Author's Note:
I am so, so sorry to all of my readers for the unprecedented wait time on this chapter. Even with my vacation earlier on, thirty-eight freakin' days is way too much. A lot of that was from my procrastination, as to be honest this chapter was harder to commit to than the last (mainly due to writer's block, but I dealt with it by playing video games- making it worse). The rest was simply being busy, but it still shouldn't have taken this long.
So, here it is! Just over ten thousand words of third chapter, crafted for your viewing pleasure. Well, that's the intent, anyways. You may be able to detect where I stumbled through at times, but I hope I did a satisfactory job of cleaning it up. TBH, it was a bit of a rushed effort. I will try to do better next time.
CHAPTER THREE: LAZARUS RISING
Lazarus Research Station, Deep Space, Omega Nebula
0910 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Saturday, August 15th, 2185
Miranda sat before the computer interface in her office, doing anything but work. This was only acceptable from her standpoint considering the dearth of business that needed to be accomplished, although that wasn't explicitly true. She did have a report to draft for the Illusive Man, which he had requested the previous evening to give him her perspective on the approaching wakeup phase. She also had to work out personnel transfers to Minuteman Station through the coming weeks, and to give last-minute instructions on the handling of Matriarch Treyana… Alright, she really did have things to do.
Despite Miranda's responsibilities, something was interfering with her concentration that day which was making it difficult to approach her work. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was a sort of funny anxiousness that made it hard for her to really do anything, and she found herself procrastinating heavily. Just when she was starting to get truly frustrated, a subtle ping resonated from her omni-tool.
It wasn't an alert that she had heard very often, but she did remember what it was for: It was meant to play when she used her command codes to override one system or another, from unlocking a sealed door on the station to changing the security requirements of a file. There was no reason that the alert should have gone off, given that she hadn't done anything for it to acknowledge. No good reason, anyway. Quickly, the Director conjured her wrist-mounted display to see what had caused the sound to play, hoping that she had misremembered it as something more important than it really was. She was disappointed, however, when she found that an override notification was placed smack-dab in the middle of her screen.
She tapped the alert to get it to go away, and then brought up a window showing her override history. The most recent one showed as being a top-level lockdown of one of the rooms on the Medical level, although she wasn't familiar enough with all of the ordering codes to discern what its designation meant beyond that it was a surgery ward. However, it didn't take much supposition from there to conclude that it was the only one in use that day… the one that Shepard was inside.
Miranda rushed to pull up a live recording of the area, and it took all too long to get the feed to show on her screen. The camera was mounted up in a corner across from the room, which meant that it wasn't the finest angle on the door, but it was good enough. It showed nothing. Nobody was standing outside, and a separate camera feed from the observation area above the ward didn't show anyone within either. Despite her fears, Shepard was still present (and a quick look at the medical readouts showed that she was healthy, too), and so this left Miranda wondering what in the world was going on. Was it a malfunction of some sort, or did somebody actually use her command codes after all? She slowly rewound the first camera's footage a couple of minutes until she saw a flurry of activity, and then fast-forwarded back through until she saw only a lone figure in the frame.
It was Wilson, standing outside of the door that he had just gone through. He looked nervous, pulling his omni-tool up to tap a series of keys while scanning the area around him. The status indicator above the door turned to red, signifying that it was locked, and the man turned to swiftly walk out of view. How the hell had he gotten her codes, and why was he using them to lock a damn door? He almost certainly wasn't trying to hurt Shepard- especially considering all of the work that he had put into her- and so there weren't many options where his motives were concerned.
Perhaps he was isolating her in preparation for some kind of sabotage, like venting the station's atmosphere. That wouldn't work, though, as the installation was compartmentalized in case of a hull breach. If he planned to blow a hole in it, he could be foiled by a few closed doors- he had to know that. In any event, whatever plan he had likely required Shepard to be alive, meaning that he probably wanted to transfer her elsewhere. Mercenary organizations, the Shadow Broker, the Alliance- There were many possibilities, and all of them were bad.
Whatever the case, Wilson needed to be stopped before he could cause damage. This meant that she needed to figure out where he was headed, and get Security on him fast. The Director hurriedly opened an interface to the station's RFID tracking system, which she admittedly used to spy on people every now and then. This time, however, it was being used to apprehend a likely traitor. She put in Wilson's credentials, entered them, and nothing came up. He wasn't on Lazarus Station anymore, at least as far as the systems could tell. This obviously being untrue, Miranda tried to come up with another way to find him. Suddenly, a realization struck.
If Wilson was using her credentials to access things, it was probable that he could appear as the Director to electronic tagging systems. Using this assumption, she searched up herself in the interface. Unsurprisingly, she was faced with her own location in her office compartment. What was interesting, though, is that she was notified of a duplicate entity onboard. She traced it to the station's Networking room, which was two floors below hers and a very bad place for Wilson to be in. If the CMO's intent was malicious- which it certainly was- then he could do a lot of harm from within there. Disable the base's communications and data processing, maybe, leaving it unable to call for help when the traitorous operative's employers showed up. Perhaps he could also disable the security mechs, which would cut their guard force down significantly and make boarding much easier. The Director was struck by the horrific thought of dozens of attackers rushing in through the docking bay to destroy her work, which seemed all too near to becoming true.
She wanted to stop Wilson before he could sabotage the project, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to get there in time. Neither would the security team, considering that they weren't anywhere close to being mobilized yet. The best option remaining was simply tucking tail and leaving the station with Shepard. Even though this would likely get in the way of everything that they had yet to do, it was better than sticking around and seeing what would happen. In any event, many things would have to come together for this to work as she hoped. As her first step, she made a call to one of her most trusted coworkers- Security Captain Jacob Taylor.
Jacob was having a good day, or at least as good of one as he could have been since he woke up two hours before. The Security officers started the day early, dually a blessing and a curse of working on the station that usually resulted in tiredness and a mediocre morning. Having been in the Alliance not so many years before (where the normal wakeup time was oh-dark-thirty, or even before then), Jacob would never have thought that leaving the sack at 0700 would be anything less than a luxury- but living a more cushy, civilian life with Cerberus had a way of changing things.
That morning had been a bit different, though, as he had slept well and had a hearty breakfast. His early workout routine had him feeling energized, and even sitting in his office and minding the station's security network wasn't as boring as usual. He even elected to stream in music, and all was well and dandy until something came along to utterly, unequivocally ruin his day.
Jacob's omni-tool buzzed angrily, startling him from his thoughts. He turned over his wrist to see the display, and noticed that the call was from the Ice Queen. Strike one for his good mood- the woman had a way of poisoning all happiness around her in recent times. The next strike came from the call's "high-priority" marker, and the third to approximately five-hundredth from its premise.
"Wait, what do you mean he's gone rogue?!" Jacob demanded. "Wilson's devoted himself to this project, why would he do something now?"
"I don't know!" Miranda shot back, far from her usual calm. "All I'm sure of is that I saw him lock the door, with my codes. He shouldn't be able to do that!" The Security Captain was uncomfortably reminded that his superior had the ability (and the inclination, as previous behavior had shown) to worm her way into his systems without his knowing. Given, this time it has resulted in the knowledge that CMO Wilson was quite possibly a traitorous bastard, but it was still a moderate breach of trust even if she was within her privileges to do so.
"Okay, okay. I'll run an ID check to see if I can find him." Jacob went to pull up a menu for the system, but before he could type in the man's credentials, the Director stopped him.
"No, I already know where he is. He's in Networking, doing God-knows-what, and I'm afraid he's going to make us miserable. I want you to pull Shepard out."
"Wait, Miranda, hold on. I can get my guys on him real fast, stop him in his tracks." He activated the Security station's ready-alarm, calling his men into the prep room as he got up. "There's no reason to go and move her just because Wilson's trying to screw us up- He obviously wants her alive, or else we'd be cleaning her up right about now. Just let me deal with him, and the Illusive Man can take care of the rest."
"No, Jacob, my orders stand. Send a separate team after him if you can, but priority one is Shepard. I'm going to head down there to open the lockdown, and you need to help me transport her to the docking bay. I want an armed escort for this; we can't afford for anything to happen to her." Fair enough. Jacob could see her side, even though he did disagree on what needed to be done. The woman might have insight into the subject that Jacob did not, however, and it was his job to listen to what she said, anyway. If nothing else, he didn't want to find out what might happen to him if he disobeyed her to the cost of Cerberus' most valued asset. Nothing good, to be sure. As such, he acknowledged the Director and ended the call.
The ready room was just down the hallway from Jacob's office, neighboring the rec area and the Security station's bunkroom. It was already inhabited by all fifteen of the men under him, most of whom had already taken the initiative to don their body armor and secure their weapons. Any discussion died down as he entered the door, a silent question hanging in the air over the reason for the call-up.
"Guys, we've got a serious problem," He said, striding forwards to take his body armor off of the rack. It wasn't a fancy system, just a plate carrier with inbuilt kinetic barrier projectors, but it was a lifesaver if there was any chance of getting fired upon. "Chief Medical Officer Wilson has deserted his post, and from information that Miranda gave me, it looks like he's trying to sabotage the project." This was met with varying reactions from his subordinates, from a mixture of disbelief and apprehension from the rookies (most of his team, admittedly) to quiet acceptance from his more professional counterparts. He already knew who'd be doing what.
"Manuel," Jacob said, turning to his most senior teammate. The man was the leader of the night shift, and was competent and resourceful- a good fit for the job he had for him. "You're going to lead a team up to Networking and grab Wilson. Primary objective is to stop him before he can do anything, but try to take him alive if you can." The officer gave him a nod, and immediately waved over the other members of his shift. Despite the tiredness that they all showed, Jacob knew that he could trust them to get things done. Now, he had his own problems to deal with.
"Eddie, Ty," he said, picking out two from his own shift. "You go and prep the mechs in storage, just in case. The rest of us are going to go and secure Shepard for transit off-station. Make sure that they're all linked, I don't want them just standing around like last drill." He backed up to the door, gear in order, and addressed the entire room. "Everybody understand what we're doing here?" When he got a series of answers to the positive, he nodded in acknowledgement. "Alright. This is the real deal, people- let's go!"
The ready room cleared out quickly, the separate teams rushing out of the door and to their respective destinations. Jacob's team of five (himself included) wound up in the elevator further from the station, having given up the more opportune one so that Manuel's team could get to Wilson faster. As they filed into their own elevator car, the Security Captain flashed his ID badge in front of the reader and selected the Medical floor. The ride was simultaneously quick and altogether too long, and when the door opened again his team stepped out to see a small crowd of orderlies standing before the entrance to the operation wing.
"Hey, Captain!" One of the men from the group piped up upon seeing them. "What's happening? We can't get in, and Wilson's gone. Are you here to unlock it?" Jacob had a moment of conflicting thoughts, as on one hand he wanted to give it to them straight and on the other he didn't want to start a panic over what might be resolved soon. Considering the possibility that their problems could increase a hundredfold if whomever Wilson might be working for made a visit, honesty won over.
"Wilson's a traitor, and he locked up the ward to isolate us from Shepard. I'm not sure what he's planning, but we're gonna try and get her out before things have a chance to get worse." It was immediately obvious that the medical professionals were unprepared for that kind of revelation, judging by their flabbergasted expressions. The man who had initially asked was the first to recover, or at least the only one to talk.
"Wait, wait, why would he-" Jacob interrupted the orderly with a raised hand, dismissing his question.
"His motives don't matter. What does is getting the subject out- the sooner the better." The Security Captain strode up through the bunch (he counted six), waving them out of the way as he approached the door. He looked up at the red lock indicator, and then opted to hold his ID in front of a sensor on the doorframe. Nothing.
"Well, it was worth a shot," he accounted to himself, giving the door a kick for good measure. Obviously, Miranda had been right about Wilson using her codes. With that made clear, Jacob reluctantly accepted that he and his men would have to wait for the Director to show up- which, knowing where she was coming from, could take a moment. Just as the Security Captain was about to organize his team, though, he heard a staccato clicking noise from the other side of the group of civilians. Jacob was just beginning to realize what the clicking was when a hail of bullets flew into his kinetic barrier. Several of the medical staff crumpled to the floor, and Jacob instinctively dove out of the way to avoid the incoming fire. He came up behind the open doorway that he had tossed himself into, and hazarded a quick peek outside despite the bullets snapping past a short distance away.
It was mechs. Not the kind of military-grade drones that he would be expecting from any hostile presence aboard the station, but the actual guard mechs themselves. This came across his mind in a short, curious realization- but then it was ultimately suppressed, as he was flooded with adrenaline and forgot everything other than what was most important: There were civilians in harm's way, plus his four men. Nobody was prepared for the sudden attack, and the two machines standing just down the hallway were freely mowing the surgeons down. Jacob raised his pistol, which he had unholstered without thinking, and fired back.
The mechs' weapons were dissimilar from his own, being all-electric mass accelerators that were nearer to carbines than to the compact chemical-propellant pistol that the Security Captain held in his hands. The mechanical rasp of the automated guards' weapons was much quieter than the gunshots from the officers' sidearms, and they were soon drowned out as the five men loosed their magazines into the pair of robots.
The two mechs weathered the fire rather well, if only for a moment. As soon as their ceramic torso armor had been damaged enough by the officers' volley of tungsten-cored bullets, a few projectiles made it through and wrecked their fragile innards. One of the machines was cut down almost immediately, and then the other caught fire after someone struck its power cell. There was a brilliant flash as the battery let loose its pent-up energy, gutting the mech and sending bits of it flying in all directions as it collapsed. For the second time in under a minute, Jacob's kinetic barrier had quite possibly saved his life.
There had been nothing to save the civilians, however. They had fallen into a pile where they had been standing, only two looking to have reacted at all. It hadn't done them any good, though; just making the two men fall facing away from the mechs after they had tried to run for it. The rest, riddled with bullets that they'd had no idea were coming, had just ended up in a tangled heap on the floor. Already they were draining a huge, crimson puddle onto the deck, dead eyes staring out from startled expressions.
Jacob just stared back for a moment, not quite able to react to what he was seeing. All six of the men and women lying dead before him had been his charge, and he had failed to keep them safe. Given, he'd had no idea anything dangerous was happening before it was too late, but that made it even more his fault. He could have formed up his team instead of letting them stand in front of the elevator, could have moved the surgeons out of the way, something. It was done, though; it had happened and it was on his watch. Jacob forced himself to look away.
As his gaze shifted from the corpses, so did his thoughts. It'd hit him again later, though, stay with him too. That just wasn't the kind of thing you could get away from, not entirely. In the present, however, he set into a hardened calm. It was decision-making time, and he was faced with several problems.
Hostiles on-base, with definite compromise of the station's network of security mechs. That most likely left Jacob and his fifteen officers as the only defending element on the station, with the possibility of over three dozen armed mechs and an unknown number of other hostiles to contend with. His force was split, and less than half was directly present near their primary objective. This objective couldn't be reached safely until the Director came around, but there could be any number of things holding her up. She could even be dead, leaving his team unable to get into the ward and extract Shepard without breaking something first.
Jacob wanted to play it safe, understanding that acting without knowing could harm their ability to get Shepard out. The door almost certainly couldn't be pried, especially with the lack of on-hand tools, and explosively breaching it (again, with supplies that his team didn't have with them) could kill Shepard. They might be able to go in through the observation area above the wing, but then again the door was almost certainly locked on the other side as well. It'd be of no use, and so the Security Captain elected to wait for Miranda.
In the meantime, there were still things that needed to be done. Jacob knew that there were several more guard mechs on the Medical floor, and so it was likely that they would be making an appearance soon enough. The bodies of the surgeons (all dead, they'd checked) needed to be moved, and the room across from Shepard's ward seemed as good a place as any. This'd reduce the team's ability to respond to approaching threats, however, so only two men could work on that while the other three watched the pair of hallways leading to their position. It was a precarious place to be, and he hoped that the Director would show up before anything else did.
Jacob noticed the faint whir of security mechs moving around down the corridor, dashing his hopes for respite. However long it took Miranda to reach him, it was likely going to be a tough time.
Miranda sprinted through the hallways of the Administration level, pistol in her hands as she went. She was almost out of ammunition after engaging the last pair of mechs, and she was also hurting from where they'd hit her biotic barrier. Save her life as the repulsive field might, impacts could still bruise the tissue that it came from. She pushed more energy into the barrier as she rounded the corner, only to find nothing waiting for her. From there, it'd be a straight shot to the elevator that would take her down to Medical.
The elevator door hissed shut as she entered her destination, and after the car had descended three levels it opened up to show several guns pointed at her. Luckily, they belonged to Captain Taylor's team of security officers. The men relaxed, although still keeping a watchful eye on the corridors outside of her elevator, and Jacob motioned her across. That was when she noticed the blood.
There was a huge puddle of it just outside of the door, already darkening as it congealed. It was accompanied by a large smear running into another ward across from Shepard's, hinting that more than a few bodies had to be disposed of there. Two of the officers were covered in blood from the waist down as well, likely having dragged the corpses themselves.
"Yours?" She asked, gesturing to the crimson stain. Jacob's face was a stone, and his tone was flat when he answered her.
"No, they were civilians. The surgeons that Wilson had working with him." She thought she saw his expression change for a moment, almost like he was about to bare his teeth at the traitor's mention, but it went away as quickly as it arrived. He turned towards the door. "Mind letting us in? I think we need to get her and go."
Nodding, the Director stepped around the blood on the floor while holding out her ID. The reader recognized it, and because she had "officially" given the lockdown, it opened to let them in. However, something was wrong.
Shepard wasn't there anymore.
"Oh, God!" She exclaimed, her hands immediately flying to grip her skull. "She was just in here, where did she go?!" Her mind raced, thinking of various nightmarish possibilities. Maybe the footage of the inside of the room had been false, doctored. Perhaps the woman hadn't been there at all, and Wilson's deeds were just a distraction as whoever had taken her had made their escape. The how didn't matter, though, as she was still gone. Everything she had worked for, just… gone.
Jacob rushed past her, picking up the bundle of tubes that had been feeding Shepard air, water, food and medicine for the past few months. "This is still wet," he said. "And warm, too. She's been gone minutes, maybe- but my team's been here for that long. There's no way she could have been taken while we were there, not without us noticing." When Miranda didn't say anything in response, he put down the tubes and turned around to look into the MRI across from the surgery table. There was nothing there, either.
"Jacob," the Director started, looking towards the observation area in the ceiling. "She didn't get taken from up above, and none of the vents are out of place either. I don't understand, what happened to her?!" The man gave her an annoyed look, clearly not welcoming her input. She was about to berate him for letting the whole thing happen, when a quiet scuffing sound came from the other side of a bulky life support machine in the corner. Jacob walked over to it, leaning around cautiously with his gun at his side.
Miranda caught a flash of white surgery gown just in time to see her Security Captain get tackled to the ground.
Ten minutes earlier...
Jennifer had had an awful nightmare. A sudden, unstoppable threat, half her crew killed— She still had the image in her mind of the last moment of the dream, where everything had just disappeared in terrible white light. And the hospital room after… Already it was faint, receding like most dreams did shortly after one awoke. She could hardly remember it, but still reached out to Liara for comfort. Her arm caught on something, though, and her heavy-lidded eyes flew open.
It hadn't been a dream. Oh, God, it hadn't been one at all!
Her limbs were caught up in straps that were mounted to the padded table that she was on, and she tried frantically to remove them. They were rather loose, and came off easily enough. The tubes that were in her mouth and nose were next to go, although it made her sick to pull them all out at once. Her IVs went, too, but the venous catheters stayed- just in case. She might not have felt much better physically, but after getting rid of all of the medical equipment she was much more sound of mind.
Jennifer sat up on the table, noting that she was clad only in a gown, and more closely examined the room. There was no-one about, and it was full of all manner of large devices. From an MRI machine across from the table to a rather menacing robotic surgery system pulled off to the side, it looked as if it had been set up for an operation. It definitely wasn't the place that she remembered from her "dream," which was made more disconcerting by the absence of surgeons.
Shepard looked through a window that was set high into the ceiling, and saw that there wasn't anyone there, either. Perhaps no-one was around at all, but why? Maybe she had been left alone because it was thought that she would stay asleep. Perhaps she had been in a coma. That could explain why she was in a hospital room all by her lonesome, while still hooked into life support equipment. What it didn't explain, though, was the surgical setup.
Inspection from afar made it seem that the equipment around her was effectively spotless, no dust visible and all surfaces nicely polished. She seemed clean enough, too, in fact still possessing a pair of catheters that she was soon rid of. The waste receptacle was underneath the table, making it difficult to judge, but she supposed that it would have to be emptied out regularly. Whoever did that likely took care of her general cleanliness as well, further supporting the theory that she had been comatose. By the state of the room and the kind of equipment therein, it was possible that the hospital was prepared for emergency surgery as well. Maybe she wasn't in good condition, still, and removing the drips and such wasn't a good idea.
Self-concern fell by the wayside, though, as Shepard thought again of the Normandy. She had to know what had happened to her crew- to her bondmate- while she'd been out. The doctors, or at least whoever they worked for (it was most likely an Alliance hospital), would probably have some idea.
Jennifer searched fruitlessly for a moment among the flashing and buzzing displays of the life support machines, trying to find a "call nurse for assistance" button. There was none, although it was probable that her pulling out all of the tubes and leads would make them send someone running. When that happened, she could finally get some answers. In the meantime, though, she was inclined to wait. A thudding headache (which she really hoped wasn't a consequence from her earlier panic) had climbed its way into her skull, and she suddenly felt rather tired. Yes, waiting would be good.
Minutes passed, and still no doctors. Shepard had no idea what was holding them up, or even if they were coming at all, and she slowly began to get frustrated with sitting idly on the surgery table. The pounding in her head had dulled somewhat, making it easier to think, and she started to feel as if she had several years' worth of pent-up energy to get rid of. It was obvious that she hadn't moved around in a good while, at least, if her stiff limbs could attest to it, and all of the fidgeting in the world couldn't help her desire to just get off the table and leave. Jennifer didn't feel so ill anymore, and she figured that since nothing else had developed then she was probably okay. At least, she thought she was. The only way to really test the theory would be to move around a bit, and she really wanted to get up. It wasn't long before she'd made her decision, and off the table she went.
The floor was cold beneath her bare feet as Shepard slowly lowered herself to the ground, and she was stiff and tingly all over. She was still strong, though, which meant that it couldn't have been too long since the disaster over Alchera. So she hoped, at least. When she was fully supported by her own two feet and a firm grip on the bed, she slowly let go to test her balance. She was just fine, which was a little surprising considering that she had just recently been comatose. A cautious step was followed by another, and then she steadily increased the range and complexity of her motions until she was confident that she was still functional enough. What was curious, though, was the actual state of her body.
It hadn't taken long for Jennifer to notice just how pale her skin was. She was as white as a cave crawler doused in bleach, which couldn't be healthy. Surely she wasn't anemic, but there wasn't any way that she could have been inside for long enough to lose her well-tanned complexion. At least, she didn't want to think of the implications if that was the case. Pallor aside, though, she was still in good shape- very good shape, in fact, better than she remembered. Despite how Alliance gene mods had made her better able to build and retain muscle mass, there really wasn't any reason why she would have gotten stronger while she was unconscious- however long that'd been.
Every new thing that she learned did nothing to answer her questions, only adding more to the pile as she investigated herself. Her shoulder-length brown hair was gone, shorn to mere stubble against her scalp. Her right arm no longer popped from when it had been wrenched from its socket in gravball when she was a kid. The various scars that had adorned her arms and legs (even her huge acid burn from the thresher attack on Akuze) had vanished without a trace, and her skin as a hole was spotless- not even any freckles to be found. Unnatural. Unsettling. Wrong.
Jennifer's thoughts were interrupted by a faint noise from outside, a fluctuating buzz that almost sounded like far-off talking. She wouldn't have noticed it if the room hadn't been so quiet, but the life support machines weren't making a racket anymore and therefore didn't obscure it. It grew for a moment, quieted, and then Shepard nearly jumped out of her skin as there was a hollow thunk from the other side of the door. It was near the bottom, almost as if someone had kicked it, and it sounded as if it had been muffled by noise reduction foam. That'd explain why she couldn't tell what was being said, but it also masked what exactly the situation was outside the door. She shrank back, not entirely sure how to approach the problem, and waited for whoever was on the other side to come in.
A moment passed, and nothing happened. Shepard started wondering about why the person (or people) on the other side of the door couldn't get in, and then she was distracted by yet another sound entering through the noise-muffling walls. It was something hat she could only really equate to dropping a ball bearing into a metal bucket, except repeated almost a dozen times a second. It took until a hole was punched into the wall before her that she realized what the sound was. Mass accelerator fire, full automatic, and from the sound of it it was from two or three guns.
Jennifer immediately ducked in an effort to minimize her profile, although it didn't seem that the gunfire was directed at her. However, she didn't want to become a victim of whatever was going on outside the room. She snatched a scalpel off of a large tray of medical instruments, and then found refuge behind a big, solid-looking machine sitting in the corner of the room. If anyone came into the room, hopefully they wouldn't look there. If they did, depending on the situation, she might be able to surprise them. Ideally, though, that that wouldn't have to happen.
What sounded like the loud bangs of chemical-propellant gunshots grew into a roar outside the room, likely meaning that whoever had started up the shooting was taking return fire. It only lasted for a few seconds, and then ended rather abruptly. Someone had won the engagement, although Shepard had no way of knowing who. At that moment, she had absolutely no idea as to what was happening at all, and it was terrifying. She felt very vulnerable, alone in the ward with only a scalpel for her protection, and she didn't know if whatever had gone on outside pertained to her or not. Considering what had occurred in her recent history, though, it probably did.
Again, nothing happened for a couple of minutes. There were muffled thumps coming from far away, as if more gunshots were ringing off somewhere else in whatever place she was in. If she listened really close, she thought that she could also hear what sounded like heavy objects being moved around on the other side of the wall in front of her. People, maybe. Bodies.
All of a sudden, there was a clicking sound as the door to the ward unlocked. It slid open with a hiss, and Jennifer heard at least two pairs of footsteps- one heavy, one light- come in. There was a gasp, feminine, and then a woman with an Australian accent shouted hysterically.
"Oh, God! She was just in here, where did she go?!" So, they were looking for her, after all. Who "they" were wasn't clear, but Shepard didn't want to risk looking. Maybe they were good guys, maybe not. Whoever they were, they were probably just involved in a shooting battle, and they wanted to find her. Hopefully they didn't want to kill her, too, but that remained to be seen. In the meantime, Jennifer heard the heavier person (most likely a man, perhaps a soldier of some kind) stride over to pick something up off of the ground. It sounded like something hollow and plastic, maybe the bundle of air and feeding tubes that she'd gotten rid of.
"This is still wet, and warm too." The man had an accent that made Shepard assume that he was African-American, and despite the stress that his counterpart exhibited, he spoke calmly and directly. "She's been gone minutes, maybe, but my team's been here for that long. There's no way she could have been taken while we were there, not without us noticing." So, he had a "team" of some sort. The soldier guess was likely accurate, although she couldn't know who he worked for unless she put herself at risk. Jennifer still had no reason to believe that those people wouldn't shoot her if she showed herself, and so she kept listening.
The woman talked about how Shepard apparently hadn't been "taken" through the ceiling window, which now that she thought of it was probably for some kind of observation area for surgeries. The woman also seemed to think that Shepard could have been fit through the overhead vents, although that was doubtful. Something about how the woman was so frightened by Jennifer's seeming absence made her wonder whether their intent was truly malicious, as it sounded like there was another party involved that was going after her specifically. She decided to hazard a look.
There was a coil of tubing on the end of the machine, with a long section of it snaking across the floor to the bit that had been in Jennifer's throat a short while earlier. The coil was large and thick, and was probably good enough to obscure most of her head as she made to peek through the hole in the middle. She saw the back of the man (whose name was Jacob, apparently) not so far from where she crouched behind the machine, and the woman was mostly obscured by him. He had on a set of black matte BDUs of a sort that Shepard didn't recognize, and a plate carrier was fitted to his torso. A pistol was holstered on the right side of his waist, as well.
Even aside from the minimalist, civilian-looking grey uniform of the woman, Jennifer could determine that the two individuals almost certainly weren't Alliance personnel. Neither of them had any immediately visible insignia, either, and so she couldn't tell what mercenary group they were a part of (if any). This meant that either she wasn't in Alliance custody, or the individuals were hostile. Maybe even both, if she was exceedingly unlucky. She pulled back from looking through the tube coil, settling back on her haunches. As she did so, unfortunately, one of her feet slipped against the rubberized metal floor. It made a sound, and the intruders certainly noticed. Shit.
Jennifer tensed as she heard the man step slowly towards her hiding spot. The machine was large enough (plus having several cables and tubes hanging down from the ceiling) that she couldn't be immediately seen, but he had to know that she was there. How he presented himself when he came into view would change the way that she would act, although she couldn't think of any likely scenario that didn't involve one of them attacking the other. Not enough was known in order to make a safe decision.
The first glimpse of the man that Shepard caught was of the right side of his body. His hand was at his side, but his pistol was unholstered and probably ready to fire. A quick thought concluded that that could mean he wasn't immediately hostile, but she couldn't take that risk. If she stayed in place, he could easily back up and execute her with impunity. In order to be cautious, she would have to remove him as a threat. If it was all a misunderstanding, that could be corrected more easily than a bullet in her skull. As the rest of the man's body came around the edge of the life support machine, Jennifer didn't give him a chance to react.
In a flash, she was upon him. Her left hand went for his gun, locking his wrist as she slammed into his stomach and bowled him over. They both flew back into a monitor stand, knocking it down as Shepard twisted the gun away from him. He resisted reflexively, trying to grab her with his left arm while the other was pinned, but she leveraged herself free and moved behind him. In seconds she had his right arm twisted behind his back, his left arm pinned by her legs and the scalpel at his throat. He froze, and the woman seemed nearly to faint. Everyone was silent for a tense moment, and then Jennifer spoke.
At least, she tried to. Something was wrong with her larynx that she hadn't noticed before, and the sharp croak that came from her lips wasn't at all like what she was trying to say. Her throat felt like someone had jammed it full of broken glass and tore it out all at once, and it only got worse as she let loose a hacking cough. It was wet and painful, but after a second or so she felt a little better. Luckily, the man before her hadn't tried to exploit her weakness to escape. Smart of him. The woman looked like she was about to bolt, though, and so Shepard hastened to discourage her.
"Lady," she started, speaking in a rasping growl that didn't sound at all like her. "If you so much as move an inch, your pal Jacob here is going to find himself with a punctured artery. You don't want that, now, do you?" To enforce her point, she pushed the scalpel harder into his neck. It didn't break the skin, probably, but his whole body flinched in response. The woman appeared to look upon him appraisingly, as if she was weighing his life, before raising her palms in capitulation.
"Alright, I'm not going to do anything rash. What do you want?" The woman's expression turned into a cold stare, making it seem as though she had every intention of actually doing something rash.
"I want you to take your pistol out of your holster, slowly." The woman made a precise move towards her handgun, making Shepard worried that she was going to try to use the weapon against her. She didn't, though, instead pulling it out by the end of the handgrip and holding it away from herself to show her compliance. "Yes, now put it on the ground. Slide it over here, please." The woman's kick wasn't quite hard enough to get it to her, but it was sufficient to send the pistol most of the way before it skidded to a halt. No matter, though, as there was another handgun easily within reach- as long as she could get her hands free, which was a problem.
"Okay," the woman said. "Now I'm unarmed. I take it you want to know what's happening?"
"Essentially, yes. First, though, I need to make sure that your friend can't fight me." She looked down at the man's utility belt, which seemed to fit the loadout for a security guard or somesuch. Sure enough, there was a set of heavy metal (possibly biotics-resistant) cuffs hanging off the front of his waist. She'd either have to release his right arm to get at them or have the woman do it, but she didn't particularly trust either option. In the end, doing it herself seemed marginally safer.
"Jacob," she said, the man reacting minimally to her address. "I'm gonna trust you not to do anything stupid while I get your handcuffs. You keep your hands to yourself, and you won't end up spraying blood everywhere. Got it?" He grunted in acceptance, a sound that was half bitter and half nervous. He'd probably be civil. "Alright, I'm releasing your hand, now. Don't try anything." Shepard quickly grasped the cuffs and pulled them from the man's belt, opening them up with her right hand and securing one half onto Jacob's same wrist. He got the message, and with a bit of cautious arrangement Shepard released her legs from his left arm and fastened the other cuff. He was then much easier to trust. Her scalpel stayed at his throat, though, as she recovered his handgun from the floor and pointed it at the woman.
The woman flinched, and her left shoulder moved forward just the right way for the insignia there to be seen. Just a flash of it, of course, but it was enough for Jennifer to recognize it. An elongated black hexagon, hollow and open on one end while being bordered by a pair of orange sections wrapped around its sides- the logo of Cerberus.
Even though she admittedly didn't know a huge amount about the organization, Shepard already understood enough about them to know that their involvement posed a serious problem. They were the type of entity that had secretive institutions and unknowable goals, and the specifics on them were just about unknowable from a military intelligence point of view. She'd had a fair amount of experience with them in recent history, and what she'd found out from it was awful. They weren't the kind of group that she wanted to be dealing with- not then, not there.
"What the hell is Cerberus doing here?!" Jennifer demanded, keeping the pistol trained on the woman. "Tell me, now!"
"Nothing bad, Commander, I swear! This is my station!" Now, that didn't make any damn sense. If she would be in anyone's custody after Alchera, it'd be the Alliance. The Cerberus operative looked terrified; she'd probably be making up anything to save her own skin. It wasn't very convincing, though. Shepard had half a mind to pull the trigger, but her train of thought was interrupted when an omni-tool display lit up on Jacob's left arm. It was buzzing with an incoming call from a certain "Dpty. Miguel Ortega." She accepted it by swiping the display, and a panting voice came over the line.
"Jacob, my team and I have cleared out most of the upper levels- we weren't fast enough! Most of the staff are dead. Better luck on your end?" Jennifer had no idea what the man was talking about, but it was important that she hear it. She tapped Jacob's shoulder to signal him to respond.
"Not a whole lot," he said. Shepard was worried that he was going to tell about her interference, but the blade against the man's neck probably made a difference there. He might have been employed by extremists, but he wasn't suicidal. "The medical staff down here got slaughtered, no survivors. Did you catch Wilson?"
"Sorry, what? You're gonna have to speak up!" Jacob did his best to lean his head over while pulling his arm into into microphone range.
"I asked, did you catch Wilson?"
"No, sir, he's dead. It looked like he fucked up; the mechs ventilated him before we got there." Jacob's shoulders seemed to slacken a bit.
"Alright, that's good. Not optimal, but good. Miguel, I want you to grab any survivors you can find and get them to the docking bay for evac. I'll see when I can get over there with Shepard, but it might take a while- It's a bit complicated to get her moving. Clear?"
"Yes sir, I read you. You sure you don't want us to meet you halfway?"
"Yeah, we'll be fine. It doesn't take so many men to push a gurney. Good luck." With that, Jacob gestured for Shepard to close the comm. She pushed the appropriate button, and the holographic screen faded away. Then, they were back to business.
"Thank you for not doing anything troublesome," she said, lessening the pressure of her scalpel against Jacob's throat. The man relaxed relaxed somewhat. Then, her attention turned to the woman who was still staring down her gun barrel. "Now, if this really is your station, what the fuck is happening? I heard mechs mentioned?"
"There's been a security breach," the woman said, likely distorting the situation somewhat. "And someone- Wilson, as you just heard- turned our automated guard force against us. That's why we're here." She motioned to herself and Jacob, as well as swinging one hand around to gesture outside the room- as if to remind Shepard of the other operatives still beyond the closed door. "We're trying to get you off-station, to where you can be safe. As I don't doubt you've inferred by now, you're very important to us- even if you don't trust our organization." Damn right she didn't trust them. For all she knew, every word coming out of the woman's mouth could be a lie. The evidence didn't quite fit with that, though, but the whole situation was too ridiculous to believe.
Just how would Cerberus have gotten a hold of her after the Normandy was destroyed? The ship that had attacked them surely wasn't human-made, which ruled out the possibility of it being them who did the shooting. The group would have had to show up on the scene after the fact, before the Alliance, and recover Shepard from vacuum fast enough for her to stay alive. If they didn't know where to find the ship, though, how would they have done it? For that matter, why? The whole thing seemed suspicious, but the best avenue by which to get answers was most likely through the two people she was holding hostage. She decided to cooperate with them- for the meantime, at least. If she had the opportunity to escape to Alliance custody, she would take it immediately.
"Alright," Jennifer said, moving the muzzle of her pistol away from the Cerberus operative. "I'll work with you, if only for so long as to find out what I need to. I'm having a bit of a problem being confident you aren't trying to fool me, though, but let's see where this goes." The woman kept an impassive face, but the tension that flooded out of her was plainly noticeable.
"Good!" She said, straightening. "First thing, we need to get you to the docking bay as fast as possible. Since this station's been compromised, you'll be relocated to another one." At Shepard's skeptical look, she added: "I assure you that you'll be very interested in what we have in mind for you. You're with us for good reason." The Cerberus operative turned on her heel and headed for the door, Jacob standing up with his captor to follow. Instead of opening it, though, the woman turned around to address the person who was yet again pointing a gun at her head. "By the way, some things to know: There's a lot of blood in the corridor, but it's not caused by us. There were surgeons trying to get into this room when the mechs went haywire, and all of them died. So don't get scared and shoot anyone, okay?" Ignoring the operative's patronizing tone, Jennifer nodded.
As the door slid open, the first thing that Shepard noticed was the four men standing outside. They were clad similarly to Jacob, and all were armed. Then, she saw the blood that the woman had mentioned. It was all over the floor, with bootprints through and around it and a large smear leading into another room. That must have been caused along with the dragging noises she heard before. A look into the hallways that the men were busy watching revealed a pair of mangled humanoid robots. Both had weapons in their hands, and they were riddled with bullet holes. The Cerberus logo was displayed prominently on their chests and heads, lending further credence to the story she was being told. One of the men turned around, taking sight of the group.
"Hello, Director!" he said, luting as he looked towards the operative in front. When his gaze shifted to Jacob- and the grim-looking woman holding a gun to his head- he froze. Similar actions came from the other men, who did double takes upon realizing the situation. The "Director" would have none of it, though.
"Shepard might be awake, but the plan hasn't changed. We're going to the docking bay— Escort us there, now!" With encouragement from Jacob (who the Cerberus personnel addressed as "Captain,"), the group slowly formed itself together and crammed into an elevator just out the double-doors marking the entrance to the wing of surgery wards at had housed Jennifer. It was a short ride, and, surprisingly, no-one tried anything. Evidently, their respect for the Director's opinion transcended the fact that someone was holding their immediate superior hostage right next to them.
The elevator opened up to a wide corridor, which was connected to a cargo storage area on one end and the docking bay on the other. Directly across from the elevators was some kind of reception area labeled "Security," which was totally empty.
That was, of course, excepting the mechs.
There were half a dozen of the machines standing outside of the checkpoint, vigilant, but unarmed. Well, at least not with guns, although a mech without a firearm could still kill- especially if they were supplied with scaled-force measures like normal security drones. Thusly, it was no surprise when the machines turned on their heels and advanced on the newcomers.
They weren't very fast, which came with it being complicated to make a bipedal robot that could balance effectively while running. Budget bruisers didn't have that kind of tech, even after over a century of development. As such, the deliberate fast-walk that the mechs made almost looked comical. What wasn't so funny, though, was the long, dagger-like spike that deployed from each of their left wrists. Those were meant specifically for skewering people, and that would happen if they got close enough.
The mechs didn't make it halfway across before the quartet of guards opened fire. The closest one dropped almost immediately due to a lucky shot, as if a life-sized marionette had had its strings cut. Those that remained were not so short-lived, however, and powered right through the incoming fire. Some of them fell down from hits to their leg motors, but as a whole the group advanced. Just when they were getting close enough to be dangerous, the Director lit up in a bright blue aura and lashed out at the mechs. The almost-invisible wave of force she generated threw the machines off their feet, making them easy pickings as they tried clumsily to react. It was over almost as quickly as it began, and nothing else appeared.
The group of security officers advanced from the confines of the elevator, scanning for threats before they called up their charges. Shepard, who had been in the rear, less urged than followed Jacob out- he was obviously tired of being cuffed. She still needed a hostage, though, as they made good insurance. It was a swift walk into the docking bay, which was basically a large but oddly cramped room with seating and cargo handling accommodations. A curved radiation-resistant window looked out into space, revealing a pair of ships that were docked there.
The couplings seemed to be Alliance Freight Standard, and the airlocks were nice and big. Both of the craft looked like civilian cargo tugs, which made them each a minimalist assemblage of propellant tanks and storage units mounted symmetrically onto a central truss. Aside from the cargo and habitat modules up front and the reactor and engines in the rear to push them along, they almost looked like miniature, less-flashy Eiffel Towers in space. Not very charming, but nondescript enough to be forgettable in a trade system. Despite their appearance, though, their affiliation with Cerberus made it likely that they were armed.
"So, we're boarding one of those?" Shepard asked, drawing the attention of the Director.
"Yes, at least as soon as Deputy Ortega shows up. We might have to wait, though. He could have run into trouble." No more gunshots were echoing throughout the station, making this seem unlikely. Either the team was just fine and on their way, or they really had run into a snag and were wiped out. There was no way to know. Jacob shifted his wrists uneasily within the cuffs. Jennifer was actually considering letting him free when a sharp ding sounded from behind them. The second of the three elevators present opened up, and out came a trio of Cerberus security officers.
"Well, isn't that convenient?" Shepard said. The three men stopped, looked towards the other group, and then beckoned out a cluster of civilians from the elevator. Their black-and-white uniforms were crumpled and smudged, some of them streaked with drying blood. They looked to be in shock, all wide-eyed and silent as the security officers led them up to the docking bay. The few that were more calm simply seemed worn and tired, as did the officers leading them. One of the guards, a Hispanic man with a strong face and notably weathered features, walked right up to Shepard. She could make out "Ortega" on his nametape as he approached, and he seemed to eye her with a mix of suspicion and awe- as if he'd always wanted to see her, but had never imagined that she would be holding a gun to his superior's head when he did.
"Director," he asked, "I take it you're alright with this?"
"No, Deputy, I'm not." The woman seemed to pick her words carefully. "But if it helps the Commander to trust us a little more, then I'll allow it- for now." She made a pointed look towards Jennifer, making it clear that she meant what she was saying. "However I'll expect her to let the Captain go at some point in the near future. Does that satisfy you?" He stared a moment longer before giving a belated shrug.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I guess so. If I may, I need to go and get the rest of the staff up here. My team's still waiting for my go-ahead." The Director let him go, and pretty soon there were just over two dozen people in the docking bay. If that was all that was coming off the station, the amount of people that that weren't was unsettling. Regardless, they were about to go- which meant that Jennifer could finally figure out what all was happening. Maybe she could get back to the Alliance, see if she could help to prepare for the inevitability of the Reapers. Maybe she could find Liara again. She had to do something.
Eventually, after several instances of the security officers leaving to check for survivors and coming back empty-handed, it was time to abandon the station. Cerberus command had already been contacted for a cleanup crew to be sent, but elsewhere was of greater importance. The Director still wouldn't tell of where exactly they were going, but emphasized that there would be a time for questions and answers in the future. For the time being, though, Shepard retained her hostage.
Almost half an hour of tech checks and other measures kept everyone milling about in the cargo bay (which had been sealed off to prevent any wandering mechs from causing problems, despite the fact that all had been cleared from the level). At long last, however, one of the ships had been prepared for use. After two of the passenger compartments were filled with personnel and the stations were manned (cross-training proved useful), the locks were shut and vented to vacuum. Then came the slow and delicate process of decoupling from the station and maneuvering away with light thrusters, which Shepard saw none of but could hear clearly enough as little pops that adjusted the ship's orientation and longer pulses to provide real thrust.
All in all, it was just sitting in a crowded, dark room with a whole bunch of possible terrorists while she floated around in a glorified tin can on a stick. In due time, however, the fun part began. Or, depending on how you looked at it, the un-fun part. Acceleration! Faster-than-light-travel! Feeling like you weigh twice as much as you should while lying on your back in an ill-adjusted chair! Fun, hell. Mercifully, though, after the count-down ended and the ship kicked itself into gear, it was a very short trip. The Director's voice came up over the intercom.
"Personnel, we have arrived at Minuteman Station. Prepare for debriefing and medical examination after docking. Thank you for your cooperation." Needless to say, the relief was palpable.
Author's Note II:
I have a question for all those who made it to this point: Was this chapter too long? I'd suppose you are going to say yes, but please feel free to inform me in the reviews. One thing that I would love to get arranged right now is optimum chapter length, based on what the readers want. There could perhaps be longer ones, like this one (which take longer and I feel like I am rambling at times, although the length of the writing might actually be a symptom of that), or I could try to produce in the ~7,000 word range or less. Honestly, it seems to me like the content dictates the length, and I'll have to plan multi-part plot pieces differently. Regardless, please tell me what you think.
Also, I am curious as to whether I deviated back to my old passive-voice habits with Shepard and others in this chapter. It sure did feel like it at times, although I did try to eliminate that behavior. I am trying to become better as a writer, and both the process of writing this story and the feedback that I receive through it help me.
I thank all of you for reading, and I appreciate your coming here! I'll see you again with my next chapter, which will be oh-so-creatively titled: Minuteman!
Now, I need to sleep.