Illyria-2186, Elysium Colony
26 Days post-Crucible: September 6th
It wasn't the first time that Jessica Shepard had been back to Elysium since the blitz, but that didn't make it any less surreal. Illyria was a beautiful city and a monument to human achievement in space, but she couldn't ever enjoy the colony. She'd been here a decade prior on leave, her entire unit trying to settle into a rare instance of shore leave when the blitz had begun. The city was a phantom of those memories now, she saw buildings that were still choked with black smoke in her vivid memories. A decade after the batarians had committed the most savage attack against the Alliance of its time and Elysium had healed—but Shepard still hadn't.
The skycar that she and Hackett were seated in was headed for the small housing unit occupied by Miranda Lawson and her sister Oriana. AIS agents had been tracking the former Cerberus operative since her arrival on world, and as soon as they'd entered the system Hackett had gotten all the information they had.
Shepard tried to lean her head back against the skycar's firm sea in an effort to find some comfort during the trip, only to feel a sharp burst of pain as the headrest pressed against the biotic amp at the base of her skull. She winced in pain at the contact, a soft yelp escaping her lips as she shifted to alleviate pressure from the amp. The flurry of movement attracted Hackett's attention, and she felt the older man's eyes come to focus on the dark scars etched into her cheeks.
"Everything alright Shepard?" Hackett asked, concern evident in his tone.
"I'm fine… just, the docs on Earth didn't think to check my biotic amp when they were checking me out. It got busted up in the explosion and it's been on the fritz ever since. Hurts to put much pressure on it, I think it's got a short that's feeding back into my nervous system."
The Admiral's attention shifted away from the Commander's face, now taking in the raised metal implant that protruded from the back of the Commander's neck. At the implants core was the cylindrical amp, its casing blackened in some places, and outright gone in others—revealing swaths of bright blue circuitry inside. "Would you like some help with that? There was a time that I served boots on the ground alongside biotics, before I got old."
Shepard coughed a startled laugh at Hackett's joke and nodded, her hands silently pulling her hair away from the base of her neck so that he could reach the socket easier. Shepard had always kept her hair cut to a neat shoulder length in accordance with Alliance regs, but when they'd brought her to Earth to relieve her of duty she'd allowed it to grow for once. Now her hair formed flowing locks of deep bright red, most of which had been pulled into a ponytail. "Just take it out, the implant should self-seal its internals once the amp is removed."
Hackett's hands began to work at the amp, one gripping the implant's socket to stabilize it while the other pulled out the damaged amp. With a mechanical click and the whine of micro-servos, the amp slid free. Hackett turned his hand over so that the amp rested in his palm and extended it towards Shepard for her examination of the blackened metal amp.
She turned the amp over in her hand, a low whistle escaping her lips at the extent of the damage. "I always missed out on the pain from biotics, with my L3 and now my L5n instead of an L2. I remember Alenko used to look fucking hollow after he'd overdo it on biotics." She tucked the amp into her pocket and reached for a pouch on her belt, only to remember she was wearing unfamiliar clothes and didn't have her gear. "I suppose I'll have to do without my biotics until after Miranda puts me back together. I appreciate the help Admiral."
"You're a goddamn war hero, Shepard. You deserve someone to put you back together after all you've sacrificed." The two of them sat in silence for half a minute, and when the Admiral spoke up his eyes were distant and locked in long passed memories, "When the First Contact War started we weren't advanced enough in biotics to have any around. I remember when the Alliance started letting biotics into the military, High Command wasn't particularly pleased at the idea and there was a lot of fear going around. Hell, I was unnerved the first time I saw a five-foot-four marine that couldn't have weighed more than a-hundred-and-twenty pounds slam a batarian into the ground hard enough to break his spine."
"I wish you could've seen Alenko in action, sir. He was a goddamn weapon with his biotics, and he was a hell of a marine." Above that he was a good friend.
"I know he was, Commander. If he hadn't been none of us would be alive today."
A soft chime, different than those she used for email and calls, broke Miranda Lawson's focus on the pieces of technology before her. Anxiety began to well up inside the young woman as she pulled up her omni-tool and began navigating to the alarm. The tone emanating from her forearm-mounted tool was a unique alert that she'd assigned to a perimeter monitoring system around her family's new home. As the feed pulled up, Miranda hoped that she'd see Oriana strolling through the yard. She'd assigned the alarm to ignore the signature of Oriana's omni-tool, but there was always the possibility that the girl didn't have her omni-tool with her, or that it was acting up.
When the holographic screen materialized over Miranda's left arm her hopes of a simple explanation were dashed. She saw the grainy image of men dressed in black uniforms, helmets included, passing through her yard. As they passed out of view she caught sight of one forcing her home's door open, before her sensor was found and destroyed by one of them. Shit, Miranda thought to herself as she scrambled to her feet. Ignoring any further research into the technology she'd been pouring over, Miranda grabbed her jacket and dashed for the door.
The drive from the lab to her home was a short one, Miranda had specifically chosen it over other potential employment options due to its closeness to where she lived. Even though she'd changed careers there was little she could do to eradicate the paranoia she'd spent a lifetime cultivating. She didn't notice any other skycars parked near her home, and all the doors seemed to be properly shut, but she could still remember the black clad figures converging on her house and shutting off her monitor.
While she slowly moved towards the front door Miranda drew her pistol, letting it hang by her side for now but making sure the safety was off. If this came to a firefight she would be ready to drop and laydown fire at whoever had invaded her home. The lithe woman pressed herself against the outer wall of her home and slapped the control hologram for her door with one hand. The door made a soft whine mixed with a contemplating chirp for a moment before hissing open and allowing her access. With a military trained gait Miranda slipped inside, her attention shifting across each room with her pistol following her attention to each destination.
She turned to the left, peering down a long hall with three doors veering off, one for her bedroom, one for a bathroom, and one for Oriana's bedroom. She was going to begin slowly clearing those when a voice spoke up behind her, "Over here, Ms. Lawson."
Miranda spun around as fast as she could, her pistol training on a man in matte black Systems Alliance armor. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, my name is —"
"Definitely not Miri Chambers. Please step this way, we're not here to harm you at all."
From a lifetime of doing this very type of work, more often in the other man's position, Miranda knew arguing with him would get her nowhere. Slowly she stepped towards him, following as he slipped into her home office at the end of the hall. Sitting behind her desk was not anyone she'd expected to break into her home, nor seek her out in general. Rising to his feet was the aged Admiral Steven Hackett, wearing the stiff dress blues of the Systems Alliance with gold embroidered across the uniform in various places to indicate his status as an Admiral.
"Admiral Hackett?" Miranda said, no attempt made to hide her confusion.
"I'm sorry for the secrecy, Ms. Lawson. I'd rather not be seen in the streets of Elysium just yet, not until I'm done with my job here."
"…and that would be?"
Rather than answer her with words, the Admiral nodded his head to the side, drawing Miranda's attention with it. To her surprise was another figure that she hadn't expected to see in her home, a visibly broken Commander Jessica Shepard. In her shock at having seen Hackett she'd failed to notice the crimson haired woman crumpled on one of her couches. Shepard gave Miranda a nod, and even now Miranda could see that her eyes were dimmer than they'd once been. "Good to see you, Miranda."
Confusion wasn't an emotion that Miranda felt often, she'd gotten used to having more intel than the other guy while she'd worked for Cerberus. Her genetic and cognitive tailoring often meant that she had the upper hand even without an advantage of intel, but not now. "Commander…" Miranda trailed off, her eyes finding each wound visible on Shepard's body, "What are you doing here?"
Shepard allowed a finger to trace each of the inflamed and gaping gashes across her face, while her eyes shifted to look at Miranda "I killed the Reapers. The Crucible worked, but it killed everything with any kind of Reaper tech in it. It killed—"
"Your implants." Miranda said confidently. She'd been at a disadvantage when she'd first found them here with no inclination as to why, but now she was piecing it together. She'd personally overseen the team that'd put Shepard back together, and she knew what they'd made those implants from. If Shepard had nuked every bit of Reaper tech in the galaxy, she'd doomed herself in the process.
"Precisely." Hackett interjected, leading Miranda to split her attention between the two of them. "We're here to get you to put her back together."
"Admiral…." Miranda trailed off, her hands raised in front of her apologetically. "I'm not sure that I can do that… When I brought Shepard back, when the Lazarus cell brought Shepard back, she was already dead. There wasn't much worse it could've gotten for her, and we had little in the way of a shot clock. Until we had reintroduced cell life there was little urging us to be swift in our work. There was also no pain for the Commander to feel. That's not the case now though, she's alive. Even if I had the machinery to fabricate new implants for her, the risk to the Commander's life would be astronomical, as would be the pain."
"Operative Lawson, I believe you're at a disadvantage presently, you seem to think I was asking you to repair the Commander. You have whatever resources exist on this planet, or the SSV Dunkirk, that will aide you, but that was an order, not a request."
"Respectfully sir I don't fall into the Systems Alliance chain of command and doing what you're asking would be horribly dangerous for the Commander."
"As would leaving her as she is presently, Operative Lawson. I understand that you're a civilian, rather than military personnel, but I'm not going to take no for an answer."
"Are you threatening to kill me, Admiral?"
Hackett fell silent as he stepped closer to her, so close that Miranda could see every twist and jagged veer of the scar that ran from his lip through his cheek, "No, Ms. Lawson. Perhaps when I was a younger man I would have, but I've got far better methods of dealing with you, should you refuse. I'll hand you over to these gentlemen." Hackett's hand motioned to the two AIS agents standing behind her on either side, more than likely the men that'd been shadowing her. "I'll order them to take you before whatever is left of the Alliance Government, and have you tried as a war criminal for your past affiliations with Cerberus. If you're lucky, the Alliance will shove you in a dark hole for the rest of your life, but I wouldn't count on it—we're low on facilities presently. More likely is that they'll put you in front of a firing squad, the Alliance has a rather long dossier with the name of every human that's fallen combating Cerberus acts of terror."
The silence that fell between the two raging titans was terse, each of them sizing the other up with their eyes. Miranda wasn't used to facing off against someone as stubborn and demanding as she was—not since she'd left the Illusive Man. She'd heard stories about Hackett and his refusal to back down, but to be on the receiving end of it was different. She turned her attention to Shepard, silently pleading with her to talk reason into the Admiral's bullish insistence. Instead, Shepard struggled to her feet and stood beside the Admiral, showing her solidarity for him. With a deep sigh Miranda shook her head, "I'll need an operating room and a team of trained biotech experts, as well as the best surgeons available… and I want a pardon when this is finished."
Hackett's response was a hand shooting towards her to shake, his eyes meeting hers. "If you can save her I'll make sure you get whatever you need, Ms. Lawson."
SSV Normandy-2186, Deep Space
27 Days post-Crucible, September 7th
"What is this?!" Ashley Williams' voice was equally raised and harsh, her attention turning to frighten a nearby Serviceman Third Class O'Connor. The tall brunette woman was standing just outside the main elevator that lead through the ship, from the cargo hold to the captain's quarters and anywhere in-between. Just outside of the elevator on the main crew level was a memorial that they'd erected years ago to honor the fallen that'd served upon the Normandy, either SR-1 or SR-2. Most recently they'd tried to put Shepard's name on it, alongside Anderson's, but she'd refused to let them. Ashley wouldn't give up hope, at least externally, that Shepard had somehow survived Earth. Now, staring her in the face was Commander J. Shepard on the wall, a cold unmoving reminder that Shepard was dead no matter how she felt about it.
The serviceman, realizing suddenly that the question had been aimed at him, began to stammer, "I… uh… I.. I didn't… I'm sorry ma'am I didn't put anything up there… or err ah I didn't take anything off? I—"
"I did."
The voice was soft and harmonious but strikingly familiar. Ashley turned and began boring into Liara T'Soni with her eyes, the heat radiating from her enough to warm a frozen world. "You what?" Ashley snapped at her, her finger stabbing at Shepard's name on the wall.
"She was our Captain, Commander Williams, and she was our friend. No matter how bitter the pain is, Shepard deserves to be honored in death as she gave her life to save us."
Ashley drew herself up to full height, about to lay into the asari woman before a voice cut her off. "Ashley, enough." The voice was gravely, both high and low pitched at the same time with resonating sub-harmonics that refused to leave any room for doubt that it was an order, not a suggestion. Ashley turned to see Garrus Vakarian standing to her left, his scarred face striking in this light and his mandibles twisted into what was certainly a frown. "Liara had my permission to do so. The Commander died, no matter how we feel about it. It brings solace to the crew."
Ashley jerked away from the pair of them and stormed towards her cabin, leaving a very startled and uncomfortable Serviceman O'Donnel in her wake, as well as a visibly tense Garrus Vakarian. The latter said no more, and instead shot a compassionate look towards Liara who looked drained by the exchange.
Behind the elevator was Natasha Arnette, seated in the deck's dining area alongside her fellow cremates PFC Bethany 'Grease' Westmoreland, PFC Sarah Campbell, and Corporal Cyzilie Worbaar, the latter of whom was also surfing one handed through a datapad for any emails or articles that interested her. Her speech garbled by mouthfuls of the thick 'soup', Worbaar looked partially up towards where Arnette was seated, "Y'know the worst fuckin' thing about this bullshit with the relays? We don't get shit for extranet anywhere."
Campbell snorted between mouthfuls and looked over towards Worlaan, "I can barely even tell what you're saying Cyzilie, try fuckin' swallowing first."
Without even focusing on it, Worbaar's hand twisted into a raised middle finger at Cambell, "Wouldn't know the first thing about swallowing, I swing for the other team. Figured you'd know a thing or two about that since you 'n' Grease are bunk buddies." The two privates were responsible for guarding the Normandy's war deck, and typically served long shifts together doing so. Even when they weren't guarding the ship they would spend time together, as the hours of guard duty had forged a strong friendship. With little else to do on long voyages through space, their fellow marines hadn't even attempted to restrain themselves from making leering jokes about the two women being lesbians.
"Fuck off." Was all Westmoreland had to say for herself, her eyes rolled back into her head while she too shoveled the lukewarm food into her mouth. The PFC had earned her nickname due to her obsession with polishing her boots, weapon, and anything else she could. She'd defended herself saying that it was the best way to impress the officers, but it'd only served to earn her a lasting nickname.
"As pleasing as it is learning what life would've been like had I chosen the 'Corps, I've got something to attend to." With that, Arnette unwound herself from the table and began towards Lt. Commander William's cabin. She announced her presence with a hesitant knock on the door and a soft, "Lieutenant Arnette here, ma'am."
Ashley snorted to herself as she motioned towards the door, the gyroscopic sensors in her omni-tool detecting the motion and triggering the door's open mechanism. "Here with some more 'all-clear' reports for me, Lieutenant?"
Arnette smiled softly and stepped into the room, her hand blindly tapping the door's control pad to close it back, "I could hand you some empty datapads if that would make things better, ma'am. I was more here as a friend."
Ashley shook her head and turned her attention back to the computer in front of her, fingers tapping away at a holographic keyboard, "I'm assuming you saw the show out in the common area?"
"I wasn't going to mention that ma'am. May I?" Arnette looked down towards a cushioned chair that sat facing the Lieutenant Commander. Ashley just nodded in response and Arnette slowly lowered herself into the chair. "I understand how hard it was losing the Commander."
"Look Lieutenant, it's alright. I've heard that from everyone else aboard, I know we all took it hard. It's just—"
"Gunnery Sergeant Rachel Almonez…" Arnette leaned forward during a moment of silence between the two, her eyes focused on her lap before making their way back up to Ashley. "She was on Freedom's Progress aspart of their marine detachment. We were going to get some corresponding leave a month or two after the colony got hit and were going to speed a week on Arcturus, I was thinking about proposing in a year or so. I made sure that when Commander Shepard came back to Earth that I was on the Normandy, no matter who was at its helm I knew that if I was here I'd be at the front of the line for revenge."
A heavy silence fell between the two women as each attempted to digest where the conversation had landed. Ashley's eyes, which had been hardened and sharp, were now warm and pleading with Arnette—realizing that the woman understood her position far better than Ashley had thought she could.
Arnette's face suddenly softened and she began to dig through the small handbag that she'd carried with her. Since the officer was off duty presently and had been planning to seek out Commander Williams anyways, she'd stored an item that she hoped to present the Commander with. "I'm not a marine myself, ma'am, but I understand that marines are a close knit bunch—even if you're an officer now you're still a marine. On that note, I had Corporal Worbaar grab something from me from the Kennel?" The last word was posed as a slight question, her tone imploring the commander to correct her if she'd misused the marine nickname for the cargo bay. Ashley made no indication that she'd botched the name, so Arnette continued. From the nondescript leather satchel Arnette pulled a dented and scratched aluminum flask. "I understand that there's a still somewhere in the kennel, and that no matter the ship marines have a certain 'recipe' for preparing their moonshine. I figured that a familiar 'friend' might help ease the pain for you."
Ashley shot the other woman a dubious look as she examined the used flask, "You know regs don't let us have booze onboard any ship bearing Alliance colors." Her voice didn't hold the stern rebuke of an officer reprimanding a subordinate, rather a career marine who felt compelled to repeat the Alliance stance on the matter—while determining how easily Arnette was dissuaded.
The Lieutenant's response to Ashley was a thin smirk that just did reach her eyes, and the silent pouring of her flask into two glasses for the women. "Are you really about to quote Alliance regs at me, ma'am? Or am I supposed to pretend you weren't knee deep in whiskey the other night?" In an exaggerated flourish the woman stopped pouring the glasses and feigned putting away her flask, "I suppose I can play that game, and take these with me." She reached for the glass that'd been meant for Ashley, only to find the XO's hand reaching out and pulling it away before she could.
"Point taken LT."
"Take a night off with friends for once, ma'am. All the down time in the world won't do you any good if you spend it alone, in the dark, drowning out the past."
There was a certain darkness to Ashley's eyes, a permanent shadow that'd fallen across them since the Battle of Earth, but Natasha thought she saw that shadow thin out—if only for a moment.
STG Research Facility, Ilos
27 Days post-Crucible, September 7th
"Major, sir."
"Yes Captain?"
"Our long-range scanners are detecting incoming vessels at the outer edge of the system. They've just exited FTL and approach vectors seem to indicate Ilos as their destination."
"Are we able to detect any IFF readings from them?"
"Their IFFs are mixed, sir. We're looking at 13 ships of various make and model. Most have a private licensing and IFF registration, but three share a Hegemony signature."
"Batarians… alert the outer guard to stand watch. Dispatch someone to ensure our AA emplacements are ready for them."
"Yes Major Kirrahe. Where will you be headed?"
"I'll be headed to alert the research facility. We will need to begin preparations to secure a perimeter around them. The batarians can't be allowed to get their hands on this research. The Galaxy depends on it."
The two thin silhouettes parted ways, each walking with stride that exuded purpose and confidence. Exiting the forward operating base was a younger salarian, his uniform bearing the name and rank 'Captain Mhiranne'. Meanwhile, strutting in the exact opposite direction was the older and more worn Major Kirrahe. Thin scars wove their way across the salarian's face, leaving behind ghostly white lines on an otherwise mottled dark green complexion. The scars were a sobering reminder of how much action the Major had seen in his time, especially given the shorter nature of salarian lifespans. Kirrahe was headed for one of the prefabricated trams that the salarians had installed into the Ilos facility. Their FOB was at the mouth of the facility, part of its tent and prefab structure jutting out of the ancient structure's doors. Inside they'd installed a prefab tram to carry them through the long tunnels of the facility and allow faster study of the Conduit.
The dark and eroded artwork of civilizations long past, some of which he now understood to predate prothean, flashed before Kirrahe's eyes as the tram sped through the tunnels. STG had been on Ilos since 2183, the first teams having arrived within weeks of the Battle of the Citadel. In the three years that had passed they'd been able to extrapolate massive amounts of data, not just from the VI left behind but also from storage drives and equipment left behind by the protheans. It hadn't been until late in the year 2185 that they'd been able to get Vigil, the prothean VI that had been left to guard the Conduit, back online. His memory banks had unlocked troves of knowledge for the salarians, and quickly they were able to better understand how Relays worked, even if fabricating one was still far off.
What they'd also found, which had surprised Kirrahe until he thought about it, was a stockpile of the material that the Citadel and the Relays were made of. It made sense, given that the protheans had recreated a Relay themselves, but Kirrahe understood it to be the first time anyone in this cycle had ever seen the metal in an unused state. The information left behind by the protheans didn't give it a name but one of the scientists, Dr. Oylaan Lorinth, had coined the name relatanium. From there the scientists had been able to begin their work on understanding how the Conduit had been built, and by proxy the Relays themselves.
The tram came to halt after a rapid deceleration and its doors slid open to reveal the small city of tents and prefab shelters that made up the STG research here. Kirrahe stepped out of the tram with a certain energy in each step, weaving his way through the bustling scientists and roaming drones. With a crisp salute Kirrahe stiffened in front of another salarian, this one bearing even more facial wrinkles and scars that Kirrahe himself, showing him to be even more aged. "Colonel Vaewan, sir." Yirrik Vaewan had been with STG for decades, but his role now was more of a researcher and knowledge basin than that of an intelligence operative or soldier. It was for that reason that Kirrahe had been given command of the STG military FOB at the front of the facility while Vaewan had chosen to oversee the research.
The younger salarian's right hand snapped to his brow in a crisp salute which was mirrored by Vaewan. "What is it, Major?"
"Long range scanners have picked up unauthorized vessels exiting FTL at the edge of the system, and their approach vectors strongly indicate Ilos as their destination. IFFs paint most ships as private, but several bear Hegemony signatures so we're operating under the assumption that this is a move by the batarians. I've sent Captain Mhiranne to ensure that the AA emplacements are prepared, and that the front guard is ready to receive and repel any hostilities. "
"Very good Major. We must begin securing a perimeter around our research stations, starting with RS-4. RS-1-3 are valuable but ultimately have been deemed non mission critical for Relay reactivation."
"Affirmative sir. I'll begin raising the kinetic barriers in place and will have units set turret emplacements. We must holdfast and trust that the Union wouldn't leave us to the varren. Until then, we will hold the line."
Author's notes:
Sorry for the length between updates. I'm getting settled into the swing of my current university semester & having to eek out time for writing when I'm not studying / in class. That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. If there are things that you don't like about the direction the story goes, leave me a review and let me know. Likewise, if you like a direction the story is going leave me a review and let me know. Ultimately I want this to be an enjoyable story for all who read it, and I thrive off of your feedback :)