[I didn't even say who I thought the killer was, how can you possibly guarantee I'm wrong? It's like you think I'm stupid or something! I've not read Varren's defence no, it sounds pretty interesting and I don't even know what genre it is yet. Is it like the book version of a sci-fi B-movie? Or is it like an actual historical event?}
Nikki paused in her typing, trying to focus on replying to the message she'd actually received and not worrying about the lack of response to the last one she'd sent after her discovery on Capek. It was hard though, a shroud of uncertainty pressing down on her, and she found herself confessing:
{It feels so weird writing this when I don't know if you're ok or not. (You're probably going to say something like 'now you know how it feels'). Please let me know you're ok. Unless you've already sent a reply before you read this in which case fine, I'm sure I'll see it soon. I HATE being so far out that I can't just vid call you.} Her fingers paused once more. Hovering over the delete button but with a deep sigh she added a quick {Love you] and hit send.
Sleep eventually claimed her, but it was far from restful, tossing and turning among the sheets as her subconscious dreamt up various nightmare scenarios one after another. It was a blessing when she was awoken by the faint vibration of her omni-tool.
[My office is clear.} The tightness in Nikki's chest instantly eased at those four simple words. The slight pressure on her shoulders lifting as she sighed in relief and continued reading. {Sent a memo out to the other departments and got somebody trawling through company records to check if we've bought any. So... now that I've caused massive upheaval throughout the entire company and chaos in offices across several solar systems... I don't suppose you can tell me what this is all about?]
A wry chuckle escaped the spectre's throat, hand carding through her hair before dropping down to type:
[I guess it's too late to say 'nothing' after my last messages huh? Hope you didn't get in any trouble over it, I may have overreacted slightly. Actually you know what? No, no I didn't.
I spent yesterday being shot at by mechs containing those OPUs (don't worry I'm fine, I let the krogan take point) and the rest of the day writing reports, and on the comm with representatives of Hahne Kader, the Council and countless others. If Kassa was using those OPUs and you got hurt I'd never forgive myself for not warning you. So... sorry, not sorry.]
...
Grunt crouched behind a boulder, watching the smuggler stronghold and trying to work out the best plan to get his small fireteam inside. He loved fighting alongside his battlemaster, but she'd given him this chance to prove his worth as more than a simple battering ram and he wasn't going to let her down.
"Garrus can you cover us from here while we get to the door..." It sounded too much like a question, nothing like the crisp, decisive orders the commander gave and he hated that.
"Ok." The turian's response was completely neutral, no clue as to whether he thought it a good or bad idea. Grunt frowned, fighting the urge to ask for an opinion, reassurance that he was making the right decision.
Being in command is about making the hard choices. Hesitation costs lives.
More and more often he found the words of wisdom in his head came from Shepard and not Okeer or the tank. He gripped his shotgun tightly as he dashed across the open ground, finding reassurance in the weight of it in his hands, the certainty of it's existence.
Allies may become enemies, but a shotgun is always a shotgun.
Of course, some of Okeer's teachings still made sense. It was a case of sifting through the words, comparing them to his own ever increasing experiences and seeing which ones stacked up as truth and which were disproved as the delusions of a fanatical mind.
They reached their chosen entry point unseen and Grunt immediately realised his error in asking the tech savvy turian to stay behind. He glanced at his final team member, the batarian signalling he was ready to enter, and bit back a sigh as he brought up his own omni-tool, cycling to the program his battlemaster had given him and hoping it would work.
"I'm no hacker Shepard." He'd said when she offered to share it.
"You don't have to be. Just two buttons, first one's a passive scan to identify the lock encryptions. The program's got a whole database of pre-made hacks saved, once it figures out which to use you just press the second button to launch the attack. If it comes back with a red error message after the first button then whatever you're up against isn't in the database and then you need to call a tech head, but it's pretty rare."
"That's it?" He questioned disbelievingly as she demonstrated on the kodiak in the cargo hold.
"Yep. Trish told me she designed the interface specifically so an idiot could use it." Shepard smiled at the memory, she'd been an N4 when she came back home with a bandaged shoulder moaning about there being too many different locks in the galaxy and why couldn't the bad guys limit themselves to one type per base to help speed things up.
At first she'd been disgruntled when her girlfriend spent every free moment of her time locked in the study instead of taking the opportunity to 'nurse' her back to health, but she quickly forgave her a week later when Trish asked for her omni-tool and explained what she'd been working on. She suspected the program itself was probably far more complicated than it sounded but at least her part was simple.
It took a moment for Shepard to realise the krogan's frown had deepened and a second longer to realise her words could be taken as an insult. "She meant me."
Grunt barely hid his relief as the lock flashed green; hitting the button to open the door and entering as soon as the gap was wide enough. Torma was right behind him, sweeping the room for hostiles. The enemy knew they were here now, a few shots made his shields flicker, but they had no hope against the brutality of the krogan and the crisp, precise fire of the batarian.
Garrus joined them, switching his sniper for an assault rifle and they made their way from room to room, nothing able to stand before them. It was strange though, a lot of the enemy didn't seem to be wearing helmets, certainly all the batarians' faces were visible. It made little difference to the krogan, his approach to warfare tended to involve shotgun blasts to the torso, but his two teammates excelled at headshots and right now the opposition weren't making that much of a challenge.
The other thing he noticed was his own batarian's increasingly rapid, shallow breathing. Torma insisted he was fine when he asked, despite the krogan's HUD informing him that his heart rate was also elevated. Then again what did Grunt know about batarian biology? Only how to kill them. All species' heart rates increased during physical exertion and few things were more exerting than battle.
They kept going, but Torma's once perfect aim was less precise, a subtle but noticeable shake in his previously steady hands. Again Grunt inquired if he was ok, again he insisted he was fine.
It was clear he wasn't fine when the bullets ripped through his shields, his body collapsing to the floor, barely managing to crawl the last short distance to cover and huddle behind it.
"COVER ME!" Grunt roared as he rushed over, shotgun pumping at the enemies trying to flank the batarian's position. Garrus needed no such orders, already pouring out a steady stream of weapon's fire that was too accurate for the traditional definition of suppressive fire but just as effective. Grunt reached the batarian's position, taking out the rest of the enemies to give them some breathing room before kneeling down to scan his injuries.
He was no field medic but medigel was easy enough to apply. The wounds weren't serious and it was safe to move him. Grunt was confident he could carry him out and still fight. The only question was whether to retreat now or continue until the objective was complete?
Garrus' quiet voice over comms warned him of the next approaching wave of hostiles. He glanced once more at the wounded man under his command. The injuries didn't worry him so much as the look in all four of Torma's eyes. He made his decision.
"Pause simulation! Shepard!"
...
Nikki watched the three aliens in the simulator with a sharp analytical gaze. Torma had impressed her on Neith and again on Capek, but she'd been too focused on the mission and everybody's survival to give him her full attention. If he was going to be a permanent fixture on her team then she needed to know his strengths and weaknesses, how he interacted with different squadmates and, perhaps most importantly of all, where his limits were. Without that knowledge she wouldn't know what role he was best suited to, what task to assign him when different situations arose and how to make him better than he already was.
Although, in fairness, where he was already was pretty damn good. She'd probably take a look at his omni-tool and add a few useful apps, if the Villa taught her anything it was the power of a diverse skillset.
She was running through a mental list of programmes when she saw him hesitate, a simulated batarian managing to shoot Grunt before Torma snapped out of his stupor long enough to fire back. Suddenly everything she'd been praising about him was gone.
Movements jerky, aim off. He was acting like a civilian plunged into their first potentially traumatising experience. It didn't make sense.
The moment Grunt paused the simulation she was on the move, stepping over several digital corpses before a face caught her attention. Sand coloured skin, several rusty looking patterns splotched across it, three glass eyes, only one; the bottom left, still the organic original. It was far too specific to be a coincidence.
Raz... A glance around revealed a familiar snot green face. Kerrik... Icy tendrils of suspicion coiled in her gut.
"EDI, where are the templates for these enemies from?"
"Crewman Deniaud programmed them in." Deniaud, shit... he'd been on Lawson's list of potential friction. His wife murdered and daughter kidnapped by slavers during a colony attack six years ago.
"And where did Deniaud get them from?" There was a pause, if she was dealing with an organic Shepard would assume they were fact checking but the AI didn't need that long to process data. "EDI?"
"From Torma's omni-tool." The chill erupted into white hot rage but she clamped down on it, forcing herself to remain calm and deal with the more important concern; the welfare of her team.
"End simulation." Immediately the bodies vanished, along with the walls and crates that had been sheltering a shivering batarian and concerned looking krogan. She closed the remaining distance, kneeling down beside them.
"Torma, look at me." Four brown eyes locked onto her, a maelstrom of emotion visible in each of them, the batarian clearly drowning amidst it all. Then again who wouldn't be after being forced to fire upon their friends and family? Maybe Lawson. She kept talking, voice soft as she brought him back to reality. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't want to fail your test. Didn't want to disappoint-..." Nikki shook her head at the youngster's reasoning.
"You didn't disappoint, that wasn't part of the exercise, I would never..." She could feel the blood bubbling in her veins in rage and stood abruptly. "Grunt look after him." She turned on her heel marching towards the elevator, apparently some people just couldn't take a hint and now she'd make an example no-one would forget in a hurry.
Grunt stared after his battlemaster, she was clearly ready for a fight and a strong part of him wanted to follow but he had his orders. He switched his gaze to his teammate, trying to work out what to do. Physically Tormawas fine, the simulator merely fired electrical pulses at the brain's nerve centre to replicate pain rather than inflict real wounds. The mind however was a different story. The tank hadn't prepared him for this so he asked himself a familiar question: 'What would Shepard do?'
Well... Storm off in a fit of rage to hunt down the perpetrators apparently, but aside from that... He searched his memory of their missions together, her interactions with innocent bystanders and traumatised civilians.
Talk. She'd always talk to them. What was he supposed to talk about?
Some sixth sense told him the default topics of conversation for krogans probably wasn't the best idea right now. Glorious battles of old or anything relating to guns. But what then? He slid down to sit on the floor beside Torma and opened his mouth.
"Do you like dinosaurs?"
...
Garrus fell into step behind Shepard as she strode down the hallways, unfortunate crewmen scrambling out of their way. It would be obvious she was furious even if her eyes weren't glowing, a faint red light showing beneath the cracks in her skin.
The effect was creepy as hell and if he was honest even he found it slightly unsettling to look at during the tense, silent elevator ride between decks. It was still Shepard though, and he'd have her back no matter what. He wondered briefly if she'd give the Cerberus operative responsible a chance to defend himself, but then, what defence was there for such an act?
Claim it was a prank?
There had been many a prank on the old Normandy, if anything the commander seemed to encourage them, but they'd never been racist in nature nor dangerous. Never descended into bullying. He'd been onboard for weeks before anyone dared prank him, it had felt like he'd finally been accepted by the crew as one of their own.
This was different.
For starters since he'd come aboard he hadn't seen or heard of a single prank by the Cerberus crewmen.
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice through the ship's speakers.
"Commander-"
"Not now EDI!" Her sharp retort rang out like a sniper rifle. Righteous anger radiating off her in all directions.
"The Illusive Man is on the QEC." She didn't even break stride as the AI tried to continue.
"Tell him I'm busy, I'll call him back."
"Another colony has gone dark, same M.O as Freedom's Progress." The commander froze. Eyes closing, head dropping the slightest fraction as she drew in a deep breath. Time seemed to slow, dragging out for an eternity when in reality it was barely two seconds before she rotated on her heel.
"I'm on my way." The voice was quiet, defeated, but in the very next instance it rose back up to the powerful tone of command as she started snapping out orders. "Garrus check on Mordin, tell him I need those seeker countermeasures finished yesterday. EDI forward Joker the co-ordinates I want a course plotted and us en-route before I'm finished with Mr Illusive."
By the time she reached the comm room potential squad formations and weapons loadouts were already flying through her brain, accompanied by a hundred other thoughts, but none of it was enough to drown out a single silent plea:
Please let us get there in time.
...
Author's note: Don't get your hopes up, I'm afraid the speed of this update was a one off, it's going to take a lot longer for the next one. Thanks for all the follows, favs and especially the reviews, they really make my day. Hope you're all still enjoying.