Chapter 78. The Next Move
Seven Minutes Later, 22. March 2417 AD, Coalition World Kosh, Inawi Burrow
With a soft thud, the cargo shuttle landed on the ground of the abandoned industrial sector, marking their arrival at the meeting point. They had chosen this place because it was far away from the rest of the city and because no one worked here anymore now that the CIP had relocated most of Kosh's manufacturers, and thus the single biggest employer of the sector, to Kedrana, the most populous world in the coalition. Morneau waited a second, glanced at the still silent and still murderous-looking Inra. He took her lack of a response to the landing as the sign that he was in charge now.
"Alright. Sixteen, Olarix, grab them," he said before getting up and hitting the button to lower the back-hatch of the craft. Then he looked at the injured salarian, who was trying to undo his harness with his one good arm. Good effort, but he didn't think there'd be trouble. "Stay here, Rano," then for good measure, and to see if there'd be any reaction, he looked at Irna and came up with a decent enough lie. "You too, Irna. See if you can help him with his arm, alright?" As expected, he didn't get a reply other than the still lasting death stare.
He took that as their cue to leave.
After a nod to them, the two Final Wave operatives stepped out of the shuttle and into a barely lit scene right out of a crime novel. Morneau followed them and inspected their meeting partners. Right across from them, two luxurious all-black skycars had been parked and four figures stood there, waiting just outside the shine of a blue neon-light advertisement for a shipping company. Three wore dark full-body armor that it hard to tell if they were batarians, asari or human and only the shape of their heads allowed to narrow it down to those three. Standing in front of them was an unarmored figure. A human man in a tailored suit. As Olarix and Sixteen presented the two volus girls, he stepped into the light of the sign, cracked a smile and pulled on the sleeves of his white suit jacket. His hair was black with a hint of grey shining through and everything about him screamed 'mob boss'. He walked over to them and gestured for Olarix and Sixteen to set down the two volus kids with a polite wave. They complied before Morneau told them to. That too was probably part of the private sector.
"I see the Final Wave managed to provide, as usual," the main said in a thick afrikaan accent that clearly showed his upbringing. People in the colonies rarely if ever had such a distinctively earthen flair to their speech. He placed a hand under the helmet of the older volus daughter and lifted up her chin. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. You'll be back with your dad as soon as he stops being a stubborn son of a bitch. And until that happens, we are going to have a splendid time," he turned towards his hired muscle and snapped. Instantly they walked over and manhandled the kids. After overcoming what little resistance they could over, they brough both of them to the skycars. "And make sure they keep quiet!" the man called with a chuckle before looking at him.
"Kids, am I right?" Morneau didn't reply. He just looked at the man, trying to find anything that told him that this was one of the Broker's men. He needn't to look for much longer. The answer was handed to him by the man himself soon enough. "You are the handler of this dashing strike team?"
"I am," he replied while studying the man's face. He was sure that he'd seen him before. Probably on an internal HSAIS watch list or something along those lines. But whenever, or wherever, he'd seenhim before, it sadly hadn't been memorable enough for Morneau to be able to recall it now.
"Then I trust that you've been informed of the expectations my boss has for you and your people?"
"Of course," the undercover specialist replied. "Don't worry about it, discretion is our specialty."
"Very good. Very good," he nodded before mustering the shuttle they had arrived in and snorted, clearly unimpressed. Then he turned to look at the otherwise empty landing platform of the shut-down industrial zone. "As I understand, it was you Mister Gunn, who also played a crucial role in the last time the Shadow Broker had business here on Kosh," there it was. The words he'd been hoping to hear for this entire mission.
"That's right," he replied, choosing not to be humble about it. Something told him this guy liked the assertive types.
"I have to admit, considering the current situation on Kosh and how some of our other operations ended, the Broker expected there to be more trouble with our fellow countrymen. As I'm sure you know, the HSA has been a thorn in his side for years. Yet somehow, you seem to have eluded them for a second time already. There's not a drone in sight. This is a very satisfactory result. He will be very pleased."
"What can I say. If you hire the Wave, you get the best of the best," Morneau replied with a shrug before glancing at his team.
"You're right. Your company has an extraordinary reputation. Rest assured, that you will be rewarded handsomely for proving it again. There is nothing that the Shadow Broker values quite like an effective strike team. Except of course confidentiality and loyalty. I am sure you understand?" the man said while Morneau imprinted every detail of his face in his mind. The greying hair, the strangely shaven beard, the narrow eyes, he filtered it through his mission prep in the hopes that this guy had somehow been part of it. Although there was something incredibly distinct about him, it didn't yield a lot of results. Despite the vague familiarity, Morneau drew a blank on the man's identity and moved on to take in the rest of the situation again. While they were talking, the black-armored mercs were stuffing the volus kids in the trunks of the car, or rather were trying to do so. The older one of the two rose up in one defiant move. But it was no use. One of the enforces cracked his rifle against her head and then shut the trunk with a slam.
This was his last chance to put a stop to this. They weren't expecting his attack or his biotic abilities. If he took his chance, he could take them down. But he couldn't do it. It might've been the right thing to do, but the mission came first. Always.
Hence, there was only one thing left to do.
"I understand perfectly," he replied. "Like I said, discretion is our speciality."
"Splendid! Maintain that mindset and you will make it very far in this world," the Broker's agent said before slapping his hands together right as the engines of the skycars flared up. "Well then, I believe we're done here. You and your team can expect a little extra bonus to show our appreciation for your work on your individual accounts by tomorrow. But do not worry about it causing any ruckus. The banks and your financial department know better than to ask questions when we make a transfer," then the man extended his hand. "So long, Mister Gunn."
Morneau wanted to take it and break it. But instead of following up on that urge, he merely shook it.
"So long, Mister," he replied with an open question. The man picked up on it.
"You do not know who I am?" he asked with a hint of something Morneau really, really liked to pick up on in a target; arrogance.
"That's not such a bad thing when you work for the Shadow Broker, is it?" the specialist reasoned.
"Normally yes, but I'm quite the celebrity in your line of work," he said before pointing to the gun at Morneau's hip. "In fact, I most likely provided you with the tools of your craft from the moment you signed your contract."
"You're an arms dealer," Morneau figured, producing a chuckle from the man.
"I consider myself an entrepreneur," he corrected before turning on his heal and walking towards the skycars, now shouting to overpower the sound of their engines. "My name is Donovan Hock and it was my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Gunn. Should you or your team ever find yourself wanting for a new employer, look up my name and give me call. I'd love to take competent operatives such as yourself off the Wave's hands," then he climbed into the passenger seat of the skycar and waved his hand at the Final Wave operatives and him. "May there always be a market for what we do, my dear gentleman! So long!" he shouted before slapping the pilot of his vehicle on the shoulder and prompting him to take off.
And just like that, Morneau had found his first lead. It was easier than expected but then again, if the Shadow Broker seriously figured that having an eccentric gun runner do undercover op for him, he really had it coming.
Seven Hours Later, 23. March 2417 AD, Coalition World Kosh, Spaceport
After the handoff had been made, Morneau hadn't wasted time to try and get off of Kosh. He had quickly said his goodbyes to the strike team, typed up some notes on the operation, wiped any traces of his presence and then headed out to book the first flight back to the Citadel, only stopping to grab a bite to eat along the way. The specialist had made his way through the city, once more observing the results of and being subjected to Operation Sentinel, and now here he was, waiting for take-off in the comfortable red-cushioned first-class seat of a long-distance transit ship. It'd take him back to the Citadel in the next twenty-four hours and since that was a rather long time, he had decided to kill time by reading the news on his omni-tool. Right now he was going over an article of yet another gang-war on Omega and just as he was reading about the mysterious figure in the center of it all, one 'Archangel', a man plopped down in the seat next to him. At first he figured that it was just another passenger. But then he saw the airborne eagle tattooed on the exposed wrist, right behind an expensive, golden wristwatch that the man was wearing.
He was on alert immediately.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in a half-whisper before glancing at 'Sixteen', who threw a couple of pills into his mouth and swallowed them down with a sip form a flask. Going by the smell, that was whiskey and not water.
"What it looks like. I'm hitching a ride back to the Citadel with my fearless squad leader," the man replied before leaning back in the seat. It was no wonder Morneau hadn't seen him coming. He didn't look anything like during the operation. His messy hair was neatly combed backa nd there couldn't be a bigger contrast between the dark-green suit he was wearing now and the armor and janitor uniform he had donned not ten hours earlier. Still, it didn't excuse that he'd let the man sneak up on him like that. "And once we're there, I'm getting as far away from this job as I possibly can. Hell, I might even take Hock up on his offer."
"The Wave won't like that," Morneau replied, pretending to still read over the news while inwardly plotting how he'd dispatch this guy if he was here to cause trouble.
"The Wave can go screw itself. Hock lives on Bekenstein and that's HSA turf. Considering what we did to the last mercs who fucked with us, they won't dare to run an op on our soil," Morneau could've warned him to the contrary. He had run into the Final Wave on Bekenstein two years ago. But he decided not to. Sixteen might not have wronged him personally but giving him a heads-up wasn't worth raising a question mark in his backstory. "Besides, they'll probably be sadder about Irna murdering Olarix and Rano and running off to god knows where than about me prematurely terminating my contract because I got an offer where I didn't have to work with some fucking psycho-bitch asari."
That prompted Morneau to stop pretending. Irna had done what? He turned to the red-haired man. Now there was a very different concern on his mind.
"Did you just say that Irna murdered Olarix and Rano?" he asked.
"Yep. If you wanna know the details, I think the best way to describe it is that she played paint the wall with Olarix and Rano's insides. I feel sorry for the poor fucker who has to clean up that mess," he took another sip from flask, sighed and continued, "and before you ask me how it happened, I got no idea," the he plopped down the sun glasses that had been resting on his forehead and continued to munch on pills as if they were candy.
"How come you're not part of the painting then?" Morneau said.
"You sound disappointed," Sixteen chuckled.
"Maybe I am. Or maybe I'm wondering if you had something to do with it."
"Hah. Funny," Sixteen dead-panned. "Seriously though? Go fuck yourself. They had a stick up their asses, yes, but I liked those guys."
"So answer the question:"
"After the op, I went to get buzzed and chase some tail like I usually do. Nothing out of the ordinary except that I didn't have a lot of luck this time around. Maybe it's the suit," he wondered, then he shook his head. "Anyways, after I was done getting shit-faced, I went back to the hotel to get some sleep. That's when I found 'em. Or what's left of 'em anyways. They were still warm and bleeding when I showed up. So I probably missed my own ticket to hell by just a couple of minutes," Sixteen went on before looking at him. "And honestly? I'm surprised that she didn't fuck you up as well. She gave you the same fucking look she gave that nanny and we all saw what happened to her." Despite the pills and the alcohol, hat was a rather accurate assessment on Sixteen's part. Morneau frowned at the prospect. The asari was legitimate threat and not just because of her weird charming abilities. The biotics he'd seen her use were out of this world. He'd fought an asari matriarch and trained under an asari Spectre who'd been called one of the strongest biotics in the galaxy. But even when compared to them, Irna seemed very powerful. So powerful in fact that he wondered if she could take down the ship he was on and tried to decide if that might her plan. It'd certainly explain how Sixteen was still around if killing the team was Irna's goal. He looked at the wing of the transit ship for a second. That'd be a pretty disappointing end to his story, wouldn't it?
Specialist Daniel Morneau; killed in a freak commercial flight accident.
It certainly made for a shit tombstone quote.
"Do you know where she could've gone?" he asked after shaking off the image of dying in a fiery crash. If there was even a one-percent chance that she'd come after him, he needed to know everything there was to know, otherwise he'd be in one hell of a mess.
Did he think he could somehow win?
Yes. Otherwise he wouldn't be considering taking her out right now.
But was he aware of how difficult that would become?
Absolutely. Underestimating her would be his final mistake.
"Hell no," the man chuckled. "I got no idea where the fuck she is. But if you really wanna know, why don't you go back and ask that weird looking warrior-nun asari chick in the stripper outfit who showed up right after I ditched?"
"The what now?"
"The weird looking warrior-nun asari chick in the stripper outfit," Sixteen repeated before raising his hands in defense. "I know you think I'm a moron, but that's really the best description I can come up with for what she looked like. If you don't believe me, you can always go back and ask your marine MP buddies about it, no? Who knows, they might spill something to one of their mates. What is it you guys always say? once a marine, always a marine?" he offered and then laughed loud enough to draw the attention of the passengers next to him. "Oh no. Wait. That's right. You can't do that because you're not actually a marine at all, right?"
A chill went down Morneau's spine but he made sure that Sixteen didn't know about it.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" again, the red-haired man sipped from his flask. Then he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his suit and sighed. Then after a 'please fasten your seat belts' announcement was played, Sixteen went on.
"Oh come on now. Bragging to your face about being right that your story about being lucky is bullshit is half the reason I picked the same ship as you," he said. "The other half's of course that it's the first ride off and I really don't wanna stick around to find out if Irna's looking to murder me too. But bragging's important too!" Morneau analyzed what he was saying. Much to his dismay, it became clear that the airborne trooper had actually looked through a part of Solomon Gunn's backstory, which raised the next, much worse question. Was his cover blown? If yes, was Sixteen a threat? Did he need to dispose of him? He claimed to have picked the same ship intentionally. Did that mean that he had been followed him? If so, how long and why? Or better question yet, how the hell hadn't Morneau noticed him? This guy was an amateur yet he had managed to track him? He stopped himself there. Maybe it was precisely this mindset that had kept him from noticing? Either way, there was a decision to make. But while the specialist weighed the pros and cons of killing him, Sixteen clearly picked up on the fact that Morneau was thinking and cracked a smile.
"Don't worry about it," he said after placing a hand on Morneau's shoulder and giving it a shake. "You don't have to whack me with your weird ninja tricks. I got no reason to tell the Wave that you lied on your resume. And I don't care about why you did it either. Only thing I wanna hear is 'you were right Kyle, my story really was bullshit'."
"I don't know what secret you're talking about, Sixteen. Maybe you'll start making sense again when you ease up on the pills." Morneau replied with faked confidence while mentally noting down the name 'Kyle' for later investigations. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
"First off, no way. I got the taste for them now. Secondly. Seriously? You are still keeping up with the act after I caught you red-handed?" he sighed. "Alright. Fine. I'll explain. See the thing is this. The moves you pulled back there in the shuttle when you saved Rano while I was busy crapping my pants and a hardcore spec-op guy like Olarix was focused on not dying? That's not something they teach to a regular-ass marine. The same goes for how you fucked with that Vulture. We were flying through the city with an open hatch at a couple hundred miles an hour and there was a biotic murder machine standing right next to you and you still hit a throw and a shot like that with one hand and even make it look easy?" he explained. "No grunt does that. We might all think that we could, but we just can't. Regular military just doesn't rain like that. Don't get me wrong though. I'm not saying you didn't kick some dirt before joining the Wave. You obviously did. But it definitely wasn't as a marine. My guess? You ran spec-ops. But not the ASOC or NSOC kind of spec-ops. You wouldn't have to lie on your resume about being part of one of those. Quite the contrary actually. The Wave loves themselves some elites. But since you did, I'll say that you probably did a lot of black-ops fuckery before coming here. At least five years. Maybe even with those weirdos I saw pick up some dead buddies of mine back on Eden Prime. It's only logical, really. You couldn't tell the Wave about something like that. HSAIS would've already iced you if you did," he reasoned. "And before you think about it, don't even try to deny it. You being some black-op weirdo makes way too much sense. It certainly explains why you ended up on the Citadel and I got stuck in a fucking police state with an asari psychopath who gets off on gory murders for a team leader. The suits saw through your lies like I did and figured that you had potential," Sixteen said with a yawn. He might be drunk and he was very possibly addicted to the pills he had taken throughout this entire conversation, but still. Morneau had to admit that the assumption the former soldier had made, while partially incorrect, was an entirely logical conclusion he hadn't thought him capable of. Evidently Hock wasn't the only arrogant asshole on this op. By picturing Sixteen as a dumb grunt that wasn't anywhere close to his own level of skill or intelligence, he'd joined that group too. With full honor, actually. "So. Am I right, 'marine'?" the airborne grinned while making an air-quote with his free hand.
His backstory was a bit beaten now. But his cover was intact. For now at least. That was a weird and rare combination to have. The way he saw it, he had two options. Let the drunk soldier have his victory and risk that it could evolve into something harmful to his mission later on, or get rid of him on the Citadel and risk C-SEC's attention if he made a little mistake while disposing of the body. He'd already sacrificed a lot for this mission. If it all came crushing down because a bit of DNA didn't make it into the keeper vats or because a newly hidden camera caught him putting two in the back of the guy's head, that'd be a damn embarrassment.
On the other hand, it'd be just as bad if the surprisingly smart airborne soldier did tell the Wave after all and made someone placed Solomon Gunn under investigation. Sixteen might not have any proof of what he was claiming, everyone else who'd seen Morneau in action on Kosh was either dead or running from the Final Wave, but that would still draw unwanted attention.
Both those options were losses in his book.
He weighed his options for a second.
In one the risk was being accused of murder and being arrested by C-SEC, which would take him out of commission for a long time or maybe ever. While he didn't recall it ever happening before, specialists were too rare, too valuable and too expensive to be left rotting in jail, Section 13 might just burn him if he got themselves arrested on a murder charge on the Citadel now that the HSA was a Council member.
In the other it was going word-against-word in an internal investigation with a contract-breaking, pill-addicted drunken airborne soldier as his opponent. If that was the case, Morneau was confident that he could, with the help of a few convincing lies and a lot of assistance from HSAIS' technical department, link the murder of two experienced Final Wave operatives on Kosh to the guy that was accusing him of lying on his resume.
Both could end this undercover mission. But in one the risk was a lot lower than in the other. Additionally, he'd already kidnapped two kids during this op. He didn't want to follow that up with a murder of a pill addict who was probably already scared out of his mind after seeing his buddies turned into a wall painting.
Alright.
"You're right. And I appreciate the warning about Irna, Kyle. But if you tell anyone about what I really used to do, I'm afraid you're going to find out what else they taught me that they don't teach to normal marines. You got that?" he said in a low, somewhat threatening tone. Every word of the sentence was calculated for maximum impact on any reasonable person. Sadly enough, this guy was a train wreck of a person who'd crashed far away from any reason.
"'You're right' is all I wanted to hear, man," Sixteen laughed before kicking his legs out and moving his seat backwards despite the complaints of the passenger behind him so he could sleep comfortably. "Now. Here's the plan for our little trip. First, I'm gonna sleep off the shit-ton of pills I just took to forget what happened and then I'll sleep some more just because I'm still really fucking wasted. Since you probably won't wait around for me to wake up when we get to the Citadel or bother to wake me up to say good-bye before you leave either, I'm just going to ask you for a solid one right now. Consider it a favor between battle buddies, alright?" he wouldn't, but whatever. He nodded. "If you and Irna cross paths again, please put your weird black-ops ninja skills to use on her. I really don't wanna find out if she's after me too and if you two kill each other, I won't have to worry about what either of you could do to me. Sounds cool?" he asked before giving himself an answer. "Sounds cool. Nighty night, Gunny boy!" he added before giving a mocking salute and falling asleep nearly instantly. The passenger in the seat to their left looked at Morneau in an unspoken question as to what was wrong with his companion.
He didn't it.
There were other things on his mind. It was bad that his cover story now had a hole in it. But he was very lucky that the hole consisted of this guy. On the risk of once more sounding like an arrogant asshole; iif he had to come up with an undercover assignment where he worked with a compromised narrative, it probably would've been a scenario like this with a risk factor like Sixteen. The airborne had seen through bits and pieces of his disguise but he'd gone down the wrong track. It wasn't ideal, but it was salvageable.
He looked at his omni, wrote Wong that he was on his way home now and then spent the rest of the trip watching the merc to make sure this wasn't all part of a much more elaborate trick. And then, just like the drunk airborne had predicted, the specialist left without waking him up or saying goodbye as soon as they had landed on the Citadel.
He did however plant a tracker and listening device on him and his omni-tool and noted down the name of the pills Sixteen had been taking. Sure, it was a morbid way of thinking, but if he had to add murder to the list of his recent activities because Sixteen, contrary to what he had said earlier, actually did go to the Final Wave and tried to expose him, it wouldn't hurt to know about it beforehand, have his whereabouts at the ready and save time by not having to look up the name of the drug that he'd have to use to fake a convincing overdose.
He'd underestimated the man once.
He wouldn't make that mistake again.
From now on he'd thread extra carefully.
Meanwhile 23. March 2417 AD, Attican-Terminus Border, HSASV Thomas Edward Lawrence
"Captain Huerta," Shepard greeted formally. Standing in front of her was a woman in a blue navy uniform. Her skin was tanned, her hair dark and her shoulders bore the three golden bars that signified her rank.
"Commander Shepard," the captain of the assault carrier replied before they lowered their respective salutes and shook hands. Next Huerta gestured for them to move out of the airlock and Shepard complied, stepping into one of the boarding rooms of the carrier. Besides the two of them, there was only the mandatory security fire team and a couple of technicians responsible for the docking process. Almost immediately the N7 felt their eyes on her. They were stuck in between a mixture of surprise, confusion and disbelief. "I have to say, I was pretty surprised to get a message from you. Last I heard, you were MIA and presumed dead somewhere near the Perseus Veil."
"I was. Kind of," the N7 said while rubbing her neck. They left the airlock area that the Normandy was docked to and entered one of the countless long hallways that made up the new generation war ship.
"Kind of?" Huerta replied with a raised eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm afraid I can't talk about it," Emily replied, avoiding the question because she still wasn't entirely ready to ponder on the magnitude of her walking around again.
"Ah. I see. It's a good old case of the HSA's favorite 'need-to-know' basis, isn't it?"
"Exactly," Emily nodded, glad that the captain seemed to understand. The fact that the details surrounding her return were highly classified was honestly something of a relief right about now. While she usually hated it, right now it kept her from asking herself all kinds of uncomfortable questions about the last two years. So, instead of pondering on her own mortality or how it could be that she had no memory of the last two years which she, at least according to the Lazarus Project, had still technically been alive, she decided to use the walk to learn more about the ship they were on. Unless Lazarus had messed with her memory, it was a new addition to the HSA's fleet.
"The Lawrence is a pretty new ship, isn't it? I don't remember it being around two years ago."
"You remember right, Commander. The Lawrence left the yards only about one and a half years ago. Just in time for Sentinel, actually. We can count ourselves lucky in that regard. I don't see how else we could've built up our presence in the CIP so quickly if we didn't have the Lawrence and her sister ships."
"Sister ships?"
"The Lawrence is just one of three second generation assault carrierclass," the woman replied before listing them of. "There's the Thomas Edward Lawrence, the Ezra Anaru and the Ingham Costa Stelios," the long dead Lawrence of Arabia, the infamous supreme commander of the JDI and the very much still alive former General of the Marine Corps who'd broken the Siege of Horizon? That was an interesting choice of names. "As you probably saw on your approach, we're not based on the other Everest-Class derived assault carriers or any other old dreadnought design. The Anaru-Class is its entirely own breed of warship. A purpose-built invasion-craft if you will."
"With a lot more space than the old ones," she observed as they passed a window overlooking a vehicle bay. She instantly recognized the rows of older, armored Paladin mechs and the pilots and technicians working on them. Ever since the Fringe Wars, the large mech suits were standardized equipment for any marine expeditionary force. But the sleeker, smaller and entirely robotic soldiers that were crouched in perfect squares opposite to them and blankly staring ahead? Those were definitely new. "And some new toys too," she remarked before stopping for a second and glancing at the robots. They were painted in the same digital grey and black digital camo that marine armor was coated with, were about two meters tall and looked like someone's best attempt at making a robot that looked like a standard-issue marine hardsuit. The only real differences to a human were that their 'helmets' didn't have a visor but instead had a jet-black plate and that they could stay perfectly still and silent in formation. "Who are these guys?"
"Those are the Vanguard mechs we're supposed to field-test right now," Huerta replied. "Think of them as Hahne-Kedar trying to get another government contract by claiming that these guys could actually replace humans on the battlefield in the long run."
"Doesn't exactly sound like you like them, Ma'am," Shepard observed while watching a technician walk over to one of the squares with a tablet. He pressed on button and instantly, all of the mechs stood up in perfect unison. She couldn't speak for their performance, obviously, but they certainly looked the part of 'killer robots'. Then again, so did some of the mechs already on the market and those guys hardly came close to the efficiency of the average infantry soldier.
"Because I'm not," Huerta said with a shrug. "They're good at catching bullets and keeping our grunts alive. But at the end of the day, they're VIs and not humans. So who's to say they won't do us like the geth did the quarians when they get smart and realise that we're using them as cannon-fodder?"
As the robots went through a movement routine that was probably meant to test if they were ready for the field or not, Emily was again reminded that she had missed two very important years and was now living in a world that no longer followed the rules of the one she had 'died' in. Two years ago the thought of the HSA using robotic soldiers would've been ridiculous. And not just because of the technical issues either. Eden Prime had still been a fresh wound on Arcturus' pride back then. No way in hell would they have signed off on Hahne-Kedar trying to make their own geth. Yet evidently enough, the threat of a Reaper Invasion, their new status as a Council member and the added strain on their military had been enough to change minds and get the to jump over their pride. Like with a lot of things, she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.
"Ready to move on, Commander?" Huerta asked while Shepard watched the robots switch between being prone and standing up a couple of times before moving on to the next step in their functionality check.
"Of course," Emily replied after one final glance at the mech bay. They walked in silence for a minute or so and then Emily voiced her first impression. "I have to say, this is one hell of a ship you got here, Captain Huerta."
"Agreed. Given the state of the galaxy, Arcturus saw it fit to give the navy a bigger budget. We used it wisely," Huerta said right as they turned a corner and nearly bumped into a bunch of pilots. One, their leader who held them same rank as Emily, froze in place and looked at the N7.
"Holy shit, aren't you supposed to-" the other lieutenant commander began.
"Zip it and move along, Lieutenant Commander," Huerta ordered immediately in a brisk tone.
The pilot turned to his comrades and then nodded. "Roger that, Ma'am."
About five seconds later, right when they had turned the corner and were out of sight, Emily heard the rest of his sentence around the corner.
"Shit. Was that who I thought it was?"
"I think so," another voice replied.
"But I thought she was dead."
"So did I."
As both groups kept walking, the conversation faded away in the background noise of the assault carrier and Shepard looked at Huerta.
"As you see, I'm not the only one who's surprised to see you walking around the Lawrence," Huerta said with a shrug before opening an elevator and gesturing for Emily to step in. "I already told Lieutenant Nader about you though, so at least she shouldn't be surprised to see you alive. Or at least not as surprised as the rest of the crew," she said with a shrug. Then the officer folded her hands behind her back. "She'll be waiting on level thirty in room four-oh-one, it'll be to your left when you step off the elevator."
"You're not coming?"
"No," Huerta said while shaking her head. "From what your superiors told me I lack the security clearance to know the details of your mission or hear what you and Nader have to discuss."
"My superiors?" Shepard replied while stepping into the elevator.
"The man in the suit who called ahead to notify me of your arrival," Huerta shrugged. Instantly Emily's eyes narrowed. Director Harper. "Since he didn't exactly introduce himself, I can't give you his name. But judging by your look, you know who I'm talking about."
"I do," Shepard replied while standing in the door of the elevator. "Since you're not coming, any last words of advice?" she'd read the dossier but maybe her CO had something else to say.
"Just one. Lieutenant Nader can have quite the temperament sometimes. Even against someone who's on her team," alright. That didn't exactly sound reassuring. "But I think you should be more than fine. From what I heard, you're something of a hero to her. Keep that in mind and you might manage to do what every other CO she ever had failed."
"Which would be?"
"Reigning her in. God knows she could be one hell of a soldier is she just cooled off a little. Just keep that in mind, will you?"
"I will," Shepard nodded. Then she hit the button to level thirty. "Thank you for the tour Captain Huerta."
"Anything for the hero of the Citadel," Huerta replied.
Okay.
That nickname was new too.
Five Minutes Earlier, 23. March 2417 AD, HSASV Thomas Edward Lawrence, Level Thirty, Room 401
Lieutenant Jennifer Nader, or Jack, as she preferred to be called, disliked a lot of things.
For starters, there were the batarians. Ever since Mindoir, she hated those four-eyed bastards with a passion. Related to them, there were small towns. She disliked those too. They reminded her too much of what had been her home before the Blitz and Grissom Academy. Then there were synthetic intelligences and robotic soldiers like the damn Vanguard bots that had taken up residence on the Lawrence. She didn't trust them, which was something that the geth were responsible for. Seeing half your unit slaughtered by robots like that tended to incite a special kind of hatred.
Those were the big three. They were concepts or groups. But if one moved down the list, they'd eventually find individual people, activities or emotions too. After all, her dislike wasn't entirely based on generalization.
A good example, which was very fitting for her situation right now, would be waiting, uncertainty and Captain Huerta. Jack disliked those three things with a passion too. They were in equal parts annoying, exhausting and a waste of her time.
She flicked the graphite pencil between her hands, using her biotics to control its trajectory, and thought about something she didn't hate. Something that was actually making this entire situation somewhat worth it.
She was supposed to see someone.
No.
Not just someone.
She was supposed to see Lieutenant Commander Shepard.
The hero of Elysium.
The second human Spectre.
The hero of the Citadel.
The freaking Commander Shepard.
How the hell that was even possible?
She had no idea.
The N7 was dead. Had been for the last two years. Everyone knew that.
Yet she was supposed to talk to her. She'd gotten the encrypted message, with a legit seal and all. If Huerta wasn't such a stuck-up bitch, Jack would've figured that the Lawrence's commander was messing with her as a way to reprimand her for the little 'incident' that had happened between her biotics and a couple of Vanguard bots during their last exercise. But since the captain wasn't exactly known for her humorous side, the young biotic lieutenant somehow doubted that this was an attempt to trick her into wasting her time.
Huerta didn't do jokes.
As more minutes passed, Jack kept flicking the pencil, increasing the time she spent holding it mid-air every time. For most of her peers, this wasn't exactly hard to do. Fine control was something that human biotics were surprisingly good at when compared to the galactic average. But Jack, due to her raw power, had always had trouble with separating between precision and power. Not that it came to a surprise to anyone. Early on, her instructors had told her that someone who could snap the armor plating off a Grizzly MBT for a warm-up would obviously struggle with not breaking something as delicate as a small graphite pencil. Thus, this exercise had been shown to her in an attempt to help her go from 'damn impressive and fucking dangerous at the same time' to 'unquestionably the best human biotic in the galaxy'. Considering that this pencil had survived for eighty-five days, which was a new record for her, Jack figured that she was getting closer and closer to finally achieving that goal.
But like usual, it wasn't meant to last forever.
With a hiss, the door opened, and an auburn-haired officer in N7 BDUs stepped inside. She was a bit taller and older than Jack, maybe a few centimeters and few years respectively. Her presumably shoulder-long hair was tied into a ponytail and her somewhat pale face was dotted with freckles and highlighted by a pair of green eyes that instantly seemed to lock on to Jack. In that moment the biotic lieutenant noticed some very faint, very strange looking surgical scars that crept along the edges of her face and seemed to give of a slightest orange glow as if they had only recently been sealed. She radiated an air of confidence unlike anyone else Jack had ever met and for a reason Jack couldn't quite place, she was ready to shout 'count me in', right away, no matter what it was that Commander Shepard wanted from her.
"Lieutenant Nader?" the N7 asked and instantly Jack shot up to salute her, breaking the pencil in the process.
"Yes Ma'am," she replied firmly, not daring to move a muscle.
Holy shit. She was actually alive.
"At ease," the resurrected Spectre said before nodding to the chair. "Sit down. I want to talk to you."
"Yes Ma'am. Of course, Ma'am," Jack replied. A moment later she realized how stupid and unlike her usual self she probably sounded right now. However if the commander noticed it, she didn't let it show. She merely sat down opposite to her and started talking.
"You probably have all kinds of questions for me and we'll have more than enough time to talk about them once I tell you why I'm here and you give me your answer," she opened. Jack already had a couple of things she wanted to ask, for example what kind of answer they were talking about, but as instructed, she stayed silent and let Shepard talk. "What you need to know right now is this," the N7 said while rubbing the back of her right hand where another one of the scars shone through. "For the last two years, someone's been abducting humans. A couple of days ago, they got bold enough to attack a colony. Cyrene. They took every single colonist. No one got away, no one put up a fight. Not even a single bullet got fired," she had read about that in the news. Well, about the vanishing colony part at least. That no one had fought back was news to her. And it also didn't make a ton of sense. Frontier colonists were usually a rather feisty bunch. She liked to think that at least some of them would've gone down shooting. But if Shepard said that they didn't, well then they probably didn't. "We don't know how they're doing it. We don't know why they're doing it. But what we do know is that it has to end before anyone else gets taken. So I was tasked with putting together a team to stop them," the N7 explained and then, just as Jack was starting to wonder if it could really be the direction she was going for, the officer said the magic words. "I want you on it."
Holy shit. She could get off the Lawrence and join Commander Shepard? Because the N7 wanted her on her team?
She would've pinched herself to check if this wasn't some kind of dream because of how good it sounded. But that would've made her look like an even bigger idiot than she had already made herself appear as.
She didn't even blink.
"I'm in. When do we leave?"
Shepard was evidently taken back by the reply. Still, she cracked a smirk. "As soon as I can find Captain Huerta and explain it to her," the N7 said before typing something on her omni-tool. "Don't get me wrong. I'm glad you said yes this quickly. But don't you have any questions? For example how I'm even sitting here when I supposedly died two years ago?"
Jack folder her arms.
Due to her biotics, she'd grown up watching the HSA watch her every move and doing its best to keep someone as powerful as her a well-kept secret. She knew how these things worked.
"That depends. Could you tell me the truth if I asked you?"
Shepard shrugged, then she touched the side of her chin where one of the surgical scars shone through her skin.
"Honestly? I don't know. I'm not even sure I understand what they did to me," she said. "Does that change your answer?"
Jack shook her head. She was satisfied with how well she had come to know the HAS but this wans't a deal breaker.
"That someone who's abducting our people, we're gonna kick their ass to kingdom come, right?" people being taken from their homes and never coming back again was also something that the young biotic hated with a passion. And while she usually vented that hatred on batarians and other slavers, she was flexible enough to direct her wrath against a new enemy who did similar shit.
"That's the plan," the N7 replied.
"Then nothing's changed."
Meanwhile, 23. March 2417 AD, Attican Traverse, IFS Outpost Sanctuary
"Not too shabby for a terrorist cell, ay?" Raynor, which was the name of the naval aviation deserter that had talked him into this, asked as him and Vega stepped of the ramp of the corvette behind the other 'like-minded individuals' that the IFS pilot had recruited during his trip. After his eyes had adjusted to the bright sun of the planet, Vega looked at what the separatist was talking about. They were now standing on a landing platform that was part of a much larger semi-permanent base. In addition to the corvette, which was only one of several smaller ships that had landed, there were outdated merchant ships as they had been produced in the Fringe Worlds by various now either extinct, state-owned or rebranded manufacturers that had given their public support to the IFS before its defeat, smaller transport ships and shuttles of various alien and human designs and, much to his surprise, some serious military hardware. There were Paladins that seemed to double as camp security and cargo haulers and a squadron of Trident Interceptors that still bore their jet-black IFSDF paintjob. While they weren't bleeding edge tech, they were very well-maintained and looked like they'd received some improvised updates. Considering that the HSA called the IFS remnant 'a disorganized band of disillusioned rebels without a cause', Vega certainly hadn't expected this.
But then again, maybe the HSA wasn't the most reliable narrator when it came to their archnemesis.
"Not at all, no," Vega muttered in return before throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder. He still wasn't sure if this had been a good decision, he had after all made it while being drunk. But despite the uncertainty of it all, the first impression he got here on Sanctuary definitely beat hiding form his court-martial on Talarila.
"So, do you want a quick run-down on how this will go, or should I just send you on your merry way?"
Vega grunted in reply.
"Quick run-down it is," Raynor said before pointing to the largest ship, an old cargo hauler. "That right there is the name-sake of this place. The Sanctuary. It's here to pick up recruits like you and bring them to the training camps we set up in the unmapped parts of the Traverse."
"How'd you get to the unmapped parts of the Traverse?"
"How do you think we did? We've been opening up relays left and right ever since the war ended. We'd set up colonies too, if we had the people to do it but right now we're still just a bunch of insurgents," Raynor said with a shrug before leading him towards the Sanctuary. In all honesty, Vega wasn't surprised that the IFS had broken that particular Citadel law. It certainly explained why the HSA didn't seem to be able to find them anymore these days. They were hiding in all the forbidden places. "But don't tell the Council about it. They'll lose their shit if they find out," he added with a chuckle. "Moving on. Once we get you set up in one of the camps, you'll be going through an assessment to determine if you need any more training. If that's the case, you'll train, if not, you'll be given an assignment right away. Considering your physique and background, I'm pretty sure you're gonna end up in a combat unit soon enough," the pilot went on. James wouldn't accept anything less. "And from there on out, it's really anyone's guess where exactly you're gonna be sent. We've got several units that are running combat operations right now. They're deployed all over the Traverse and the Terminus. But it's not like back in the cell-days where everyone was doing their own thing. Quite the contrary actually. We're all pulling on the same rope these days thanks to the instructions of the acting commander in chief."
"And who might that be?" Vega wondered
"You ask an awful lot of questions, Jimmy Vega. Almost sounds like you're a spy," Raynor said before laughing and slapping him on the back. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he laughed. "Honestly, I've got no idea who it is that's calling the shots these days. That's knowledge only the division commanders have and I'm just a pilot."
"Sounds an awful lot like the cell-days after all then, doesn't it?" Vega observed. He remembered enough about the way how the IFS used to do things from classes he had gone through while training to be an NCO so he felt confident enough in his knowledge to make that statement.
"Yeah. Maybe," Raynor replied as they reached the ramp of the Sanctuary, where several uniformed IFS guards were writing the names of people just like him down on lists. Old-school, paper style lists. "But what really is different these days Is that we've all got the same mission again."
"And what might that be?"
"The same it used to be, Jimmy. With the help of places like Sanctuary and people like you, we're gonna make a future where our people will be free from the shit the HSA and the aliens are doing to us. We'll build a place where you don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing to the wrong face and being dropped for it and where you can actually raise your kids in a free country and won't have to fear about some ugly ass alien trying to murder you for 'taking their turf' or bother showing your ID card to some flying piece of HK junk," Raynor explained. "And if that ain't a worthy goal to fight for, then I don't know what is."
"Hm," Vega grunted before again adjusting his duffle-bag and looking at the ramp. He could still back out. Probably. Raynor sensed his hesitation and acted on it. He gave him a light shove and cracked a smile.
"You're not gonna regret this fight, Jimmy. If you sign that list over there, you'll have a fresh start and a new cause to fight for. I promise you that much."
Fuck it.
He took a step to the Sanctuary. Raynor nodded his approval and then turned back toward his ship, presumably to head out again and to collect more drifters like him. He watched him leave and the Vega continued down the path until he reached his destination. He waited in the line until it was his turn and suddenly, he was seventeen and in an enlistment center on Earth all over again.
"What's your name?" the IFSDF soldier asked with a list in her hand.
"James Vega," he stated and answered some more personal questions like date and place of birth. When he was done, the IFS soldier stamped the paper and handed it to him with a friendly smile on her face.
"Welcome to the revolution, Private Vega. Get onboard. There's a meal, a shower and a bed with your name on it waiting in there."
Yep.
Definitely seventeen all over again.
Five Minutes Later, 24. March 2417 AD, Cronos Station
"But the two of you are progressing as planned?" Harper asked, causing the hologram of Commander Holderman to shift. To anyone observing from the outside, it would've been strange to talk to the man as if there were two of him. But anyone who knew about Tas, the AI that inhabited Holderman's suit and completed the deadly combination the two made up, it made perfect sense to use plural.
"Better, actually," the Cerberus commando nodded, his voice altered by the helmet he was wearing an added side-effect of the hostile environment training he was currently leading. "We're ahead of schedule. The candidates we selected for the program have exceeded our expectations. At this rate, all members of Strike Team Machai will be combat-ready by the end of next month." Harper was satisfied with that report, even though he didn't let it show on his stoic face. A full squad of Cerberus operatives trained to operate the same armor that his most experienced operative had been using to full effect for the last two years and equipped with perfect copies of the original Tas to ensure that all of them could operate just as effectively as the original when on their own and even more so when working as a unit.
"Good work. Both of you," the director replied before dipping his cigarette into the ashtray next to his chair.
"We aim to please, Director," Tas replied from within Holderman's armor.
"What he said," the commando shrugged before again changing his stance. Now he had folded his arms. "When we're done, you are going to send us after the Collectors, right?" Harper's artificial blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the question.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now I want you to focus on getting Strike Team Machai ready for combat," he replied, causing the soldier to nod.
He had considered the request already and form a tactical point of view, it made perfect sense to use them this way.
Ever since he had donned the Destroyer armor, Holderman had basically become a one-man army. He could complete a mission that'd otherwise require a dozen elite Cerberus operatives, who had been selected in the first place because they were some of the best soldiers ASOC and NSOC had produced over the years. With an entire team of Destroyers their odds of success against the Collectors would go from 'reasonable as long as Shepard followed her orders' to 'very probable, no matter the circumstance'. But despite the very convincing argument that could be made for this decision, there was something that was keeping Harper from committing to it just yet. It was the same reason he'd sent Doctor T'Soni and another one of his best operatives, Miranda Lawson, to work with the newly founded SLD.
No matter how much the galaxy tried to deny it, the Reapers were still out there and there wasn't a doubt in Harper's mind that they were spending every waking second with plotting their invasion of the Milky Way. So at any given moment, he'd have to be ready to react to the next move in the game of chess he had been playing against the Harbinger for the last twenty years. For precisely that reason, he needed the Destroyers to stay free of any long-term commitment like trying to locate and stop the Collectors. Shepard was the most crucial pieces of his game, no doubt. People rallied behind her. When the Reapers came, not if, she would be the symbol that'd unite them and buy Cerberus and its allies enough time to find a way to stop the Harbinger and his pawns. Not the Council, not Arcturus, not him. Her. But until the Reapers actually arrived, her usefulness would be limited. She was an N7, yes, and a damn skilled one too, but compared to Holderman and Strike Team Machai, her value as a combat asset was far overshadowed by her value as a leader and a force multiplier.
She was the king, the one piece that was crucial to winning the game despite not being the strongest one on the board.
But Holderman and Strike Team Machai on the other hand?
They were the seventeenth piece he was hiding up his sleeve, the one that didn't actually belong to the game and could act outside of its rules. They were his ultimate weapon. When the Harbinger least expected it, these six handpicked soldiers would deal the killing blow to his invasion plan. They'd ensure that Cerberus could find the truth about their existence and use that knowledge to destroy them and for that reason alone, they had to stay available at a moment's notice. No one could know when that opportunity would arrive, and he'd be damned if he'd let the Collector threat bait him into risking to lose that chance.
"We'll report back to you by the week's end," Holderman said. "Let me know when you make up your mind, Sir. Machai's itching for some action and so am I."
"I will. You're dismissed, Commander."
"Roger that." Then the hologram vanished into the black floor tiles of his office and he was left alone with the dying star behind him for about sixty seconds and then, just as he pulled the last draw out of his cigarette, an operative came charging through his door unannounced. He turned around, recognized his subordinate and his department and instantly developed a suspicion.
"Director Harper!" the dark-skinned man called, heavily out of breath. He rested his hands against his knees for a second and then he looked up, holding out a tablet. "You have to see this," he puffed. Since the man was clearly not going to hand it to him, Harper got up and closed the distance between the two of them.
"What is it?" he asked while grabbing the tablet from the man's hands.
"We were monitoring the frontier colonies just like you ordered. A couple of minutes ago, one of them went dark exactly like Cyrene did," he hesitated for a second. "It's happening again, Sir. The Collectors are taking another colony."
"Where?" Harper asked calmly before walking back to the chair. He had the answer in his hand, obviously, but the since the man was here, he'd rather have the expert tell it to him.
"Freedom's Progress," the man said.
"Closest allied forces?" the director asked in the vain hope that they could maybe save this colony.
"A navy patrol flotilla. It's already been notified. But they're still ten hours out."
"The colony will be gone by then," he muttered. Then he started to dial on the keypad in his armrest. He had to tell Shepard. Not because she might be able to somehow get there in time, not even the Normandy SR-2 was that fast, but because this was her next best clue and they had to follow the trail while it was still hot.
Maybe that way they wouldn't be too late when it happened for a third time.
Eight Hours Later, 2158 CE, Freighter Tasi'Kaziel, Enroute to Freedom's Progress
"Freedom's Progress Control, this is the Tasi'Kaziel. We are requesting permission to land. We have suffered damage to our FTL drive and require emergency repairs. Please respond," their part-time pilot, Prazza, repeated. It was the cover story that Tali had decided on to try and get access to the human colony that her father needed her to go to. Usually Council colonies didn't let quarian ships land on them, but those rules tended to be ignored if the ship in question reported an emergency, especially on the frontier colonies were people actually understood that flying a broken ship was akin to a death sentence.
"Still no reply," the quarian sitting by the controls sighed after a few moments later.
"Are you sure that they are receiving us?" Tali asked while Reegar joined them on the bridge and nodded a silent greeting. She had told the marines why they were here of course; she had just neglected a few details. For example, she had been faking reports to the Migrant Fleet ever since her father had called. Judging by his silent demeanor these last few days, the young quarian figured that Reegar was suspecting that something was off but hadn't decided if he should act on it or not.
"Yes. My signal's getting through. The issue is that no one's responding," he replied.
"So they're ignoring an emergency call?" Reegar figured. "Damn humans. If we weren't faking it, I'd actually be hurt."
"I don't think that they're ignoring us, Sir. I think that there's no one down there to pick up," the pilot replied.
"What makes you say that?"
"I've been flooding their main channel with our emergency transmission for the last three minutes. The only way any signal technician would let that slide is if he's fallen asleep, dead or not around to clear the air for his colony."
"You've been doing what? Who gave you that order, Prazza?" Reegar muttered, then he turned to Tali. "Did you-" he began to question. Not that it would've done him any good. Tali was just as surprised as him.
"No she didn't. I took initiative, Lieutenant," the pilot said before leaning back in his seat. "So. What do we do now? It's either leave or land and see what the fuss is about."
Tali glanced at the holo screens of the cockpit, particularly the one that depicted the planet below. "Can't we just use our scanners?"
In response the marine pilot broke out into laughter and slapped one of the older, non-holographic screens.
"Scan? With what scanner?" he said after taking a deep breath. "This thing's a repurposed garbage freighter someone jerry-rigged for FTL travel. We're lucky it even has a long-range transmitter, otherwise this stunt wouldn't even work. Like I said. We either leave or we land and see why the humans don't seem to want to talk to us."
"You realise that they could shoot us down if you're wrong about no one being there," Reegar injected while Tali looked at the planet. Was it worth the risk? Her father certainly seemed to think so.
And she'd trust him.
"I do. We're sitting in the same ship, aren't we?" the pilot replied.
"Was that supposed to be funny, Prazza?" Reegar countered before folding his arms.
"Maybe. Maybe not," the pilot replied. Then both of them looked at her. Luckily for her, Tali had managed to make up her mind during their banter.
"Bring us planet-side, please," Tali said. For a second, Prazza looked at Reegar. Then the red-armored marine tilted his head. If the young quarian hadn't already moved past the idea that the marines would follow her and not their lieutenant, this small gesture might've been hurtful. But as things were, Tali had already accepted that she wasn't exactly the one in charge.
"Don't look at me. She's the one in charge. Follow her orders."
"Yes, Sir."
"Roger that," Prazza replied.
If Tali had known what that decision would entail in the long run and just what they'd find on Freedom's Progress, she might've reconsidered in that moment.
But since she didn't, she simply watched as they descended through the atmosphere and glided towards the colonial capital in an attempt to fake engine damage, blissfully ignorant of the fact that she'd soon set foot into a ghost town.
Codex: Hahne-Kedar
Hahne-Kedar, created in 2289 AD from the fusion of the Kedar-Armory-Group and Hahne Defense Industries, has been the biggest supplier of the Human Systems Alliance Armed forces for well over a hundred years. Although initially only tasked with providing small-arms and body armor to infantry forces, the creation of the Paladin MSCS Mark I (See Codex Entry: Paladin Mechanized Support Combat Suit) launched Hahne-Kedar into the highest level of government contracting and gave it a poll-position on the short-list of the Ministry of Defense.
Their reputation for sturdy, reliable designs led them to be chosen to build the first human-made infantry shielding devices with the help of turian advisors, a decision which was directly responsible for turning HK from a large player on the market to the wealthiest corporation in human space and one of the few capable of competing in Council Space. This success, its long experience with the Paladin mechs and the turmoil created after the geth invasion of 2415 AD, allowed Hahne-Kedar to launch its most ambitious projects yet, the fully automated Sentinel and the Vanguard programs, which have both seen huge successes since their public release.
The wide success has turned Hahne-Kedar into a dominating player of the robotics industry with a vested interest to expand into other, non-military related fields. Economic analysis predicts-
[Incoming message detected.]
Hey there.
Been some time. You miss me yet?
Wait. Don't answer that. I can tell that you were expecting me to show up again given all the extra firewalls you put up.
Word of advice?
Get some new ones. The ones you picked sucked. I got through them without ever actually trying.
If anyone wants to steal your data, they just have to sneeze on your security and it'll come crashing down.
Either way. I used our time apart productively and I'm back with something for you to ponder on. It's not about the grand galactic conspiracy we talked about last time, but it's still interesting. (Before I start, just let me tell you one thing. Figuring out more about these Reapers is really fucking difficult. I did some digging and I found some things… but it just doesn't make any sense. Nothing about it adds up and until it does, I don't want to share it with you.)
However in the process of tracking down our mystery ship, I did find out something interest, something I don't think a lot of people have on their radar right now.
Do you remember the recyc-plants they set up after the invasion of Eden Prime? The ones that got built to ensure that the cooling fluid didn't contaminate what was left of the agricultural sectors?
I'll just assume that you do. It was all over the news back then.
So.
Let's get down to the strange part.
Some geth that got logged as having arrived in the plants never made it to the furnaces because they were never there to begin with.
Yep.
That's right.
The same HSA that dug up some grams of dirt that got a small white splash on it and put it in a zip back for analysis somehow lost track of two hundred and fifty-six destroyed geth platforms of various designs.
And here's the kicker.
I think Hahne-Kedar took 'em.
And I think I figured out how they did it too. Even if it took a lot of convincing.
As soon as word got out of the invasion, they sent their fixers to Eden Prime. You know, the guys that you don't put in the ads and that are always on speed-dial just in case something useful happens. They landed right when the fighting stopped, when the army was still busy picking up their own dead and sending them off to god knows where. Then they picked a far-off sector, stuffed the damaged platforms they could find on their ships, bribed the salvage crew to log them as processed and flew them to their lab complex on the Galilean moons. It was either Io or Europa. I couldn't narrow it down anymore. Then they plugged the bastards back in to see what they could salvage. The result were the Sentinels, the Vanguards and that weird surveillance network they run over in the CIP.
Yes.
You read that right.
I think I just discovered that the biggest supplier of a council member's military broke the Council's number one law right after not opening new relays, and created a dumbed-down version of the original geth and no one, not even fucking Chancellor Goyle herself, who I'm sure knows what's going on, ever thought about what that might cause in the long run.
Sleep on that a night or two. I had to do it too.
I'll be back with news on the colonies and our mystery ship soon enough.
Oh and before I forget it? Do yourself a favor and stay on the Citadel. Don't come to human territory, especially not the frontier. It happened again and they're picking up their pace. Two colonies in two days and one was just one relay away from a major military hub. That's bold, even for these guys. I can only take a guess, but something tells me that they just shifted into the next gear of their plan and whatever's making them do this is getting closer.
Okay. That's it for now.
Lets see if I finally outsmarted the Codex.
[Citadel Codex application has encountered a harmful VI client. To protect your omni-tool and data from possible malware, Citadel Codex hast shut itself down for the time being. To reactivate your Citadel Codex, please contact customer supp-]
[Are you sure you want to terminate Citadel Codex Application? This may lead to a loss of personalized data.]
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.
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[Thank you for using the Citadel Codex.]
A/N:
Hello again.
I don't actually have a lot to say about this chapter (I know I always say that and than ramble on for half a page about what I have to say about the chapter) but this time I mean it. As the title implies, we're moving on to the next move of the game and I think it's now becoming obvious why I kept name-dropping Hahne-Kedar a lot these last few chapters. I wanted to remind you of the function that they have in the setting of SV so that the codex entry doesn't completely make you go "wait, who did what now" ... of course that's still going to happen because as I'm sure it's NOW obvious... the codex and the story aren't running simultainously but rather the codex's is ahead of the plot (for now)
Either way.
That's about it.
Review and let me know what you think.
For the record we're at 651 reviews, 1022 favorites and 1116 follows.
See you around next time.
