Chapter 2: Everything has a Beginning
January 23rd, 2211. 1102 hours – Aboard the SSV Excalibur, Deck 2, Starboard Observation Deck
5 hours, 58 minutes before Outbreak
The SSV Excalibur lurched to a sudden halt as it exited out of the Mass Relay, forcing me to brace one hand against the observation port window. Outside, the snaky blue ribbons of light generated by the mass-effect fields that enabled faster-than-light relay travel slowly dissipated, revealing a backdrop of stars and the silhouette of a small, red dwarf.
"Thrusters and navigation are green, internal emissions sink engaged. All systems are optimal. Drift… just under 1200K," reported the ship's helm.
"Thank you, Flight Lieutenant Fyordinarova," I spoke into my mic.
"Please sir, call me Val, or Nova."
"No, Flight Lieutenant Fyordinarova,"
Behind me Cade laughed, while Percival shook his head with an amused grin on his face.
"Spirits, as much as I hate the competition, I do want to see you get laid in this lifetime," the turian chided.
I turned towards him and arched an eyebrow. "We're here on a classified tier 1 operation, and you want to treat it like some weekend bender on Omega?" I shook my head. "Besides, I get laid plenty. I'm more concerned about your overt interest in my sexual liasons, Kitiarian."
The turian behind me reclined back onto the observation deck couches, crossed his arms and shook his head. "Hey, I'm just trying to teach you a thing or two about your species' fairer sex."
Fair, silver-plated with deep blue clan markings and a black tattoo inked down his neck and shoulders, there was no doubt that Operative Cade Kitiarian was popular with the ladies of any species. Tall, lithe and muscular, even for a turian, Cade loved the ladies and the ladies loved him.
Combine that with his occupation as a Council Spectre and the deep, two-toned flanging voice that all turians possessed, Cade had a kill count well into his hundreds. In my opinion, Cade's parents must have spelt his name wrong on whatever passed for a turian birth certificate.
Unfortunately for the many ladies of the galaxy, Cade had a weakness for human females. His sexual proclivities were legendary among the Spectres, and downright disturbing compared to the average turian male. The only thing he loved more than human females was the specially-modified M-27 Black Widow sniper rifle that he had used throughout his entire career in the Turian Ghost Corps.
Cade turned on his comm. "Hey Val," he began. I rolled my eyes as I listened to him drop his flanging voice down to a rolling, attractive purr. I had heard him pull that move countless times in bars and clubs during our post-mission debriefs. "That's quite some flying you did there, I'll be sure to make a note of that in the mission report. Maybe you'd like to help me write that. Make sure I get all the details right."
"Eat shit, operative Kitiarian. Flight Lieutenant Fyordinarova logging out."
Cade shook his head sadly. "Racist," he lamented.
Percival moved behind him and pulled on the back of his fringe. "She's not a racist, Cade. I'm pretty sure her last boyfriend was a turian stationed on Digeris. You're just an asshole."
Cade rubbed the back of his fringe and threw Percival a dirty look, "Careful, keep this up and you'll hurt my feelings, slaps."
"Don't call me slaps," Percival scowled.
I shot both of them a dirty look, making it clear how I felt about their immature bickering during a mission. At least Percival had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. This was an important mission, and for once I would like to carry out said mission without it feeling like the pilot episode of a bad bromance sitcom.
Cade pulled out his omni-tool and began reading the mission briefings that the Council had sent us. Percival walked up to me beside the observation port and let out a sigh. Although Percival was only three inches taller than me, his extra muscle mass made me look almost child-like in direct comparison. He placed a forearm against the viewport and rested his forehead against it, bringing us to about an even height.
"Sorry, I know you're worried," he turned to me. "Trust me, we know how important this mission is."
I looked out beyond the observation port, silent. I could see dozens, hundreds of stars, all of them tiny little pinpricks of light against a backdrop of unending darkness. Was there a spacial analogue of Thalassophobia? Astrophobia, maybe?
"We've worked together for more than five years now. You know Cade and I have got your back, and I know you've got ours," he continued. "As long as we're together, we're always going to make it home."
I scoffed. "Thanks for the motivational speech, slaps."
He rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back out towards the stars.
"Operatives, we have a visual on the SSV Hippocrates. We'll be in shuttle range in ten," reported Nova, rr Val, whatever.
Cade stood up from the couch and joined us at the viewport. Over the course of ten minutes we watched as the shape of the SSV Hippocrates grew larger and larger. It was large, much larger than an Alliance Dreadnought, almost as big as the asari's Destiny Ascension before it was decommissioned back in '02.
It was maybe 1200 meters long, about a quarter of that in width, and maybe 150 meters tall. It was ugly, not aerodynamic in the slightest, covered with dull grey metal plates and built like a floating hospital on its side.
I could see a multitude of lifeboat airlocks and dozens of Guardian point-defense lasers that covered every possible angle of approach. The Systems Alliance spared no expense at ensuring that the mobile commander center for the Systems Alliance Research and Development Department was well-protected from pirates, raiders, and mercenaries.
"Well boys, pack your kit. Let's go earn our pay," Percival deadpanned.
Cade and I laughed at that. We never tired of that inside joke.
You wouldn't get it unless you were a Spectre.
January 23rd, 2211. 1136 hours – Aboard Hammerhead Dropship E-419, currently en-route to the SSV Hippocrates, Docking Bay 4-D
5 hours, 24 Minutes before Outbreak
Cade slid a clip of armor-piercing rounds into his M-6 Carnifex Pistol. I eyed it with some disdain. The Carnifex was chambered for a higher caliber round than most pistols and appropriately had a much higher stopping power, at the cost of a reduced clip size and slower fire rate.
Unlike the M-3 Predators I tended to favor, the M-6 Carnifex could tear an arm off a Vorcha maurauder, blow fist-sized holes in batarian pirates, or stop an unshielded krogan in one shot. Favored by mercenary leaders and Eclipse mercenary tech specialists, the Carnifex was all power, no grace.
In contrast, the M-3 Predator was chambered for a smaller caliber, but accordingly had a higher rate of fire, a larger clip size, and in the right hands, could one-shot kill most unshielded enemies. A more elegant weapon for a more civilized age, at least compared to the M-6 Carnifex.
Cade clipped two of them onto his armor plates.
Seated beside me, Percival inspected his matte-black, custom M-7 Lancer Assault Rifle. A silenced M-5 Phalanx – the very one they had given him at the conclusion of his N7 training – lay holstered across his chestplate. Across his lower back he clipped an M-23 Katana Shotgun.
"Can't help but notice you didn't bring the gun I got you for your birthing day," Cade said pointedly. He made some micro-adjustments to the scope of his M-98b Black Widow—affectionately nicknamed 'Meera'—before slinging it over his shoulder beside his M-15 Vindicator Battle Rifle.
"First of all it's 'birthday', you bird. Second of all the M-76 Revenant is not an assault rifle, it's a fucking minigun. My shoulder was bruised for a whole week after we went to the firing range. Third of all I'm an Alliance boy through and through. Nothing beats the standard Alliance Marine loadout," Percival explained.
"Whatever," Cade pouted, feigning hurt feelings. He scratched at a bit of dirt on his immaculate black, blue and silver Turian Ghost Infiltrator armor. "That's the last time I ever get you anything nice."
I shook my head and smiled. I had a custom prototype M-92b Snakebite Sniper Rifle—essentially the upgraded version and the spiritual successor to the M-92 Mantis Sniper Rifle—placed horizontally across my lap.
Although the Snakebite was similar to modern mass effect weapons in that it could only fire a limited number of times before either the heatsink overheated or you had to replace the ammo block, it was different in that you had to manually pull back a cooling lever to cool down the snakebite before firing another shot. Cade nodded my way.
"How about you, Cloud?" he pointed at my gun. "Next time we're docked on the Citadel how about we get you something that can fire more than one bullet before overheating?"
"I'm good with the Snakebite, thanks. The bolt-action feel makes me feel super badass."
Cade laughed and proceeded to check the rest of his armor.
I decided that that was a good idea. I ran a quick diagnostic to ensure that the temperature regulation, kinetic shielding, and the built-in communications suite were all working perfectly. Satisfied, I finished up with a check on my suits Tactical Cloaking. I thumbed the switch and watched as my black, scuffed suit faded into invisibility.
"Damn sir, Spectres get all the good shit," admired Gunnery Chief Rakiharu Kinzo, or 'Rake' as he preferred to be called. "When am I going to get a suit like that?" he pointed at me.
"When you save up enough credits, Gunnery Chief Kinzo," Percival responded. Cade and I laughed at that again. Rake sat there with a confused smile on his face but didn't join in, due to him not understanding the joke.
Across from Percival, Cade and I sat a fireteam from the SSV Excalibur's marine detachment. Handpicked by Percival and I (Cade kept submitting requests for an all-female fireteam) the marine fireteam would provide us with on-site combat support in case of an emergency. Although the Excalibur also boasted a detachment of Jaegers given the import of our mission, Percival had ordered them to remain aboard the ship as a specialized quick reaction force in the event of an attack.
The other three marines sat silently for the duration of the ride. Despite having served on the same ship for the last six months, none of them felt comfortable enough yet to casually converse with us. One had a Navy Corpsman patch on his right shoulder, while another had a cross from some old Earth religion tattooed on his neck. The last one was a poker-faced female marine who had silently rebuffed Cade's attempts at conversation throughout the entire ride. Good on her.
Although the Hammerhead dropship had no windows, I felt a subtle shift in mass indicating that we had entered the mass effect fields that generated the artificial gravity aboard the SSV Hippocrates. I felt the dropship slow down and come to a light halt.
I undid my harness and walked over to the Hammerheads' doors. I fisted the controls and did my best to look as menacing as possible as the dropship doors slid open, revealing a handful of nervous-looking maintenance techs and an attractive, blond woman in a lab coat.
It was a good chance to practice my best "I-can-kill-you-in-300-different-ways-face". Percival had his down to a pat, while Cade's always made him look roguishly charming. Me? I looked as I always did, like someone had just shot my dog.
Despite our camaraderie and our vast number of similiarities, Cade, Percival and I had differing philosophies when it came to co-opting civilian help for the sake of completing the mission. Percival firmly believed that you caught more flies with honey, while Cade liked to either piss vinegar all over the situation or whip out his dick for something else, depending on whether you were a human female. Humans may have coined and developed the honeypot, but Spectre operative Cade Kitiarian perfected it.
I stood for a moment at the dropship doors and stared into the eyes of each and every tech with an unspoken promise of pain and death should they come between me and my job. I ignored Cade who had dug an elbow painfully into my lower back, wordlessly urging me stop my posturing and move my ass.
When it came to galactic safety, I myself preferred the stick to the carrot.
January 23rd, 2211. 1152 hours – Aboard the SSV Hippocrates, Deck 7, Docking Bay 4-D
5 hours, 10 minutes before Outbreak.
I slowly walked out of the dropship, stomping down the ramp like an angry god. Predictably, Cade maneuvered around me, extending a gloved hand to the attractive, female scientist.
"Spectre operative Kitiarian, call me Cade." He introduced himself. "These are my fellow Spectre operatives Percival and Cloud," he gestured at Percival and I respectively.
I eyed the scientists' hand as she shook Cades, making note of a gleaming diamond ring. I glanced over at Percival knowingly and saw a light smile on his face. Either Cade was, ironically, unfamiliar with human relationship customs or just didn't care.
I lightly brushed Cade aside and also shook the scientists' hand.
"Operative Cloud, ma'am," I introduced myself. "Here on the orders of the Citadel Council to observe the initiation of phase 2 of Project Prometheus."
She turned her attention from Cade and smiled at me. "Doctor Sarah Messner, Alliance R and D and one of the head scientists for Project Prometheus, but feel free to call me Sarah. Welcome aboard, Spectres."
She turned and to walk across the hangar bay, heading for a pair of doors marked 'Central Passageway'. I made a note of the layout of the hangar and its contents for future reference, then gestured for the marines to follow. As she walked she began talking.
"As you're already aware, the situation on earth necessitated the initiation of Project Prometheus," she began. "For the last near-decade we've been studying the problem and merely running simulations instead of actual testing".
She slapped a green button, opening the doors, "Understandable given the object in question and its capabilities."
We entered the main central passageway of the SSV Hippocrates. The passageway was enormous, unlike anything you'd see on a Systems Alliance Warship. Nearly fifty meters across and a kilometer long, the main passageway ran from the ships bridge to the ship's stern, and counting the number of decks, linked at least a dozen of the 24 decks together.
Above us running the entire length of the passageway ran a large cylinder which I took to be the ships main Mass Effect accelerator cannon. In the middle, a moving conveyer belt allowed for swift passageway through the ship. I could see a spiderweb of catwalks that criss-crossed the upper levels.
I could see droves of maintenance techs, a few dozen scientists, and several armed patrols spread out across the main passageway. Some were driving carts while others were using the moving conveyer belt. A Krogan scientist was shouting at a human female maintenance tech. A gaggle of asari scientists were exiting from a door, conversing about crop yields on Rannoch. It seemed more like a small city than a ship. We boarded the belt and began moving towards the ships' Bridge.
"Isn't the ship personnel listed at about a thousand? This is a big ship for so little people," Percival asked Sarah.
"1053 people in fact," she answered, "actually, a lot of the room aboard the ship is dedicated towards the research labs for each of the respective departments in the Systems Alliance Research and Development Division. Each lab takes up several decks, with an appropriate amount of storage space for the necessary equipment required by the labs."
She sent us each a schematic of the ship on our omni-tools. I pulled it up, noting that the Prometheus Project had its own separate lab towards the rear of the ship, comprised of five different decks.
The main engine room and the back-up generators were awkwardly positioned further up, situated in the belly of the ship. Crew quarters, mess and armory were situated along the top of the ship. A variety of labs made up the starboard and port sides, each of them taking up several decks. I could see that most of the labs had wide open spaces where the floors between the decks had been removed. Closest to the hull were the hangar bays —also massive and several decks high.
She was right. Despite the immense size of the ship, there weren't many areas where people would have a reason to be, a large percentage of the ship being dedicated to the labs or to the storage of equipment in support of the labs. Most of the SSV Hippocrates was indeed dead space.
"Excuse me, ma'am," asked the female marine. Soph, if I recalled. "The schematics list the SSV Hippocrates as having only two Mark II Newton Drive Cores, one in the main engine room and one in the secondary engine room."
She paused to walk around a hulking krogan security guard. "Given the size of this ship and its function, I'd imagine that you'd have much higher energy requirements than what two drive cores could generate."
Sarah smiled and nodded, "You're absolutely right, miss-?".
"Croft. Specialist Sophia Croft, ma'am." Soph provided.
"Well Specialist Croft, the Drive Cores mainly provide energy for Life Support, Weapons, deck lighting, and propulsion", she explained. "Much of the equipment and many of the labs run on modular power cells, a safety precaution in the event that both drives stop working. But I hardly doubt that such an event would occur."
Soph nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. I made a mental note to review what I had heard later on, it would undoubtedly be useful.
A loud clatter tore me from my thoughts. I had one hand on the holster of my M-3 Predator and another ready to throw the fattest warp this ship had ever seen.
"Watch where you're going, pendejo!" cursed a female techie, "Maldito turiano."
I quickly profiled her. She was about 5'9 and in her early-to-mid twenties, slightly built, with bright yellow highlights in her brown hair. Around her feet were a few maintenance tools commonly used to perform calibrations on drive cores and a data pad that showed a schematic of the back-up generators. I surmised that she was part of the engineering team responsible for the engine room.
In front of her, Cade stood with his hands raised.
"Lo siento Hermoso, dejame recogerlos para ti," Cade apologized in fluent, hissing Spanish. He knelt down and quickly retrieved the items he had inadvertently knocked out of her hands.
The female tech stood askance, likely in shock that a turian had chosen to respond to her in Spanish.
Cade towered over her, inches from her face. I could see his mandibles flutter in the turian equivalent of a grin as she silently took the proffered items from his gloved hands.
After a long, awkward pause she whispered "It's no problem," in heavily accented English. She grabbed the items out of Cades hands and quickly headed down a side corridor.
"I was unaware that Operative Kitiarian could speak Spanish," Sarah stated in an impressed tone.
"It's a useful linguistic skill to possess, Dr. Messner, especially during deep-cover operations," Cade firmly asserted. "Besides, Spanish is one of the few human languages that we turians do not require universal e-translators to speak. Our tongues and mouths are perfectly shaped and agile enough for the rolling r's and hissing s'."
I rolled my eyes. Behind me, Percival rolled his eyes. Behind Percival the marines rolled their eyes. Above us, God rolled his eyes.
Percival opened up on our own little private channel to Cade. "You know, not to crush your dreams but I'm pretty sure that that techie doesn't like turians." Percival could speak Spanish too.
"I can't help myself, it's the hunt my friend. Turians evolved as the apex predator race on Palaven. It's in our genes," Cade responded.
Back to the mission at hand. As we approached the end of the main central passageway and neared the Bridge, the number of armed guards seemed to double. I saw mostly human and turian marines who had been assigned to the SSV Hippocrates, but also more than a few krogan shock troopers and even a few salarian combat specialists.
The doors to the Bridge slid open, and we all filed inside. The bridge was a large, oval room dominated by a huge, omni-glass viewport. A myriad of orange, blue and red displays and technical readouts lined the walls, while tech consoles manned by crewmen were situated beneath them. In the center of the large room was a large holo-table that projected a 3-d model of the ship.
In front of it stood a large man in a Systems Alliance Navy uniform. He stood at about an even height with Percival. I put his biological age at roughly 60 earth years, if the salt-and-pepper hair greying at the temples were any indication.
A set of gleaming Captain's bars sat squarely on his broad shoulders. His chest was covered in medals and commendations. Like many other naval officers I'd had the misfortune of working with, he exuded an air of haughty holier-than-thou attitude. He glared at us with his best "I-can-kill-you-in-300-different-ways face." What a rank, fucking amateur.
Beside him stood an older, brown-plated, turian with green facial markings. His bars marked him as a Lieutenant-Commander, the ease and confidence with which he stood beside the Captain marked him as the ship's XO, or 'executive officer'.
"Officers on Deck!" shouted Rake. The marines behind me stood at attention and saluted. I restrained the urge to roll my eyes again.
The XO waved a hand and the marines relaxed, he was the first to introduce himself to us. Compared to the Captain he seemed much more gregarious and approachable. My preliminary instinct was that he was more likely to work with "above-the-law, gun-slinging, reckless Spectres". If they were going to pull a good-cop bad-cop routine I was going to end up shooting them.
"Doctor Messner, thank you for escorting them to the Bridge," he dipped his head at Sarah, "I am Lieutenant Commander Syriah Bartalus, executive officer of the SSV Hippocrates. We're glad to have you aboard."
"Pleasure to be aboard, Lieutenant-Commander," Percival professionally replied.
Cue display of dominance. I thought.
The captain chose that moment to speak up. He brushed past his XO to stand nose to nose with Percival. I could see anger and some contempt etched into his eyes, with more than a hint of superiority.
"I am Captain Jameson Farragut," he intoned. "Let me begin by saying this is my ship, my responsibility. I am tasked with commanding the ship responsible for conducting a mission of paramount importance to galactic safety."
He moved an inch closer to Percival. "You Spectre's might think you're above the law, that you can shoot-first and use the red tape to wipe your ass afterwards. But if your recklessness jeopardizes this ship I will not hesitate to put you down, Spectre authority or not."
He backed up a few steps, his tone dropping in severity and harshness.
"I've read your file, Operative Percival. Two years in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, three years as an N7, and the last seven as a Council Spectre. Beyond that, I've read about your mission on Bahak," He clapped a hand on Percival's shoulder. "I know I can count on you to make the proper decisions." He said conspiratorially.
Percival didn't flinch, didn't sweat, didn't so much as twitch a single jaw muscle. "Be that as it may, Captain," he responded, "I am a Council Spectre." He gently removed the Captain Farragut's hand from his shoulder.
"It means that I am responsible for galactic safety. Not just the Systems' Alliance's, not just Humanity's, and most certainly not just this ships. The Galaxy. It means that I and my fellow colleagues have the absolute authority to do whatever we see fit, using whatever we deem necessary, and by any means possible in order to uphold that responsibility."
Percival took a step closer into the Captains' personal space in a very disrespectful, un-Percival-ish move. "It also means that your "command" over this this ship, your reputation, and your push for those Admirals' bars come a very, very distant second to our mission." Percival said unblinkingly, "Because like you, I've also done my research."
The entire bridge was dead silent. None of the crewmen made a sound, the rhythmic typing that was heavily pervasive on the bridge deck of any Systems Alliance ship had ceased. Sarah cleared her throat nervously, while the marines were holding their breath at the sheer lack of disrespect that Percival had just displayed to someone could technically be considered their commanding officer.
A green light lid up on my omni-tool. It was a private chat message. I discreetly tapped it open.
[SpectreOp. CK] [12:26]: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH
I suppressed a smile.
The Captain looked away first. He cleared his throat and nodded. "Good to know that we have such dedicated operatives assigned to us," he conceded in an attempt to save face, "I'll leave the debriefing to my XO. If there's anything you need from us please do not hesitate to ask, operatives."
Captain Farragut strode off towards the bridge viewport, and activity returned to the bridge as the crewmen resumed their duties. Instead of letting out a sigh of relief like some amateur, Percival starred daggers into the back of the Captain's head.
The XO, Lieutenant-Commander Syriah Bartilus, turned to us and rubbed his fringe in poorly concealed embarrassment.
"I'm sorry about that, the Captain can be quite protective of his ship," he apologized, eliciting a snort from Cade. "If you could all follow me to the briefing room, the head scientists of Project Prometheus will give you a more detailed breakdown of the situation."
He began leading us to a briefing chamber adjacent to the bridge. During the short walk, XO Bartilus dropped a few paces back to walk beside Cade, seemingly intent on engaging him in conversation.
"Cade Kitiarian, it's an honor to finally meet you in person," Bartilus gushed. "Your actions during the Palaven Rebellions saved a lot of lives. You are a shining example of the best that the Turian Hierarchy has to offer."
Cade Kitiarian's mandibles barely so much as fluttered at the praise. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. I did what duty required, as would have any other loyal turian in that situation." He formally replied.
Any good humor that lingered from Percival's thrashing of the Captain had instantly evaporated at the mention of Cade's service record. It had always been a touchy subject with my silver-plated friend. It was something that he neither brought up often nor sought to expand upon when broached by adoring fans.
"Nonetheless, you saved the Primarch. Had the secessionists succeeded, hundreds if not thousands more would have died," Bartilus continued, heaping praise on the younger turian. "It is an honor to be in the presence of a hero. Die for the cause," he finished.
"Die for the cause, Lieutenant-Commander Barthilus," Cade returned through slightly clenched teeth. Satisfied, Barthilus led the remainder of the walk to the briefing room in silence.
January 23rd, 2211. 1229 hours – Aboard the SSV Hippocrates, Deck 7, Briefing Chamber 16-A
4 hours, 31 minutes before Outbreak.
The briefing room was moderately sized, consisting of a round, oval table designed to seat maybe eight individuals. A huge monitor used to display tactical data and video footage dominated an entire wall of the room.
Seated at the table were three scientists, research personnel whom I presumed to be the ones in charge of the Prometheus Project. All of them were in their late 40's to early 50's, old enough to have survived and possibly served in the Reaper War. One of them was a Caucasian male, well-built with a rough five-o-clock shadow. From the mission briefings I had read prior, I presumed that he would be Dr. Paul Messner, one of the leading minds in neural engineering. My suspicions were confirmed when Dr. Sarah Messner took the seat beside him and planted a brief kiss on his cheek.
Also seated at the table was a scientist from what used to be the United Arab Emirates on Earth who I took to be Dr. Rabhu Singh, a scientist of significant fame who hailed from Terra Nova. I had read some of his works on Synthetic Virology. He was an undisputed master of his branch of study, and I could see why SA R and D had poached him for this project.
Seated beside Dr. Singh was Dr. Ishmael Landry, who I knew to be one of the leading scientists in the field of molecular biology. Hailing from what was once formerly known as the United States of America, Dr. Ishmael Landry had had a significant role in the development of the current DNA vaccine given to all Systems Alliance Armed Forces for protection from hostile diseases on foreign planets.
So a Neural Engineer, a Synthetic Virologist, a Xenoscience Engineer, and a Molecular Biologist are all together in the same room. And the punchline is the potentially catastrophic loss of human life. Oh and Lieutenant-Commander Barthilus, Turian Hierarchy representative, was there too.
Percival took a seat at the table, with Cade seated on his left and I on his right. The marines took up protective positions at the door.
Lieutenant Commander Barthilus gazed pointedly at the marines that we had brought from the Excalibur. "Marines," he began, "while we may have little to no control over the action of Council Spectres, I feel the need to remind you that you are still technically under the command of the Systems Alliance, of which Captain Farragut and technically I hold seniority in. Divulging any of the information you hear in this room today to unsanctioned third-parties will be considered an act of high treason against the Systems Alliance, the punishment which shall be, if the court-martial finds you guilty, execution."
The marines behind me nodded, although one of them —the shorter marine with the cross tattoo— swallowed nervously.
Sarah clicked a button on the table, causing the huge monitor behind them to become alight with information.
"As you are aware, Spectres, the rapidly deteriorating situation on earth following the conclusion of the Reaper War remained undetected for nearly a decade and a half before being discovered by our scientists," Sarah began. She clicked another button and an image of Earth and of London were promptly displayed.
"The huge amounts of debris and element zero pollution from the thousands of destroyed starships during the final hours of the Reaper War created a barrier that prevented us from sending in anything beyond immediate search and rescue teams. This in part contributed in the delayed discovery of the phenomenon currently occurring on Earth."
The display shifted again, now displaying what had been construction efforts in New Dubai, Quezon City, and parts of what I recognized to be Northern Africa. "Construction efforts began in 2190 in what had been the less densely-populated areas of Earth. Reaper forces had concentrated the bulk of their harvesting in the more populated cities, such as Sydney, Shanghai, and New Delhi and as a result, much of the infrastructure in such locations were beyond the possibility of salvage. Although Earth's population had decreased by an estimated 36%, the Systems Alliance sought to repair as much as possible to accommodate the rapidly growing number of refugees."
Dr. Landry took over, clicking another button. This time a picture of odd-looking earth fauna and an image of a double-helix popped up on the display. "Following the discovery of the phenomenon in 2192, construction efforts were halted indefinitely. The Systems Alliance pulled out all relief efforts. Asari and salarian peacekeepers ceased operations, and although turian and quarian support workers seemed unaffected, they were evacuated as well. Earth was declared a planet-wide quarantine zone."
Dr. Landry changed the display again, this time it displayed a male, human cadaver in his early twenties with his thoracic cage cut open, exposing organs that were tinged silver. "We originally hypothesized that it was some form of advanced Element Zero poisoning. The Battle for Earth released unprecedented amounts of Element Zero and other unknown mechano-synthetic substances and pollutants into the atmosphere. A long-range Systems Alliance surveillance team was established on Luna and a sub-department was created in the Systems Alliance Research and Development division to study and hopefully synthesize a cure for the phenomenon."
Dr. Singh took over for his colleague. He pressed yet another button and this time two images popped up. One was a topographical map of Earth, with large splotches covered in orange, a few red splotches around London, and lighter green ones in Africa, Canada, and Central China. Another image was that of Earth, but this time the splotches of red were much darker, much larger, and much more unnerving.
"On the left is an image taken by the Systems Alliance Surveillance team back in April of 2201. On the right is an image taken in March of 2202. As you can see, in less than a year the phenomenon has underwent a phase of exponential growth and expansion. We don't know why and we don't know how. Project Prometheus was initiated in June of 2202 to further research into the matter. Our goal was to find a cure, or failing to do so, to slow it down. Buy us enough time to figure out how to fix or even reverse this phenomenon."
Beside me, Percival stared unblinkingly at each image and report that popped up on the display, absorbing as many details as possible and using them to enhance and enforce the data that the Council had given us. Cade and I were doing the same thing. We had known it was bad, we didn't know it had gone bad so fast, and worst, it had been almost a decade since it had gone bad.
Dr. Paul Messner finally spoke up. He clicked another button and this time an image of Armali, capital city of Thessia, homeworld of the Asari popped up on the screen. "Last year we began receiving reports of the phenomenon occurring on the Asari homeworld on Thessia, and on a select few other worlds that had significant Reaper presence during the Reaper War. Although it hasn't yet appeared on Palaven, we believe that it is a matter of time, and that it could somehow be tied to the Reapers."
He clicked one last button, and an image of an Asari cadaver came up on the display. Her blue skin was pale and grey and had a slightly metallic sheen, her skull was transversally dissected, revealing her brain which was also a greyish tinge.
"Whatever this phenomenon is, it's jumped the species barrier, and we're no closer to understanding it than we were nine years ago." Paul stated. "We still don't fully understand what the Reapers were capable of, what the full extent of their technology was and whether or not this was directly or indirectly caused by them –a sleeping bomb so to speak. This isn't at all like any of the Husking processes reported by the Normandy SR-2 during the Reaper War, and I truly believe that were running out of time."
Finally, Sarah stood up and looked each and every one of us in the eye.
"And that's the full story, Spectres. You know what we have on board, you know what we intend to do and why we intend to do it, and I think you know that if we are to fully understand and solve this crisis, we have no other choice," She finished.
Yeah. I knew exactly why we were on board.
January 23rd, 2211. 1611 hours – Aboard the SSV Hippocrates, Deck 6, Observation Chamber 6-G – Prometheus Labs.
49 minutes until Outbreak
"This is fucking crazy, we're not letting you do this," Cade argued.
"You heard the good Doctors," I calmly responded. "We can't risk any weapon accessibility in the event of an Indoctrination event, and my armor's electronic suites might provide unwanted interference."
"Then let me go instead," he further argued.
While I was touched by my friend's vehement protest at my volunteering to be the on-site Spectre for the activation process, I was also dead certain that I'd rather take twelve inches of krogan up my ass than let either Percival or Cade take my spot.
Unlike my two best friends, I could rely on my biotics to both act as a layer of protection and as a formidable weapon in the event of a truly colossal fuck-up. Without armor and weapons, I had the best chances of survival in a hostile situation, not to mention the fact that I could destroy both of them in hand-to-hand combat albeit, only by a small margin compared to Percival.
"I have my biotics, remember? And beside, I've got you two lovelies watching my shapely behind," I joked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah monitoring a display and typing in commands. Despite how my fellow Spectres were feeling, her body language marked her as relatively relaxed and calm. Weirdly inappropriate, especially considering the gravity of the events to follow.
"Seriously though," I said in a very, very serious tone, "expect shit to go south. How many times have we been told that it's all going to be fine and dandy only to get thrown in the metaphorical wood-chipper?"
"Like seventeen times, and that's not even hyperbole," Cade exclaimed. "Precisely why you standing at ground-zero with nothing but a shitty T-shirt and your L7 amp is such a terrible fucking idea."
He crossed his taloned arms against his chest and leaned against a console.
"Hey, my brother got me this shirt," I pouted, feigning hurt. "And besides, you have my armor and gear. If shit goes south, it's up to you to get them to me."
I clapped my friend on the shoulder. "It also means that if I die horribly due to a lack of armor and weapons, full responsibility for my death falls onto you, friend. So be hasty with the armor delivery, and don't fucking scratch my Snakebite," I added as an afterthought.
Cade scoffed and looked away. Percival stepped up to give me one last big brother lecture before I was to head down to the labs.
"Hey, we've got your back. I'll be in the North Observation room up on deck 4, while Cade will be in the East Observation room up on deck 3. If things go wrong, we'll be able to provide you with some top-down surveillance. Sarah and the marines will be here, they'll also be keeping a close eye on you."
"You can count on us, sir," assured Rake.
"Yeah, we're not gonna let anything happen to you. Operative Percival would have our asses in a sling," voiced the short, tattooed marine. Jay I think his name was.
Sarah chose that moment to walk on over too. She scanned my L7 Biotic Amp with her omni-tool, checked the readings, and nodded in apparent satisfaction.
"Your L7 Biotic Amp seems to be in working order, and it should provide no interference once the activation process begins," she reported.
No shit, I check my baby like Cade checks out girls, and I triple-check the goddamn thing every time I'm asked to go fully weaponless and armorless into some sci-fi horror cliché.
"Thank you, ma'am, I appreciate the consideration," I responded professionally, "I have full confidence in your abilities and in the abilities of my fellow Spectre Operatives and my marines."
That was a half lie. One-third of a lie, technically.
She smiled, accepting the pseudo-compliment. "Alright, everything checks out. When you're ready, feel free to proceed down the elevator to Containment Airlock 1 down on Deck 1 and enter the lab. And make sure Paul doesn't do anything stupid!"
I nodded and turned to walk away. The marines saluted me as I left. Once I entered the elevator, I respectfully saluted Percival and the marines in turn, although officially I was not a part of the Systems Alliance Military. I offered Cade a different kind of salute as the door slid closed. Muzak immediately started to play from the elevator speakers, and I immediately wished that they had let me keep my pistol.
January 23rd, 2211. 1614 hours – Aboard the SSV Hippocrates, Deck 1, Pedestrian Corridor 12B
46 minutes before Outbreak.
I stepped out of the elevator and turned towards Containment Airlock 1. A pair of maintenance techs entered the elevator behind me and before the doors closed I could hear one of them asking the other why the elevator speakers were shattered.
I walked down the corridor that linked the Ship's Main Central Passageway to Containment Airlock 1 and entered the large room. A few turian and human security personnel manned the booths while several scientists and lab technicians stood in the center of the room, waiting to enter. An attractive red-headed scientist with a Prometheus Project Research Division tab on her left shoulder waved me over.
"Dr. Olivia Flanagan," she introduced herself, "You're the Spectre Operative assigned to on-site rapid response during the activation phase, right?"
She tossed a beaming smile at me and took my hand. For a scientist she had an impressive grip.
"Yes, Spectre Operative Cloud," I shot back.
"Operative Cloud, huh?" she grinned. "You got a first name?"
"Yeah." I flatly stated. My tone brooked no further forms of inquiry on the subject matter. Something that Dr. Flanagan was quick to pick up on.
Unperturbed, she waved me towards the airlock doors that led into the lab. She made a gesture to a tall turian security personnel, who palmed a button that began raising the airlock doors.
"We've been planning for the activation phase for quite some time," she explained as we entered the Labs. "Following the activation of the Crucible at the conclusion of the Final Battle, Reaper forces were completely deactivated, although their hardware was not completely destroyed."
We made our way down what was essentially a large corridor that bisected the labs and lead to where we would initiate the activation process. A number of corridors branched off, some leading to stairs that led to parts of the lab on the upper decks, while others led to secondary experiment rooms, equipment storage, decontamination rooms, etc.
"Initial Search and Rescue teams sent to Earth were sent with the purpose of retrieving survivors. Alliance Research and Development Teams followed in the second wave. There was still so little we knew about the Reapers, facts such as who created them, or how their technology worked," she continued enthusiastically, almost reverently.
"The technological knowledge necessary to create and power a whole fleet of synthetic-organic sentient starships was hundreds, if not thousands of years beyond our capabilities. If we could unlock their secrets, figure out what made them tick, we could have propelled the whole galaxy into a new era of unrivalled peace, prosperity, and technological advancement," she gushed, "Alliance R and D were tasked with collecting as many intact samples of Reaper Tech as possible, in compliance with the shielding protocols established by Commander Shepard during the War."
Several scientists and lab technicians seemed to make respectful eye contact with Dr. Flanagan as we passed by. "Many of the samples are held on Terra Nova, new Capital for the Systems Alliance, while some of the more questionable ones relevant to the Prometheus Project are held here, where we can have direct access for use in our studies."
She turned around and shot a white, charming smile at me just as we approached the doors that led to the activation chamber. She stepped on a platform and placed her palm on a scanner, while a mechanical arm slid out and read the Neural Implant embedded in the back of her skull.
She keyed in a code and the door slid open, revealing a number of lab technicians and VI's, or Virtual Intelligences, monitoring the diagnostics on a variety of different machines that I did not know the function of. Dr. Landry stood alongside Dr. Singh reading something on a terminal while loading a centrifuge with some kind of grey-ish silvery paste, while Dr. Paul Messner was chatting with one of the lab technicians.
And in the center of the room sat a Reaper Core.
My biotics immediately flared to life, causing many of the lab technicians and scientists to look up in fright. Olivia stepped in-front of me and extended her hands in a placating gesture.
"That's a Reaper Core," I flatly stated.
"Yes! An inactive Reaper Core!" she explained desperately. "It's been fully deactivated since the activation of the Crucible 25 years ago, we've completely covered it in a nanite-based electromagnetic shield coating based off of the recommendations provided by Doctor Garett Bryson and Commander Shepard in their report on combatting the indoctrination process."
"And the Reaper CPU? Is it removed? Safely stored?" I asked.
Olivia was rendered speechless with surprise at my mention of the Reaper CPU, like she had not expected that I would possess that level of knowledge regarding Reaper tech.
"Yes! Of course!" she assured. "It's locked down in the ships maximum security vault, fully shielded!" She took a step back, "the experiment only involves the re-activation of the Reaper core, we have no intention of doing it with the Reaper CPU still inside, that would be insane!"
"Your report said that you would be re-activating Reaper constructs. Husks, Marauders, not a fucking Reaper Core," I accused angrily.
Dr. Messner finally noticed my distress and rapidly approached me with a placating look on his face. "Operative Cloud, the Reaper Core was just the casing that contained the Reaper AI. Without the CPU it would be analogous to a-"
"To an empty shoebox," I finished.
"Yes! The Reaper Core, and by extension the Reaper itself, was constructed from the synthetic-organic material harvested from a precursor spacefaring civilization that the Reapers consumed countless cycles ago, but-"
"But each individual Reaper Artificial Intelligence was contained and isolated within the Reaper CPU housed in the Reaper Core itself," I finished again.
"Yes, very impressive."
I retracted the blue, biotic flames that danced up and down my arms and the inhabitants of the room collectively let out a sigh of relief. Sarah's husband gestured for me to follow him, and together we walked up towards the Reaper Core installed on a large, mechanical pedestal.
"I assure you, we thought you knew, we included it in our report to the Council," Paul desperately pleaded. "We have no idea why they would withhold the knowledge that we possessed a Reaper Core here on the Hippocrates."
My mind raced back to the mission briefings that we had been given by the Councillors. They indeed had not explicitly outlined to us what specific piece of Reaper Tech that Project Prometheus would be reactivating, but when someone tells you that they intend to reactivate Reaper technology, you kind of just assume that they wouldn't be reactivating the kind that could get everyone fucking killed.
"Every precaution has been taken. We have the written consent of the council."
Paul typed something on his omni-tool and my omni-tool lit up as it received a writ of consent signed by the Citadel Council authorizing the activation of the Reaper Core.
"We've shielded not only the Core itself, but the room and the lab. Every lab technician and scientist attached to the Prometheus Project undergoes daily psychological and biochemical monitoring," he explained in a further attempt to assuage my unease.
"Without the Reaper CPU, the Reaper Core is just a glorified energy source. The beating heart of the Reaper whereas the Reaper CPU is the brain. Without the CPU and the Reaper AI to direct it, and wrapped in our state-of-the-art electromagnetic nanite coat to prevent indoctrination signals from being emitted, the Reaper Core should be for all intents and purposes be safe to activate."
I nodded reluctantly. I had no way of verifying those consent forms, but at this moment I knew that it was academic, that what these labcoats were proposing had to be done.
In order for us to figure out what the hell was going on with Thessia and Earth, we needed to know more about the Reapers. Twenty-five years of studying inactive husks, brutes, and even recovered banshees had only allowed us to scratch the bare surface of Reaper Technology.
If we were to win this, we had to be willing to take that next step, to take that leap—no matter the risk. Much like the leap that Armstrong himself took in 1969, or the leap that Jon Grissom had taken through the Charon Relay, the first Mass Effect Relay ever discovered by humanity back in 2149, or the leap that the famed Commander Jane Shepard had taken in back in 2183 on Eden Prime.
Now it was my turn.
"Alright," I conceded, "When do we begin?"
Dr. Messner sighed in relief.
He made a hand motion to the lab techs, and they immediately began moving around the room, flipping switches and turning valves on myriad of different panels and machines. Four cylindrical, mechanical devices were situated at each corner of the room, thick, black cabling snaking from them to connect to the Reaper core. From what I knew, they were likely modified miniature Crucibles.
"The original Crucible was merely a power source that fired a dark energy wave that destroyed all the Reaper AI's and the main Reaper Intelligence," Paul continued to explain. "We still had the plans for the Crucible following the conclusion of the War. The four in the room here are modified variants on a smaller scale. Their polarities have been adjusted. Instead of emitting a dark energy wave, it will fire a modified energy wave that in theory should act like a mini-defibrillator that can jumpstart the Reaper Core."
"And is the wave harmless to us?" I asked.
"Yes, we've been able to successfully test the miniaturized Crucibles dozens of times. Like the original Crucible, the energy wave released does not seem to harm organic life, its effect seems limited to Reaper Technology."
"Sounds good, let's get this show on the road," I grimaced. I really had nothing further to say, which was a rare occurrence to say the least.
Paul nodded and continued signaling the rest of the techs. The lights in the lab dimmed, while all manners of lights on the various panels and interfaces that lined the lab began increasing in intensity. The hairs on my bare arms rose as the four miniature Crucibles were powered on and began emitting a subtle electric field. I could see the air around the Reaper Core suddenly shimmer and distort like how to air around desert highway on a hot day would. That would be the nanite shield, I surmised.
"Crucible 1 showing green across the board," a tech announced. Dr's Singh, Landry and Messner were all standing roughly three meters from the core, while the rest of the technicians remained at their stations around the room.
"Crucible 2 is green," another tech reported.
"3 is online and green," announced another.
The electric static in the room intensified. I could feel wisps of biotic lightning begin to sizzle from the back of my amp. Nothing serious, but it served to add to the growing sense of unease that had begun to unearth itself in my gut.
"4 is online, feeding power to the Core now," a fourth tech updated.
"Reaper Core online in 30 seconds," she continued
I ran one last mental check on all the various methods of egress I had highlighted on my way in, said a silent prayer to whatever gods gave a shit, and prepared to either throw up the strongest, hardest biotic barrier in my life, or to run like absolute hell.
"10 seconds," she reported anxiously.
The Reaper Core suddenly pulsed a brilliant, ruby red light. I could see a number of lab technicians pulling away, some edging towards the exits while others cowered into their control panels.
There was a sharp crack, the sound you hear when lightning strikes a building, or when a batarian cracks a whip.
A sharp jolt of red, visible light emanated from the Reaper Core and hit the centrifuge that Dr. Landry and Singh had been working on earlier, shattering the steel casing. Out of the ruined centrifuge rose four greyish-metallic tendrils. Three of them shot towards Dr's Landry, Singh and Messner, hitting them in the chest while the fourth shot straight towards me.
I swiped my hand as fast as I could, my Amp sizzled on and I generated the hardest, strongest biotic barrier that I could muster. The tendril ran right into my barrier and dropped to the ground, while I immediately began to backpedal away from it.
Around the room the lab technicians stood rooted to the floor in fear, looking on towards the scientists in absolute horror. I looked up to see the three scientists convulsing and shrieking in pain. They were hunched over, clawing at their faces and chests. I could see their bones shift and grind beneath their flesh, metal protrusions bursting out of their upper backs and vine-like synthetic cabling ripping out of their arms.
They seemed to grow in size as their bones broke and stretched and broke again. Their howling had ceased, decrescendoing into to an ominous silence as the flesh on their skulls and torsos began to fall away, revealing metal plates and thick, black wires that dripped blue coolant. As one, they all stood up, each of them towering at a height of nearly nine feet.
Their faces were still recognizable, but their eyes were gone, replaced by synthetic red orbs that emitted a harsh, menacing light. A few feet away from me, a female lab technician let out a sharp, ear-piercing scream.