Chapter 04
Rasa
Commander Montez stood at the island with her back to the elevator, looking up at the holographic rendition of the Arcturus system with all the ships, stations, satellites, and any debris of note marked by diamonds, and colour coded according to their type: blue, Alliance Navy; green, civilian; orange, non-Human; yellow, active station; white, inactive station; and red, debris. The system was positively clogged with mechanical devices.
Rasa stepped up beside her and leaned on the lip. "What's your brilliant tactical manoeuvre for getting into the most secure system in the Alliance?
Montez looked over with a smug glint in her eyes. "We don't," she answered. "We don't even try."
"W-We what?"
She crushed the display in her hands until it zoomed out far enough to show an all-encompassing sphere of ice and asteroids enclosing the system. "We hide the Alexander in the local Kupier Belt and commute to the mining outpost," she explained. "It's not the most efficient way to conduct such an expansive refit of the ship, but it's the safest. There are thousands of shuttles flying around at any one time, and more than enough Kodiak's to blend in. Getting our hands on flight clearance should be fairly easy, and we can paint all the shuttles at the mining outpost the first time we get there."
"It's going to take a long time to ferry supplies and equipment on the shuttles we have."
"I looked into that." Montez collapsed Arcturus, and opened an extranet tab showing the official site of the Andromeda Initiative. She navigated to a page giving a rundown of their ships and equipment. "The Andromeda Initiative is developing these new cargo shuttles with massive, detachable underslung containers. If we could get our hands on a couple of those, we'd have all the lifting power necessary to make the refit in a reasonable amount of time. It shouldn't be too hard to tweak their ID signatures to make them look like Kodiaks."
"Okay." Rasa nodded. "Let's do it."
"The only issue with that," Montez added, "is the highly proprietary nature of the designs themselves; they were exclusively designed by the Andromeda Initiative for use in Andromeda."
Rasa pulled up her omni-tool, and shot off a message to the Shadow Broker. "Nothing's proprietary," she said. "Is that everything?"
"Then there's the matter of how dangerous this manoeuvre is going to be. A Mass Relay is designed to hyper accelerate an object from one to the next; not farther than it, not shorter. So, in order for us to stop short, we'll have to put a great strain on the cruisers frame and engines counteracting the specifically tuned power of an ancient technology we have a tenuous grasp on. The Chief's already made her objections to breaking her factory-new ship in such a potentially devastating way right out of the gate."
"And if we don't—"
"We sail right into the hands of the Alliance."
"Right. What are the simulations saying?"
Montez brought up a window detailing a series of eighteen sets of results. "Of those so far completed," she explained, "three ended in critical mission failure, six with major damage, seven with moderate damage, and two with no damage. We continued to adjust variables with each fresh sim, and it's the last two that were successful. If we can further refine our method, we can make it safely."
"How will the recent battle damage impact that?"
"That's been the biggest frustrating factor." The captain's jaw tensed up. "It's seemingly random nature is the one wildcard in all this. For example, there's a small gash on the hull where a shot from the Ozymandias's main gun grazed us, but it's not particularly bad and we've done our best to DIY a patch. The issue is that patch fails seemingly at random, despite being theoretically able to hold up. It's nothing we did, just a twist of fate—one slightly wrong stress on that section and it buckles."
"So even with all the precautions we can muster in place, there's still a coin toss that could fuck us?"
"I'm afraid so."
Rasa was getting thoroughly tired of life threatening events being cosmically out of her control. "All we can do is our best," she told her. "I have faith in your expertise."
"I'd be a little worried if you didn't."
"Do your best," she said, then returned to the elevator and on to her cabin where she held up for the duration of the deceleration.
Rasa wasn't above admitting, privately to herself, that she hid under her duvet and screamed throughout the manoeuvre as the entirety of the Alexander shook and groaned and strained and bucked around her. A piercing tearing shredded her eardrums and she was convinced she was going to die. Her whole job as a Cerberus operative and specialist infiltrator was to manipulate a situation into her total control in order to extract the most amount of information from a target—small scale encounters she could hold dominion over as puppet master. Larger, existential threats, like whether the ship would randomly tear itself apart, was not part of her job description.
They did, in fact, make it through in one piece, but the damage was severe enough to spend another week limping their way into position amongst the ice and rock of Arcturus's Kupier Belt. Then it took a further week and a half to rig up a makeshift grappling system to anchor themselves to a few of the larger asteroids to prevent themselves being nudged out of position by a fault in thruster control, which caused them to fire off at random until the issue was eventually tracked down.
There was no escaping it now. Her hopes for an organisation that truly had Humanities best interests at heart lay on the other side of a tunnel through her past and she was determined to confront it no matter what. Petty weaknesses and sentimentality had to be purged for this to succeed, and she'd soon do the same to Shepard, too. It was only a matter of time that she broke down the Hero of the Citadel's imploding mental state.
The Alexander had assigned to it four shuttles plus the one Rasa had stolen from Minuteman Station, and they were all streaming towards the looming mass that was Themis and the tiny, derelict mining outpost in orbit. Each shuttle was packed with assault troops to secure the station and keep what remained of the population in check, while the engineers and support staff would arrive on the second wave.
Rasa watched the mining outpost grow out the fore windows. It's rusting, dilapidated bronze/steel towers and domes rose from the husk of an asteroid towed in from the belt, like the gnarled teeth of a fierce predator. Only a few of the windows had lights behind them, and some of the sections appeared totally abandoned. Some of the habitats had suffered hull breaches. The whole thing was in a worse state than she'd anticipated, and extensive work may have to be down to make it safe for intense use even after the population had been corralled. The longer they were there, the higher the chance of someone from the Alliance getting curious. That would be a problem.
Volyov sat in the seat across from her checking his Cerberus branded armour and prepping his standard issue Harrier assault rifle, buzzing like a child on a sugar high. "Finally, some fuckin' action," he said. "Still can't believe I missed out on the fight on Aeia! Let's fuck up some shit! YEAH!"
Rasa shot him a glare and he deflated somewhat. "This station is primarily populated by people who were unable to move after the facility closed down," she told him, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "These are veterans of the First Contact war and other smaller skirmishes, workers and specialists, proud people the Alliance conveniently ignores. No-one—and I mean no-one—is authorised to fire on anyone unless absolutely, uncompromisingly necessary. If we're lucky, we might be able to bolster our ranks. Is that understood?"
Everyone in the shuttle offered a word of acknowledgement, and even Volyov looked sincere.
Their shuttle along with one other took the primary hanger, while the others split up to secure the various smaller loading docks. The cavernous space no longer had a mass effect field keeping the atmosphere in and was populated exclusively by junk, two stripped shuttle carcases, and pieces of abandoned industrial equipment. Natural gravity generated by the asteroid was enough to keep everything on the ground, but just barely and paled in comparison to the magnetic pull of the artificial gravity in the Kodiak.
Both shuttles offloaded their squads and pulled out as the armed vanguard diffused into their surroundings, drawn to the entryway. Rasa hung back, surveying the eerily nostalgic vista; the very same place she'd killed Maya Brooks and finally escaped. It was strange how life came full circle sometimes. One thing she was thankful for was that no-one would recognise her. Why would they? Not only was she older, confident, and gendered femme, but her usefulness originally lay in her invisibility as a ratty, lanky, bald child who was forced to dress and act like a boy for the benefit of the adults pulling her strings. She was the master of this shite tip around her, and that filled her with a powerful smugness. This place had failed to kill her and now she had returned to tame it.
Radio chatter indicated her soldiers were unable to proceed farther lest they wished to flush the atmosphere from the facility and were busy setting up temporary airlocks around each of the egress points. They were assembled curtly and professionally, and the vanguard poured out into the surrounding areas, going room-to-room and gradually securing the dilapidated skeleton that was once a thriving community.
Rasa didn't follow any one squad, instead making her way down the eerily familiar corridors, like she was navigating a dream, back to the hovel that bastard Brocktun called home and she called prison. It hadn't changed at all, as if no-one had taken it over after she'd stabbed the cunt. A dark silhouette where the pool of blood had puddled and dried marked the centre of the room; a chair sat by the window that she used to spend her little free time glued to, watching the stars. Part of her hoped to find his corpse still face down on the floor, so she could kick it one last time. Hate bubbled up in her throat like spoiled milk. If Brocktun were here now, she'd make him eat a blade all over again.
Her omni-tool chimed; a connection request from Volyov. "What is it?"
"Uh, Ma'am, the locals are…resisting."
"They're what?"
"Resisting; not very well. It's all fairly minor stuff: shouting at us, shoving, throwing rubbish. Our armour's stopping all of it and we can get by on non-lethal deterrents, but it's slowing down our search a lot."
"All right, let's amend our focus." She added all squads to the call. "Change of priority: all teams pivot to close in on and secure the control and reactor room. Continue exercising non-lethal defence against the locals— no-one dies."
Volyov and the other squad leaders sent their acknowledgements, and Rasa hung up. The control centre always represented this forbidden realm hidden behind layers of security; both corporate and Alliance. Orphans like her weren't permitted anywhere near such an important place; they'd rather she stay in the ducts or crawling around in the machinery, where she couldn't be seen and their jobs seemed nice and clean. No-one ever looked too closely when they hired the lowest bidder as long as their big, shiny parliament achieved completion according to the timetable.
Rasa backtracked to the hanger then forged on into one of the larger open areas surrounded by abandoned tenement housing blocks, empty corporate offices, abandoned machinery and equipment. Glass and debris littered the deck, and the air was as thick and humid and grimy as she remembered. People shuffled about like zombies, their clothes tattered rags and their eyes glassy and distant from copious drug use, a dangerous lack of hope, or both. Unlike the reports, no-one attempted to swarm her; one person in relatively low key armour didn't quite stand out as much as a fully armed Cerberus assault squad.
Memories appeared like picture-in-picture in her field of view and only served to remind her how she despised what they'd done to her: forced to work and fight and claw for the basics to survive, used by corporations who cared about nothing more than coming in under budget with the widest profit margins, petty criminals power tripping on the scraps they saw as gold. Part of her wanted to nuke the place and watch as the debris fell into Themis. Then again, these people weren't at fault for the way those in power used and discarded them when it was no longer convenient to have them around. They all still had valuable and worthwhile skills and experience to contribute to the galaxy, and they were forgotten. She was determined to change that.
The control room was a smashed wreck populated by soldiers. Volyov stood by the main board trying switches and buttons to minimal effect. Rasa came up behind him and surveyed the damage for herself; any valuable or functioning parts had long since been removed.
"Are you able to access the PA system?" she asked.
"Access? Yes," he replied. "Getting it functioning is a whole 'nother issue."
"Can you patch it?"
Volyov waved over someone from his squad. "Hey, Jenkins, can you get the PA up and running?"
Jenkins handed him his weapon and knelt by the console, digging around in its guts. "It'll be rough," he explained. "A lot of the necessary parts are gone and those left are old or broken. I'm not sure I could make it last, but DIYing something from the parts and equipment available should be simple."
"Get to it."
"Yes, sir."
Volyov looked up at Rasa. "Should only be a few minutes?"
She returned a nod, and went to sit in the corner. Securing the facility by occupation was never meant to be a long-term solution. There were more than enough able bodies who'd jump at the chance for a fresh start with an organisation that would truly appreciate them. The Alliance was a slave to bureaucracy and the meddling of aliens governments, Cerberus to the whims of its ego-maniacal leader and now the Reapers. Rasa's new organisation would stand for nothing other than pure Human self-interest—a representative of those left behind by the governments petty attempts to kowtow to non-Human pressures.
"It's ready," Jenkins announced as he slid himself out from under the console. "Try to keep it short, though."
Rasa approached the microphone arching from the console and took a deep breath, then pressed down the button to speak. "People of the Themis Mining Facility; hear me! Do not fear those you see wearing Cerberus armour for we are not here to hurt or subjugate you! I am Rasa, and I am going to offer you an opportunity to leave behind this squalor and once again be proud of the life you live! Those corporately bribed politicians and alien loving military personnel in Arcturus Station have forgotten about you, and indeed continue to let such a place of suffering and poverty exist right under their noses. They don't see the potential each of you holds, the skills and experience you bring to any project—I do!
"We are no longer part of Cerberus! They may have once had Humanities best interest at heart, but the vanity project of a billionaire has been infiltrated by aliens at the highest levels. No longer will anyone stand up for us unless we stand up for ourselves. Everyone deserves to live up to their fullest potential, everyone deserves to hold pride in themselves and their species, everyone deserves to work towards Human dominance upon the inferior races of the galaxy.
"Join us and get back what was stolen from you!" She release her finger from the button, panting, fully aware that the soldiers around her had stopped what they were doing to listen intently. "Go," she told them. "There are hundreds of potential recruits waiting to join our ranks."
A chorus of cheers resonated in the small space, and the armour clad soldiers trotted out to finish their jobs. Rasa leaned forward onto the console and gazed into her reflection in one of the cracked monitors. This place would no longer be a weakness for her, no longer a cause of anxiety; she'd turn it into the beating heart of a new organisation that would one day assert Humanities true place in the universe. And with Commander Shepard on their side, there was no stopping them.
The Net Warfare team got into some of the higher level areas of Arcturus' network and managed to score clearance for shuttles to come and go as they pleased under the guise of a bogus Pyjak extermination contract. As hoped, the residents were only too eager to sign up after her speech, and the second wave of shuttles were able to land without issues, putting the engineers and scientists to work immediately. A medical team followed in the wave after that to put their new recruits through full physical and mental health check-up before they were given clearance to begin training. A series of janitorial mechs were dusted off, repaired and reactivated, and sent to work cleaning the place up. After things were up and running somewhat smoothly, the order was issued to ditch anything with a Cerberus logo until it could be altered, and only those with no alternative still wore the grey/white/black/orange fatigues—and Montez, who'd refused to give up her uniform until a replacement was provided.
Rasa had commandeered and cleaned up a small out-of-the-way office that had once belonged to a man named Roth; it had a gorgeous view of Themis that she found herself getting lost in regularly; the once lined bookshelves were empty save for some scraps, the Mass Relay model lay in a broken heap on the floor, the furniture had been defaced; and not a single electronic still worked. Rasa had made sure it was at the top of the engineering teams work order.
She tipped back in her chair, staring at the blue glow of the terminal and the scribbled notes displayed: brainstorming potential names, logos, and colour schemes. One thing Cerberus held an A plus in was marketing and brand recognition. Now that she thought about it; what fascist organisation didn't have impeccable publicity? The Nazi Party, Ku Klux Klan, British Royal Family, American Republican Party, People's Republic of China, Homefront, the Terra Firma Party, and now Cerberus. She had no plans to do Cerberus again, or follow in the footsteps of any fascist organisation in history. Her goal was simply to raise Humanity up to their true potential.
A knock on the door harpooned her attention. "What is it?"
Volyov entered wearing a pair of large trainers, baggy denim cargo shorts, and a polo shirt that fit a little too well. He looked like he'd just walked off daddy's golf course. Rasa had to bite back the urge to laugh, swivelling in her chair to give the appearance of thoughtfully contemplating the gas giant.
"Ma'am, I've just heard back from the engineering teams." He consulted his tablet. "They're getting what they can up and running, but the latest is that most of it's too badly wrecked or degraded. What little they have gotten going has been used sparingly—apparently, Themis and Arcturus Station are at the point in their orbital cycles where they pass by, and they're reluctant to push the power levels too much to avoid arousing suspicion."
Having fully regained herself, Rasa swivelled back. "Tell them to do what they can to produce spare parts for the Alexander, but to focus primarily on repairs here," she said. "They're right: it's not wise to crank the power levels higher than usual when we're this close to Arcturus."
Volyov nodded and entered the instructions into his tablet, no doubt distributing them to the relevant people. "When are we getting back at those Cerberus bastards?" he asked before leaving. "They came after us, and it's only fair to give them and eye for an eye."
"Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?"
"I signed up to fuck shit up; all this sitting around makes me antsy."
"You should never be eager to get into a fight, and especially before you're ready," she told him. "We need to recruit more personnel and build a solid foundation from which to operate. One thing the Illusive Man used to be good at was managing infrastructure, before he started getting reckless and training soldier, constructing warships. Before he became indoctrinated."
"No way! You can't be serious?"
"He's still mostly himself. After all, he went to all this trouble of bringing Shepard back from the dead to combat the Collectors, and eventually the Reapers. It's the little things around the edges you've to watch for."
Volyov stared back with a stunned expression, as if someone had just told him the latest office gossip. "That's way far out, Ma'am."
"Indeed." Rasa leaned forward onto her desk. "He's not our concern for the moment. Go and keep the repair efforts moving. How many are signing up?"
Another glance at his tablet. "So far, two thirds of the population are eager to go," he reported. "That's almost the entire able-bodied population of the facility."
"Excellent. Start putting them through—" A notification, accompanied by a soft chirping, informed her of a call. She held up a finger to Volyov and answered. "Go ahead."
Montez hard expression fumed anger. "Your little science experiment has stolen a shuttle," she said. "Bitch jumped a couple of my engineers and snatched a shuttle meant to ferry a medical team to you."
Rasa brought up her omni-tool, and shot of a message commandeering the next shuttle available for launch. "Where did she go?"
"Unsure; she jumped to FTL as soon as capable."
"I'll get her."
"You'd fuckin' better." And Montez shut off the connection.
"Keep things running here," she told Volyov as she sprinted past him, swiping her jacket on the way passed.
What the hell was Shepard thinking? If the Alliance caught her… Montez would've known if she'd made a run for Arcturus, so there wasn't as high a possibility of that. Then where was she going? Rasa wracked her brain for possible destinations within the FTL reach of a shuttle. Shepard couldn't leave the Arcturus Stream, so that narrowed down the list of destinations somewhat. Could she be heading for the Alliance Navy training facility Pinnacle Station? She had to have known the Alexander couldn't give chase, and the time it would take to scramble a pursuit was enough for her to escape. But that brought up the question of why not just gun it for Arcturus? Hours upon hours of scouring Shepard's record had to be worth something, so where…
Intai'sei.
A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you enjoyed this later chapter! However, while flicking through Foundation again to double check some details, I discovered that Rasa went straight to Arcturus after she'd stolen Clone Shepard's body and that Cerberus knew about it. That makes the foundation, as it were, of this story invalid, and I apologise for overlooking it. I hope you'll continue reading to see where the story goes regardless.
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