Chapter 37
Feng Hey Te
(Black Wind)
Earth , Fremont Colorado - Alliance's High-Security Facility, 6 years earlier.
… The night moaned in icy puffs of frost. The wind was scratching the silence, clawing its talons gracefully over the soft carpet of newly formed snow. A legion of ice crystals was diverted in rivulets of frigid white, which fearlessly ran, along the entire perimeter of the facility. Some big searchlights periodically shoved their curious eyes into the gloom. Violating the darkness with ruthless blades of light, they dove hungry down the several observation posts, like the rhythmic tolling of one enormous pendulum. Over it all a sort of blurred calm reigned, unnatural.
Within the structure, the concrete and steel were elegantly fitted together with polished mottled tiles. In the large control room, a linear desk made in a sturdy plastic material punctuated in black the whiteness light blue on the walls. At the back of the room, just above the table, a dozen generously sized monitors showed at the same time as many neuralgic zones of the facility. The images alternated at regular intervals, focusing on the main entrance, the two side entrances, and the transition zone toward the jails as well.
Although it was all quiet, silent, what crawled inside the stomach called an unpleasant feeling of bleakness. Probably, in large part due to the aseptic white light, which dressed over everything, making the whole location cold and unwelcoming. On the other hand, in a high-security prison it was foolish to expect something different, no matter if it was under the Alliance management.
Naturally, the structure was designed to be ironclad, unassailable and... proof of escape.
Each area was permanently guarded by pairs of rifle-armed soldiers. Other soldiers walked back and forth the long internal corridors, which embroidered the structure in detention lots, with a dozen of cells each one. As only sign of life the rhythmic drum of boots that made singing the hard floors in glass-ceramic and steel. At the end of the main corridor on each floor, grim stairs of metal came alive, coldly climbing to the next floor.
The control room was packed with concentration. Two security guards, with their guns in their holsters, were monitoring the surveillance cameras. Selecting one prison cell after another with scrupulous diligence, they carefully supervised the activities of its occupant. All the inmates seemed taken as hostages by a deep, almost a childish sleep. All but one.
The younger of the two soldiers, doe eyes, and fresh-faced as a child, was shaking his head. He tried in vain to hide the unease in his voice. Never taking his look off of the screen right before his eyes, he could not but snort his dismay.
"Ha, that fella never sleeps! Look at his eyes... they seem the gist of madness! They say he butchered a krogan in a bar on the Citadel, using a standard-issue service blade, just... just because he was staring at him!"
The older comrade sighed softly, rolling his eyes, half snarky. His words rained with chilling ease. Maybe, for this very reason, suddenly, the night seemed even more spectral, funereal.
"Yeah, if he wasn't insane, he wouldn't be here!"
After a quick glance at another screen, his tedium turned into impatience, which vibrated in a slight flicker of excitement in his voice.
"C'mon, Arty, get moving! The chicks are coming. I bet a week's pay we'll finally be able to hang them out for dinner!"
Two slender figures bundled up in drab heavy coats were walking through the long service corridor, which led to what was dubbed by everyone "the broom closet." Short heels echoed the intransigent melody of their steps. The hand that flashed the fob at the door reader did not seem at all accustomed to the practice of cleaning, but this peculiar detail did not prevent the lock to surrender meekly, with a green glow of approval.
The two women entered the room. Immediately, the door closed behind them. The stockroom had no second exit, nor surveillance cameras, only some locked cupboards, and shelves filled with cleaning products. Along two of the walls, rows of shelves crammed with all kinds of supplies, rose up from the floor, almost to caress the ceiling.
Silence. The pair took off hats and coats with enviable synchronism. Both the long raven-hair of theirs knotted in soft ponytails, and big glasses, with an impersonal style put on, to minimize beauties definitely out of the ordinary. Their glances crossed for a moment, in brilliant glints of blues and greens. Both girls wore the standard uniform of a cleaning service called "Dusthunter," but it was extremely unlikely that they had come to do the cleaning.
The request slapped suddenly to the ear of the taller of them, like an annoying click of the fingers.
{Report...}
The woman pushed her ear-bud, closing her eyes for a moment in disappointment, eyebrows slightly frowning. Finger still pressed to her ear, while the air came out completely from her lungs, which very slowly filled up again. Low tones of ill-concealed haughtiness finally found the way of words.
"We're in, and... I still think it's a mistake..."
Seconds passed under the weight of millions of years. Finally, the unmistakable noise of the smoke huffed against the headset, became the only sad relief from the laconic silence. An impassive voice, apparently foreign to the whole universe, began to speak right after, in a frigid calm.
{We've already talked about this, Miranda. Aborting is NOT an option.}
The shorter woman gave her an emerald look. With a dry sigh of urgency in her voice, she intruded without preamble in communication.
"Rendezvous in twelve point twenty"
Completely ignoring the water-green eyes, which lingered on her back in urging waiting, Miranda half frowned. The usual bothersome security flaunted in her voice. Nevertheless, her tone seemed genuinely concerned, and at the same time, full of irritated devotion.
"With all due respect, Sir. That guy is suffering from an incurable form of mental disorder that is suggesting a potential for progressive escalation. The subject is paranoid, and severely affected by sadism. He cannot be guided to any kind of inhibition, scruple or remorse. In addition, he's absolutely devoid of any trace of conscience or compassion. His condition is in itself very serious, and with time it will only get worse."
The male voice retained its seraphic, frigid calm. The man spoke slowly, weighing every word, as if nothing in all of creation could dent his determination.
{In that case, we are going to give him a purpose, and if not enough... we'll control him.}
The brown-haired woman, with stormy eyes was not easy to be impressed. She was not used to be intimidated. She had solid ideals, dreams, expectations to fulfill, and a well-drawn line that, she did not believe she wanted overtaking. Despite appearances, a warm heart throbbed in her chest. Yet, she herself felt for a long time numb and cold, imprisoned as it was under a blanket of ice too thick to be dug. Miranda unknowingly stepped forward, as she retorted warmly, but the flame was extinguished before being fully ignited.
"But..."
The answer growled in her ear. It rained, like hail on the rose buds. It turned off the flame, and choked every other word breathed in her throat.
{Our mission is too important, we cannot afford to compromise. Cerberus needs all the help it can get. Our target has the best training we can hope for. More, sometimes agents willing to have no scruples, are the only way forward, Miranda. I'd have preferred getting Anderson on our side, but as you well know, the Captain won't listen to reason! So, Operative Lawson, unless you are going to put Rasa in charge, dismissing yourself, get your mission accomplished, right now!}
… The cleaning equipment cart appeared in the open doorway. The tall girl greeted with a weak smile, as she pushed it within. She bashfully lowered her gaze right after, sliding through the door. Shoulders inflected under the weight of her own insecurity, slow and embarrassed steps, which made like a clumsy gait what usually was regal.
The doe eyes gave the greeting back, just as coy in an anxious expectation, and naively confident. The other girl seemed much more at ease. She pulled out a thermos from the cart, casually resourcefulness. She moved affably, a reassuring expression faintly sketched on her face. Letting out a breezy smirk, she sighed in a tantalizing voice, while showing the thermos, with a soft wave of her hand.
"Oh, Jesus! I'm dead on my feet! Do you guys mind if we get a little coffee, before we start?"
Suddenly, there was nothing but silence.
'This is it!' The thought bounced through Miranda's head, and she was brought back in a flash to her icy splendor. Her fingers traveled fast, flying from the omni-tool to the control console. The small computer virus pounced into the system. It disabled all the service cameras in no time with a rapacious precision. The recordings of the last two hours permanent deleted.
The two soldiers slumped on the floor were still. Both unconscious, but unharmed, the regular breathing. Thanks to the small button hidden in the thermos' false bottom, Rasa had been able to activate, unseen, the infrasound generator device hidden inside it. A nice trinket made in Cerberus that, when calibrated on a particular frequency, can provoke a momentary inhibition of the sympathetic system able to induce a temporary syncope in all the exposed subjects, unless you are wearing special corks.
The tension grew and grew. Miranda's dry voice became a breath of glacial calm, enriched by her usual lucid efficiency.
"Time." She wanted to know once again.
Rasa hastened to answer. The arrogant smile of hers, quickly dissolved with a professional frown in her voice.
"Eight point fifteen"
When she retorted, she quickly placed the thermos near the newly activated intercom microphone, with no other words. The frequency carried by the speakers, spread rapidly in every corner of the structure, like the invisible ripples of a wave. One by one, the soldiers began to fall down, like unconscious stones in the mud of a pond. Silent and totally unaware around the reasons for the urgency of that sleep. They separated with involuntary indifference from their guns and their own awareness of themselves.
... The dreamlike silence was abruptly slapped down by the noise of heels, which rudely beat on the floor, headed to the only place in the structure spared from the infrasonic device's soporific effects. Obviously the cell door was locked, they knew it was. Miranda began to bypass the lock with controlled urgency, while Rasa was stamping her feet, her omni-tool ready, waiting to turn off the infrasound signal on her command. They had a window of 60 seconds before the soldiers started waking up, no margin for error. Just enough time to convince their target he just wanted to put on a pair of special corks and follow them.
Miranda stayed at the front door, her eyebrow liberally raised, in a clear effort at concentration.
"Opening in three... two... one... stand-by!"
Rasa turned off the generator with perfect timing, starting immediately to check at the countdown. The cell door opened on the penumbra, with a noisy hiss, followed by an annoying screech of metal, which curled the blood in their veins. A man they could assume of average height was sitting cross-legged on the cot against the opposite wall. He was quite young, his bared torso was carved with each muscle building on to the next, and strong arms looked able to bend steel. For both women he seemed too young, to be locked up in such a place.
Despite the unbearable urge to snap in a rush, bursting out through the door at full speed, the guy did not move, staring unblinking at the only way out.
His almond eyes were black and cold, like moonless nights. They slithered leery, crouched over a diaphanous face definitely of oriental appearance. He was not handsome at all. Pronounced cheekbones surrounded a big fleshy nose, lying over sharpen lips and dark with contempt. A long crimson scar run vertically on his left cheek, from his chin to his temple, getting dangerously close to the corner of his eye. No doubt, the painful reminder of some very sharp blade.
He spoke suddenly, only his lips moving, in a dry and vicious tone that made him rather disturbing. He had a glacial attitude, and maybe for this reason, he looked older than his age.
"Who are you?"
Before she even talked, Miranda reached out a hand, offering the corks to him, with a slight nod. She knew from experience that, the more the moment is frenzied and the less explanations are required. She gave back to the man a look made of pure ice, carefully emphasizing each word firmly. The tautly lips made the sound of her voice quite determined.
"Your very last chance to get out of here"
Rasa urged. A hand resting lazily on her waist, as she reported impatiently, half winked.
"Thirty seconds. You had better decide fast, Feng. I'm afraid you won't get another chance."
The Chinese guy moved for the first time. He nodded once, as his hand emerged determined from the shadows, to accept the corks. He placed them carefully, under the ruffled rain of black hair, as he stood up, hissing a sigh menacing before Rasa's eyes.
"You must call me, Hey Te!", he ordered.
Rasa frowned a vexed look. Reactivating the infrasonic generator in a matter of seconds left, as she retorted dryly.
"Whatever, Black. But, now get your ass moving, and try to keep up!"
The guy said nothing. However, the devilish glow that shone in his eyes, lifted goosebumps over Rasa's spine.
Miranda's expression was a mixture of coldness, indifference and haughtiness that combined expertly in proportion gave as a result the quintessential of frost. The sea-blue eyes of hers looked like ocean foam, violently slapped against the black cliff that rose up insidiously, in Feng Hey Ta's eyes. Operative Lawson was speaking firmly, more than professionally motionless, her arms folded, no emotions revealed. As usual, impenetrable, deadpan and gorgeous.
"The Illusive Man is waiting for you." She said, unblinking. "You can't encounter him in person. However, beyond that door, a sophisticated holographic communication system will allow both of you, to talk face-to-face almost like in person. All you need to do is get on the circular platform, and stand still. Go now. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Feng stood still in response, in front of Miranda. He could not help but feel attracted to the beautiful woman. The more he looked at her, the more perfect she seemed to him. The so glacial eyes of hers exerted an extreme charm on him. Her face, the dark hair. The astounding elegance of Miranda's statuesque figure made him vibrate from inside with a wild desire, very far from being able to be controlled. In all his life, the guy had never seen anything more beautiful. And especially, he was hopelessly drawn to her glacial manners, excited in the depths of every cell by the icy timbre of her voice.
'She is pure ice!', he concluded with a shiver. The hint of a devilish smile curled his lips. Feng's voice was nothing but black wind, as he leaned forward, hissing softly in the air.
"I like your ice, Babe."
In a blaze of coldness, Miranda barked her disapproval. The reaction of hers swept over Feng unexpectedly, left him like turned to stone. Miranda's hands lit up in blue the instant he spoke. Her body intensely wrapped in a cloak of the same color, which glistened dangerously and glowed, reflecting in the eyes of the young murderer a damn menacing glare.
"Very far from it! I'll tell you once, Mr. Hey Te. If you wanna live, get away from me!"
Having said that, she quickly turned on her heels while her biotics died. With no other words, she strode out of the room, vanishing out of sight.
The beam of light was slowly travelling on the Feng Hey Te's motionless body, with a slight buzz of electronics. Every single atom read by the holographic scanner with extreme accuracy, then turned into a bright spot projected to life size in a lifelike alter ego made of pure light thanks an identical device located several hundred of light-years away.
Every muscle in his body seemed to swell up almost to explode with tension in waiting, to shrink painfully soon after. While his own image materialized somewhere, a rain of photons was painted in the air in colored lights, and danced lightly before his eyes, assuming human form itself.
The man, elegantly dressed, sat comfortably on a designer chair, a glass in one hand. Unreadable. Rivulets of smoke danced through his fingers, lifted into the air and came out in delicate puffs from his mouth. Behind him, a massive star glimpsed through a window, shimmying in bright colors. Its yellows, and reds, and oranges, and grays seemed to breathe in its infernal belly, which moved and pulsed like a living thing. Each reflection transformed into a myriad of nuances of beauty that left breathless.
The young murderess stood still, observing the now entirely formed holographic image in front of him, with delicious wonder. His blood thrilled, his attention attracted by singular eyes, to say the least, which had immediately begun to stare at him, in what looked to him could be a sort of smug appreciation. Icy eyes intensely blue, magnetic and ruthless, lit by a diabolic light, which pierced in depth, able to uncover even the most hidden thoughts, getting the most secret desires scraped away from the darkness.
The guy felt another chill running through his veins, while he let himself be scrutinized in depth, by that strange look, able to leave him bare, but unable to fold him. He could not say with absolute certainty whether the eyes were synthetic, natural or... both. He only knew to be fatally drawn, like a nocturnal butterfly towards the light, no matter how blinding it could seem.
Truth be told he was really enjoying the moment. He felt the excitement climbing pleasantly through the folds of his stomach. Like when two predators stare threateningly at each other in a test of dominance. They smell the strength of the opponent, try to push it to cross the line where courage is crushed by fear. The very moment where one of the two predators inevitably becomes prey. He could feel the arousing of adrenaline rush, spreading pleasantly through the veins, getting a waterfall of chills on his back. He missed that feeling.
He stared at the man sitting, beholding him without any fear, for a moment that seemed frozen in time. However, one thing was the rush of adrenaline, another story was about his gut, shouting not to lower his guard.
Not a muscle in motion, only the flow of his own blood, throbbing frantically in his neck, as a reluctant evidence of the extent of the buzz he got from. He realized to be facing a crossroads, where his fate was about to be accomplished. He had the feeling that his survival, now more than ever, depended on how long he could hold his nerves. He knew he was strong and deadly, a snake in the darkness, aware of its venom. He was a very well-trained soldier. He thought he could face any threat, just about any situation.
Being unarmed was not the real problem. He had counted no less than two dozen armed agents when he arrived, and at least a dozen of security Mech. Not to mention the two doll faces, who had pulled him out of jail. He realised very early on how badasses they were. His favorite was a biotic, and that was the problem. She could knock him out from afar. At best he would have died trying to escape, or worse, captured and brought back into a hell where he did not want to come back.
He did not really have much choice. So, he stood still, his chin carved in steel. He supposed he was going to need every ounce of willpower. He forced himself to remain impassive to try to impress the man. Just a handful of seconds had gone, but for the young man, still motionless in front of his mysterious interlocutor, they seemed as long as years. Finally, the older man spoke, in elegant puffs of smoke. His low, controlled voice broke the silence, and turned it into tension.
"As I predicted, our small rescue operation was a success. I guess, your formers Alliance buddies are still wondering where the hell you are." He asserted, with a subtle grimace of satisfaction. The hand of him made the brandy dance in the glass, before sipping tastefully a little swallow, then a second one.
The Illusive Man laid the glass aside, and looked up, serious face. A note of passion grew in his voice, while he went on, it became more and more discernible.
"I've been watching you for a long time. I wanted to meet you for a very long time. Your talents are really impressive, a precious gift for all of humanity that should not be wasted in a jail cell. You are welcome here. I'm proposing you to stay."
Feng listened in silence, folded arms. His eyes, as deep as black pits scrutinized the unknown interlocutor, drawing on his own wealth of caution. His gut was still telling better not to lower his guard, but the feeling was well hidden, as his voice blew cold and eerie, like a black wind.
"I'm not so sure I have to thank you yet. I'm positive I'm here for a reason, but I've not decided if I like it. I want to know, what do you want from me, first." He heard his own voice hissing in a lapidary tone.
The Illusive Man said nothing. Instead, he took a voluptuous puff, getting the cigarette redden between his fingers. Impassive. The smoke spread abundantly around him, lit from behind in the colors of the star. He showed a dark silhouette in the dim light that looked vaguely fiendish.
"I'm giving you a purpose," he retorted firmly. Then, he moved in the chair, leaning a bit forward, but never taking his eyes off of Feng. Where the cigarette used to be, a clenched fist was taking shape, which placed some emphasis on his ardor, made it speaks.
"You have fought on Entiyon as a hero, and in turn you've been dishonorably discharged from the Alliance, and tossed to languish in the brig," he frowned, then insisted warmly.
"I suppose you were fighting for a purpose. Making humanity aware of its own weight at the scene of the Galaxy is my own personal goal. I'm positive you figured out the Alliance is bridled in the Council's red-tape, not willing to bear the costs involved for the good of our species. The task of Cerberus is to protect humanity against anyone, by whatever means. Our people must always be defended, in order to get the proper recognition they deserve. And, this is where you come in the game! My project is crucial and very ambitious, indeed. That's why I need your prowess!" He declared, nodding his belief, before sipping back the brandy in his glass, as a sort of unreadable light was glowing through his eyes.
The highly trained young soldier who everybody now called assassin, could sniff the danger posed on his partner in conversation. He was both intrigued by the boundless ambition of him, and warned by the absence of any restriction about his purposes. One thing was perfectly clear at his guts. He was going to make a one-way choice. Whatever he chose, there was no going back. He used to really be into this feeling, and... he liked it.
He gritted his teeth, chin raised in challenge, "You do flatter your enemy, so he will offer his own back at your dagger," he argued eerily calm.
The Illusive Man did not seem surprised at all. He smiled faintly, as retorting with an assertive look. "True."
Pausing, he took a long puff from the cigarette, before he assured, half friendly tone. "However, if the two of us were enemies, you'd not have come out of that cell on your feet."
Finally, he blinked at the useful tool who stand in front of him, before saying what he wanted to hear, with a half smirk. "Consider yourself a precious ally."
No emotion, nor expression or hesitation. Just an icy whisper, without lowering his gaze off of Illusive Man's sparkling blue eyes. The choice had been made. The assassin grinned, then as sharp as a razor he hissed slowly. "In that case, now you have my attention."
The Illusive Man leaned back in his chair, a flash of satisfaction was escaping his eyes. He gave a nod at his new operative, raising vaguely his glass. The triumphant tone handled down with a certain amount of effort, as he said. "Great! There are big things ahead for us, Mr. Feng Hey Te!"
He took a sip of brandy, before continuing with his point, fervently. "For one thing, you need a new identity."
He was putting all his talent into directing Feng exactly where he wanted him to go. He gave him a tiny nod of sympathizing. "They call you Cat6, murderess, and now a fugitive. The Alliance is looking for you and they won't stop. Wherever you go, with that face, you are going to attract someone's attention very soon. A sort of attention YOU cannot afford to risk." Frown knit, he noted icily the hard fact.
"But, I can make you invisible." Determination sparkled the Illusive man's blue gaze, as he said, "your name, your appearance, no one will be able to link anything back to you, or this organization." He huffed and puffed his conviction through the smoke. "Your appearance will be changed by a plastic surgery, and Rasa is going to create a new whole identity for you. She's the best in this business." He claimed confidently.
Feng was positive his new boss was right. Truth be told, he had never liked his own face much. Above all, he hated with an absolute passion the damned scar on his cheek that reminded him of his most stinging defeat the whole time. Living like a fugitive was something he really wanted to avoid, and he actually did not need to think a lot to make up his final decision.
So, he gave the new boss a short nod. "OK, I'm in. But, I have demands." He said dryly.
Strange enough, what was on the Illusive man's face, seemed to be a genuine smile. "Of course, you can ask everything you want." He said, perhaps a little too kindly.
"I'm Chinese and that's what I want to be, but I want to look good." Feng retorted with a crooked grin.
"Eyes are OK, but no more scars." He rubbed a hand on his neck, then let out a huff. "Well, I like my name, but... I suppose you're right. I'll be Leng from now on... Kai Leng."
The Illusive Man gave back a brief knowing nod, retorting, "you are going to have the best plastic surgeon."
Then, he focused on his plan in a professional tone. "Once you are operational, Rasa and you will go on Mars. You will go undercover inside the personnel in charge of the Prothean Archives' inventory. There is an ancient artifact, which you will have to recover..."
The holographic image faded slowly through the air, turning the killer's grimly eyes in a glancing ghost of vanishing colors. The Illusive Man was alone in the silence of the room to contemplate the dying star beyond the glass. The Cerberus leader calmly lit another cigarette, taking a voluptuous puff. He was instantly rapt by the beats of excitement, which throbbed cheerfully in his neck. Shivers of irresistible self-complacency were spreading down his back.
He seemed deep in thought for a period of minutes and mysterious, before turning communication on. "Doctor? This is Illusive Man, do you copy?"
The answer was immediate. A deep voice, dry and busy talked back without preamble from the other side.
{Then, orders?}
"Yes, everything is going according to my plans. As I had predicted, my new operative is coming for plastic surgery, doctor. Be prepared to change his appearance, considering all his demands. Of course, I trust in your great ability for the final result." He said, in a professional tone.
{I'm ready} was the terse reply.
A moment before the call died, the Illusive Man half lifted his brow, as he grimly added, "Ha, and... doctor Heart? ..."
{Yes?}
"Get a control chip implanted into his brain."
{Very good}
Planet Kahje, in the late 2182, Earth Time.
The Zymandis' comfortable sea-shuttle quickly slipped into the narrow and well-concealed crevice of access to the vast, still unexplored underwater cave, seated 10,000 feet down, in the Southern Ocean of his own Homeworld. The only other occupant sat silently in the back seat, his expectation was at fever pitch. Being there had taken a long time, endless resources, and more than some big sacrifice, but Jack Harper had been adamant, and his biggest expectation was finally about to come true, any sacrifice would be worth for.
A metallic blue glow glistened in his eyes, spreading in a reflect of lust on the precious artifact he was greedily holding in his gloved hands. A few years had passed since Leng and Rasa had stolen it from the Archives on Mars. He huffed in his mind, struggling to handle his own thoughts positively. 'Finally, the wait is over!'
Contrary to what one would think, the object in question was not Prothean. All the analyses carried out over the years confirmed the artifact had been forged in an unknown metal, by an equally unknown alien race and mysterious, purportedly many millions of years earlier of Protheans civilization.
It was the size of a large medallion, but it was triangular in shape, perfectly smooth, and pleasantly soft to the touch. So pleasant that Jack's fingers seemed hopelessly drawn to it, sometimes. He could not help but gently caress the medallion's surface, thoughtfully, until a pleasant buzz would start to tickle at his fingertips, getting his resolve bigger and bigger. In the center of the triangle a slit cut directly into the metal formed an H-shaped rune, but arranged horizontally. On the back of the artifact an inscription has been incomprehensible for a long time. Then, finally, the incredible breakthrough. They were galactic coordinates!
The Illusive Man was trying hard to stay in the chair, so deep was his excitement. The coordinates led him to a site, right inside this cave in the depths of Kahje. One of the worlds where the Prothean ruins were most abundantly allocated. A lot of time and undefined amount of credits had been invested, to get hold of that artifact and to be able to understand the meaning of the inscription itself. The Prothans found the ancient artifact themselves, and they succeeded in translating the inscription. The Illusive Man was positive that whatever was in the cave must have been extremely valuable, and the Protheans easily enjoyed the technological benefits themselves.
The Cerberus leader had reason to believe the Protheans enshrined in that undersea cave some storage of intact alien technology, very ancient and absolutely invaluable, to which, they were supposed to owe the development of their own technology. Thanks to the resources he thought he could find, he was positive that Cerberus, primarily, and humankind as a consequence would have progressed at least a thousand years further compared to all the other species.
The moment when the Earth would finally secure its own leading role in governing and guiding the Milky Way was coming. The Illusive Man was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. That thought had become a torture, the torture an obsession, which hammered unremittingly in his head, like thousands of tormented voices that never stopped urging him, in an almost painful way. Voices induced him to strive relentlessly. Only one thought like a mantra in his head. It was whispering, murmuring, shouting loudly, 'use it! This is the key to save your species. Use it!'
"This one recommends that you get to the airlock, right now. Estimated time of arrival, five minutes in Galactic Standard Time." Zymandis warned politely, as he euphorically sparkled in delicious nuances from indigo to cadmium. He put the shuttle on autopilot, before moving his tentacles to the airlock himself. The Illusive Man snapped to his feet, like on the verge of a pressing need. He carefully placed the artifact in the pocket at his belt before striding out behind him, fervently.
The Hanar are a water-native species, shaped by evolution in order to sustain the enormous pressure of the deep sea in their Homeworld with no need for diving suits. Their gelatinous bodies, are able to regulate the internal density, until the consistency of water, and like a jellyfish, they can breathe through their skin. The Hanar are able to descend into the deep ocean of their world with ease, thanks to the natural self-regulating system of the internal pressure in relation to the outside.
The Illusive Man, on the other hand, was forced to wear what looked like a heavy armor. He gave Zymandis a short nod, before putting his helmet on, securing the lock. The pressure suit was designed to allow the Drells to follow the Hanar in deep underwater activity in case they needed. Of course, it ensured the best survival conditions for that particular species. However, this one in particular had been appropriately modified and tuned to the vital needs of the human beings. Moving on the ground was almost like walking in space with a pair of magnetic boots. Jack Harper felt comfortable in his suit, almost immediately. After a few minutes he started to get the hand on it, moving rather quickly.
"This one is hoping you're comfortable enough in your environment suit, good friend." Zymandis said still in a polite voice, he half glowingly from mint to lemon, confirming how sincere his interest in knowing it was. His gelatinous body started to shimmer with excitement almost immediately after, as in a low and trembling whisper he added."Here. It's right down here!"
Human eyes widened under the helmet in the attempt to absorb the turmoil of emotions that bounced uncontrollably in every heartbeat. The man let out a long breath of pure greed, grinning. "Honestly, Zymandys? Never better. C'mon, let's move!"
Zymandis moved with the grace and elegance of a dancer. His body sparkled and shone in fascinating nuances of color. Amber, and crimson, and cobalt blue pulsated and quivered on his skin as soft caresses of colored light in the thick darkness of the cave. An aura of mystery, painted all around the two explorers. The powerful lamp over the Illusive man's helmet opened up its own luminous eye, as the man was frantically trying to slow down breathing to save oxygen. He had never felt so excited in a lifetime.
They entered a long rock alley. It ended in a steep, vertical wall, and smooth, of which the top could not be seen. The beam of light illuminated a solid metal door. They found a triangle-shaped depression at the center of it, of the same size as the artifact. It contained a rune embossed H-shaped horizontally placed in the center of the triangle itself. Zymandis' voice rang out in the ear bud, "This one believes the object in your possession can be a key." The Illusive Man pushed the button on his helmet to speak. "Well, we're about to find it out!" His voice vibrating with excitement, as he pulled the artifact out of his pocket. He took a long breath, smiling faintly, as he placed the medallion in the proper housing in the door. Neither of those two seemed astonished when it perfectly fit.
The heavy sheet metal, which had been motionless in that position for thousands of years, all of a sudden was beginning to move, obediently. Some hollow, muffled sounds vibrated under their feet, until it was completely open. A large room immersed in the darkness revealed.
Blades of light cut the darkness like butter. Iridescent nuances of yellows, and reds, and blues reflected like strobe lights on the walls. The Illusive Man felt legs grown heavy, his heart like a madness of drums in the middle of his chest. His entire being seemed to expand. Every single fiber of him into an eruption of excitement, like suspended in the delirium of his own ambition, drunk with a premature glorification. The vision got blurred, as he struggled with all his strength not to scream. Zymandis was also vibrating, in a state of evident euphoria. His body shone with colorful excitement.
The deal was clear. To the Hanar all the Prothean findings. Every artifact, each relic, every single ancient and invaluable memory belonged to the Enkindlers would become a cult object in a big, lavish temple underwater. Located in a secret place, very far from the control of the Citadel, or the rigorous eye of the Council. Humans would get in return any non-Prothean technology they were going to find in that cave. However, Zymandis happiness was very short-lived.
The room was empty, immersed in a desolate darkness. No trace of technology, nor precious relics. Only an Obelisk, twice the height of a man, quietly asleep in the center of the hall. The spot of light, finally tripped over it, revealing its pyramidal shape. It seemed made in the same metal of the artifact itself. At the centre of one of these faces, the same triangle-shaped depression already seen in the door. The Illusive Man's hand was trembling a little, as he placed the "key" in its place right in the middle of an unknown, potentially dangerous alien pyramid, placed in that place who knows when, and who knows for what equally unknown and mysterious reason.
The rune fit perfectly. Once in position, it lit up with an emerald fluorescent light. The obelisk started to light up with white light itself, with a quiver of hesitation. The white cautiously turned into an intense iridescent green. Within a few seconds, the pyramid began to pulse at regular intervals by issuing an intense vibration. "A transmission signal!" Jack Harper cried out, with disconsolate surprise. It really was a signal, an exceptional one, so incomprehensible as unknown. Once activated, it had been impossible to get it stopped.
Beyond the Far Rim, somewhere out into the deep Intergalactic Space, a few weeks later.
In a glacial dark, remote and quiet, far beyond the space that defines the Milky Way boundaries, a huge spaceship, a couple of kilometers long, is sleeping. It just flows into a millennial orbit, like a giant insect, around to the most remote boundary and unreachable of the galactic arm. Unnoticed. It is just waiting.
The signal transmitted by the Obelisk into the ocean depths of Kahje is traveling the distance at unthinkable speed. Infinite space, which would take thousands of years to be traveled, almost completely canceled by the sophisticated technology of the Relays. When the signal began to pulse, the transmission bounced from one relay to another across the galaxy. The delivery time reduced to a few weeks.
In the silent intergalactic dark space, a huge white eye, suddenly lights up in the center of the sleeping beast. The awakening has just begun. The huge spaceship turns on, vibrates menacingly, as if it took a breath of life, then moves. Its journey back to the nearest Relay has alreldy started.
To be Continued...