarian, with the sheets still bunched over their waists, silently laid in their bed as they watched the ceiling, a bevy of stifled bumps and groans now starting to pervade the sanctity of their room.
"They're not…" Sam whispered, but the voices from above finished his thought before he could.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes! God, I want that turian cock in me! Just fuck… fuck me!"
"I believe they are," Nya dimly nodded, wearing the same astonished expression on her face as her husband.
"Oh Jesus… you're so hard! You're so big! I want you to fill me. I want you to fuck me with that big fat cock!"
"Good lord," Sam busted out laughing. "She's overdoing it a bit."
"No kidding. Sam… do I sound like-?"
"—No," the human quickly shook his head. "No, you do not."
As the ruckus upstairs continued, it was only natural to consider for Sam and Nya that what they were baring witness to was not the sort of organic chemistry brought upon by attraction or devotion alone, but perhaps by the manufactured coupling brought upon by the demand for lewd material to be viewed at an impersonal distance. Taking into account that pornography was a plausible scenario for all this noise brought the human and quarian a rather voyeuristic source of amusement over the next five minutes (in a critiquing sort of manner) as they listened to the female upstairs caterwauling her enjoyment while her male (presumably turian) partner uttered nothing but animalistic grunts from time to time. Sam and Nya were laughing uproariously to themselves the entire time as they heard bad line after bad line shouted earnestly and quite forcefully. One wondered what the other neighbors were feeling if they too were overhearing this.
"Ohhhh, shit! Fuck this pussy, turian daddy! Fuck it! FUCK IT!"
Sam had to use a pillow to cover his face because he was laughing so hard after this line. Nya was similarly clutching her belly, her breath coming out in wheezes as she was nearly shrieking with laughter. After a few seconds, Sam lifted the pillow from his face, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Oh my god…" he choked out as he wiped his eyes. "This is both the worst and the best thing I've ever heard."
"I can't… I just can't…" Nya coughed out in between her frantic gasps. She massaged her stomach. "It hurts. Oh, I'm hurting from laughing."
"Ooooh! Oooaaah! AAAUUUGGH! Ah! Ah! Ooooh… yeeeeeess…"
Nya had been stifling her peals of laughter by clamping a hand over her mouth at this time. She finally gained enough breath to speak as she considered the ceiling with concern. "Is he… hurting her?"
"From the rate that bed is creaking," Sam paused to let the rhythmic thumping sounds make their point, "I wouldn't be too surprised."
The muffled pounding and scraping sound of bed stilts on the floor made it difficult to differentiate the sounds from regular coitus or an acrobatics routine. The woman above was still making the occasional note of pleasure apart from her exaggerated wails, which at least provided some reassurance that she was not being violently killed.
Soon enough, the pummeling sounds subsided, but the woman still retained her volume. "Oh, gimmie that, baby! I want you all over my face! Cover me! Ohhh, I want you to shoot in my mouth!"
"Oh, keelah, no…" Nya groaned as she seemed to shrink into the mattress.
Like that was not going to halt any of the festivities.
"AHHHHaglbarghle… huuh! Huuh! Haa…."
Now silence could be afforded to the room. Sam and Nya continued to maintain their thoroughly flummoxed stares upwards, their minds completely discombobulated from hearing that atrocious display one floor up. They were both slightly damp from howling their laughter so forcefully, their breathing still not returned to normal. Nya slowly swept her body over her husband, a leg over his as she draped an arm across his chest.
Nya then turned her head over to Sam. He caught a twinkle in the corner of her eye and was a little confused at first when she started to smile.
"Well…" Nya shrugged. "After listening to that… I'm in the mood again."
Sam's body shook with a quiet laugh. He reached over to pull the quarian against him so they could finally set back to more important tasks at hand. The two parted their lips slightly, pressed their faces together, gripped each other's back tightly, met their tongues lovingly, and were breathing in deeply, both starting to reach under the covers while tenderly sharing their secret smiles.
Then of course the moment had to be ruined in the next instant when Sam's omni-tool began to ring.
"Of all the fucking timing!" Sam growled, his eyes screwing shut as though he could shut the noise out.
"Just let it ring," Nya begged as she began to hold onto her husband's waist.
"I can't," Sam bemoaned. "It might be important."
Nya gave a derisive sigh but she then gave a nod, disappointed but understanding.
Sam connected the call. Audio only, obviously. "McLeod here."
"Sam? Liara," a wispy voice crackled through. "We need you on the Menhir as soon as you are able."
"On the Menhir? Now? Liara, what the hell're you talking about?"
"Garrus and the others just got into a little scuffle. Don't worry, everyone's fine, but they did receive a few more bumps and scrapes than they bargained for. It's best if you come over at once."
Sam had to resist the urge to groan out loud. As much as voicing his displeasure would be, he was still amenable to the unspoken rules of decorum. "All right, I'll be over in fifteen minutes." He flopped his arm back down to the bed, looking rather drained. Nya noted his displeasure and rolled partially on top of him, her fingers picking at his beard.
"We made the most of our time, at least," she said.
A ghost of a smile flitted across the man's face. "I can't help but want a little bit more of it."
"There will always be more chances," Nya assured as she cupped her husband's chin. "And I'm proud that you are doing something you feel is meaningful. No one could be happier for you than me."
The man was touched. How did he get so lucky to have such a wonderful woman in his life?
"Thank you, dear," Sam said before the couple shared one final kiss.
Menhir
The blue and gray leg armor toppled to the ground of the med bay with a clatter. Dried blue blood flakes crisped off the scratched surface, marring the floor. Sam, back in his medical coat, donned a pair of clear HUD goggles as he moved in to take a closer look at his patient's wound.
A partially-armored Garrus lounged upon the bed, squinting in the bright and vibrant white light the overhead lamps were providing. His bodysuit for his left leg had been completely cut away by the doctor, exposing his ridged carapace and underlying cartilage. Even at a distance it had looked like Garrus had received a little more physical attention than his normal amount. The turian had garnered a couple of scratches to his face in addition to the gash in his leg, judging by the thin lines of beryl making a partial grid just above his eyes. Sam disregarded the superficial wounds for now as the leg wound was the main focus for his attention, considering the amount of blood having been spilled in that location.
Sam then snapped on some gloves before he grabbed a thin metal tool and a syringe. He brought himself close to the ragged cut, giving it a visual inspection. A lot of blood had congealed around the affected area. The first thing that Sam did was grab a wetted cloth so he could dab the area clean. The wound no longer looked so horrific—just a stout chasm that led into the dark depths of Garrus' leg.
"Okay, I think I see the problem here," Sam muttered as he straightened back up. With a flat face, he turned to Garrus. "You appear to have been stabbed."
The turian stared at Sam like he was an idiot. "You're kidding, right? That's your diagnosis? I saw the knife enter my leg. I didn't think that needed to be made clear!"
Sam pretended not to hear Garrus as he typed in some notes on his datapad, though it was not without a smirk. "I can see being wounded hasn't done wonders for your attitude, Vakarian."
"I'd like to see you so glib if the tables were turned and you had been the one stabbed," Garrus shot back. "Better yet, hand me a knife and we can settle this comparison right here, if you'd like!"
"Perish the thought. Your enthusiasm for inflicting harm upon me does not give me any security in rising to your challenge. Worse, you'd probably nick my femoral artery, something your foe apparently did not succeed in accomplishing."
"Let's just hope that your work isn't as sloppy, then."
Sam's mouth grew into a taunting grin. "Count on it." He came back over to Garrus with a syringe in his hand after giving it a few flicks to drive out air bubbles. Seating himself at a stool, the doctor gripped the syringe in one hand after he sterilized a portion of Garrus' cartilage near the wound. "You'll feel a little pinch in a second."
"What's in the syringe?" Garrus asked, not reacting when the needle bit into him.
"Local anesthetic. We're going to need to numb the area around the wound."
"Can't you just give me some medi-gel so that I can walk out of here?"
"Sure," Sam sarcastically intoned, "that's about as sound advice as defibrillating a flatliner or being gentle in giving CPR. Medi-gel isn't the be-all-end-all of medical solutions, Garrus. It has its limits. It can't, for instance, re-sew torn muscle and other deep tissue wounds, which is apparently what you have received just an hour ago."
The turian grunted as he laid his head back onto the bed. "I've used medi-gel exactly for that purpose in the past," he groused.
Sam tipped his HUD goggles down the bridge of his nose and tapped at Garrus' leg. "Yeah, and you're covered with scars as a result of that!" He gestured to the many marks that nicked and twisted at the turian's flesh that had already been garnered there years ago. "Medi-gel is great at stemming bleeding. Not so great at fibrous patchwork."
The doctor walked to a nearby counter and grabbed at a white ampoule and a little mirror. He set the items on a little stand next to Garrus.
"If you want, you can take care of those scratches to your face in the meantime. I'll only need a few minutes to fix your leg here."
Two medical sentry drones hovered into position above Garrus' leg while Sam took out a thick metal case and placed it on the counter near the window. He flipped the latches to the case and withdrew an enamel-colored object that looked like a soldering gun. The medical drones lowered to within a foot of Garrus' body and two razor-thin beams suddenly emitted from their lenses. Garrus looked down and saw that the projected light was actually a simulated hologram of a deep dive into his wound. X-rays were showing in real time, without any need for displays, the depth and direction of the laceration within the turian's body. It felt strange to Garrus to be able to look down and essentially see the breadth of the damage inside his body at the very spot where he had been pierced, though the sight was more anatomical than grisly.
The turian remembered the items the doctor had left for him and he reached over and snatched up the ampoule, which was a little canister of medi-gel. He dabbed the tiniest bit on a finger and he used the mirror to guide his own finger to the little cuts to his face that he had recently acquired.
Sam sat on his stool and lowered it a few inches so that he could be at a comfortable height to repair the turian's wound. "Nasty blade that did this," he said. "Who'd you piss off this time?"
"The Aeronaut," Garrus did not look at Sam as he continued to treat his face. "One of Aleph's goons was on the Citadel."
"No shit. This close by?"
"Yeah. I wanted to find out exactly what the rumblings in the underworld were about his outfit. Guess I got more than I bargained for."
Sam nodded as he twisted a dial on the curved tool in his hand, preparing it. "Find out anything of importance?"
Finished, Garrus set the mirror and medi-gel down before shaking his head. "Honestly? I'm just as confused as ever."
"Join the fucking club."
Sam's goggles used eye gestures for the main controls. He was able to zoom in and to see the extent of the damage the knife had given the turian by making a few rapid blinks. He made a few mental notes before he leaned in with his tool, which Garrus now recognized as a portable robotic-assisted surgical tool, colloquially known as a pRAST in the biz. After the doctor clipped it in on the side of the bed for stability, the pRAST began to eke out streams of barely visible light, the first probe into the chasm of the wound. Sam also held a tiny scalpel in his other hand, using it to occasionally poke and prod at the trauma. The anesthetic had already taken hold in Garrus, so all he was feeling was the occasional nudge of pressure with no pain to accompany it. He kept his head positioned towards the ceiling, not at all inclined to see his surgery take place before his eyes.
Inside the laceration, stemming and microscopic robotic arms extended from the barrel of the pRAST. Gently, little claws gripped the sheared muscle fibers and slowly pulled them together. Another arm with a caustic end then moved forward between the gripping arms, fusing the sheared strands with a warm glow and a faint hiss. The back of the pRAST glowed green to indicate to Sam that it was ready to proceed to the next area. He moved the tool back a millimeter or two and repeated the process for the torn tissues there.
It took a little more than five minutes to be able to reset Garrus' wound back to normal, but once the pRAST had successfully sewn up the entire gash and fused the wound over with a final cauterizing burst, it looked to Garrus like he had merely received a scratch from a household pet instead of a vicious slash from a knife. Sam slapped a bandage over the area for good measure and he began to put his equipment away after giving his patient the all-clear.
"As long as you don't do anything strenuous for a whole solar day, I doubt you'd even see a scar there," he told the turian. "Take it easy, let it heal, and you'll be right as rain in no time."
Garrus hopped off the bench, testing his leg and finding no impeding sensations to falter his gait. He gingerly stalked his way to the door before he put his hand on the wall to steady himself. He looked back with a forlorn gaze.
"Sam… I…"
"No need," Sam shook his head, not looking from where he was sealing everything back in their respective cases. He lifted the goggles from his head and gently deposited them onto the counter in front of him. "It's part of the job, remember?"
The turian dipped his head, a hesitant gesture. He seemed to be flirting on the inclination to leave, though there was something taking root in his mind, keeping him here. But Garrus gave one final glance towards the human, giving a murmur, "That it is."
Sam stood leaning against the counter, eyes closed, for a few minutes after Garrus had left. Taking in the silence, absorbing the notions of his being flung back into work. Shore leave was certainly fun while it lasted. He made a note to call his wife before the Menhir undocked, to at least give himself some closure on his terms.
He looked out the window and saw that very few people outside were meandering along their set paths in the space around the commissary. He checked his chronometer—still a couple of hours until the Menhir was due to depart. Breakfast would not be served until then. A shame, as Sam was starting to feel hungry.
Surreptitiously, Sam's hand reached down to a particular cabinet and pulled it towards him, revealing an apothecary-style bottle and a small glass. He withdrew the whisky, upon it in cursive was written the rather idiosyncratic name of "Octomore." He poured himself just a finger, which was certainly not enough to get a buzz from, but just to kickstart his mindset and to provide a needed semblance of comfort as the day started.
He was about to take a sip until the door opened once again. Sam sat up, nearly spilling his drink, expecting to see Garrus come back in for whatever reason, most likely because he had found a way to reopen his wound after being specifically told what not to do. However, Sam could only stare as Roahn hobbled her way in, back slightly hunched and her eyes unfocused.
He could immediately see that something was off with the quarian. "Jesus Christ, Commander," Sam blurted out as he tried to edge his glass out of sight. "What the… what the hell happened to you?!"
Roahn looked up at him and Sam could now see a little more closely that the quarian's appearance was slightly disheveled. Sehni out of place, belt buckles not lining up, wrinkles on her enviro-suit at the arms. Immediately Sam understood what had happened to the quarian but he did not so much as give a flicker in his reaction. He noted that Roahn was clasping her hands over her stomach and was making faint wheezing noises. He kept his expression neutral as she walked over to him while trying to project a steadfast air.
"Sam," she said, fighting to suppress the grit in her tone, "do you happen to have… any antacids available?"
"Take something you weren't supposed to have?" Sam arched an eyebrow.
"Yes—I mean, no!—I mean…"
The man wondered if such flustered denials were really expected to draw his attention away from the true conclusion of Roahn's afflictions.
He decided to not be all that forgiving. He stabbed the air with a finger. "On the chair now," he ordered.
"I'm fine, Sam, I just need—"
"Oh my god," Sam dramatically threw his hands up in the air. "Get on the goddamned chair, Roahn."
The quarian did as she was told. Sam noted Roahn's immediate relief in her eyes as she reclined back. Aches in joints, most likely. The fact that she was appearing to exhibit stomach pains and some hitches in her breathing were not to be discounted, either.
"Everyone on this ship just blindly rushes into these things..." Sam muttered to himself as he scrambled to collect an assortment of different drugs in a small cabinet. "No sense of caution whatsoever."
Sam returned himself to the exact same stool he had been in while he was treating Garrus. Gone now was the youthful mirth that had sparkled his eyes. What had replaced it was a disappointed tribulation. He leaned in close to Roahn, who was staring back at him with a hefty dose of confusion.
But Sam did not speak just yet. Instead, he laid out the contents from the drug cabinet that he just raided upon the table to Roahn's immediate left. He made sure to position the labels so that Roahn would have no trouble reading them. Hydrogen peroxide solution, an antiseptic. mTor inhibitor pills, a gastrointestinal immunosuppressant. Epinephrine vapor, a medication for anaphylaxis. Roahn's eyes widened and widened as she read each one in turn, her head drooping all the way down as she got the gist of what Sam was suggesting.
Sam's arms had been crossed as he watched the quarian succumb to a dose of self-shame, but as a medical professional he was required to have these moments where sympathy fled him. "Doctor-patient confidentiality is something that I consider to be sacrosanct in this place. But I just need to know, Roahn, were you with the Lieutenant? Skye, I mean?"
The quarian's head shot back up, horrified. "How did you know?" she squeaked.
Sam's face fell and took on an are-you-serious expression. "You're really asking me that? Really? I'm probably one of two other people on this ship who can recognize an acute cross-species allergic reaction and I don't know any other human here who could possibly be the culprit of your afflictions other than Miss Lorne. You do realize that I have a quarian wife, right?"
The mortified woman wished that she could just die right now. It had not even been half a day and already her love life had succumbed to being leaked. "Oh…" was all she could say.
Sam rolled his eyes as he unboxed the canister of vapor and handed it to Roahn. "Take this. Now. Your throat will close up in a matter of hours and I don't want to have to deal with that. Neither should you."
Roahn took the offered antidote and hooked it up to a port at the bottom of her helmet. She twisted the canister, grinding the seal together, making a dull locking noise. Vaporized epinephrine quickly flooded her helmet in a clear gas. Roahn's nose wrinkled. It had a slightly sterile smell to it. But in seconds, the wheezing from her lungs was gone and she could breathe just a little more easily. It felt like a hand had been removed from clenching around her windpipe—she grasped at her collar in relief.
Sam then tapped the immunosuppressants and the antiseptic. "Go back to your room, take the pills, and I'd recommend you sterilize in your bathroom right away to reduce the risk of a reaction on your skin. It's not going to be all that pleasant for you in the next couple of hours so I'd recommend you make your preparations and get into bed for the time being."
"I don't have much choice in the matter, is that it?" Roahn sardonically asked, but she took the medications anyway.
The doctor gave a derisive snort. "Would you rather I lecture you some more over you being so idiotic to enact sexual activities without medicating yourself beforehand? My god, I thought quarians were supposed to be nearly paranoid of this kind of shit—"
"You're absolutely right," Roahn interjected as she hopped off the chair, her remedies in tow, "I don't need to be subjected to this."
"Remember, bed rest!" Sam called after the retreating quarian.
Once he was alone, he crossed to the room and sagged back down into the chair he had previously vacated. He reached behind the shelf where he had hidden his glass of whisky, its contents undisturbed. He swirled the liquid in its container for a bit while he pondered. Any thoughts as to the commander's potentially illicit liaison with her subordinate were pretty much extinguished from Sam's mind. It was just not all that interesting for him to ponder over the sex lives of his fellow shipmates. He received no enjoyment from doing so, therefore he considered it to be none of his business unless that business happened to encroach onto medical matters, such as this case. He did take solace in the fact that if word of Roahn's relationship were to spread through the ship further, the origin would not be from him.
Sam raised his glass so that he could take his first needed sip. Already he was starting to feel a headache.
"Send in the next one," he muttered to no one in particular.
The Menhir had undocked from the Citadel by the time Roahn awoke in her bed, though it was still maintaining a somnolent and drifting pattern above Earth for the time being. Skye had also left in that time, presumably to make her presence known elsewhere before anyone else got too suspicious. Nice of her to do that, if that was the case, Roahn considered.
Her stomach was still quite unhappy with her and there was a faint pricking sensation on her skin that was almost to the point where it was an uncontrollable irritation, but they were little torments that she could easily overcome.
Roahn rose from her tousled bed, re-made it, and then crossed into the bathroom so she could straighten herself out. Upon making sure that she looked like officer material once again, she left her room and headed for the lift so that she could get to the engineering level. She had recalled, before she had gone to bed with Skye, Korridon had mentioned that he was going to run a few tests on the artifact they had plucked from that little skirmish with Dark Horizon. Even if he only spent a couple hours researching it, she was still interested to see what he might have found out.
Wire-frame railings guided her to the thrumming heart of the ship. The drive core. Techs here were hunched over desks filled with matrices of data, but Korridon was among none of them. The engineering bay had a miniature lab down below which was where the turian usually kept his workstation. The stairwells were in the next room, in the hallway to the core. Roahn traveled down them and found Korridon in the dark, industrial, yet cozy space that was surprisingly limited to the arrays of sound being projected above from the hectic level. Unlike most of the ship, there was no shining or ergonomic paneling to otherwise make this part of the level hospitable. Struts and thick trunks of piping were scattered in every angle imaginable. Korridon's desk was situated in the middle of the underbelly, two tall yellow light stands flanking him and providing enough light to make the turian's surroundings somewhat livable.
The turian was entrenched deep into his analyses as he was quickly scything up variable charts and quickly repositioning them, making visual representations out of the data he had accrued. A hologram of the Reaper artifact, a virtual facsimile of the one that was safely secured on the level above, languidly rotated in place, several data points collecting in a tree map overhead.
Korridon had heard the quarian tromping down the stairs and had shifted his head to catch Roahn's eyes as she rounded the corner. "Commander, you're awake," he said. There was a variable shift in his temperament as his head rotated a mere degree. "How'd your talk with Skye go last night?"
Roahn was already feeling that she had stepped into a minefield the very second she had embarked on… whatever her and Skye were involved in. Korridon was not stupid—he had told her just yesterday that he knew there was an unusual relationship between her and the human. The slight grating inflection on his voice, rawer than usual for the turian to adopt, was an indication that he felt that he knew something that he was not supposed to.
Is he trying to maneuver around the fact that he thinks that I slept with Skye? Or… is there something else that I'm not seeing here? Something that Korridon doesn't want me to see?
"I'd say the two of us managed to reach a mutual consensus on our behavior," she mustered as naturally as she could.
"I see," Korridon said, though that statement could very well have had multiple layers to it.
How he must think of her. If he really knew what had occurred, would she be diminished in his eyes? Roahn had just told the man last night that her tumultuous interactions with Skye had severely hampered her ability to think rationally about the woman, not to mention the fact that she had also admitted that it was for a particularly drastic reason why they had broken up the first time. And despite all that, she had given in at the end. Weakness on her part? Or empathy?
Would Korridon see the difference or could he only see the truth? A truth that Roahn was blind to?
She took the seat that Korridon was currently vacating, already desperate to change the subject. "Make any progress on your research? I know you had only a couple hours, but I'm just as interested as you to find out more on these artifacts."
The turian gave her a blank look. "A couple hours? Roahn… I haven't stopped working since we set foot on the ship."
Roahn's eyes shifted back and forth once, taking her a while to comprehend. "You've been at this all the time?! I don't… keelah, Korr. You still had time left over from your shore leave!"
"I know, but I couldn't sleep. Don't be too upset with me, Roahn, because I think I've figured a few things out with these artifacts."
The quarian had been in the middle of uttering an order for Korridon to go and get some rack when her still-too-slow brain finally caught up with what she was doing. Now she was looking foolish, hanging her finger in the air for no reason.
"You… found something?" she finally mumbled out, her arm slowly dropping back to her side.
"Not much, but I wanted to run it by you anyway."
The turian now looked particularly excited and he reached over to pull up another chair that had been stashed away behind him. The orange of his facepaint now looked particular burnt in this light, the color of a caramel candy, but his eyes were sparkling like precious opals. Something had gotten this man pretty worked up.
Not much? Roahn doubted it.
"What do you know about Reaper technology?" Korridon asked.
"A lot," Roahn said flatly, not knowing if the circumstances for such knowledge in her case needed to be said out loud.
Thankfully the turian seemed to get the point. "Stupid of me to ask, I know, but the reason why I asked was to see if you knew anything about their technology apart from indoctrination?"
"Apart from indoctrination?" Roahn repeated.
A faint oscillation of light appeared to crest the edge of Korridon's face. Roahn had to blink to clear her vision because in one moment, she was looking at the turian, then in the next, she was unexpectedly staring at a purpled visor wreathed in stormy fabric. The illusion flexed, jerked in a glitch-like motion, and evaporated in seconds like deteriorating pixels on a screen, leaving nary a trace behind save for Roahn's suddenly elevated pulse.
"It's just something I noticed last night… a strange occurrence," Korridon mused, not noticing Roahn's sudden agitation. "Indoctrination's usually the one thing that people think of when Reapers are involved, but I made a simple experiment and I saw something that I couldn't find mentioned at all in extranet research journals. I was scattering stray bits of biological material around it, just to see if there would be a reaction, and my instruments did manage to pick up faint traces of energy spikes—the tiniest blips you could imagine—whenever the matter made contact."
Roahn's wits had returned to her in time to catch the last half of what the turian had said. "So it… reacts with organic material. Almost exactly like how the Reapers processed organics to fuel new Reapers."
"It seems to corroborate a theory, Roahn. Reaper technology becomes more… potent, for lack of a better word, when exposed to new sources of organic material. What was witnessed during the war was that processed organics apparently went through a sequence in which their DNA was combined into a conglomerate to interact with the Reaper itself. It stood to reason that the Reapers required a significant amount of organics—people—in order for its 'connection' to be more stable with its own technology. So, in other words..."
"The more organic material, the better the interaction between the Reaper," Roahn finished. "A conglomerate, like you said. Makes sense, though I don't see how that would be much of an issue for us now with the Reapers being destroyed."
"Just something to think about. A material that attunes more intensely to beings within its sphere of influence is something that I wouldn't discount, in my personal opinion."
Roahn gave a slow nod, understanding. "You make a fair point. Was that all you found out?"
"No, there was something more serious," Korridon pointed at the hologram of the spherical artifact, the gnarled and patternless scars upon its face twisting and bulging its otherwise perfect shape. "Okay," he said, "you remember that when we first brought that on the ship, we discovered it was emitting radiation?"
"I remember. But it was harmless. Non-ionizing."
"Harmless, non-ionizing radiation," Korridon repeated. "A bit convenient, wouldn't you think?"
Roahn did not understand. If the answers were somehow locked within that encrusted and hellish sphere, then she did not have the first clue, nor the inclination, to unlock the demons from their prison.
The turian pressed on. "So, it's a Reaper artifact emitting radiation relatively harmless to organics. But all of the elements that made up this artifact, as we found, were not radioactive. That means, when the Reapers had created this for whatever reason, they had it deliberately irradiated."
"But why would the Reapers do such a thing? What good would irradiating this thing do them?"
"That's what I was wondering as well," Korridon said, beginning to turn giddy. "Until I took a long scan of the thing." He then reached over to the computer console and brought up a wavelength chart, presumably of the artifact's radiation profile, from what Roahn could gather. The frequency of the object was a mirrored and alternating series of jagged crests and low rolling waves. But there was something else to the underlying structure of the wavelength that Roahn was able to spot in seconds. Razor-sharp lines, then slow and undulating humps. Then razor-sharp lines. And back to the humps. The razor-sharp lines would then come take their place… followed by the humps.
"A pattern," Roahn realized. "A repeating pattern of radiation."
"That certainly doesn't happen in nature," Korridon nodded. "It's not just meaningless radiation, Roahn. It's a signal."
Roahn yanked her head around. "A signal? To whom?"
"If I'd have to guess, I'd say the collective Reaper mind, though no one's listening now. This was probably a mechanism for the Reapers to always know where they left their artifacts. After all, these are the same machines that managed to find their way to our galaxy every 50,000 years. They had to have advanced navigation technology to be able to travel for such distances with such precision. Perhaps these artifacts have been nothing more than navigation beacons for the Reapers. They continuously transmitted this radiation as a signal for the Reapers to follow back to here. It's rather ingenious, if you ask me. But that's where I think I found the key, Roahn."
"If the artifacts were meant to work as beacons," Roahn was now starting to realize, "then why can't we use its wavelength to find other artifacts around the galaxy that are transmitting the same signal?"
Korridon gesticulated wildly as he gave a grin in his fervor. "Like how black holes can be found by pinpointing sources of x-ray radiation! We use the artifact's signal to act as a beacon for the other artifacts!"
Roahn leapt to her feat, temporarily overcome. "That's… Korr, that's brilliant!" She nearly threw her arms around the turian but managed to control herself at the last second. "You realize what this means if you really can trace the signal? We could… we could find all the artifacts that Aleph hasn't gotten his hands on yet and grab them before he can! Or… wait… if he's been stockpiling these things… then wouldn't that mean that he would be near the strongest source of this type of radiation? We could… we could track Aleph's actual location! This is how we find him! This… Korr, what's wrong?"
The turian's mandibles had suddenly stilled and the glint in his eyes had become less lustrous, his body posture noticeably slumping. He slowly tapped his fingers upon the console as he drew in a long breath. "Well… there is a bit of a snag on that part."
"And what might that be?"
"One thing that I did notice is that, based on what research was performed prior to the Reapers' defeat, was that every one of the Reapers and their artifacts are interlinked with one another. They are bound by a symmetrical genetic key—meaning that the elemental compound that comprises them all comes from the same source, or was engineered to be genetically identical. This most likely also assisted the Reapers with their navigation, if they had the ability to hone in on items with the same elemental code."
"So what's the problem, then?" Roahn pressed.
Korridon waved a hand, gesturing to the artifact. "The signal on this thing is too weak to act as a singular beacon by itself. The artifacts were meant to work in tandem, comprising an entire signal network. We need to replicate a more refined signal before we can use it to track Aleph, otherwise our scanning scope will be too broad to hone in on specific sources."
Roahn could have laughed out loud. The solution to this was so simple it was almost elegant. Yet there was a refined complexity to it all. A missing piece to the puzzle. The quarian hunched over, rubbed her hands in anticipation before she finally stood back up, affixing a hateful glare to the artifact of the hologram, knowing full well the simulacra of the object did not deserve her ire, but it was the one object in this room she could focus her anger upon.
Turning back to Korridon, Roahn let the cold light of the hologram fall upon the side of her head, the only lurking energy that she would dare allow to crawl at her body.
"What you're saying is that we need to get another artifact."
"We need to get what?!" Garrus gaped, certain he had misheard his XO.
Their backs to the galactic mimeo that the CIC provided, Roahn and Korridon shared a look between each other before the quarian spoke up. "That's what we're saying, yes. If we're going to be able to track Aleph, we're going to need to find another artifact."
Garrus was still in a perplexed state. His hand was resting upon his wounded leg, which was nearing the conclusion of its healing period, but the turian was still favoring his weight upon his good leg for the time being. The shrouded guardrails that rimmed the arrowhead shaped dais, a beacon that gently provoked his presence, shimmered dully as he ran a hand along the contours, having bypassed Roahn and Korridon to get there. The vibrant dust cloud of lightborn scintilla wrapped in the greedy whirlpool tendrils projected luminous, bathing his face in light, even through the harsh blue glare of his eyepiece.
The world-weary captain cocked his head at Liara, who had been in the vicinity of the initial conversation. The asari's interest had been piqued at what she had heard, naturally gravitating closer and closer to the hubbub this new line of dialogue was sparking. He then turned around, a hand scratching at the upper reaches of his fringe.
"I never wanted to mess with these things ever again. Reaper artifacts. All they bring back are bad memories and enough people on this ship have too many of those. I know. I'm one of those people."
"You wanted Umbra to be proactive," Roahn stepped forward, knotted nerve steeling her gaze. "This is how we get there."
"But are we sure of the risks?" Garrus sighed. "If we're going to do this, Roahn, I need to know that I've exhausted every last possibility out there. It's my duty to make the decisions that protect all of you. One artifact alone is asking for trouble. With two on board… that just exponentially complicates things. Puts all of us in danger. I'm supposed to keep you all safe, damn it. That is my job."
"And if we're too late? If we end up wasting our chance by being too cautious…?"
Roahn left the question hanging, its intent perfectly clear. Garrus affixed her with a purposeful look, his eyes deluging stories of their own without him even saying a word. Those eyes then subtly flicked over to Korridon, who, at this point, had been happy enough to stay on the sidelines for the majority of this conversation.
"This is what he's saying is we need to do?" Garrus may have been looking at Korridon, but the question was still given to Roahn.
Almost helplessly, Roahn made a tender nudge of her head, hoping her worried glance did not become too transparent. "I believe him."
"Hmm."
Garrus did not have anything else to say, though Roahn did note his stiff behavior when referring to Korridon, almost as if the younger turian was not even in the room, let alone within earshot.
Finally, something within the turian seemed to cede and his posture softened up. Garrus turned to Liara, his demeanor now more open and warm. "I know we don't have a choice. But if there are any other suggestions anyone has… now's the time to speak up."
No one did. Everyone kept their jaws clamped shut tightly.
"Right, I figured that," Garrus said. He gave his mandibles a singular twitch as he looked over at Roahn. "No more caution, then?"
Roahn slowly shook her head, the twin motes of her eyes managing to hang still behind her visor. "No more caution… Captain."
Air rushed from Garrus' nose in the barest sense of a chuckle that could be defined. He wobbled upon his feet until he managed to find his center of gravity before gingerly taking the steps up to the platform of the CIC, extending a hand like he was about to plunge it into the shining mass of simulated stars.
"You say there's a network of these things scattered out there," he said. "Millions upon millions of these things might be hidden on worlds we might not even know about. The only problem is we don't have an idea where to start."
"If I may," Liara said as she walked around the CIC towards where the dais was situated, "that's not entirely accurate."
Garrus gave a pause. "Can… you be a little more specific?"
The asari simply gave a pleasant smile as she folded her hands behind her back. "I might just have an idea where to start. Or, to put it more clearly, I think I know where the closest artifact might be."
"You're kidding. How could you possibly…" Garrus looked up at the ceiling in self-doubt as he noticed the asari's grin broadening. "Oh. Right. The whole… 'Shadow Broker' thing."
Liara shrugged, enjoying the moment. "I always figured it would come in handy to keep a few resources for myself."
"Wait…" Korridon leaned over so he could whisper to Roahn, "she's the—?"
"Ex-Shadow Broker," Roahn muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "She retired that alias before either of us were born."
Korridon blinked as a veil of his obliviousness was abruptly peeled away. He had to fight himself from staring too overtly at the asari, not wanting to draw out any feelings of awkwardness. The urge was difficult—after all, it was one thing to work alongside a hero of the Normandy, but another matter entirely to learn that one of those heroes had been moonlighting as perhaps the most dastardly collector of information the galaxy had ever known. Days on the Menhir certainly were never set by a fixed script, Korridon could say that much.
"In any case," Liara said as she stepped up alongside Garrus and stretched out a hand to activate the galaxy map, digging through the various layers until the view arrived at a local slice of the sector, "we don't have to venture far to find the next one. According to a few intercepted reports, the Alliance have another artifact that they have sealed away on a secret facility right… here." Liara scrolled the view out so that the entire solar system was now within the confines of the map, but the asari toggled the control and moved the cursor towards the edge of the delicately bound dance the planets made with its sun. She specifically centered the cursor on the final planet in the sequence. A little dialogue box marked "NEPTUNE" popped up.
"It's there?" Roahn tilted her head as the marble-blue cloud of storms slowly zoomed in.
Liara shook her head. "Not on the gas giant. One of its moons. This one, specifically. Triton. It has a surface that is frozen nitrogen, meaning surface temperatures of -235 degrees Centigrade. A young crust, though part of its surface erratically erupts sublimated nitrogen gas. Its core is dense, though its gravity is quite weak. The base, Aegir Station, was built shortly after humans discovered the Charon relay. It was used as a communications hideout up until the war ended and apparently was converted to a classified storage facility afterward. On several of those intercepted messages, there are many references to an object conveying similar properties to the artifact that we liberated. It's more than likely that, considering the recent spate of thefts the Alliance has suffered, they have moved their supply of artifacts into more secretive locations in an attempt to halt their losses."
"That won't stop Aleph," Roahn growled. "We all know that, when he does find this station, he won't let anyone stand in his way of the artifact. Everyone there will die if he or his minions show up."
"And yet it's not like the Alliance is just going to let us walk out with the artifact if we ask them nicely," Garrus mulled as he brought a hand to his chin. "We're technically not supposed to know about these things and I doubt we have the goodwill or the charm to have them hand it over to us."
The quarian let her hand drift atop the thick glass of the console station. Metallic fingers clinked against the polished surface, leaving clear streaks behind from the dust-scattered glaze. Her heart stilled, something catching deep within her, her lips thrumming with the urge to speak.
But Garrus turned. Blue eyes caught her own, spearing through their own glass coverings to find a hopeful truth. A lamentable conclusion.
"Which leaves us only one option," Garrus sighed. He swept his gaze about the room, hoping to catch any glimpse of any doubt but could find only resolved stares or otherwise eager anticipation. He noticed Roahn straighten out of the corner of his eye and he gave her a knowing glance before he proceeded further. "We ensure Aleph does not get this artifact, because we're going to steal it first."
A/N: All right, so now that shore leave's over for the Menhir crew, we're going to begin to jump headfirst into the next act of the story. This where things will start to go off the rails, so you'd better buckle in.
Stay safe and stay healthy out there. That's all I ask for you guys right now, okay?
Playlist:
Artifact Discussion
"Hydraulic Lift"
Jóhann Jóhannsson
Arrival (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
The Decision (Reprise)
"The Manifesto"
Lorne Balfe
Mission Impossible: Fallout (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
