Lazarus Station, deep space (31/10/2183)
Miranda Lawson felt conflicted. On one hand, the past few months have allayed her suspicions about the young asari archeologist and her drell companion - in fact, she felt surprisingly comfortable working with the other woman, and she could certainly appreciate the rare flashes of desert-dry humor the drell sprang on them. On the other hand, Liara could be so infuriatingly naive and well-meaning at times that she wanted to scream from frustration. It would have been less of a problem if the asari was less intelligent, or more arrogant - in either case, Miranda could easily blame it on her species. But no, the damn woman just had to be smart and capable enough most of the time, to lull her into a false sense of security that she was working with someone on her own level, without the need for all the mind games Henry Lawson (and to an extent, even the Illusive Man) loved to play. And then, seemingly at the drop of a hat, Liara seemed to switch into a starry-eyed, clueless teenager (though in fairness, she was just that, never mind that chronologically she was three times Miranda's age), especially when it came to certain people - or rather, people in general. In a way, Miranda envied that - her own upbringing (and she was using that term rather loosely) made her quite unable to be that positive about sentients in general, an attitude only enhanced by her service in ONI and the involvement with Cerberus.
Still, she mused, having Liara around was more than beneficial enough to offset the occasional annoyance. With the asari's help, Miranda and her team of specialists managed to progress much faster with the reconstruction of Shepard, mind and body alike. Not that Miranda had doubts about their eventual success even without Liara's presence, yet she would not deny that without her around, Project Lazarus may have skirted dangerously close to the optimistic deadline set by the Illusive Man. And considering the latest reports about the galactic events (or even just the reason why the young archeologist was here and not on Ilium), Miranda wanted to be done with this project as soon as possible. All her senses and instincts warned her that they and the galaxy were running out of time, and the Reapers were coming even earlier than estimated in Cerberus' worst-case scenarios.
And, she reminded herself with a grimace, not even those worst-case scenarios predicted her father turning on them so quickly and decisively - a fact that annoyed Miranda endlessly, seeing as she herself was involved in coming up with some of those scenarios, and she knew just what lurked behind the affable facade of Henry Lawson. Or rather, she thought she knew, as she shuddered remembering the creature visiting Minuteman Station. No, whatever her father may have become, it was not expected, and not even the Illusive Man could ferret out the reason and extent of the changes affecting the former minister - or, for that matter, his current whereabouts. Admittedly, there were a number of rather important investigations and hotspots that drained the remaining, meager resources of Cerberus, and Miranda was well aware that some of the external support (such as from Admiral Hackett or Kathmandu) would be cut off soon to avoid further endangering important remaining assets.
Still, she could console herself with the fact that her own project was amply funded - and that having access to Liara's memories (or rather, the parts of Shepard's psyche imprinted in the asari's brain) made a lot of theoretical research and expensive equipment unnecessary. Even the related SR2 project was going well enough, but that was mainly due to Spectre Bau, Councilor Udina and Lictor Vakarian pulling strings quietly, and providing resources covertly - and for Urdnot Wrex to come up with a location that was rather low-priority for anyone on the lookout for a shipyard.
A wave of her hand banished the projections, and the changed display showed some of the major concerns they have been trying to deal with. She noted Thane's report about getting rid of a Shadow Broker agent at the last supply run, and once again felt vindicated in taking in the dying drell assassin. Of course, anyone who went toe-to-toe with Kai Leng, and managed to survive basically unscathed would be an asset, but Thane's background and skills were even more useful than she anticipated. Nevertheless, she concurred with his opinion that the Broker was actively looking for Cerberus assets in general, and Lazarus personnel in particular - and that meant a leak somewhere. She scowled. No matter how carefully they vetted their personnel, there was always someone willing or unlucky to be turned.
The research and intelligence projects were not doing well, it seemed - Chandana's group has made little progress, their last few reports suspiciously devoid of any new insight, finding, or even uniqueness. With a shiver, she flagged that as something to be checked - hopefully, it was either just laziness on the scientist's part (would not be the first time), or compromised comm systems, maybe a even a mole. The alternatives her mind was all too happy to picture were much, much worse. The excavation and reconstruction projects on Eden Prime were doing reasonably well, but there would be a need for someone trustworthy and knowledgeable to be present in person, as the initial findings were promising - the question was, who to send. Liara, naturally, would be an obvious choice, but she was too high-profile for that risk. Maybe the asari could provide some ideas, and Miranda would also check in with their contacts back on Terra to see if anyone was available - perhaps the Brysons could be employed?
The leader of Project Cerberus lost herself in the rather dismal picture painted by the reports, the encroaching darkness threatening to swallow the few remaining flickers of light - and that was if the increasing internal struggle did not snuff them out earlier. She did not believe that Cerberus was alone in sensing the unseen hand manipulating the Blood Pack into a position of prominence, setting them up to conduct a campaign of domination and slaughter in the Terminus, encroaching mainly on human colonies, with Fehl Prime and its research and production facilities a likely priority target. Or the increase in Collector sightings, always associated with small outposts and colonies going dark - still outside the SA space proper, and only involving less than ten thousand people all told, but the implications were disquieting. Skirmishes alongside the batarian border becoming ever more frequent, as the SA Third Fleet was finally reoriented and the Council reinforcements arrived. Ominous silence from the vicinity of the Perseus Veil, with no probes or scouting missions returning intact, making it likely that the geth were also gearing up for war.
Miranda's dark thoughts were interrupted by the chime of her door, and with a gesture, she shut down her screens, and turned towards her visitor. Liara was visibly nervous, tension radiating off her frame, worry clear in her eyes.
"Miranda, it is time."
The operative checked her internal chronometer, and decided not to argue about a few mere minutes. It would take them time to get to the ritual chamber and Liara tended to need comparatively longer to achieve the necessary mental state. So she nodded, and stepped out, leading the asari towards the depths of the station.
"I am still not comfortable with this ritual." The asari's voice was low, revulsion threading through it as she went on. "Especially the price."
She might have continued, but Miranda stopped her with a raised hand and a glare.
"We are not having this discussion again just now, Liara. I respect your opinion, but trust me, there is no other, safer way of doing this." She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head, and continued. "Or at least not without a handful of rather distinctive people around - and none of them could be brought here."
"Why, Miranda? Surely the importance of this ritual and the potential benefits would outweigh the security and financial issues of arranging their travel, and … why are you laughing?"
"Were it so easy." The human locked gazes with the asari, her eyes unyielding pools of cold, almost insane determination. "Those we can trust are either off the grid, dead, or worse. If not for your connection to Shepard, your past, and your complete inability to lie to me, you'd not be here either. Even so, I argued for not involving you in this particular step."
"Why not?" The young asari's eyes conveyed hurt and anger in equal measure.
"Because you are untrained, emotional, and have too many scruples for a stunt like this." Miranda's smile was a bitter one. "I do not doubt your willpower or determination, but..."
The elevator pinged, as they arrived to their destination floor. Thane was already there, finishing the last security check - he nodded towards the two women, before he left.
Out of habit, Miranda checked the wards and inscriptions, while Liara moved to the center, looking down on the capsule holding the empty, albeit highly upgraded shell of Shepard. She let the asari have a few extra moments - the last they could spare. And besides, Miranda could use the time to check on the rows of dreaming, sedated humans ringing the chamber. With a satisfied nod, she returned to the center to check on Shepard as well as Liara.
"Let us begin, then."
The two women took their positions, and Miranda started chanting, as the temperature dropped, hoarfrost webbing across the pods, floor and walls. As usual, she felt detached from herself, watching dispassionately as her physical self swayed in the throes of the rite, the words of power from her lips hammering away at the thinning barrier between dimensions. She noted when the first of the sacrifices was snuffed out, and felt a distant worry at how early in the ritual it happened, and her sight swept over the hexagrammic wards again, to ensure that they were holding.
The closing roar of the imminent crossrip would have sent waves of power into the higher dimensions, with a fraction bleeding off into the materium, probably enough to damage the station after tearing apart everything in the chamber. She let out a breath as she realized the outer hexagon was holding, even though the dreamers were being drained faster than she hoped - and the excess power was redirected inwards, resonating against the veil of immaterium. Her voice rose into a crescendo, its echoes muffled by the wards to shield them from the senses of the predators from beyond.
Nameless colors bloomed with an orgasmic sigh in the center of the chamber, as the sacrifices howled in agony despite the sedatives, despite being asleep, as the touch of the immaterium caressed their souls with razor-sharp edges, peeling away memories, emotions, thoughts with a malevolent glee. Miranda glared at Liara when she felt her falter in revulsion for a moment, her own voice never missing a beat as the unsane power battered the walls of her self.
The asari's mouth was moving, forming words she should never have known, the voice of a male human echoing within the vortex they bore into the immaterium, the power of the incantation lighting a beacon for a specific soul, signalling and guiding and cajoling it back from the meaningless, immeasurable distance it had wandered (or been dragged off to? the thought was almost enough to make Miranda falter for a moment) - and then both women could hear and feel the seeking tendrils of something dark and uncaring questing for them as well as the spark they sought.
Liara's eyes were pools of terror and agony, and Miranda was almost sorry for her, yet she could not help her, apart from risking a respectful nod at the asari's determination, as she held together enough sanity to keep up her crooning siren song that throbbed with power and emotions alike, its intensity just as potent as Miranda and the Illusive Man suspected…
The operative focused on holding the ritual together, shutting out the tortured, ecstatic screams echoing in her mind, the whispering voices seeking to worm inside from the other side, the unearthly cold, the eye-searing swirl of nameless colors writhing in the air - and then a soft, faint golden hue laced the veins of power in her sight, small sparks of golden power burned away shadows and whispers alike. The soundless siren chant of the asari became a compelling crescendo of golden power, demanding the attention, the completion, the return of its departed part.
In the center of the summoning chamber, the once empty shell of Alexander Shepard opened his eyes for the first time in months, and for a moment, Miranda could have sworn she could see the outlines of a warding symbol burning in those eyes - then Liara fell to her knees, her song wavering at the oily, malevolent presence leering at them from beyond, before Miranda cut off the portal with a gurgling cry, and fell to her knees, blood flowing from her mouth and eyes alike.
Citadel, Widow system (31/10/2183)
Garrus Vakarian cursed his luck, his upbringing, his superior, and most of all, his current predicament. Sure, he had to acknowledge that the scenery was nice, as he flashed a grin while his eyes lingered on the trim waist and boldly sweeping frills of a turian female, but still - to be stuck in a concert hall, of all things, while he could do so much more outside was galling. And that cloaca Pallin had of course been reasonable, and only slightly gloating, pointing out that as a Lictor, it was kind of Garrus' duty to attend functions like this to ensure the security of the VIPs under C-Sec's care. And these days, there were few more important persons than the incumbent Councillors, three of whom were in attendance … and he just had to play his part in organizing the close security details, instead of being on sniper duty, or even better, off-station chasing after some rather promising leads. At this point, he would have even preferred the still-forming anti-Reaper task force the Hierarchy was setting up. It's not like his own presence would have mattered here anyway, if someone decided to make trouble - if the fact that Jondum Bau was heading the security detail was not enough to deter a would-be attacker, said person was likely either howling mad, or better armed that Sovereign was. Garrus sighed, as he stood to once more perform a security check, the last before the concert began - again he wondered why Tevos, Udina, and Sparatus chose to attend an opera, of all things.
Of course, the whole thing was organized and touted as a charity event to show the unity and goodwill of the Council races (especially since about half of the people involved were turians and asari, the other half humans), make some backstage deals, and drum up public support (as well as gently mug the wealthy) for the rebuilding efforts - for some reason, the general populace was still rather leery about the increased war preparations. Garrus could understand why some events were still kept behind the scenes, but it still rankled. At least closely working with the Councillors convinced him that those five had at least enough sanity, common sense, and backbone to start the quiet preparations, instead of simply ignoring the warning signs. Though, he mused, with Sovereign and the batarian attack on Terra Nova, only the blind or wilfully ignorant could deny the coming problems - at least, amongst those who were in power.
Garrus checked his omnitool quietly, seeing that both the C-Sec and STG security personnel were at their proper locations, and the escape routes were still clear - sure, there would be no reason to use them (apart from if and when the Councillors wanted to leave quietly, without having to meet the media), but it never hurt to be prepared … and it was his job, anyway. People were trickling back to their seats after the break, ready to enjoy the second act. Nobody strayed to closed-off locations, the weapon detectors did not register a single incident, even the C-Sec channels he checked for the station-wide situation showed a calm, quiet night, a true rarity on the Citadel - but he supposed it went fairly well with the somewhat bland story of the opera; though he would admit that for an allegedly 400-year old piece, it got several star systems correct, and the score sounded almost tailor-made for turian instruments, and the asari voices of the choir were quite effective in creating the proper atmosphere. Then again, Garrus mused, it was likely that the original play was overhauled for a multi-species audience; it would not be the first time an old piece of art was used as a prop to make a political statement.
The second act changed the mood rather quickly and harshly, and Garrus saw that he was not the only person in the audience to react. The previous politely indifferent mood was shifting along with the swiftly darkening themes of the opera, the audience becoming increasingly agitated, with wildly varying reactions, from simple discomfort to contented smiling to barely-suppressed aggression or nausea. Garrus' instincts screamed danger, as he felt something caressing his mind, gently prying for an entry, beckoning him to just let go of the discipline and morals of his people, and revert back to what his ancestors were, to maim, to rend, to violate...
The soft chime of an incoming voice connection interrupted his inner turmoil, and he blink-clicked the acceptance before he tensed at the expression on Bau's face.
"Vakarian, get the Council out." The salarian Spectre's eye twitched involuntarily, and Garrus saw the tell-tale signs of strain on his face. "AURORA sources verified that play is extremely dangerous; after extraction of VIPs, we must stop the performance."
"On it, Bau." The detective's only warnings were a blur at the edge of his vision, and a tingling from a small trinket he carried around since Ilos. Still, that fraction of a second was enough of a warning, and he sent the attacking security officer flying with a throw, taking care to dislocate the other turian's arm while at it. A quick glance to take in the situation in the VIP box, and Garrus wanted to curse himself for not noticing sooner how bad the situation escalated.
Sparatus was flaring his mandibles, his talons digging into the armrests of his seat, obviously struggling against the influence. Udina was gasping for air, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes wild and hands trembling. Even Tevos, always the picture of calmness and serenity, had her eyes closed, her face a mask of turmoil. An asari guard and the other turian were eyeing each other, their desires all too apparent from their body language. One of the humans was slumped down at her post, blood trickling from her eyes, a look of agonising pleasure on her face. The other asari and the human male were keeping it together, though barely, as both struggled to keep sane and coherent; the Huntress already moving towards the door, her shotgun readied, steady in her hands, small flickers of biotic energy sparking off her.
"Councilors, we are leaving!" Garrus raised his voice, pitching it to the cadence used by turian drill instructors for centuries. Sparatus hissed at him, his posture ready to pounce, before with a visible effort of will, he stepped in the direction Garrus indicated, refocusing his aggression, following the asari Huntress, a gun in his hand. Udina tottered after him, a hand to his temple as he fought for every step with dogged determination not to slow the others down. Tevos followed the other two Councilors with a serene grace, her biotics haloing her form as she prepared to shield them in case of an attack. The human bodyguard followed, his whole bearing calmer and more focused as he sealed off his hardsuit, and Garrus frowned at that. Was there some reagent in the air, maybe, something that the scanners missed? But that would have to wait, as he hurried out, a last glance confirming that in the auditorium, desire and instincts seemed to overpower common sense and sanity, letting chaos reign.
The few dozen meters to the nearest exit felt a longer, more draining trek than slogging through Ilos, battling Saren's forces. While Garrus could and certainly would thank the spirits for not encountering anyone (a fact that sent his cop instincts screaming), the sounds and voices were hard to ignore, despite the audiofilters built into his suit and comm unit. The clearest, even over the weirdly rhythmic, atonal music of the turian band was the lead singer and the asari choir melding their voices in a harmony of malevolent pleasure, liberating pain, ecstatic betrayal, a plethora of contradictory emotions and feelings, drilling into the brain and soul of everyone present, making even the Huntress and Tevos stumble. Sparatus was distracting himself by running his talons along the walls, the scratching noise a grating counterpoint to the lurid music streaming from beyond. Udina was swaying on his feet, the human bodyguard supporting him, yet the Councilor still managed to totter and stumble towards the exit. The biotic coronas of both asari were flickering in response to their emotions, their eyes and whole posture indicating how close they were to simply let go, allow their minds to meld with whatever caused all this. And amidst it all, Garrus wondered why he himself was not more severely affected - especially since Sparatus, unreasonable but tough bastard that he was, had so obviously suffered the ill effects.
At least after those eternal-seeming few minutes, they were outside, beyond the containment barriers erected by C-Sec, and Garrus could offload his recovering VIPs to the Special Response team and Pallin, before Bau caught up to him, the Spectre's armor scuffed and bloodied. The salarian slotted a new ammo block into his pistol, before he turned to Garrus.
"Vakarian, with me. Need to go back, stop performers before they reach third act."
"Come on, Spectre, that's taking being a critic a bit too far." Despite his words, Garrus was already gesturing to a C-Sec officer, who tossed him his sniper rifle. "Besides, not that I doubt your ability to handle yourself in smaller scuffles, but the two of us might be not enough." His face turned grim, as his voice dropped to a deeper rumble. "Especially not if we want to keep anyone in there alive."
The Spectre's answer almost stopped the turian in his tracks.
"Killing them would be merciful." A swift check of his omnitool, then Bau shook his head with disgust. "Will send details later. For now, only focus on taking out the band and the choir, along with the singer. Make no mistake, Vakarian - if we fail to put them down, the whole Citadel will regret it."
Garrus chuckled bitterly, as the two of them reached the door.
"Why not blow up the place, then?" He frowned, his visor sliding into place, lining up his favorite song. "Come to think of it, why only the two of us?"
"Remember Feros, Vakarian. You were there, even though from orbit. This similar in scope, according to AURORA expert. And this is your job, Lictor." Bau slowly blinked. "Also, trusted, capable personnel in short supply." A smirk flashed so fast, Garrus wasn't sure he saw it. "But, one has to work with what one has. Now suit up, we are going inside."
Despite the situation, the immediate grim future, Garrus could not stop a chuckle, as the first riffs of the turian anthem echoed in his ears, while the hoarfrost-limned door irised open before them, the yawning maw of an eldritch beast.
"Well then, try to keep up, oldtimer!"
The inside of the once-pristine concert hall was a pulsating, cloying cavalcade of chaos, as things that were once sentient people cavorted within the fraying boundaries of sanity, decency, and material realm, the music of the spheres building towards a triumphant peak that would surely echo across the higher dimensions, clawing and battering at the minds of those still not succumbing fully to its siren song. The darkness of the void that suffused the building was only lit by the distant, impossible stars, and the spastic, random glimmers from the guttering lights when the physical world tried to reassert itself for a few brief moments. For a moment, Garrus felt a vertigo, as if he stepped out to the void, falling, before he anchored himself in reality, unaware of the faint, eldritch symbol of an eye within a pentagram burning with emerald flames under his armor. He sighted down at the stage, his rangefinder feeding him absolutely nonsensical data, calculating the distance between two meters to six kilometres and more.
The salarian looked at him questioningly, as Garrus lowered the rifle, the Spectre's mouth moving, but only garbled, grating sounds were audible from the comm unit. Still, the meaning was clear enough, and at Garrus' headshake, Bau just nodded, slowly exhaled, before plunging forward, racing into the void - or rather, down towards the stage, zigzagging between the melted, mewling, melding once-sentient piles of former people, the C-Sec detective following a half-step behind.
Garrus was never sure how the two of them gotten from their entry point to the stage, or the time elapsed since they stepped into the concert hall. Based on how well Bau was holding up, it must have been reasonably short, but his senses and instruments indicated hours have elapsed, and kilometres covered. The whispering, fragmented shapes of darkness, the haunting piping, the frothing, suffocating waves of intruding protoplasmic matter, the deranged noises from the still-alive audience formed a nightmarish amalgam of impressions in Garrus' mind, only fragmentary images standing out in stark relief.
Bau, stabbing an omniblade into the single head of a crazed thing composed of several partially-merged humans. An asari looming from the darkness, a seductive, malevolent grin on her lips, eyes swirling black, her corona blazing, before she falls back, as his shot tears away half her head. Bau, vanishing under a mound of flesh and exoskeleton. The Spectre bursting forth, omniblade and gun blazing, armor dented and scorched. The eruption of blood as Garrus sends a bullet through the eye of the lead singer, her mouth opening impossibly wide, as the tormented air strains from the sounds coming from the darkness within. Claws, hands, tentacles grabbing for them both, giving way when sliced with the omniblade or hit by a gun. Musical instruments and singers howling in thwarted fury and madness as the inferno charges set them alight or the storm of bullets rips into them, muting the atonal, crescendoing choir of insanity.
The turian came back to his senses as the concert hall reasserted itself, the burnt-out, wrecked rows of chairs, half-melted, bullet-ridden, gnawed-on bodies an image straight out of bad holovids or slaver-hit Terminus colonies. The turian felt exhausted, just like the panting Spectre across him. The salarian took a look around, before sitting down, his hands fiddling with the omnitool.
"Good job, Vakarian."
Garrus flared his mandibles in a vicious gesture, as he turned towards Bau.
"Yes, a mighty fine job massacring these lunatics! Spirits, how could something like this slip by us, Bau? What are we going to do to prevent this from repeating?" The sniper's voice dropped to a dangerous, predatory growl. "And what do we do to the bastard responsible for this? Can AURORA and the Spectre network find him?"
The salarian's answer was a cold, small smile.
Mahavid, Aysur system (31/10/2018)
The geth emissary-platform, designated Legion by Major Pieterzoon, was once again devoting a substantial amount of its processing capabilities to analyze the recent events on the asteroid, to corroborate or disprove the seemingly outlandish implications of the T-GES crew of the station. On the surface, one could easily and comfortably claim that it was mere space dementia caused by the claustrophobic environment, monotony, lack of contact, a thousand other, minor, everyday factors - and even the fact that the asari on-station seemed affected could have been caused by simply being overwhelmed by the emotional imbalances of the humans, melding with one forcibly or voluntarily, some inherent mental instability or neurochemical issue.
Problems with this theory were quite numerous, however. The miner's behavior and demeanor, the eclectic and wildly varied data gathering they have been doing, their reactions when the professor deployed that n-dimensional, multifrequency shield of his (and the consensus of Legion again had to forcibly reprioritize to avoid contemplating the intricacies of that seemingly-impossible barrier that defied conventional logic along with the rules and laws of physical reality). The consensus of Legion's constituent runtimes was that the alien artifact found in the depths of the asteroid was either somehow exerting an influence on the miners, following pre-programmed tasks and behavior patterns, enforcing those on the sentients within its control radius, or that it acted as a beacon/amplifier similar to FTL comm buoys, allowing for its creator to direct its influence through it, suborning the unwary sentients in proximity of the beacon.
Legion tasked several dozens of its runtimes to assess the technological implications and resource needs for creating such a beacon, and the available data, even allowing for black projects and typical leaps of inspiration made by organics, all pointed at such things being at least a few centuries in the future. Thus, the geth runtimes reasoned it was either extragalactic (unlikely; the Caleston Rift was too far from the galactic rim for that) or precursor tech. The latter option also seemed to be more likely due to the fact that the professor's demeanor indicated familiarity with the artifact - though Legion would freely admit that it was not an expert at reading humans; but then again, the emissary's runtimes were nowhere near to a consensus on what exactly Professor Yildirim was. And ever since coming on board, the geth made it a point to observe the enigmatic being very closely, even if it meant putting up with the occasional off-color joke from Major Pieterzoon, who seemed to quietly enjoy the byplay.
The cluster of runtimes tasked with monitoring the status of Dr. Garneau. The man was still slightly disoriented and confused, but his mental state was improving rapidly, and Legion estimated that he would regain full command of his mental faculties within a few more minutes. A quick check confirmed that the jury-rigged scanning/monitoring tool the geth platform was constructing would be ready for operation at that time.
A number of runtimes were running the steps of the plan again, looking for possible faults, points of failure, dangers and limitations, yet no matter how many times Legion ran the scenario, or how many variables the emissary attempted to account for, it always concluded with insufficient data. There were simply no means for the geth runtimes to fathom the precise capabilities of the professor's powers, especially since said abilities seemed to defy the projected limits of organics as well as the laws of the universe; or at least, said abilities could not be quantified and understood within current scientific limitations. The current debate amongst the runtimes was about whether to classify them as abilities inherent to a yet-unknown precursor race of beings (given the few implications dropped by its companions about past events and their personal experiences, the option had merit), or to borrow from a human author, and label such phenomena as magic, pending reclassification once the proper scientific understanding is reached (due to the unconventional range and working methods of these phenomenon, this assertion also had merit). Reaching a consensus was a distant possibility, so Legion's runtimes tended to assign a lower priority for this particular contemplative task.
As the internal timer ticked down, Legion assigned higher priority and more runtimes to checking the quality of its work, simultaneously increasing the attention it gave to the three organics as well. It was quite clear that Major Pieterzoon was not exactly thrilled with the upcoming happenings, but his body language and demeanor made it clear that he would go along with the plan, without further objections or covert sabotage due to moral reasons. Alex Garneau was worried, afraid - to be expected, since he would bear the brunt of the possible dangers, despite the assurance of the two other organics. Though given that Garneau was clearly remembering the Saren Crisis, and the geth's role in it, Legion could understand why he was not happy about having to rely on a geth's jury-rigged tool to monitor his vitals and brain - especially after getting free of the mind-tampering effects of a precursor artifact.
The countdown reached zero, and the geth platform turned its ocular sensor towards the professor who hovered by the strangely shimmering blue-ish crystal sphere, a slight distortion of the air the only outward sign of the barrier he used to cut off the artifact from whatever was on the other side. Legion's sensors went to the highest possible sensitivity, its runtimes prioritizing the in-depth monitoring as well as the detailed documentation of the experiment to come.
"We are ready to start."
At the synthetized voice, Garneau swallowed, nodded, before the professor made a gesture, and the distortion from around the sphere vanished, the colors within started swirling in a hypnotic pattern of soothing blue. Legion mimicked a human gesture as it raised an eyeflap.
"Detecting a possible QEC thread. Attempting to trace it." A minuscule pause, as the platform checked its sensory data. "Subject's brainwave patterns within normal limits."
Pieterzoon snorted in amusement as he studied the displays, and Garneau, despite the the situation, also managed a small grin that dropped off along with the temperature in the ship.
"I feel so cold..." The archeologist shivered. "It's dark, can't..."
The man's eyes rolled up in his head, and he might have fallen if not for Pieterzoon grabbing him, keeping his head turned towards the slowly pulsating sphere on whose surface the blue patterns shifted in yet-unpredictable patterns. Garneau's head snapped up, his mouth slowly opening and closing, the brain activity monitor going berserk.
"The darkness must not be breached!"
A quick glance between the two organics, as Legion indicated that while erratic, Garneau's brain activity was still in the safe zone.
"Give up the artifact. You will not take what is mine!"
+++ NEITHER WILL YOU. +++
A rapid query confirmed that all runtimes have experienced the answer simultaneously, without having to reroute it from the audio receptors of the platform. Legion raised an eyeflap, as it filed away the information for a later analysis.
"Turn back. Do not pursue me. You will find only death."
The smell of ozone wafted in the air, heralding a storm, as lightning flickered in the depths of Munir Yildirim's eyes.
+++ YOU HAVE COWERED LONG ENOUGH. IT IS TIME TO FACE YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. AND YOU WILL, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. +++
The sensors went berserk as an energy spike howled across the QEC link, shattering the artifact, cutting the connection, hurling fragments with deadly speed - only to melt into motes of golden light, and for a brief moment, it was as if the usually warm, brown eyes of Professor Munir Yildirim were pools of molten violence straining to be unleashed.