The adage: "Good things come to those that wait," has parallels in every culture. My personal favorite is by Benjamin Franklin: "He who can have patience, can have anything he wants."
I wanted Cerberus dead, among other things. What Shepard wanted he never said. But something he had, was patience. Not the mindless ability to focus on minutiae, but honest-to-tuna perseverance. It was reflected in his hobbies, fishing and keeping poisonous insects. He kept up his metal-working skills, and used them to improve his armor and weapons. Once in a while, he even journeyed to where a classical music concert was being performed, and stayed from beginning to end.
That last one was proof enough for me. I have trouble going through a single playlist I like without changing tracks. Sitting in one place, stuck watching half-a-hundred people actually playing the music in front of me sounds like a novel form of torture to me. Yet he did it, and fairly often.
Under the circumstances, I suppose I should not have been surprised, but a number of crewmen also enjoyed music. His little collection didn't remain secret very long.
~Arnold Pavenmeyer,
Project Ragnarök
[SR-1 Normandy, Widow System, Serpent Nebula]
[1322, Tuesday]
Shepard stood behind Joker's chair, gazing at the stars visible through the double-vacuum sealed panels. Glass windows were a luxury, and useless for most tactics, but having them in place was a godsend for docking maneuvers. More data could be inferred from a single glance than a dozen graphs. Not that they'd be taking off soon; checklists had to be completed, flight paths charted. Pilots to humor.
"Sorry to hear that about the Captain," Joker muttered from his seat. "You survive a hundred battles, and then get taken down by politics. Life lessons around every corner, huh?"
Shepard shrugged. "Always watch for politics; it's ruined more careers than bullets in my mind."
Joker snorted. "Ain't that the truth. So, you want to address the crew?"
"Eh?" Shepard gave his pilot an inquisitive look, cocking an eyebrow at the pilot. "Why would I? They see me all the time."
The smaller man turned the chair slightly, "You may own the boat Commander, but up here, I make the cynical comments, thank you very much. Let me ask you again: Do. You. Want. To. Address. The. Crew?"
"Um," Shepard tried studying Joker's face. It didn't appear to be attempting yet another jest, but the words he was saying didn't make sense. The entire crew knew that Captain – that is, Anderson – had been essentially fired, and he himself had been given control. Why rub their collective face in it?
Joker rolled his eyes. "Y'know, to give them a mission statement, tell them what's going on? Official news instead of scuttlebutt that grows another leg at every telling?"
"Ah." Shepard considered the idea for a moment. There was a certain amount of logic to the helmsman's statement – but making a public address? That … that was certainly not in the original plan.
He looked back at the pilot. "Would there be any chance I could talk you into relaying it for me?"
The response did not bode well. Joker sagged into his chair, looking almost defeated by the very idea. "Great. I get the only officer that doesn't like making speeches. Shoot me now, okay?"
Shepard sighed. "Fine, set up the link." He waited until the tiny screen lifted away from the panel, floating just in front of his mouth. Briefly, he closed his eyes, praying for inspiration.
"This is Commander Shepard. As you may already know, Captain Anderson has stepped down as Captain of the Normandy, and I have been recently informed that I will serve as his replacement." The words hurt, but they were honest – the most important quality in any relationship. "Our orders are simple: stop Saren, the man responsible for attacking Eden Prime, and a hundred other crimes that can't be traced."
He glanced at Joker, who gave a thumbs up, then looked back at the neon orange microphone-piece. "This is a mission too big for just us, so several members of the Council races have joined us. More will arrive, please make them welcome aboard the Normandy." He lowered his voice into the confident alpha-male tones. "We will accomplish our task; I have complete confidence in you. Thank you, and God bless the Alliance." The microphone clicked off.
"Well said, Commander," Joker's hands busily tapped another sequence, "You running for office or something?"
Shepard laughed, one short bark. "Heavens no. The galaxy would be in real trouble if I did. Better to sit in the back seat; more room to stretch out there."
Joker's surprised laughter filled the cockpit, easing the moment, if only for a little.
The Normandy's galley was a central point for its crew, a facet of ship design insisted upon by its salarian co-designers. The designers had taken one key aspect of humanity, and incorporated it within the ship's plan: people love food. Eating was a method for socializing, for making friends or just confirming each other's existence. Therefore, the Normandy boasted a complete dining area, with gravity-based washing utilities, stasis units, a refrigeration unit, and multiple heating appliances.
Tables, with the accompanying benches, were designed to fold into the floor during combat maneuvers, leaving an open floorplan. Someone – no one knew who – had once hijacked the ship's firmware to actually collapse one of the tables while it was being used; highly amusing for the majority involved. Fortunately, safeties had prevented limbs from being crushed, but the potential had been seen.
Shepard sat at his normal location, going over the duty roster. While Pressley had graciously offered to take over that portion of the XO position, he'd grown used to the task, and kept it. For now, anyway.
Engineering dayshift teams seem to be working alright. A checkmark studded column presented itself for his approval; Daytime second shift efficiency is up … wait … thirty percent? How did that happen?
The numbers scrolled upwards, giving him a point-by-point explanation. The rubric seemed to indicate that the computer systems in the engineering section had finally been debugged two weeks prior, which seemed to have helped quite a bit. Replacing parts had boosted quality, but not efficiency – which left personnel. The last report had given a fifteen percent increase, but that had been nearly a full week prior. This seemed to indicate someone had been helpful in the recent past – something to investigate with Chief Adams at some time.
Roster check. Hmmm, only new person aboard is … aha. The quarians managed to get here then, finally. Shepard ticked another item off a second checklist. He'd have to remember to make sure Adams had extra tridactyl hardware, and base sixteen translators. Three fingers apparently still made for odd counting issues, despite the proliferation of quarian workers in Alliance space.
Later then, Shepard made a note, countersigning the report. On to the Science department. Hmmm, good. Same as last week, a little cold bug making the rounds, but on its way out. Good; hate to see sickness take down a shift.
He paused, watching the hulking form of the krogan make its way past. It maneuvered itself past the kitchen area, selecting entire trays of nutrient-rich paste. A unique choice, since there were entire cartons of fresh meat stashed under the counter and hundreds if not thousands of pounds in deep freeze. Despite hundreds of years of tinkering, low temperatures were still the best method of food preservation.
Eh. Shepard returned to his tablet. So long as I don't have to make any speeches, he can eat whatever he wants.
The mess hall was at a low state of activity; understandable given the late hour. There was just enough background noise to cover soft footsteps on the deck plates, keeping him alert.
Mentally, Shepard went through the people he'd seen that evening, since the power transfer. They'd been understanding, encouraging even. A couple had seemed to have believed in skullduggery of some sort, like he'd arranged for the whole thing. Shepard's frown deepened. The latter had been especially true of that young fellow Caswell; practically every word he'd spoken was an allusion to potential alternatives, boiling down to simple disbelief.
How he got to his rank with that kind of integrity I do not know. Shepard made a note to keep a closer eye on the technician. He hadn't forgotten what Anderson had told him, how Caswell had attempted to abscond with Shepard's broken omni-tool. Officially, the young man had been transporting evidence to storage. In his own mind however … If you believe that, would you be interested in buying a bridge?
A quiet beep reminded him of his duties. There were papers to fill out, assignments to authorize, and – he gulped – a cabin to personalize. Anderson's former cabin, to be precise. It would take some effort, but it could be refitted into a suitable planning center. Projectors, large-screens for the walls, as much data as could be dug out from every possible source … then, he could make plans.
Real plans.
That shifted his attention to the short list on his tablet. Three names presented themselves for inspection, tiny words for the difficult decision ahead. Therum. Feros. Noveria. Three places with equal values of importance; a prothean specialist, an erstwhile prothean colony, and Saren's primary investment base. Which to reach first?
He sighed. While the colony would be the most likely site for raw information, the specialist was a higher priority to understand it. Few Prothean historians were amenable to traveling on a military vessel; constant movement deterred many from leaving their ivory towers.
The next question: begin an investigation to Saren's finances immediately, or go for the specialist first?
Well, the paper trail will go cold if I leave it too long, but the data hasn't come through yet. Could take a day or three for the entire workup to be finished. More, since half of what he has is redacted for half its life.
A different chime demanded his attention, presenting a small list of messages. Two held the triple black diamond motif of the ICT, a set of general bulletins indicating one of their own had just been awarded a high honor – namely a position as Spectre for the Council. Several more messages scrolled into viewing range as he watched, congratulatory notes, for the most part.
One message, bearing the delta-encircled Earth symbol of the Alliance, appeared at the top of his list. There was no marking indicating urgency, yet it remained at the apex of the steadily growing list, a useful trick known to a few programmers.
Shepard accessed it immediately. This message box was a very limited one, the address known solely by a select number of Alliance brass, mostly other members of the ICT. Many were officers, but few had the capacity to encode their messages like that. The very existence of the messenger service was almost a state secret in and of itself; what could be important enough to break silence?
The tablet linked to his eyepiece, shunning the publicly seen omni-tool.
Shepard,
If you have time, contact me officially. We lost several nuclear warhead-tipped missiles during the First Contact War, and one just showed up again. I have a black ops squad standing by if you cannot assist; but I had just heard of your promotion. Otherwise I would not have contacted you.
Use discretion.
~ H.
Deleting the note took a moment, giving Shepard time to think. Admiral Hackett was trustworthy, more so than half of the politically-minded Intelligence department. Yet, the man was not without resources of his own – example A would be the referenced stealth team. A nuclear missile was certainly high priority, but the vastness of space made nuclear threats pathetically simple to counter. Ballistic weaponry travelling across millions of miles of open space couldn't evade a simple GARDIAN system – the further the distance, the easier it was to counter.
That meant politics. The bane of his existence.
Shepard inhaled a deep breath, silently counting to five, held it for another count of three, and then released it. Breathing exercises were surprisingly helpful. Inexpensive, quick, and not exceedingly noticeable.
His inbox chimed once more, indicating a priority message to one of his more public accounts. Despite all the business dealings he had to work with, there were a limited number, but still more than the average Ethernet user. This one was his official Alliance military address, and received the most messages.
Commander Shepard,
I am forwarding the paperwork sent to me by the Councilors. While you will not have the majority of Spectre authority within Council Space proper, they have given you the permits for carrying weapons, authorizing your associates to carry weapons in your presence etc.
Since you are essentially being given licenses in three different nations, there may be some redundancy. Please sign them as soon as possible; one of them involves interstellar travel, so the sooner you do it the faster you can leave the Citadel.
Ambassador Udina
Chief Envoy for the Systems Alliance
Alliance Embassy, Citadel
Vibrations under Shepard's feet told him the engine was fully online, calibrations complete. Adams had tried explaining it to him once, but the mathematical relationship between a black hole and Element Zero shielding was well above his own comprehension. What made the action significant was in how it indicated movement; the Normandy was underway. More importantly, on its way out of the Citadel without his signing the forms.
Quickly, Shepard checked over the list again. Therum was in Council space, a region claimed by the turians. Noveria was in human space, therefore not requiring any more permissions than he already had, and Feros was likewise in human space – but required passage through Council space for fastest travel. Shortcuts could be made through Relays in Council territory, but it would cut only a few days off transit either way.
Better be safe than sorry. Shepard made a quick copy of the forms, and forwarded them. One set went to a quarian law firm he'd backed on Mindoir; they held little love for Council machinations, and could be trusted to spot tricky fine print. A second copy went to a Volus Protectorate legal firm on the Citadel; 'Korlus and Sons' by name. The third copy had to go to Earth; politics rearing its ugly head again.
He keyed the send icon before collapsing the screen. Better see what the good Admiral wants. Comm room should be good for now.
The communication center held a place of honor, the very center of the Normandy, above the cargo bay but below the main action deck. Technically it also occupied some of the upper and lower portions of those levels, but the ship's construction left one barely aware of the missing space. Salarians had been developing spacecraft for millennia, and knew their art well.
Shepard keyed his access code into the panel, then sat back, waiting.
"SSV Benjamin Davis, ColonelO'Rileyspeaking. How may I help you Commander?" A young man, apparently in his mid-thirties and in utility garb appeared on the viewer.
A bird colonel? What's a ground pounder doing as Hackett's personal … the specifics of the secretive message percolated through his mind. Officially.
"Colonel," he inclined his head. While their ranks were roughly equivalent, protocol dictated they remain formal. "I would like to speak with Admiral Hackett, if he is available."
The projection faded to the Alliance delta symbol, spinning in place. Fitting, considering his target audience.
I wonder what he wants … Shepard deliberated once more. Admiral Hackett was one of the few men Shepard truly respected, rather than merely tolerated. As a Captain during the First Contact War, Hackett had been wounded in the line of duty, then insisted his men receive medical treatment before himself, resulting in a permanent scar the best of medical expertise couldn't fix. The man had gone on to higher commands, a meteoric climb that lead to command of the Fifth Fleet. That post was one of the most prestigious in the Alliance; dedicated to rapid response, known throughout the entire Alliance fleets for their incredible precision.
He shifted into a more strategic mode of thought. The Normandy had originally been slated for the 63rd Scouting flotilla, within the Fifth Fleet. If that were still the case, would he be literally under Hackett's command? During wargames, opposing the Fifth Fleet with its complete lack of Super-class battleships would ordinarily be met with a feeling of relief. However, that fleet countered its lack of heavy firepower with the fastest launching carriers in the Alliance, and heavy-fire tactics that had created records.
"Commander Shepard, to what do I owe this pleasure?" A hoarse voice boomed from the speakers.
Shepard stiffened, chagrined. "Sir, thank you for your time. Do you have a moment?"
"Of course," the admiral responded. "I wouldn't have answered if I hadn't." He gave Shepard an expectant look.
"Right," Shepard considered a possible cover story, one of many potential excuses at his disposal. "I was recently … given a new rank. It's not really something I can agree with, but it might be useful."
"I'd heard," Hackett's voice was as unchanging as a frozen lake, smooth but in complete control. "Congratulations by the way. It is a significant achievement, for the Alliance and yourself."
"Thank you sir," Shepard moved on quickly. Be vague, but act as if you know more. "Sir, I've been hearing some rather interesting things from within Council space. It's a bit over the normal pay grade, so I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation."
Hackett's image exhaled loudly. "I'd hoped that would have been quiet for a bit longer. I assume you're talking about the missile issue?"
It was a terrible cover story; anyone who actually investigated the conversation would see it for what it was: a flimsy attempt at obfuscation. But, very few people investigated what was insignificant – and a single short conversation between a captain to his allegedly immediate superior fit that designation nicely.
"Indeed," Shepard nodded wisely, "Given what we both know about how that situation got started, perhaps I could assist you in the matter?"
A dry chuckle emanated from the speakers, positioned well enough to make the life-size projection feel as if it were actually laughing. "You read my mind, Commander. I'll send you the coordinates. Are you certain you can spare the time?"
"Easily." Shepard gave a dismissive gesture towards the doorframe behind his position, "The Council wants me to pick up a Prothean expert, and I found out about a colony one of Saren's major stockholding companies is very interested in. Otherwise, I'm running a simple forensic sweep."
Hackett leaned forwards, interested. "Have you brought SAIS in on this?"
"No." Shepard frowned, "I sent a general data request through the channels, but I'm counting on getting more reliable data from the IAC. (1) Their auditors are pointing at several targets right now, but that's getting narrowed down."
"I see." Hackett folded his arms. "Play it how you want Commander. Just remember the rest of us have to live with them."
"Sir." Shepard saluted, taking it as a dismissal.
"And Commander," the blue-tinted projection stopped him from closing the connection, "I just wanted to let you know you have the support of the entire Fifth Fleet. We're already moving out … on maneuvers. Should you need a friend or two … give me a call."
A second later, the projection blinked off, leaving a new data file in its place for him to open. Surprisingly, its boilerplate warnings only gave the standard encryption codes, not the time-intensive coding he would have expected. Especially given the sensitive nature of the information contained.
Shepard's eyebrows rose as he read. An old espionage probe had given its 'target acquired' confirmation signal, a three second burst on seldom-used frequencies. Triangulation had placed it in the Voyager Cluster, only one Primary Relay and a Secondary jump from Earth.
That doesn't make sense; Shepard frowned. The brief summary on the espionage probe's history indicated that the weapon should have been aimed towards Council space, a full one-eighty degree shift. What could have altered the probe's course so drastically?
At any rate, the Voyager Cluster was uncomfortably close to quarian space, or rather, the space they had once claimed during the height of their civilization. Now they just sent patrols in ever-decreasing frequency, searching for suitable resources – a practice rendered nearly obsolete with the leasing of reverse-chiral planets from the Alliance. Still, planting a fifty megaton nuclear warhead in a neighbors backyard could be considered … rude.
Shepard came to a decision, and keyed the intercom. "Pressley, set up a course for the Hades Gamma Relay, and plot two courses from there."
A filtered voice came back through the speakers. "Aye Commander. Where too after that?"
"Not sure, but have one go to the Voyager cluster, and the other to Artemis Tau. We'll have to see what's available when we get there."
"Aye aye, sir." Pressley's voice came back almost immediately. "We have clearance to the Serpent Nebula Primary, and I'm working on permission for the Exodus Primary. FTL estimates have us arriving in Hades Gamma approximately thirty hours from now."
"Understood." Shepard clicked off the communicator. Beneath his feet, he could feel the powerful eezo/Hawking engine increase its basso rumble, responding to the new directives. It was … satisfying, to feel the power through his boots, power at his disposal should he choose to use it. It was similar to the old krogan saying: "It's only success when the ground shakes."
Success. That required he stay on his toes, working with both the Alliance and the Council. Timing, it always comes down to timing. That meant FTL travel, and super-luminal speeds were generally faster with newer technology – or Relay travel – albeit the latter was technically an old means of such travel. Not to ignore the old methods of course, but newer generally gave an edge … for a little while. If it worked.
Shepard opened a chart on his omni-tool, a miniature map of Relays throughout the sector. The Normandy was one of the first ships to fully combine Hawking Singularity engines with the less-efficient, but more powerful Element Zero drive systems so popular in Council space.
Without Relays, we could get to the Voyager cluster maybe … fifteen percent faster than anything other than a quarian messenger boat. Those things were essentially engines with a cockpit strapped on; no weaponry, minimal shielding, just pure thrust. Can't hide our position from the Council though, radio silence over thirty hours would just be a giveaway. Could go silent after Hades Nexus, but that would be a bit of a giveaway too. Relay hopping takes us through turian space, but our return visa should cover transit back to Sol without my having to sign anything ….
A light on the panel blinked on again, flashing a call-waiting. The signal wasn't important enough to grant an identification, so he wouldn't bother answering it. Shepard opened another screen, ignoring the light, "Joker, after we hit the Hades Nexus, what would be our ETA from the Artemis Tau cluster?"
"Ah … maybe ten hours, Commander. Depends on what system you want to hit first. Any preference?" Joker's lighthearted voice came back over the comm.
He thought for a moment. The Relay system was most likely not where the Dr. T'Soni was located; too many ships came in and out to miss seeing an official dig site. On the other hand, missing a single archaeologist would be easily done, if an active, knowledgeable search were not being performed.
Shepard called up a map, checking the relevant systems. Athens, Knossos, Macedon and Sparta … someone waxed poetic here. Relay is in Macedon, so we can hit that first, but Sparta or Athens next? I could go to Knossos, but that's the furthest system from the Relay. Make it the second leg.
"Let's do this clockwise, Joker." Shepard said aloud. "Do a quick scan in the Macedon system while we're there, but head for Athens as soon as possible. Knossos will be after that, then Sparta if we haven't found the good doctor by then."
"Aye aye, sir. Um, there's a call waiting for you. Do you – ?"
"Ignore it." Shepard said firmly. "Solicitors. They never could take 'no' for an answer."
A chuckle came back over the camera. "Aye Commander."
[Agebinium, Amazon System, Voyager Cluster]
[2115, Wednesday]
Re-entry in a Mako exhilarated Shepard every time. Piloting insertion through the atmosphere was within his skill set, but not one polished regularly. Fortunately, Alenko was more than capable of the task, even to the point of guiding their descent on an unknown planet. Well, relatively unknown; Agebinium had been charted as part of the Amazon system. Just not thoroughly examined.
Shepard listened, music pounding through his headset while exhilarating in the sensation of free-fall. It was a guilty pleasure, the thrill of a sub-orbital descent, accompanied by the pounding rhythms of a good group. Many soldiers had a similar practice, psyching themselves for a combat operation with heavy metal, or possible salarian techno-throb. Turian confringes music had made a recent inroad in human markets, but salarian styles had been first and most prevalent.
Give me the old classics. Shepard unconsciously nodded to the beat, a piece unleashing the might of a full orchestra on his eardrums. Human music held a special place in the hearts of most Alliance personnel; he was no exception.
Shifting bodies clued him into the changing status of his transport. Below, jets flare shone blue against the vapor trains they were making, slowing their fall to below terminal velocity – in more ways than one. The Mako was one of the most durable vehicles in the Alliance military, but free fall from several kilometers out was still too much for its passengers. The tank might survive, but its payload would impact with all the grace of a lead balloon.
"And, we have contact," Alenko commented. It was almost necessary, given the smoothness of his landing.
"We are alive?" Tali's voice sounded astonished, echoing from the back of the tank. It also sounded hoarse, as if she'd been screaming.
Shepard had been wondering what that quiet wailing noise had been; even with the mike turned off, the helmet wasn't completely soundproof.
"On the ground and ready to roll. What's our course, Commander?" Alenko glanced back, peering through his visor.
Shepard had to wonder at the new respect in his Lieutenant's voice. Had something changed in the past twenty-four hours? He hid a wince; other than becoming a Spectre, starting a hunt on one of the galaxy's most powerful warriors, and taking over another man's ship?
"Take us northwest, the signal seems to be coming from that direction." He tabled the question; better for another time.
The reddish-hued ground blurred past the view screens. Only the driver had an actual window, the rest had to make do with limited static-motion cameras. The sole exception was the gunner's chair, but that position was currently filled with a rather possessive turian. It was, after all, the only seat allowing the tall being enough headroom to sit upright.
"I'm picking up something on the low band," Tali spoke up, "very low-power, can't tell the direction yet."
Shepard glanced at the quarian. She'd immediately called navigator, once she'd heard of the programming required. It was a natural fit, he had to admit; she was certainly intelligent enough to master the Mako's systems within hours. Impressive, really.
"Leave it for now. If it gets any louder, let me know." Shepard shifted focus to the forward screen. "Alenko, any sign of an impact crater?"
"Nossir," the vehicle trundled through another turn. "The ground's pretty beat up though, might have been in a meteor shower?"
He let the man drive, leaning back in thought. "Possible." Unlikely, but possible.
Several minutes later, the remains of an old Grizzley came into view. It was an ancient model, compared to the Mako, possibly even a predecessor to that venerable transport.
"Looks like something hit it hard," Williams's metallic voice commented. Her seat was, by necessity, the far back row. The Power Armor she carried was as wide as two men and nine feet tall, weighing in at over a quarter ton when fully armed. The Mako had to be special-ordered in order to fit; most Power Armor users went into battle on shuttles or on foot.
Shepard nodded agreement without saying anything.
"Commander? Sensors are picking up a metal deposit, looks like something pretty light. Um," her voice trailed downward, "What does 'ess-em' mean?"
"Samarium." Shepard made a note on his omni-tool. "Excellent discovery, the NEF (2) pays a bounty for those." He tapped another sequence, "When we get back to the Normandy, I'll forward the data. You should get the fee inside of a month, depending on when they get a team out there."
A squeaking noise made him look up. The quarian's reflective eyes were fixed on him, like a hunting cat's gaze. She squeaked again, but this time he could make out words. "Me? You're giving it to me?"
Shepard's eyebrows furrowed. "You discovered it, you get the finder fee. So far as I'm concerned, you're a freelancer on this squad. Anything you find is yours. Within reason, of course."
"But … but …." She gestured at the instrumentation, "The equipment, isn't this yours?"
"Yeah," Shepard slowly pulled on his helmet. He hated the thing, it felt cramped no matter what he did to fix it. It ruined his peripheral vision, especially with the eyepatch. "But I didn't think about mineral discoveries when we negotiated the contract. Ergo, since I did not include it, you get it."
"I can't take all of it, that's not fair, I mean – "
Shepard glanced up towards Williams while the quarian protested. The marine had mentioned a sister at one point to another crewman, maybe she would know how to deal with the situation?
The oversized helmet turned his way for a moment, then back at the quarian. "Tali, how about you keep this one, and then the Commander can get you a change to the contract, if you feel so strongly about it?"
The purple mask tilted back upwards, hands slowing their constant wringing. "That … that would work."
Shepard breathed a sigh of relief. It always bothered him when generosity was rebuffed. It was understandable; no one wanted to be a charity case, but trying to help out only worked when someone was willing to be helped.
"Um, Commander?" a voice called from the pilot seat.
He shifted his attention back forwards, to where Alenko was looking back. The young lieutenant appeared worried. "Sir, this is where the signal strength is the greatest but – ah – we're right outside a mine."
That's not right. Shepard moved forward to glance at the readouts. The oscillating lines confirmed it. "Underground. Here?" He swung around, looking to the side, "Tali, how are those readings? Any stronger?"
"No Cap — Commander." Tali seemed a bit flustered. "They've almost disappeared completely."
Shepard leaned back, thinking. Missing nuke: bad. Almost certainly down a mineshaft: Very Bad. Blips circling: Very Bad Squared. He snuck a look at Tali and Garrus, gauging their reactions. Both appeared to be calm, but his tension was getting obvious now. He came to a decision.
"Vakarian, Miss Zorah, I am invoking the Confidential aspect of your contracts." They stirred exchanging glances before looking back at him. "Short version: During the First Contact War, the Alliance created a number of Doomsday weapons, aimed at various Council targets. Self-guided nuclear missiles, programmed with Relay points. Apparently they were better than we thought, because one of them managed to make its way down into that mine."
"N … nuclear?" Tali stammered, "That's … illegal Commander. Almost barbar—ah …" She stopped, giving him a fearful look. At least, her hunched shoulders seemed to indicate fear.
"Barbaric?" Shepard finished. "So's war. The only difference between an orbital strike and a nuclear strike is how much radiation comes up afterwards. Don't forget, the Alliance is not now, or then, restricted by Council Law." He focused on the ceiling, as if speaking to no one, "Just as if the Council declared war, they would be technically allowed to do anything as well, since Alliance Space is outside Council jurisdiction."
The two remained silent.
"Chief Williams, Tali, I want you two with me. Garrus, Alenko, stay with the Mako and keep a lookout. I don't like vanishing radio signals." Shepard undid his restraints, sealing the helmet with a hissing pop.
[Agebinium]
[2205, Wednesday]
The back hatch of the Mako closed as Ashley stepped free, the sound muffled in the rarified atmosphere. At the same time, the turret on the tank's dorsal side whirred away from the hillside, while the three soldiers moved on. Somehow, the vehicle gave the impression of settling down, resting, but alert.
Shepard tapped the mine's sealed entrance, shifting uneasily as the panel slid open without hesitation. If it had been rusted partially shut, or even clogged with the dust so prevalent on this planet, he would have felt better. It would have meant the place had been abandoned for some time – not a recent intrusion.
The low outdoor noises died to nothing as the circular panel slid shut once more. The minute it closed, the airlock cycled more air into the room, filling it with … breathable atmosphere. Tali moved to check the equipment.
"Still functioning, but old. Looks like some parts were replaced within the past two years, but only the compressor and a backup control board." Her fingers flew over the interface. "It's a Ford system, probably about twenty years old at most. Tough hardware."
"Keep helmets on." Shepard thought about the statement, then shook his head. Of the three, only he could actually remove his headgear; Williams was locked into her Menelaus armor, and quarians like Tali couldn't remove their environmental suits anyway. "Sorry. Habit."
"No problem Skipper." Ashley's voice sounded amused, even through the filter. "Good to know you care."
Nothing could really be said in response, so he just snorted; a usefully noncommittal expression. "Williams, you take rearguard. I'll take point. Tali, constant scans, and I want a comm check every two minutes."
"Right, Commander." Tali's vocoder blinked soundlessly, evidence she was taking her new orders to heart.
Shepard squared his shoulders, looking down the pipe-like tunnel. Solid rock lined the walls, broken only by metal composite steps on the floor, and wires trailing in the upper corners. Lights, cheap glow panels, flickered periodically down its length, giving the impression of a descent into infinity.
"Williams," Shepard drew his side arm; much easier to use in close quarters, "If we get trouble, take point."
"Aye aye," her voice was sober now, little hint of the teasing tone it had contained earlier.
Shepard faced forward once more, and frowned. The eye patch was to have come off ten minutes earlier, had the insertion taken slightly more time than it had. A mistake on his part; hopefully it wouldn't get anyone killed.
The tunnel ended in another door; understandable considering the lack of breathable atmosphere outside the mine. The more barriers there were, the safer everyone was. Less comfortable, but safer.
Shepard's eyes flicked around the doorframe; there were no obvious trap markings … but someone with the resources to steal and bury a nuclear warhead would not make simple mistakes.
"Williams," he stepped to one side, shifting to a single-hand grip on his pistol, "Take point on this; Tali, cover her."
The heavy armor plodded forwards, rotary carbines hanging beneath each arm spinning up to firing velocity. The weapon's wait-time was by necessity, of a short duration, designed for high damage output after the Ruins had been discovered. The model had succeeded beyond its designers wildest dreams, becoming a staple for both hand-carried marines and vehicle mounts alike.
When they reached their peak rotation, Shepard slapped the panel, popping the doors open. Ashley stomped forwards, shields at full power, the armor's own magnetic internal shielding adding its considerable heft to the mix. Her movement was somewhat slower than that of an unencumbered soldier, but no single soldier was capable of carrying twin cannon like her armor could.
Shepard spun in, whipping around the door and away from Ashley's flank; standard breaching tactic. If one were to attack the power armor, getting away from the target would extend longevity for anyone with lesser protection.
"Well … that was … interesting." Tali's voice emanated from behind the two humans, sounding vaguely amused. From her perspective, it had probably looked a little stupid, a fully-armored woman and marine dancing around each other through a doorway.
Not saying anything, Shepard checked his visor, scanning for thermal signatures. Movement on the floor caught his attention, water flooding over the surface. It ran past his feet, trickling from a broken pipe he'd failed to notice further back, and gurgling onwards towards the far side.
Good security feature, he had to admit. Stealth in inch-deep water was nearly impossible, akin in difficulty to tap-dancing in wading boots. Not that he'd ever tried that.
The cavern looked partially natural; stalactites hung from the ceiling near the sides, while truncated versions showed stubby forms near the center. The ground was machine smooth, abandoned crates lying in haphazard piles. Several lanterns, keyed to the secondary door had activated, casting strong, if unsteady light across the chamber. One, lying on the ground, drew his attention by the position it illuminated.
"Over there," Shepard gestured at two more circular doorways. One had a red indicator lit, but the lower passage was greenlit. A simple choice, but obvious – too much so?
"Commander, are we going down even further?" Williams asked.
Shepard nodded at his omni-tool. "The signal is coming from that direction, so I would have to say yes."
"Drat." The voice was distinctly unhappy.
He keyed the doorway, "You don't like close spaces? I'm surprised, considering."
"It's not the space really," Ashley demurred, "It's more the thought of all that … rock over my head. And no way out."
The door hissed open, grating its edges across the sides. Shepard cast a glance back at the other two and resumed point. "Radio check?"
Tali responded immediately. "Lieutenant Alenko and Garrus don't see anything. Their signal is getting choppy, but strong."
Definitely a trap. Shepard tightened his grip, Go back, call for reinforcements? He slowed, thinking. No, end result they send a squad to do exactly what I'm doing now, but with less training. Whoever set this trap would be gone by then.
That triggered another thought. Why would the trap-maker lay the trap here and now? Or bother to watch? Showmanship?
Shepard opened the final door, letting it grind open before ducking to once side as Williams's power armor charged forwards. As had been done earlier, he ducked inside behind her, whirling to cover the right flank.
Once more, there was nothing. Crates stacked in a more orderly fashion lined a wall, while a silvery cylinder roughly the size of a skycar rested on its belly nearby.
Cylinder.
Shepard held up one hand, stopping his companions. "There."
"Is that it?" Williams trained one arm at the tube, scanning its contours with her systems.
The helmet is too much. Four airlock doors, enough oxygen to support a mining crew, I should be safe long enough to take off the blasted patch. Shepard hit the release catches, lifting the helmet's sides away from his head. Ahhh … much better.
Just as he reached for the covering over one eye, he heard something whine into action. At the same time, the door panel behind them clicked, not a mild reset noise, but the deep shuddering noise of heavy-gauge metal sliding into place.
"Shepard, at last."
The voice was smooth, but unrefined, like someone whom had once been educated, but relinquished it for a rough lifestyle.
Shepard raised an eyebrow. A hologram, of grainy quality but good enough to transmit the image had appeared over the pipe. "Do I know you?"
The image chuckled before enlarging itself. A man, human and deeply tanned became evident in the digital morass. "You don't remember me?" Laughter transmitted over the link for a moment before he regained control. "It doesn't matter, I remember you. I remember everyone I've fought. My name is Elanos Haliat, I doubt you'll know it."
"Elanos Haliat?" Shepard stroked his chin thoughtfully, "That takes me back. Terminus gang leader, one of the first humans to undergo the batarian gjykimi i gjakut, the 'Trial of Blood.' As I recall, you were a major player in the slaver raids in the Terminus Systems, until roughly seven years ago."
"You are intelligent, Commander." The figure shifted, arrogantly tilting his head to one side, "Tell me, do you know how someone rises to power in the Terminus Systems?"
"Doesn't matter," Shepard echoed his words back, "All I need to know is who to kill, and where he is. Sometimes the latter isn't necessary … how has it been, with a bounty on your head?"
Haliat froze, "Life has been good. Hunters come after me, and I kill them. They're poor for the most part, but sometimes …" he rotated one arm, exposing an omni-tool, its brand prominently displayed. "I had planned to obtain a Logic Arrest at some point, but this just walked up to me you could say."
"Congratulations," Shepard said drily. "Now, what did you want?"
"Mm? Oh, nothing much. Revenge, and your life, that's all."
Movement distracted Shepard a moment, Williams stretching her armored shoulders. Her face was obscured, not that he could have read it, but the posture indicated definite aggressive behavior. Tali, near her side, appeared to be in complete agreement, shotgun in one hand, omni-tool poised for action in the other.
"Perhaps you do not understand. In the Terminus systems, life is very similar to how the old Vikings lived. He who kills the most men, seizes the most plunder, pillages the most colonies." The figure drew a deep breath, as if fighting down emotion. "Seven years ago, I was the strongest. I used my influence to assemble a fleet to drive your kind out of the Verge."
"Elysium." Shepard growled, the hand-grip of his sidearm felt solid, reassuring in his grasp.
Haliat spread his arms, "I was the instigator, the one who promised glory and riches for sacking the largest human colony in the cluster! I was the one blamed when it failed. Failed! Failed because of your damnable holding action!"
Shepard's comm crackled, "Commander, Lieutenant Alenko isn't responding. It's been four minutes, and I can't raise him." He nodded slowly, acknowledging Tali's message.
The hologram laughed, "It took me three years before I managed to earn back respect, another two before I learned how high you had risen because of that feat. Then I made friends with powerful people, groups that recognized my value." His tone lowered, head leaning into the camera range. "I was never sure this would have caught you; after all, there are many people the Alliance could have sent in response to this, but I waited. I knew the opportunity would come."
"You're very well informed for a pirate." Shepard examined the nuclear device sitting on the ground, there was only one way this would end. Haliat had burned many bridges to get him there.
"I am. Too well informed to fall for your delay tactic ... your reflexes must be slowing down, given that eyepatch." Haliat raised a hand, exhibiting a remote device. "Any last words?"
Shepard bared his teeth, "I'll let you know on St. Glingin's Day."
"Ha. Empty words from a dead man." The clicking noise from the device was audible over the link, "Good-bye, Shepard."
"Commander?" Tali's voice quavered slightly. Shepard didn't need her warning to see the timers, projecting swiftly reducing numbers over the nuclear device.
"Tali, take the opposite end, use a bifurcating algorithm." He followed suit moving to the tube. Why is it always nuclear? Why can't I be attacked with silly string, or a pie? The first timer deactivated under his fingers, leaving him free to move on to the second. The hardware here is pretty old though … First Contact war, if he didn't replace anything. The second timer shut down, leaving him free to join Tali. She'd hacked directly into the computer, interfacing with the command codes; an elegant solution, but not quite what he'd had in mind. Right, thirty seconds left – too easy. Sergeant Kopfbrecher would have my head if I messed up something this simple. Just avoid the blue wire, cut the dummy trigger, and ….
"Got it." Tali's filtered voice squeaked just before he clipped the wire. "Downloading as much as I can, too. It's a pretty small system."
Shepard stood back, shaking out his wrists. "Good thing they don't change those too often," he commented to no one. A muffled explosion interrupted him.
"That sounds like trouble," Ashley muttered. She sounded mulish; not that he blamed her. Standing idly by, twiddling oversized thumbs, while a bomb threatened to end your existence tended to do that. "Orders?"
Shepard moved to the door. The red light over the locking mechanism had lost its cherry glow, a worrisome sight. "Tali?"
The quarian hurried to his side, omni-tool glowing neon orange. The interface failed to match coloration, or show any light at all, worrisome. The most basic rule of mining operations stipulated that all doorways were to have light sources; he'd looked it up during a mission two years earlier. No light meant either no power – a lie since the chamber they were in was still illuminated – or the lock had been deliberately sabotaged.
She confirmed the issue seconds later. "I'm sorry Commander; it looks as like the lock is broken."
"Try blown apart," Ashley offered. "That sounded like a doorknocker, marine style."
"Poor choice." Shepard checked his pouches; he had a few surprises of his own; every soldier did. Just what that surprise consisted of depended on the temperament and training. Ammunition blocks were the usual extra accessory, alongside grenades and flares. Some soldiers chose to carry an excess number of more powerful explosives, while Infiltrator specialists stashed sensor darts, excellent tools for long-range observation.
Ashley, he noticed, was doing the same, the blocky armor making her motions cumbersome. "You have something Chief?"
Her faceplate shook negatively. "Sorry sir, grenades for the quad-launcher, but nothing for a door like that."
"I have a fusion cutter, but it's not strong enough for that door." Tali spoke up before he could ask. "Maybe I can weaken it for Chief Williams?"
Shepard grunted, examining the door once more. It was a few grades shy of cruiser armor, not the strongest material possible, but certainly not weak. The room itself was medium-sized, large enough to safely detonate grenades if directed … but if one bounced? Even contact explosives failed at times. Still, it was a risk worth taking; better than exposing his pseudo-biotics. "Do it."
Tali clicked her fingers in what would have been a finger snap on a human. A thin beam of light flew into place between her main two fingers, holding its position steady. Unlike its more powerful cousin the fusion torch, a cutter required only the power source found in the average armor set. Quarian enviro-suits typically carried more power than normal, which might make all the difference. The power, fed over the aerogel substrate, could weaken the door. Theoretically.
Minutes dragged past. The hissing crackle changed tenor as the alloy-bonded ceramic degraded. Occasional pieces would separate, shattering on the floor.
The hissing crack degenerated into a whistling noise, accompanied by a cry of surprise. "Bosh'tet!"
Shepard was on his feet in a moment. "What happened?"
"The cutter broke," Tali muttered something he couldn't understand, "I knew I should have gotten the backup set! I knew it!" Her hand made wringing motions, shaking a broken, still glowing shard. A longer piece, glow fading, sizzled on the ground in a puddle.
"Let's see what we have." Shepard kept his tone calm, reassuring. Quarians were a vocal species, taking their cues from both physical touch and aural contact. Of course, some called it an incorrect theory, but six months serving with a quarian team had convinced him otherwise.
"Looks like you've done all you can here," he traced the edges with his gauntlet. Water on his glove, residue from the floor, sublimated into steam at the touch. He had to admit, she'd done a good job. The airlock opened into the walls of the tunnel, folding upon itself like a flat accordion. Tali's approach had weakened the material next to the doorframe, starting with the bottom portion. When the grenades hit, they would be more easily directed against the metal, excess energy deflected from the firm ground.
"You're up Chief." Shepard stood back, making note of the time. Less than an hour earlier, they had been exiting the Mako far above.
Williams sank the armor into lockdown mode, one leg extending backwards to brace while the other folded out a tripod-like stabilizer. Both arms rose, like a benediction. "Sir, just to make sure, you want me to fire on the door with anti-vehicle rounds, while we're underground."
Shrugging, he flicked the eyepatch onto the ground before re-donning his helmet. "Not the safest idea I've had, but we can't wait for Alenko to come after us."
"Right. Clear!"
Shepard placed himself in a kneeling crouch behind Williams, trusting her heavier armor to take the shrapnel if any came back their way. Tali ducked behind him, falling flat on the ground, covering her head with both arms. He took one last look, and lowered his helmet to one knee. "Fire in the hole!"
Explosions boomed, detonating in rapid succession. The Menelaus power armor was known for being both anti-infantry, and partial anti-vehicle. Its main weaponry could mow down entire platoons – should they be so foolish as to stand in easily targeted rows. Its secondary weapon however was a Mercana D-5 grenade launcher, two barrels mounted over each arm. Like its distant gunpowder-fueled ancestor, the Mercana delivered high-velocity payloads directly to its target.
The percussive blasts stopped. Shepard peeked out, staying careful to remain on one side. Accidents happened, and he'd already absorbed enough grenades for the week. "How many was that?"
"One magazine, sixteen rounds."
That sounded right. The door bulged outwards, separating from the frame itself completely in places. Enough still remained to hold the main pieces in place, but not nearly enough to stop another fusillade.
Metallic noises, of a successful reload brought him out of his reverie. "How many do you have Chief?"
"Grenades?" The metal-covered head twisted towards him. "Started out with sixty in the chamber, I have another four dozen in my ammo pouch."
He didn't have to think hard. "Eight full loads left then. Hold your fire for now; we might be able to do it without risking the ceiling."
Williams straightened, "Gotcha."
Before he could begin unlimbering the … quieter … aspects of his Nightstalker armor, her own armor rumbled into higher gear.
"Chief?"
The heavily armored marine backed up a step, flexing her legs, then lowered one shoulder and charged.
Shepard winced as her quarter-ton frame smashed into the doorway. The flat metal panels crushed on impact, splintering under the weight. A metal shard struck his helmet, snapping his neck sideways as if slapped. He grunted softly, absorbing the impact.
"Commander!" A small form slammed into his back, toppling his balance.
Yep. Just like Katrina. Shepard carefully got to his feet, avoiding the quarian's attempts to do the same. Enthusiastic, but a little clumsy.
The crashing cacophony of metal on wet rock told him the doorway was open once more. Wiliams's bulky armor groaned as she used its servos to shove on the other half of the door; it acceded to her forceful motion easily now that the lock was gone.
"Thank you, Williams. Much easier than my trying to kick it open."
The nine-foot tall figure tossed a jaunty salute his way. "Any time Commander."
The passage back up was littered with bits of gravel, loose stone that the closed mine never cleared out. Grenades, apparently, were insufficient to disturb the underlying bedrock.
Shepard led the group back up the tunnel, watching every corner. "Keep trying, Tali. Let me know the second you raise Alenko or the Normandy. Chief Williams, weapons free. Take down anything that moves."
The massive figure growled an inarticulate response, underslung rotary carbines spinning up experientially before slowing down once more. "Hard contact mode engaged," the faceplate glowed red in two points, with a suggestion of a scowling visage. "Ready when you are,Commander."
"That's spooky." Tali commented from behind the armored woman.
"Good." Ashley swung a spotting lamp towards the main entrance, at the far side of the cavern. "We got a problem, Commander."
"I see it." Shepard delivered his own scowl at the pile of rock obstructing the exit. The effect was somewhat decreased by the helmet, all the better for covering his lapse. Commanders were supposed to be unemotional, especially when they didn't anticipate being in the same squad for long.
More reloading sounds emanated from William's armor. "Want me to try clearing a path Commander?"
"No." Shepard turned sideways, hadn't there been another doorway? "Too much structural damage already. Much more and we'll deep six ourselves." There it was, next to the chamber they'd just exited. "Tali, see if you can pop that hatch over there."
The quarian's fingers were already flying across her omni-tool's interface. It always amazed him, how so few digits could accomplish the same things as a 5-fingered hand.
The door hissed open, gravel falling off its upper edges. Tali sidestepped, performing a slight half-kick before jumping back as if she hadn't moved. An interrupted victory dance, perhaps? Her faceplate angled his way, "It's open, Commander."
He kept a smirk from his face. "Good work. Watch my back."
"Aye aye."
Shepard swapped weapons, letting the Brawler snap against its clamps in favor of the custom-design sniper rifle. A few hours in the Normandy's practice range had proven its effectiveness; something along the lines of the legendary HMWSR. They were still different – his Excalibur was slower firing for example, but it was an excellent answer to Council weapons development program.
"Exit ahead ten meters." William's harshly synthesized voice boomed. Shepard kept himself from jumping by clenching his grip extra tightly; hopefully, no one would notice.
The door's access indicator was green, a good sign. No one had anticipated their exit … or had used the exit so quickly as to neglect securing the second airlock.
Shepard slapped the icon using the edge of his hand to make contact. The door froze a quarter of the way open; but the machine-enhanced limbs of his Nightstalker armor made it easy work. The metal smashed into the frame under his grip like cheap plastic, widening the opening to the outside.
"Anything?" Shepard gave the horizon a quick scan; no dust trails, no advancing batarian hordes. Unlikely, if Haliat had told his underlings of the plan.
"I've reached the Normandy!" Tali's excited voice nearly shrieked in his earpiece.
Joker's worried tone followed almost immediately. "Commander? You there?"
Shepard used the tongue switch, activating the VOX protocol, keeping both hands on the rifle. "I'm here Joker. Talk to me."
"A couple Grizzlies came out of nowhere; they must have had sensor baffle or something." The pilot paused, "Kaiden and Garrus stuck around as long as they could, but they had to run. They're about ten klicks south of you right now, taken out two tanks so far."
"Good." Shepard picked up movement from far down the hillside. The mine exit they'd taken presented a beautiful scene, two Grizzly class Light Armor Transport under a tarpaulin, surrounded by tiny figures.
"Well, paint me pink and call me a hanar," Shepard almost whispered the words. "An honest to God turkey shoot."
"Amen." William's voice returned, almost reverent.
"Turkey – what?" Tali sounded confused.
Shepard couldn't help chuckling. Once. He tried disguising it as a cough, studiously ignoring the human member of his squad. "Look it up on the Normandy. Until then, keep a weather eye out. Joker, can you hear me?"
"I'm with you every step of the way Commander. Unless something goes boom, then I'm kinda way back here, but you get what I mean."
The younger man knew how to lighten the mood; it was certainly a talent. "Can you see my position?"
"Commander, this baby could see the scratches on the paint job your helmet got last week if I asked it – um, which is absolutely no comment on that nasty-looking scrape on your right shoe. What you need? "
Shepard cast his eyes on the steep hillside, looking for a proper resting place. He spotted it a moment later, a wide shelf-like slab of rock. "Can you see the two tanks hiding in that wide-open flat thing to the sunward side?"
The pilot's voice sounded embarrassed. "Ah, not exactly. Sensors can pick up something, but it's pretty vague."
Shepard crouched behind the flat rock, laying the Excalibur's barrel across its length. He fired a sensor dart at the tanks under the tarpaulin, watching the mini-circle arc across his map display. "How about now? Set in sensors to tac-channel seven."
"Oooh what have we here?" The pilot made appreciative sounds under his breath.
"Target the big mass with a one Type Three kinetic round. Triple check the numbers; rangefinder is telling me I'm less than a kilometer from the blast zone. You kill me and I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of your life." Shepard let a smirk curl upwards behind the anonymity of his helmet. Threats in jest were entertaining, particularly when most took them seriously.
"Ah … yessir. Targeting solution coming up now. Pressley is verifying, running it through the computer … checks out Commander. Say when."
Shepard cuddled the rifle stock to his shoulder, taking aim. "Stand by Normandy. Williams, target right. Drive 'em closer to the tanks. Tali, watch our backs and stay in cover."
The Menelaus rotary carbines spun faster, attaining combat velocity in seconds. Half a second after that, rounds began exiting their muzzle, making the earth erupt in hundreds of miniature explosions.
For himself, Shepard focused where Williams was firing, and landed a snap-reflex shot in an armored torso. The carbine fire began hitting personal shields, eating away at defensive countermeasures like a sandstorm. One man stood still in the oncoming fire, sighting a long rifle back along the path of destruction.
Shepard took him down with a single shot through the visor.
"Grenade out!" Williams's secondary weapon coughed an explosive device, hurling it into a crate sheltering three armored figures.
Leaving them to the Chief's tender mercies, Shepard scanned left. The majority of people were fleeing towards the heavily armored vehicles, but two were fleeing even further out of range; one had the tell-tale blur of biotic use while the other was simply running. He targeted the non-biotic, and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed, the sound audible in the thin air, taking down the man easily.
He gave the rifle a fond pat. Its range was even better than he'd hoped; bullet-drop minimal even at five hundred meters. "Alright Joker, lay the egg."
The Normandy came into view, an albatross-like shadow in the butterscotch-colored sky. Something bright flashed, and then the ground heaved under Shepard's feet. Downhill, a column of earth shot upwards, fountaining away from the center. Static from the miniscule particles made his earpiece pop, a disorienting experience.
"Sir, we got a runner." William's synthesized voice called his attention.
Shepard glanced at the still fleeing individual. His visor zoomed in, picking out characteristics. One was surprisingly specific. "It's an asari."
"Really?" Williams raised one arm, "Want me to turn her into an antique sieve?"
Snarky humor; first Joker, now Williams. Shepard hid another smirk inside his helmet; this was going to be a good squad. "No, let's try to take this one alive. Asari love to talk."
"Understood Commander." The helmet canted, eyeing the distance, "Any suggestions on how we're going to catch her?"
"You won't; I will." Shepard snapped the rifle's assembly into compact mode. "You and Tali do cleanup here; see if anything survived. I'll follow our blue friend. Can't shoot the leg, at least if I want her to stay pressurized, so we'll do this the ol' fashioned way."
He took off in a ground-eating lope. The asari might have had a head start, but he wasn't using energy-sapping biotics. "Shepard to Normandy, send Delta squad to the blast site. Assist Chief Williams and Specialist Tali'Zorah with clean-up."
Joker's voice came in, accompanied with the faint tapping sound of interacting magnetic fields. "Roger that." The voice vanished, only to reappear roughly fifty feet later, "Alenko is coming your way Commander. Didn't think you wanted to haul her butt all the way to the landing zone by yourself."
"Very thoughtful of you." Shepard clicked to the light infrared sensor on his visor once again, checking that he wasn't falling too far behind ... and it was good timing. Annoyed at what he saw, he ran faster.
"She's fast." Shepard lengthened his stride, using Agebinium's lighter gravity to his advantage, "But not fast enough."
Ahead, he could see the armored figure again, a faint glow against the russet terrain. Her form twisted, then blurred into a smaller dot further ahead.
Blast. Charging ahead, literally. Shepard resisted the temptation to increase his pace. Biotic techniques could gain a significant advantage in an urban setting, it was significantly less useful on the open field. Extremely practiced users could transition from a running start to a running stop, but most required a moment to focus.
The range display paused for a second, and then scrolled upwards again, adding nearly thirty meters to the distance.
He growled, picking up the pace. This wasn't going as he'd hoped.
Rust-colored ground rolled past, speeding in only the way a low-gravity world could allow. Shepard's breath came easily, minimally increased from the activity. That was one significant advantage he had over almost every race; stamina. Turians and asari didn't sweat, nor have quite as efficient an oxygen exchange process. Krogan on the other hand made up for their own minor differences with sheer quantity; the only sentient beings in the universe able to keep up with a krogan was a human … unless vorcha were involved. Those – repugnant – beings lacked resilience, but had enough regenerative capabilities to recover from almost anything.
Another blue flash from ahead made him groan internally. She had flashed again, choosing to skip over more difficult terrain, making it harder for him to follow.
Two can play at that game. Shepard drew his sidearm without breaking stride, fitting a reconnaissance dart. The device hardly needed aiming, perfect for moving shots.
The dart itself hit an outcropping well beyond both of them. It triggered to a fully active state, showing both of their movements on his HUD.
The red dot shifted slightly, then blurred once more before blurring again in quick succession. Shepard sensed a feral grin growing, and let it stay. She had probably lost her footing and resorted to biotics to regain her position. Stumbling indicated tiring.
"Commander, we're half a klick south. Joker told us what's going on, do you have visual?"
Shepard felt the smirk turn bloodthirsty. "Suspect is headed east by northeast, going through that mesa region. Can you give me a lift?
"Roger that." The bouncing Mako roared into sight, the weak sunlight gleaming off its still clean edges. For a vehicle that had destroyed two tanks, it seemed in remarkably good repair.
"Don't stop, just slow down enough for me to jump on." Shepard adjusted his stance, lowering his legs slightly while straightening his back. Alenko followed his directions, swerving slightly to avoid a cairn, nose dipping slightly as the tank decelerated.
Taking full advantage of the lower gravity, Shepard hopped onto the now-slowly moving vehicle. Like most military transports, it had low-rising handrails on the back end, giving him a grip while activating the magnetic clamps in his boots. The same element zero hardware that helped the Mako attain its versatility also created a mild high-density field on the back, preventing slipping for anyone hitching a ride.
"I'm on. Go!" Shepard clung to the rail as the tank's engine revved. The Mako lurched, pushing forward over the terrain.
Turning his attention to the HUD, Shepard kept his eye on the moving red dot. With his visor linked to the Mako's mainframe, he could expand the sensor distance to over twice the range a simple hardsuit computer could achieve. Consequently, the fleeing asari appeared closer than before, yet had gained distance while he'd changed transportation methods.
"Commander, I have her on the scanners." Joker's signal crackled, "But we're about to go over the horizon. Want me to go geosynch?"
"Do it." It would burn the majority of heat sinks available to keep the Normandy in stealth, but this asari was beginning to become a major mystery. Most asari-pirates were either young Maidens, spending their early centuries experiencing as much life as possible, and acted as if they were in their twenties for nearly two hundred years. No Maiden – or at least, very few – could take charge of an entire pirate base.
Those that were entering their third century, however, would take a lieutenant position, utilizing their centuries of experience as leverage. Hundreds of gangs in the Terminus Systems had asari in fairly high positions; not at the apex, but close. Asari didn't start gangs, they joined them. Only the Eclipse Mercenaries were known to be fully asari combatants, with the frequent salarian, of course. Asari and salarians were as common as hydrogen and explosions.
Most pirate leaders had a personal guard; Haliat's crew, now dead under the Normandy's guns, had been composed solely of fighters. That meant this asari would have likely been a high-ranking lieutenant. That, in turn, meant she would have had to have been either with his original group, or proven capable to be in his admittedly small, personal guard.
The facts add up to her being intelligent. She can't run forever, and can't hide indefinitely without atmosphere. Some asari could put themselves so deeply in a trance that their lifesigns could be missed by a less-than-diligent sensors crew. That wasn't possible in this case, considering Agebinium's minimal atmosphere. Where is she going?
Shepard charted the path the asari had taken, outlining the landmarks they'd passed; she'd been traveling in a fairly straight line ever since he'd started following her. A blinked command and the data updated itself to the Normandy's tactical map. "Pressley, extend this line. Focus sensors; see if there are any anomalies on the same path."
"Aye sir, checking now," the older man's crisp voice answered immediately, soothingly calm. It remained quiet for several seconds, then returned. "I have something two kilometers away. Marking it on your map."
There was only one response to make. "Floor it Lieutenant."
The Mako jumped in response, bounding over the increasingly stony ground like a heavily-armed gazelle. Within fifty seconds, Shepard could see the asari once more, leaping a narrow gorge, still traveling in a nearly straight line. He could see her helmet turn in their direction, then blur into the distance.
Beneath him, the Mako's jets rumbled to life. The multi-ton vehicle shivered before enveloping itself in an eezo shield, reducing the effect of Agebinium's minimal gravity. The end result allowed it to completely bypass the cleft, instead hurtling over the edge of a cliff to the flat plains beyond.
The asari was on the ground already, sprinting as fast as an Olympian athlete, darting ahead in regular spurts of biotic energy.
Shepard hammered the Mako's roof. "Vakarian, you hear me?"
A flanged voice vibrated back in his earpiece. "Loud and clear Commander. Need me to open the top hatch?"
He shook his head despite the metal barrier between them. "Fire up the turret, give her a warning shot. Try to disrupt her without killing her."
"Disabling shot with a 135 mm, eh? On a tank, I'd say no problem, but on an asari?" The shrug was almost audible, "No promises."
"Do your best." Shepard clutched at the railing as another rock tipped the Mako on edge, "and tell Alenko to get between the asari and that outcropping about one-point-five klicks ahead."
"Roger that." The turret lifted itself from the Mako's roof, twisting in place like a waking serpent. A moment later, the vehicle shook as the main gun fired.
A crater appeared ten meters in front of the running asari, forcing her to take a running leap to stay on course.
The Mako sped up, reaching a higher velocity than what was possible on the rough hills behind. Shepard's eyes widened as he worked out the calculations; if they were right, the asari was running well over Olympian speeds, nearly seventy kilometers per hour. The Charge bursts had to be exponentially faster, at least triple running speed.
Slowly, the Mako passed the running asari, getting farther ahead each time she paused between Charges. Her rage was visible, even from the back of a speeding Mako. She looks a lot like some of those batarian slavers, when I take down their operation. One of those Hegemony Supremacist variety; never says Uncle and all that. Good to know.
The outcropping became visible as they approached; a large hillock in the near distance. More telling was the reddish-hued sensor baffle hanging from the tallest boulders bulging over the center mass.
Shepard marked it on his HUD, highlighting the odd structure. "Normandy, watch this point. Possible getaway ship." He switched channels, "Alenko, stop once we've reached this place. I'm taking down that asari."
"Yessir. Ah, you want some help?"
He lowered one shoulder in a Gallic shrug. "I won't say no, but it'll probably be over by the time you get out." In some viewpoints, that would have been bragging. This wasn't; unless the asari was a Matriarch grade biotic user. Takedowns were something in which he excelled; she would be down within ten seconds. That was fact.
"We're here sir."
Shepard jumped off, then turned around annoyed at himself. He'd landed on the side nearest the hillock, placing the Mako was between the asari and himself. Growling, he started walking towards the vehicle, pulling a miniaturized flash-bang out of habit. Its activator slid into the on position, ready for action.
A bright blue flash almost blinded him, startling him enough to drop the armed grenade. It went off at his feet, just as the asari ran into him at a dead run. He could hear a surprised shriek, her hands flashing blue, causing him to react instinctively.
One leg kicked up and around, planting itself firmly in her midsection with all the force an Alliance Marine N7 class soldier, in the prime of health, could muster. The armor's mechanical assistance sped his kick, helping it deliver at an even higher velocity, sending the asari flying backwards into the Mako's armored side.
Shepard stared as she smacked into the metal, arms flailing wildly, before slowing into a stunned droop. Her widened pupils were just visible through lightly tinted visor, just as she toppled face downwards.
A tiny dust cloud rose mockingly around her still form, echoing Shepard's confusion. Did she just Charge through the Mako? There were no footprints around or under the tank, leaving only one possible answer: she had passed through the tank as if it hadn't been there.
He folded his arms, contemplating her still body. Asari were some of the most powerful biotic users in the galaxy; an entire race that begun their training before they left the cradle. Their melee combat techniques were the most advanced in the galaxy, a specialty assisted by a capability to spend centuries in training. Some dojos – to use the human term – kept their students a full seventy years before allowing them to attain the next levels.
This one … has to be one of those trained fighters. Shepard thought. What in the Nine Realms is she doing with a has-been raider like Haliat?
A thump of the retracting door caught his attention. Lieutenant Alenko was standing at the ready, gun loosely held in one hand. His eyes darted at the prostrate body, back to Shepard, then down again. Behind him, Garrus made an appearance, long rifle active.
"Damn Shepard, you work fast!" Alenko shook his head in amazement.
Shepard raised both shoulders innocently. "Got lucky, she didn't know what hit her."
The turian's eyes were focused on him however, shrewdly analyzing the ground at his feet in a way only a trained detective could. Shepard could almost feel the sharp eyesight note the scorch marks on his boots, and the uninterrupted space of dusty ground between himself and the fallen asari. He offered the turian a tiny shrug, mimicking the turian hip twist of innocence. The analogue in humans was a demonstrated by splaying the hands, timed with raising the shoulders – all species had a version.
Shepard gestured, prompting Alenko to raise his weapon at the downed asari. Carefully, making certain the Lieutenant had a clear view; Shepard circled behind the asari, and cautiously poked her helmet. At no response, he gently moved her hands to her neck, flash-forging a pair of restraints from the unique database on his omni-tool.
"What are those, Commander?" Alenko kept his gun steady, but curiosity was in his voice.
"Something I learned back in CBT." Shepard looped the restraint around the other hand, bringing both of the asari's hands to the base of her head. "Biotics typically use their hands, either to throw or warp things. If you keep their hands controlled, they are their own first target."
An admiring whistle came in response. "Clever. You want us to check out that tarp back there?"
Shepard lifted with his knees, pulling the asari's form in a fireman's carry. "Get Delta squad to do it. I'll call in Charlie squad, they've had time to recover since yesterday."
He turned away from the Lieutenant, bringing his charge into the Mako. He'd have to radio ahead, tell the Normandy to prepare the interrogation suite. All right, what can this young lady tell me?
(1)International Audit Commission
(2) Naval Exploratory Flotilla
A/N: Hey all, good to be back! The base 16 suggestion (credit to Nightstride) is used for two reasons: First, there is an example in human history (traditional Chinese units of weight), and second, there is a reference to Base 6 as being unfamiliar (Liara, ME3). Ergo, quarians have a non-base 6 numbers system.
Also, the batarian words/names I am using come from either the Wiki, or Albanian lexicon translations. My apologies for mangling the language.
I have a couple research projects I'll be working on this summer, but I should be able to get a chapter or two churned out by the beginning of the next semester. Suggestions? Criticisms? Let me know in the comments below! Just as a note, I will probably be raising the rating next level ... Shepard is getting down to business.
Story suggestion for the chapter: You get a twofer today! I would like to recommend ProFartBurger and his two biggest stories: The First War (Story ID: 8949791) and The New Face of War (Story ID: 10056566). Enjoy!
Chuck
