Ilos
Roux did not hear the alarm at first until the volume of the chime grew louder. Without taking his eyes off the screen of his terminal, he reached out and waved a hand over the sensor bud of the desk chronometer. The chimes halted. Stifling a yawn, he hit a key on his console and turned away. As soft music floated in the air, he opened the first drawer of his desk and reached for the small bottle nestled in the corner. Uncapping it, he leaned back in his chair and squeezed a drop into each of his eyes and closed them for several seconds. As he allowed himself to relax, he blanked his mind and let himself drift with the music into another world. A green world that smell of pine with a biting fresh tang in the air, the ground carpeted with swirling yellow-brown leaves, soft laughter. A smile lifted his lips.
A buzz at the door broke his dream bubble. He straightened as the marine sentry outside announced the steward. The hatch snapped aside. He spared a brief nod to the steward who stepped in with a covered tray and turned his attention back to his terminal. Moving briskly to the desk, the steward pulled out a hidden board above the first drawer and put down the tray. The admiral, he knew, never liked to be disturbed when he was busy so he removed the cloth, folded it neatly and placed it under the tray. After a visual examination to make sure everything was set out properly, he murmured that lunch was ready before he left the room.
Once the hatch closed behind the steward, Roux grabbed one of the sandwiches off the plate on the tray and took a bite, eyes intent on the screen. The taste of egg and ham were dry but the jam generously slathered lent some sweetness and moisture. Plain and simple but it was better than what was served in the mess. Until the next supply shipment come in, the grunts would have to make do with dry rations, paste and MREs (meals ready to eat). He took a sip from the cup on the tray and grimaced; the coffee was awful. It tasted days old with a slight sour tang. He hoped fresh coffee batches would appear soon, he'd rather not drink old stock for too long. He finished the first sandwich and started on the second without taking his eyes off the document on the screen.
With the Council resolution that Ilos would be a inclusive responsibility, the planet was placed on a rotational three years custodial supervision and protection to be shared by all council races. The dirty work of building up the infrastructure of the Ilos base fell to turians and humans who would take the first watch. Trust the Council to throw their most militant forces to the forefront. It couldn't have gone any other way. The Prothean Archives was a gold mine of information. Even with the TI strewing chaos out there, it was a tempting target to unscrupulous agencies. More so now that Cerberus elements were adding their ladles to the boiling mess.
Commander Donev and his staff had done a great job, laying the groundwork for the large garrison contingent, the civilian personnel and dealing with the logistics of essential supplies. Most particularly, generating as much collaborative interchanges with their turian counterparts as possible. Unfortunately, all their efforts also spawned the inevitable piles of electronic and hardcopy paperwork which he and his turian counterpart had to sign off. Still, it was easier to deal with reports than red tape and incessant requests from researchers.
The Prothean V.I. was stubbornly restricting access to everything except records on Prothean culture and indoctrination studies conducted by the last surviving Prothean scientists. It also meant there was no way of accessing the one and only confirmed Inusannon archives in existence. That had effectively quelled any possibility of a lengthy dispute among the ambassadors and scientific body. The vast store of knowledge presented an edge none of the Council races wanted to see in the hands of any one species. Hence, the reason why he and General Turrhein were lording over the dead rock and bouncing every single petition off each other. Hell, no one could fart in any direction unless both of them said so and the cadre of researchers weren't happy when their requests didn't land a consensus fast enough.
Complaints aside, it was a good thing not a single weapons engineering disciplines were in the current crop of researchers. The amount of trouble they could stir up should they discover any cutting edge technology would be vastly disastrous. For that, he supposed he had Shepard to thank. Though it was never determined whether the lockout was an original security protocol, there were suspicions that Shepard might have a hand in it. Her involvement in breaking through to the Prothean Archives on Ilos was not public knowledge. Only Hackett, the Council and those who had gone with her knew what had happened. Though not verified, their silence on the matter was clear indication of their approval. If she had really done it, it prevented another cloud of tumult in a already troubled galaxy. He for one, was grateful though others would not see it that way.
Pressing his thumb to the scan pad, he signed off on the supply acquisition order. He finished the last sandwich and reached for the cup, draining it in a long swallow. He could have left it but the careless approach to food and everything else had gone out with the demise of the Reapers. Every scrap, however awful, was precious. A fact every marine imbibed the moment they went out on the first solo assignment with the barest minimum supplies to last for the duration of the mission. That was the bottom pan of the standard grounding for grunts. The top would be the final N6 training course, a grueling journey through the deepest pits of fire and brimstone or so he heard.
However, the hard lesson learned during boot camp didn't manage to stay in. Rising up through the ranks brought about a list of privileges that he couldn't refuse to indulge in. He wasn't alone in this but he should have known better. The Reaper War hit a lot of home runs on several established customs he and many others had exploited. It changed many things. Hell, it turned the world as he knew it upside down and booted him out of his comfortable glossy niche. He more than deserved it. A self-mocking smile twisted his lips as he regarded the empty cup. Setting it back on the tray, he turned back to the terminal. Pulling up the next document, he started in on the summaries on hydroponics. The strident shriek of an alarm was sudden and shocking.
A comm window opened up at once on his terminal. "Sir, we have a G2 (ground two) alert," Commander Donev said urgently. "We have lost contact with Deep Base outposts."
He was immediately on his feet, ready to move to CIC. "Which ones?"
"All of them."
He stifled the 'That's impossible' thought that immediately flashed to mind. After the Reapers, anything was plausible. He said instead, "I'm on my way."
There wasn't any need to send any message to his turian counterpart, it was Turrhein's turn in the hot seat at CIC. Shutting down his terminal and locking it took a few seconds. The marine sentries outside fell into a protective ring when he appeared. They went down the corridor in a tight group. It was empty as the clerical staff would keep to their offices unless told otherwise.
If the structure they were in was a single prefab, they would reach CIC within a few minutes but the temporary main base was constructed out of a total of sixty prefabs, making it the largest building on the planet. The huge number of personnel now stationed on the planet warranted more habitat space. It took them several minutes to reach Operations. The marines peeled off to stand with their turian colleagues at the entrance. He walked into CIC to a familiar scene; frenetic activity and tension. At a glance, he knew the alert had not reached the critical stage for there was none of that sharp tang of pressure. What was coming across was more of puzzlement. Turrhein, he saw, was at the holo-tank with Donev. He went over to join them.
"Admiral Roux." Tarrhein standing stiffly as was his wont, acknowledged his presence. "We have something of a puzzle here." The turian gestured to the holographic display of the Prothean archives.
"What am I looking at?" Roux frowned at the outline of a globe around the lower archives. A shield?
Donev magnified the image, dozens of little icons representing base personnel were scattered on all levels of the facility "As far as we can ascertained, it's a force field. We are unable to move into or contact anyone within that sphere," he said, "but their suit beacons are active. We have no access to Vigil."
Roux stared at the globe. "How many are caught within the field?"
"Most of the security personnel, techs and the researchers," Donev said glumly. "Some sort of security protocol was kicked into drive."
"A security protocol?" Why now? Roux wondered. "Did anything unusual happened before the alert?"
"Nothing." Tarrhein shook his head. "Everything was running according to daily schedule. Scans show no signs of intruders nor have the flotilla detected any relay translations or encroachment of the heliopause for the last several hours. Comm traffic is normal. Techs are looking into the comm logs but we have to consider the possibility that whatever triggered the defense protocol is internal."
"We should have all security logs examined, most particularly those at the archival terminals, starting from the last few weeks," Roux said, mentally drawing up a list of techs they would have to pull for the onerous task.
"Actually, sirs, I think I know what triggered the force field," said Donev. "If you'll look at this vid?" He transferred a video to the holo-tank.
A new screen popped up before them. The view from the security camera installed at the access bridge to the archival terminals, Roux realised. He looked at the time stamp. A few minutes before noon. He watched as a group of cultural researchers huddled before a terminal, obviously discussing the notes of the day before strolling to the lift. A lone salarian walked past them, heading towards the central terminal. Roux frowned when the salarian began to pace, looking now and then towards the lift. A few minutes later, the departing group of researchers came into sight as they exited the lift and disappeared from view when they entered the check point for the monorail that would take them back to the labs.
Tarrhein leaned forward, gazing with interest as the salarian continued to circle instead of heading to the terminal. "Indecision," he observed.
Roux nodded in agreement. The pacing continued for another few more minutes before the salarian evidently made up his mind. After another look at the lift, the salarian stood before the central terminal. Taking a datastick from his coat pocket, he jacked it into the terminal and began to type on the keyboard. The clear image suddenly became fuzzy.
"The force field materialised a few minutes later," said Donev.
"Any fluctuations at the core?" Tarrhein asked.
Roux exchanged a look with him. It was impossible to evacuate everyone should it began to destablise. His tension eased a little when Donev shook his head.
"Who is the salarian researcher?"
"Dr Kedar Olor. He is a member of the indoctrination research project on Thessia and was part of the Ilos breakthrough expedition."
Donev put up the personnel jacket of the salarian on another screen. "He was also a participant in the Crucible project. Before that, he was a member of the STG weapons research teams and earned several citations for his notable contributions in the war effort."
"Weapons research," Tarrhein said with a slight emphasis as he looked at Roux. "If he is the perpetrator of this crisis, it is obvious what he is after."
Ruox fingered his beard, not entirely disagreeing with that assessment but he felt they should be cautious.
"I've passing acquaintance with him but I get the impression that he's not entirely happy that the Council is refusing to explore other approaches to eliminate the TI," he said musingly. "Of course he's not the only one but he is one of the most vocal critic of the decision. Didn't he file an official protest on this subject?" He glanced at Donev who made a quick search and another screen appeared.
"Yes, sir. It was after the discovery that Vigil is refusing access to other data cyphers."
Tarrhein rumbled in satisfaction as he read the document. He pointed to a section. "There. He's suggesting stronger measures to facilitate access to information that is vital to removing the TI threat."
"Would you say he's doing it alone?"
"I would look for accomplices," Tarrhein said at once, "especially among the salarian contingent and one other."
Roux knew who was the other Tarrhein was thinking of. Module. The turian general had made his distrust quite plain though not openly to the geth prime. The Prime was admittedly the best hacker among the personnel on Ilos. Hell, it was literally a set of advanced A.I. programs, specialised to command other geth units and deadly in its armament.
"Would it cooperate with Olor?" he said doubtfully.
There was an air of distaste about Tarrhein. "The geth have not been shy about their curiosity about the cultural, social and political dynamics of organics. That curiosity would extend to seeing the consequences of an illegal action."
"They have been honest in their interest and they have been conforming in respect to our mode of convention," Ruox pointed out.
It was one of a few subjects they did not see eye to eye. On learning that a geth prime was to be part of the Ilos contingent during the briefing on the Citadel, Tarrhein had moved to have the geth removed but the Council overruled his objections. It was not that he did not empathise with Tarrhein's argument. He was not blind to the probability that the geth might pose a threat in the future. Their abilities and technological expertise were a formidable force to be reckon with. However, it was unfair and cowardly to judge beforehand and refuse to give them a measure of trust. It was why he was supportive of the old man's plan that they engaged the geth in positive ways to influence their cognitive and empathetic development. Should that conflict break out, they could perhaps count on a few allies among the machines. Besides, it was not a one way street. As the geth was learning about the organics, it was flowing the other way as well.
"I would not put much credence in their conformation," Tarrhein returned coolly.
Rather than go on yet another round of debate on that issue, a well flogged dead horse by all counts, Ruox returned to the matter at hand.
"Assuming Olor has Module's help, is there a reason why he would be operating alone? Putting in a datastick when a geth prime can do it a hundred times better?" He saw the twitch on Tarrhein's mandibles as he considered an entirely valid point and added another pill to the brew. "I would not be surprised if Module have already gained some of the information within the archives. Back when it was repairing the mainframe, it could copy all the data it wanted."
"Which is precisely why the geth should not have been included in the Ilos division," Tarrhein said sharply, jaw flaps flaring.
Putting up his hands in a placating gesture, Ruox said firmly, "That's beside the point I'm trying to make. In this incident, Olor is acting on his own."
Looking somewhat sour, Tarrhein stared at the frozen image of Olor before nodding grudgingly. "Very well. Unfortunately, to remove him, we have to find a way to take down the field. I do not think there are any researchers able to help. We have to find a way to get to Vigil and employ technical expertise if the V.I. is damaged."
"Where is Module?"
If possible, Tarrhein's spine seemed to stiffen further. Irregardless of his views of the geth prime, Module was still the best tech on Ilos and Ruox was not about to let the turian's prejudice and suspicion get in the way of a solution.
"I'm afraid it's with the archeologists at the settlement, sir," Donev said apologetically. "And they're all.."
"..caught in the barrier," Ruox finished with a sigh, crossing his arms. "Any analyses on what kind of field is it?"
"It's not any force field we're familiar with, sir. " Donev removed all the other screens. A schematic of the field flashed into view. "The investigative party discovered that objects can pass through. Once past the border, the object ceased to move."
"A stasis field?" Tarrhein rasped.
"That is the assumption, sir."
"I don't see how we can access Vigil to kill the security protocol even if Module is available," said Ruox, "short of shutting down the core."
"There is a way, sir." Donev pointed to an area outside the globe. "This is the original terminal where Vigil first made contact with Captain Shepard. We can try to work from there."
"Alright," Ruox said after a glance at Tarrhein who nodded. "Take a squad, get a couple of the techs and get down there. Donev," he added when the commander turned to go. "Be cautious. If the V.I. seem hostile, do not attempt further interaction."
"Hostile, sir?" Donev nodded determinedly, unfazed by that notion, saluted Ruox and Tarrhein before leaving.
"Hostility indeed," Tarrhein murmured as they turned back to the holo-tank. "What are the alternatives if Vigil refuses to cooperate."
Having considered that possibility, Ruox had a readied answer. "We call on someone it may respond to."
"Shepard."
There was no inflection in the turian's voice but Ruoz knew he was equally suspicious of Shepard as of the geth. Her success in finding the ancient archives and restoring Vigil was phenomenal but it was this very accomplishment that brought up dozens of questions. The after mission reports they were given lacked details and never completely explained how she bypassed the ancient security lock down at a number of key points. Not privy to classified documents himself, he wasn't that worried. Not because she was human, like himself, but because what she did in the war. Shepard's career was doted with notable distinctions and accolades. Much was said about her but there was no dark taint in her reputation. Actions and results, in his opinion, spoke loudly of a person's character.
He decided to raise a more pressing issue. "Though the core is stable, it may not remain so should something-," he hesitated, "go awry. We should begin evacuating non-essential personnel. Starting with the construction crews."
If Tarrhein was aware he was attempting to distract him, he gave no sign of it. "I agree." He lifted a talon finger to beckon to the turian lieutenant hovering nearby. "Let's get on with it before circumstances becomes more dire."
Omega North-West Doru District
Medical Block
The scene before lieutenant Ulros spelled trouble. Big trouble. He couldn't take his eyes away from it. He would describe it as a horror trance that held him to his position far longer than was wise. Less than fifty metres away from his squad was a freaky congregation standing about like statues. The occasional rumblings and shifting were the only signs that they were alive. It wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't standing right in the route his squad was supposed to take. His helmet comm beeped as the tech overseeing his group spoke up.
"No one invited them but they're all dressed up in their Sunday best for the festivity, LT. You'll have to take a detour to avoid the crowd," Decker's tone was jocular but Lt Ulros knew he was anything but.
He considered the scene before him for another few seconds before ducking back down behind the broken wall of a shattered building and examined the map displayed on his omni-tool. The mass of red dots, almost a solid swathe, took up most of the street and the adjoining buildings. The detour was going to be a rather long circular route if they were going to avoid this particular roadblock. Shepard and the skipper sure knew who to choose for the hottest brew.
"Alright people. We're going skip this toxic party."
Using a special stub on his gauntleted finger, he traced the new route on his muted omni-tool from which only the barest outlines of the map could be seen and sent it to Decker and the rest of the squad that were crouched down out of sight in the ruins.
"Heard the brew's a killer so we'll skip this watering hole."
"There's worst than Scrooch's?" one of the marines drawled softly in mock amazement, drawing amusement from the rest at the reference to the wines member who was in charge of the bar in the messhall.
Pre-war alcohol quality were not the best but they were drinkable. Post-war, marines were not happy to find themselves nursing finger glasses of questionable fluids that could be best described as grit fuel scrapping. It was no fault of the crewman, nicknamed Scrooch, that alcohol was at the bottom of the food chain but marines had certain expectations when it came to their poison to beat off the tedium on board a tin can.
Ulros signalled to the lead scout, Oita. The scout slipped off to his right, followed by the rest, slithering like shadows through the ruins to the street a hundred meters away. This street ran more or less parallel to the original route. A word of caution from Decker who was positioning the probes along the new route, brought their pace to a near crawl. They would be behind schedule. Ulros didn't care how long they were going to take, he was more concerned in making sure they did get there. He could hear the mutants, reassuringly muted, in the distance. A warning flashed on his visor. The squad froze.
Decker's voice was tight. "Ferret 1, there's another group fifty metres from you."
"Shit." Ulros cursed softly.
One lot spread out at their back, one lot in front of them with god knew how many more sprinkled around. The whole block was a festering cauldron of bloody mutants. He searched the map for another route but he had that sinking feeling they were going to keep running into those things no matter where they turned. If they couldn't go around them, maybe they ought to consider a direct approach.
"Eyes2, we're going through the building we're in front of," he said, highlighting the large structure, a pharmaceutical centre according to the old map legend. "We'll get to the third floor and cross over to the other side."
Decker didn't reply. Probably wondering if he was out of his mind. "There're no probes in the building," he warned after a while.
"Get ten of the little guys here, we'll bring them in."
"Be a few minutes."
Expecting the probes to come floating down, Ulros looked down surprised when he felt something bumping his right boot. Encircling his feet like lost puppies was a gaggle of metallic balls with one knocking against his foot as if to say; down here. Grinning, he gathered three, tapped the nearest marine on the shoulder and handed them to her. She clipped them to her weapons mount, where her sniper rifle would be if she carried one. Another three went to another marine and he picked up the last four himself. They made for the building in front of them, searching cautiously for an entrance. They found it after turning the corner, bringing them rather close to that second group of mutants.
A check revealed all reserve power was gone. Taking a pair of small magnetic clamps from her belt pouch, the engineer attached them to the doors. Opening the control panel, she bypassed the lock manually. With another marine, they forced open the doors with the clamps. After a quick look inside; an empty stretch of corridor, they trooped in. The clamps were removed and reattached so they could shut the doors behind them.
"Look for stairs, head three up," Ulros instructed as they went down the dusty corridor, noting the perforated walls and broken doors. The dust was inches thick and undisturbed. "Keep your heads down." The last thing they needed was for some sharp eye mutant to spot them through the windows a distance away.
"Found it," Oita said, looking round the corner of a open doorway. "Clear."
"Go."
The stairwell was empty except for a solitary human skull that was inexplicably wedged between the railings of the banister at the second floor. How it got there, Ulros had no idea. There was no sign of the rest of the body. Perhaps some freak took it out for a spin and lost it. He grimaced at that ghoulish whimsy and shook his head. Not the time to let his imagination run riot.
"Objective reached," said Oita as he crouched by the exit to the third floor. "Looks clear."
Making his way past the rest on the stairs, Ulros signalled to the marines carrying the probes to join him. They released the little devices at the doorway. They scurried away like eager puppies and scattered in all directions. Ulros waited until Decker gave the green light and updated with a partial floor plan. There was a main corridor running down the left of the building before turning right in the distance. From the decal on the wall, there was a large lab to the right.
"We'll stick to the corridor. Ferret 3 take point."
Oita oiled through the exit. Though they were off the ground level, they took every precaution when they approached any windows, keeping well clear of them.
"Hold up," said Decker, halting the group. "Corridor is blocked ahead."
"Report."
"Part of the outer wall has collapsed inward." Decker put up a updated map. "No way through except that large lab on the right."
"What do you see in the lab?"
The answer was slow in coming. "Nothing good," Decker sounded sick. "Nothing's moving...thank god."
Ulros ignored the invocation and waved to the rest to continue to advance. He wasn't keen on trudging through the lab. There were two entrances into the room, the farthest was a distance away. They would check out the collapsed wall and see if there was a way through. That hopeful prospect died quickly when they reached the collapse. The wall had crumbled into the corridor. They wouldn't be able to reach the other side unless they could crawl like lizards. No help for it. They went through the entrance of the lab, freezing momentarily when they saw what was in it.
"Stay focus, people," Ulros said firmly. "Ferret 3, lead on."
He saw a lot of ugly stuff in the war and learned to detach himself from the horrors but he still had to take notes. There was a row of thick metal poles ranged along one side of the room. Several were bent and twisted. The others stood with empty chains. One was not empty. Four chains were strung out and attached to them, was the dessicated corpse of an elcor, its legs in large metal cuffs. It wasn't the only corpse in the room. There were bodies on the tables spread across the lab. All were similarly bound. Two large holding cells were set against the opposite wall and they were not empty. He didn't bother to count how many there were or what they were. What remained of the bodies within told their own story.
Glancing around as he moved among the tables, he noted the lab equipment were in disarray. Datapads, hardcopy, datasticks, hypo-injectors and surgical paraphernalia were strewn everywhere. There was no sign of weapons discharge. All the signs pointed to a hurried evacuation. The Cerberus researchers were interrupted in their daily work. Perhaps by the very event that completely derailed the plans for the station. They were forced to flee and left their victims to die. He looked around again. How long? How long did they last, tied to the tables? Abruptly, he shied away from the thought. No, it was not a good thing to ponder on.
"What the hell are those?" one of the marines said softly, pointing to a cluster of huge vats, standing at three meters in the far corner.
"Cut the chatter, Ferret 5," Ulros said sharply. "Stay clear of unknown materials."
The last thing he needed was to have some living mutant leaping out on them from the mysterious vats. That would create a lot of noise, attract unwanted attention and delay their schedule even further.
Silence fell. They reached the doors on the far side. The metal clamps were once again deployed to open them. Although it was unlikely anything would come after them from the lab, Ulros chose to have the doors sealed. In a way, he felt as if he was locking up a place of horrors he would never visit nor want to think of again. The rest probably felt the same for the moody tension lifted slightly. They regained the main corridor route and followed it right to the end where it branched off. After a search, they found another stairwell. This time, instead of distributing the probes among the marines, Ulros stuck all of them on one of the marines' weapon mount.
Looking at the cluster of probes on the marine's back as they went down the stairs, he wondered if the Alliance couldn't come up with their own version. Having seen a demonstration on how the probe worked, he thought they were very handy little gadgets. The intuitive programs akin to V.I.s proved they were able to carry out a variety of designated tasks. The Alliance drones were good but for finer field work, the probes were better. Easy to carry around and program. A beep over his helmet comm pulled him out of his musing and he realised the squad was waiting by the exit doors.
"Ferret 1, street is clear all the way to point of entry."
His mouth went a little dry at that but he waved to the engineer to get the doors open. This time, he didn't bother to close the doors. A check with the map showed Omega Control was five hundred meters away. The enclosure Cerberus built was two hundred and twenty metres from their position. Very close. He gestured to the squad. They spread out to the formation he wanted. His comm beeped again.
"Sunstone to Ferret 1."
"Ferret 1, go."
He nearly breathed a sigh of relief. Shepard's voice was like balm. A soothing reassurance that everything was going to happen like they planned and that they would make it back to the Glasgow. Privately, he thought she had a beautiful voice. He wouldn't mind listening to her whenever he could. Down, Ulros, she's taken. Pay attention.
"Status."
"Objective in sight. ETA, Twenty minutes tops to pocket. Another fifteen to duster."
"Sunstone copy. Standing by the curb."
"Ferret 1 copy."
Time to get the show on the road.