AN-Sorry to have left you guys hanging for so long, the holidays were insane and this one got away from me for a while. Here's a little progression to tide you over, the big action sequence is coming up really soon. Thanks to all the reviewers, and to everyone following this. Makes me all warm and fuzzy. :)
John and Tali landed at the airstrip at around the same time as Jane and Garrus. Rather than wait for Doctor Clef, who John hadn't met in his reality, they opted to get their own wheeled transport (which was still the best way to get through the few remaining heavily wooded areas of Earth). A few minutes of searching and a quick rewiring job later and they were on their way in a truck that was made to resemble the ancient pickups of the early part of the century.
"Your people drive these things often?" Tali couldn't help remarking as they jounced around after hitting a pothole in the dirt road. John was trying to concentrate on following Clef's path as Jane was experiencing it, and couldn't split his attention well enough to avoid the bumps.
"Yeah, Earth used to be covered with them."
"There's no auto-pilot." She was trying so hard not to disparage his species, bless her, but the quarians had been a space-faring race since before humans had managed to yank themselves out of the Bronze Age.
"Look, I know that compared to the rest of the galaxy, humans are way behind on our technology. It's not so obvious in Council space; we got a lot of help from a lot of different species to get where we are today, whether the Alliance wants to acknowledge it or not. Here on Earth, though, that's another story. Most of the people here are descendants of the working Joes who couldn't afford to move to Arcturus when it was first built. There are still a lot of cars here that run on fossil fuels."
It was during times like this John realized just how much they still had to learn about each other, and how little was known about Earth, which existed in a sort of time capsule of a bygone era that incorporated some elements of humans' new galactic status but never really transitioned much beyond that. He'd never really thought about it before, but there were no other species on his homeworld at all. They got visitors sometimes, but that was an extraordinarily rare occasion, as most of the intergalactic politicking went on at Arcturus, the official capitol of the Alliance. The subtle miasma of jittery anxiety (which Tali had felt as well, enough that she remarked on it) that wreathed Earth, and possibly the entire Sol system if the voice on Neptune was any indication, must have been keeping would-be visitors and trespassers alike away.
"I didn't mean to offend, Shepard."
"I know," he answered with a sigh as he double-checked the route. He thought they were getting close, but it was hard to tell in the dark with just the narrow beams of the headlights spear-heading their way on the narrow dirt road.
"I can almost see why Cerberus would fight so hard for human advancement," Tali said, surprising the hell out of John with her lack of vehemence where his new boss was concerned. "There's . . . not exactly a lot of it."
"Honestly, I can't say I blame them either. If it's true that Earth is the only planet with anomalies like the ones contained by the Foundation, and if even half the stories I've heard about the objects they keep are true, the galaxy needs humans to survive. I know it sounds egotistical as hell, but I'm serious—some of the things in the Foundation could destroy everything, and not just the obvious ones."
"For example . . . ?" she prompted.
"There's a self-replicating cake that creates a copy of itself every day unless someone eats it."
Tali giggled. "You're having me on."
"No, really. I know it sounds ridiculous, but think about it—one cake becomes two, and then four, and then eight, and so on. Eventually you'd have too many to eat and it would get out of control. It wouldn't take more than three or four months to render the entire planet uninhabitable."
She went quiet as she absorbed the implications of that. "Keelah. You're serious?"
"I never saw it for myself, but there were a few guards I met who told me they'd been on cake-duty before. I believed them." John knew that the Illusive Man was aware of the Foundation and his own file with them. Maybe he was trying so hard to preserve humanity because of the SCPs, and what would happen if humans weren't around to contain them anymore. The galaxy needed Earth far more than they realized . . . and he hoped they never did. The powers-that-be might decide that a full-scale evacuation followed by a very big bomb would be in order, and that would just piss off some of the most dangerous SCPs.
He pulled the truck over and waited to see just how close they were, watching Jane's perspective in his mind's eye. It took about eight minutes for them to reach the gatehouse, which hopefully put John and Tali outside their observable perimeter. He maneuvered the truck as far off the road as he could, then the two of them proceeded on foot through the woods. He had Tali blank her face mask to get rid of the glow, and she moved off a few yards before proceeding through the thick undergrowth parallel to his path.
So engrossed was she in trying to mirror John, stay quiet, and keep anything from puncturing her suit that she almost missed the movement at the very edge of her field of vision. She cursed her helmet for what had to have been the billionth time for halving her peripheral vision and activated the scanning feature that acted much like Garrus' visor did, giving her a readout on the inside of her mask that was invisible on the outside. The infrared scans showed a hulking figure just ahead to her three o'clock, standing still and watching her intently. There was no question that it had noticed her; she saw its head turn to follow her as she walked. Just as she was about to say something about it to John, a cold pressure closed over her mouth and sealed it shut.
Nothing had touched her through her suit in years. Nothing. So the feeling of something on her skin, even the freezing cold presence over the lower half of her face, shocked her motionless. The large figure currently glowing red on her mask's readout closed in, moving silently, and as it neared she could just make out the brown hair covering its body, the leaves and small twigs knotted in it. She tried to back up, but bumped into something solid. It had some give but not much, and as she fought it the chilly thing pressed harder over her mouth.
The hairy creature bent over her, its face filling her mask. She wished she could turn off the infrared to get a better look at it, but from what she could see it had a face that was more human than animal, and it had large inquisitive eyes. The glowing readout didn't leave much room for interpretation, but the lines of its face suggested that it wasn't hostile. Either that, or its features weren't as easily definable as John's and she was about to be killed in the twilight gloom of some remote Earth forest.
Really, not the strangest death she'd ever been faced with, or even the most imminent for that matter.
"You, girl," it said in a soft but gravelly voice. "You look for the bad place?"
She tried to answer, but could only make muffled vowel sounds.
"I believe we can safely assume she's with John," said a low voice behind her. She didn't recognize it, but its cadence suggested a human male. "Nod if I'm right." She did, and could feel a tiny valley in the otherwise solid pressure on her mouth—fingers. Somehow, there was a hand on her face that had passed through her mask. Tali would have said that was impossible, but that was before she knew about the Apocalypse Cake.
"Black-wing man will help you inside. We help you outside." The giant waved his hand at the trees, and she could see maybe eight more figures of similar build in the distance.
"By now, the guards will have found John, and are taking him into the facility." Tali made some panicked humming noises and struggled against her captor until she gave up—the bastard was strong, and her lips were starting to go numb. "If you want to get him back, along with the package you've come to collect, you'll have to trust me." She scoffed as best she could and felt the man behind her laugh. "At least trust that you'll never get him out without my help. The Foundation is remarkably protective of its acquisitions, and your commander is no different than any of the other skips housed in that facility. Now, I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. Do not scream, or I'll rip the seals off your suit." She nodded, and a second later the ghost hand was gone. She turned to look at him and had to stifle a gasp.
Behind him, stretching up over his head and out to the sides, were dark-energy wings.
John groaned and turned his face into the pillow. Light . . . too much light, even through the red filter of his eyelids. There was a soft shuffling a few feet away, but he couldn't think of why this was significant through the stabbing pain in his head. He'd been in the shuttle and driving down the road toward . . . something . . .
The facility.
Tali.
At the thought of Tali, he was up like a shot and very nearly collapsed again as gray shadows folded over his eyes and he swayed, lightheaded and dizzy.
"Whoa, whoa, John," said an unfamiliar voice, and a warm hand, heavier and more solid than a normal human hand, gripped his bicep to steady him. He cracked his eyelids and saw a man there, roughly his height and build with tanned skin and black hair. There was a strange runic symbol carved into his forehead. John pulled away, not hard enough to dislodge himself but the man let him go. "Steady now. You took quite a hit out there. The guards may have been a bit over-enthusiastic tonight."
"Yeah, no kidding. Where's Tali?"
"Tali?" the man asked, genuinely confused. So they hadn't found her. The surge of relief unhinged his knees and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, jarring his head again. He clutched his pounding temples and shut his eyes tightly against the light. The pain was fading already, but not nearly fast enough to suit him.
"Never mind, Cain," said another voice, just off to his left. That was a voice he knew, complete with the trademark clicks and whirrs only just audible beneath the soothing tenor. "Give him time to adjust."
"Doc—uh, Gearman. Nice to see you up and about," John said, and he really meant it. Of the few people he knew within the Foundation, Gears was one that he missed. The Doctor had always treated him well.
"Don't worry, John," said the doctor, somewhat bemusedly. "The Foundation knows about me now—no need for secrecy."
"Oh, well that's out of the way, then." He hauled his head, which felt as though it was trying to contain a wad of rising dough that would come bursting out his ears at any moment, out of his hands to regard the other man in the room. "I know Gears, but I don't believe I've met you before."
"I am Cain," he said, extending his hand. John shook it and thought that if this was Cain, he'd better damn well be worth putting his crew in danger for. "I am here as Doctor Gears' assistant, and to give him aid where he needs it."
"Yeah, okay. Mind telling me what the hell is going on? What are they planning to do with me?"
"First, a few questions. What were you doing out in the woods, and with so many guns?"
John straightened up as best he could, his face a cold mask. Gears looked back, meeting his eyes with the same affably inquisitive look he'd worn back when John was still an inmate here.
Aren't I an inmate again, though? I mean, here I am, after all. The thought was not a comforting one. If the Foundation was intent on keeping him this time they'd have to try a little harder, but they were nothing if not adaptable. He probably warranted an upgrade to Keter-class now, based on how many people he'd killed over the years, and the containment protocols for Keters were much more stringent. They'd take into account his new upgrades and implants—
Yes, he had brand spandy-new biotic implants this time around. That could really come in handy. He was already working out a plan when he realized he hadn't answered Gears' question.
"Sorry, Doc, but you won't get anything out of me this time. Not when I've got people out there counting on me."
"Are you referring to the Collectors' efforts to eradicate the outer colonies?"
"I'm surprised that you're so well informed."
"That was not an answer."
"Yeah. How 'bout that?"
"The SCP Foundation has always held a vested interest in humanity, John." Gears arched an eyebrow at him and leaned forward a fraction of an inch. Just enough for John to see it. "Surely you remember that much."
John said nothing.
"I ask again—what were you doing in the woods?"
"Garrus Vakarian, turian. Citadel ID number Delta-647-Tango-0923."
"Yes, we gathered as much, Mister Vakarian—"
"Officer. Gunnery Officer Vakarian."
"Apologies, Officer Vakarian. What is the name of the ship to which you are assigned?" asked the agent assigned to interrogate him in a nasally voice.
"The SSV Normandy."
"And what were you and Jane—"
"Commander Shepard," he corrected.
The agent gave a put-upon sigh and restarted. Again. "What were you and Commander Shepard planning to do here?"
Garrus stared at the wall and didn't speak.
"Are you a member of the Church of the Broken God?" Silence. "The Global Occult Coalition, maybe?" Nothing. The agent leaned in close and asked, "Were you planning to steal one of the SCPs, Officer Vakarian?"
"Garrus Vakarian, turian. Citadel ID number Delta-647-Tango-0923." He turned his head and regarded the agent with a flat, emotionless gaze. "Your breath smells like varren shit, by the way. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"What were you planning to do, Jane?" Agent Andrew Connelly asked. Gerald, the little pissant, was standing behind him and to the side looking very pleased with himself. Jane couldn't wait to knock that smug little smile right off his acne-scarred face. "Break in, maybe steal one of the SCPs? You should know better than anyone how dangerous that would be."
"You see, Andrew—may I call you Andrew?"
"My name is Agent Connelly."
"Right. Now, Andrew, you may now know this, but I haven't always worked for Cerberus. Before I suffocated and then burned to shit whilst falling through the atmosphere of an ice planet called Alchera, I was in the Alliance."
"I have your file right here, Jane—"
"I wasn't finished. When I was in the Alliance, I was what's called an N7 operative. Do you know what that means?"
"We have detailed records of your training—"
"It means, Andrew, that I have been taught by the finest soldiers humanity has to offer how to withstand interrogations. It means, Andrew, that no matter how many times you ask me that question, you'll get no answer from me." She leaned forward as far as her handcuffs would let her. "But I might answer those questions if someone else were asking them. Someone like the Gearman, for instance? If you have my file, I imagine you know that 172 and I have something of a history. Go get him, and you might just get your answers." She slumped back in her chair and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "Or don't. It's really no skin off my ass either way."
It took another hour for Agent Andrew Connelly to admit defeat and summon Doctor Gears.
AN-SCP referenced: 871, The Self-Replacing Cake.
