Nightmares are … interesting things. They reveal what is on our mind; not just the surface thoughts, but the fears we hide from everyone, including ourselves.
As an interesting side note, I have learned that different species suffer different forms of nightmare. Asari, for example, suffer from 'night terrors' and multiple forms of that when they link minds as Maidens or Matrons. However, in the Matron stage, they begin to learn rather impressive forms of mind control, sufficient to quell most debilitating thoughts. Particularly prodigious asari in the Maiden phase are also capable of such feats, but as always, there is a cost: the longer the fear is kept at bay, the greater the reaction when the walls are breached. Some asari are able to keep their focus indefinitely… others … not as well. My friend Serena has told me she suffers what she calls 'attacks' almost solely after a particularly moving event.
On the other hand, the drell do not dream. Often, they have 'lucid dreams,' whereby they review events, contemplate problems, or just think. I believe that's nature's way of compensating for their solipsism tendencies. It takes years of practice to acquire the mental discipline needed to resist slipping into living memories; it is fortunate that tendency arises after puberty, giving their youth time to learn the practice. It should be noted however, that extreme conditions or particularly unsuitable individuals can suborn that training.
Humans, however, have the worst of both worlds. We cannot stop from having dreams and nightmares, and we cannot recall them accurately enough to blunt their effectiveness. So, we learn. We fear the darkness, turn from the shadows, and create a blazing fire to drive away the terror. That, in my opinion, is what makes us such a formidable military power, easily the equal to either the asari or the drell.
Now the krogan … that's a different story.
Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer
~Project Ragnorak Files
Location: Redacted
Year: Redacted
"Hold 'im down!" The method of speaking was brutish, efficient.
A different voice answered, "I can't! 'e's too strong!"
Loud chuckling met that answer. It sounded like rocks being thrown into a pipe. If a sensation of greed and carelessness could be personified, it would have been embodied by that growling noise. "Good. Strong 'un like 'im will fetch a good price. Almost done here."
More struggles. One hand free, arm ripping loose from the restraints.
"We are ready now. Put them in." A different voice, more cultured, if a bit cold. He could feel fingers around his ears, pulling a metal band tightly across the forehead. Ice stabbed into his temples, lightning flashing across his eyes without the afterimage.
Interminable silence. Blackness. An occasional feeling of movement, until something started patting his side.
"Karl? Can you hear me? Karl!" a shrill voice screamed.
He fought the muzzy feeling. His sister needed help; nothing would stop him from giving it.
"Feisty little lady, ain't she?" Rock Voice again.
"Dressed like that? She's no lady." Minion Voice answered.
"I'll kill you!" A female voice, familiar, screamed.
Red haze filtered over the blackness. Shepard felt wires cut into his hand, loosening with every pull until his arm was free.
A cry of pain. No – 'cry' indicated a burst of air being released. This was an ongoing roar of agony, coupled with the sound of meat slapping the ground. He could hear cursing somewhere in the sound, promises of vengeance tenfold.
"No! You heard the boss, no damage! It's hard enough to get these cretins alive, we don't need 'em damaged!" Rock Voice seemed panicked.
Shepard responded by using his free arm to tear at the hot metal searing against his head. Clamps fell apart under his fingers, lifting the blackness. Intense pain throbbed at his temples, but that could wait.
"Get her – ha! Take that you little –"
The weird wires tugged strangely once, then fell from his fingertips. The other arm was free, and he could see his feet, a simple latch system easily bypassed. Surgery tools were at his side, highly potent, if used right.
"Karl! Help me! Hel –" Katrina's voice choked.
Shepard freed his legs, adrenaline pumping freely. The scalpel gleamed in one hand, giving confidence like no sword he'd ever made. He yanked his legs back, kneeling on the table to see. A heavyset batarian was leaning over another table, fist rising and falling as choking sounds came from under his other arm. A second figure waved his hands at the first, but from a safe distance.
The red haze darkened and grew, creating a tunnel vision effect. All Shepard could see was the hand rising towards him, but aimed at family. He grabbed it, taking aim with the scalpel –
Normandy SR-1
Present: June 12, 2183, AD
"Doctor! Doctor Chakwas! He's waking up!"
Shepard felt as if a mob of elcor had held a spiked-shoe tap dance competition inside his skull. The sensation was not quite as soothing. His arms felt heavy—wait, not heavy, tied. Restrained.
Fear mixed with fury rushed through his mind. They won't get me again! Memories of hard heat flew through his mind, a burning sensation that made his temples burn.
The restraints produced for med-bays on all Alliance-supported centers were supplied by the lowest bidder, as was most mass-produced resources. The requirements for their manufacture were plentiful, but boiled down to be first: strong enough to hold a krogan, and second: adaptable to any species.
What was literally specified in the requirements was a need to restrain human males at the peak of their physical prowess. Somehow, a human male raised in a high-gravity environment during his most formative years, given gene optimization after his own father had already undergone gene therapy, and heavily trained in the art of escape hadn't made the list.
Shepard awoke, bellowing and heaving against the restraints. Instinct made him fold the metallic bracelets against themselves, angling their pressure points. The restraints snapped at the joints, never designed for that much force on such a small setting. He bolted to his feet, crouching on his toes, scanning the room for threats. Seeing the familiar Normandy medbay relaxed his stance visibly. Seeing a woman in Alliance fatigues lowered his stress levels further, although her startled body posture was a bit alarming.
His heart rate started to go back up when he realized couldn't remember who the woman was. Frantically, he began running through his memory. Assorted facts flitted through his mind. Tan skin, black hair. Medium height, athletic figure; works out upper body quite a bit. Wait, the video. Eden Prime, that's … "Chief Williams. Good to see you."
"Ah, yeah." her eyes flicked downwards appreciatively. "You look good too." A blush started on her face. "I mean, you're looking better, sir. Ah, are you … feeling all right?"
Shepard glanced down. Feet. Legs. Stomach. Hey, decent abdominals; he studied the scars on his torso, raised white lines that snaked across his body. Kind of ugly, but nothing to be embarrassed about … oh. "Forgive me, I didn't think to check for a shirt." He spotted a standard issue undershirt folded neatly on a nearby bed. It slipped over his head easily.
"Yeah, what was that?" Williams leaned against the wall, folding her arms. "I don't know anyone that just jumps up and starts breaking the infirmary." The woman started looking thoughtful. "Well, there was that one guy, kept trying to ask me out, but he was pretty crazy."
Chuckling, Shepard reached for his wrist. He paused, not feeling the transparent bracelet that held his omni-tool. "Chief? Would you happen to know—"
He was interrupted by the familiar gray-haired professional. Immediately, he went on alert, positioning himself with a clearer line of sight. "Doctor Chakwas, I presume?"
She laughed. "Indeed, Commander. I must admit, you had me worried there. I should have known you wouldn't have let something as mundane as an ancient piece of prothean technology break you." Documents scrolled upwards across the screen on her desk moniter. "You had unusually high activity in the alpha wave patterns, similar to what I've seen involving extremely vivid dreams," she commented. "A few keys tapped, "You also had elevated blood pressure, heat burns on your right arm …"
"About that—" Shepard attempted.
The doctor barreled on. "Your body chemistry was … wonky," she held up two fingers in a half air-quote. Her other hand twitched on the data pad, mimicking its partner. "Fortunately, I have your last physical on file, and even though it's been a long time," Chakwas's eyes bored into his, eyebrow raised, "I was able to determine your normal levels."
Shepard winced. "I've been a little busy. Getting back to my—"
Hissing sounds, the Infirmary doors opening, interrupted him yet again, heralding a new participant in the situation. Captain David Anderson, N7 Plus operative, decorated officer of Shanxi, and master of the Normandy strode into the room as if he owned it. His presence practically vibrated urgency, emphasized when he leaned on a nearby tray.
"How is the Commander, Doctor?" He cut directly to the heart of the matter. "Joker managed to delay our approach, but we will be docking within a few hours. Can he fight?"
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "I was just getting to that, Captain." She looked at his hands meaningfully, until Anderson removed them from a surgery table. Ultraviolet cleansers scrubbed its surface as soon as his fingers left their surface. "You're welcome to listen in if you want."
The captain shifted to a parade rest. "Please continue, doctor." His gaze shifted to Shepard, pausing once on the silent woman near the door. "Chief Williams and Lieutenant Alenko gave me their report, but I need to hear your end."
Nodding, Shepard looked back to the doctor.
Taking that as her cue, Chakwas tapped her datapad once more. "Essentially, your body looked as if it had gone through an energy discharge, similar to some lightning strike cases I've seen. Your nervous system was rapid-firing, sending you into convulsions." She gave Shepard an apologetic look, "So I ordered restraints. That calmed down after a few minutes, but there were repeating occurrences. After you gave my orderly a concussion and broke her arm," her apology turned into a glare, "I opted to leave the restraints on until you woke up."
I gave someone a concussion, while asleep? Shepard's eyebrows went up. That's not going to help my reputation any. "So what can you tell me then, am I back to normal overall?"
Chakwas pursed her lips. "I find myself unable to determine any reason to keep you here," she admitted grudgingly. "Although my personal opinion is that you should go through a complete series of scans."
Anderson stepped forward. "I agree, but we don't have time." He looked at the doctor. ""I need a few moments alone with him, Doctor."
She moved towards the door in the back. "Certainly. I have some paperwork to finish."
The captain waited while the doctor moved into the back. Chief Williams had already left at some point, Getting slow Shepard. When did she leave? Anderson motioned for Shepard to sit, watching him carefully. "How are you feeling, Shepard?"
Shepard winced, massaging his temples with one hand. "Been better. I lost a good man down there."
Anderson sighed. "Unfortunate. He knew the risks, although I'm sorry to see it happened at all." His gaze sharpened, although there was sympathy visible. "I wish there was more time for this. What happened?"
Somewhat irritably, Shepard frowned. "What do you know so far?"
"I sent my best officer to accompany a high-ranking representative of the most powerful force in the galaxy, and that representative is now toes up. Chief Williams and Lieutenant Alenko told me about the tram station and the missing Beacon, but starting from the point you began working with that bomb is a little fuzzy. Williams mentioned you hauled her out of the way, but couldn't say much otherwise."
"Yeah." Shepard rubbed his eyes. "Short version, Alenko and I were disarming that bomb, when we heard screams. Williams and Doctor T'Soni were getting pulled into that Beacon thing, and …" He shrugged. "I pulled them out."
Shepard reached for his omni-tool again, scowling when he didn't find it. "Any chance you could tell me where my omni-tool is?"
The look he received was not encouraging. "Fried. Doctor Chakwas had to practically operate to get it off. I know if I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times, Shepard. Be careful! I don't know where you get some of that tech, but even you have to be a little more cautious sometimes."
Shepard shook off the warning. "The parts?"
"Over here." Anderson pulled a clear plastic sack from his pocket. Clouded chunks of synthetic material clinked inside. "I didn't paw through it, had to keep one of the techies down in the engineering level from absconding with it, young Caswell Hudson. Might want to keep an eye on him. Continue."
Shepard's fingers twitched reflexively. "Not sure where that bomb came from, but I suspect it was a thermonuclear warhead, H-class or better. Not sure where the Geth got it from, though."
His mentor grimaced. "I did some research after Williams told me. The hardware was mostly Alliance, but the nuclear materials were salarian manufacture. Military grade."
Shepard twitched. "Alliance hardware? Either we have a traitor, or someone wanted to frame us." He thought for a moment. "That's not going to go over well," he muttered.
"No, it won't," Anderson agreed feelingly. His gaze softened. "What about those convulsions, Shepard? Anything you can tell me?"
Shepard avoided the captain's gaze. "It's nothing," he muttered. "You'd think it silly."
An amused snort brought his attention back up. "After all we've been through?" Anderson reached over, tapping Shepard's left arm lightly. "Remember the Giant Rat of Sumatra incident? Or the Imperial blockade runner over in the Theta-Gamma system? Anything after that should be small potatoes, right?"
His voice grew quieter, more worried as Shepard continued to avoid his gaze. "Right?"
Heaving a breath, Shepard considered the matter. Tell him, and risk getting barred, Spectre status and the whole nine yards. Don't tell him, and leave him wondering, risking friendship if it goes on long enough. Friendship, or job? His mind took the next logical step. Join for family, stay for friendship?
Looking back, Shepard drew one more lung full before taking the plunge. "I don't know where this came from, but I was having nightmares. Not the usual type, but nightmares. Things that get turned into legend because the truth is too brutal for people to hear."
Eyebrows rose on the dark-skinned man. It was his only reaction.
"I could see … things." he continued. "Torture. Pain." Shepard barely kept control as he remembered. "Worse than slavers." He stopped watching Anderson's face. There was no key, guiding him for the last part. Get on with it.
"The overall feeling was … desperate. Like impotence and fear made flesh" Shepard stopped again, annoyed at having to blink away tears. He raised a wrist to swipe at the moisture collecting under his eyes. "Disaster is a very short word for something of that magnitude. Apocalypse might be better."
Anderson sat like a statue, unmoving while Shepard regained control. Then he spoke. "I won't lie to you. that sounds like something your subconscious would cook up after a high-stress situation."
He raised one hand as Shepard snorted. "Hear me out, I only said that's what it sounds like." His eyes narrowed, "But, I did some research on Prothean Beacon recoveries, thanks to that helpful asari I couldn't convince to come along."
Shepard looked up. "Doctor T'Soni got out okay?"
"She actually left on an asari trader. It stopped by just before we hauled you up from the military hospital on Eden Prime." Anderson half-smiled. "She seemed quite interested in what you had to say, wouldn't leave your side for hours at a time."
Shepard paused for a moment, "Don't think I didn't see that topic shift. You were saying?"
Giving him a put-upon look, Anderson continued. "Apparently, when functional prothean technology is uncovered, a highly strict recovery program is engaged." He raised one hand, ticking points off his fingers. "First, the Council is notified by the Ancient Technologies Division; apparently a combination of salarian special forces and God only knows what else. They supposedly have a monitoring system second only to the STG …" he gave Shepard a pained look, "although that honor seems to be handed around a lot."
Shaking himself, Anderson raised his hand again. "Apparently, true prothean relics are so rarely discovered that the Council isn't bothered too often. When such an event occurs, an overpowered force is sent to recover the reported object, usually in proportion to the size of the object being recovered."
Shepard rolled his eyes. "I can just imagine an entire turian fleet being called out for some prothean toothbrush." He paused. "Presuming they used toothbrushes."
Anderson snorted before holding up another digit. "Then, the technology is brought back to an appropriate facility for study. Currently, that's a toss-up between the Salarian research facilities on Gielinor, and the asari research center out on Potash." His brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Actually, until the last century or so, the only place deemed suitable for holding Prothean technology has been an asari planet, which makes sense I suppose. They've had the most time to study prothean tech." His tone darkened, like a woodwind growling in its depths. "Although I've had my suspicions about that lately."
"Hmmm." Shepard murmured in response. He knows more than he's saying … better leave that one for now. "But what does that have to do with my headache?"
"Hm? Oh, yes. That." Anderson folded his hands, fixing Shepard with a stern look. "There are only six recorded instances where a full-fledged Beacon has been discovered, three activated. The most notable ones include the first, which apparently was on Thessia's primary moon, discovered by the Asari. The third was discovered by turians, but it was nearly destroyed in a mining accident. The fourth," he lowered his voice, "was actually found by a salarian explorer team in Hegemony territory. Apparently the Beacon was on the edge of Batarian space, and removed before the Hegemony could get their hands on it. You have to read between the lines, but that's the gist."
Shepard chortled, then winced, clutching his head. "Ah … ow. Anderson. Please, no loud noises, alright?"
The older man didn't react. "Each of those three Beacons were activated in the same way Alenko and Williams reported seeing you interact with the one on Eden Prime. One individual got too close, and was lifted into the air … into a stone ceiling in the turian situation. In any case, it involved physical manipulation, and some form of … organic data transfer."
"That's odd." Shepard mused. "Why didn't the Beacon on Eden Prime grab the scientists? You'd think so many people would have triggered a reaction."
When Anderson didn't go on, Shepard began to grow wary. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Again, this is just what the notes tell me," Anderson avoided Shepard's eyes. "Hmm … I am sorry, but ... there is no easy way to broach this." He looked up. "Each individual went insane after a few days. Two of the three complained about nightmares, almost exactly what you talked about, becoming progressively worse as time went on. The third went mad a few minutes after waking up, the other two lost coherence within a week."
Shepard blinked, scanning his mind for traces of madness. What was it Chesterton said? 'A madman hasn't lost all reason; he has lost everything but reason?' Logical to assume I would follow the same trend.
He burrowed deeper, trying to examine his memories. How am I supposed to know if I'm insane? If I were, I'd be convinced that I wasn't. If I wasn't, I'd probably be equally believing that I were … so, maybe?
Abandoning his thoughts for the moment, he sought Anderson's eyes. "Sorry, Captain. I appear to remain in full control of my faculties."
The man chuckled. "No apology necessary, Shepard." He turned serious once more. "I know you've kept things fairly low-key, but we may need to do a full physical. The Council can't force you to do anything, but we may want to get the jump on them."
Shepard, however, had been thinking. "What happened to the other two? You said there were six, but you only mentioned three, if we're including the one on Eden Prime as one of the six."
"I wondered if you would remember those." Anderson looked thoughtful. "The other three were discovered in fairly normal fashion, by the elcor, volus and hanar. They were extracted to a research facility, and essentially never heard from again." He raised a knowing eyebrow at Shepard before turning to his omni-tool. "I'm sending you the information Doctor T'Soni gave me. It's interesting reading, particularly," his eyebrows lifted again, "if you read between the lines."
"I'll read that as soon as I get to a terminal." Shepard snorted. "I have a backup in my locker, if I ever get there." He snorted before changing the subject. "I saw Williams here, you gave her a position?"
"Yes. Alenko gave me a rundown on her behavior. You agree?" Anderson answered.
He had to think for a moment; as XO of the Normandy, it was a fair question. He would be in charge of monitoring the squad and crew interaction, and ostensibly had the best read on how personnel dynamics operated. "She did well in a trying situation, facing unfamiliar opponents. Plus," Shepard gave his superior a meaningful look, "as I may have mentioned, we appear to be lacking in the heavier armor categories."
"I know. When we reach the Citadel, I've requisitioned a full loadout for the Normandy. I have the full setup. Power armor, a Mako, and an extra Nightstalker outfit for you." Anderson looked at his omni-tool. "Think about what I said." His eyes locked onto Shepard's. "All of it. I have to get back to it. Glad to have you back, Shepard." He patted the Commander's shoulder once.
"Sir?" Shepard stopped the Captain's movement. "About Nihlus."
Anderson sighed. "I know, Shepard. He's dead. Apparently killed by Saren, according to a technician that was hiding in the camera room."
Shepard straightened, "I know, sir. But you know what is going to happen, especially with the Alliance based hardware in that bomb. Am I going to get thrown under the bus for him?"
The older man glared. "I'm behind you, Shepard. You told him what could happen, and I'll stand by the decision all the way." He relented with a small shrug. "Besides, Udina is your friend, not mine. He might protect you, but then, he might not."
Mood lightened, Shepard gave his friend a sardonic look. "He may be a politician, but we've gotten a lot done over the years. He's got my back."
"If you say so." Anderson gave Shepard a measuring look, then headed for the door.
Shepard watched his CO leave. The doctor seemed busy in the back room, so he decided to not bother her. The rest of his casual garb was waiting for him,
Outside the infirmary door, he caught sight of Chief Williams, easily recognizable in her fatigues. Most of the crew on this level wore navy blues, but the marines tended to keep their traditional clothing. The thought almost made him smile, but he withstood the urge. He had a reputation to maintain after all.
"Hey there Skipper," the cheerful brunette greeted him with a wide grin. She was evidently very happy about her lot in life.
"Greetings," he returned politely. "Welcome aboard the Normandy." While polite, he refrained from the enthusiastic response other commanders might have done.
"Thanks," she looked a little taken aback It was a typical reaction to his demeanor, especially to the newcomers.
"I heard you've been added to the Normandy's marine complement. Congratulations." It hurt, watching her eyes change from cheerfully optimistic to neutral interest. Can't let it bother you, Shepard. If she earns a place, she'll learn soon enough. Look at what happened to Jenkins … odds are I'll be thrown off the ship when we hit the Citadel anyway.
"Yeah, my eyes almost bugged out when I saw the paperwork." The smile was back in William's voice. "I have to say, you got some of the hottest names on board. Alenko? He's practically a legend back on Jump Zero. Joker? Best pilot bar none. " She looked down suddenly, "Although if you tell him I said that, I'll have to break both your legs."
Shepard glanced back, moving casually until the gunnery chief was between him and the Infirmary. "Believe me, the Normandy takes on only the best." He looked directly into her eyes, trying to convey his seriousness without actually revealing anything. "If you are here, it's because you earned the position."
Her shoulders lowered slightly as something relaxed. Something rather important if he was any judge. "Thank you sir … that – that means a lot, coming from you."
Internally, he raised an eyebrow. Not as starstruck as Jenkins, but there's still something going between those ears ... something Bah, time enough for playing psychologist later. "I assume they gave you a locker?" He started moving again, leading the way back around to the elevator.
"Yeah, I have a new locker. Paint smells fresh it's so new." She caught his look. "No, it wasn't the one Jenkins had." She suddenly rooted around a pocket. "By the way, this fell out of your pocket when we got you in the hospital." The dog tag slipped into Shepard's hand. He stared at it, tentatively rubbing his thumb over the raised surface.
"Thank you," he murmured. The metal felt cold in his hand. "I'd wondered what happened to this." Shepard continued walking on automatic, recalling as much as he could about the enthusiastic Corporal. The way he always popped back after any setback, how he could laugh at himself despite embarrassment. Why nothing ever got him down, until he discovered the true pain of losing family … that was something no one should suffer.
"Did Corporal Jenkins's effects –?" Shepard let the question hang, before tripping over an unfamiliar pair of boots.
"Whoa, careful Skipper." Williams caught his arm, steadying him. She waited until he'd recovered. "Yeah, Alenko took care of his things. Did you know he had a recruitment poster with your picture on it?"
Shepard raised both eyebrows.
"Yeah," she laughed, a soothing sound in the ship of war. "He even had an autograph book with a page set out for your signature."
He tried to laugh, but that was too much. Young Jenkins, full of life, under his charge … gone. Instead, he switched the subject. "Listen, Williams, I talked with the Captain. We're resupplying on the Citadel. You should have a new set of armor coming in when we do; did you have anything special in mind?"
Her eyes lit up. "I can do a full specs loadout? You're serious?"
Shepard gestured, indicating the entire hull of the ship. "As Commander of the Normandy, most requisition orders are countersigned by myself. Get the catalogue from the quartermaster and set up anything you want." He gave her a serious look. "I don't know what's going on in the next few days, but I can't believe it's going to be pretty. Get the best, anything you think we might need for any combat situation."
He paused. The tanned woman was practically salivating, a shiny look in her eyes. "Besides, I believe I owe you for carrying my sorry butt back to civilization." And a little something for confusion. Throwing a wink, he walked to the emergency hatch, keying in the manual code for entrance. Just as he slid into the shaft, cheerfully ignoring her questioning look, he heard the Infirmary doors open, and smiled.
"Hey Commander." The dark-haired Canadian almost surprised Shepard in the Mess an hour later. "Looking better."
"Thank you," he responded. "A shower does wonders for making you feel human again, no?"
The Major laughed. "Indeed it does, although I would have to wonder if the asari would agree."
Shepard lowered one shoulder. "I would assume so. Being human is more of a state of mind, I would say, aided by cultural upbringing. We can sometimes feel 'blue' can we not?" He resisted the urge to send the other man a sly smirk. "If we can feel that, there's no reason why asari can't feel 'pink.'"
A voice from overhead interrupted them. "All hands, this is your pilot speaking. We will be making the final Relay jump in two minutes. Thank you for flying Alliance Airlines, and if you have any complaints, please give them to the lowest ranking officer you can find."
"Joker." Alenko rolled his eyes expressively. "He's going to get himself fired someday."
Shepard shrugged again. I doubt it. Someone as good as his record says probably gets a lot of leeway.
"Well, I got to get up for the Relay transfer. Two minds and all that." The biotic made a cursory gesture before leaving.
Sighing, Shepard turned back to his datapad. Reports had piled up, despite the best efforts of Pressley and Anderson; some things could be done only by the First Officer.
The omni-tool replacement buzzed on his wrist. It gave the little vibration saved for unique situations ... unless he was imagining it again. That was part of the trouble with omni-tools, after a while, you grew to feel they buzzed when they did not, or vice versa. It was a medical finding, but one he had not studied in any depth.
Sighing, he tapped the opening switch. It was a highly unique tool, perhaps not as advanced as one of the Savant line, but still very useful. Given his preferred method of combat, it had to be. Wonder what the old wizard has for me now. Shepard groaned resignedly. His fingers danced, tapping in the code.
The response flowed into the view-screen, the colors muted without the aid of his visor. Shepard tapped it into place, clicking it down from its rest position above one eye, and the letters brightened as the visual aid darkened.
Pendragon:
Finally heard what happened, I can't exactly blame you for what happened, but that Beacon was worth more than five Normandy's combined. Perhaps that and all of the Seventh Fleet, and yes I know how much a Super Battleship costs.
Anyway. We still need to follow up on the Furies progress. ExoGeni and Sirta are making some strange moves: bio-analysis teams to Feros, a rather unusual Stalking Horse gambit for a salarian research firm; I can do only so much from here. Also, three CFO's have undergone serious accidents. One or two is interesting, but three in the same week? No coincidence.
You won't be able to do anything for the next twenty-four hours, Eden Prime saw to that. But as soon as you can, find out everything possible. I don't like this.
Emrys
The message deleted itself in a showy blast of virtual sparks, tinted like the rest of the message to be of reduced visibility. That amused Shepard, to a certain extent; the sparks were just the sender showing off, part of a visual idea lifted from the quarians. With their tinted visors, it was like wearing filters all the time. The race had grown accustomed to using message systems that were hard to see by unfiltered vision.
The encryptions themselves were foreign to Shepard. All he knew was that a special circuit, sent through an annoyingly complex series of couriers, had to be soldered directly into his omni-tool. Otherwise, the messages would ignore his device as unauthorized … somehow.
He shrugged, and typed out a response.
Emrys:
Pulling it together right now. Minor headache, but nothing more. I'm expecting fluctuations in the Citadel Exchange within a few hours, this might be a good opportunity to compare trading patterns, particularly naked shorts. If there are an unusual number of external buyers for Alliance businesses, we may have a problem.
I'm sending authorization for my agent on Mindoir to set up purchases. If a few mines begin reporting 'surplus' production, it might be a little easier to track the sales.
Pendragon
Shepard sent the message, then quickly sent a follow up to Mindoir. There were very few people he trusted completely, but at least there were a few.
The room had emptied as he worked, leaving him in relative solitary. Of course, a navy ship had no true isolated regions; everything had a place to be, and every place had a purpose.
In the reduced lighting, Shepard could see a little less easily than he had earlier, but it felt soothing. Shadows were friendly ever since he'd been a child, listening to the sole music station on Mindoir.
Buoyed once again by the happy memories, Shepard returned to the armory on the same floor as the cargo/launch bay. He headed to his locker, keying the code access.
Marines, checking their own armaments, gave him a friendly nod, Chief Williams among them. Both Alpha and Bravo squads had experienced no casualties on Eden Prime, though it had come close. Apparently, quarians could carry a grudge, and had a lot of repressed anger over the geth.
"You did good, Commander," one of the marines approached his locker. "The gun-cam said you took down over a dozen of those greasy piles of junk. Sorry about Jenkins, he was a good man on the jets."
Caught somewhat off guard, Shepard made a quick visual check. He couldn't recognize the face, but … no rank, light hair, green eyes. "Thank you, Nicholson." Shepard accepted the outstretched hand, shaking it once, briefly. "Alpha squad did very well, I just checked the reports." He smiled politely, not letting it stray a fraction of a centimeter beyond the minimal requirement. "My apologies for not getting to them soon enough."
The shorter man chuckled. "No worries, Commander. I signed up to be a grunt on a boat, not a ground-pounder like Williams there."
Shepard caught a flinch from Williams before she responded with something marines presumed to be witty in return. Internally, he frowned. Something behind that now, wonder what? The alarm function in his omni-tool hummed slightly, reminding him of his purpose in the cargo bay. Ah, yes. Rearming.
"Chief Williams," he called, interrupting the spirited – discussion – going on.
The dark haired woman faced him. "Sir?"
"At ease Williams," Shepard watched her eyes, relaxing slightly as she did. "The Captain wants the ground squad for the Beacon on hand when we talk to Representative Udina. ETA is around an hour, but I'd prefer to have full armor before then."
She nodded. "Yes sir. Ah …" she glanced at the locker, "I have a medium Phoenix set from Eden Prime I can use, but it's not up for parade level yet." She held up one arm, barring Nicholson from speaking, "I lost a bet, long story."
Shepard considered the statement. She has a point, better appearance would make a better impression. The Council certainly appears to place a large emphasis on first impressions and all that. But Alenko doesn't have time to brush his set up … a strangely apropos idea came to mind. Udina would be proud. The thought almost made him break his composure.
"Private Nicholson." He turned, addressing the marine. Waiting until he had the marine's full attention, Shepard continued, "I need to have Squad Prime fit for parade duty within the hour. You and Alpha squad will help Miss Williams get her armor ready. Notify Lieutenant Jørgensenthat a few bodies from Bravo squad to prep Major Alenko's armor as well. Understood?"
The deep-chested soldier saluted. "Sir, yes sir! Spit 'n shine duty loud and clear, sir!"
Shepard gave the irreverent man a somewhat cool look, resuming his own preparations. His Nightstalker armor had needed a full recalibration after the Beacon interference, with some of the parts requiring outright replacement; a difficult task considering the secretive nature of pseudo-biotics technology.
While Captain Anderson had already examined the armor, Shepard took a little extra time checking out his own equipment, a habit that had served him well. The bulges in the external plating felt jagged, rough, despite their smooth appearance. Warp damage, Shepard fingered the material carefully. Always a little luck involved whenever biotics are involved … I suppose that's why they reserve this stuff for the Fives and up.
Fortunately, there was a perfectly serviceable Explorer scout armor backup set available. Its gray surface was easily repainted in his customary matte black, the N7 design stenciled on the left pectorals onward. There was some difficulty locating the ultraviolet-reflective material for his Plus status indication, but the quartermaster, as most of his kind.
The end result felt lighter than his usual load out, forcing him to take greater care in his movements. Clumsiness did not aid him in this process; it was something he could conceal most of the time, but new areas were always a little tricky. Keeping that in mind, Shepard started up the long trek to the cockpit, intending to watch the Citadel approach. Funny how I can work just fine in combat, but not in normal situations. He chuckled silently, passing a flight officer as she retreated from the CIC. A psychologist would have a field day with me. Maybe I could do that when I retire? The thought rolled pleasantly around his mind. Mmm, retirement. Maybe someday. He allowed the happy thought to simmer pleasantly before reluctantly pushing it into the darker regions. Bah, who am I kidding? He squeezed past another sensors officer, finally reaching his destination. I'll die with my boots on.
To his surprise, Chief Williams was already present, gazing out the window with a smile on her face. He followed her gaze, witnessing the last flickers of Relay travel die around the Normandy. It was so … innocent, something he'd never expected from the battle-hardened marine on Eden Prime's surface.
He turned away, reluctant to interrupt the scene. Instead he observed the approach, admiring the deft manner in which the pilot was bringing them in. Autopilots could do it quite easily, but Shepard preferred a more human touch; fortunately, Flight Officer Moreau seemed to agree.
"Look at the size of that thing!" Chief William's exclamation drew his attention. She was pointing at the Destiny Ascension, apparently marveling at the asari dreadnought.
"Eh, it's not that big." The pilot dismissed the massive vessel with a sneer. "They make 'em better back home."
"Are you kidding?" Ashley laughed incredulously. "It's as big as two Martel class battleships!"
"Yeah, well, size doesn't count for much." Joker fired back. He patted the panel almost lovingly, "Give me something to dance with, and all the size in the galaxy'll be worthless."
"A bit touchy?" Williams snarked back at him.
Shepard noticed Major Alenko quietly working at the co-pilot's seat. Normally, he thought, that role goes to young Ms. Chase. Is she off duty? Even though VI's took care of inbound flights most of the time, regulations still required two pilots in the cockpit. Thinking hard, Shepard thought he remembered that bit of history … some happenstance about a volus mega-freighter that had locked onto the landing signal for a turian cruiser? No matter.
Assuming a slightly more professional mien, Joker tapped his board. "Captain, ETA fifteen minutes. If you want Alenko with you, could you get my relief pilot up here? I could handle it myself, but –"
"Flight Lieutenant Emerson is on his way up. After we dock, take us to a full shut-down; I want the Normandy given a complete check." Captain Anderson's voice boomed back through the system.
Shepard nodded silently. Engineer Adams had sent in a warning about stress in the reactor's shielding. Combat conditions would add to that damage, which meant full battle preparations required a possible re-working. He winced as another thought struck him. We need more engineers aboard. Classified hardware, special construction … now I remember why I hate prototype technology. Again.
He walked back to the airlock, flipping out one of the seats. On occasion, scrubbing atmospheric insertions took longer than five minutes, and people got tired of standing.
The omni-tool buzzed with another incoming message. Shepard sighed, opening its interface. The orange screen made the white and grey walls gain a nauseating tint, but it didn't bother him by now. Color schemes were, in the end, just another sensation, which in turn was a perception of the mind. The mind could be controlled, like the body.
One look at the opened window, and he simply shut down the messaging service. It was as if a digital horde had descended on his inbox, filling its innards with trivial bits of unneeded information. Didn't I just go through everything a few minutes ago? He keyed the music function, snorting in disgust.
Ten minutes later, he opened his eyes as the Normandy's airlock thunked into the Citadel docks. Shepard frowned at the interruption. Blasted couplers. I don't know what it is, but the clamps at this station alwaysthrow a skip in my music track when we dock. Why can't they upgrade to pneumatic models? He deactivated the music player, noticing for the first time that both Williams and Alenko were present. Both were standing at a respectful distance, conversing quietly.
He straightened, tapping his greaves with one arm to warn them. Before anyone could talk, Captain Anderson came in the shipside doors, all business.
Shepard made the mental shift to his public face. His back straightened, just a hair less stiff than a true military posture, while letting a slow grin flit around the edge of his mouth. Neither of the two soldiers witnessed the change, but Anderson gave him a sober nod of approval.
"Alenko, Williams," the captain shouldered his way to the front. "Shepard and I will take point. Remember, you're on Council territory; as soon as your boots leave the airlock you are on their ground. Understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!" Williams saluted. Alenko copied her motion, if not the vocal support.
Inwardly, Shepard smiled. With the two professional soldiers freshly reminded of their position, he and Anderson would appear relaxed by comparison. In a public discussion, such confidence held power, granting a psychological advantage. That's Anderson, always looking for an edge.
The doors hissed open, letting the dry air of the Citadel enter the airlock. Shepard sniffed it dubiously; apparently, Council worlds used flying transports that used a heavy amount of hydrogen fuel, primarily taken from distillation methods. In a space station, the amount of latent humidity was low already, but the vehicles drove even that level down.
A full squad in Alliance blues met them at the doors, turning to escort them to the C-Sec elevator. Shepard tensed for a moment, seeing a large body of armed men waiting, but he relaxed once more at the familiar sight of Ambassador Udina. The large mob of people beyond the familiar sight made him tense again; crowds were one thing he'd tried to avoid whenever possible.
"Shepard!" The balding politician raised an arm in greeting. "Good to see you again!" He spun in place, "Anderson, glad you could make it!" He squinted nearsightedly around their shoulders. "Did you bring your entire ground team?"
"Just the most relevant," Anderson responded calmly. "In case you had any other questions."
Udina sniffed. "If your report was accurate, all the data should have been in it."
Keeping only a cursory ear on the talk, Shepard eyed his surroundings. The elevator was one of the more recent innovations to the Citadel, apparently part of the original design attributed to the protheans, but removed at one point in the distant past for unknown reasons.
Currently, it was considered the most secure form of transportation on the Citadel. One end rested in the Systems Alliance docking bay, protected day and night by armed guards and unsleeping monitoring systems. The other end terminated in the Citadel Security headquarters, a law enforcement location run by turians for the most part.
Shepard nodded to himself. Knowing turians, their end is built into a fortress. Then he frowned. But … the Keepers apparently go everywhere they want, and not even the turians stop them. He found himself tensing further. The perfect assassin, why didn't I see this before? All anyone has to do is imitate a Keeper, and they can go anywhere they want!
A vague, familiar feeling passed over him, like he'd seen the elevator before, but from a different angle. For a moment, he started feeling as if he should be with someone, like there was an old acquaintance he was missing.
"Shepard? You there?" Udina's voice cut through.
Shaking himself slightly, Shepard discovered the elevator had stopped, as had his little entourage. He mentally reinforced the casual mannerisms, taking a slow look across the open C-Sec lobby. "I'm here. Just taking a moment to see what's changed."
He saw one of the turians nodding in approval out the corner of one eye, but Udina scowled. "You can do your examination later. We have places to be now; the Council has Saren on the schedule for questioning on the Presidium.
That's one of the man's flaws, Shepard remembered. He always has a plan, but when things go differently, he gets edgy. He gave the man another look, trying to be inconspicuous. He's a bit sensitive today though. How involved was he with this Spectre situation? Presumably, quite a bit, considering the man's position. A deep sense of irritation blossomed somewhere in his chest, I've done the man a lot of favors in the past. I think I deserved a heads up on this!
He quelled the anger with the ease of long practice, distracting himself with the sights of the Citadel. It was, after all, a security nightmare. Gleaming walls, fused metal panels that had an almost adobe look, rose to what appeared to be nearly five story heights, perfect for someone to run across.
The center row of the Presidium was a garden, beautifully green with well-trimmed trees and shrubbery. By the appearance, Shepard guessed the plants had been imported from a temperate world, although it wasn't a guarantee. Possibly, the plants had been maintained since the Protheans had last dwelt there … unlikely though it was. While the official brochures claimed each visible garden was an imitation of some member planet, he knew from experience that unknown plants had a habit of popping up.
Udina led the small group to an open square, took a left past an asari secretary-analogue, and past a small flight of stairs that lead to the official Embassy reception rooms. Thankfully, the large groups of people that swarmed the Presidium were away for the moment, allowing Shepard to relax at Udina's destination. The Systems Alliance Embassy was a room dedicated solely to human usage; a fact that's importance had to be explained to him by Udina at one point. The geometry was simple; more space equaled more prominence. However, the fact that humans had received an Embassy location opposite the Presidium Tower entrance, and less than fifty feet from the combined Elcor/Volus embassies, spoke volumes.
Reflecting, Shepard wondered if the ambassador had interpreted the information correctly. Either we are held to the same level of importance as the volus, much older members, or we are considered as powerful as the elcor … militarily dependent on the asari.
He chanced a look over the side, into the deep, still waters of the pool reservoir. The projected sky, a comforting shade of blue, shone at him. Reflected images danced across its surface, making the depths look refreshingly cool. For a moment, he thought he saw something deeper in the water, a faint squid-like object, but nothing moved. He blinked hard, looking again. Nothing.
Huh. Shepard moved away from the edge, catching up with Anderson. Must be overtired.
[break]
The Presidium tower sat at the very center of the Citadel. Its length stretched nearly a quarter of the central hub's diameter, both the envy and pride of those millions whom lived under its shadow. The Embassies were housed near its base, close to the elevators that transited between their position and that of the Presidium Tower.
While the Wards appeared to lack the day/night cycles that the Presidium possessed, Shepard had to admit, from the Presidium, the sheer size of the mammoth arms was enough to impress almost anyone.
However after seeing the giant disc-station Arcturus, the center of Systems Alliance authority, there were a few discrepancies to be made. Shepard noted there didn't seem to be as many agricultural centers present on the Citadel, which meant the larger station depended on external shipments for nutritional supplies. It also seemed to lack any defensive platforms around its perimeter; granted, the arms could close for an allegedly impervious shell, but there were only a number of smaller GARDIAN class turrets present. That was a deterrent for dropships, certainly, but not for anything as large as or larger than a cruiser.
It feels too exposed for me. Shepard hitched his shoulder uneasily. The sensation of eyes watching his back made the hair on his neck stand up. Intellectually, he knew it was probably just a C-Sec operative, or even one of the inter-species watchers. It didn't make him feel better though.
"Saren's dirty, I know it!" A turian with an eye-visor similar to Shepard's own appeared to be arguing with another turian. "I just need a few more days, just — just stall the Council and I can bring him in."
"Stall the Council?" Scoffed the other turian, apparently higher ranking by his attitude. Turians seemed to gain attitude with rank; Shepard had known quite a few decent grunts, but very few humble high-ranking officers. "You don't 'stall the Council,' you do your job or give it to someone who can. Your investigation is over, Detective Vakarian."
The visor-wearing turian tensed, Shepard could tell by the tightened stance around his hips, then snorted. "Fine."
Internally, Shepard raised his eyebrows. Interesting, a petulant turian. What will they come up with next?
He came alongside, giving a professional nod. The detective nodded back, pausing. "You're the Alliance folks from Eden Prime, right?" He continued without waiting for an answer. "Maybe you can get the Council to listen to reason. Spirits know I tried."
The turian stalked off, muttering under his breath. Shepard could only catch a few words, none of which made sense.
"Come on, the Council is waiting for us," Anderson beckoned.
Shepard gave the odd turian a last glance, then followed his CO up the stairs.
The top had a long dais, with a gap between the Councilors and the non-Council members. Shepard glanced across the gap, looking down to see an ornate network of glass panels separating him from a small garden. He glanced up again, checking the distance between himself and the Councilors.
Councilor Tevos was watching him, something he was certain he'd have normally detected. Feigning disinterest, he looked down again, using the opportunity to examine the framework for weaknesses. It wasn't completely a fake interest, he was genuinely interested in the structure of the highest levels. The more he studied it, the more he was beginning to realize its artificial nature. It's as if they have no idea what this place is for, and just decided to call it the Council Audience Chamber or something. Shepard scanned the pillars, noting the multi-tiered walkways that stretched over the walls. It might have originally been a cafeteria, or a slave auction block for all I know.
He thought of the stairs and the remote nature of the Tower. It can't be for security, not totally. The balconies loomed in his peripheral vision, wide openings with thick barriers waist high. But lose control of the high ground and any defenders are vulnerable, particularly if attackers come up the outside; those turrets aren't geared for infantry, I think.
The fifteen foot image of a turian shifted, drawing his attention. Shepard's eyes narrowed, this was the same turian he'd seen on Eden Prime, the one to whom he'd demonstrated his accuracy. He recognized both the scars on the flat sections of his face and the oddly precise hoses trailing from the back of the turian's skull. Did you see me? Do you recognize me? A sense of mirth bubbled through his core. The game grows deeper. A witness is useless unless he saw something useful, but what he threatens to have seen can disrupt entire worlds ….
"You intend to do nothing about this – this travesty?" Udina didn't scream, but the outrage his body language exhibited did the volume control for him.
"I'm sorry, Ambassador." To Shepard's eye, Councilor Sparatus's posture indicated actual regret. "While the Alliance is a valuable trading partner of the Council, you are not a member."
Shepard became very interested in Councilor Tevos. Her eyes remained steady, hands still, but her shoulders were slightly hunched, hints of tension. Unless she's faking it, in which case … he shifted focus to the salarian representative, Councilor Valern. Watchhow the others react to her.
The salarian in question gave a salarian equivalent to an eye roll, signaled as a twisting head shake. "The problem is, ambassador, you have only a single item of evidence; a garbled data file obtained by a technician whose integrity is in question. Saren Arterius has been one of the Council's best agents, entrusted with some of the highest security measures in the galaxy."
"I would also like to protest the insinuation that I would harm one of my own protégé's. Nihlus Kryikwas one of the brightest Spectre's I have ever encountered, a peerless combat engineer." The floating turian had an arrogant tone, just circumspect enough to avoid being called upon, but making its intention known. "But what more can be expected from such a young race?" The image's body language shifted, arms folded, feet wide. "Only luck has prevented their collapse under their own weight. Humans should never have been considered for Spectre candidacy."
Shepard growled internally. Anger at the insults, at the smooth-tongued lies, surged behind his mental barriers. Recollection of the small stuffed toy he'd discovered by one of the geth torture devices shimmered in his mind's eye. Now it's personal, Spectre or no. When this meeting is over, I'm asking for a month's leave. No one deserved what you tried to do to Eden Prime.
"I object!" Udina bellowed. "This hearing has nothing to do with whether Shepard is a worthy candidate or not, and Spectre Arterius should remember that!"
Shrugging, the turian agent settled back, arms still folded in the universal denial position. Below, Councilor Sparatus seemed to shift focus slightly, glancing at the floating image once before returning his gaze to the small group.
Tevos, however, had an almost hungry glint in her eye. "While I agree with Ambassador Udina, I must point out that Saren has a point. Is Shepard the right candidate for the task? Can he put aside interest of his people in order to view the safety of the whole?"
Behind them, looming silently, Anderson growled deep in his chest. Shepard realized the man had said little during the discussion so far, and wondered why. He took a moment, glancing between his superior's body language and that of the Council group. A lot of tension there, something else is going on here. A part of him thrilled at the increasing complexity, while the rest of him groaned. More red herrings. What's important and what isn't? Talk with Anderson later, get the present done now.
Returning to the conversation, Shepard gave Tevos a single look, not bothering to speak. She held his gaze, something few people could do. As she did so her posture shifted slightly. It was a small motion, nearly unnoticeable, but it was there. He made no sign of having seen it, but made a note to watch his step around the asari Councilor.
Before Udina could respond, Valeren spoke up. "I believe we are straying off topic, as you know Councilor." He glared at Tevos. "The present business is closed. There is no proof Spectre Arterius performed the alleged actions on the human colony: Eden Prime. Unless," he tilted his large, dark eyes at Shepard, "you have further evidence?"
For a moment, Shepard considered mentioning his own observation. To tell, or not to tell, that is the question. My word against his, and I'm pretty sure the Councilors wouldn't trust me … and he knows it. He obviously has a plan, and I don't know what it is. No, better to say nothing for now, and hope for a better chance later.
The thought was nearly instant. Shepard shook his head negatively, "I have no evidence at this time." But as he finished speaking, he threw the holographic turian a wink. Chew on that, big boy. He didn't know if Saren knew batarian mannerisms, but the action was a deliberate challenge in the four-eyed culture. Shepard frowned to himself. I really hope he doesn't think it's a drell courting request; I used my left eye, not my right, yes?
"Then this Council declares the matter closed." Councilor Tevos seemed to relish the words. "Thank you for joining us, Spectre."
"I am pleased justice has been done here." The shadow-image bowed deeply, almost mockingly deep, and faded.
Udina spoke up. "And the Spectre status? What of that?"
Councilor Tevos smiled at him approvingly. "That is still on the table, of course. We must discuss it at a later time, however. This emergency trial has conflicted with a great deal of business already."
The ambassador bowed. "Of course, until next time then."
The Councilors stepped back from their podiums, leaving the room. Shepard raised an eyebrow at that. No chairs? They don't spend enough time here to need chairs? Realization followed soon after, followed by anger. They didn't expect to spend much time here. The case was judged before the court was even in session!
"I knew it was a mistake bringing you in here Anderson." Udina muttered quietly. "We need another plan. Shepard, you need to find more evidence, bring down Saren!"
Shepard looked back. "We can't cut out Anderson like this, he was in charge of the mission. Besides that, why should we ignore a resource, even if Saren doesn't like him?"
The captain was already shaking his head. "I was hoping my presence would be minimal, but that's a wash. No, Udina's right. If I'm involved, your investigation will be seen as slanted." He glared at Udina.
"Hah. Like this entire farce of a trial wasn't?" Shepard made a gesture at the former podium, one he'd learned from the quarians. It looked innocent enough, but the human hand generally didn't clump into three groups the way his had.
"That's just politics." Udina waved the comment away. "Saren is one of their top operatives, of course he wouldn't be found guilty. That's where you come in."
Shepard backed up warily. He liked the ambassador well enough, but there were times when the man was somewhat arrogant in his dealings. "What do you have in mind?"
"Let's go to my office." Udina began leading the way back to the elevator. "We have much to discuss."
A/N: Hey all, this is the last of my prepared files. From here on out, when I post is dependent entirely on how much time I have to write. Classes are going well, and I am diving into Nordic histories, looking into my Senior Sem project.
Thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to Nightstride for his beta work!
I don't own Mass Effect or its moneymaking capabilities. I do however own a better fashion sense than Donnel Udina, and no he can't have it.
