One of my favorite stories as a child was the great Lord of the Rings, by that masterful writer: J.R.R. Tolkein. The man deftly wove tales out of thin air, binding actual history with fictional events, created his own language, and a pseudo-history that took thirty years to finalize. His tales of heroism always brought one thing to mind: sorrow, death and decay are inevitable. Losses will occur, and good men will perish while bad men profit. But, at the end, it will be all right. We will still remember the greats, and mourn their loss, while none will mourn the departed evils.
What does that have to do with my history? Nothing, nothing at all. Except that perhaps … just perhaps … if you find yourself siding more and more with demons, you should remember what the end result will be. Hopefully, you are not allergic to sulfur.
What's that? No I'm not trying to scare the readers, just give a little perspective. Yes, even asari have demons, don't try to tell me wrong, remember that woman you tried to set me up with nine years ago? … is this thing still on?
… Dash it all anyway.
Notes from Dr. Pavenmeyer's logs
~Project Ragnarök Files
SSV Normandy
Captain's Cabin
Shepard sat at the terminal a handful of paces beyond his bed. His gloriously comfortable, horizontal, bed. Unfortunately, he was spending his downtime unproductively, gazing past its glowing surface. It comes down to two possibilities: Feros, or Noveria. One may have more use than the other, but which one?
Sighing, he got up and stretched. The healing work had done its task, but even the best medical nanites couldn't alleviate stressed weariness. Which reminded him – his own nanites needed to be given the override. Leaving the Alliance medical nanites in place would help speed healing, but their numbers would self-replicate, making their removal at the conclusion of the treatment even more difficult. Some marines preferred to leave them in, avoiding the entire extraction process, but those soldiers typically didn't want to fine-tune things. There were advantages to keeping medical nanites internal, but the disadvantages outweighed the advantages, at least to Shepard's line of thinking.
The vial's thin needle glinted in his hand for a moment, just before it plunged into his skin. Its silvery payload swiftly flowed through the point, reinforcing the nano-technology within his body. They were already pre-set for code optimization, and would transmit it throughout his body without him needing to broadcast a proprietary access code where anyone could receive it.
It stung, but not badly. Which meant as soon as the injection was complete, the destination problem still loomed.
"Computer, read the list for Noveria." Shepard dropped the syringe into the recycling devices by his desk. It whirred, reducing the components into omni-gel, ready for another purpose.
"Noveria: points of interest for investigation," The computer's synthesized voice, an imitation of a female timbre, responded to his order. "Shepard Portfolios retain significant shares in 33.74% of the corporations active on Noveria. Requests for assistance in matters have a high probability of receiving favorable action."
"Yes, yes," Shepard waved his hand impatiently, "Query: Who is currently administrator?"
The computer adjusted its readout. "Current Noveria Development Corporation Administrator, Port Hanshan, is: Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Karaten Narr Eadi Bel Anoleis."
That meant salarian. "Clarify Anoleis."
"Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Karaten Narr Eadi Bel Anoleis is the twin brother of Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Karaten Narr Eadi Roean Ksaleis, the thirty-second in line for the succession of Dalatrass Rannadril. Academic records are available from the University of Nasum, with a Paired-Degree specialty in Business Management and Cryptography. Secondary degrees include three redacted entries, and three degrees in Statistics, Psychology, and Communication."
Businessman then, with government ties; common for salarians. But why would Noveria, a primarily human colony, allow an alien species so much control? "Computer, delineate Anoleis work history, use short names only."
"Acknowledging request. Understood." Shepard could almost hear the information flipping bytes … but then he had a vivid imagination. "Anoleis has a work history of seven years, three months, two weeks and five days in Alliance space. To date he has been a respected consultant for Binary Helix, Cord-Hislop, and Synthetic Insight. Consultor work is listed as: Efficiency management, and network supervision."
Translated, that meant he'd served as a connection between Council and Alliance interests. A possible roadblock, considering the business ventures Mindoir had ruined for others.
"End query. New query: Please specify the holdings of Binary Helix on Noveria."
The system paused as it began processing new data. "Binary Helix occupies ten percent of the currently available research infrastructure on Noveria. Security is contracted under Saren Arterius, with Matriach Benezia T'Soni presiding."
That was new. "Query: what exactly is Matriarch Benezia's position?"
"Matriarch Benezia is currently listed as 'executive secretary' under the orders of former-Spectre Arterius."
That was slightly less than useless. "What are the functions of an 'executive secretary'?
Humming met his ears. "Data not available."
"What is the pay for an executive secretary?"
"Data not available."
Shepard growled. "When did Matriarch Benezia become 'executive secretary' for Saren?"
A beeping noise emanated from his desk's speakers. "Query not understood in current format. Please re-phrase."
Sighing, Shepard took a moment to regroup. "When did Matriarch Benezia start working at Binary Helix."
This time, the computer sounded slightly happier. "Matriarch Benezia T'Soni became an employee of Binary Helix fifteen years, five months, two weeks and six days ago."
"Blast," he muttered. More than enough time to thoroughly cover any tracks Saren might have left. The other businesses were possibilities however – no one in his right mind would allow the actions of a rival to go unmarked.
"Computer, how long has Binary Helix held a position on Noveria?"
"Accessing FTL Buoy. One moment please … comm buoy out of range. Please choose another option.
Grumbling to himself, Shepard keyed the intercom once more. "Joker, bring us in range of the buoy please."
"Roger that Commander. By the way, Alenko and Beta squad are en route, and we have friendlies inbound. Joker out."
While waiting, Shepard moved to the miniature cold storage compartment. It greatly aided attempts to stay out of eyeshot, when working. Heating a cup of tea was also a good way of killing time; coffee was good, but a decaffeinated cup just didn't have the same flavor. Mint tea on the other hand, gave the heat and flavor of full-bodied fluid, without the energizing effect.
A chime from the direction of his desk snagged his attention. "Response to query: Binary Helix became a shareholding member of the Noveria Development Corporation in June, 2157. Do you have further queries?"
"One more," Shepard blinked slowly, inhaling the steam floating upwards from his cup. "What are the founding dates for Sirta Industries and Synthetic Insights?"
"Processing, one moment," The voice seemed to vanish before reappearing. "Synthetic Insights Limited has a founding date occurring on February 2138. The founding of Sirta Industries by Armando Banes and Doctor Jones Sirta has been accredited to two separate dates: March 15, 2129 and January 15, 2132."
Banes, why was the name familiar? Shepard rubbed his temple, trying to remember. Banes … Banes … Noveria? Doctor … Horatio. Armando Banes, that spook a few days ago reacted to the name. Another point to remember. "Computer, new query: Who is Armistan Banes, association with Noveria?"
The machine responded promptly. "The data you are attempting to access has been restricted."
He muttered under his breath. "Computer: override code Theta-Sigma-five-five-one, N7-eye-are-dee, please confirm."
The Alliance symbol spun in place, reflecting a delayed loading time. Access even with FTL buoys took time. He'd experienced wait-times extending into days with slower transfer rates however, this was nothing to complain about. The symbol whirled a little faster before dissolving into the data stream. "Access code acknowledged. Warning: records of access time and location will be relayed to Alliance Intelligence, Operative N7-eye-are-dee. Please stipulate access reason or reasons."
Shepard put his mug down. What had the man done to require so many safeguards? He himself had access to data even the Prime Minister was forbidden to know, plus the Omega Protocol – a secret to almost every military echelon in existence, and he still doing the same rigmarole? "Begin access reason: investigations in Saren Arterius resources, comparison data. End access reason."
"Acknowledged. Downloading. Complete. Do you have any further queries?"
He glanced at the file, then at the data tables still present on the secondary screen. Noveria wasn't the only place that had substantial financial backing. "Yes. New query: who is the main financial backer of Feros, in the Theseus system?"
"Feros is has been given full colonial status two years, six months and five days ago. ExoGeni is the principle investor, holding thirty-five percent of shares. Mindoir Industries is the second-largest shareholder, with twenty-eight percent shares. Ten percent of the shares are privately owned, and the remaining seventeen percent are held by individual shareholders."
Shepard nodded to himself. Saren held some interest in ExoGeni as well, but not nearly as much as he did in Binary Helix. In addition, Feros was well within Alliance Space, rendering sketchy Spectre status negligibly obsolete. An N7, backed by the financial status of Mindoir Industries' sole CEO would bring answers faster than investigating the labyrinth political structure Noveria had become. That decided things. "Computer, open a channel to the pilot station." He waited the brief moment until another chime announced the system's readiness. "Joker, plot a course to Feros. Let me know as soon as we depart. Also, don't use the Relays. Hawking engines will get us there soon enough."
The pilot's voice came back confused. "Um, just verifying this Commander, but you said Hawking drives, not Relay travel? We can be there a few days earlier if we use the Relays you know."
"I know. The order stands."
A sigh of resignation came from the speaker. "Aye-aye, Commander."
Shepard waited, pondering his decision as the powerful throbbing sensation shivered through his feet. Relay is faster, but watched by everything out there, from Asari to Turian … and I bet the geth. No way they're sticking their heads in the sand behind the Veil, Saren got their attention somehow. A map shimmered into place, tracing the various routes throughout the galaxy, brought to life by a single touch to bring the virtues into view. Feros lay in the Attica Beta region, near the Voyager Cluster, and therefore within easy Relay range of the Traverse. No. If Saren is a step ahead of me, he's left eyes and ears by the shipload at every Relay between the Traverse and the outer colonies. Better to be safe than sorry; a few days won't hurt my chances any, and give more time for Legal division to get me more dirt on Tevos.
That was a good thought, something to keep in mind as the hunt progressed. Satisfied, Shepard returned to his research. Bio-analysis teams on Feros, from salarian research firms no less. A stalking horse gambit from … the file flipped over in his hand … Actina Simulations. Looks like they were refused access though, ExoGeni proprietary research.
A different report clamored for his attention. Furies present on Mindoir, Arcturus, and Beckenstein. No significant mortality spikes, but a number of influential positions have either become vacant, or changed their minds. Damn it, I was right.
He hated being right. Have to set up a response, but not now. Keep focus on Feros, that's what's important now. Ummm. Colony world, yes, knew that already; protected by two Olympia class battlestations … what? That was unusual, normally the Alliance was careful enough to dole out the massive combat platforms to crucial systems. Oh, edge of Alliance space, close to the Outer Colonies. Close to the Veil. And Saren is interested … make a note to contact Hackett before we go to light speed.
Something else sparked an interest. Gone silent for three weeks, no investigation; low priority, or deliberate intent? Better include that in Hackett's report. He sighed to himself. The man will hate me for all the paperwork I'm sending him.
That done, he turned his mind back to the task at hand, namely that of learning the political terrain of the upcoming campaign. "Computer, access my portfolio for ExoGeni. Also, download the information on colony investment for Feros, and the research expectations."
"Please re-phrase request."
"Gah," Shepard set down his cup a little more roughly than necessary so that it bounced. Softly, he took a breath, and set the cup back down again. Gently this time. "Cancel request, I'll do it myself. Set up playlist: Classical Introspection."
"Request: play playlist Classical Introspection processed." A soft work by Mozart began to play through the cabin's speakers. The smooth melodies served their purpose, lowering his frustration to more manageable levels.
"Computer, make a note for my omni-tool: find stress outlet soon," Shepard took mental stock of his own state. It had been weeks since he'd been able to just relax, months if he included the time before the Normandy refit had demanded his attention. His last … incident … had been the result of blowing off steam in an all-species fight club. Maybe this time he'd be able to find something a little less public? Surely he could last one more week? "Command: reserve training room for alpha two hours next week, 2100 hours, Monday through Friday."
The report away, he checked on the responses from Udina;s investments. Good Lord … heavy investments in Cord-Hislop? What do they make, ropes? Donations to … political charities in my name? My name? The news became worse the further he scanned. Transferring personnel without authorization, claiming tax exemptions for … what the heck are 'services for public benefit'? No, no, God Almighty, no!
Shepard slammed the tablet onto the desktop, taking deep, cleansing breaths. My brother, on the Citadel right now I think. I'll have to give him a call. It's time to express my … displeasure … to the Ambassador. Have to avoid difficulties, security; easily done. He picked up his omni-tool, setting up its tightest encryption protocol, coding it to bypass standard channels. Having a large interest in an inter-galactic communications company helped in that regard. Code access to the Embassy, check. Backup armor, check. A little something to remember me by … check. And … sent. Get cacked, Udina.
[120 hours later]
[Theseus System, outer edges]
Joker's hissing sigh imitated an open crack in the Normandy's canopy. "Great. Just when I thought we'd left them behind. How many of those things are there?"
Shepard silently agreed. The twin Olympia stations positioned over Feros were easily holding their own, but he had no idea if they were capable of keeping up the effort indefinitely. That was their purpose after all, to deter close-planet bombardment. It appeared his guess had been correct: wherever Saren traveled, the geth seemed close behind.
"I mean, did the quarians make them like omni-tools?" Joker continued. "Make a new one every time the thing got a scratch? Come on, there has to be some kind of limit."
The question, although rhetorical, seemed to be uniquely suited for an educational moment, given the presence of both Ashley and Liara in the cockpit. A juncture between economic and military theory, neither of which might be aware. Teaching felt natural, educating the blind spots of others without the press of combat. So, Shepard turned his attention half-way to the two women standing near the back of the cockpit, watching the same skies. "Not necessarily, Joker. Given enough programming, a sufficiently advanced system could theoretically grow without limit, like bacteria." He pointed at the geth dropships hovering just out of the twin battle-station's firepower. "Take one of those ships, figure roughly a thousand humanoid platforms. If each were given the right tools, they could create a mine, refinery, and a factory. The factory builds nothing but factory-building machines, and so on. Exponential growth, and time, could turn an entire planetoid into an army of platforms. Once the planet is converted – move on to another one."
The pilot glanced back at him. "Well aren't you Mister Cheery all of a sudden."
He shrugged. "It's a pretty common fear among strategists. Fortunately, no one has the resources to do that." The swarm of geth ships loomed in the distance, making runs towards the planet's surface only to break away as glowing arcs of sheer energy rose to meet them. Both actions held the appearance of long rehearsal, the dance between two partners. "Yet."
"Quarian engineering was once considered to be the apex of its kind," Liara commented softly. Her own eyes were glued to the same scene, but focused on the titanic structures fending off the geth. "It was once said that if you desired something built, you went to three peoples: the asari for inspiration, salarians for its design and the quarians to have it made. No one could make such works of lasting endurance like the quarians. Their fleets were considered the most powerful in the galaxy, until their creations rebelled."
The distant lightshow flickered, as another attack threw itself against the battle-stations. To Shepard's knowledge, there had been very few actual fleet actions involving station warfare; it was widely considered futile to attack shields powered by the dark heart of a black hole. The Hawking Engines, humanity's gift to galactic tactics, provided a power supply that equaled that of an Eezo engine, without the static production. Combine the endurance of a Hawking engine with the mass-altering properties of an eezo power supply, and the potential applications seemed endless.
Hah. The once-distant concept shattered at the sight before his eyes. I suppose it was inevitable.
"Ashley," he kept his eyes on the scene, watching the dropships for patterns. "Which squad is on rotation today?"
"Alpha squad, sir," the chief responded promptly. "Charlie and Delta are training right now, but I could pull them up for duty."
He considered the idea, then discarded it. "Good thought, but let them train – is it light duty? I have a feeling they'll be needed soon."
The clicking of her omni-tool assured him of the immediacy of his request being carried out. "Target practice with Vakarian, and a small class in tech warfare with Engines." The omni-tool whispered shut; "Sir, did you know the geth were going to be here? I mean, the training didn't start until just after Plutus."
Shepard focused on a dropship, watching it dive under a sweeping firestorm of electrical energy, then rise in a steep climb. "They want to become the best. Electronic warfare isn't just about geth, but it helps. Hackett suspects, and I agree, that Saren and the geth are working together. Whether that means we'll find geth at every place Saren's shown his ugly face, I don't know, but the training won't hurt."
She gave him a satisfied nod. "Understood, sir."
He waited until she departed, and took another long look at the planet far below. Planetary infiltration was a risky business by any stretched definition. The life-giving spheres were, by nature, inhospitable to the action itself; a crucial trait in allowing its own life-forms to develop. Casual entry of any extra-terrestrial object would spell doom to any fledgling sparks of life after all.
"Doctor T'Soni," he didn't turn from his observations. "What can you tell me of Feros?"
The asari shifted in place. "Feros is a class two garden world, according to the Citadel classification. It has an atmosphere approximately six times greater than the standard, and a gravity a fraction lighter than standard." Her voice became animated, "The interesting part is how nearly seventy percent of the inhabitable portions are covered in Prothean ruins. I applied to do a survey after my Therum investigation was complete, but have not yet received permission. Fascinating!"
"Doctor," Shepard let a little warning enter his tone, "Focus."
"Oh, of course, sorry." The embarrassment even reached her voice, making Shepard close his eyes in a silent plea for patience. "The Prothean ruins on Feros range from the Second to Fifth Age, but no one has been to the ground-level surface as of yet. To my knowledge, only the upper portions of the ruins have been thoroughly surveyed, since the atmospheric pressure is acceptable for most beings at that point. Most of the structures appear abandoned and destroyed, as if hit by an orbital attack, and the readings I have been reviewing indicate the planet to be much warmer than it once was. Perhaps as much as fifteen degrees colder roughly thirty thousand years ago."
From a distance, Shepard couldn't see the fabled cities covering the planet's surface. If it had still been inhabited, he would have expected to see light from the dark side of the planet, showing patterns of streets and major population centers. "How about the moons?"
She switched focus adroitly, "Orcan and Vardet. They appear to make up for the lack of ocean-level marine tectonics, but that means frequent earthquakes are present on Feros ground-level. The building methods the Protheans used are remarkable, to have lasted so long under such adverse conditions!"
"Are there any Prothean colony remains on the moons? Any data repositories?" Shepard turned away from the canopy at last, focusing on her blue eyes.
She blinked at his sudden attention. "Um, not that I know of, I do not think the Alliance would broadcast that kind of information."
"Damn right they wouldn't," Joker grumbled from his seat. "Bunch of paranoid, schizophrenic morons. Ah, sir."
Shepard ignored the pilot, heading back towards the CIC. Technicians made way for him, maintaining an efficient pattern even as he passed through their midst. Their position's importance rivaled that of the engineers down by the drive core; while the core may have been the Normandy's heart, the CIC was the brain. It was the tip of the nervous system, receiving all sensor data, shunting it across the entirety of the ship through kilometers of cable.
The massive projection holding a place of honor at the center of the display shifted as he approached, shimmering from a three-dimensional model of the Normandy to a scale map of their surroundings. From a distance, Feros appeared to be a sphere the size of a man's hand, with a pair of ovoid shapes hovering above its mass. Flecks of crimson swirled through the gaps of the three silhouettes, ascending towards the Olympia stations and falling back.
"Pressley, talk to me." Shepard stopped just shy of the ramp where the older man stood.
The Navigator shifted the projection, moving the viewpoint outwards. "Commander, we have almost enough data. I know why the colony hasn't been calling for help."
Shepard gestured to continue as Ashley and Liara reached his side. "Go ahead."
Pressley gave a long look at the interested - looking asari, but continued. "The geth appear to have placed a series of specialized platforms around the Relay. I don't know the technology, but it appears to be acting like a Foucault cage. Signals are reaching the area, then … diverted."
"Interesting tactic," he murmured to himself. "Ashley, Liara, have you heard of anything like this?"
Liara gave one elegant shrug, "Not in my field of study, no."
Pressley stepped forwards, regaining his attention. "There's more, Commander. Sensors are indicating approximately fifteen geth warships, two of which are dreadnought class. I'm double checking the results now, but there may be over a thousand active drones out there."
"A thousand?" Shepard glared at the projection, "That few for a synthetic race? They could have millions out there, billions. Why only a thousand?"
A chirping alert drew the Navigator's attention. "Excuse me sir, sensor sweep is complete. Should I carry on?"
Shepard gazed at the map worriedly, pushing the information through his mind. It just doesn't make sense. Geth have the capacity to make a trillion platforms; they don't need money, stocks, finances. Why are they doing this? The thought rotated, offering another angle. Saren has something they want. Access to ancient data, perhaps? Reaper data? If he offered advanced data to the geth though, why would they throw so few resources around at his command?
"Commander?" Pressley's voice broke into his concentration.
"What? Oh, yes. Send it as soon as you can, with my compliments." Shepard shook his head distractedly. That wouldn't do, not at all. Reaching back, he tapped the omni-tool command override. "Joker, pull away from the Relay, ready to drop stealth. I want to launch the FTL buoy as soon as possible. ETA?"
"Roger that Commander." Joker's voice responded with gratifying promptness. "We'll be out of infrared in less than three minutes. I'd give it another few klicks just to be certain, then I'll drop the thingy. Alright?"
"Make it so," Shepard dropped the link. Contrary to most modes of thought, the Normandy's stealth systems didn't have to be locked on at every moment within enemy territory. Heat signatures were undetectable at sufficient ranges, given the background radiation of the entire universe being flung about. Getting 'cooked' was only a problem in close combat distances, 'knife-fight' proximity. Having not used the Relay to enter the system – announcing its presence with the typical 'flare' – allowed the Normandy to emerge from stealth; a tactical advantage he'd have to write up in the next report.
More paperwork. Just what I need. But still, an important advantage. Council ships needed Relays to travel between jumps, while Alliance vessels could arrive anywhere they wished … at a later time.
The minutes dragged past, as if tenaciously clinging to every second. Shifting the projected map's focus gave him a view of the Normandy in relation to the Relay, its comparatively miniscule form inching away at sublight velocities.
"Dropping stealth in five … four … three …" Joker's words caused a flurry of actions around the CIC. One entire half of the twenty foot bank of computers pulsed, its operators re-engaging safeties over thermal sinks. The process was automated, but like the ancient missile silos of pre-FTL era, human operators were required in case of error. One misfired burst would render the entire ship catatonic, dead in space without propulsion.
"Buoy away. Rabbiting out in three … two … one …." The force of another object jumping past lightspeed so close to their position, despite its diminutive size, made the Normandy's hull resonate a deep musical thrum. Science decreed such a thing should not be possible, and yet it kept occurring.
Shepard eyed the map. No geth units had displayed knowledge of their presence so far. He wanted to keep it that way. "Joker, bring us about fifty degrees starboard, and full stop. I want our main guns facing the geth."
"Aye sir," the tiny image slowed gracefully, swapping ends in a perfect tumble. The main engines glowed, reducing their momentum to a full stop.
"Excellent work." Shepard didn't bother to hide a satisfied expression. "We'll wait here until Hackett arrives. Until then, monitor every Alliance frequency on the list. I want ears on every frequency between amateur radio to asari encryptions; if the scrubbers pick up anything useful, make certain I know." He glanced through the technicians, "Clear?"
"Clear, sir." The head technician saluted without moving from his position.
Shepard nodded again, feeling the sense of satisfaction grow. Other captains put much value on following every rule in the textbook. Saluting after every exchange, standing to attention, getting up to address a superior officer. That was all well and good, but disruptive. Getting a crew working in humming order, becoming a seamless machine, took trust. Here, the crew was at long last feeling comfortable enough to operate without jumping to attention every time he walked past.
He gave the crew operating the Normandy's passive sensors another approving glance, and gestured at Ashley. She fell into step, a half pace behind and to his right. "What is the status of our weapons, Chief?"
Her omni-tool fired up again, but she spoke before its resolution completed, raising his opinion of her yet again. "We're fit to fight, sir. Two rifles are defunct, blown ess-cee's in the eezo chamber. But we have enough spares to get through until repairs are done. Power armor is at one-hundred percent; ready to roll out."
"And the Mako?" Mobile armor would be crucial to attacks on geth.
"One hundred percent ready," her tone became more clipped. "Vakarian has been working on its calibrations, says the accuracy should be improved ten percent on our next engagement."
Good. More accuracy was always better, unless shotguns were involved. He shuddered, shotguns … the quintessential answer to medium-range combat. Whether it meant building-to-building CQC, or clearing out a vipers nest at range, shotguns were admittedly exceptional. That didn't mean he had to like them. Loud, inaccurate monstrosities, inelegant in every respect that mattered, weapon of choice for thugs and unskilled slavers alike. Granted, he grudgingly tried to balance the mental equation, Wrex can make a shotgun look like artwork. A few of my boys can too – not as good as he can, but give 'em a few centuries. Or some talent and training. Maybe Tali too, built a boom tube out of scrap metal and an eezo chamber, so … useful. But … loud. Efficient, but ugly.
"Earth to Shepard, come in Shepard …" snapping fingers brought him back to the present. "Thought I lost you for a second."
Shepard lifted one side of his mouth, amused. "Still present and no accounting for it. Continue, please."
The chief pulled up her list, reading off the readiness reports for the individual squads. She was doing well, taking to his suggestions like a duck to water. Whomever had stuck her in a colonial training position had vastly underestimated her capabilities. She'd even taught him a trick or two in hand-to-hand.
"That should cover it for the next two weeks. I have a schedule worked out for more advanced sessions when you're ready to look it over," she finished. "It's no ITC course, but it should work for now."
Shepard hummed agreement. "Field work doesn't require some of the training. Paperwork might become necessary later on, but I have enough experience in that for a few classes." His head turned as they passed the quartermaster, whom seemed ecstatic to be hip-deep in requests. "Remind me to ask the quarians for a communication session. My last briefing is a few months out of date."
"Commander," Liara ventured. He jumped; she'd come out of nowhere. "May I ask a question?"
He exchanged looks with Ashley. Civilians. "Certainly. What may I help you with?"
She traced her foot along the flooring, "Well, I noticed that you almost never look us in the face. I do not mean to be rude, but is that a training technique? Perhaps a method for managing a ship? I must admit, there was little I could find on short notice, but it is a fascinating behavior I have rarely witnessed before."
Shepard blinked; no one had called him out quite so blatantly before. While they appeared to be disinterested, he knew his crew was listening closely. He could even see that technician, Caswell, adjusting his screen to a more opaque setting – all the better to listen without being spotted. Amateur, perhaps, but nonetheless effective. Idiot, she's waiting for an answer. What do you tell her?
"Good observation," he was surprised, both at speaking, and how his voice held so steady. "Actually, it's more of a practice I've adopted. Nothing to special, just different from some."
This time, Ashley interrupted. "Aye, sir. Um, sir, is that your alert?"
Shepard checked his omni-tool. Its alarm function blinked a cheerful orange color, shot through with green highlights. That meant a very special call, and not a moment too soon. "Ah. Yes, yes it is. Carry on Ashley, I'll take this in my cabin.
24 hours earlier
[Ambassador Quarters, Citadel]
The room, so comforting in its warm darkness, suddenly had an eerie sensation. As if the room were ... watching him. Judging. And finding him wanting. The feeling was not something he had become accustomed too, especially since his promotion to Ambassador.
Granted, at least one of the three Councilors views me as an interloper, but what Shepard can do will put shame to that. Thinking aloud invited espionage, only fools believed their compatriots were completely trustworthy. Any politician knew that. It's a pity Hackett and Anderson resisted so long; a quicker resolution would have demonstrated my influence ... or perhaps it is for the better? Showing we are fair and impartial, even under the weight of such potential benefit? Never mind, yesterday's showing should put me back on even terms.
Giving up the attempt to sleep as a poor effort with minimal returns, Udina began his morning ablutions. As with everything else, each movement had purpose. The swinging motion that sent his legs off the too-thin mattress designed for turians had enough excess momentum to counter-balance his upper body. The slippers next to the foot of his bed, placed exactly where he would note their presence, alerted the personal shower of his activity as he pushed them on.
Refreshed a refreshing session in the shower, and sated with a healthy breakfast, Udina felt himself once more in the mental framework required for his duties. With the ease of habit, he made the journey to the Human Embassy. As per normal, his journey included a few minor stops along the route, all the better to demonstrate the beneficial potential of his race. Ah, yes. A stop at the coffee shop should be an excellent example. He fondly remembered the time several years prior, when Ambassador Goyle had invited both himself and the Salarian Councilor to the grand opening, a little meet and greet to help the new ambassador get to know the powers involved. Neither of us dreamed how popular a simple beverage would become. The reports I've had from earth indicate salarians are beginning to ask for intensive training, apprenticing themselves just to learn barista technique ... amazing. This was again an example of how a small action that created enormous waves. Even now, salarians were purchasing vast quantities of the bean, signing contracts just to grow the plant on their own colonies ... enormous financial, not to mention social, capital. Just think of the potential leverage we will gain from this T'Soni contract! If Shepard can exert his influence on T'Soni, the Alliance could earn enough to purchase a dozen dreadnoughts, made of gold!
Mentally, he scolded himself. Not 'if,' but 'when.' He's a soldier, always has been always will. Losing the mental fortitude to an asari? No, Humanity will prosper greatly from this.
He ended his trip with the usual greetings for the asari greeter—why post an asari at the human embassy? Are we that mistrusted by the galaxy? A sign of prestige? – which had the standard felicitations. The usual walk up the thirteen steps once more triggered the wonderment he'd always known, curious how the Protheans had similar physiological structure, yet alien minds. They couldn't have been that different from us. Look at the asari, they are completely understandable. turian, volus, even the hanar can be understood. Why can we not understand the Protheans?
The room was welcoming, as always. A Keeper trundled out of sight, just beyond the corner. Udina ignored the faint clicking sounds emanating from its direction. His first introduction to the Keepers hadn't been an auspicious one, resulting in a rapidly-expanding pool of acid, and a hefty fine. Fortunately for his interactive needs, a heavyset serviceman was crouched in front of an open panel, probably assisting in modifying the room to human comfort levels. At least, Udina hoped so … the short, twenty-hour days were bad enough as it was.
Two quick steps, and his chair sank invitingly beneath him. Comfortable, that is, until something pinched, painfully sharp.
With an exclamation, Udina leapt up, spinning to examine the seat for the culprit. A miniscule gleaming met his gaze. Curiosity overpowering his pain, he picked it up. It was a curious thing, a small glittering object, broad and flat on one end, a metallic liquid, partially filling a plastic rod, sharpened to a point. Odd. What is this?
Setting the object on his desk for future examination, he resumed his seat once more, only to be met with a second sharp pain. This time he merely sighed, rather than setting another seated-leaping record. Another search revealed a second similar object. Rather than risk more pain, he continued searching, finding a third. And a fourth. Sighing in exasperation, Udina pushed the chair to one side, grabbing the next one nearest to him. His omni-tool flickered while he put in a requisition order, and then went dark. Along with all the lights in his office.
Idiots. Warn a fellow when a Keeper is headed for the pulse controls, all right? They should have sensors for those things. Or shields. Or something.
Udina leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. Even though he'd slept a full five hours, he felt exhausted for some reason. Moronic 20 hour days. Why can't they adjust it for something more reasonable? I can't get all my work done without the full twenty-four, can I?
He sighed. Coffee would make it all better. The elephant sitting on his arm was making it difficult to … elephant?
Wait. Why can't I move?
Udina tried lifting his left hand to the alarm on his desk. It slowly obeyed, rising like some prehistoric monster, cumbersome under its own weight. As it rose, the appendage grew heavier, every inch gaining more and more weight. Finally, his arm couldn't take it, and flopped aimlessly.
Gravity is offline. There has to be a major issue going now. A thought struck him with the force of a free-falling Kodiak shuttle. I hope they remember to get me out, death by gravity is not something I would like to experience.
Faint scraping noises by the door sounded like music to his ears. Of course! The elcor embassy is just down the hall! If anyone can survive a high-gravity environment ….
The door opened with a faint hiss. Someone large stood on the other side, black against the bright pseudo-daylight outside. Someone distinctly non-elcor in shape.
It's localized, then. Hope flailed for support when the human-shaped figure stepped into the room, unaffected by the same heaviness that pulled Udina's limbs towards the floor.
"Udina."
The voice was familiar, the same tones coming from a man that he'd helped leverage into one of the most important positions Humanity would ever possess. Udina grunted, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. Somehow, his speech had left too, along with the standard gravity. Why is this happening? Shepard! Get me out of here!
He listened in mounting horror as the man he'd given the world shut and locked the door, then began dimming the windows. Even the wide-open balcony dimmed, victim to a shutter-door Udina had installed for safety reasons. The chair he'd abandoned in lieu of his current seat scraped on the floor, and he could hear rustling cloth for a moment. Then Shepard spoke again.
"So then. You found them, perhaps you were even jabbed by one or two?" The man's face, strangely fuzzy, moved into Udina's field of view, looking uncommonly cold, staring at him directly in the eye. "Don't bother trying to talk. It annoys me whenever your lips move these days."
Udina glared impotently at the military upstart. He could move his eyes, although the motion was sluggish. Detail was indistinct as well, but he knew the skin color and the speaking mannerisms better than anyone outside the arrogant jumpstart's squad. It was Shepard all right.
"I'll get the banal details out of the way. The Normandy is well away from the Citadel, investigating a report on Saren's money trail at Feros without tipping anyone off. I am currently with the Normandy, and heading the investigation." The commander paused to throw a mocking salute to the ambassador. "I am in two places at once. Because I'm special."
Udina froze. Shepard had almost never been so ... so ... flippant before. Two interrogation recordings, acquired only with a great deal of browbeating, had demonstrated similar behavior. But here? Now?
You said you were a friend, Shepard. What are you doing? Realization started churning, deep in his stomach. Shepard had steel blue eyes, but rarely looked anyone in the face. He'd assumed the man used the tactic to make people underestimate him, a fake limp would do the same thing, but was easily seen. Right now, Shepard was staring at him with all the intensity of a snake, hypnotizing its prey.
"To continue," the soldier lazily picked up one of the sharpened objects, "These lovely little beauties are modified versions of something once known as 'thumb tacks.' At one point, they were very common, used as a staple posting fixative, and practical joke material." Shepard glanced at the chair, "I believe you got the point. Don't want to be too sharp about it, but making those was somewhat taxing on my capabilities."
It took a moment, but the wordplay filtered through. Puns. Good lord, he's making puns.
"Long story short, I acquired some rather exotic Bishmeistan venom from Sur'Kesh, last time I was there. Potent stuff, similar to the dendotoxins in the elapidae family back on earth." He paused, "That is to say, the mamba family. Wonderful creatures, fastest of their breed, deadly too. Thing is, the Bishmeistan is closer to a spider than a snake, so it has to be somewhat more efficient. Colony arthropod, you know, have to bag larger prey for the home. Wife, and ten thousand hungry mouths to feed, you know?"
Udina shivered.
"As for the power outage, I've been able to gain some insight as to Keeper methodology. I believe I am one of the first people ever in that regard. Well, second, thanks to a little salarian the mighty Council ignored. Kinda like I'm the first human Spectre." Rage hardened the big man's voice. "Or the first victim of an asari/human marriage contract. Possibly the target of some asari Furies. A lot of firsts, although perhaps not the first in that last one."
"Now to the important question: why am I here, and why am I doing this?"
Udina focused on Shepard's face, attempting to convey his puzzlement.
"You may recall a little meeting the Council conducted over the Normandy's conference transmitter." Shepard affected overly exaggerated shock, contorting his face and hands in a comic fashion. "The one letting me know that, surprise! I'm engaged!" His hands waved theatrically. "Great news! Right?"
Udina blinked slowly. The memory vaguely rang a bell, it had been nearly a week prior, and things had been exceedingly busy. Then it clicked, he'd seen Ander- Captain Anderson speaking with Shepard, and had hurried to get Andersons assistance to take advantage of the situation. It had indeed been a windfall week; asari corporations were much more likely to promote an even playing field, once they'd learned that a premier human representative was being linked to one of the oldest asari families.
Udina smiled. There had been volus representatives sending 'tokens of esteem' directly to his office, all in effort to ensure their business transactions received 'proper consideration.' Salarians had been practically ricocheting between their offices and his own, desperate to keep their superior business positions. A good thing, all around.
Shepard leaned on his fists, letting his face drift a few inches from Udina's. The deep anger within his eyes was clearly visible, the deep blue color almost vibrating in intensity. "You see, I've fought long and hard for the freedom of the Alliance. Of humanity. But before I fought for such abstract concepts, I fought for something simple: family. Against slavers." He pulled back, gaining more distance from the ambassador, but growing colder.
"I fought against enslavement my entire life, for the right to determine my own path. But choices keep being made for me. My choice for a lifelong partner rejected me, because I could kill without remorse, because I failed to save her family. But then, I killed because the batarians left me no choice." He spun on one heel, falling back into the chair, careless of the groaning creak it made under his weight. "I entered the Alliance military because it was either that, or going vigilante; again no choice, although understandable. My social life is non-existent, because I work hard. I made myself the best, because I am still searching for those whom are still missing. No choice. No one else will. So I do."
Shepard stretched his back, making it pop before sitting down once more and putting his feet up on the desk. "On the other hand, I have had nothing but choices to make. I chose to enter the Alliance. I choose to obey orders. In order to become an officer, I chose to get a degree in biology, the better to determine weak points in any living being I came across. And then, just as I receive the best assignment of my life, to roam the galaxy ridding it of pathetic garbage like the trash that burned my home and then ..." the feet came down with a light, catlike thump. "You happened."
Udina tried to raise a hand again, reach the button he so desperately wanted to push.
His former friend took no notice, unwrapping a small silvery piece of paper. "Interesting fact: everyone thinks I chew some form of addictive substance. Performance enhancers, brain boosters, shoot." He chuckled. "I once read a Forbe's column on how my success could be directly correlated to," he raised both hands in mocking air quotes, "my 'deft use of supplements.' Truth is," he popped the small white rectangle into his mouth, "I like peppermint. It's a nice flavor that batarians hate, gets the morning taste out of my mouth, and relaxes me for some reason. But enough side notes."
Shepard's voice took on qualities better associated with the space between stars. Colder than ice, darker than night. "To the main point: You sold me for trade concessions or some such thing. You didn't ask me to volunteer. The Alliance never had the ability to sign away my rights. And I certainly didn't give you any sort of permission to find me a wife." If ire were a power, Udina would have been incinerated within seconds. "Therefore, you are clearly either over-exaggerating your supposed influence over me, or have allowed the power to go to your head, and expect me to be a good little soldier and do what I'm told."
The pause emphasized the lack of sound in the room. Nothing, not even the constant hum of air scrubbers could be heard.
"The thing is," Shepard grinned, without the action reaching his eyes, "I'm not a soldier. I'm an N7. Not only that, but I am an Omega grade."
Udina felt his heart begin racing. I badly miscalculated this. He's going to kill me. With his skills, he could make it look like an accident too. No, he won't kill me, he wouldn't be talking otherwise. Blackmail? Threats? Resolve hardened his heart. I sacrificed a great deal too. He's had nearly a decade to get over Mindoir, plus however much money they wouldn't turn over to the Alliance. This is for the good of Humanity, can't he understand that?
"My initial reaction was to do to you what I did to the Hegemony High Ambassador to the Raloi." Shepard continued, ignorant of the ambassador's internal dialogue. He paused, and gave a bone-chilling laugh. "Oh, I'd forgotten. That one was classified higher than you can count. Without toes and fingers, anyway." The chilling feel didn't vanish as Shepard winked. "All I'll say is that it involved a boot knife and a pocket full of marbles. And no one was the wiser."
Udina stopped thinking. He remembered that one, the Alliance had been accused by everyone and their brother's dog for committing a "barbaric atrocity." Only the proof of no Alliance personnel in the system for over two years had quieted things down … except for the STG, of course. But then, they thought the lack of evidence was evidence. What had been so upsetting about the death, was how little there had been left of the High Ambassador ... his murderer was allegedly quite creative.
"I don't like repeating myself though." Shepard pulled out another piece of gum, popping it into his mouth. "Of course, I could just use something close at hand, make it look spur-of-the-moment." He paused, lifting his hand in front of Udina's nostrils. "Or I could do it the old-fashioned way, barely any trace, and no gummy mess to clean up." He removed his hand. Unaware that he'd been holding his breath, Udina resumed breathing, louder than before.
"But, I had a long chat with a few of the aliens on board my ship. About things like, 'not worth killing,' and 'due process.'"
Udina silently resolved to find some way to reward each and every alien aboard the Normandy. Even if he had to make it up extemporaneously.
"I decided to look up some old reference material, and I found it. An old copy of General Von Clausewitz's On War." Shepard put his arms behind his neck, staring at the ceiling and quoted: "War is politics, in a new field." He glanced back at the ambassador. "I figure, the reverse is true, no? Politics is war, in a new field." He stood, eyes flashing. "Well, I'm not good at politics. But I am good at war. I won't play your kind of politics, but I'll play my own. Which reminds me, I owe you something." He reached into a pocket, pulling out a velvet pouch that clinked in his palm.
The bag bounced once, making small, silver objects jangle onto his desk, clattering to a halt across the tablets. One fell off, rolling away to parts unknown. Udina managed to see its surface, just before it fell. It had a strange symbol stamped on one side, with a second symbol embossed over it. He looked at Shepard questioningly.
"The way I see it, you are owed something for the trouble you went through, selling me off to the highest bidder like you did. That's the compensation for your pains. Thirty pieces of silver. I understand it's the going rate, historically."
Shepard walked towards the door. "Be on your toes, Udina. I owe you far more than that. I'll be visiting again, soon."
Udina finally managed to gain some control over his tongue. "I … didn't … want … to …."
The solitary figure turned back. "But you did it anyway."
"No … choice!" Udina forced out. "Only … way … to advance … goals. No … other … way."
Shepard's silhouette stood still, facing him. Udina could only just make out the gleam of the elite soldier's eyes, glittering in the darkness. He felt small, like a small rodent, yet angry. I did my best to change things, but I got overruled! Understand that you thickheaded fool!
The door hissed open, then closed again. No sign of anyone remained. After a moment, the lights ignited, as if they'd never been darkened, followed by the sudden return of the windows transparent nature. Bright sunshine, even if artificial in nature, poured in … Udina automatically raised a hand to shield his eyes. I can move? But how … a slightly acrid smell finally registered. Antidote, atmosphere delivery? Where did he get his hands on these things?
Seconds later, the door slid open, and a short, pudgy man entered, tool belt strapped around his hips rakishly. "Sorry Ambassador, got a report of camera failure from C-Sec. I was going to be here earlier, but my work orders got messed up somehow. Bug in the main computer, I guess. Mind if I look around?"
Udina's anger turned to worry. Absently, he waved the man on to whatever he was doing, it was useless, now that Shepard had delayed the check. That delay meant power, and a far greater attention to detail he'd come to expect from the bloody-minded fool. What about the money transfers? I can cover it from other sources, but … if he starts looking through more files, stops payments … he started hyperventilating.
[Present]
[Theseus System, outer edges]
Aboard the Normandy, Shepard shut the door to his cabin, and checked the time. The clock on the wall pulsed rhythmically, ticking down the seconds until the next emergency. If it had the decency to be scheduled, that was.
His omni-tool vibrated on his wrist, a tiny light glowing a verdant color. Shepard smiled, locking his door, setting up the electronic counter-measures he'd developed himself. Whoever or whatever the shadow organization was out there, it had given him advance warning, if only by accident. No sense wasting the opportunity.
"Pendragon here."
The omni-tool changed to a uniform green color, before a dim face showed itself. "Pretty presumptuous, taking that name, isn't it?"
Shepard shrugged. "Emrys was taken."
"I bet it was. So what does that make me, Kay?"
"No, I already have a Kaiden." Shepard chuckled. "Perhaps, Galahad?"
"Ha. Anyway, the job is done. Udina looked like he was going to need a new suit by the time I was finished. The man can sweat!"
"Like a butcher." Shepard agreed darkly. "Listen, thanks for your help. Your wife or kids need anything?"
The voice laughed. "After the 'care packages' we've received? That communications company is making us a land-office business. You sure you don't want it?"
"I don't need it. Not like I've been spending much anyway. Did those tacks help?"
"Like a charm. You'll have to tell me how you got those someday." The voice on the other side had smug overtones, so like his own after a successful mission.
"Maybe someday. Would you be willing to do a repeat soon?"
"I kinda promised the weasel I would. Don't want to renege on a promise, would I? 'sides, the way we have this set up, I bet you we could get your ghost to terrify him."
Shepard grinned. The idea had merit. "Something to work on later. I'm sending a care package through the Volus Courier Network, make sure the kids get their toys, alright?"
"Will do. By the way, Udina tried to say the whole thing wasn't his fault, something about how the goals wouldn't achieved or some such nonsense."
That stopped Shepard cold. Udina was one of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy, let alone the Alliance. Being forced into actions against his will … or was it truly against his will? I don't know. Better watch him.
"Thanks … I'll keep an eye on the situation." Shepard finally said. One of his alerts started blinking, notifying him of another incoming communication. He smirked at the screen. "Stay frosty."
The screen blanked, leaving him in semi-darkness. It was comforting, knowing someone had his back, no matter what. So long as no one suspected … everything would be fine. But if anything threatened his family … no. The thought didn't bear thinking. He shoved himself back to the present, clicking the intercom on. "Shepard here."
"Commander, Admiral Hackett sent a return buoy. We've recovered it and are moving position in case, you know, the geth saw the burst."
Shepard nodded. Every supra-lightspeed hop could be nearly silent when leaving, but had the tendency to release a massive Checkov radiation pulse when entering Newtonian space once more. "Understood Joker. I'm headed to the bridge right now.
A/N: Yay! Two chapters in a month! Well, technically 0.5 chapters, since I've had the second half of this chapter on the memory banks for nearly 10 months now. It's survived 2 computer crashes, deletions, and a few dopey maneuvers by yours truly … thank God for redundant storage technology! Thanks to Nightstride for his stellar beta work; excellent suggestions, and great spot checking!
Today's suggested reading is Dancer in the Dark by ElectricZ (story code: 12062078). An ongoing tale from a fantastic author! Seriously, the best Kasumi writer I've ever had the pleasure to read.
To my favorite Lurker, Jotun: Yes, Albanian a great language! Unfortunately I'm only moderately bilingual, thanks to reqs for my degrees, and not in Albanian. Blame Google Translate for what I couldn't hash out of the dictionary. I've been looking for more evil-ish Albanian terms, but nothing quite brings in the same flavor … but I'll keep looking. It actually goes back to the first chapter in this tale, so I'd checked to make sure I wasn't leaving something out. It's not perfect, but it'll do until inspiration shows up and clocks me again. Thank you for your suggestions, they will be seriously kept in mind.
And to all the lurkers and reviewers, thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing! If you want to see something in the tale, I can't guarantee it, but not suggesting it is an automatic 'no.' Yes?
C'ya down the lane!
