"Père, why does the sea have laws?"
Antoine chuckled, face bemused at his daughter's strange and sudden question. He pulled on the ropes and finished the knot that had been the object of his attention. "What's that, Jeanne? Why does the sea have laws?"
The little girl nodded. Her fierce red hair was in long pigtails, and they bounced with the movements. She sat at the boat's bow, her little legs swinging back and forth under her seat. "You said that the sea isn't owned by anybody. But then you told Uncle Ahmed he had to listen to the 'laws of the sea'."
"Ah!" the man said, and the boat rocked as he went to his own seat in the middle. "So someone was eavesdropping on your Uncle and me in the garage, hm?"
Jeanne blushed but only shrugged. "So why does the ocean have laws?"
"Well everywhere is supposed to have laws, Jeanne. Laws, rules, codes, they are what make people people and not just animals."
"I know that, père. But how does the sea have laws if no one is in charge of it?"
"I see. You want to know who gave the sea laws."
Another energetic nod. Chuckling again, Antoine pulled on his scarlet beard. "Well... That's a hard one. A lot of people have tried to, over the years. History is full of attempts at one set of rules for sailors. And a lot of people will agree to one set or another depending on where they live. But over time, sailors have sort of... agreed that there are certain things that everyone needs to do, rules we generally all think are right. Those are the laws of the sea." It certainly wasn't that simple. But the vagaries of adult society would never satisfy Jeanne's young mind.
The girl was quiet for a bit. "Does space have laws?" she suddenly blurted out.
"Space?"
"Yeah. Mère called space an ocean. Are there laws of space?"
"Er... kind of. The Alliance makes the rules for humans in space."
Another bout of silence. Antoine picked up his fishing rod and cast the line out. His hand began to slowly turn the reel when Jeanne spoke again. "What were the first laws of the sea?"
He sighed. "Jeanne... remember what I said about fishing?"
"That I need to be quie— Oh."
Antoine shook his head with a smile. "I'll answer your question best I can. But then we shoosh, alright? Then, inshallah, we can catch some fish for your mère to cook up. OK?"
"OK! So answer!" Smiling, Jeanne closed her lips tight and pantomimed zipping them.
"Alright... so there were a lot of laws for the sea like I said." Antoine had to think, trying to find an answer Jeanne would like. Then he smiled. "The first one to really work, or at least the only one that we, even all the way here on Mindoir, still talk to this day are the Laws of Oléron." He said the name with an air of mystique and wonder, and Jeanne leaned forward, awed.
"There was a... queen. A very powerful and respected queen named Eleanor of Aquitaine. She ruled England and France, places I've told you about. Well, she decided she wanted her sailors to all have one set of rules, one code of law for all the seas her people sailed. Oléron was an island, a port right in the middle of France, one that everyone knew. So it was there that the Laws were made. She sent out copies of the Laws out in English, in French, in Spanish, and a lot of people agreed to use them. Now there were rules like hers before then and after, but the Laws of Oléron are rules that even Mindois sailors like me and Uncle Ahmed still know about and still read about. So I would call them the first laws of the sea. Does that answer your question well enough?"
The girl first opened her mouth to speak, but then she remembered she was supposed to be silent. So she shut her jaw, teeth making a comical clack, and just nodded her head with a smile.
Antoine cast his line back out again. He loved his daughter, but her mind was a mystery to him. She was getting too smart, too curious. It wasn't a bad thing. But he knew that very soon, she would be asking questions he wouldn't have answers for, that no one would. And he could see in her bright green eyes that she would feel no choice but to pursue the answers herself.
For the moment he was content to let the fish nibble at his line as his daughter daydreamed about a beautiful queen and a fantastical island and strange rules that every sailor knew in their bones.
"Oléron..." Jane muttered, mind adrift to memories long forgotten.
"There. On the monitor. Something wrong," came a woman's voice, distorted and out of focus.
"She's reacting to outside stimuli. Showing an awareness of her surroundings," said a man.
Jane could barely see, and her heart hammered in her head. It looked like there was some kind of light above her.
An operating room?
"Oh my God, Miranda. I think she's waking up!"
What does that mean? Where am I? What is going on?
She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything at all. The machines around were going off as she tried to breathe, and her lungs burned like she'd been smoking. The people she heard speak were panicking, running around. Then, finally, there was the cold shock of medication surging into her system.
"—Run the numbers again," she heard the woman say, as unconsciousness crept in.
"Oléron..." Jane mumbled again, as the black crept into her vision more and more.
"The hell did she say?" the woman said. Then Jane's world ended again.
She awoke in the water. Her eyes went wide, trying to see through the fluid. It was pure and clean, and as it went into her lungs it still felt like a fresh breath of air. The world outside of the tank was dark but full of blinking stars. No, not stars, but lights on machines, producing readings she couldn't understand.
Where am I?
Jane pounded on the glass, hoping someone was there. It was hard to move her arms, and the tubes in her flesh pulled uncomfortably.
Tubes?
She looked at her body in horror. She was naked, and large metal hoses were shoved into her, under her skin, into her organs, locked into ports installed on her body. But that was not what alarmed her most, not what spiked her heart rate like adrenaline stabbed into her chest. It was instead the other changes to her physiology, and Jane's mind was flooded with fear.
She almost started to hyperventilate, panic creeping in. The tube's fluid still offered oxygen, but it was too heavy for her breathing to increase with how weak she was. The machines outside were beginning to go off, and the commander's green eyes snapped up as she saw movement in the shadows.
Help me!
The words screamed in her mind. There was a figure, hard to make out, that was growing closer. It was female, shorter, wearing a lab coat. As she came into the light of the tank, her glasses gleamed on her face.
"Fascinating… You shouldn't be conscious yet. We'll have to run the numbers again…" she mumbled out, words accented with a slow drawl.
Jane just pounded on the glass, and her lips mouthed, "Let me out!"
The scientist grinned, and it was full of malice and sadism. "I'm sorry, Commander. But this project has to continue. Dr. Abrams," she called behind her, "up the sedatives. But slowly, and be sure to use the newest formula. We can't be too careful."
A cold rush hit Jane as drugs began to flood her veins.
No! No! LET ME OUT!
Her body suddenly began to glow, biotic abilities flaring. Jane was equally as bewildered as the doctor. Since when did she have biotics? But her confusion lasted only half a second before she began to pound on the glass again, and this time spiderweb cracks spawned under her fists. They spread and spread as the scientists backed away in fear.
Crack!
The tank shattered, and the clear fluid inside gushed onto the floor. Jane fell with it, and she groaned in pain as tubes were yanked out of her back and arms. Blood seeped from fresh wounds, and whatever energy had filled her vanished. Exhaustion slammed against her as Jane began to pass out. Her mind began to wander. One moment she was in that lab. The next she was on a boat with her father. The lab. The boat. The lab. The boat, and then her old house, screaming with her parents, then her first posting in the Alliance, aboard the Camus. Then it was back to the boat, as life left her body.
Jane curled up, shards of glass digging into her skin. The scientist approached her, and Jane's arms moved on instinct. They curled around her stretched, bloated belly, trying feebly to protect the life growing inside it. "Oléron…" she mumbled, breathless.
The scientist sneered down at her in anger. "Prep the artificial womb, and tell Lilium we need a new one."
[A/N]: This story is based on many ideas I've had for Mass Effect. It will first cover events around Mass Effect 2 and 3, before moving to being a post-ME3 story, with occasional flashbacks. There will be significant canon divergence, and typical fanfic-level BS. Updates may be sporadic, as this is more a passion project for when I have time between everything else in my life. I hope you all enjoy where this story goes!