Chapter 72. Two Years and Twelve Days
Present Day, 5. March 2415 AD, Omega, Lower Gozu District
Collectors.
That was the name of the unknown hostile that had destroyed the Normandy. And as it had turned out, they weren't all that unknown in this part of the galaxy. While he had considered his odds of actually tracking down the high-ranking officer rather low, the first krogan merchant Morneau had asked about any rare aliens going about the station had given him a description of a species who's modus operandi seemed to be a near perfect match for what had happened. They showed up out of the blue from beyond the Omega-Four Relay every couple of years, offered slavers and pirates their tech in return for people and then disappeared just as quickly. While the people they were looking for changed every time in regards of species, sex, number and even handedness, there was one constant that the merchant had given him. A purposefully abandoned Eezo refinery with a hidden entrance, far away from T'Loak's eyes, that they used as an exchange point for their trades.
Hence here he was, crouching through a narrow hole in the otherwise sealed-off perimeter of the district and staying in the shadows. On his way Morneau ducked under long-rusted pipes, jumped across inactive conveyor belts and snuck past empty crates and inactive Eezo processors. While on the move, he wondered if this would go down in the history books as the time the HSA had started a First Contact War with an alien race of unknown origin, unknown numbers and unknown level of development. If so, would the future generations blame all of this on him? Would he be the guy who unleashed the second coming of the rachni or something along those lines? As he was about to climb up on a catwalk which lead to what he assumed was the control center for the conveyor system he had just crossed, the specialist dismissed those thoughts for one single reason.
He'd also want someone to come and get him.
So, whoever it was that those collectors had snagged in their attack, he'd be damned if he just let them run off with them.
In a practiced motion, Morneau jumped up, grabbed the railing and threw his feet over it, pulling himself up as quickly and as quietly as possible. Once on top of the catwalk, he looked over what he could see of the dimly lit refinery before walking to the control center. For the most part, what he could see was exactly the same as what he had already crossed. Pipes, conveyors belts, crates and processor units silently sitting below a grid-like catwalk system that allowed a good view over the refinery. However in a distant corner, behind a large tank, something stood out. An anomaly. A faint green and blue glow that shone just bright enough to paint shadowy figures on the wall. Although they looked vaguely humanoid, Morneau immediately knew that these were the Collectors. They had to be. No known species came close to resembling the strange silhouettes he was seeing right now. It looked like they were tall creatures with large, tapering heads and although he couldn't be sure given how desolate this place was, he was now starting to think that the chirps and trills he had accounted to vermin living in the refinery before was actually coming from them. The direction certainly fit.
He took a breath and looked at the control center. It'd provide him with some cover but it wouldn't get him closer to getting a look at the source of the light and determining if his mark was down there or not. Then he glanced down at the conveyor belt he had just climbed. He'd give up the high ground but if stayed low, he could follow it all the way to the tank and get an angle on them. Unless they brought dozens of troops, he should technically be able to dispatch them before they noticed him.
Unless of course they were as hard to kill as a krogan. In that case, he was probably screwed.
Well.
Only one way to find out, was there?
He frowned behind his helmet, jumped over the scaffolding and followed the otherwise undefined plan of engagement, crawling behind his cover until he reached the tank. Then Morneau got up from his crouched position and slowly edged forward until he could see the source of the light and the collectors standing by it.
When he did his eyes narrowed. While he wanted to look at the shimmering orb and the black device that projected it around what looked like a human, his training demanded that he first figured out what he was up against. He did a quick head-count of the collectors. He could see ten of them right now. When he was sure that he hadn't missed any of the figures, he still ignored the orb and instead focused on the details of this new alien race.
They looked weird. Like someone had taken a bug and scaled it up to person-size. They were covered in a grey and brown exo-skeleton and carried organic-looking weapons that appeared to be made from the same chitin-like substance as their exoskeleton. In addition to that, they had another set of small, pointy appendages located just underneath their actual arms that Morneau, after a second of focus, realized was responsible for producing the clicking he had been hearing. And as if that wasn't weird enough, they also had four glowing eyes but unlike with batarians, theirs were aligned horizontally across their face, which as far as he could tell was missing a mouth. That made him skeptic for a second. Was this some kind of armor after all?
After a second Morneau pushed the thought out of his mind. He wasn't a xeno-anthropologist. It wasn't his job to make sense of the collectors. He was a Section 13 operative and he was here to kill any bug that figured it'd make his job harder by standing in his way. He scanned his surroundings. It was at least a ten-on-one situation, he needed to level the playing field a bit before jumping in. The ground-floor was pretty much the same as the rest of the refinery. Conveyor belts and tanks that used to store Element Zero. Other than that, there was just the catwalk and pipes.
For a second he lingered on the storage tanks and the collectors wandering close to them.
If he could charge the residue Eeezo inside and trigger a biotic chain reaction, then maybe he wouldn't have to count on being a good enough gunfighter to handle ten unknown hostiles.
As he felt the biotic energy spike in his body, he was aware of how big of a gamble this was. In addition to the tanks probably being scrubbed clean for the last mote of Eezo when they had last been used, these things also tended to be isolated. For good reasons too. There were hardly any industrial accidents that could cause more damage than those in an Element Zero refinery. So maybe all this would do was blow his moment of surprise and put him in a spot where he had to prove just how good of a shot he was.
Purple energy collected in the palm of his hand and one of the collectors seemed to notice. His four yellow eyes shooting to where Morneau was hiding.
Then again, Omega wasn't exactly known for workplace safety, was it?
In one motion, the specialist jumped up and threw the unstable ball of energy forward with all the force he could muster. Less than a second later, it connected with the tank and dispersed across its brown metallic exterior, engulfing it in a thin coat of purple. The collector lifted its weapon and chirped a warning. Meanwhile, there was no biotic chain reaction. In response Morneau brought up his own Valkyrie and aimed it at the collector. In the corner of his eye, a bright, violet light appeared. But just as Morneau registered the success of his plan, he also realized the crucial mistake he had made.
This was Omega. Eezo was as rare here as sand was on a beach. Of course they wouldn't go through the trouble to scrub the tanks before going for a refill-
Before he could pull the trigger, the tank broke apart in a violent explosion and produced a singularity that pulled the collectors, every loose container and nearly himself too into a whirlpool that shredded everything it touched. As he clung to a ladder attached to the larger tank, literally holding on for his life, his rifle slipped out of his hand and went flying into the small blackhole-like thing he had just created. When it hit, it proved to be too much for his instable creation. In the one moment it was peeling the metal off the catwalk and slowly loosening the bolts of the ladder he was holding on, in the next, it exploded, sending bits and pieces of metal and collectors flying all over the refinery. After he was reintroduced to gravity and hit the floor with a thud, breaking the ladder of for good as he went down, Morneau groaned. He simply hoped he hadn't just minced the orb and the target inside. He could still see a blue glow through the nearly black dust cloud he had created. That was a good sign, right? The specialist got to his feet, pulled out his pistol and cautiously advanced to its source, ignoring the wet noise his boot produced when it stepped into the brownish-yellow paste that now covered the floor. As he got closer to the device producing the orb, which still peacefully hummed its tune, the smoke started to clear as well, allowing him to get a better look at the inhabitant.
Then he recognized who exactly was floating in the orb and lowered his weapon.
The woman's onyx-black paint of the armor was basically peeling off at this point but the N7 symbol was still clearly visible and although her auburn hair covered up most her face because of the way her head was hanging, what little he could see left no doubt in his mind.
Shepard.
He took a step closer and put his palm on the orb. First it caused a warm, golden glow. Next thing he knew, the spot he had touched flashed red and gave him a jolt strong enough to knock him back.
Alright.
This complicated things a little.
Four Days Later, 9. March 2415 AD, Cronos Station
"While it sounds like it is comparable to the stasis-field I was locked in on Therum, there are also traits that suggest a remarkable similarity to the suspended animation pods we found on Ilos. I can only suspect that this has something to do with the commander's state. Maybe they wanted to contain her for interrogation? Or maybe they didn't want to risk treating her because of a lack of knowledge? That sounds reasonable enough given the state you say the commander is in," the asari theorized at a breakneck speed while Harper frowned and dipped his cigarette into the ashtray. As he watched her hologram messily pack up her belongings, she had started to do so the moment he had told her why he wanted her off Ilos, he decided that enough was enough. "Either way, what I'm really the most interested in is how these collectors even got their hands on prothean technology, I mean sure, the DNA samples we collected on Ilos suggest that multiple species went into stasis but I highly doubt that the collectors were one of them. I mean why would the protheans be hostile to us-"
"Please slow down, Doctor," he instructed, interrupting her speedy theorizing process. When she did, he continued. "Before we go any further, there's something I need you to understand."
"What is it?"
He pulled on his cigarette again, exhaled and looked at the scans taken of the object before a Cerberus team had taken it off Omega alongside the specialist who had first secured it. While most of it had been unintelligible gibberish, there had been two things that every other scientist had confirmed. First, Shepard was still dying in there, the orb wasn't doing anything to fix that, and secondly, the device was failing. It'd give in eventually at which point the commander would die.
He glanced to the tablet lying on his other armrest. HSAIS and Arcturus had delivered on his request, the best and brightest doctors the HSA had to offer, all on speed-dial. But none of them could fix her. Not yet at least. It'd take them time and money to come up with a cure for the injuries Shepard had sustained.
"I'm not asking you to free Commander Shepard," he could see the asari's face shift in confusion," I'm asking you to keep her locked in until we find a way to save her," he dipped his cigarette into the ashtray again. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good," he pulled on his cigarette until the smoldering paper reached the filter. Then he added her name to the file, swiped at the screen of the tablet and made the list disappear, sending it to the operative he'd entrust with this new operation. A second later a pair of words appeared on the screen and he puffed out some smoke. "Welcome to the Lazarus Project, Doctor T'Soni."
Five Months Later, Summer of 2156 CE, Menae, Installation-237
"That was more than I expected," Nihlus admitted after magnifying his visor and looking at the impact-site were only a black-burnt spot remained of a slate of state-of-the-art ship armor.
"And that was only the smallest Thanix variant firing at half strength," the turian scientist standing next to him pointed out. While he started to type on his tablet, Nihlus turned away from the reinforced window of the testing bunker. "We estimate that a capital-ship sized weapon will be able to destroy any other vessel in the galaxy within three volleys."
"Good, good," he muttered. He knew that there'd be a pay-off to sending drones to clean up the debris of the Reaper ship and pick out the useful bits while they were there. "When can we move out of the prototype phase?" the Thanix program had been SLD's first assignment. If he'd produce a success this early on, the newly promoted general figured that he'd receive the political backing to actually put in place the radical contingencies he had developed in the last months. If he really wanted to make a change, he needed something to bargain with. The Thanix Cannon could be that something.
"If the design is as easy to scale up as we hope, we'll be able to start production of the first Thanix Cannons by the year's end."
"Understood," he said. "But you still believe that you can't create this type of gun for a smaller weapon system? It doesn't even have to be a rifle. A tank is fine too."
"Yes, Sir. I'm afraid that anything smaller than a frigate wouldn't be able to produce the energy necessary to fire a Thanix."
He looked back at the distant, smoldering testing range.
"A shame," he sighed. "Very well then. Mark this test as a complete success and continue your development as you see fit. If there's anything you need to speed up the development, ignore your superiors and come straight to me. I'll get it to you."
"Thank you, Sir," the scientist said before leaving Nihlus alone to marvel at the destructive capabilities his division had created.
If these things entered mass production, maybe they wouldn't need any of his contingencies?
He could only hope.
19. September 2415 AD, Citadel, Chambers of the Citadel Council
As the three councilors stepped out of an adjacent door and took their places behind their podiums, Donnel Udina became even more nervous, if that was even possible. This was it, the moment where he'd either make history or go down in it as just another footnote.
"After lengthy debate," the asari councilor announced, not just to her colleagues and him but also to the hundreds of observers standing in the rows above them and the presumably hundreds of billions watching through the camera drones hovering in front of the council, "this Council is ready to announce its decision regarding humanity's formal request to be admitted as the fourth executive member," as she looked at Sparatus, Udina held his breath and felt his heart beat faster and faster. The turian councilor usually only delivered bad news.
"Given the extraordinary effort your people have put into contributing to the safety of the Citadel," the turian councilor said, "it is our decision that the request will be accepted. Once the formalities are complete and you present an eligible representative, humanity will become the fourth Council race."
After he finished his sentence, the chamber and by large the galaxy went into a roaring debate, changed forever.
But Udina didn't care.
He had achieved his life's work.
3. January 2416 AD, Arcturus Station
"I'd wish you a happy new year, Chancellor, but I'm afraid I've only got bad news," the director of HSAIS, Tao Rei, said while Goyle looked at the hologram.
"Is it about Shepard?" the blonde woman frowned.
"No. Harper tells me her condition remains unchanged," Rei shook his head. "It's about something else, something I've been keeping an eye on ever since the collectors attacked her ship."
"Go on," she nodded before leaning her arms on her desk and covering up the latest concept of an election poster for the upcoming vote.
"Are you familiar with Missing-Voyage?"
"I can't say that I am."
"It's a charity that concerns itself with merchant ships and private enterprises that go missing or end up shipwrecked in the Attican Traverse. They launch search-and-rescue operations, help relatives of missing crew and the likes find closure and so on. Anything the navy would do when one of our vessels goes MIA."
"Okay," she nodded her understanding. "What about them?"
"After the Normandy went down, you asked me to keep an eye out for similar incidents, which I did. And while there were no similar cases regarding HSA vessels, or attacks along those lines, the number of civilian ships that have gone missing outside of Council Territory has skyrocketed. In the last six months, Missing-Voyage reported a three hundred percent increase in unexplained ship disapperances."
"How many people are we talking about?"
"Two thousand, one hundred forty-nine," Rei said.
"And why am I only hearing about this now?"
"Only a fraction of them are HSA citizens. A lot were living on independent worlds in the Verge. So when they swere reported missing, the files never wenth through our channels"
"You'd think someone would tell me that thousands of humans went missing."
"Thousands of humans go missing every year," Rei shrugged. "Fact is, space is dangerous and big. So it makes sense no one would bat an eye about it without knowing the details. They're saying its pirates and tell people to avoid the areas. Then they move on to the next case." Fair enough, if one phrased it like that it made sense no one would bother the Chancellor of the HSA with it.
"But you don't think it's more than that."
"No. I think that someone's hunting us, Ma'am. I looked at the numbers. The increase is almost exclusively in humans. Turian, asari, salarian, they all stayed the same. But human ships are being picked off every other day as if someone's trying to meet a number." Her eyes narrowed.
"So what do you propose we do about it?"
"Get ready to accept that we're at war."
Four Months Later, Spring of 2157 CE, Terra Nova, Grissom Academy
"While preparations for the upcoming Unification Day celebrations continue throughout the colonies, parliament has signed off on another increase in military funding, citing last year's geth attack on Eden Prime and the recent increase of HSA forces being deployed to independent colonies in the Verge as their reasons," the news anchor spoke while Tela Vasir went over the paper work in front of her with a frown on her face. While she had become just as exceptional at teaching the theoretical part of biotic training to her students as she was at the practical part, the scribbling that some humans called 'hand-writing' was really, really frustrating to grade. "Additionally, parliament has announced that three additional Kilimanjaro-Classes will enter construction later this summer, meaning that the navy will once more reach the limit set by the Citadel's Treaty of Farixen. Across Citadel Space this announcement once more sparked controversy in wake of the Hierarchy's continued construction on five consecutive dreadnoughts, which upon construction will put them into direct violation of the treaty- "
As she tried to identify the weirdly shaped letters this particular student had sketched on the paper, she heard the knock on her door and offered an invitation.
"Come in."
Only when the door nearly exploded open did she look up, instincts honed by commando training and Spectre experience demanding that she found out who'd enter her room in such an unusual fashion. She relaxed when she recognized her husband.
"Grant. What brings you here?" she said before returning to the assignment.
"I just spoke to Hannah. They're gonna try to wake Emily up."
Immediately the asari dropped her pen, grabbed her coat and followed the specialist out of the door.
6. May 2416 AD, Cronos Station
He drummed his finger against the armrest of his chair and looked at the dark-haired woman in charge of Project Lazarus, which had nearly turned into an utter failure the day before yesterday.
"You said they were ready," he muttered.
"They told me they were," the woman replied with her australian accent. "Evidently they overestimated themselves."
"She nearly died."
"We got her back into stasis in time," she said, folding her arms.
"We just got set back over a year. It's worse than it was when we found her."
"Which is why I've already dismissed the chief medical officer. He won't endanger our progress again. We'll wake her up, eventually."
"Eventually isn't good enough," he argued calmly. "We need Shepard, now more than ever."
"Permission to speak freely?"
"You're not a solider. You don't need permission to do speak, Miranda."
"The commander is just one soldier. Why are we going through all this trouble just to bring her back from death's doorstep?"
Harper dipped his cigarette into the ashtray and did something he very rarely did in a conversation. Get up from his chair and look away from the sun in front of him. After he had mustered the woman in front of him with his artificial-blue eyes, he gave his reply.
"Shepard is special. She's living proof of what the galaxy's been trying to deny for the last year."
"The Reapers," the operative said, already knowing what he was talking about. After the Citadel, almost all Cerberus personal had been briefed on their existence and the threat they posed.
"She didn't just see one of them, she killed it. In a time where everyone seems all to ready to dismiss Sovereign's threats as empty and go on with their lives, pretending that the last year didn't happen, she's the reminder we need to stay alert. If Shepard dies, the galaxy will forget. We can't afford that. So make sure it doesn't happen. Understood?"
"Understood."
Three Months Later, 2157 CE, Aephus, Turian Naval Rally Point
Six anti-separatist operations on Taetrus, two raids on slaver bases and one engagement with what was either a geth squad or someone who had stolen their weapons and figured out how to get them to work. That was the summary of the reports lying on his desk as of this morning. He figured that if his XO Melion hadn't run things in his absence, his entire room would be filled with tablets containing the mission reports of Blackwatch squads.
Desolas dropped his office bag, let out a sigh and sat down in the chair. He had tried to convince the primarchs to keep him focused on the Reapers. He really had. But after over eighteen months of waiting for their invasion and preparing fortifications alongside a dozen Oma Ker legions, it had been decided that the acting commander of the Blackwatch couldn't spent the rest of his life living in a prefab bunker at the galaxy's edge and waiting for an enemy some were already saying wouldn't come.
As he picked up the first tablet, he wondered. He had managed to oversee the construction of FOBs, strongholds and observation posts on sixteen different planets and shot nearly a thousand probes into dark space. Would that be enough to at least give them something of a fighting chance? If not, had he wasted the time Saren had bought them?
"Would you look at that. A stranger in my office," a voice greeted, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Welcome back, General."
"Melion," he greeted after looking up at the turian. Then he got up and returned the commander's salute. "It's good to see you."
"And even better to have you back," Melion replied. "When did you land?"
"A couple of hours ago," Desolas said. "Got off the shuttle, got debriefed and then I went straight here. Figured you had been doing my job long enough."
"Oh, don't worry about me. You know how much I enjoy paperwork," the commander chuckled. "I take it this isn't a voluntary return?" he added more seriously.
"No. I wanted to stay. We still have a lot of work ahead of us before we're anywhere close to having a defensible galactic board. But Palaven Command had different plans for me."
"I see," his XO nodded before sitting down at his own desk. "And what might those be?"
In response Desolas reached into his bag and pulled out a tablet. He unlocked it and handed it to Melion. His name was on the briefing list anyways, so he might as well cut things short. As the commander read over the file, Desolas recounted its content in his mind. He had gone over it a couple of times on his flight to Aephus so he had it memorized at this point.
The situation had started simple enough. Ever since last year, predominantly human ships hailing from the independent planets that had sought human protection from slaver rings had been vanishing at an unusually high rate. While TNI had originally passed it up as the effects of the latest trend, no matter how despicable it was, slavery, like any other economic niche, was still about supply and demand, that opinion had changed when an analyst had decided to put the numbers in a curve chart. Human ships passing through the Traverse and Terminus were vanishing at an exponential rate and, if the latest reports regarding a Sirta-Foundation zero-g research lab and a prospector camp were to be believed, it was no longer just ships with crews in the dozens that were going missing. Hundreds of humans were being abducted at a time from space and from planets alike, never leaving a clue as to who had taken them. There were no bodies and no signs of a fight. Just empty ships and seemingly abandoned prefabs.
"Spirits," he heard Melion mutterer. "Twenty thousand people in one year?"
"TNI suspects that there are a lot more we just don't know about yet," Desolas added. "They also think that the number will keep climbing unless something happens."
The commander looked up. "Now, don't get me wrong, I like humans. But what exactly has this got to do with us? If they think it's a problem, I'm sure that the HSA can solve it on its own. They're got a seat on the Council for a reason."
He understood Melion. He had asked himself the same question. It was tragic, yes, but in the grand scale of things, twenty thousand wasn't a large number. Certainly not when compared the tens of millions of people that disappeared throughout Council Space every given year. People disappeared. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least that's what he had figured before being given a lengthy history lesson by a TNI archivist.
"Have you ever heard of Relay 39?" he asked before holding out a hand to Melion and gesturing for him to give him back the tablet. If his commander wanted to read about it, Desolas would need to unlock it with biometrics. As far as TNI was concerned, Melion didn't have any business knowing about that part of their new assignment. But given the fact that the commander had basically ran the Blackwatch for the last year and a half, Desolas was inclined to ignore that concern.
"Can't say I have," Melion replied with a shrug.
"Well it's what we used to call the Omega-4 Relay before the first mining companies set up shop in the system and named it otherwise," Desolas explained before giving him back the tablet. "Do you want to read or do you want me to tell you what it's about?" Desolas asked as he caught Melion's eyes widen the same way his did when he saw just what TNI had considered a 'short' report back in the day. A hundred pages weren't exactly something you could skim over.
Luckily for the two of them, his flight had been rather long.
"Well, if you're offering," his XO said before leaning back in his chair as if he was getting settled in for a late-night narration. "Alright. Go ahead."
"The report you're holding is about the 'Relay 39 Incident'. It happened a couple of months after we got our seat on the Council, so it hasn't been news for the last thousand years. Compared to other engagements we fought back then, it was a small-scale skirmish but its size isn't what made it unique. What makes the Relay 39 Incident so special is that it remains the one and only time turian ships fought an enemy we couldn't identify with certainty. Not even today," Desolas began, quoting the archivists' words before sitting down as well. It was a rather long story and while he intended to keep it brief, these things tended to get a life on their own. "It started out eerily similar to what's happening to the humans right now. First merchants went missing along certain hotspots, then, when we increased our presence in those areas, they'd start disappearing somewhere else, always following the same pattern. First there was a blackout, then we'd find the empty hull Sometimes intact, sometimes damaged. That went on for a couple of months and got chalked up to the krogan, remember this was just after the Rebellions. The bad blood was still fresh so no one raised any concerns when people started saying krogan raiders were abducting turians to torture them as payback for the genophage. Only when the number kept climbing and the same thing started to happen to armed listening posts did someone find it suspicious enough to create a taskforce and explore options other than 'it's the damn krogan'," he summarized with a wave of his hand, "Long story short, the task force waited until the next hotspots started to make themselves known and planted an ambush. They filled a dozen ships with battle-hardened cabal and recon squads and sent them up and down the routes, hoping that someone would take the bait and try to abduct our special forces. That went on for the better part of a year."
"And?"
"And absolutely nothing happened. Turian ships and outsposts continued to go missing but not one of the bait ships ever got ambushed. They were about ready to abort the task force when a patrol flotilla intercepted a distress signal coming from yet another merchant ship. It was just luck really that they were nearby. As expected, the captain of the flotilla followed protocol and diverted to the source of the signal. When they finished their transit, they ran into the ship you'll see on page thirty-two," he waited for a second before Melion swiped to the page on the tablet. He still had the image in his head. It looked like someone had turned an insect hive into a battleship. "Since it was chasing the merchant vessel and had its weapons powered up, the flotilla didn't even bother with firing off a warning shot and started to shoot, no questions asked. After a minute of sustained fire, there was nothing left of the vessel and the captain called it a day. TNI collected the bits that had survived and sealed them on Menae and his success, the head of the task force got a promotion. He went into politics and eventually became our third Councilor when he was sure that the disappearances had stopped. And that was it, everything about the incident and task force got classified and went into the archives as a job well done."
"Until now," Melion figured.
"Until now," Desolas repeated. "They were never ready to say for sure, but TNI and the primarchs of the time always figured that the unknown contact we destroyed that day was actually a Collector ship."
"As in the Collectors?" Melion said somewhat skeptically. "The same ones those merc gangs in the Terminus say are one hundred percent real and definitely not a part of their extortion racket?"
"Yes. Those Collectors," the turian general nodded. He had been familiar with the urban legend, every turian serviceman who had been deployed to the edge of Council space had heard the stories. Every couple of years, the Collectors would take interest into a new group and task slavers with abducting individuals belonging to said group, paying a handsome reward in the process. But until he had read the name in a TNI file he had considered them just that. A story.
"Well damn. Guess I own someone a hundred thousand credits after all," Melion muttered under his breath before looking at Desolas. "Let me guess, TNI wants us to capture a Collector so that they can interrogate him and finally close that file for good?"
"Something along those lines," he shrugged. "You know what they like to say. Finding the truth is only a matter of time and effort."
"More like digging up a millennia old First Contact War to finally seal that incident for good," his XO corrected. "So. How do we do this?"
"The same way the first task force did it," Desolas answered. "Remember, the patient hunter succeeds."
3. October 2416 AD, Cronos Station
"I thought I might find you here," Yo-yo said as she leaned against the railing of the scaffolding overlooking Cronos Station's very own CQC parkour and looked at her partner, who was sitting on the catwalk and reading something on a tablet. If she had to take a guess, he was going over who he'd be starting tomorrow for a final time and checking that he knew all the details. "Thought you might want to know that I locked up your stuff. Here's the keys to the locker," she said before reaching into her pocket and offering them to him. Since he'd be gone for an unspecified time, Morneau had asked her to make sure his personal belongings didn't 'walk away on their own'. Like expected, she had managed to cramp everything the guy owned into a footlocker and stashed it in a corner of her own room on Cronos Station.
"Keep 'em, I won't need them any time soon," the man replied with a wave of his hand. She got it. Starting tomorrow, he was going undercover for a long time. Having keys with an HSAIS tag stamped on them would just be a liability.
"You really aren't looking forward to this, are you?" she asked before stuffing the keys back into her pocket and sitting down next to him. Then she let her legs dangle over the edge of the catwalk and ignored the drop down.
"What can I say, I've always been more of a direct-action kind of guy."
"I get that but undercover's still part of the job though. We all knew that when we signed up," when Alec had approached her, he had repeated that part five times. After she had learned that he was married and had a kid, she had understood just why he had stressed how difficult it could get to spend months pretending to be someone else.
"Yup," the other specialist nodded.
"But you still don't like it," she concluded.
"Nope."
"So, how are you holding up then?" Yo-yo asked as she looked at her boots, her grey-and black camo pants and the parkour below them. Like every other specialist, the two of them had spent a lot of time learning how not to die down there.
Good times.
"Despite appearances, I'm good," he said with a chuckle. "It's not the first time I'm doing this."
"I know," she replied. It was the third long-time assignment her partner went on, with long-time being assignments where one spent more than a month living a fake-life instead of just arriving under an alias and spending a week or two under that name in preparation for a mission. The first had been in an IFS cell four months after their graduation and had lasted four months, the second had been spent as part of a hacker group that had been suspected as IFS sympathizers a couple of years ago and had lasted seventy-five days. So if one wanted to argue details, which she usually really liked to do, this was the first time he was going somewhere that wasn't related to the Iffys. "Doesn't mean that it's gotten easier for you, does it?" she finally added after finishing the thought.
"Would be boring if it did," her partner offered before running a hand through his now short-cropped hair, which was already part of his new identity. "Wanna take a bet how long this one will take?" he suggested. She knew what he was doing. He had a tendency to change topics when they hit the point where he'd appear vulnerable. Alongside that stupid mantra Redford had thought him, it might as well be his favorite defensive mechanism.
"Do you really want to jinx yourself like that?" she returned. Everyone knew that that kind of bet was just asking for bad luck. "Last I heard, the guy who made that bet the last time still isn't back from the Citadel."
"Two hundred days," he said a second later. "I'm betting you right now that I'll drag the Broker out of his hole in exactly two hundred days from today."
"Six and a half months to root out the galaxy's most notorious information broker?" she said with a chuckle before turning her head to him and seeing him offer a hand. "A bit cocky, don't you think?"
"I consider it as setting myself a steep deadline and giving it all to achieve it," he shrugged, still holding out his hand.
"And I'm sure the director will make you employee of the month for it," she said before taking it. "Two hundred days. Then you're back here with the Broker."
"Down to the minute," he nodded before letting go, "unless of course I decide that I like my new life as a contractor more and decide to ditch on Thirteen."
"We both know you wouldn't do that. You're way too much of an idealist to even consider going rogue."
"Willing to bet on that too? I think I might just win that one."
"If you do it on purpose, it's considered cheating."
"Who said anything about cheating? It's basically the oldest undercover-movie plot ever. The hero loses himself in his role. Over time, he becomes the mask and forgets where he came from," while it was obviously a joke, Yo-yo knew her partner long enough to recognize the underlying worry. "He gets used to his new life and the people he met, the mission slips into the back of his mind. And then when he has to choose, his country or his new love, he can't make the decision because he's gotten so used to being this new person-"
"You're not going to lose yourself, Morneau," she interrupted before reaching to the back of her neck and moving her brown hair out of the way. Then she unclasped the neckless and pulled it out from her uniform's collar, revealing the white makau nui attached to it, a fish-hook necklace. She wore every day despite it breaking regulations. It was her very own good-luck charm and unless she read his mood entirely wrong, Morneau might need it more than her right now. "You gotta get this back to me, after all," she said before holding it towards him. "Come on."
"I can't take that, Yo-yo," he protested quickly before looking into her blue eyes. "You know the rules. No personal items on an undercover gig."
"It's a cheap necklace I bought at a corner store, not a personal item," she countered with a white lie before quickly leaning over and clasping it around his neck. If she told him where exactly the necklace was from and that he was right about it being personal, there was no way he'd take it. "There," she said as she looked at the makau nui a final time before stuffing it down the collar of his shirt. "Now that it's on, you can't take it off without ruining the moment."
"Fair enough," he chuckled. "You'll get this back in two hundred days. I'll put it in a present with the Broker."
"Please don't. Corner store purchase or not, it has sentimental value that'd get diminished if put into contact with scumbags."
"Okay. In a separate present then," he said just before his watch beeped. They both knew what that meant, hence they got up.
"I'm expecting a bow on that present," Yo-yo said, before moving to the side and letting Morneau pass her. While he found his stride quickly, he stopped opposite to her for just a second.
"Since I've got no idea how to tie a bow, I'll make no such promises."
"You're sure that you can drag the Broker in in two hundred days, but you don't think you'll have time to look up how to tie a bow when you got him? Seriously?"
"Gotta stay realistic," he shrugged before the watch beeped again. "Alright. Sounds like I'm being expected."
"Sure does," she confirmed.
"Guess I'll see you in two hundred days then," he replied before rubbing the back of his neck and turning the way he needed to go. There was his third favorite defense mechanism. No good-byes.
That was one she might've been guilty of too, if not for a small loophole.
"Yo, Magic!" she called after he had taken a few steps. His head turned back in expectation. "Don't die out there, alright?"
In response he patted his chest. "Gotta get this back to you, don't I?"
13, March 2417 AD, Cronos Station, Lazarus Department
It was now or never. The stasis field had been shut down by Doctor T'Soni and the program's results were being put to the test on the basically dead N7 lying on the operating table below, kept alive by nothing but the machines around her. Just like the last time, a hundred different simulations had been run and just like last time, they all had predicted a successful outcome. But he wouldn't get his hopes up, not when he knew just how close they had gotten to losing Shepard the last time he had stood in this observation theatre.
"Administering main dosage," the doctor next to him announced. As he moved his hands over the holographic display a robotic arm carrying a syringe with a light-blue liquid pierced Shepard's skin. While it didn't look like much, the solution, which had been hand-crafted to be able to cure Shepard's dying state, had costed a fortune to develop and produce. "Vitals?" he asked after every single drop of the expensive injection had entered the N7.
"Unchanged," another doctor muttered while Harper resisted the urge to pull out a cigarette and light it up. Not a lot of things made him nervous but right now the results of two years of work and potentially the fate of the galaxy, were on the line. If the vitals were unchanged this time, they might have to accept that the commander was beyond saving- "Hold on. It looks like they're stabilizing. God."
"Double-check," Miranda Lawson, who was standing next to him, demanded.
"Still stabilizing."
"Triple-check," she demanded.
"Still stabilizing."
"Quadruple-"
"That's enough, Miranda," he instructed. Then he turned to the one in control of the surgical equipment, who's eyes were now glued to the monitor depicting Shepard's heartbeat, marveled by the fact that he had apparently just cured death. "Please, Doctor, continue with the procedure." The man nodded and did as he was told. He put his hands on the hologram and retracted the robotic arms again. With a tug of his finger, the tip of the syringe was dropped into a steel tray and the glass veil was removed by another arm. Then a new syringe was added. This time it contained a grey fluid. As he understood it, this dosage was meant to fix the damage Shepard's body had sustained during the attack on the Normandy.
"Administering nanites."
As the syringe did its job, Harper wondered. Was it ethical to bring someone back from death just to put their life in danger again? Using nano-machines nonetheless?
"Scan for functionality," the doctor instructed.
He quickly dismissed those thoughts. Cerberus had never been about doing what was ethical. It was about doing what was necessary for the sake of humanity.
"Receiving positive feedback. Nanites working at full capacity," a technician responded.
"Vital signs?"
"Appear to be increasing. Jesus. She's actually coming back," another doctor said under her breath. "Her heartrate is increasing, her lungs are starting to work again. Detecting increased brain activity."
"Okay. I'll administer the sedative now," the leading physician said before once more dumping the used syringe in the steel tray. "Wouldn't want her to wake up until the nanites have finished their job," he added.
A second later Harper looked at Miranda.
"How long?" he asked.
"Two days if everything goes according to the plan."
"Good. Keep me posted about even the slightest change," he instructed before looking at his watch and then the door. He still had another meeting he had to attend to. "Remember, Shepard's irreplaceable."
"Understood, Director."
One Hour Later, 13, March 2417 AD Cronos Station
As he heard the office door creak open, Kai looked behind him.
"Petty Officer Leng," a man greeted while walking in. He was a tall, slender guy with greying hair and, strangely enough, piercing, blue-glowing eyes that had a very unnatural circular pattern to them. Implants he assumed. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting like this but there was something else I had to attend. Now. I'm sure you're asking yourself why you were ordered here of all places instead of deploying with your unit."
"That I am," the asian N7 responded with a nod before folding his arms. "But even more than that, I'm wondering who you are."
"And you're right to do so," the man said before sitting down in the chair opposite to him and folding his hands, not extending a hand. "My name is Jack Harper, I'm the director of the Cerberus Initiative, a black-ops unit founded shortly after First Contact. Our aim is to ensure that humanity survives and thrives in a galaxy all to ready to tear it down. We've been doing so for thirty years."
"If this is you trying to recruit me, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I don't like black-ops or the war crimes that come with them," the N7 responded before folding his arms. What a waste of his time. He could be slugging through a jungle with his squad right now but here he was, listening to some director.
What exactly had he done to deserve this?
"I assumed that much when I went through your service record," the director responded. "But to cut matters short, no, I'm not here to recruit you into Cerberus' black-ops teams."
"Then why am I here?"
In response the man tapped the black-coated desk they were sitting on, producing a light-blue circle in the spot he had touched. Next the lights turned off and the hologram of another service record appeared. He recognized it instantly.
It was Emily's.
"Since you're already familiar with the Commander's person, I'll refrain from telling you who she is," Harper said before swiping his hand across the hologram and producing an orb. "What I will tell you is where she is right now."
"What the hell are you talking about? Emily's been dead for over two years."
"No. She's been missing for two years."
"Same thing."
"Except its not. Commander Shepard is very much alive. She's been recovering on this station for the last two years actually."
What the fuck?
"If this is some kind of fucked up joke you're playing on me right now, I swear to-" Leng began only to stop when Harper tapped the orb and produced the image of someone who looked exactly like his friend, lying on a hospital bed and looking worse for wear but definitely alive.
"You'll be able to go and see her in a minute, no matter what answer you give me. But before we go down there, I'd like you to hear me out. I've got a proposal I think you'd like to hear, Petty Officer."
He didn't know what to say. Emily was alive. So instead of giving a worded reply, Leng merely nodded. Without further ado, the director continued.
"For the last twenty months, humans have been disappearing across the Terminus and the Traverse. First everyone assumed it was slavers, but then HSAIS figured that the hits are too clean to be batarian work. There were never any casualties or signs of a fight. So. To stop our people from going missing, HSAIS started an investigation after six months of watching the situation unfold," Leng grumbled. Typical for those spooks. "A few months later Turian Naval intelligence joined in. Then STG followed a couple of months ago. Between the three of them, they came to the same conclusion. The same species that attacked the Normandy is likely to be behind those abductions and while we don't know their motivation, we know who the are," he tapped the table again and an insectoid-looking figure appeared. Judging by the background, this image had been taken in some kind of industrial zone and judging by the tip of a gun visible just at the cropping-edge of the image, those bugs were in for a nasty surprise. "They're called Collectors and if our numbers are correct, they're responsible for abducting well over a hundred thousand people, which really makes you wonder just where they're putting them."
"Damn right it does," it was a subconscious response on Leng's part but it felt rather on point.
"And as if that wasn't bad enough, they're not just targeting ships and outposts outside of HAS space anymore," Harper said before waving his hand through the hologram and producing the image of a planet. "This is Cyrene. An agri colony founded two years ago. As of the last official census, it had a population of twelve thousand settlers."
"Had?"
"Four days ago, Cyrene went dark. A full communications blackout. By the time we noticed it and notified a nearby turian patrol, it was too late. They only found a ghost town. Empty prefabs and disabled autonomous harvesters," Harper began.
"And let me guess, no signs of a fight," Leng concluded.
"Exactly. Not even a single shell casing."
"How the hell do you take out twelve thousand people without any of them firing off a single bullet?"
"We don't know. The entire digital infrastructure was wiped clean. No surveillance footage, no written reports. Just a blank slate and a lot of questions," Harper said before shutting down the hologram table. "Since Cyrene was considered HSA territory before this incident, Arcturus has decided that enough is enough. They're done waiting. They'll sent Shepard to stop these abductions, despite the concerns I raised," the man explained before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a cigarette case. When he offered Leng one, the marine declined.
"What concerns?" he asked instead.
"From her point of view, Commander Shepard will go from nearly dying to being back in action. If she wakes up as planned, she'll have missed two years and twelve days. Despite everything she's done, she's still as human as the rest of us. Adjusting to a situation like hers will be hard and I'm worried that it'll affect her performance. Which takes me to the reason I brought you here. You've known Shepard longer than anyone I could reasonably send on this kind of mission. You're a familiar face. She'll need that if she wants to succeed. So, what I'd like to know, Petty Officer, is if you're willing to set aside your dislike for black-ops outfits and join Cerberus so that she's not entirely alone in a world that's two years older than she remembers it."
Leng didn't need long to come up with a response.
If it wasn't for Em, he'd been dead for nine years.
"Where do I sign?"
14. March 2417 AD, Citadel, Presidium
When he woke up and felt a weight on his chest, the first instinct Morneau had was to get up, let out a biotic blast and figure out just who had managed to sneak into his quarters before going over to his nightstand, which doubled as a gun safe, and putting an end to them with his service pistol. Then he took a breath and remembered where he was and, more importantly, who he was. As his movements woke the woman sharing his bed, she was a rising star in investigate journalism who'd taken an interest into his cover identity shortly after the start of his assignment, he went over his persona the same way he did every morning to ensure that he didn't slip up and destroy half a year worth of work with one wrong response.
His name wasn't Daniel Morneau, it was Solomon Gunn. Instead of being born and raised as an orphan on Earth, he'd grown up in the metaphorical ivory towers of Bekenstein. He was no longer a Section 13 specialist; he was a former marine who had joined the private security company after growing disillusioned with the HSA and the way it was running things now that they were part of the Council. Because he was so good at his job, he'd already made it to the Final Wave's home office on the Citadel and reaped the benefits of being a private contractor, a large Presidium apartment included. He was a hired gun looking to make a living with what he did best, killing and he almost definitely wasn't doing any of this just to get an assignment on one of the Shadow Broker's kill teams and to earn the Broker's trust while he was there so that he'd finally answer for all the shit he had done.
"Good morning," the woman, Emily Wong, whispered still half asleep, the same way she had done every other day for the last five months. Just like every time before, he took the soothing tone in her voice and the way it made a part of him feel and followed Redford's proven concept.
Put it in a box and don't let it rule you.
She wasn't in love with him, she was in love with who he was pretending to be.
As long as he remembered that, he'd be fine.
"Morning too," he replied before sitting up in the bed and looking out of the blinders. It looked like the morning cycle was just starting. Then he glanced at his watch. Two hours until 'work'. More than enough time to indulge in one of the two things he had taken with him from his real identity. His morning routine. As he made a move to leave bed, a hand grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back. He let it happen.
"Stay. Just five more minutes," the journalist demanded before going in for the kiss. Again he let it happen. It was all just part of the act. Wong was a piece of his cover story, the result of a night spent fake-socializing with his fellow contractors.
"Emily, I've gotta go to work," he said with a smile and a chuckle as he realised just how she wanted to spend those five minutes.
"No, you Sir, want to go the gym," she pointed out with a purr.
"A run, actually. Cardio day," he corrected.
"I think between the two of us we can come up with something for your endurance that doesn't involve so much running."
He looked at the asian woman and took in the image, the way the light peeking through the blinders brushed over her pretty face, the way her dark eyes seemed to glint as they met his hazel ones, the way her lips curved into a smile when she realized that he was getting lost in them. As Redford popped into his head, he snapped out of it.
"Sounds very tempting," he said, giving her a brief kiss. Then he jumped up. "But I'm afraid it's no rest for the wicked. You know what they say, he who skips one run, skips every run."
"Literally no one says that."
"Well I do," he countered before stretching his arms upwards and pulling a t-shirt from his drawer. On it was the same stylized three-pronged red star that all his working clothes now displayed, having replaced HSAIS's rather boring but familiar burning torch. "Don't pout. I get off early today. If you want to, I'll pick you up at," he glanced at his watch and then back to Wong, who was also getting out of bed now, "six?"
"Make it eight," she said before looking at the blue dress she had worn yesterday and then instead opting one of his shirts as well. "I've got some stuff I need to take care of after work," she explained.
"Still working on that paper of yours?"
"Yup."
"And you're sure that you can't skip on that for one night?"
"You know what they say. She who skips one writing session, skips all writing sessions."
"Yeah but most people would be fine with having one degree," he chuckled as he finished getting dressed and walked over to the kitchen of the company-owned apartment to get something to drink, passing the bath in the process. He'd shower after the run, anything else would be a waste of water. Nonetheless he saw the shrug the reporter gave as her reply. Then he threw a glance at the fridge and got an idea.
"You know, if you wanna stay in and get some work done, you could always get your stuff after you get off and come over here. That way we get to spend some time and no one has to rush anything," as he voiced his idea, he heard the asian woman walk into the kitchen behind him.
"Sounds great," she said before Morneau felt hands wrap around him from behind in a warm embrace, "but knowing us, I won't get a lot of work done when I'm over here."
He turned around and looked at her with a smile "You write your paper, I cook us dinner. Nothing else happens," he suggested. "Beats taking the rapid transit all the way to Kithoi Ward after work, no?"
"I guess it does," she said in return while looking up at him. "Six it is," she said as her face got closer.
"Six," he repeated just before closing his eyes for the kiss and allowing himself to get lost in the moment just long enough for the next sentence and the reality attached to it to hit him like a freight train.
"I love you, Solomon."
Put it in a box and don't let it rule you.
"I love you, too, Emily."
He let go of the woman and watched her walk into the bath. When the door closed, he rubbed his t-shirt at the spot where he could feel Yo-yo's necklace and reminded himself who he was.
Day 163.
Codex: Attican Relay Anomaly
The term 'Attican Relay Anomaly', or as referred to by human scientists, the 'Relay Placement Paradox', is used to describe the lack of primary Mass Relays in human space and the related slow-down of FTL travel the deeper one ventures into these territories. Although initially observed by asari surveyors as far back as 393 CE, which led to the lack of expansion in the region, humans only became aware of the disadvantage the RPP brought after their First Contact Event revealed the much faster primary relays spread throughout Council Space.
Hailed as one of the harshest contrasts to Citadel Space and the reason why a space-faring species with the scale and expansion thrive such as humanity could go undiscovered for three hundred years, the effects of the RPP spread over every aspect of living in human space. Be it the slower travel times, which affect military and economic traffic alike, or the more closely-knit spread of colonies, due to secondary relays not covering as much distance as primary one.
Although the reason behind the anomaly is unknown, it can only be speculated why the protheans, who judging by the ruins on Mars were well aware of humanity's development, would plant primary relays everywhere but the region of the Traverse that they inhabited, two views dominate the scientific niche that concerns itself with the RPP.
First is the 'conscious neglect' hypothesis, which states that the protheans intentionally cut humanity off from the rest of the galaxy by not placing a primary relay in their home cluster or anywhere they could reasonably reach by just using secondary relays. This theory is mainly supported by the obvious presence of primary relays in the home clusters of other species.
Standing on the opposing end of the spectrum, the 'bad timing theory argues that the protheans had every intention to add a primary relay after discovering humanity but couldn't do so before their disappearance, leaving behind only the secondary relay that they initially used to reach the Sol system and the adjacent stellar formations throughout Traverse. This theory is usually cited hand in hand with the hypothesis that the protheans used automated vessels to spread the mass relays throughout the galaxy before actually ever leaving their unknown home system.
Either way, the RPP remains unsolved to this day.
A/N:
Sooooo...
This chapter got surprisingly Morneau-focused.
I didn't expect that when I started writing, to be honest with you, but since the Haugen's story line doesn't start until later in Mass Effect 2 and since Shepard was half dead (not fulll dead because reviving full dead people is a can of worms I don't wanna open) for the two years this chapter covers, he somehow got the lion share of set-up.
As you can tell, Morneau's story is going to be the spy-one/political-thriller/mystery-clue finder this time around, kind of like Redfords murder mystery in Season 3. (Yes I will continue to insist that we're doing seasons.) But it's obviously going to get a bit more attention because well... I don't think I have to say that he'll be the central character of Lair of the Shadow Broker (and not Liara, that shit never made sense to me. She's a nerdy scientist, not a ruthless information broker. WTF happened there Bioware?) Now, as seen here, it's also going to touch on the whole undercover drama some spy movies like to play off on, but strangely enough, THAT won't be the entire focus of his arc this season (and beyond). That role belongs to... well, you'll see I think. It's something I always wanted to build towards but I don't think it's THAT hard to see.
Other than that, I had a lot of fun with what I'll call the Collector build-up. I always found it weird that they'd just straight up start abducting entire planets, so here they started of a bit smaller and escalated upwards (from ships to stations to a small colony now), with the tendancy of course being something BIG they're working up the courage to do. (SV:ME1 had Virmire, SV:ME2 will have a similar large-scale 'ground war' scenario) So I hope you like that change, and the fact that we go into Mass Effect 2 knowing who's doing the abducting (and knowing that something similar has happened to the turians before.)
Furthermore, I wonder if anyone assumed that the reason behind me introducing Kai Leng all the way back during Season 2 /the Skyllian Blitz arc was because he'd be a squadmate in Mass Effect 2. (his replacement was always planned and is quite ironic considering 'two years and twelve days' is a line I ripped from Jacob's dialogue during Mass Effect 2's opening mission.)
So yeah.
Don't have much to say other than that.
Off to the usual then.
For the record, we're at 613 reviews, 951 favorites and 1043 follows.
See you around next time.
