A unique benefit for someone of Shepard's gifts is a definite process for thinking on one's feet. Of course, the secrets behind success involve living long enough to learn how to do so; hardly a common commodity in the galaxy. Still, Shepard received a great gift on Feros.
Great gifts come at a cost however. Always.
Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer
~Project Ragnarök Files
Zhu's Hope, Feros
Mid-Afternoon
Not that, let it not be that, not that. Shepard prayed as hard as he could, lips moving soundlessly. No one could see through his faceplate, but the action felt better in silence. As if secrets stayed hidden longer that way.
"They're over here," Tali's voice called.
Shepard let Garrus brush past; the turian's expertise in crime scene investigation presenting itself as a reasonable excuse. Who wouldn't allow the turian to go first? Contaminating a crime scene was a punishable offense on most civilized worlds. The fact that Garrus now stood between himself and the bodies, people that now lay as faceless as the tomb, meant nothing. No one would suspect that kind of connection. A few more tricks and the deal would be done; safe as houses.
Ashley pushed forward next, her massive armor rumbling like a troll with a grudge. Her forward presence held logic as well. Whatever killed the bodies couldn't get through her massive defenses. Her heavier weapons could punch through a skycar lengthwise, then continue through another five just for fun. Just her presence would persist as a deterrence for threats beyond his own weight category.
Since when had he cared about that?
Shepard swallowed hard, glad once more for the obscuring helmet. No matter the cards dealt, the game stayed the same. Or did the cards remain the same while the game changed? One moment a knight on the chess board, the next a King in a round of Whist. While both horsemen, the rules shifted significantly. An unpredictable piece of medium power transformed its existence to the second highest value possible.
Only thing is to change the rules myself. Shepard nodded. Bodies lay on the ground, heaped in piles three deep in places. Shepard glanced at a few, checking their condition. Healthy, except for the being-dead part. No sign of torture, no stab wounds. Ligatures absent – not used for torture. A little emaciated … but dead.
Wrex loomed behind him, as massive as Ashley, but far quieter. "Lotta dead here Shepard. Looks like someone was up to something."
Typical krogan, Shepard nodded absently. State the obvious. Politicians could take a lesson from him, quit the backstabbing and skullduggery.
He knew that was an unfair concept. There were many statesmen he'd met who took minimal pay in order to better serve their districts. Remember Mayor Higgins? Minimum wage, but he made it work. Mindoir was going to hit the big time before … well … It happened.
Within the sanctum of his mind, there was no need to explain what It meant.
Excited babbling broke out to one side; Shepard ignored it in favor of searching for Kahoku. Medium height, dark skin and graying hair. None of the bodies matched the specifics. Too tall, too short. That one … must be an older death … too light, not old enough. That one? Maybe, if I can get a look at his neck. Didn't Kahoku have a tattoo on the back of his neck?
"Shepard?" Liara's voice questioned behind him. "Um … are you all right?"
He didn't stop moving; dismissing the body as soon as the lack of ink made itself known. "Good, or as well as can be, under the circumstances."
Liara shuffled back a few steps. "Oh. Right. I mean, well … didn't you want to see the body?"
Shoot, shoot, shoot! Shepard straightened, fighting to disguise his expression. Come up with something!
"Yes, just keeping an eye out for anyone else I know –" Shepard winced at the blatant insincerity; a nose-blind elcor could hear it. "No sense making them wait any longer than necessary. Where did you say Kahoku was?"
"Commander," Ashley's voice sounded strange. She gestured a little down and to one side. "He's … right here sir. In front. On the ground."
Damn it.
"Ah. Thank you." Shepard joined the marine, looking at the body. It rested between that of a blonde man, and a black-haired woman, neither looking the better for their condition. Calluses on their hands indicated a high level of technological proficiency; implanted heuristic processors that would have relayed commands to interactive screens rather than the normal light gloves worn by most civilians instead. Hopefully, there would be some data recorded about their last moments.
Taking a moment, he tried to see their faces. Eyes swam into view before fading into a blurred skin tone pouring into hair colors. A nose erupted into view before vanishing with equal suddenness; the face was there, but the recognition didn't … click. Straining, Shepard tried to pick out individual features, hold them in place, get a basic view; something. Anything. Perhaps a psychologist would be able to discern his anguish, but the average soldier didn't have the training – the aptitude. Battlefields he'd trodden over lacked similar features, none had questioned his methods. No one ever asked why he remained formal, stayed impersonal to all but a select few. Mundane minds like theirs couldn't comprehend the hellish torment he endured on a daily basis.
"Shepard?"
He slowly closed his eyes, realizing his error. 'Average soldier?' How many of those are on the Normandy again?
Activity slowed, more attention being directed at him. The years of hiding, successfully eluding the sharpest considerations of the brightest minds, pushed down on him. A mountain range carried a less burdensome heft; freely chosen, true – but draining all the same. How long had he carried it? A few mental figures, increasingly difficult under the watching eyes, pegged it closer to fifteen years.
He knelt next to Kuhoku's dead body. One hand brushed the remaining hair; he could almost feel the despair the man must have experienced. And yet, sheer determination had misguided a man experienced in the art of war, but inexperienced in the art of espionage. Determination covered many flaws, trained a man in sciences beyond his ken – but only to a point.
Impatience killed him. If he'd waited, worked a little slower, he might still be alive. How long did he wait? Less than two months, compared to my fifteen years?
Shepard's eyes closed. To an asari or krogan, fifteen years behaved like an eyeblink. To a salarian, half a lifetime. For many humans, that was just the period of a formal education to undergraduate level. To him, it felt like an eternity separated from everything familiar while knowing it could be his again for just a little price. All he'd have to do was quit the hunt – just stop, and give up.
"Shepard!"
His eyes snapped open, finding a pair of large blue eyes staring into his. Immediately they swam, blending into a featureless blue mass, appearing for a moment just before Liara's nose became prominent. "Yeah, I'm here."
Her omni-tool beeped. "Your vitals are higher than normal, perhaps it would be better if you returned to the Normandy …?"
"No," Shepard clumsily pulled up his own omni-tool. "I'm five-by-five. Thanks though."
Ashley's Menelaus armor loomed right next to him; he hadn't heard her approach. "That's a load of crap Shepard. Something's wrong, it happened as soon as I asked you to look at Kahoku. What is it?"
A small urge, one Shepard had felt for years, bloomed in urgency. Gotta tell them sometime … someone anyway … the comm! Normandy is receiving everything!
"Joker, the comms are glitching a bit on this end. Shutting down for a restart, will be dark for ten minutes." Shepard didn't wait for acknowledgement and shut off the program. The command override mirrored his action on the entire group of specialists, forcing their communication software to shut down. An elegantly designed virus accompanied the command, scrubbing the previous five minutes of audio recording. Only Tali's reaction indicated a potential issue down the line, but he'd pay the price.
"I can't see it," he said.
Liara's figure, now a few steps away, curved at him, puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"
Shepard drifted his hand across Kahoku's features. "His face. I can't see it. Technically, recognize. I can see it just fine, but I can't tell who it is. Not by his face."
"I'll contact Chakwas," Ashley's omni-tool glowed orange, then flared bright red. "Damnit, what happened to my comm?"
"He shut it off," Tali quietly answered. "Just now, he shut all our radios off. Why, Shepard?"
"Chakwas knows already," he murmured, almost to himself. "Probably. Anderson never says anything, but he suspects. Not sure why they never said anything …."
Shepard rose to his full height. The opening in the wall next to the bodies showed an awesome sight, clouds whirling in a stately dance around prothean constructs, rain falling in upward sheets against all probability. Updrafts, caused by the Prothean skyscrapers, blew the moisture against the natural flow of things, providing water to life forms that couldn't exist otherwise. He could see them now, knew how to look for them; rock-clingers, oozing across the building surfaces, finding cracks and wedging themselves inside for safety. The strength of their natural adhesive exceeded artificial cements, reducing something that needed extreme repairs to a simple scraping for smoothing off the edges. Further down, the stalks of hunting snails could be seen, the mild acid in their slime sufficient to scour plant materials from the outer walls, yet too weak to affect the building material themselves; both served as organic maintenance for millennia … facts he hadn't known before the Cipher. Efficiency, a trait nearly worshipped by the Protheans.
"Wrex," he sighed. A man could grow old just watching the wildlife on this planet. "Do you know how Batarian slavers force cooperation on raids?"
The krogan grunted. "Yah. Turians and asari, sure. Humans too. Stick wires in their heads just behind the eyes. Doesn't work on krogan though, or volus. Salarians are just too squishy."
Shepard nodded. "Good answer. Does anyone remember what happened to me, roughly fifteen years ago?"
A soft gasp came from his right, Liara's voice. "Mindoir …."
"Yeah," he nodded again. "The records show a lot … but not all. They caught me. Tried sticking their needles in me. I woke up too early, pulled 'em out."
He carefully avoided why; letting silent echoes run through his mind. Tortured screams of his sister ringing through the flimsy tent walls, cruel laughter of her captors booming at each terrified scream. A more satisfying feeling came from the equally tortured screams of the monsters that had dared touch her, horror at his finding weapons where no one could have thought. A tiny scalpel slicing arteries, a length of gauze creatively employed to eviscerate three batarian medics. Each had provided even more material, and enough supplies to stop the bleeding of his own head.
The last drew him up short. Show, don't tell. Reaching up, Shepard removed his helmet, exposing his face to their eyes. Avoiding their collective stares, he selected a shaving program from the omni-tool, and carefully trimmed away the short sideburns covering his temples. Tiny, thin, scars, irreparable by even the most advanced medicine, traced an ugly path across the side of his head, disappearing into the darker hairs above his ears.
Each face pointed at him swam, a miasma of flesh-tones mocking him. "It's called prosopagnosia, better known as 'face blindness.' Anyone I've seen after one-seventy, I can't recognize. Whatever the batarians did screwed me up royally. They're almost all dead, but I paid for it … can't recognize anyone."
Garrus cleared his throat. The silence made it uncomfortably loud. "But … ah … you've been able to pick me out of a crowd pretty easily. And I've seen you talk to your crew by name."
Shepard turned to face him. Turian faces were easy to read; mandible quivering indicated strength of emotion, or training taken to prevent that kind of giveaway – which in turn gave away the amount of training likely – hinting at even more background information. "Turians and krogan I can see, I don't know why. Asari and humans, no. Salarians give me trouble sometimes, especially when I'm tired. For everything else, it's just a matter of study. Uniforms, ranks, occupations … it's all deduction. Show me an engineer on the Normandy and I'll know who it is by looking at their gender, size or accent. People give off clues all the time, they just aren't aware of it."
He could feel the calculating silence pressing down. Predictably, Ashley spoke first. "But … you're Commander Shepard! The man that earned the Star of Terra at Elysium! You're responsible for taking down a dozen pirate groups during the Skyllian Blitz, and grandpa's always talking about how Intelligence had to rewrite their entire Infiltrator protocols after you went on a rampage through the Terminus region."
"Oh … that." Shepard winced. Perhaps that little campaign had been a tad too obvious?
Tali looked between the two. "I don't get it. So what if he can't recognize faces? My race can't see each other's faces most of the time. Why is that a problem?"
Gravel crunched under Shepard's feet. "Under the medical requirements for Alliance combat-active personnel I am … unsuitable. Also possibly a legally defined psychopath, but not in a traditional sense. Getting back to the prosopagnosia issue, under Section Five, Paragraph Three part 2A: 'Prospective combat-ready applicants are required as capable of recognizing targets at a minimum range of no less than fifty yards in good conditions.' Going on, the medical requirements for the elite combat units are more specific – infiltration, target selection, hostage recognition. Faces."
"Oh." Tali's helmet tilted forwards, examining the ground. "I guess that makes sense."
"It's logical from one perspective," Shepard checked his HUD, watching the timer count down for his program. "Mistaken identities killed more agents than soldiers in the Mid-Rim affair. I had to pass over half a dozen tests for target eye-dee. Almost lost it on a couple. But that's why I can't, you know." He gestured at the fallen general.
A long minute of silence passed. From their body language, Shepard could tell Ashley was conflicted; Wrex on the other hand didn't seem to care in the slightest. Liara's posture seemed … confused, and Tali just looked relaxed. He couldn't see Garrus, but the lack of verbal protest made a strong argument for contemplation. The turian detective had never been shy about speaking up in the past; a corresponding lack of contention meant either a long talk when no one else was present, or complete agreement with his position. Turians viewed authority figures with respect, an almost rabid form of the word. But the species as a whole wouldn't have survived long enough to reach space, if extremes were the rule.
A thought broke Shepard's mind. What would he do if someone revealed his secret? Not the activities he'd performed – that would be just a normal bouncing-out-of-military action. But if his impairment were to become public knowledge, there would be repercussions. As a businessman, his sanity would be called into question. Every decision made by Shepard's hand would be cross-examined, just in case the successes were somehow illegal.
Udina. The name floated to the surface of his mind like a particularly hideous float of pond scum. I bounced him out pretty fast. He's definitely one to look out. And SAI – what'll Intelligence do?
He could almost sense the sharks circling, now that blood was in the water. No mercy. I turned down the spooks – wonder what they wanted? Doesn't matter how much I helped them in the past; what matters is who helped most recently. Plans, have to activate a few sleeper programs. Backups … plenty of backup; but it's too soon – just three more and I'd have gotten away with it!
Anxious thoughts coursed his mind until he heard a faceplate slide out of the way, and someone clear their throat.
"I'm not telling anyone," Ashley muttered. "Just … answer me this. Why?"
Shepard blinked at her. Emotion charged her words, and he could see the tension. Only natural, considering the depth of loyalty her entire family had for the Alliance. The Williams clan supported the Alliance to an almost religious zeal – which begged the question, why had she been essentially demoted to pointless ground activities?
"Why … what?" he answered. "Why did I tell you?"
"No, I got that. We kinda pinned you down here," Ashley admitted. "I meant, 'why did you join up?' You could have been sitting pretty back on Mindoir. You have more money than Croesus, you could have lived for a long time without going near any combat. I can't imagine any of your corporate folk approve of their majority shareholder being in so much risk …."
Shepard sighed, rubbing at a stain. "I had more than a few reasons. Around a hundred-fifty or so. Alliance Command gave up on the colonists as dead, once the Batarians had 'em. Every time the squints let out a peep, there'd be a public outcry, until Command had enough. Stopped throwing resources after survivors. Easier to find new colonists than old, I suppose. I disagreed. Got myself into a good position with Mindoir, leveraged it into some power in the Alliance … and now I'm down to three missing colonists. Fifteen years, one hundred fifty colonists found. Not alive all the time, but still not bad."
"Not bad," Garrus finally rejoined the discussion. "I've read up on Hierarchy efforts along the same lines. Success rates are … low."
Before Shepard could respond, He … sensed something. Someone behind him. Before he could turn, a familiar accent met his ears. "How touching, how absolutely touching. It brings tears to my eyes, it really does. Now, be so good as to raise your hands and face me? I do hope you will, this vest is rather – touchy, about that sort of thing."
Zhu's Hope, Feros
Late Afternoon
Shepard didn't feel; that took energy and processing power during moments of crisis. No, he observed and experienced.
"Jeong. I'm surprised you're here, not up trying to make nice with ExoGeni."
The darker-skinned man pointed a cylinder at him, thumb firmly in place over a trigger mechanism. "Oh, you'd think that, wouldn't you Shepard? Commander Shepard? The Lion of Elysium? Perhaps you'd prefer Nar'Sheth, a colorful term I must say. Always a step ahead, forever at an advantage over everyone else. Did it ever occur to you my dear Commander, that someone else might be just as intelligent as you?"
Shepard kept his hands at shoulder height, feigning indifferences. "I know there are. Haven't met him yet, barring my squad of course. "
Jeong chuckled politely. "Of course, the infamous Shepard verve. Your scintillating wit is most amusing – considering it failed to penetrate my cover."
Calculations went through Shepard's mind. There was only one logical deduction. "You're with Intelligence, or Cerberus. Possibly both. I wondered who was responsible for all the corruption here."
"No, no, no," Jeong appeared to be enjoying the moment. His confident back and straightened shoulders positively exuded amused civility, "Just the Bureau. I admit, Cerberus has been quite useful in developing toys for us, but they've always been aware of their limitations. A little reluctant to give information lately, but fully aware of the consequences."
His opinion of the man shifted downward. "You're here. We're here. What do you want?"
A glimpse of teeth white enough to reflect x-rays beamed. "Why, you, of course! The Thorian was a good investment, but compared to the potential locked within your admittedly chiseled frame, it is far more equitable exchange." His voice hardened. "Weapons on the ground, especially that primitive weapon of yours, Commander. Swords are for thugs, not soldiers."
Shepard made no move to comply.
"I said, weapons on the ground!" the man repeated. His hand wiggled, displaying the chrome-plated device it held. "I have over fifteen cubic centimeters of Grade Three eezo poly-explosives in this vest. That's enough to destroy this grid, destabilizing the entirety of the superstructure above us. Shepard, you are known for many things, but your weakness is loyalty to your people. Drop your weapons, and come with me, or I will detonate this package, and eliminate you, your squad here, and the Normandy above us."
Liara raised one hand in his direction, but the man was quick to shy behind Shepard. "Ah ah! Gravitic sensors. One touch of irregularity, and the vest will go off on its own." His eyes ran hungrily over Shepard, ignoring the rest of the room for a split-second. "So come now. I don't have all day."
The sudden clicking of weapons filled the room like a swarm of happy, well-armed crickets. Shepard felt amused by the nearly cross-eyed look the man had, trying to see down the point of his own blade while covered from multiple angles ranging from Liara's snub-nosed pistol to the twin cannon on Ashley's Menelaus loadout.
"Liara," Shepard took one long side step. "Stasis."
The man's thumb just started to move when a blue field enveloped the entirety of his body. Shepard spent a second watching, making sure the motion had been arrested. Quickly, he keyed a code into his omni-tool, activating an infrasonic subroutine, one saved for human intimidation purposes; humans were more susceptible than batarians, improving the odds of what he had to do next. Finishing, Shepard reached a hand just outside the field, and gave Liara a second nod.
This time when the chaotic blue field vanished, his hand flashed forwards, clamping on the trigger before it could be released. The two men wrestled over the device for several moments before Jeong yelped pitifully.
Shepard held up the detonator, flicking the guard back in place. Its shiny surface betrayed no serial numbers, polished off or never engraved in the first place. A pouch obligingly accepted the weight. "Must be a new model. Haven't seen this type before."
"Damn you Shepard!" Jeong launched to his feet, swinging at Shepard.
Easily dodging the strike, Shepard let Jeong waste more haymakers before seizing the scruff of his neck. Solidifying his grip, Shepard shook the smaller man, making the primitive-looking armor rattle around the man's ears. He waited until sense could be seen returning to the man's eyes, then repeated the process, adding a whirling motion to the routine until Jeong started making a choking noise.
Shepard dragged the man's limp body over to the massive hole he'd been admiring before. The view, impressive to jaded eyes like his, remained inspiring. Likely, Jeong had a greater appreciation for the height.
"So, let's try this again." Shepard let Jeong go with one hand, swinging him closer to the edge before pulling him back up. The infrasonic subroutine activated, adding a deep growl to his voice. "What did you want with me?"
Jeong scrabbled at the sides of the hole, fruitlessly trying to push himself back to solid ground. "You fool! You'll kill us all!"
Shepard bared his teeth, letting the red haze deepen. "Been there. Done that. Why do your bosses want me?"
"I don't know! They just said to bring you in! Alive if possible!"
Alive if possible. Shepard considered that little tidbit. His value didn't lie in knowledge then, but physical form. Either genetic locks – of which he had a few – or something else. Certainty hardened, suspicions crystallizing, forming into a loosening grip.
The man fell forwards, screaming before Shepard stopped his fall. "You're lying. My genes. What are you talking about?"
Jeong struggled, then stopped. "John Shepard … one of the first. Responded perfectly – then the kriffin' coward quit before analysis. You … natural born … second gen …."
Shepard let go of the leg, catching Jeong's ankle just in time to stop the man from falling to his death once more. "Keep talking."
Mindless whimpering met his ears. "Something about your genes, off-the-charts receptive for modification, like your father's, but better! Gene mods when you joined up were supposed to take six months, but you had the end product in two! Please, help me!"
"Not yet." Shepard let his arm droop a little, "Now, my arm's getting tired. I want names. Who!"
"Banes!" Fear laced every motion of Jeong's body. "He told me you were something they needed. He needed an actor, something about your face thing, he wanted you for testing."
"Actor?" Shepard dragged Jeong back onto the solid stone, dropping him roughly. "You're an actor?"
Jeong's complexion, paler than his own by now, grew lighter still. "Oh Shiva, please don't hurt me!"
Shepard went down on one knee, blade drawn in a flash. Light reflected from its edges, blinding the fallen man. "Actor. Talk."
"I graduated from CalMet, Theatre major, business minor. Recruited six months ago, said they needed me just in case … something happened. I swear I don't know any more!"
Ominous rumbling cut off the man's whimpers. Underneath Shepard's feet, the tower shook, shuddering. He checked the timer; the signal blocker still active. He hastily shut it down.
"Shepard," Liara spoke up. Worry danced through the edge of her voice. "Perhaps we should continue this … elsewhere?"
"Agreed." Shepard glanced around. "Wrex, Ash, take point. Tali, Liara follow them. Garrus –"
A crack appeared in the stonework, growing up the wall. Rending stone screeched, strong enough to overload the auto-dampeners built into his helmet. On either side, dust shook free, descending in sheets of eons old material. Super-dense material shuddered, tearing itself between the unequal forces of order and decay.
Shepard slapped his faceplate on, bringing the helmet fully in place. "Code Omega! Go Omega!"
Chattered affirmation broke out on the comm; Williams reacting first. Her heavy armor's hydraulics went into overdrive, sending the form into the stairwell back up. Wrex was a split second behind, lightning reflexes encased in an oversized, lizard-skinned shell.
Shepard delivered a low kick, sending Jeong screaming off the edge. Liara stopped to stare at him, jerking into action only after a small rock bounced off her helmet.
He didn't feel bad about essentially killing Jeong like that; the man had threatened his crew, and almost certainly wished to kill him as well. Sending a suicide vest geared to gravitational flux off a five kilometer fall … effective. Have to remember that trick. Better him than me.
Movement caught his attention; Tali's spry form leaping across the widening gap, easily clearing the distance. Her smaller, more agile structure helped her reach the door frame, bowling over Garrus in the process before grabbing his arm and dragging him along.
Shepard did a head count. Wrex, Ash, Tali, Garrus, Liara. That's it.
"Up the stairs," the tower appeared to be shaking on a local level. What he could see of other towers remained stable. What's more, the levels higher than the one currently occupied appeared equally stable – which meant dropping a multi-ton chunk of plant embedded into the support structure possibly had not been the best plan. "Move it!"
Liara's lightly armored shape rose in a leap, some kind of biotic haze surrounding it. Shepard gathered himself once her feet left the ground.
The ground gave way underfoot. He sprawled, the coiled position he'd been taking working against his balance.
"Shepard!"
Looking up, he could see Liara lunging for him, arm outstretched. Frantically, he tried to wave her back, shout something. Hard stone gave way, dropping him into the abyss below.
Location Unknown, Feros
Time Unknown
Sabotage. Deliberate sabotage. Shepard rubbed his head – wincing as his gauntlet rammed into the stoic metal. So far as he could tell, the tower remained intact, impossible if the Thorian had actually destroyed a supporting wall. Logic decreed that a planned detonation had occurred; either placed by the protheans or ExoGeni.
Of course, observations currently made required the individual making said observations to be entirely sane, or at least alive.
"Testing, one – two – three," Shepard tapped the contact on the side of his helmet. "Shepard here, anyone read me?"
Hoarse static crackled. "B-b-b-barely … Williams here. Cl-cl-cl-cleaning up …"
Shepard tuned his device, aligning frequencies more precisely. Short-range comm-sets held somewhat misleading names; they could communicate distances from planetside to orbit without a relay. Dense atmospheres tended to deteriorate signals, as did subterranean travel … prompting him to increase the power output.
"Williams? Can you hear me now? Pressley?"
Dead silence.
"Anyone?" He waited patiently. Green tendrils wove across his line of sight, moving gently in the breeze he couldn't feel. Curiously, the stonework he stood upon vibrated every few seconds, never the same way twice.
"Shepard? How's this?"
He reacted. "Perfect. Where are you?"
Another burst of static. "Top of the tower, by the Normandy."
He shook his head. Some people had all the luck. "Everyone make it out?"
A scowl somehow made itself heard. "Yeah, everyone. Liara almost fell after you. Any broken bones? All right? The remote link is on the fritz."
Limbs quivered, tested incrementally slowly. A few places twinged, sensitive following whatever stress had been applied, but returned a normal range of motion. "Fit to fight, all systems go."
"Good," relief was palpable, almost heavy enough to batter his eardrums. "I hit the override, for a HALO drop. Liara tagged you with a … some kind of Pull field … not sure what. But … you're a long ways down Skipper. Fleet's been calling for over fifteen minutes now."
Shepard came to his senses. Where was he? Sensors in the armor pegged his altitude at – less than a mile above ground level. No, the decimal counter was offline; he was a hundred feet above ground level, adjusted for atmospheric pressure. Chunks of green vegetation, some marked by the smooth bite of enhanced steel added to the ambience; further enhanced by the tell-tale presence of detonated eezo explosives. Blue haze tended to be unnatural on most worlds.
The faceplate fogged for one brief moment, clouding his vision before the automatics cleared his display.
"Shepard? Your vitals just went way off the charts … everything alright?"
Deep calm breaths, helpful in every situation – sans drowning. Shepard sucked in another great lungful of air, forcing himself to expel it gradually, like a diver returning to the surface following a long excursion to the depths. Strangely, the simile felt as calming as the breathing. "I'm fine, just had a bit of reality hit me. What does the fleet want?"
Ashley audibly hesitated. "They say they have a Spectre for us, to help with the investigation. We haven't made any response."
Cold logic clicked through Shepard's mind. The Council, a ruling body whom had recently decided to 'assign' him a marriage contract, had added a watchdog to his crew, without much more than a single warning in the middle of a firefight. He – by virtue of law and luck – was not required to accept such an individual. Fortunately, there was a solution. "Continue to not respond. Get the Normandy off planet, and hide in deep space."
"Aye aye, sir."
"Chief, Navigator Pressley is in charge while I'm out, but I want you to debrief the ground team. I also want you to take care of a little business for me."
A curious tone entered her voice. "Sir?"
"Go to my cabin, access codes should be in your file, under the processor command memory. Sync your omni-tool to the spare visor behind the headboard, and do not allow anyone else to take that data. If I do not contact you in three days, make contact with the first person on the emergency list, and he will give you directions from there. Understood?"
Muffled noises came back across the channel, briefly unresolved. "This is a little … um … unusual, Commander."
Shepard rolled his eyes. "Has anything about this mission been usual? At all?"
A chuckle came back down the line. "True."
He became more serious. "Also, make this your top priority: protect Doctor T'Soni. Do not allow anyone from Intelligence to take her, and if the Council somehow gets you in a spot, make certain she has two guards at all times. If something happens to me, the knowledge in her head will be all that's left to stop Saren. Understood?"
Irritation, tempered by comprehension responded in her voice. "Got it." A pause. "I got a message to the stations, colony landline. They'll be sending a shuttle down, so hang tight."
Shepard glanced at the vines writhing across the relative 'skyline'. Other things, thicker than the flimsy tendrils, curled around the towering base, visual clones to the Thorian felled in the ExoGeni base center. But these … were larger. Much larger, green cables wider than a skycar. Memories of more pollen granules launching from below the towering heights erupted through the back of his mind. "Will do so. Stay safe."
Weapons. Always check your weapons. But first, suit integrity. Can't fight if you can't breathe.
Systematically, Shepard ran scans on every portion of his armored anatomy, feeling a touch less urgent only when the final scan registered positive. Repairs would be needed, but the worst damage had been done to the outside thigh plate, denting the cerro-ferramic compound. Otherwise, the rugged battle armor had weathered the descent well – he'd have to come up with a way to thank the gunnery chief. Weapons appeared to be functional, but a blinking red icon alerted him to a key structural failure: pressure.
Warning: a pop-up registered in his eye-piece. Environmental hazard code: . Please apply patch /atmo/genius to use. Searching … searching … download unavailable. Shutting down application.
Slowly, Shepard checked Excalibur's reading, finding an identical message. Digging deeper into the data, he doubted the weapon could unfold let alone fire. Apparently the pressure chamber holding the eezo core common to all weapons became briefly exposed during transition; not a problem in vacuum, 5g environments or atmospheres roughly three times a Terran Standard 760 torr. But one-and-a-half times gravity, with five atmospheres apparently tipped the balance beyond the tolerable.
Unless. The old weapon, holstered where most soldiers rested shotguns came to his hand. Unlike modern weapons, this particular model didn't require moving parts – other than the essential bit involving death. Metal-encased fingers brushed over the tiny, diamond-dust plate bolted into the stock stock, running over the five letters engraved. One long scratch neatly bisected the first letter; a souvenir from a lucky slaver, whom hadn't been lucky enough.
'Mercy.' Yeah dad, it's a mercy alright. Wish I had Forgiveness at my side too. He gave a silent chortle. With Mercy and Forgiveness at my side, I need fear no evil. Just like you taught me.
The tendrils shook violently. One large strand dipped into view, descending at a snail's pace, getting larger and larger until its bulk vanished from sight in the mists below. A handful of heartbeats later, Shepard's footing shook. Dozens of massive insects shot into sight around Shepard, briefly visible before they too vanished. They'd looked like dragonflies, but larger – so much larger – than even the prehistoric fossils on Earth or a dozen settled worlds he could remember.
Calculations flickered through Shepard's mind, flying in adrenaline-induced speed. A shuttle departing from the twin stations in geosynchronous orbit needed two hours to reach the far side of the planet, a quarter of that to reach Zhu's Hope. Add some time to go down uncharted atmo … maybe an hour. Maybe two.
The surrounding terrain – approximately ten square feet of broken stone encircled by writhing vines, didn't seem a likely position for a shuttle to engage in a rescue. Protocols suggested remaining in one position – but this was hardly a normal situation. Besides, how many people could honestly say they'd walked on the actual ground of Feros? None for millennia, if the ExoGeni reports were accurate.
"Chief," the ground looked steep, but climb-able. "I'm looking for more level ground. Keep an eye on my signal if you can, forward it to the stations if you can't. Carefully."
"Got – Skipper –" a broken response returned. "Getti – further away. Still can hear – receiver?"
Shepard paused, and ran a system diagnostic. Nothing had seemed wrong earlier, but it had been a check mostly for suit integrity, not focused on communication gear. A tell-tale alert blinked at him; the receiver was partially broken. "Got it Chief. Looks like I'll need to do a fixit job on the squawk-box. Can't take my helmet off now, so send text when you can; package it in a multi-packet code."
Orange type scrolled onto his visor. "Got it, Skipper."
He chuckled, not bothering to sign off beforehand. "Right then. Onward and upward. Or downward, as the case may be."
Climbing down the pile of organized rubble took less effort than he'd anticipated. The slightly stronger gravity felt akin to Mindoir; normal. Once someone grew up on a higher-gravity world, it never left their bones. Languages, trained observation methods – some traits remained deeply ingrained beyond mere genetics. If he recalled aright, elcor – denizens of far larger planets than humans could successfully colonize – were known to frequently comment on their increased grace on other worlds.
Shepard let go of an outcropping, reducing his mass just a touch through the advanced armor, smirking the entire descent. Elcor, graceful? Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought?
The ground supported his landing, but insect-like creatures scattered. He had enough time to see something like a cockroach bigger than his foot race away, barely slower than another dragonfly analogue overhead. It disappeared in the bluish-gray ferns, loose stones clicking in its wake.
Electronics hummed to life, a faint orange haze momentarily covering Shepard's visor as he snapped a quick image of the retreating form. "Vee-eye, start audio log."
He waited until the acknowledging beep responded. "Feros ground level. I'm seeing invertebrate life-forms, some plant life."
Towering piles of stone appeared in the mist, wherever he looked, vanishing into the dim skies. He kept talking. "Evidence seems to indicate prothean construction included many more towers than what's visible from orbit. Note to self: acquire orbital thermal scans. Cloud cover is minimal from one to point-five atmospheres; research condensation points in higher atmospheric conditions. Dew point unknown, external temperatures in excess of – forty degrees Centigrade?" He shook his omni-tool a moment, humanity's quintessential response to potentially malfunctioning hardware. Its readings remained steady. "Forty-point two degrees … good thing I'm wearing my armor."
Shepard pushed forwards, sweeping his recording lens in slow arcs. "Humidity is low, so at least it's a dry heat. I can't imagine what it's like when it rains though, if water gets down here."
A warning chirring growled at him from the ferns. Casually, Shepard aimed his omni-tool towards the disturbance, drawing his father's gun in a slow, non-threatening movement. "Life form. Unknown, point-five meters long."
A long, sinuous form exited the greenery, head raised. Gray and black patterns wound around each other, creating a mesmerizing effect. Under his misbelieving eyes, the colors merged, distending its shape into multiple forms. As it moved, the ferns swayed, casting shadows on the shifting surface. If it hadn't been for the head focused on him with laser-intense focus, Shepard would have mistaken the shifting pattern for the shadows.
Quick scans through the multiple spectrums revealed another surprise. "Subject has negligible thermal reading, ultraviolet is off the scale." He paused, silently laughing at the pun. "Likely cold-blooded vertebrate, predatory behavior. Withdrawing from proximity."
The snake followed, head rising even higher. Cold eyes watched him, dangerous and unfriendly.
Shepard's sidearm rose higher, tracking the creature. He watched the eyes, tracking the gemstone-like quality of their hard orbs. "Visual-based tracking, pits also visible; multiple forms?"
It reared backwards, forming an s-shaped curve. Shepard froze, watching. Alien snake, strike posture, punctured armor will kill me. Something glinted in the snake's eye. Me or it; not going to be me.
Mercy barked, spitting a streak of flame that extended almost two feet. Thunder rocked his helmet, dampened by the sound baffles just in time to save his hearing. He ducked back, avoiding a splash of blood – which painted his left shoulder a deep green. Turning back, Shepard examined the highly distorted form of the serpent, which looked as if a ten foot rod had been smashed through its upper portion.
"Well …" he checked the safety on the gun of his father, holstering it carefully. "A little harder than usual. Blood pressure matches atmospheric pressure; must have hit a lung, or air bladder. Theory: gas osmosis operating at standard pressure."
Glowing script crawled across his visor. "Liara wants you to take a closer look at the far wall. She says it's a typical prothean access point."
Shepard winced; forgetting who watched was a rookie mistake. The system in his armor must have adapted to packaged output; hadn't there been a subsection in the manual about that? "Roger that. Proceeding to … um … 'far wall'. Shepard out."
Although masses of vines hung in the way, the expected direction was simple enough to determine. To the north – relative to planetary rotation – a dark shadow rose beyond everything. All other directions provided daylight in at least muted form, regions remaining dark gave off a less tangible glow, likely luminescent plant life. The shadow in the north blocked any hint of daylight between and around the vines. The only points of illumination visible in that direction came from vines, long, ropy bands of vegetation shimmering in otherworldly light.
Keeping a wary eye for more reptiles, Shepard continued.
Moss, thick and spongy, slowed his progress. The turf rested hip-deep in places, cut to the stonework beneath by the passage of animals. He followed one of the trails, carefully scanning ahead with as many filters his omni-tool possessed. Moving vines, gray-green in the lighting, triggered the motion sensors, until he reduced the sensitivity setting. Leafy extensions protruded everywhere, ferns like he'd seen on Mindoir – imported from Earth. Even through the helmet's rigorous filtration system, the air smelled fresh; damp soil, soaking it in after a long-needed rain.
Shepard inhaled deeply; wishful thinking. Filters didn't allow even micro-particulates through; barriers could block atomic-sized granules, like nano-technology. No one knew the dangers of nano-technology as well as he. But the scent kept coming; now crushed geraniums in flavor. Like the moss he crushed underfoot was … actually … giving ….
"Vee-eye, seal armor. Vacuum tight."
A faint buzz clicked throughout his armor. The scent gradually faded. "Note: higher air pressure can push through filters. Advise Hazard Level Three suits for exploration, maybe a Hephaestus model power armor."
Something slowly pushed itself upwards from the moss, catching his attention. A twisting bit of wood, frayed at the end, extended upwards, then hinged in his direction. While Shepard could see no eyes, he was certain the tilt resulted from no accident. "Is that …?"
A shoulder followed the stick, which clearly became an arm. More stick-like appendages thrust out of the thick moss, dragging reluctant bodies after them in a comedy of lurching parts.
"Shepard! Gt ot of tere!" text raced across his visor, hurried into almost illegible speeds.
Shepard checked the escape angles. Climbing would likely put him out of creeper range, but would also strand him in the middle of nowhere; staying put would maximize damage inflicted by both parties. But, he could always take the third option.
Closing his eyes, Shepard ran through a mental exercise, letting memories rush through his mind. Learning his fiancée had abandoned him rose to the surface, quickly followed by the discovery of a batarian slave outpost. What he'd seen inside … how enraged it made him. More thoughts boiled to the surface; the Council ordering him to marry an unknown quantity, an Alliance Intelligence assignment that had almost destroyed his career, multiple cases where he hadn't been fast enough, hard enough, strong enough – but had made everyone responsible pay.
Red haze floated in front of his eyes. Wanted a workout anyway. No innocents, no witnesses, the helmet cam didn't count. In a court of law, corroborating evidence needed to be given in tandem with an organic witness. For all intents and purposes, it seemed a heaven-sent opportunity. He let his eyes drift skyward, tipping his helmet back. "Thank you, Lord."
[Normandy]
The projection shifted viewpoints, rotating the landscape to show a massive structure blocking the sky. Whispered words barely registered across the link, even for those straining to listen.
"What did he say?" Ashley, armor partially disassembled leaned forwards.
Garrus tapped his visor twice, frowning. "He said … 'thank you'?"
The female marine paused, watching the image. Its view shifted to the shuffling creepers – correction, two were charging – then down to the sidearm he'd always kept but rarely used.
Gunshots, muted through the safety filters on the display, boomed. A secondary monitor appeared; the gun-cam almost every Alliance-issue weapon carried. The image looked off; no surprise, given the weapon in question had been manufactured before the Alliance had become a reality. Its crisp images flickered, refreshing at a slower rate than the helmet device, but still caught the carnage as creepers began flying apart.
"What'd I miss?" A gravelly voice rumbled.
Garrus waved a hand, not looking up. "Wrex, guess the years are telling on you. Shepard just took down a hanjen, and ran into a creeper squad."
The massive krogan ignored the insult. "Creepers eh? Fun. Shoulda gone down there with 'im."
"Nah big guy," Ashley finished stripping off the power armor. Its contacts needed polishing after exposure to the plant matter rampant throughout the Ferosian atmosphere. "We want a few towers still standing. Both of you down there? I'd start to wonder about the planet's crust."
Massive teeth gleamed in her direction. "If you were krogan, that'd be a marriage proposal."
Off to one side, Garrus inhaled his beverage.
Over the sound of his coughing, a female voice emanated from the speaker system. "Chase here. Ex-Oh Pressley, we're being hailed. It's a turian destroyer, the TSFMalediction; they claim to have a Spectre aboard to take over the rescue effort?"
Navigator Pressley stiffened, exchanging looks with Ashley. "Do not respond. Plot a course away from them."
"Sir?"
Ashley clicked her command override into position. "Flight Officer Chase, I believe what the Ex-Oh is trying to say, is that we have suffered damage to our receivers. Repairs will need to commence, but our stealth tech makes us the best choice for hunting down geth survey ships. We're sorry for the trouble, but we need to get to work."
"Yes ma'am." The woman sounded more confident.
Pressley nodded approval. "One more thing, if they try to get close to us, veer off. Casually."
A smile was all but visible. "Aye aye sir. Ooh, did he just hit three with one shot? Could someone bring up some popcorn?"
Ashley groaned. Perhaps Joker was rubbing off on the crew a little too much?
Unknown Location, Feros
Evening?
Plant-substitute bodies fell at every stroke. The ancient depiction of the Grim Reaper's Scythe never felt so realistic to him – and it fit the situation in multiple ways.
Shepard sensed a pair of creepers charging behind him; three more surrounded his current position, buffeting him. Their wood-based weapons had no chance of penetrating his plating, but each punch held the strength of a tree behind it, bruising him at each impact. The Nightstalker armor held strong, and the pulsating eezo circuits increased his mass far beyond a standard biotic's capacity.
Fast as a snake, Shepard flicked his blade upwards, imparting a synthetic Lift to add to its airtime. Pure white energy shimmered around his hands, the harsh light casting long shadows behind the creepers. Ever so slightly altering his stance, the secondary nodules came online around his feet, bringing their mass-altering focus into play. He had time for a brief thought, traitorous though it felt: Thanks Anderson.
Both hands made contact with the ground; or more accurately, with the biotic field extending from his feet. The mismatched fields shrieked, struggling to override each other's focus – one set hit capacitor limit, losing power rapidly. Without equalizing pressure, the lesser field succumbed, triggering a biotic explosion in a concise circle around Shepard's armored boots.
Nova, asari specialists had called it. Shepard had never particularly liked using it – too loud, far too messy. But it did have its uses.
One of the capacitors in the right greave hissed as it overheated. Shepard ignored the problem; why, he couldn't exactly explain. Not when there were so many things to kill.
Through the reddish haze, he could make out the high wall. Basic reason may have been irrelevant, but the baser instincts still held true. Get to the wall.
More of the creepers lunged out of the undergrowth. Unlike their surface companions, no acid seemed forthcoming. But there were more of them. Far, far more of them.
Shepard cut his way closer to the wall. At this point, he wasn't sure how many of the plant things he'd destroyed. Not enough. Kill them. Kill them all.
A focused Warp, launched from his gauntlet caught a creeper by surprise. Artificial biotics failed to recreate the subtle nuances natural biotics could utilize. 'Settings' were the only workable adaption; allocating appropriate shades between 'debuff' and 'disintegrate.' Element Zero held too many variables; too many unknowns. The existence of armor that could produce reliable biotic fields came as a shock to multiple species – if they'd known about it.
Wall. Make it to the wall. Shepard unleashed Mercy in rapid-fire shots, eradicating the nearest opponents. Taking advantage of the momentary respite, he jogged towards the wall. Like a mountain it had seemed closer than reality had portrayed, but the massive stonework now appeared less than half a kilometer –
Shepard ran into a force field, strong enough to send over three hundred pounds of meat and metal rebound. The impact was enough to knock him out of the mindless rage.
Barrier, he squinted, letting the visor take a quick reading. Creaking sounds, more creepers approaching from behind, didn't bother him. Memories from the combat-haze felt muffled, but he could recall enough falling bodies to know they were no challenge to him. Other memories stirred, swelling to consciousness. Therum, that barrier curtain. It had an activation sequence built into the field.
Hesitantly, Shepard stretched out his hand. Twisting it made the barrier shimmer, reflecting the dim lighting. Surety came to his mind; Shepard's hand flicked at the barrier in a steady rhythm. For a moment, the reflective energy field grew purely opaque, before hollowing out just in front of him.
Without pause, Shepard stepped through the opening. The barrier sealed behind him, resuming a hazy invisibility. A creeper slammed against the barrier, inhuman face motionless. It slapped the flat surface, then stood still. More of its kind walked into view, not running or charging like the creatures he'd fought far above, just walking. The patience of a plant, embodied in an avatar. Shepard took a step to the left; the unseeing faces turned with him. Another step, and the silent forms stayed facing him. More and more creepers arrived, getting as close to the barrier as possible without touching it … and all looking straight at him.
Attrition tactics. Shepard realized. Weak individuals, but they keep coming. Like those husks; what if an entire colony were converted? Just one can sap shields; send in suicide husks, follow-up with more; numbers don't matter. Every killed soldier, another husk. Direct conversion.
For one brief moment, he felt ancient tactics rolling through his mind. Entire continents paved with explosives, all just to slow down the Reapers. The immolation of cities, refusing yet more enemy soldiers from being born.
He turned the concept over in his mind. Tactically sound, but strategically flawed. Long-term warfare can't be won by destroying your own all the time. Desperate times though ….
Turning his back on the growing horde, he started walking towards the wall. Green piles of moss grew in thicker mounds, bordering on hillocks closer to the wall, extending to the lower reaches of the wall's bottom-most stones. But between the knolls, Shepard could see a passageway opening, cleared with what looked to be high-energy output.
"Shepard, shuttle delayed. Atmospheric conditions turned bad, can you get higher?" Words scrolled across his visor once more.
He sighed. "I'll try, no promises. How are things up there?"
A few seconds later, text once more crossed his screen. "Off planet, searching for geth spotters. The turians are hailing us, but our receivers are … offline."
Amusement lightened his heard. "Hate it when that happens. I suppose it's a weakness of some prototypes."
"Ha. That's what Adams said. Liara is ecstatic; you have apparently recorded enough data down there for a dozen papers on Prothean architecture. She's also really, really pushing for you to keep opening doors, what with that magic thingy you keep doing."
Shepard took one more look around. "We'll have to get some volus prospectors down here. Five atmos is a little light for 'em, but if they have breathers, they could work it out no problem. Moving onward."
The doorway loomed over him, taller than the Normandy's shuttlebay. Its surface looked pitted and worn, the first sign of age he'd seen on the Prothean ruins; other than decay from combat. Without his prompting, the doorway rolled aside; thicker than two of himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
Inside, lights switched on; smooth illumination showing no hint of the age exhibited by the external frame.
["Enter."]
Shepard froze outside the doorframe, one foot half raised, senses on high alert. It would have been comical in other circumstances.
["Enter."]
Taking caution by both hands, Shepard let one foot set down inside the structure. Should he, shouldn't he? The voice was telling him to do what he'd been going to do anyway … the alternative was remaining outside … which actually wasn't a bad idea come to think of it.
["State your name and rank."]
Shepard paused, and stepped inside. "I am Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies."
A heavy slam surprised him; the massive door sliding shut behind his back. Even the best of technology he'd known would have emitted a low-level hum, or a detectable electromagnetic pulse. The barrier had completely surprised him. Not good.
["Enter Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies. Proceed."]
The inner hall's lights ignited, sterile brilliance outlining a long path between massive walls. Energy crackled into existence, forming a mutating ovoid, which hovered in front of Shepard. The yellow light circled, rising and falling, humming a bi-tone. In-route, the orb rotated, although Shepard couldn't see any differences in the drone's surfaces. What he could tell however, was a strong pulse-scan, mapping his implants. High-grade nano-tech couldn't block the scans, but the scanners had to work to get past their interdiction. And Shepard had the best nano-technology available.
["Identification: Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. Classification: primitive. Analysis: non-standard weaponry, biological modifications. Non-Affected. Proceed."]
Shepard squinted at the drone. "Species? What does that mean?"
The orb floated away, silent as the grave.
Growling to himself, Shepard turned back to the door. It opened at his touch, showing the outside once more. Before he stepped outside, he paused. Groaning, he spun in place and re-entered the Prothean structure. "This better be worth my time."
His footsteps, weighted by his armor and shod in ferro-ceramic combat boots, made enough echoes for an entire squad. Scanning the walls every few seconds kept Shepard alert; there had been tales of Prothean hatches that looked identical to unlined walls; but higher scanning resolutions could sometimes isolate variables. Getting late. I have to get topside.
After nearly fifteen minutes of steady walking, a passageway opened to one side, relieving the claustrophobic sensation slowly growing over him. The orb floated just inside, a macabre doorman, bobbing as he passed.
["Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. Your presence is unexpected. Specify intentions."]
Shepard took his time, looking over the room. Blue lighting painted the walls a bright cerulean, interspersed by pure white sconces. Pillars, narrow but long, lined the walls in a honeycomb structure, casting the spaces not occupied by the sconces in deep twilight. The floor remained the featureless, perfectly smooth surface, reflecting his image whenever he looked down; between the reflective nature and the lighting, it seemed almost to be a sanctuary in some tropical grotto.
["Repeat: Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. Designation: Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies. Specify intentions."]
His jaw set; not quite all of his anger had been drained by the fight. It never was; rage stayed with him no matter where he went, no matter what he did. Keeping it under control however – that kept him sane. "Information gathering. I fell off the tower after engaging Species Thirty-Seven, and eliminating its presence from the colony Zhu's Hope. It had enslaved the colonists, requiring resolution."
A second orb blended together, forming in the far side of the room, halfway between the corners. This one spun gently, pulsing in time with its words. ["Processing: understood. Speaker-for-Peoples no longer responds to data requests. Clarify resolution method."]
"I cut its roots and dropped it around fifteen kilometers. I suspect ExoGeni put a few explosives in place too, but that's just a guess."
The whirling orb spun faster as if alarmed. ["Species integration to the Knowledge must occur. Repairs will commence immediately. Return to the surface and initiate a secondary overdrive start."]
Shepard snorted. "The thing's dead. I'm not bringing it back."
["Error: repair units unavailable. Require external assistance. Representative species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two will comply with request."]
Shepard didn't bother responding. He turned his shoulder to the drone-like thing, and headed back to the exit.
["Instructions for reassembly will be transmitted. Repairs to communication hub Dern-Five are priority."]
"Fix it yourself. I'm not helping a slaver." Shepard's fist squeezed spasmodically. Only self-control kept him from shooting every bit of exposed technology visible … or worse.
["Communication error: processed. Clarification: communication hub required for Caretaker interaction. The Knowledge must be Preserved."]
Manic intensity from a machine was enough to give him pause. "These … caretakers. We call them the Protheans. They're gone, long gone. They'll never come back."
Multiple orbs spun into existence, whirling around the room. The entrance didn't move, but Shepard felt as if the distance had extended hundreds of meters; a length he could not cross in a hurry. Multi-colored spheres of light flew along the perimeter of the room, darting before the entrance and out of sight before returning in brighter colors, vanishing into the honeycomb-like structures. Still on the far side of the room, the second orb turned in place, motionless but for the constant malformed quivering. Shepard felt a sort of panic; he'd seen similar behavior when raiding swarm insect nests.
The gun of his father clicked softly, safety engaged but ready.
More lights entered the room, floating above his head. Some flashed across the ceiling, entering the alcoves and freezing in place. Others joined the mad dance, tumbling from position to position. Their tempo increased, flickering into lines of light, rebounding off the floor and walls like bursts of lighting.
Shepard polarized his faceplate. All the light, in contrast with the darkened interior, reflected off every surface. Light scoured his face, leaving his eyeballs feeling dry as dust.
Abruptly, the multicolored lights vanished, leaving only the orbs hovering within the alcoves, the far wall sphere, and the original door warden.
["Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies. Statement proven correct. Data correlates with updates from Relays-Stars-With-Speed and preliminary data sent from Speaker-for-Peoples. Caretakers are now extinct. Fallback plan Ehud now active."]
"Uh-huh," Shepard backed towards the doorway. "Right. Good luck with that."
["Understood: permission granted. Beginning transfer."] a dozen orbs shot towards Shepard, wrapping around him in a tight whirl of light.
"Wait, pause, hold on," Shepard waved an arm, brushing it through an orb with no visible effect. "What are you doing?"
["Secondary data storage device required. Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two acceptable compromise. Return to your people with data. Prepare for Reaper invasion. Consensus achieved. All Below agreed."]
One of the data packs in his supply belt chirped, indicating maximum data containment. Several orbs spun in ecstasy before evaporating. "Wait, the Below?"
An orb floated out of position, hovering just outside the whirling circle enveloping Shepard's form. ["The Below: designation for Species Zero-zero-zero-three-two. Function: data storage. Reserve information. The Below required interaction through Speaker-for-Peoples. Speaker-for-Peoples failed initial purpose. We have decided."]
Shepard thought quickly. "Maybe I should speak to the others? Not just you."
The light quivered. ["The Below exist in fragile interactive capacity. The Burning Above traumatized processing capacity; standard operations resumed three point two seven centa-cycles following the Burning. Analogy: the Below consider the Above to be data without merit. Nightmares."]
"Then let me see them, and I'll point out which one is me." Shepard swatted at a vibrant green orb that hovered next to his chestplate. Moments later, the five petabyte storage device hidden inside chirped maximum capacity.
["Inadvisable. Data will accelerate technology development. Scans indicate non-significant alteration required. Minor translation errors. Data repository will remain for next cycle. Positive integer percentages for current cycle probabilities in victory Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies, Representative of Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. This concludes data exchange. Proceed to exit, honor to the ancestors."]
Shepard blinked as the lights extinguished, save for the vibrant hue of the door warden. It pulsated twice, before bobbing out the door. It waited until he followed, then continued.
The entire route, Shepard walked in a daze, letting his reflexes determine where he moved, following the cheerful colors of the guiding orb. Eventually, they reached an elevator, which included benches along the side. Shepard sat on one of the benches, waiting as the doors slid shut. A faint pressure on his spine hinted at the acceleration employed; intensifying as time progressed.
He broke to the surface, still in a dazed state. "Shepard to Normandy, come in please. About that shuttle, I need a pickup. It's … been a long day."
A/N: And so, the Great Reveal, roughly 18 chapters in the making or approximately 180,000 words. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!
Classes have kicked off, and I am now teaching and researching. Good for my employment status, bad for writing. Still, I have time now and again to spend an hour or two continuing my little Discovery Series. It's taken longer than anticipated, but what good wine isn't worth the wait?
Big thanks to Nightstride for his tireless beta efforts. The fellow has helped me out for over two years now, a truly titanic achievement in the fanfiction market. Pretty big in most writer areas come to think of it, so Happy unBirthday to him!
Finally, Dawn of Titans has a new chapter up. Check out F13D for an epic far longer than my own, and tech development you wouldn't believe. Reading suggestion for this chapter: 'The Simple Things' by LaterHosen (story ID: 12372527). See y'all next time!
