Noble Savage

From Ash Tree

Garrus,

The nurse in charge of my care was kind enough to help me write this message, and Kaidan said he would be able to get the Council to send it to you. He's looking better these days. Full of fire. Seeing Shepard again helped him.

I wanted to thank you personally for saving Shepard, and bringing him back to us. We never thought to see him again, but you changed that and for that we cannot thank you enough.

Kaidan says that the Counil has agreed to acquire transportation for us back home, and we'll be leaving just as soon as I can walk without assistance. We will prepare the way for him, and in time the Ash Dogs may yet return.

Shepard wouldn't tell me what he was doing with you, but if you recruited him I can only assume you did so so that he could fight for you. I can't blame you: he's a good fighter, and expendable to your kind. So long as he stays with you of his own free will, you are better than the Blood Pack. We'll be waiting for him all the same.

But know this: if you get Shepard killed, Kaidan and I will find you. And you won't be happy we had.

Ash Tree

The medical bay of the Lariat was a hive of activity as various crewmen all received treatment for whatever injuries or trauma they'd received at the hand of the Collectors. There was hardly a moment when one of the cots weren't occupied. And Shepard, having received all the treatment he'd needed at the moment, was no exception.

Shepard winced in pain as the good doctor carefully eased him into a wheelchair. He'd suffered no serious permanent damage in the Collector base, but that wasn't to say that he'd gotten out unscathed. By the time Shepard had lurched his way back into the Lariat he'd had a veritable laundry list of wounds that all needed treatment. Mordin Solus and the newly liberated Dr. Veleus Sartan had worked for many hours patching him back together.

The two of them chatted together, the both of them alternating between remarking on their surprise at his continued survival and their combined musings as to how it was possible. Shepard didn't catch most of this for two reasons.

The first reason was rather simple: he'd been heavily sedated. After the beating he had endured at the hands of the creatures called marauders, the multitudes of burns he'd suffered from the collectors and the huge amount of various cuts, scrapes and abrasions he'd acquired from his... unique style of combat meant that once the adrenaline stopped burning in his veins the world stopped being a wonderful place for him to kill things in and became one of coursing, pulsing agony. One of the benefits of having gone to the Citadel was its advanced medical facilities capable of performing impromptu research on the newly discovered species. Treatment for his kind was no longer quite the dangerous mystery it had once been, and the days of surgery without anaesthetics were gone, much to Shepard's quiet joy.

The second reason was... less simple.

The tribesman hadn't really taken the collector threat seriously. Not even after their attempted rescue of the unimportant colony. Sure, they were formidable enemies. Advanced, strong, implacable and utterly merciless. But this alone had not been enough. Garm had been such an enemy, and Shepard could still remember the thrill of victory he'd felt from liberating that monster's head from its body. They had started a war in secret, and Shepard was a warrior fighting against them. That was simple. He could understand that.

But it hadn't been until they'd stormed the collector cruiser that it had really sunk in just what he was fighting. The sheer scale of it all. Garm had been a slaver, a thief of lives to a people either too weak to defend themselves or too ignorant to want to. And that was the extent of his power. The Collectors, however, were a monster of another breed. They didn't want slaves. They didn't want soldiers. They wanted to exterminate entire worlds, harvest their peoples at the bidding of their masters.

The Reapers.

He'd had an inkling then of what was coming for the galaxy. He'd understood the magnitude of the threat that Garrus was fighting against, but not the whole truth.

The Collector base had shown him just what lay in store for them should they fail. They'd prevailed, of course, of course, and in doing so rescued the crew of the Lariat... but it changed nothing. The Reapers were still coming. The war had not been ended, only postponed. And with what was coming...

Nobody would be safe.

Shepard cursed Garm. If only he'd never found their little planet. And not just because it would have meant that he would never have been taken. No, now they would be involved in all this madness. Every miserable human life, as desperate and fleeting as it could be, was now endangered because the Blood Pack's greed. Their only saving grace had been that nobody had known about them, and Garm had taken that away from them.

Because the Citadel knew about humanity, now. They knew where to find them.

And the Reapers would too. And they didn't care that Humanity had almost destroyed itself. They would finish the job all the same, rounding them all up and harvesting them to breath life into their unholy abominations.

They were a part of this war now, just as much as the denizens of the Citadel.

Shepard blinked, and realized that hours had passed. Or he suspected they might have, because he was feeling much more rested even if pain was slowly creeping back into his body. It was hard to remember what had happened. The drugs Mordin had shot him with were potent stuff, apparently. (Shepard made a mental note to ask for some more. Not for recreational use, of course, but rather because he suspected he would have need of it soon enough.) And even now, they were still in his system somewhat. He tried to sit up, but only made a quiet grunting sound and lolled his head to the side. He noted that the medical bay was empty now save for Dr. Veleus Sartan and Shepard, all the other occupants needing treatment having received it and left to their own bunks. The turian doctor sat at his desk, staring blankly at a wall of slowly scrolling text.

He opened his mouth to ask how long he'd been under for, and whether they'd made it to safety.

"Hurrgh," was what he said instead. Powerful medicine, those drugs.

The doctor's attention wavered, and he looked over to Shepard in surprise.

"Ash Dog," he said, his eyes blinking rapidly as they refocused. "You're awake. At last. I was almost afraid Mordin got the dosage wrong."

"Heh," Shepard managed a sort-of chuckle. He tried again. "How're wee-?" the whole sentence came out in a single, weak and wheezing exhalation.

"How are we?" the doctor repeated uncertainly. At Shepard's weak nod, he continued. "We've just arrived back at the Omega sector. We'll be docking shortly to resupply and get some shoreleave."

The idea that someone might go to Omega to enjoy themselves was something that only made sense when they considered where they had just come from. After the Collector's base, risking your life on a bad drink in the Afterlife seemed a bit of a step down in comparison.

The thought of celebration brought with it fonder memories of better times. Kaidan with a few shots of burning ryncol in him was... memorable. Nobody could do party tricks like someone who could levitate things and people with a practised flex. Nobody.

Shepard recalled, with growing glee, that there were several such individuals on the Lariat.

His excitement must have shown.

"Don't get any ideas," the doctor admonished sharply. "You're staying here tonight: you've lost a lot of blood, and I don't want you wandering too far away."

"Buu-" Shepard protested.

"No buts!" Veleus snapped. "It's bad enough that the rest of them are out there was enough debauching themselves when they should be resting, but I'll be damned if I have to patch you up again because you picked a fight with Grunt. Again."

Shepard's head was feeling clearer now, the growing aches and pains in his body serving to boost his awareness and strength. He lurched upright, head still swimming as he did, and swept his feet around so that they dangled above the floor. The Turian doctor was already rushing to Shepard's side by the time he took his first wobbly step under his own strength.

"Is your translator not working?!" the doctor demanded angrily as he steadied Shepard before he could fall over. "You are not going to hurt yourself!"

"I wasn't planning to," Shepard said, wincing as pain lanced through his body. "But there are things- rrgh- things I need to do."

"What you need to do is rest!" Veleus said. "Whatever you need to do can wait!"

It really couldn't. There were things that needed to be set in motion before he could go back to Earth. Things that needed to be done before he could truly rest.

Because the Reapers were coming. Unless they were stopped, nobody

He needed to do his part. But a single human in the fight against armies of monsters? Against the titanic size of the Reapers themselves? Worthless. Three humans were equally worthless. A tribe might be of some use, but not nearly enough. More would be needed if they were to have any meaningful impact on the war.

They would need armies, hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers.

"It can't!" Shepard said as firmly as he could. "I need to speak with Balak!"

And to get an army, he would need Ka'hairal Balak.

The Batarian terrorist was one of those rare breeds of patriots that was very publicly and very loudly decried by his own government. The alien had a veritable laundry list of crimes to his name, but the one for which he was most famous was piracy. He had ravaged his way all across the Skyllian Verge, plundering and pillaging a remarkable amount of fledgling colonies before they could really take root. For a time the slave trade had been driven almost entirely by him alone.

And then the Batarian Hegemony, ashamed of the pirate's actions, would of course offer financial support, security and, in some cases, new colonists. And for their efforts the Hegemony would exact a price of their own.

Balak had spent almost five years as a pirate before he'd finally been taken down by a private company and then imprisoned aboard the prison-ship Purgatory. There were a dozen governments and companies each vying to have him extradited to them for judicial punishment and interrogation, and it was only through the timely intervention of Garrus and a whole lot of Facinus funding that his freedom had been secured... after they'd laid waste to the ship and killed the warden.

The man was a raider, a slaver and widely considered to be a terrible person.

Shepard quite liked him, though. There was something... pure about him. His motivations were easy to understand: he would protect his people, no matter the cost. It didn't hurt that they had something to relate to.

But what made him important was his contacts. Balak was one of the most feared pirates in known space, and he hadn't been secret about his intentions to return to his previous line of work.

Shepard would need to be quick if he wanted to change the Batarian's mind. And if he had to brave the ugliness of Omega, then so be it.

"Balak?" the doctor said the word with great distaste. "You're in luck. The two of you are the only members of the ground team left aboard the ship. He's down in the cargo bay, packing his things. I think he intends to jump ship."

Shepard tried not to let his alarm show at this revelation.

"Jump ship?" he asked

Veles made a noise not unlike a snort.

"He's a pirate," he said dismissively. "This place is rotten with people who'd jump to join his cause."

Shepard was counting on it, though he had hoped he'd have more time.

"Then I need to speak to him right now, before he leaves," he said insistently. "It's important."

Veleus made a face that Shepard couldn't decipher, but considering the man's general opinion of Balak and his ventures it probably wasn't an expression of approval.

"You aren't thinking of joining him, are you?" he asked reproachfully.

"No."

Join a pirate crew? Maybe he would have before. He'd lived that life before, back in the dusty wasteland. It could have been a good life for him: a ship of his own, a tribe for a crew and the whole galaxy a ripe target for him to ravage. Who could ask for more?

Shepard could. And he would.

"I want him to join me," he grinned wolfishly. "And what I can offer him is greater than anything he could find out here."

AN: It's been pointed out that this story has actually very little to do with Fallout. Which is a fair enough point. It is my plan to redeem myself in the three chapters. The third of which will be the last. Yes, that's right: only three more chapters. Maybe I'll do a kind of omake chapter/epilogue style of thing at the end, just so you can read things like "Shepard's Quest for Pants", "Shepard and the Space Princess" and whatever other crack I can cook up. Because it makes me lol.

But first I'll post something in my other story in this section. I'd like a little more time to think about the details to come.

As usual, leave your reviews and favs! Lemme know your thoughts!