I've seen too many people die because they never followed orders. They might think they're doing the right thing, or maybe they're stretching out to make something of themselves. Glory and fame is just a passing flame, and they don't seem to understand this. I don't envy the man who informs a family that their only child died because he had selective hearing. There is no room for personal pride in the Alliance–there are orders. They keep you alive. When orders become obsolete, then civilization becomes obsolete.
Doctor Chakwas, months before hijacking Normandy
Pure teamwork is a seamless integration of personalities, ideals, and goals into a single entity. If there is one off chord in a symphony of instruments, do you suspend your recital indefinitely until you fix it? Unless they're a specialist and needed, you don't even bother, because one person isn't going to ruin this for you. Now, imagine that you're conducting the recital–everything's right, but there is an undercurrent of off-key chords beneath the perfect harmony you're seeking. You have to straighten this out, but it's only a few hours pre-concert. One of the brass gets up and challenges you and then takes the team in a whole new direction than the one you've planned for.
Worse, the brass player takes away your guns, leaving you stranded as they rush off playing soldier under a totally out-of-proportion misapprehension. They think they're right and they're driven. Good intentions or no, you know that unless you get to them they'll die soon–and painfully.
Hadi was a pulpy mess on the ground, all shredded meat and tendons. Teeson was no better, and Feesa's left side had been blown off from an incendiary round. The remnants of her body were strewn haphazardly on the ground, guts and intestines rolling out for all to see. I'd managed to drag Prazza away from the gruesome scene as Shepard drew their attention, a cold knot of anger in my stomach, and set about treating his wounds. I activated a signal locator on my belt, broadcasting my general area to any passing quarians tuned into our secure channels, and felt a brief thrill of fear at the shouts outside. The gunfire was deafening, so loud that my suit's audio dampeners kicked in to muffle the noise, but I could still hear the sporadic shouts from Shepard's team as they took down the heavy mech that had brutally murdered my friends.
They obviously hadn't been working for long. During firefights back in the old days, we hadn't needed to say a thing to each other as we progressed further and further. We were a machine, unstoppable and relentless, held together by the fusion of will that was Shepard. Miranda and Jacob were good, but they were out of practice. Shepard never yelled–all he did was turn the volume up–but it seemed to me like he was beginning to get impatient. He had a team of two leaders who wanted to do things their way. Jacob at least attempted to follow orders, but he was sticking his head out of cover too much and he liked to be stationary; Miranda was experienced and seemed to compute well with his style, but she was the one giving the orders–or attempting to.
It was almost painful to listen to their conflicting views, but Shepard was obviously still the Commander and he wasn't giving suicidal orders. His strategy involved movement, keeping the mech as off-balance as possible. A sudden explosion, loud enough that I flinched, marked the end of the battle like a punctuation mark.
Silence.
"Injuries?" Shepard called. He didn't even sound winded.
"None."
"None, Commander."
"Tali?! Tali, are you still with me?"
"Yes," I answered, relieved despite myself. "Let me tend to my wounded, Shepard. Go find Veetor and get what you need, I'll be with you shortly."
Shepard didn't waste any more time, and out of the window on the far end of the trailer I'd taken cover in I saw him ascend the stairs up into Veetor's hideout. I felt my shoulders sag, wondering if I'd made the right choice, and continued my duties.
Prazza hadn't broken cover when the heavy mech began to charge, not until it was otherwise distracted. The missile fired from its' arm missed him as he ran and impacted slightly behind him, sending shrapnel and debris flying at a high velocity. It tore through his suit and ruptured the skin beneath it with long diagonal slices that cut down into the bone, and I had to work quickly to sterilize the wound and feed him antibiotics through the medicinal implants in his forearm. I rubbed as much medi-gel as I could on his leg, which clamped down tightly on the wound upon contact. It wasn't life-threatening, but–Oh, Keelah, I hope he's sick for months!
The antibiotics were sure to keep Prazza swimming in a chemically-induced coma for the next hour, so after running my omni-tool over him to check his suit's life signs I took his assault rifle and stood. Before reuniting with Shepard, though I dearly wanted to, I made myself look at the dead. I looked at poor Feesa, laying in a pool of her own blood; I looked at Teeson, who'd fallen second; I looked at Hadi, whose faceplate was cracked. A dark red mixture of phlegm and blood had piled on the bottom and was steadily dripping on to the pavement, where it congealed in a black puddle.
I could feel myself shaking and I had to place a hand on the railing leading up to Veetor's safe haven to keep my balance. I wasn't exactly unused to gore, but never before had I seen something wage such a destructive war on my own people. I'd always seen humans, or asari, or krogan end up like that, but never, never somebody of my own race.
I wasn't naive enough to think it was my fault, though I certainly shared part of the blame for not being a better leader. If only Prazza had listened to reason, if only they had stayed with me. If only they didn't go running for Veetor when they knew about the heavy mech! And Shepard. . .
I listened to the conversation next door, feeling if possible even sicker with these new revelations. Veetor was unstable, too traumatized about whatever happened to give real, lucid answers. Shepard calmed him down, and Veetor began to talk of swarms that decimated the human population, and creatures that took the humans in pods. I glanced in the doorway to see a dark room highlighted only by a large number of surveillance screens.
"My God, I think that's a Collector," Jacob breathed.
Shepard muttered something under his breath. "Veetor, how did you escape?"
The screen showed large, insect-like creatures carrying paralyzed humans and dropping them into large, organic tubes that sealed upon contact. The humans offered no resistance, and I couldn't tell if the swarms I could see on the cameras had actually knocked them out or not. But the fact of the matter was, Cerberus wasn't behind it.
"Hurry, grab Veetor and let's get the hell out of here," Miranda snarled, turning away from the scene.
"What?" I cried, stepping in. "No. He's traumatized and needs medical attention."
"We'll only take him in for a few questions," said the dark male calmly. "We'll send him back when we're done."
"Veetor is not a package to be rented at your own pleasure, Cerberus," I growled, coming up to stand beside him. Veetor whimpered a little and clutched at my hand, muttering things I had no name for. "Shepard, look, I'll gladly lend you a copy of his omni-tool data, but you can't take him."
Shepard nodded, and I felt a savage pleasure when Miranda's face suddenly tightened with controlled emotion. "I don't want to hurt him any more than he has been," he said.
"Good. I'm glad you're still the one giving the orders," I said, throwing a look Miranda's way.
"Tali, do you think you can come with us? I'll need somebody I know I can trust if we're taking on the Collectors." He looked at my hopefully, some of that old sparkle in his eye. "It'll be just like the old days."
I laughed without humor. "On any other day I'd say yes, but I can't, Shepard. My mission is too important for me to drop what I'm doing to come with you, no matter how much I want to."
"It sounds dangerous," he said, his brow furrowing in concern. "Can you tell me about it?"
"Not while you're working with Cerberus." I shook my head. "Maybe one day I'll see you again. I'd like to talk. Here." I took Veetor's omni-tool gently from his arm, shushing him when he began to protest. "It's okay, Veetor, I'm going to give it back. I just need to foreword this so no more humans disappear." When I had done so, I slipped it back on his hand. He began to make adjustments, and I realized that he'd treated the thing like a security blanket as the Collectors moved in. It was heartbreaking.
"Thank you, Tali." Shepard sounded like he meant it.
I allowed him one more, long look. "Keelah se'lai, Shepard."
And I set about the task of convincing Veetor to come outside into the ship a few blocks away, feeling horrible.
Veetor was terrified of being outside of his shell, and would frequently run for the closest house and sit down in a corner, crying. It was only through great patience that I managed to steer him in the right direction. Thirty minutes later I succeeded and went back for Prazza; he was a big man, all dead weight, and I knew I had my work cut out for me. Spurred on by the fact that the ship was only a few blocks away, I lifted him up in a modified fireman's carry, back to front, using the strength in my legs to push myself to a standing position. He was all dead weight, plus his enviro-suit, and my muscles screamed for release and I pressed myself foreword, one step at a time.
Halfway there, my knees buckled and I let him go. I winced at the sound he made as he hit the ground, panting, and decided to rest for a moment. I jumped at the sound of movement among the rubble, training Prazza's assault rifle at origin of the noise. Veetor appeared, shaking and whimpering, and stuttered, "V-Veetor will help, and we'll leave s-soon, y-yes?"
I sat back on my heels, shocked. "Thank you, Veetor. That's very nice of you."
"Tali'Zorah is going to save Veetor from the swarms, before they come back? Then Veetor, Veetor will h-help." He bent down and took Prazza's upper body with two hands and waited for me to grab his legs. "Veetor doesn't like it here," he said as we began our walk. "Veetor wants to go back to the Migrant Fleet. I left the Fleet to seek knowledge among the stars and return to share my learnings with society and contribute to the greater good of all quarians. I left the Fleet. . ."
He kept talking, muttering that code phrase over and over again until we reached the safety of the ship. He dropped Prazza's head unceremoniously to the floor and took a seat in the pilot's chair, tapping on the controls I'd locked when I left, seeming not to care that the controls reacted to his touch with a profound lack of movement. I told him to wait for a moment and strapped Prazza's inert body into a chair, then sealed the ramp.
Moving Veetor gently out of the seat, I unlocked the ship and set course for home. As we hit the Mass Relay I felt a great sadness rise in my chest. A few tears leaked out of my eyes as I remembered the bodies of my team laying so still on the ground below up, and I vowed not to let their deaths be in vain. I would take care of Prazza, the bosh'tet, and I'd make sure Veetor was given proper care when I docked aboard the Rayya.
Veetor's muttering grew softer and softer, and soon he was asleep.
&.
(Shepard)
The prospect that I was going up against the Collectors was a frightening one, possibly even more so than the last suicide run to Ilos. Their entire species was one surrounded by myths and secrets, blockade-runner tales of riches and technology traded to willing privateers and slavers for sets of species with strange genetic defects. Personally, I'd always discounted the claims that they were strange interspecies slavers or breeders–more likely they were performing horrific experiments on their victims, looking for strange chromosomes, possibly developing bio-weapons or some other kind of tool to help prune a species' population as they became more advanced.
The Collectors were only accessible through the Omega-4 Relay out in the Terminus Systems–or at least, that's where they always seemed to manifest–and every attempt to follow them back through was met with failure. Not the failure of a crashing ship into the side of a large Reaper-construct, no, but sudden communication loss. The last sign of a ship passing through is a sudden increase in the mass effect core, enough to nearly overload it, and then. . .
Nothing.
If the Collectors were working for the Reapers, then it would make sense for them to target humans. After all, an Alliance fleet tore one of their very own, Sovereign, into debris raining all over the Citadel, and one human soldier proved himself capable of listening to Prothean communication networks like the mass relay, aided by the Cipher given by a millennium-old plant. Only the humans they were targeting had no defect nor any other distinguishing marks except that they lived in the outer reaches of the Terminus System–a place where, if discovered desolated, wouldn't be missed by the wider galactic community.
The Collectors, and by extension the Reapers, had been doing this for two years.
How nobody seemed to notice this was crazy, insane, and I knew that the Illusive Man was hiding something even greater from me, something astronomical in its size. I didn't bother to ask Miranda and Jacob, knowing that they'd be required to lie most possibly, and chewed on the question during the long shuttle-ride back to the Cerberus outpost:
What preparations were being made toward the Reaper threat?
A chill settled deep in my gut as I thought about it, and I began to wonder. . .
No, there was no possible way. Anderson was still alive, he was still there, fighting for the Reapers–for me. Apart from my old crew, he was the only one who'd believed me, who'd backed me up even when my own mother thought I was being manipulated. A pang settled in my chest as I thought of her, wondering how I could possibly tell her what happened, or even if I could. Was there a special card at Hallmark I could buy that said: 'Mom, sorry. I was clinically dead for two years while Cerberus brought me back to life because the Collectors are working with the Reapers and abducting human colonies our government is too thick to pay attention to.'
Yeah, I doubted it. That sounded bad, even to me.
And then I had to think, wondering if it was all as it seemed. Sure, the pieces fit together snugly once you thought about it, and the Illusive Man wouldn't spend billions on my reincarnation to send me on a wild goose chase. . . If I was even dead at all. Was I? I thought of Tali then and abandoned that line of questioning–she was the only one aboard the Normandy with the tech to scan to bio-signs within my hardsuit, and I'd watched her get on the escape pods right before Ashley did. She was tuned into our frequency, she would have heard my final moments on the radio, suffocating in that dark, dark void, coming ever closer to the planet beneath me. . .
As I thought back on it (it wasn't hard, that moment was as vivid in my mind as Virmire was) I began to realize a voice had been calling for me as I choked on nothing. Tali, Ashley, Joker. . .
I closed my eyes, dropping my head back to lean against the headrest behind me as a wave of sudden disgust rolled through me–disgust at myself, for not realizing this sooner, disgust at the Collectors, disgust at everything.
The Collectors screwed with my ship and my life. I seemed to remember Sovereign trying just that, only these people actually had. Killing them wouldn't be enough. Surprisingly, I found myself quite at ease, even joyful, as I considered the eradication of the entire Collector race. They looked insect-like, so maybe they laid eggs. Maybe there was a Queen Collector I had to go take care of.
A real soldier, I thought, would drop a nuclear warhead on their hives.
A nice, big explosion would set the end off nicely, I thought. Maybe afterwards Ash and I could go get some dinner, be like a normal couple for once. Yeah, I'd like that.
I'd have to set about recruiting the old team again, though. The Illusive Man said most of them had gotten on with their lives, but he didn't know them like I did. First, I'd need to somehow find a ship as good as the Normandy had been, or better. Considering that I probably wasn't part of the Alliance Navy any more considering my confirmed KIA, I didn't think that the best thing I could do was waltz in there and demand a ship and a crew. Especially if the Council and half the Alliance brass thought I was being controlled by a dead man, though I had no proof of that except for a strong suspicion in my gut. Anderson was a good guy, but he was just one man.
Ashley would side with me, I thought confidently. And Garrus. Liara definitely would if it meant finding out more about the Protheans. And after Tali finished her own little suicide mission. . . I wasn't completely sure about Wrex, but if he knew what we were up against. . .
I began to make plans in my head, backtracking and modifying as need be. I wondered if Joker was still around–dumb question, he was always going to be around–and thought about how I'd contact him. And as long as I kept the Reaper stuff to a minimum and acted like I never really died, I might be able to even convince the Council to help me out.
Might, if, maybe. I hated those words, and I was using them a lot in my thought process. The problem was, there were too many variables. I liked plans and set-in-stone paths as much as the next guy, but after chasing Saren around? Screw plans, just figure out where you're going, and wing it from there with as much ordinance as you can. Always count on radio failure, always count on things you could never explain previously like the Thorian or Rachni, and always, always expect to be making a quick exit.
I'd been worried that after Sovereign nothing else would seem as exciting. I'm going to have to stop thinking that, lest I die again and the Collectors kill us all.
So don't die. Unfortunately, I always do manage to get into 'situations' as Ashley would call it, so I'm probably fighting a losing battle over it. It's not dying that scares me–okay, it does a little bit–but it's dying with unfinished business that makes me drink-spilling nervous.
I opened one eye to stare out the window at the menagerie of stars floating past my window in a slow, even dance. Imagine, I thought darkly, a single entity that could snuff them out.
All of us jerked as the ship was caught in a sudden mass effect field, despite the artificial gravity keeping us down. Blue light wreathed the ship, burning my eyes with an aura so bright that I had to close them, and we accelerated. It was like the ultimate rollar-coaster ride, going from zero to a speed so fast it hadn't even been recorded yet. There was another jerk as we appeared at a corresponding mass relay, and then we gently coasted towards where ever the hell the Illusive Man hid his base.
Predictably, the windows suddenly darkened and the inside light when on. Miranda caught my look, holding a small device in her hand, and I just shook my head and closed my eyes, wondering if I could catch a small nap before boarding.
That wasn't to be so. The pilot kicked in the afterburners and we zoomed off for the mysterious base. "There's a patrol coming," Jacob said, unconcerned. "We'll make it into cover before they even see our tail-lights."
"What kind of patrol is it?"
Jacob shrugged. "We don't even know. Boss gives us patrol patterns, we evade them, and head in. Only one who knows where we're going is the pilot." He cracked his neck. He seemed to have been waiting for somebody to break the silence. "That was some crazy shit back there, huh? What do you think?"
I shrugged. "If the Collectors are working for the Reapers, that spells out a lot of bad things nobody is going to want to think about."
"Yeah, I hear that." He shook his head. "That's just messed up. They've never taken this many people before."
"That we know about," Miranda muttered.
"Yeah. It's always babies with birthmarks on their right shoulders, or near-sighted batarians or something. Always in sets. Entire colonies. . . what are they doing with them, do you think?"
"I don't know." For the first time, Miranda sounded disturbed. I supposed she would be–a doctor, scientist, whatever like herself probably had a problem with mass genetic tests. "I'm not sure I even want to guess."
"I was thinking maybe a weapon they can use tailored only to our species," I mused. "Put it in the hands of the batarians in a trade for a few krogan? Cure the genophage, as long as they give a few salarians? It could go down any possible way."
"Every one of them worse than the last. . ." Jacob sighed and glanced longingly at the weapon strapped on his belt. I remembered that look vividly: after Virmire, Ashley would often drum her fingers on the edge of her rifle. It was her tell, the look that told me she was worried about the Reapers. Taking up this thing against Sovereign? Might as well be using a pea shooter. "Still, at least the Man got what he wanted. Now we can start this show."
I almost began to list what we needed right then, but closed my mouth at the last minute. I closed my eyes again.
I'd just slipped into a light doze when the ship docked and the windows lightened again, showing the pristine white Cerberus-issued walls. "I'm not going to have to meet another medical team, am I?" I grumped, standing up and wincing in the sudden bright light.
Miranda smirked.
As before, the team met us as we disembarked, running their omni-tools over me in a very thorough and invasive manner without even a warning. I spread my arms and legs like they were doing a strip search and tried not to look too impatient considering the fact that it was due to their efforts I hadn't blacked out on the battlefield or something more insulting. My fever had returned about ten minutes after they'd given me the antibiotics, something Miranda was very concerned about, and they made me sit down in a wheelchair they'd taken out just for me, apparently, and one of the techs muttered, "We should ice him. Look how red he's getting."
Miranda waved her hand, dismissing the theory. "He's just upset about the wheelchair. See? Core temp hasn't changed."
Doctors. They were all so pushy.
They deemed me fit to continue living after five more minutes of poking, prodding, and scanning, and I had the distinct impression that Miranda was enjoying herself. Horrible bed-side manner. Might explain why she was ready to take Veetor and go so readily. The techs retreated, taking their god-awful wheelchair with them, and I finally relaxed.
"Miss Lawson?" I asked, a sudden thought hitting me. She turned to regard me, dark blue eyes expectant. "Did you guys do something funny to my immune system?"
"We didn't. Wilson did, and I just happened to clear it." At my incredulous look, she continued, saying, "Your immune system is running at a faster-than-normal pace. You have too many white blood cells and they're affecting the balance of pathogens in your body. The flu we introduced in your system is gone completely, but some of the effects seem to have mutated into your blood, so you'll have the fever for quite a while until we figure something out."
I turned to leave, too angry for words, and she said, "Also, the splitting headaches you'll experience later are quite normal. We've upgraded you with L5x implants to give your biotics a boost, but it's still a prototype. I'll give you a packet of morphine shots after your meeting so you can deal with it."
I stopped walking and turned around. "Anything else I should know?" I asked, keeping the anger in my voice under control.
"You're sterile," Jacob said. I blinked, and he began to laugh nervously. "Just kidding, Commander. Uh. . . am I kidding, Miranda?" He glanced back at her, a look on his face that suggested he deeply hoped he was kidding.
Miranda ducked her head to hide a slight smile. "He is just joking, Commander," she said, catching my expression. "We left everything intact."
I fixed them with a long, hard look, turned around pointedly, and tried to walk out of there with as much dignity as I could manage.
&.
The shadow was already sitting down, no cigarette this time, looking back at me with bright blue eyes that forever killed the grandfatherly image he meant to portray. "Commander Shepard. Good work on Freedom's Progress. The quarians foreworded their data. Nothing new, but a surprisingly olive branch, given our history with them. You and I have different methods, but I can't argue against your results."
"Maybe you should try playing nice once in a while, see where it gets you," I suggested.
"It's often difficult to make good when the side you're negotiating with sees you as a threat," he said lightly. "Fear and power work just as well, too. But more importantly, you confirmed that the Collectors are behind the abductions."
"Why were they suspects?" I asked curiously. "Entire colonies are too big of a package for them."
"I had my suspicions, but I needed proof. The Collectors are enigmatic at best. They periodically travel the Terminus Systems, looking for seemingly unimportant objects or specimens in exchange for greater tech and resources. When the exchange is made, they disappear as quickly s they came–back through the unmapped Omega-4 relay. Until now, we've had to evidence of direct aggression from the Collectors."
"I get the sudden interest in humans," I said, "but how exactly do you know they're working with the Reapers?"
"All the signs were there," he said easily. "One just had to know where to look. And the fact remains that one man–one very specific man–is all that stands between humanity and the biggest threat we've ever faced. Freedom's Progress was just a stepping stone, and it has to stop. At any cost."
I nodded, crossing my arms. "If you want me to take out the Collectors, then I'll need a good team."
"Of course. I've assembled dossiers on some of the best. I'll foreword them to Miranda and you can take a look at them."
"I don't want your team," I said, "I want mine. They've got as much stake in this mission as I do."
"Shepard, that's nota good idea," said the Illusive Man. "Under better circumstances I would agree to it, but their loyalties have changed. They're not the people you thought they were."
"Amaze me." I crossed my arms. "What's Chief Williams up to?"
"Stayed with the Alliance after you died," he said. "Got promoted. Her file is extremely well-classified, so I can't tell you much."
"Garrus Vakarian?"
"Left C-Sec after a few months and disappeared. Surprisingly, we've been unable to locate him."
I felt something sink deep in my stomach at his words. Had he gotten frustrated again? Dammit. "Liara T'Soni?"
"On Illium, an asari colonial world. Rumor has it that she's working for the Shadow Broker–if that's so, then she can't be trusted."
I'll believe that when I see it. "Urdnot Wrex?"
"Hasn't left Tuchanka in a over a year. He's united the krogan population into combating the genophage."
Good boy. "Tali'Zorah helped us on Freedom's Progress."
His answer was a millisecond slower in coming. "That came as a shock. I'll need more data before I can commit to that."
I chewed on my tongue, digesting this landslide of information. "Might be handy to have some Spectre resources available."
"By all means, if you can convince them, please do," he said, nodding. "Though the Council has changed it's tune since you saved them, as I told you before. It might just be safer not to go at all to avoid the political tight-walk you'll get when they find you alive."
"There are ways around that," I said confidently.
He nodded, conceding the point. "Just be careful, Shepard. Now, I'd like to continue by going over the dossiers I've sent to you. I'd strongly advise you to start by acquiring Mordin Solus, a salarian doctor working on Omega. He has a brilliant mind and is the best bet we have of developing a counteraction against the swarm's paralyzing toxin."
Paralyzing toxin? So he did know what I would find. Interesting.
"I should probably start there, then," I said, nodding. "Is there a psyche file listed in the dossiers? I don't like surprises."
"Everything you need and we've been able to retrieve are in those files. Though I will warn you of Jack. Doctor Okeer has violent tendencies and insists on furthering the future of the krogan, but in a more direct way than Urdnot Wrex's."
He pulled a cigarette out of a side pocket and lit it. "Also, we've gotten you a ship and a pilot I think you can trust."
His image broke up suddenly into pixilated fragments, and the orange holographic wall encircling me began to recede. He thinks I can trust, I thought grimly. I rolled my shoulders and my neck, going through a range of simple stretches to check out my flexibility. I used to be very flexible before I died, and this sudden lack of range disturbed me. My muscles seemed weak, too, atrophied from use.
It would take a few weeks of some serious training to get back into my former shape. I sighed.
"Hey, Commander." The voice seemed to stretch through time itself, in which the explosions sounded like a thunderclap in the distance. I turned around, feeling like a hand was squeezing my heart. Joker was dressed in Cerberus-issued fatigues and wore a baseball cap. He stood in the doorway, chewing on some emotion, and grimaced. "Just like old times, huh?"
"Joker?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "Shit!"
"Oh, well, yeah, nice to see you, too, Commander," he said, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "You know, I said the same exact thing when I saw your new look, Doctor Evil. Bald's not your thing, and those weird-looking scars? Scary. Sci-fi."
I grinned, placing a careful arm around his shoulders. "I can't believe it's you."
"You ain't kidding, I saw you get spaced," he said, shaking his head. He seemed to be able to walk on his own now, a vast improvement, but he was limping. The heaviness of his steps suggested he was wearing his leg braces. He led me up the stairs and into another room.
"Got lucky, with a lot of strings attached," I muttered. "How'd you get here?"
"Everything fell apart without you, Commander. All that trouble you stirred up, the Council wanted it gone. Team was broken up, records sealed, and I was grounded. The Alliance took everything that mattered to me–hell yeah I joined Cerberus."
He took me to a window looking out into a dark room and stopped, turning to stare at me. "You really trust the Illusive Man?" I asked doubtfully.
"Well, I don't trust anybody who makes more money than I do," he said, snorting. "But they aren't all that bad. They saved you. Let me fly–and then there's this." He crossed his arms, looking utterly content with the world. "They only told me last night." He gestured towards the observation window.
I could see the silhouette of something big in the background, presumably a new ship. I looked out, the almost-tearful joy radiating from Joker cting like a neural stimulant. One by one, the showroom's lights clicked on, highlighting first the nose, then the bridge, then. . .
SR2 was painted on its front lasers beside a large Cerberus symbol. I watched, trying not to display my shock, as the dark silhouette began to take the shape of the ship I loved and missed the most.
It's bigger, was my first thought, and it's painted a different color. But. . .
"We're going to have to give her a name," I said, grinning broadly with a smile I hadn't felt since I woke up.
Joker giggled half-hysterically and pat me on the pack. "Welcome home, Commander. Sorry about getting you killed."
I glanced at him, tearing my eyes away from the ship. "Joker," I said softly, "I don't regret a thing."
I get it now, Kaiden. Doesn't mean I'll stop feeling guilty.
"Yeah, well, we did," he said, glancing back at the ship with a little less excitement than before. "It was torture, you don't get it. I've never heard a buddy die like that. I mean, you hear about it, see it in vids and stuff, but hearing it?" He shook his head. "And it was my fault, don't sugar-coat it. But I'll make it up to you, Commander, you'll see. I'm not letting you get killed for me ever again. You say go, I'm going. You don't have to haul my ass off the burners this time around."
"You don't have to make up for anything," I told him. "You're walking around just fine, you can haul your own ass to the pods this time around," I said half-jokingly.
"Yeah, well, don't count on me losing this baby any time soon," he said, shaking his head. "I'm heading in–all my stuff's on board. You need to see this, Shepard. But you might want to tell Miranda and Jacob we're heading out so they can get their stuff." He shrugged and started to walk away.
"Hey, Joker," I called. "Glad you're back."
He turned around and spread his arms apart like he was gathering the world to his breast. "Yeah, you better. It's not a real galactic war without your favorite pilot."
&.
On board the Normandy SR-2
Wow. The Normandy was good, better than new, and I was impressed. More than impressed–right then I could understand Joker's motivations for joining Cerberus. The bridge looked about the same, but in the place of the Galaxy Map was a large 3D model of the outside hull, showing everything from the little divots and texture of the metal. What amazed me even more was the amount the people in the seats, running through diagnostics. I could hear them talking, chatting in a very unconcerned manner, and more than a few eyes turned to look at me as I walked down the length of the ship with Miranda and Jacob flanking me.
Jacob was looking around, looking impressed, but Miranda just crossed her arms and said, "The Normandy is state-of-the-art, replicated the prime specification. We'll be able to take any Collector attack now."
I thought of the way they'd sliced through the old Normandy like a laser through a blade of grass and shook my head. "There's always room for upgrades. So this houses a full crew?"
"The Illusive Man handpicked them himself," she replied, nodding. "We don't have blatant xenophobists on board, if that's what you're wondering, Commander. Everybody here is willing to do their jobs and stop the Collectors–whatever the cost."
"So they know everything?"
She nodded. "You can go chat with them later if you like, and get a tour of the ship. After reading the dossiers, I suggest we first start by acquiring Mordin Solus, the salarian doctor on Omega. We know the Collectors use some kind of nerve-paralyzing agent to immobilize their victims, so we'll need him to create a counter-measure."
I nodded. "That's what I was thinking, too."
"Acquiring Professor Solus seems like the most logical place to start."
The voice sounded from the small intercom behind me and I frowned. "Who are you?"
At once, a large blue holographic pop-up sprang to life in front of my eyes. It had no humanoid form, reminding me of the Death Star in the Star Wars movies generations back. Where the trench would be, it opened and closed in rhythm with its' words as if it were some kind of mockery of a mouth. "I am the Normandy's artificial intelligence," it said. Its tone was human enough, bearing the same strength and weight of vocal chords that gave it a woman's voice. "The crew like to refer to me as EDI."
Well, we might as well break a few more laws today, I thought. AI programming. Wonder how many years the Illusive Man can get for that alone? "Helmsmen don't like it when people take away control of a ship from them," I said instead, raising an eyebrow. "Especially Joker."
"I do not helm the ship," said EDI. "Mr. Moreau's talents will not go to waste. During combat, I inhabit the ship's electronic warfare and cyberwarfare suits. Beyond that, I cannot interface with the ship in any other way. I observe and offer advice, nothing more."
EDI disappeared.
I blinked. "Anybody else I should meet?"
"The crew is at their stations, ready for orders," said Miranda. "Talk to them when you'd like. Meanwhile, I'll be in my office on the third deck." She walked away, and I watched her go. Instead of taking on of the side doors like on the original Normandy, she took the door that originally led to the comm center. It turned out to be an elevator, and she disappeared.
I frowned.
"Yeah, I'll be over there in the armory," Jacob said, a small smile on his face as he pointed to the door winging towards the right. "Over there's the tech lab, but we'll need a scientist before we can open that door–Illusive Man's orders, I guess. The rest of the doors are open. Third deck is one level down, where you can eat and see the doctor. Below that is Engineering."
"Thanks," I said, inclining my head. "I'll go take a look around."
He nodded and snapped off a salute. I watched him disappear, and set about exploring the Normandy and her new capabilities.