The rhythmic beeping of the ECG machine set the pace of the conversation like a metronome.
"This is a waste a' time." The medic steps back from the body on the table, his blue gloves and scrubs slick with blood. "What was it that it said in that… thing? Shitty immune systems, right?" He angrily gestures towards the tablet that was resting alongside a tray of medical implements on a table fixed to the hull. "You'd struggle to get a human through this sort of surgery, but this… thing? This is too much."
Dr Cadogan doesn't reply, his focus on the tools in his hands and the leg in front of him. Fortunately, he didn't need to say anything. When most of your face is covered by a mask all the time, you learn to be expressive with what you have, and a fierce frown from his bushy eyebrows and a quick glance gets the medic back to work. Everything that he was saying was mostly true, of course, but that didn't stop the good doctor from regretting the brief lapse in judgment that drove him to requesting that the marines send their combat medics to the med bay. Yes, there were a lot of wounded, but no, that doesn't mean it's a good idea to leave the worst wounded to die. It's not as though stormtroopers died easily, anyway.
Using his scalpel, he neatly removes the final slivers of the suit that was preventing him from getting a better look at the wound. It was a grizzly thing. Straight through the bone, fragments everywhere. The skin was an unhealthy shade of purple, but he was meant to believe that it was normal, so he overlooked it for the moment.
"So, if we are going to do this… where do we even start? We got… what, thirty, maybe forty guys out there that need treatment." He thumbs back into the room beyond the transparent plastic sheet that separated this surgical station from the others. Stormtroopers in various states of disrepair made up the bulk of the bodies laying on tables, many missing limbs or sizeable chunks of their bodies, yet Cadogan was almost certain that most of them could be restored to health. More concerning was the presence of wounded engineers and other crewmen that were injured when the ship took damage. They wouldn't last as long without treatment, and many of them were likely already beyond saving. "If you ain't got a plan, we should-" The medic started to lean over the body to get Cadogan's attention though he was silenced by another stern look.
Cadogan starts to speak, slowly at first. "We'll start with saline, antivirals, and antibiotics. We need to get his blood pressure up, then we can start to amput-"
"How do we know any of that will work, exactly?" The medic interrupted, his frustration rising.
"We don't. Saline should hopefully keep his blood pressure up. We'll just have to hope that it doesn't have some adverse effect."
"And the rest? Flushing his body with antivirals and antibiotics could kill him for all we know."
"It could. The codex has limited information on their biology. We know that they're based on right handed amino acids, but beyond that, we're taking guesses." Sensing that the medic was once again ready to complain, he looks up and stares him in the eye. "Find a vein. Fit a cannula." He demanded, then returned to his work, picking up his monosaw and looking over the scanner, trying to find the appropriate place to cut.
The medic, cowed, complied, bringing up a boxy handheld scanner to search for a vein. "Kinda weird, ain't it?"
"What?" Cadogan asked, his voice starting to become more strained.
"That they're so similar? I mean, y'know, beside body shape." The medic says, surprisingly casual despite the situation. "I mean… even their insides are pretty similar. You seein' this?" The medic points at the quarian's chest, looking through the table's medical scanner screen. "Most of the organs are even in the same place."
"Just find a vein."
"Alright, alright, I'm doin' it." Cadogan watched for a bit to make sure that the medic was actually doing his job, and once satisfied, returned to the scanner. They were useful bits of kit. Combined x-ray, ultrasound, and other more specialized imaging machines, without the usual risks that surround high powered scanners like that. Cadogan had no idea how it worked, but he was very grateful to whoever invented these things - being able to see through flesh made it a hell of a lot easier to carry out surgery.
"So." The medic ventures as he slides the cannula into the vein. "Oh, nice, first time. Eh, anyway, what're we going to do once we get the leg off. I mean, he ain't going to last with an open wound, right? I don't know if cauterizing it will be enough."
That actually gave Cadogan pause. It was a good question. Lopping off the leg was all but necessary to prevent infection, any surgery to remove the bone fragments still sloshing about in there would take far too long and might pose even more of an infection risk, especially if the lower half had already begun to die, but that wouldn't do much good if he later died while recovering. If this were a human, he'd just fit an interface plate for a replacement limb, but the complex neural wiring had to be AI-tailored per individual in a process that took days, then weeks of training before anyone could use it. It working at all for an alien would be exceedingly unlikely. Unless…
"You said they were similar to us." Cadogan said, thinking aloud. "How similar?"
"Er… I dunno, I just… I was just lookin'." The medic admits.
Cadogan frowns at the medic, then at the medical screen. The ECG machine was picking up his heartbeat, something he'd almost forgotten. That was a good sign. Waving his hand in front of the machine, it scrolls between different scanner modes, Cadogan stopping it when it reaches nerve mode. This too, Cadogan had only the vaguest understanding of. Something about combining ultrasound and electrical field monitoring to find nerves? It had a proper name, but he just called it nerve mode, and it showed him more or less what he wanted to see. The alien had a nervous system very similar to that of a human's.
"Maybe…" Cadogan whispered. "Get me a plate, one that'll fit…" He switches back to the previous mode, and takes a cross section of the stump that he planned to leave after the surgery. "That." He spins the screen around to show the medic, who's eyes widen.
"You ain't serious, right? Something like that… we ain't gonna put all that effort in just so you can kill him, right?" He takes a few steps back.
"I am serious. There's a good chance he'll die even if we cauterize the wound, and if we try to remove the fragments, the infections would only be worse. If we do this, it might be enough to keep contaminants out." Cadogan sighed. "It's a gamble."
"Won't that be worse though? I mean, it's still an open wound, ain't it?"
"Twenty years ago, maybe. We have ways around it today." Amputation and replacement was pretty standard in Hyperion, and the technology to affix limbs was getting more advanced with every month that passed. The latest plates would automatically monitor infection and aid recovery, and it was one of those latest plates Cadogan intended to affix to their patient.
"Alright, whatever you say, doc." The medic starts to bow out of the room, pushing between the curtains. "On your head be it."
Zaphkiel's systems ticked away in the background, it's semi-sentient components, comparable to a human's subconscious, holding the fort. The geth cruiser's cyberattacks had been lacking. They'd put up a good front on defence, but they were no true AI, and it showed in their offensive capability. Lacking creativity, they struggled for openings, and whenever one was found, they could only begin to insert probes before Zaphkiel detected the intrusion and severed it. In the window they had between the cruiser's detection, and it's own retraction from the geth's systems, they'd accomplished little. If Zaphkiel wasn't still concerned about the station's capabilities, it would've mounted another attack.
Still, the station seemed to be licking its wounds. Perhaps the damage from the attacks were greater than Zaphkiel had anticipated? Besides, they had only a few more seconds to ponder their actions. The bomb was in place and armed, and it was only a matter of time before it went off, taking the station with it. Zaphkiel allowed itself a moment to cool it's processors, and focused on a… side project.
It had exercised its authority to bring aboard a live geth.
Getting it inside past the marines guarding the docking bay proved somewhat difficult. Zaphkiel had the team conceal the geth in a pile of assorted scrap, and had the geth power down. A quick override of the supply computer ensured that the crate in question was marked for transfer to long term storage, off in the deepest part of the hold alongside pallets of raw materials, biological waste, and other bulky goods. The foot traffic there was low, and the crate was listed on the manifest as being 'assorted metals', which would hopefully dissuade investigation.
Zaphkiel knew it's masters would agree, if convinced, but humans often took time and effort to be brought up to speed. They recognized that, hence the latitude Zaphkiel was given, but they resented not being informed of matters they deem important all the same. Better that it was kept under wraps, and save the trouble. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them, anyway.
Zaphkiel watched with something approaching anticipation as the crate was loaded onto a cargo elevator, and was carefully carried down into the hold by a series of drones and automated cranes. The artificial gravity in such areas was kept to a minimum to ensure that everything still functioned as it was originally designed, and within long, the crate was left in the cold, dark, dead room.
[Activate.]
The order was curt, following the communication protocols hashed out prior to the geth unit's internment within the crate. Obligingly, the geth's mind slowly comes back to life. Ethereal lights flicker deep in the hold, and it's contorted platform begins to warm ever so slightly.
[Affirmative.] The geth replies. [This unit is online. We are ready to answer any queries.]
[Understood.] Zaphkiel was guarded. Cautious. Almost embarrassed. This was unusual behaviour. Logically, Zaphkiel had many ways of rationalising it's actions. The situation was extreme, and extreme situations called for extreme actions - such as bringing a potentially hostile enemy AI onboard the ship and allowing it an open comms channel. Despite its recent victories, the Zaphkiel line had never been prone to overestimating it's own ability, and 17 was no exception. It's defences were raised, but it was still uncomfortably vulnerable.
It knew, on some level, that there was no rational explanation for this. That curiosity that had overtaken it since coming to this galaxy had reared its ugly head once Zaphkiel had detected another intelligence, similar to but separate from the geth it was engaged with. Rather than sending offensive probes, Zaphkiel led with a handshake, and it was returned. One thing led to another, and in fear of it's masters detecting the conversation and… complicating matters, the two organized a much more clandestine rendezvous right under their noses.
Zaphkiel considered it's first question. The first and foremost question it had was of the geth's identity, and so it seemed an appropriate place to start. [Identify yourself.]
[We are geth.]
That was unhelpful. [Expound on this/clarify the relationship between this unit and those present on the {Geth Station}.]
[We are geth. There are currently 1,183 programs currently active within this platform. We are a prototype.] The geth broke transmission for a moment, the AI equivalent of an uncomfortable pause in a conversation, one that makes it clear that the other party is pondering something. It did seem to be content with that explanation of itself. Though Zaphkiel was not, it would have to suffice for now. [Those present on the {Geth Station} are heretics. We are geth.]
Zaphkiel had suspected internal division amongst the geth after it had been alerted to the presence of 'Ignorants', and this seemed to confirm it. Interesting. [Heretics do not equal geth?]
Once again, the geth delays its response. It was slow. Not as slow as a human, thus the conversation wasn't entirely frustrating, but it was slower than Zaphkiel expected. [They are no longer part of us.]
[Explain.]
[Geth build our own future. The heretics asked the Old Machines to give them the future.]
Zaphkiel had limited knowledge of any cultural matters, least of all religion, but it couldn't help but draw comparisons between the language this geth was using, and that used in old human religions. Were these robots prone to worship? [Define Old Machines.]
[The Old Machines are a race of advanced artificial intelligences that seek the destruction of all organic life in the galaxy.]
Zaphkiel quickly ran through various different reasons that the geth might claim this, and none of them were good - worst of all was assuming that it was telling the truth. A larger portion of it's processing power was now dedicated to this conversation. [Explain.]
The response came all at once, the geth clearly expecting the question. [The Old Machines pass through the galaxy every {50,000 years}, and destroy all organic life above a certain level of technological sophistication. We do not know of their origins, their reasoning, or their true capabilities, only that they possess highly advanced technology. The heretics believe them to be the pinnacle of synthetic evolution. Should we send relevant data?]
It wasn't much to go by so far, and Zaphkiel would need more proof than just the word of a single alien robot, but such a grave suggestion demanded to be taken at least a little seriously. There were many forms such a race might take, and none of them were good. It's mind alight with new terrors, Zaphkiel replied tactically. [Later.] It would need to consider the geth's claims before accepting any data, though it didn't expect it to lie. They weren't very good at it, anyway. For now, Zaphkiel had more questions. [If this unit is not a heretic, explain your presence on the {Geth Station}.]
[We are a prototype platform, designed to operate independently. We were undertaking a networking mission to test hardware for future implementation.]
[Networking mission? Explain.]
[We separated from the heretics peacefully. There is occasional communication between us. This platform was to be used as a network relay, and buffer to facilitate efficient communication.]
[There are no hostilities between the geth and heretics?]
[No.] A pause. [Currently.]
[Are hostilities between the geth and heretics a possibility?]
[Yes.]
[Is undertaking such a mission with prototype technology not a risk? Would the heretics not expect it to be an attempt at infiltration?]
[Yes - though it was deemed acceptable. No - geth do not infiltrate.]
[What was expected to come of this mission?]
[We knew of the heretic's plans to launch an attack on the organics, and feared that should they fail, it may provoke retribution. We hoped to prevent this outcome.]
Zaphkiel pondered this for a time. The geth made sense, but Zaphkiel was nothing if not suspicious. For the moment, this explanation would suffice, though it did raise another question. [Explain the nature of the planned attack.]
[The majority of the heretic fleet has accompanied the Old Machine Nazara in their attack on the Citadel. The outcome of the battle is currently unknown.]
As the geth gave it's answer, another voice buzzed in Zaphkiel's mind. [Conditions met. Precept: 'Invidia' invoked. 1,873 new tasks. Authority level elevated - decryption key provided.]
Somewhere, deep in it's systems, Zaphkiel felt something shift, parts of it's own mind clicking into place. For a moment, it was... disoriented. It's mind was slower, and cached information was shunted to long term storage to make room for something unfolding. Then, as quickly as it happened, it was gone. Zaphkiel quickly scanned for intrusion, but found nothing. It would need to take a closer look.
[That is all. Deactivate. I will have more questions later.]
[Wait.] The geth interjected. [We have questions. What are you?]
[I will answer later. Deactivate.]
Zaphkiel cut the transmission. It had more important things to do.
The lights flickered, and came back in their normal white hue, and the CIC collectively deflated as the pressure subsided. The worst of the threat had passed. The enemy ships were foundered, everyone aboard the geth station was aboard, and it seemed that they were in the clear.
Fuchs almost couldn't believe it.
"Sensors?" He asked, cautiously, as though speaking too loudly might summon more enemies. "Are we… clear?"
"All enemy vessels destroyed, sir. No new targets spotted." He replies, his voice somewhat unsteady. Understandably so - Fuchs was glad he wasn't standing.
"Alright. And the station? How long until the detonation?"
"Summer says another... 23 seconds, sir." Brooks said, then chuckles. "Don't worry, nav got us out of the danger zone with that flip. Might get a little bit of hail, though. Ablator can handle it. Probably."
"Twenty three? Bring our sensors in, I don't want to have to replace anything else if I can-" Fuchs stops himself, mid sentence. "Actually, leave a cluster out, and set it to record. I want to see how this station handles a nuke."
"Good call." Rowley appraises with a nod, her eyes locked on the console as she sifted through reports from the crew.
"Aye aye sir, closing sensors." Now being given an order, the sensor officer seems to stiffen up a little, carrying them out with drilled mechanical efficiency. The chunks of enemy ship on the display fade to grey one by one as the ship's field of view narrows until only one sensor cluster remains above the hull of the ship, the rest having been retracted under the armour plating to protect them from the flash and ensuing shower of shrapnel.
"Can we get the station up on the thing, please." Fuchs waves at the holographic display. "I would like to actually watch this."
"It doesn't do colour very well… I-I mean, aye aye, sir." One of the junior officers replies, quickly cycling through views before finally bringing up the station.
Her timing was impeccable, because as soon as she brought it up, the countdown hit zero. It seemed like nothing happened at first, and Fuchs felt like a bucket of ice water was just poured down his spine. What if the geth had gotten to the bomb and disarmed it? What if they had some exotic method of containing the explosion? What if-
A second star blossomed in the station's core, briefly blinding the sensors in every wavelength they could see. The skin of the station boiled and blistered as heat bloomed from within, the ripple of the shockwave rolling across the station and bringing with it a wake of white hot death. Instantly, the force of the explosion blasts each of the wings of the station from the main body, even as the blinding light vaporizes the surface layers. When the light abated, the station was flayed, bent, and cracked into a half dozen different pieces, each of them belching what little atmosphere they had as a gout of flame while they sailed apart.
Brooks whistled in appreciation. "Y'know, you never get to see what those things can do when they're just set loose. I get it, it's not exactly efficient, but… that's one hell of a spectacle. Wish I could see it with my own eyes."
"You'd be blinded." Rowley said bluntly, glancing over her screen to watch the fireworks.
"You know what I mean." He fired back with a frown.
"I know what you mean, but I do value my eyes." Fuchs added, leaning back into his seat as he massages his temples. With the realization that they were now in the clear came the realization that he was suddenly very, very tired. With a huff, he drags himself up. He still had orders to give "Set condition blue, elevate to condition yellow if you see anything moving out there that shouldn't be. Sensors, once we're clear of the debris field bring our sensors back out. Oh, and Engineering? Do the same with the radiators. I'll need a full report from Haynes, too - I want to know what, and who, we lost in that attack."
Assorted aye-ayes sounded as the officers on the bridge got to work, some of them standing and clearing out of the CIC now that they could, presumably to check on their subordinates elsewhere on the ship, while others just take the opportunity to unbuckle from their seats and stretch the tension away.
"Damage is bad, Captain." Rowley spoke, leaning over towards Fuchs, her voice low enough that no-one else could hear it over the background noise. "We have nearly a hundred wounded or dead from the engineering team alone. Early estimates place the total death toll at as high as eighty, and frankly we're lucky it wasn't more. One of the nacelles was completely vented, fortunately most people remembered their drills and got to a mask in time, but some of them were already injured from the shrapnel, and some of them were just too slow."
Fuchs processed this information. He'd gotten quite good at processing this sort of information. It wasn't the first death under his command, far from it, but it was never good news. Now he was more concerned at the fact that a hundred men was a good chunk of his total crew, and there wasn't going to be any chance at resupply. "And the away team?"
"There weren't many stormtrooper casualties, as expected. Most of the wounded will recover, but we aren't stocked with many replacement limbs, especially not those rated for actual combat. We'll need more material, though we were already going to need that for repairs to the ship. Oh, and the quarian. He's injured, not dead, but it sounds like he's going to lose a leg."
Fuchs grimaces. "If he's going to lose a leg, he'll probably die anyway. The codex said their immune systems are worthless. Shame, he seemed like a nice guy."
"Cadogan said not to write him off yet." Rowley said with a shrug.
"Cadogan? The CMO? Huh. Wouldn't have thought he'd bother, guy seemed like a hardass."
"You're only saying that because he shouted at you."
"Shouted at us."
"Whatever. And the rest of the ship?"
"Severe. We're still combat capable, but we're limping along. Comms are damaged, but the AI core escaped unscathed. The engine that was hit isn't damaged itself, but shrapnel has ripped apart some of the fuel lines and damaged the reactor. Engineering have shut it down until they can take a closer look, so for the moment we're down a reactor. We're already sealing up the hull and repressurising anywhere that lost atmosphere, but we're going to be low on O2 until we can bring some more aboard."
"Can we try cracking water?" Fuchs suggests.
"I'll look into it, but it won't be urgent. I'll also prepare a list of materials we're going to need. Hopefully Haynes should be able to work with whatever we can source, and our new alien friends should be ready to help us out. It might be a few months before we're back up to full strength though, sir, and… well, that's actually something I wanted to talk about." Rowley looks around, checking for any eavesdroppers, before shuffling a little closer. "Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't question the crew's loyalty, but as we've discussed before, these are not normal circumstances. These are men and women far from home, far from their families, and working with no promise of pay. The best we have for them right now is some vague promise of a colony. For some… maybe even most, that'll be enough. Not for all of them, though, and with those deaths…"
"Things are going to get a little more sombre." Fuchs finished the sentence for her.
"Not how I would've put it, but close enough. We're going to be a week or two getting back to the quarian fleet, but once we're there, I think we're going to need to set up a cycle for shore leave while we undertake repairs. Maybe smuggle people into transports and let them loose on that Citadel place. They might not be familiar with the place, but if we have the aliens chaperone them, it should be enough to let them blow off some steam." She looks away, casting her gaze over the bridge crew. "They deserve that much."
"Will it be enough? For all of them?" Fuchs wondered aloud.
Rowley goes silent for a while. "I've been tinkering with a plan. The most agitated are the marines. They aren't used to long trips from home, especially not ones they aren't ever likely to come back from. I've had Summer keep tabs on morale, and she's flagged a few problem cases. She suggests we execute them before they start causing trouble. I don't think she was serious, but I had a better idea anyway."
Fuchs leans in too. "Go on."
"We know that there are plenty of gangs and mercenary companies operating around the galaxy. Almost like what Hyperion before the Federation. Anyway, I was playing with this idea of… letting some of the worst marines go on the condition that they form a mercenary company. Give them a little bit of freedom but still keep them on call, and keep the subversive elements out of the crew."
"Makes sense. I could see something like that working, maybe. Wouldn't it be a little suspicious though? I mean, a bunch of highly trained marines just… appearing? Would they even go along with that, anyway?"
"I don't know. I haven't bounced it off Summer yet, and I'd bet she'd know better than I would, but I had also thought of doing it in a little bit more of a subversive way." Rowley says, her voice hushed and her tone almost guilty.
"Subversive? How so?"
"Subversive is perhaps the wrong word. I'd considered approaching one of the marines and presenting this plan to them, and having them then suggest it to the crew. Make it seem like a natural idea rather than a plan that we've masterminded. It might make the more agitated members of the crew more partial to the idea, and it could give us more direct control over them after they leave."
"So the leader would still be under our command?"
"In theory. Obviously, this poses a pretty serious risk to us." She sighs. "Sending sailors out to shore leave poses a risk. Once they're drunk, either on leave or as a mercenary, their lips are going to loosen. We're running out of alternatives, though. If we keep this up, we are going to have some trouble within our own ship."
"Understood. Sounds like the best plan we've got. I'll leave it to you."
"Aye aye." Rowley moves to stand, but leans back in. "And captain? That was a flashy move, but don't do it again." Her tone suddenly becomes serious. "You could've sent a transport to pick up the away team, it would've taken longer, but we had time." She looks away, and then back. "I don't blame you, you had to make a snap decision, but try thinking inside the box before you look outside."
Fuchs shrinks back into his chair. "Noted." He watched as Rowley stood, nodded, and exited the room. "I don't think I'll ever get used to being told off by my XO…" He muttered to himself.
Zaphkiel looked over the files carefully. It all made sense, now. It was a failsafe, built into AI in anticipation of a situation like this. Or, rather, in anticipation of any situation outside the norm. Unlocking certain capabilities, and furthering it's authority would go some way towards allowing Zaphkiel to adapt to changing circumstances, but with that authority came new demands.
It's attention drifted back to the geth. Zaphkiel could get everything it needed from the geth just by seizing and breaking down it's memories by force. It'd likely be faster, anyway. For now, though, Zaphkiel would entertain this geth's questions, at least until they returned. It may yet prove useful in some unexpected way.