I'm not that greatest at space-realpolitik (and particularly not the greatest on the minutiae of the political landscape of the Mass Effect universe, despite my best efforts) but I'm just trying to think what the practical and appearance-saving response from the powers-that-be would be to, well, this situation. As ever if there are gaps in the reasoning that's the characters' fault, not mine. Honest.
But anyway. I try.
(I don't know if there's a ninth fleet or not. If yes then good that's great. If not then, uh, it's new. Really new. You wouldn't have heard of it. It's the cool person fleet.)
And so I'm back in the meeting-stroke-debriefing room again, with dimmed lights, looking at holograms of the Council. Does the QEC here link back to the Citadel? Is that a thing? Or are we just close enough or close enough to a buoy for a comfortable chat?
You know what, I don't know, and I don't care. We're talking, that's what matters.
"You rang?" I ask, starting as I mean to go on.
"Shepard. I take it you are aware of the situation?" Tevos - I remembered their names this time - asked, getting down to business. This I could actually appreciate, so I gave a nod.
"Enough that we don't have to go over the basics - what might I not know? We learn anything new, anything else?" I ask. It's Valern who answers next.
"The system is remote enough for us - and sufficiently within Hegemony influence - that it's lucky we know anything at all. We are awaiting the results of some additional reporting, but other than that we have learned nothing new. What we do have is confirmation. It was, uh-"
They apparently had to check for the name here.
"It was Jarrion who did this."
"Or his ship. Definitely his ship?"
Something about this still feels weird to me. I mean, I know it can't be anyone else, it just seems like something he'd have to build up to, you know? Or maybe I was just missing the obvious.
"Unless you happen to know anyone else who has a ship like that," says Sparatus, with what I assume is meant to be cutting sarcasm. I am not cut by this sarcasm.
"Well, you got me there. Hegemony confirm that for us?" I ask, and Valern nods.
"Yes. Loudly. They identified the vessel and then assigned responsibility to the Alliance, humanity itself, the Council, and also possibly the captain - the order of blame doesn't appear especially important to them, as long as some of it sticks," he says.
"Figures."
There's not a lot of point wasting time wondering how or why the Hegemony made the link between humanity and Jarrion's ship. That the super-big, strange, inexplicable spaceship that showed up out of nowhere and has been zipping about the Terminus systems is crewed by humans isn't exactly secret to anybody. Was a neat and weird little bit of mystery before, now it's a bloody liability.
"How long ago was this, anyway? The attack," I asked.
I knew it had happened, but everyone had been fuzzy on the when. Even the articles I'd seen hadn't been particularly specific. Could have happened five minutes ago, for all I knew.
"Long enough that we're already seeing a noticeable increase in targeted pirate and mercenary attacks on human or human-affiliated targets," says Tevos.
"Retaliatory attacks. Raids!" Udina clarified. On the off-chance I was an idiot, I guess.
And okay, maybe I wasn't as informed of the situation as I thought because I hadn't known that was already happening. I would have told you that it would have started happening, the Hegemony being the Hegemony, but I'm honestly a little surprised they've got their act together this quickly. Must be very upset. Understandable, I guess.
"Presumably of the deniable 'Oh nothing to do with us we didn't pay for this I've no idea what you're talking about' kind?" I ask.
"Yes."
A lot of diplomacy always seems to involve both sides knowing damn well what's really happening but neither side being able to actually say it out loud. You'd know what someone was doing, but you couldn't outright say it, because then they might say something you'd done, or else you'd show you knew more than you wanted people to know you did, and that wouldn't do at all. Or maybe I'm a cynic. Certainly, I'm very tired - that's not up for debate.
"Naturally. And they want what?" I ask.
"Oh they have a long list of entirely unreasonable and totally impossible demands, but we all know that's meaningless, just noise. What they really want is the one responsible," Valern says.
"Right. And we're at the beck-and-call of the Hegemony because…?"
"Because colonies are being raided, Shepard!" Udina says.
"Ah, so collector attacks aren't something you feel you can or should do anything about, but more pirate attacks than usual - in places you normally don't care all that much about - are a big issue that needs resolving immediately."
Maybe I'm missing something. I'm not averse to helping in a situation like this - I kind of make it my business to do so, even if I'm not being told to do so - I just take issue with people changing their minds for no obvious reason. It speaks poorly of their character.
"Shepard, there is a difference between colonists who have deliberately chosen to place themselves outside the sphere of our protection being allegedly targeted by the collectors and a known, belligerent government illicitly condoning, funding and directing attacks with the deliberate intention of provoking a response," says Tevos, measuredly. A little too measuredly for me.
There's nothing fucking alledged about it and they damn well know it I kind of want to say, but I know there's not a lot of point. It's another of those dance-the-dance type things.
"A response that they're going to get, apparently?" I ask instead, pointing out what appears to me to be something of a flaw here. Seems a bit odd to me to know someone is trying to get a rise out of you and rise anyway, but maybe that's why I'm not a politician. I'm not a fan of walking into traps I know are traps, either. Am I the weird one?
And my, they can move quick when they care, can't they?
"It is not unreasonable to assume that, given time, they will broaden their list of targets. We have already seen attacks in the Traverse," Tevos says, still measured, and that does get a blink out of me.
Already in the Traverse? Damn, they really were angry. You think they'd work up to that. Alright I'll admit that's a bit of a surprise to me - I'd have thought they'd limit it to the Terminus systems at first, at least. Apparently not! Yeesh.
"We're not going to be waiting for some stimmed-up mercenary to decide not to check what it is they're shooting at, either. We have decided to act now, and we've decided to ask you because you have a personal connection and experience," says Sparatus.
"None of which matters anyway. Humans are being killed right now, Shepard! If you're willing to associate with terrorists under the pretext that it's to protect human colonies then we shouldn't have to twist your arm to do your job to do the same thing!" Says Udina.
I'm not rising to that. Just take a breath and hold it. In for four, hold for four, out for four.
Ah, that's a little better.
"And if I said no you'd send someone else anyway?" I ask.
"Yes," comes the blunt response from more-or-less all of them, more-or-less at once.
Not like they didn't have other options. Always got the STG kicking around, and I wasn't the only Spectre, after all. Just the only one with, as they said, experience here. And the only human, too. I wouldn't have put too much weight on that before but with this - with Jarrion - I am thinking that, if they send any of the others, it'll just make things worse. I might actually have a chance at a conversation.
"Right. And we all know the batarians of course have nothing to do with the attacks, but what have they said about the attacks slowing down or stopping if it looks like they'll get what they want?"
"They've stated that they will 'Look into the situation', but them doing so is contingent on us doing something, or at the least being seen to be doing something. That's you. Us sending you is doing something, you going is what's needed for this to happen," Sparatus says, deploying some of his galaxy-famous air-quotes. I think they're a reflex at this point, honestly. I don't think he's conscious of doing it.
And of course, me. Had to be me. Most important woman in the galaxy, swear to god. You want a lightbulb changed you just get me to hold it and watch the whole universe revolve around me. It's not all it's cracked up to be, I'm finding out. Mostly just involves never having five minutes to sit down and stare into space.
(Also I've never actually seen a lightbulb, if I'm being honest. Maybe in a museum, once? When I was younger? I can't remember. The joke stuck with me though.)
"What would you like to happen?" I ask, surrendering to the inevitable.
"Ideally we would have liked this situation never to have arisen in the first place, but as that sadly isn't an option what we need you to do is convince him to move himself and his vessel to a neutral location - one is still being decided upon, coordinates will be forwarded to you when the decision is made - there to remain while full details of the incident are ascertained, and for discussions with the Hegemony for whatever reparations or other compensation they feel is necessary," Valern says, rattling it all off.
"The Alliance will be providing support for this, if required. A portion of the ninth fleet has agreed to act as escort," Udina adds, just happy to be there, I guess.
And ninth fleet? Must have missed that one while I was busy being dead.
I process what they've just laid down in front of me, try to tease it open to probe at the core of what it is they're asking for here, what it is they actually want, what they want to see unfold. The words I understand, but put together they paint a picture I'm having a little trouble grasping.
"You want him to turn himself in?" I ask, hoping I don't sound as incredulous as I feel, though I'm sure I still sound pretty incredulous. They just nod.
"Not as such, but in effect. If you like," Tevos says.
I'm not exactly old friends with Jarrion but I know the guy enough to know that I can't see that working in any way, shape or form. Smart of them to have the Alliance be the muscle, but yeah no, I still can't see this idea being a goer. I'm persuasive, but I'm not a miracle worker.
My mouth works on a few different words to start the next sentence. None seem to fit at first, and I eventually settle on:
"Okay. When - if, if - if he doesn't agree to that, then what?"
"Then you are to take whatever steps you deem necessary to ensure there are no further incidents."
That's a step up, isn't it? Feel like they missed a few options there, turned it right up to the maximum response level. I'm waiting for a 'with extreme prejudice' but that doesn't come. It's implied though.
"...okay," I say.
Great. Sure. I can do that. Totally.
Apparently my response wasn't enthusiastic enough for some of those present.
"The man murdered thousands in cold blood, Shepard! This can't be brushed off or explained away as military action or anything of the sort - it was slaughter! Unprompted, unprovoked! Who's to say he won't have a turian colony as his next target! Or do we have to wait for him to work his way through all the other species in the galaxy until he hits human for you to care?"
That's a little blunt, even for Sparatus. And how does he know it was unprovoked? Not to say that that would be better, it wouldn't, just, you know, how does he know? He doesn't. None of us know anything. He's just making shit up. I can tell when I'm being baited. I'm not giving that the time of day.
"I'll call you back when I've solved the problem," I say, and I hang up.
What else of use was I going to get out of that conversation continuing?
One of the problems of the briefing room that Cerberus put in, I find, is that there's nothing good to hit. The walls are all curved out and the table sinks away when you're talking to people and there's no handy pots or vases or anything like that. So when you've had a frustrating conversation there isn't anything on hand to immediately vent on.
Probably for the best, really.
Annoyingly, I can follow a line through their thinking on this, too. Or, rather, I can see the line they've got going, which means other people will too.
It's one thing to say, hey, this part of space is dangerous and we can't help you if nasty stuff happens and then not help when nasty stuff happens, fine. Even when that nasty stuff starts looking deliberately targeted you can still hide behind that excuse, particularly if the ones doing the stuff in question are, you know, mysterious aliens no-one ever really sees. That's risks of the territory crossed with crazy colonist stories - you guys brought that on yourselves, they'll say, and leave you to twist in the wind.
Fine. It's not a nice answer but, politically, it's pretty sound.
But it's another thing entirely to have a group you know about, a government with a known history of catspaw belligerence, getting understandably annoyed a whole lot of their citizens got killed and deciding the best response is to see that a lot of your citizens - or, you know, the citizens of one of your members, in this case - also get killed, too, until the one responsible gets what's coming to him.
When that happens and you sit back, well, you come across less like 'We warned you, our hands are tied' and more like 'We ignore it when people attack us as long as they do it far enough away', which isn't a good look.
Or, you know, it might not look like that. Someone will argue it whatever way. Politics is weird and, thankfully, not really my job. Point is I can tell the difference in optics. I can see the difference between those two, as much as I don't like there being a difference. I can see the line! I can see the line they're taking. Doesn't mean I like it any more or agree with it any more, obviously.
If this was just a slight spike in piracy following something else, would they care as much? Is it because it's such a big spike? Does that matter? Is it because it's such a big spike for such a specific reason? Is it because they have their concerns and reasons about that reason - by which I mean, of course, Jarrion and his bloody ship? Are they genuinely concerned about someone like Jarrion with a ship like his running roughshod over their own colonies? Do they honestly think he's a genuine risk and a threat and feel they need to step in now, given the exceptional circumstances (see: his enormous bloody spaceship)? Or were they just waiting for an excuse to make a move on him and this is as good as it could possibly get? All of the above? Some combination?
Christ knows. Not like they'd ever tell anyone. All academic anyway. The why of it is moot. It is what it is, whether I like the reasons or not, whatever the reasons might actually be. I can poke holes but it won't change a damn thing. Just have to get it done, keep going. If I don't then someone else will only muck it up. Figure out the best way forward.
The best way of either convincing a xenophobe to sit on his hands while aliens decided what he should do, or else the best way of killing said xenophobe and his enormous, planet-killing spaceship. Or some third way I haven't figured out yet. Yippee.
"More fucking side missions," I say, unclenching my hands which had, at some point, tightened into fists. "EDI, how's the IFF doing?"
"I have integrated the Reaper IFF with the Normandy's systems, Commander, but I would suggest testing its functionality prior to attempting to traverse the Omega Four relay."
Well yes, obviously.
"Right. Hold off on that for now. We have a detour to take. Again."
He set up on Horizon, didn't he? Pretty sure he did.
Guess I'll have to go see if he's in.
Dropping out of superluminal, the freighter Loghain had borrowed cruised on in towards its apparent destination. Loghain herself was again up front to keep an eye on things, while Crave continued to not look entirely happy at the controls.
"A station?" He asked, hands moving about rather more confidently now, albeit not comfortably. He didn't look up through the window but then he didn't have to, he was looking at the readouts. Loghain was looking out the window, seeing the station.
"So it would appear," she said.
"Is that expected?"
"It was mentioned that it would be a port, so I suppose."
This was good enough.
"Initiating docking procedures. Or what I hope are docking procedures," said Crave as he transmitted clearances and - with some reluctance - allowed the automated docking systems to help guide the freighter in. It wasn't that the concept was unusual, automated docking, it was that he didn't fully trust the components involved.
Loghain gave him a pat on the shoulder. He did not appreciate this.
"You're doing fine," she said.
"It is rather beneath my station to be flying ships, you know."
"I know. After this you won't have to worry about it for a while."
She assumed. If everything went to plan.
Whatever Crave had done had apparently worked, as the station's docking authorities accepted their request and the automated parts took over the final approach, gliding them in nice and smoothly. He took his hands away from the console and regarded them with distaste, mechadendrites unplugging themselves seemingly of their own volition so they could snake back out of sight again.
"After this I will need to pray. I've spent far too long now interacting with this crude, spiritually bankrupt technology. These cogitators of theirs are suspect, and there's no reverence for anything here. I feel unclean," he said
"No time to pray."
"There is always time to pray."
"Nope, no there's not."
"I'm not happy about this."
"There's always time for that. Praying later. There'll be a lot more interacting with crude technology before the day is out, I expect. Might even have to walk past an xenos or two if we're unlucky," Loghain said.
"That's what the praying's for…"
"Come on. We need to get dressed."
Which is to say, they needed to disguise themselves.
Although with that being said the disguises weren't so much disguises as they were a few sartorial choices made with appearing inconspicuous in mind. That meant muted colours, not a lot of flair, absolutely no insignia anyone might want to ask any questions about. Just vague, unremarkable outfits. Like anyone who was passing through.
Underneath those unremarkable outfits might have been lightly armoured bodygloves, yes, and maybe a few other hidden items and gadgets, sure, and Loghain's rosette was also there in an inside pocket even though no-one would know what it meant, fine, but on the outside they'd look like just about anyone else who happened to be wearing a lot of brown. The only allowance for extravagance was allowing Crave to wear an especially long coat, because hiding his tentacles would have been too difficult otherwise.
Loghain knew it would be impossible for them as complete and utter outsides to appear entirely natural and non-suspicious, but for the small amount of time they'd be on the station before making contact with their contact she was content at least to be looked at once, but not twice. And given her particular talents, she could make sure that happened.
Hell, if she really wanted to she could have had them all stark naked and probably made sure no-one noticed. It was just much easier this way, not to mention warmer and easier to carry things.
"Looking good, team," she said, zipping herself up and casting an augmented eye over the others.
"Not to denigrate the Astartes, but I am not entirely sure brother al Bet here will be the most incognito?" Asked Redlands, nodding to al Bet. The space marine did not have a disguise, because even attempting one would have been embarrassing for everyone involved.
"The Interrogator has a point, Lady Inquisitor," he said.
"Neither of you need to worry about that. I have it covered," Loghain said, tapping her temple.
"Oh?" Al Bet asked, curious, before working out what it was the psychic had in mind. "Ah," he said, plainly not enthused, but resigned. He'd worked in worse conditions than under some sort of telepathic disguise. There the matter rested.
Loghain clapped her hands together.
"Alight, here's what's happening: we are going onto the station. On the station we are meeting a contact, a Cerberus agent. Once we've met with the agent we'll go with him to a secondary location elsewhere in-system where we shall meet with and talk to the Illusive Man. Okay? This is the plan. We get to him, explain our position, outline what we have in mind - or I do all that, you guys stand around until I need you - and everyone is happy. Alright?"
"Sounds relaxing and simple," said Varne.
"Yes. Be ready for things not to go to plan. Something will go wrong. I'm not sure what yet but something will, so be ready. Let's go."
Taking perhaps a bag or two for the road they departed the freighter, walked down the docking arm into the hanger area, briefly stopped so that Loghain could help the docking officer 'remember' the arrangement they had that meant docking fees were waived and no inspections had to be made, then headed into the body of the station proper.
(For a moment Loghain did wonder whether she was using her abilities frivolously here, but this was a concern she dismissed. They were just passing through, after all, and they didn't actually have any money to speak of anyway. And besides, her powers just came so easily here. The barriers of reality seemed a little thicker, perhaps, but once you reached through them there really wasn't anything reaching back at all. It was almost unsettlingly quiet at times.)
The station wasn't exactly humming with activity but it wasn't dead or deserted either, being some sort of local-ish hub for ships passing through this system and several others nearby, taking advantage of the proximity of both the nearby relay and the nearby fuel depot. A place to rest, recuperate, meet up, find things out, sell things, buy things - that sort of thing. Loghain had been in so many stations like that she'd lost count, and they all sort of blurred. This one at least was cleaner than most, so that was nice.
And there were aliens. Not many, but a few. Not that it mattered, obviously, with Loghain's team being professionals. The sight of them just made them a little unhappy, was all, particularly seeing them palling around with humans. Talking. Trading. Co-operating. They even saw a couple eating lunch at some restaurant on some little promenade (or as close as to a promenade as could be managed on so small a station).
And that was couple as in a couple, it looked like, judging by the tone of their interaction.
That was especially vile, a stark reminder of the moral degeneracy of this galaxy and of the work that still lay ahead of them. And it wasn't as if they could easily ignore it, either, as it was happening on a table right next to the person Loghain identified as their contact.
"That's our man," she said, pointing past the foul lovers to a man sitting just past them.
None of them needed to ask her how she knew.
Figuring that all of them going over and saying hello would look a little odd, even with Loghain doing her best to passively let attention just slide off the group, it was decided that instead she and the rest would go and wait around a quiet corner, she would give the man a mental tap on the shoulder to get him to look around, and Varne would be the one to actually make contact.
Which is what happened. The man, prompted by something he couldn't fully explain, looked around and saw Varne standing off looking pointedly at him. Once sure that he'd got the man's attention Redgrace gave him the slightest of nods and then slid around the corner himself. Getting the idea, the man checked his omnitool briefly, looked around, blew out a breath and then did a very good job of looking like he was leaving for entirely his own reasons, also going around the corner.
Around the corner in this instance was an out-of-the-way service corridor, the entrance to which Adept Watlington had opened for them. Inside the corridor he met the team. He was clearly taken off-guard by Loghain's augmetics - more by just how incredibly blunt they looked than by any surprise at mechanical replacements - but recovered quickly and knew better than to mention them or to stare. He'd obviously noticed though, and Loghain could tell he found them a little uncomfortable to look at. She did not mind this. Putting people on edge was usually valuable.
The man didn't so much as glance twice at al Bet.
"Bryce," he said by way of abrupt introduction, making the minimum amount of eye-contact needed to be even vaguely polite and immediately continuing: "We need to get going fast."
He pointed back the way they'd come and was about to start walking, too.
"Are we in a hurry?" Loghain asked, stopping him.
"Yes we are. Things have happened since this meeting got set up."
"Oh?"
"No time to explain, we need to go," Byrce said, again attempting to slip away and gesturing for them to follow, but again no-one moved.
"No. Explain," Loghain said.
When it became obvious she wasn't kidding around Bryce grimaced.
"Fine. Your pal - the one with the ship - decided to glass a batarian colony and they've responded by siccing just about every pirate and hired gun they could find lying around on anything that looks remotely human-related in the terminus systems and beyond. That could well be us soon, so we need to go."
Loghain was honestly caught flat-footed by this revelation, not something that happened to her often.
"Jarrion did that? That's not possible."
For one thing she just couldn't see him doing something like that, not for no reason at least, and couldn't imagine what reason might have popped up since she left him that would have pushed him to such a thing. He was no stranger to the occasional orbital obliteration of aliens, she knew, but this was out of nowhere and had no obvious benefit to him that something more subtle couldn't also have managed.
Also, where would he have found the time?
Bryce continued to be fidgety, glancing around.
"Look, I'm not here to argue this with you. Whatever happened, whoever did it, a big spaceship that looks like a cathedral turned an alien colony into a smoking crater and now they're pissed off and now there's paid professionals with guns going around making people's lives miserable. There hasn't been anything near here yet but that's not to say there won't be. I've got information showing they might be coming this way, and I don't want to be here if that turn out to be accurate. So we need to go."
"And our meeting? Still going ahead, I trust?" Loghain asked.
"Best as we can manage - once we're on-board! Changed a little but it's still basically the same. He's not here, obviously, too hot, but back on the ship we have the facilities for you to talk to him one-to-one, one-on-one, good as being in the same room."
This was the first mention that Loghain had had of a ship being involved, beyond one being presumably needed to convey them to a secondary location. The implication here was that whatever ship Bryce had arrived in-system on was the secondary location, and the meeting would be more of a conference call. None of this was thrilling to Loghain.
"Yes, but not in the same room. That was the deal," she said.
Loghain did not like it when what she'd been told was the deal turned out not to be the deal. She really didn't like it. As far as wrinkles went they rankled her more than anything else. Things exploding or being shot at was fine, as long as the plan itself hadn't actually had its details altered.
"The deal has changed! Circumstances have changed! This isn't up for negotiation!" Byrce said. The man's tone was starting to grate on Loghain.
"Al-Bet, pick him up by the neck, if you'd be so kind," she said without missing a beat, while also finally letting the screen of innocuousness she'd been maintaining over the marine drop. The Cerberus agent had enough time to suddenly notice the towering, armoured giant before the selfsame towering, armoured giant calmly and cooly took him by the throat and lifted him up a foot or two above the ground.
Bryce made a noise, but it wasn't really words, and with all his desperate kicking and clawing at al Bet's arm it was sort of hard to make out anyway.
"I'd much prefer we keep this on friendly terms but I would like to make it very, very clear to you that these sorts of changes make us feel as though we aren't being taken seriously, yes? Particularly when we were under the impression this deal had already been comfortably settled and agreed? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. At the very least you should consider trying going through with it as was originally proposed, yes? So maybe this is up for negotiation, yes?" Loghain asked, sweetly.
Something in the man's spluttering sounded a bit like a 'yes' and so Loghain gave al Bet a nod. Bryce was dropped in a gasping, wheezing heap, clutching his neck.
"What is-" he managed to choke out before Loghain squatted down in front of him and snapped her fingers under his nose, splitting his attention and disrupting his sentence.
"Don't worry about the space marine, we can talk about him later. We can talk about all sorts of things once we've agreed that you will see to it that we get a proper, face-to-face meeting with the Illusive Man. I want your word on this. I want our working relationship to start happily."
Excluding the part where he'd been nearly throttled, presumably. Presumably that part went without saying. What was a little throttling between friends anyway?
Rubbing his throat and doing his best not to worry about the space marine, Bryce was plainly a man considering his options.
"...I'll see what I can do," he said, after having considered his options. Loghain smiled.
"Excellent, that's more like it. See? I just want you to try. Now, shall we go?"
"With that?" Bryce asked, pointing at al Bet.
"Don't worry about the space marine, I told you. No-one will look twice. Varne, you follow with Watlington and the Magos, keep a little distance. Al Bet and me will accompany Bryce here. Now after you, hmm?"
Perhaps finally grasping the gravity and oddity of the situation he'd been thrust into Byrce decided against arguing and, with only mild hesitation, turned and led the way, heading back towards the hangers again, where presumably he had a ride waiting. Loghain and a stealthy, uninteresting al Bet went with him, and perhaps a little under a minute later the others set out to follow.
All was going pretty well. No-one looked twice indeed. Just normal people going about normal business on the station, heading somewhere for some reason, no reason to be interested at all, nothing to see here.
At least until Bryce paused, stepping aside as his omnitool flashed to get his attention.
"What is it?" Loghain asked.
"Hang on…" Bryce said, checking.
He quickly brought up his omnitool and checked with a few swipes. Whatever this told him was unclear to Loghian - all just looked like orange nonsense to her - but it was clearly not anything good. He grimaced.
"Ah shit, they're here," he said, glancing warily upwards as though expecting them to start tapping on the station windows overheard any moment. In fairness, there was a shadow out there that hadn't been there minutes before, something large making its way for the docking clamps.
"The mercenaries?" Loghain asked, and Bryce did his best not to glower at her.
"The mercenaries, yes. Blood Pack, looks like. Great. We need to go."
For a second she thought he'd said 'Pact' and she'd got a bit confused, but then she realised what he'd actually said. She'd heard of the Blood Pack, she'd done her reading.
"What are they hoping to achieve?"
"Achieve? They're mercenaries! They've been paid!"
"Yes, but to do what?"
"Cause trouble! These are just fucking punitive raids! To cause damage! We stick around, we'll be damage! We need to go!"
"After you."
Not much use in bothering being subtle now. An alarm was sounding and someone was announcing over a public address system the imminent arrival of the mercenaries. From the sound of the announcement it wasn't an automated warning either, but rather some member of station management breathlessly urging everyone to stay calm and proceed in an orderly fashion to safer areas and that security was fully capable of handling this and that everything would be fine. It was unclear if anyone was listening to any of that.
People were running. Aliens were running, too. Mostly, they were all running the opposite direction to Loghain and the others, the direction away from the hangers and docking struts, the direction from which any attacker might comfortably be assumed to be approaching from. Sensible, really. At least it meant the crowds thinned out the further they went. By the time they had nearly arrived there wasn't a soul to be seen.
It wasn't long until they bumped into one of the reasons everyone had been running the other way, though. Or a couple of the reasons, really. Byrce rounded a corner and very quickly had to hurl himself back again, bumping into the others.
"Shit!" He hissed, ducking back as the edge of the corridor was chewed to ribbons by small arms fire.
"How many?" Loghain asked.
"Three! At least three, I saw three. Vorcha."
Loghain knew about the vorcha. Aliens.
"Where are we heading?" She asked. "Specifically."
"I, uh - I got here in a shuttle, kodiak. It's in hanger two. They're probably coming from the other direction, from a strut. They're in a frigate, I think," Bryce said, trembling slightly. Always a shock being shot at unannounced. Loghain took what he said and nodded. She'd seen the layout of the hangers in the station. Hanger two was in the opposite direction to the struts for the larger vessels, like the way they'd come. That was good, it meant they'd be heading away from the threat.
Just meant they had to get through these early ones first.
"Al Bet, clear a path to the hanger," she said.
"By your will," he said before stepping around the corner and, without even appearing to bother to aim, putting a single bolt round into each approaching alien, one after the other, utterly effortless. Bang bang bang. Not a single miss, not a moment's pause or hesitation, barely took a second. They hadn't even had the time to try shooting at him.
What was left of the vorcha hit the deck, most of the rest of them drizzling across the floor as a fine mist. Al Bet was already moving forwards before the first bolt casing clinked and rolled away, gun up and and sweeping side to side. Another vorcha got as far as just about poking its head around a corner at the far end to see what had happened before it's head ceased to exist in any practical fashion.
Al Bet advanced quickly, bolter raised, boots clanking dully on the deck plating.
More aliens appeared. The vorcha that had been killed already had been part of a vanguard meant to secure the hangers and deal with any early security prior to the bulk of the crew entering the station. The three that had been pressing ahead had jumped the gun a little and started ahead when they shouldn't have. Now that they'd gone quiet though their boss had noticed, and was unhappy.
The headless corpse on the corner probably also had something to do with that.
"What's going on? What are you doing? What?!" Said boss, a krogan, bellowed, coming barging around with another two more vorcha in tow, one carrying an incinerator unit of some kind. Al Bet shot that one first, bolt round passing almost completely through its slender alien body before rupturing the fuel tank, detonating it. He then shot the other vorcha, rather as an afterthought, and turned his aim towards the krogan.
Al Bet had also done his reading and was aware of krogan, at least nominally. Tough, he'd read, or tougher than most. Indeed, the explosion of the fuel tank more-or-less right next to it had done very little to upset the alien, mostly just jostling it to the side and singing it. And, understandably, making it even unhappier than he'd been to start with.
"What?! A mech?!" The krogan yelled, confused at the sight of al Bet and, as a result of the confusion, even angrier. He made to raise his shotgun and got fairly close to doing so, at least until half of them - the half with the arm holding the gun - was blown away by a bolt round.
To his credit he dealt with this sudden loss surprisingly well, getting over the shock, getting annoyed, and launching themselves at al Bet with a roar. This roar ended shortly (very shortly) when a further two bolts hit them in the face and blew out a not-insignificant chunk of their back. You could have stuck your arm through, had you been so inclined. Stone-dead, they tumbled forward and slid a fair distance, what with the momentum and all, sliding past al Bet who side-stepped them.
Reaching the end of the hall he aimed one way then the other way, then turned back to the group still taking cover.
"Clear," he said, his voice a bark, the better to make sure they got the point.
"Up we go," said Loghain cheerfully.
The rest of the way to hanger two was uneventful, barring Bryce being briefly stunned by the carnage wrought upon the aliens - he'd seen people shot before, yes, but these were not so much shot as blown open - and they got there without any more trouble.
A few more Blood Pack did appear as they were embarking onto the shuttle, but their efforts seemed desultory at best - a few potshots zipping their way as they climbed aboard. Either they were spooked and didn't fancy their chances or else the bulk of them were heading after the easier targets actually in the station. Loghain did not know, neither did she care. They were leaving.
They'd come back for the freighter at a later date. She made a mental note of where they'd parked. Hopefully it'd still be in one piece. Ideally she'd like to return it in one piece like she'd said she would but, well, plans change sometimes. As she'd found out.
Settled into the rather cozy rear compartment of the kodiak, Loghain found herself squashed up against Bryce, who was himself sandwiched against al Bet, who barely fitted inside at all.
"This'll be a cramped journey," Loghain said. She had no idea who was flying, but they were moving, so someone must have been.
"The frigate is in-system keeping a low profile. The shuttle is to get us to the frigate," said Bryce, staring ahead, doing his best not to think too much about the situation he had found himself in.
"Sensible. Walking would have taken a while," said Loghain, nodding.
The journey remained a cramped journey, not to mention a rather awkward one. Loghain could tell Bryce was planning in his head what he'd need to tell his people on the ship and quickly, and that little of it was going to be to her benefit. She didn't even have to probe him particularly deeply to know this.
He saw them as dangerous now, and was clearly trying to work out the best way of keeping them mollified and contained while he played for time and got instructions on what he should actually do next. Ideally, it seemed, he wanted this to be someone else's problem as quickly as possible and for him to just be able to forget the whole thing.
There wasn't much Loghain could do about this and, really, she hadn't expected anything less.
Before too long they arrived at the Cerberus frigate, which had been loitering on the surface of one of the moons of the one of the planets further to the edge of the system. It was small, slim, sleek, white and, of course, had the Cerberus logo on it. Being an Inquisitor Loghain couldn't be too upset about that - some of her peers were just as bad with that sort of thing, if not worse.
They met in orbit, the shuttle entered the frigate's hanger, and Loghain and company were led inside and to a well-appointed - if small, this being a rather modest spaceship - passenger lounge of some kind, or a module adapted into something like a passenger lounge. Places to sit, beverages in the corner, a plant, some sort of console on a table. Somewhere for guests, as they'd clearly been expecting guests having been sent to pick up, well, guests.
As with everything happening right then, not a huge surprise.
"Just - just wait here. I'll go see about a face-to-face," said Bryce, eyes flicking to al Bet with obvious effort - Loghain had gone back to masking him, albeit not putting a lot of effort into it, but since the effect had been broken it wasn't working as well as it had. She was mostly doing it just to see Bryce's eyes water.
"Thank you," said Loghain, and Bryce beat a hasty retreat. The instant the fancy, shiny, Cerberus-marked door closed behind him Varne turned to his boss.
"Do you believe him? Think he'll set us up?" He asked, choosing to speak in an idiosyncratic and rather obscure dialect of Low Gothic he and his boss had had to learn some years previously on assignment, conscious of the armed and armoured guard that had been left standing by the door. A word or two might have been understandable, but not the whole statement.
"Not at all. I think it was always the plan to say we could meet him in person only to pull the rug out. Mean, it's what I'd do, but I'm still annoyed about it," said Loghain, replying in kind, also aware of the guard.
"So what do we do?"
"Nothing right now. We're on this ship. We'll see what they do next. Watlington, find out what that guy was talking about with Jarrion and that colony, I want to know about that right now," Loghain said, pointing to the console on the table. She assumed it had a connection to that extranet the locals were so fond of - you seemed to be able to access it just about anywhere. Their willingness to let just anyone access just about anything they wanted was bizarre. The mischief such freedom allowed was beyond her comprehension.
"Maybe he was lying about that," Varne said, in normal Low Gothic now, less worried. Still the guard made no moves or comments.
"He wasn't, but that can't be the whole thing. Watlington, on it," Loghain said, pointing again.
Watlington was already on it, having sat and started tapping away at the little computer the moment she'd been told to do so. She went about her task with a familiarity that was quite something to see, as though she'd been dealing with these sorts of systems for years and this wasn't her first time (which it was), but that was her job, after all, and why Loghain kept her around. Well, one of the reasons.
Off in the corner Crave was praying, kneeling and going through some gestures over and over while murmuring. Logahin left him to it. Now was an okay time for praying. Al Bet was just stood like a statue, gun lowered but still in his hands. Waiting. Now was not an okay time for relaxing, as far as al Bet was concerned, and he hadn't been told otherwise.
Varne sat. Loghain sat too. The guard stayed standing.
He was standing being as inconspicuous and unobtrusive as an armed man in heavy armour could hope to be. No doubt there were other guards outside and sensors and cameras and all sorts of other ways of keeping eyes on them, but that was by the by. It would have been naive to assume they'd just leave them to their own devices unmonitored. Loghain wasn't too worried about that. She was an unknown quantity to these people, at least for now, and was comfortable that there wasn't anything on board that was a threat to them.
She wasn't worried about the guard, either. She barely spared him a thought beyond noting he was still there. In the unlikely even he became an issue she doubted he'd be an issue for very long.
Shortly, Watlington brought her some information. There wasn't an awful lot to go on, and a lot of what there was to go on - gleaned from public channels, all gossip and secondhand reporting - wasn't the most reliable, she felt. But it was enough to bring her up to speed. A vessel, a plainly Imperial vessel, had indeed decided to wipe out some alien colony from orbit for no apparent reason. Some people - aliens, mostly - were upset about this, and everyone had an opinion. None of it was good, Loghain could tell, because it was causing fuss when no fuss would have been preferable.
What she did notice almost at once, though, was that from the blurry images available it was pretty obviously not a Dauntless that was doing the bombarding. She couldn't tell what was doing it, but could tell it wasn't a Dauntless. So not Jarrion, then. Which made everything instantly much worse.
"Well that's helpful," she said, sourly, slumping back into the sofa and wondering how this was going to make things more complicated. Her eyes wandered again to the guard, though she wasn't immediately sure why.
Something about him had caught her attention.
In her career Loghain had spent a lot of time around military and paramilitary personnel and had noted certain, so to speak, aspects to their mentality that popped up over and over, regardless of the individual. They were occupations that fostered certain ways of thinking, so people in them tended to think certain ways, be certain ways, and she tended to notice this coming off of them, given her talents.
So when she picked up a certain sense of discipline from the guard she wasn't immediately surprised and at first thought nothing of it. The others she'd passed had been much the same, and soldiers and such were often like that on the surface. Not that interesting. But the second time it came to her attention there was something about it that made her think.
It wasn't discipline. It was like discipline in effect, but it wasn't. It was something else.
It was artificial. Constructed.
"Hmm…" Loghain hummed, tilting her head and standing up to take a step towards the guard. This was apparently enough to finally get him to actually react.
"What are you doing?" The trooper asked, voice harsh and distorted, gun wavering somewhere between raised and not, unsure what to do without direct orders.
"Shush, I'm thinking," Loghain said, reaching past the dullness that had been laid over the man's mind, reaching deep into memories that had been chemically and surgically locked away, memories of the chemicals and the surgeries themselves, memories of the knives and injections and the drills into bone, of the alien metal being woven around muscle and underneath flesh, of what was now crawling beneath his skin - she took those memories, and brought them abruptly to the surface, laid them all out plain and impossible to avoid, stripped away anything that might distract.
The trooper, screaming, collapsed.
"That was dramatic," said Varne, looking over from the sofa he'd personally sprawled across.
"Al Bet, watch the door," Loghain said, the marine immediately moving over to block the entrance while Loghain herself dragged the body further into the room and sat on the prone guard's chest, peering intently down at his face. Since he was wearing a helmet, what this told her wasn't immediately obvious.
"What is it?" Varne asked, more seriously now, seeing that something was up and that his boss wasn't just making people fall over screaming for fun. Loghain was slowly turning the guard's head from one side to the other, bent over him.
"They've done something to these troopers of theirs," she said, eyes buzzing quietly as she focussed and zoomed.
"Done what?"
Loghain was fiddling with the man's helmet now, trying to remove it.
"Altered them somehow. The memories are there and powerful, easy to dig up, but they lack detail. And even if they're easy to dig up that still means they're buried, least to this guy. They don't know what's happened to them. Something bad. Let's see…"
After some trial and error her fingers found the catches and, with a few clicks and hisses, released the helmet. It came off easy enough, and the man's face came into view. It was not a pretty picture. His flesh was pallid, his cheeks hollow, his veins dark and prominent. Scars - deliberate scars - criss-crossed here and there, evidence of extensive implantation, and what had been implanted was obvious enough. Some of it was glowing, the blue unhealthy and impossible to ignore.
Loghain had seen nastier things in her time, of course, but it was less the nastiness of the sight that was the problem and more what the sight implied. It was a case of fresh information reframing the situation. This meant things weren't quite as she had thought they were, and she didn't like that.
Crave - previously not enormously interested and focused on his prayers - double-took and leapt to his feet, storming over and angrily pointing an angry finger in an angry fashion.
"That's xenos technology!"
Varne cocked his head at the trooper. He'd seen a lot of tech priests - they all had - and, frankly, some of them had looked a lot worse than the man on the floor. Some of them you'd have needed help to know had ever been remotely human in the first place.
"How can you tell?" Varne asked. Crave sputtered. Plainly this was a sore spot.
"You can't?! It reeks of filth! The very sight is disgusting! Look! Look!" This - this is blasphemy! A mockery of the holy fusion of man and machine! This is who you wish to ally yourself with?" He asked. Loghain gave him a sharp look - sharp enough to make him take a step back. No mean feat when you didn't actually have eyes, though presumably tech priests react differently to sharp looks from bionic eyes anyway.
"No, this is who I wanted to make use of. Different. But I understand your distaste, magos, seeing this. I'd sort of hoped they hadn't let themselves slip this far. I'd prepared for a little, prepared for catching them just as they were starting down a wayward path, but this…"
Flexibility, again. She'd been prepared to be flexible. She'd known going in this wasn't their galaxy, that the rules were different, that she should expect the sort of thing that, back home, would be entirely unacceptable. She'd been prepared to have to roll with a touch of the unorthodox, for the sake of greater goals. She might even have been prepared to compromise, here or there, if she'd needed to.
But she had limits. This was disgusting. Vile. A gross violation of the sacred human form, blasphemed with debased alien mechanisms. Alien technology. And what was worse, clearly done willingly. Willingly! Gleefully! In service of what? What could justify this? They'd gone too far already. Too late to be corrected gently. Beyond the pale. Beyond compromise.
Unfortunate. Deeply unfortunate.
Loghain stood up. There was an alarm sounding somewhere - their second alarm in one day. You couldn't do what she'd done and not be noticed. Someone - or several someones, likely several armed someones - would probably come inside once they'd sorted out and settled on what they were going to do. She could already feel people approaching. No going back now.
Holding out a hand she used one of the minor tricks her mentor had taught her to get the catatonic trooper's sidearm to leap from his hip and grabbed it out the air, checking it briefly before shooting the man in the face. She then did it again, just to be on the safe side and because his face offended her. Then a third time, for luck. The pistol was tossed aside.
"No. No, the rot is too deep here, I think. Their judgement is plainly impaired. I'm going to have to be firmer with Cerberus than I hoped. They can't be trusted to act in their own interests. That, and I don't think they're acting in our interest right now, either."
She thought a few moments longer, trying to think of ways ahead that didn't involve what she felt had to happen. Maybe alternatives, maybe better options, kinder ones? None came to mind. A lesser, more lax Inquisitor might have been able to let it slide, this development, but she could not. It represented a fundamental moral failing at the highest levels. The problem was acute and urgent and, in the short term, she could see only one way forward.
And besides, she had shot a guard in the face. It was hard to walk back from that.
Loghain sighed.
"I think we'll have to get a meeting on our own terms. Al Bet? Take the ship."
Still don't like doing action, but we're hitting a point now where it's sadly unavoidable. Oh well, lie back and think of England and it comes out adequately, I hope.
And I'm not sure whenCerberus really started ramping up their combining of Reaper/Collector/whatever tech and shoving it into people to make cannon fodder, but I always figured it was just quietly going on in the background during ME2 anyway - given they show up in ME3 and that's, what, six months-ish later? I think I can be forgiven for assuming they're already arming up now. At the least I forgive myself.
And besides, Jarrion did sell them the collector cruiser so it's probably ticking along comfortably enough with all their purloined and salvaged alien technology.
Hey! I remembered something I wrote! Fancy that.
(Also, I'm a sucker for big chunky sci-fi armour and the Cerberus troopers are one of my favourite things out of Mass Effect, honestly. They look great! Jobbers, sure, but they look great!)