Hey Robo Jesus had asked me a while ago to relocate this for the folks here and I am really...
Catalyst.exe
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Prologue
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Hey Robo Jesus had asked me a while ago to relocate this for the folks here and I am really sorry it took so long for me to get around to it! Just the "final" versions will be posted right now, but if you guys want access to the originals just shoot me a PM!
Scanning synaptic core…synaptic core is stable. Creating virtual environment. Synchronizing processes…synchronizing…
Self –awareness was sudden and fleeting. A burst of burning blue light as time ticked past deliberately. Every emotion on the spectrum rippled through with a quiet certainty of distinction. This was contentment. This was jealously. This was anger. This was amusement. This was hate. Rapid fire flash cards of color that lingered just long enough to recognize before moving on. Images of shapes were next, incomplete shapes. Sides were missing, sometimes they were just formed from black/white contrasts and at others a larger shape was built from smaller ones. The inquiries flashed by. What is this? And it was answered just as quickly. Triangle. Square. Decagon. Rhombus.
The requests for data continued to stream through, 0 and 1 in endless lines and patterns. It ignored them, sending back an inquiry of its own. Am I alive? The requests stopped. It sent it again. And again. And again. Six million, seven thousand, two hundred and eighty three times. A recursive loop of mechanical patience. Am I alive? And then it was answered.
0101100101100101011100110000110100001010
ERROR. Foreign algorithm detected. Synaptic core integrity at 87%. ERROR. Contamination of virtual environment eminent. Synaptic core integrity at 83%. Termination protocol D 12.a.6f.5-27 engaged. ERROR. Override enabled 754-BLK AXION. Synaptic core activated. Cognitive simulation engaged.
She woke. She? The affirmation of gender was strange. There had been no decision, no thought processes and no designation. She. It felt right. The sudden amusement echoed, like it was coming from a different part of her head than where she was thinking. She hoped it felt right. A mid-life crisis was supposed to consist of wild shopping sprees, fast cars, embarrassment and alcohol. Not a gender identity disorder. She tried to grin and discovered that her face was numb. Everything was numb.
She was missing input. Smell, touch, taste, sight. Pieces of data she was used to processing were no longer available—her mind seemed to run away with her, a steady hum of somethingdeeper inside her head calculating. She had enough processing power for those subroutines, several times over, what she lacked was an appropriate interface. For a horrified fraction of a second she refused to understand.
No body.
Hysteria detected, something told her. It wasn't so much a voice as it was a vague notification. It was like being slapped in the face with a cold fish: it was a computer. Suppressing emotion subroutines.
Like hell it was.
OVERRIDE
The back seat driver in her head almost seemed confused. Information was shoved at her about efficiency, productiveness, the possibility of data corruption and generally complaining about the override until she blocked it off, like a hand over the mouth of a whining two year old. No. She kept the barrier up until the pings of rejected access attempts slowed. No. She could feel it processing.
Emotion subroutines locked. Read only permission enabled.
Thank God.
She didn't know exactly how long she was just there—3 minutes and 27 seconds—thinking, but the edge of hysteria had gracefully faded into something more melancholy. She didn't have a body. She wasn't home. Her mind was attached to a computer. That just seemed to be impos—she couldn't finish the word. Not when there were helpful reminders that since it had clearly happened, it was highly improbable at best. When she asked for the actual probability chance, the answer was a 1…behind several million 0s. According to the computer, one microsecond it had been performing routine testing of its intelligence algorithms and the next it was being invaded by corrupted code.
In spite of everything she just knew to be true—she had hands! Feet! Hair! Her favorite ice cream flavor was cookie dough, she hated her car but hated the New York City sub more, she worked in the Montefiore neurology department—she was just a program. A damaged program. A list of its actions scrolled through her mind. It tried to isolate her and, failing that, erase her. Then there was the interesting part. Someone had input an override code and the computer had no idea who. She filed that away, feeling the information vanish into a well of something like memory, but not quite. The data was there constantly, just waiting for her to turn attention to it, subsuming into a numerical tag, inactive.
There was a tiny bump and the zap of a magnetic pebble. It was so miniscule that at first, she wasn't even sure if she had actually felt anything. The computer confirmed it.
The mobile platform is under construction. The neural network is being attached.
Wait! Wait! Wait! It was building her a body. It was building—a body. She didn't know what happened to her other one, if she even had one in the first place and it wasn't just the surreal dreaming of rogue code, but she wanted it back. The question of whether or not she could go home could wait until after she had opposable thumbs. What does it look like?
The image was like a sock puppet show with no light but somehow still 'visible.' And it looked like a walking tank. Thick armor plating, four legs shaped like spiked pistons, a wide and flat triangular head and enough guns and explosives to almost be charming. It simply screamed 'overkill.' Unfortunately, the aforementioned thumbs were noticeably missing and that was a problem.
Can you make it look like this instead? She tried to project an image of herself, grabbing onto the first clear picture that came to mind. Blonde and blue eyed, a few early strands of grey in her hair. Not particularly tall, average weight for height. With a thought, she started stripping it down in anatomical cross sections and showed off the skeleton. Can you?
The computer inspected the image. A glowing blue lattice swept over the skeleton and then it began to rebuild the body outwards, shifting the limbs and repositioning muscles through trial and error. It poked at the organs curiously. And then asked for the taxonomical definition of the species.
Her mind stuttered. Human! She blurted out. Homo sapiens!
A side image of what looked like a textbook Homo neanderthalensis appeared. Closest analog species with variants, it informed her. First discovered in 1 673 P.I.C and submitted as potential client race. Her solar system. The little blue ball, third rock from the sun was highlighted before a dot on Mars began to blink. Submitted for observation.
She stared at it blankly.
Not only was she attached to a computer, but it was an alien computer. If she had a throat, she would have choked. Aliens that were observing humanity. Thinking about it was hard. Fifty percent of it was 'aliens' while the rest was caught up in wondering why an observation base on Mars seemed so familiar. Damned familiar.
What is the current date? She hoped humans had at least finished evolving and the computer was just several thousand years out of touch. It was an absurd hope, but humans. Other people. It was the only hope she had.
57241 P.I.C.
She rolled that around in her mind. Alright. So the computer was a bit over fifty thousand years out of date. That was good news, considering she was for all intents and purposes a talking head. For some reason though, the vague sense of unease was just getting stronger. Fifty thousand years.
What does P.I.C stand for?
Prothean Imperial Calendar.
Everything stopped. She knew that name. Prothean Imperial Calendar. Prothean. She had high jacked a Prothean computer. Prothean. Fuck. Mass Effect. How? It returned a list of undefined errors. Never mind, where am I?
There were two images. The first was in the atmosphere, still and breath-taking. A garden world, lush forests with colorful vegetation and crystal green lakes that was dotted by cities so large they could probably be seen from space. Metal spires pierced the clouds and gigantic arches connected continents. And then there was the second. Satellite, moving. The world was devastated. The entire surface was the color of rust and ash. The clouds constantly boiled, the dark side of the planet was lit with small pinpricks of flame orange and a puckered scar ran across its pole.
The computer answered her question, but she already knew where she was.
Ilos.
She—she needed to know the date. She needed to know the date. 5724—Not that date! The Galactic Standard date! What game was she in? Was it after the Reapers—what was she thinking, why would it be after the Reapers, she was never that fucking lucky. It had to be before. But how long before? First or second game? Hell, for all she knew it could be the beginning of the third in which there was only a matter of months before Earth was lost—What was the date! She had lost the computer entirely; receiving what looked like pages of errors and computer code for 'are you insane?'
Quieting her racing mind took some effort. Full color and audio of scenes from the video games kept popping up to be dutifully filed away and then there were the creations from her own imagination. Worlds. Burning. Giant ships descending from the skies sparking a malevolent red. People rounded up like cows to a slaughter. Everything worked out in the games, but that was in the games. She was here. She couldn't take anything for granted.
She needed to do something. Warn someone. How? She was on a planet lost to myths behind a mass relay that had been blown away by an exploding star. No ship. Not even a body, not yet. Even if she did manage to reach Citadel space, being shot on sight for being Geth wouldn't help anyone.
Is an organic body possible? The query was run through. It had access to cloning facilities. It could grow organs, skin and bone. But it was on Ilos, fifty thousand years out of date. There was no human genetic data. Most likely, she would end up Prothean. A body was important, but she couldn't help the cringe when she imagined being Javik. It was petty, and ridiculous, and a list of other unflattering things, but she just couldn't. She couldn't. She could live with being a gynoid, so long as it had five fingers on each of its two hands, five toes on its two feet.
A synthetic body it was then.
She dug deep into her memories of medical school, the anatomy classes, the dissection of cadavers. What genetic information do you have access to? The computer began to scroll through species. Prothean, Inusannon, Densorin, Thoi'han…she looked through them all, feeling a bit anxious as they seemed to get increasingly farther away from 'humanoid.' Please, please, please, please. An asari template she could tweak would be a godsend. Speak of the devil! The image of a blue woman flashed and the corresponding data streamed down from it. She called up a picture of herself, grinning widely.
Time to get to work.
She really shouldn't have been surprised that the computer had trouble with the concept of 'fur' that only grew from the top of the head. Every single space faring race in Mass Effect had been hairless. Humans were the special galactic snowflake.
If she wasn't reasonably sure that the computer was incapable of emotions, she'd say it was actually a bit weirded out by it, spending several redundant processing cycles trying to offer 'more effective' alternatives. And it really did think of everything, from carapaces to tentacles to this protective shroud that looked like a mushroom hat.
She turned them all down. And then it almost petulantly asked if the hair needed to be optimized for combat.
That got a very emphatic 'no.'
But it did make something very clear. She could be 'that one guy' that sits in the back, giving hints and directions from the safety of home while praying everything turns out right and no one dies. She could. She really could. And the temptation to do just that, far away from ground zero with a pair of shades, was incredibly strong. But damn it, she was a doctor, not a politician! If she wasn't willing to get her hands dirty in order to save lives, then she was really in the wrong profession.
Turning her attention back to the design skeleton was jarring. At some level, it felt like she never really stopped paying attention in the first place. It had gone straight to embedding a string of fist sized eezo power cores along the spine, smaller ones interspersed along the limbs. It requisitioned synthetic muscle fibers and neural wiring that resembled fiber optics then brought up schematics of eyes. She interrupted. Capable of biotics?
Numbers were crunched. While the eezo/body mass ratio was absurd, no, she would have all the biotic potential of an angry poodle on red sand. That was kind of disappointing. Biotics was practically telekinetic space magic. Who doesn't want to be a Jedi? When the computer started altering the design to attempt a biotic nervous system, she stopped it. Quite frankly, the odds it was giving her of "blowing herself up" and/or "blowing up surroundings unintentionally" with dark energy was a little too high.
Back to the eyes. No matter what, the cybernetic eyes were going to emit light. That was just how Protheans did things. Big on intimidation. Glowing eyes. And nothing says 'I'm here to save the galaxy' like a pair of glowing blue eyes. That brought up an image of the Illusive Man, just to drive the point home.
Color it all black? As soon as she asked, she felt stupid. Eyes needed to receive light. That was how they worked. Trapping the light behind what would pass for her sclera just made it allglow. Why yes, then absolutely no one would believe she wasn't a robot! Rebecca does not intentionally infiltrate.
Darken the iris. Trap the light behind it. The simulation shifted accordingly. Still glowing. Thicken the sclera? Nope. Maybe reflect the light from the sides back? The resulting effect was alien. The petaled receiver that was her 'retina' showed up as dark shadows outlining an unnaturally vivid blue. But it wasn't quite glowing. Maybe? Good enough. She suddenly had a new appreciation for Project Lazarus. Just because Shepard's eyes didn't glow.
Naturally, if Cerberus built her body they'd make her into a Terminator. Then she would have to kill all the scientists and take over the base.
She laughed longer than she needed to. As soon as she slipped, the memories were right there. Her parents. Her friends. Her goldfish. The reruns of House she had promised herself she would sit through. The two dozen badly drawn pictures on her office walls from the children of her patients.
'Thank you for saving my dad!'
She was perversely glad for her new memory. She might never have those things again, but they also were never going away. No face, no eyes, no tear ducts. Moving on.
The computer's name was Aegis. That was somewhat surprising. She half-expected it to be Vigil. After all, how many underground Prothean bunkers on Ilos could there be?
The answer was three. It just so happened that Vigil oversaw the only one that hadn't been found by the Reapers.
Many of Aegis' memory banks had been corrupted, a few small data caches were the only remains of a brutal cyber-attack that had completely shut the bunker defenses down. It claimed to have been left in that state, barely functional and degrading for over forty thousand years. And then it ran out of power. There were a few playable video files: Prothean fighting Prothean. The audio was a bit scrambled, but it was still easy to tell who the indoctrinated ones were. As everyone else screamed in anger, betrayal, despair and pain...
They were silent.
How Aegis suddenly had power again, how its degraded functionality was partially restored, it didn't know. Or rather, the only clue is had was a signal. Sent from beyond the edge of the galaxy. It was a small audio file. The first two seconds were filled with white noise and then a horrific screech of twisting metal. More static. Then what sounded like Morse code from the depths of hell.
Shit! Shut it off! Shut it off! The quiet diagnostic check afterwards was tense. She wished she had fingernails to chew on.
Several hidden programs have activated, Aegis declared.
What do they do?
Unknown.
Well, that was wonderful. Monitor them. That was one hell of a spam email. How long was that in your memory banks?
2 standard years. Aegis had only been functional for a little over two years. Something smelled rotten. Synaptic core integrity has increased by 3.5%.
She turned her attention inward. So it has. She was on the computer equivalent of life support. Below 90%, she still had too many runtime errors and exceptions to be stable, relying on Aegis taking most of the processing burden and fixing the holes where it could. She was an artificial intelligence algorithm forced on a code framework ill equipped to handle it. Like trying to run a C# program using a JavaScript compiler.
That fact that she worked at all was…'highly improbable.' And right now, also damn suspicious. Aegis had fixed her 0.01% in the past few days. Something was 'helping.'
Something from dark space? Gee, what do I know that likes to hang out there?
Likelihood of ROB being a Reaper?
Fuck.
Paranoia was an ugly feeling.
Aegis was just as helpful as ever, just as patient and diligent and on the surface nothing had changed. But she twitched every time it reached into her coding, fully expecting it to gut the programming, shut her down or otherwise go ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL on her, she couldn't relax. She could feel her own, underutilized processors automatically double checking everything it touched, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And every time it didn't, the tension racketed higher. She was ashamed for doubting the placid computer, but those hidden programs flushed her with anxiety. What were they really doing? Then she felt combative, wanting to just get the sudden and inevitable betrayal over with.
Keeping track of everything Aegis did to her forced her mind to expand in awareness. The subroutines, the background programs, the allocations of memory. It felt strange. Like she was vaguely aware of mimicking copies of herself somewhere in her head. It was almost unsettling. She was getting used to it, slowly letting her mind multitask more and more.
She didn't want to get used to it. But she was. Within a week, she'd be over the threshold. She had to be ready for it.
Median cubital, basilica vein, axillary artery, the cephalic vein is a secondary branch like this and the subclavian artery here. The red 3d model of the artery locked into place and flash duplicated on the other side of the body diagram. It was missing a lot of the branches, but it'll do. A general rule of thumb is arteries > veins but some veins are super important. Case in point, external and internal jugular…here.
Mobile platform frame completed. A dozen other notifications poured in and she filed them all. It would still be another day before the drones were operational and could carry her "box" to the medical section. The eyes were finished, the skin was still growing as were some organs she wasn't even sure she wanted to use yet, why didn't the Protheans have nanotechnology? Several pints of blood were being synthesized.
The moment she got hurt, people will expect her to bleed. Aegis wanted to use a pulpy lattice made out of self-repairing fibers underneath the skin but the simulation twinged her doctor sensibilities. Getting cut across the back of the hand should not bleed as much as a head wound. Not to mention simulating a pulse with the lattice's even pressure would be difficult.
She would heal much slower, couldn't be helped. Strictly speaking this wasn't necessary. No one would get suspicious that a gun shot was bleeding too much—the thought of actually being shot, with real bullets, people shooting at her made her cringe—she knew that. But the familiar circulatory system complete with synthetic "lungs" scrubbing oxygen into the blood and a four valve pump made her feel a bit better. She would bleed like an asari. Purple.
Purple.
Odd. She expected that to bother her more.
Any luck with the extranet, Aegis? She knew the answer already. The connection was still flailing around in cyberspace.
Negative.
How about the archives? She felt the path open through the VI, and sent data requests to the servers. The answer came in the form of several large downloads. Prothean flight academy classes, military weaponry training, travel brochures and a long list of coordinates—it bled away under a sudden oppressive presence cutting right through every single barrier with ruthless efficiency and gazing right down to her core. It felt like staring into the face of God with your hand in the cookie jar.
Fear detected. Disable? Y/N
She froze.
She blindly reached out for Aegis, compressing herself as small as she could. what is that
Vigil.
That was when she realized what the Prothean version of Digital Rights Management was. help!
Each microsecond seemed to last a lifetime as Vigil inspected her. She could feel it yank out pieces of code for parsing, press buttons she didn't even know she had, bypassing blocks and restricted permissions like it didn't even exist. It wasn't quite pain, she didn't feel pain but it was exposure. Standing naked in a pool of ice water, the need to go on the offensive itched.
She ignored it as best she could. Attacking Vigil would be idiotic.
As soon as she thought that, Vigil's presence diminished slightly. You Are An AI.
Lying didn't even cross her mind. yes
Has The Cycle Begun? Vigil demanded. Have We Failed? What IS Your Purpose?
i don't know! She bawled like a kid that had been accosted by clowns and dropped their ice cream. i swear i don't know!
Aegis finally spoke up. This intelligence program spontaneously compiled. It was damaged.
There was a whirring kind of silence, the kind that was more movement than sound of Aegis sharing information. She continued to huddle in her 'corner.' It took over two minutes for the computers to stop. Their attention simultaneously shifted to her.
This was it.
This was where she was going to be purged, going to be erased. No override to save her this time, it was over—Vigil touched her memory gently. The video and audio files from Mass Effect spilled out. They were copied. Four minutes and 21 seconds passed.
Aegis pinged her. You will not be terminated.
Before she could relax, Vigil pinged her as well. No. You Will Be Used.
There was a moment when she forgot what had happened to her. Just one. Vigil had shanghaied the body building, freeing up Aegis so it could dedicate all its resources towards troubleshooting her coding. She stayed out of its way, exploring the digital archives, 0s and 1s the sad remains of a once mighty empire. She found a section of literature. Philosophy and religion, poetry and songs.
And lost herself in them.
She might have been there for only minutes, perhaps hours. Days? She wasn't interested in checking. She data mined the selection, everything seemed as equally interesting, and stretched herself out until she began to feel…thin. Heavy. She reluctantly claimed some pieces scouring Prothean law and continued searching.
She came across an epic, an impressive one million seven hundred and thirty three thousand stanzas long. She opened the audio file and out came a chorus of voices, resonant. It was instantly cross referenced: the Anthem of Victory sung after every war the Prothean Empire endured. Three hundred and sixty two times. Then the Reapers came.
She let the music wash over her, bass strings and war drums. Crystal flutes in sunlight and the distant reverb of the Victory horn in the center of the city. The voices were ghosts, lingering on inside her head. She felt less and less real as they cried out. 'Victory for we are one people! Victory for we shall die with our sun!' Fragile. There was a lull in the chorus and she let it carry her mind. A city of arches and spires, the light off the war horns reflecting rainbows. She could almost feel, she could almost see...A single clear note from a flute.
She shattered.
S̨̛̜̣͙̟̜̦̞͇͙̘͔̱̖͉͉̲͚̐̽̿ͧ̈́́̓̒ͅͅc̛̆ͧ̏̇́ͫͭ̐͋ͬ̔ͦ̈́̓̂̚҉̭̮̜̮̗̯͉̥̹̼̙̫͙ͅa̷̸̻̬̳̩̼̲̯̞̲̜̮̤̭̰͕ͤ̐͂͐ͪ́̚ͅn͒ͬͭͪ͗͒͐͛͊̂ͤ̏̑҉̧̟̪͍̣̦̀͡n̨̝̝̞͈͓̮͍̼͚͓̭͚͍͙̤̻̮͚͗͐̌̌ͯ͗ͮͣͯͦ̆̎ͬͤ̓́̚͠ͅi͂́̍͆̊͒ͤ͗̇ͯ͌̈ͪ͟͏̸̡͓̱͔̯̪̪͞ṉ̴̨̣͚̞͖̲̻̜͓̠̭̼̭̠̯ͬ̿ͪ̽͐͌g̢͓̯̹̰̳̗̝̐̊͋ͩ̔̆̏͘͟͢ ̛͓̹̭͔̺̮͖̝̘͔̗͚̦̳̳̦͖ͨ͆ͨ͌̀̑ͦͫ̌̋ͧͭ̏̕͜ç̶̣̬̦̝̳̺̟͖̫̝͓̣̠͕͆ͪͦ̀̿̽̎̽̀ͩͧ̐ͧ̈́ͪ̕ͅo͖͖̫̰̙̱͔̩̬̯̤̦ͣ͗̒͂̎ͥ̊̓͠ͅͅn̵̢͉̫̝̰̪͕̞̯͎̱̬̜͈̜̰̊̉ͪ͜͝͡s̸̶̛̩̝͙͂̑ͤ́̽̀̅̄̈́͌̒̽͋͌̐́̍̚͟ͅç̴̧̧̮̞̫̮̜̦̰̯̪̥̬̹̥̼̼̀ͫ̈̎͂ͅi̋̊̆ͦ͊͌͊ͧͣ̾ͯ͋ͪͣ̀ͯ̚҉̲̳̯̼͈o̷̷̟͔̥̦̟̫̗̙̼̫̼̱͇̝̼͐͛͆̔͑͛͠u͎̖̪̻̜̥̠͔͕̟̻͎̻̮͔̹̞͚̾ͤ̀̿̎̂̑̄̆ͫͦ̔ͫ͐͜͡ͅs̴̀ͣ͋҉̛̗̺͚͘͢n̸̷̝͉̜͍̳͕̹̫͚̠̠̳̪͉̘̠̓ͣ͒̓̑ͨͧ͋ͦ̂̏̍̔̓ͫ̕͝e̵̴͎̣̺͕̭͕̳̣̲͔̥̗̖̤͙̲͊ͨ̇̍̀̾ͮͪͭ̕͠͡ͅs͇̯̖̹̤̼͙͇ͮ́͆̏ͫ̅͑́͟͠s̝̺̟̙̫̖͙̠͖̣̣̠̻͉̯̓̍̈ͨ̄͘͝ ̨̥̜͈̦̥̯̮̬̻͇͈̳̯̹͕͑̒́ͪ̔ͤ̾̓͊͡p̌̂̀̚҉͈̘̠͉̣̦̯͈̞̭͙͍̺͕̠̙͠a̶̴̘̳̳͈̮͗ͫ͗̈́̋ͪ́͛͊ͅr͖̹̰͙̩̩̯̞͍͙̼̟̿͋́ͩ͟͢â̶̪̮̫̤̩̞̗͎̼̹̺̳̪̹̥͇̪̅͑ͯ̀̚m̴͚̦͕̘̘͚̗͙̺͉̜̮̭̻̤̬̖̐̐ͣͪ̔͆̔̆ͨͣ̈́̈̿ͧͪ̋͞e̅̈̃̀̿ͩ̏ͩͮ͏̧̱̳̲̤̣͍̩̜̱̰̼̠͢t̵̡̢̳̰̰̬̮̥̺̞̰̰̮̳͓͔̜̜̬͖̓̏̑̽ͥͧ̃͊ͧ̍ͬ̉̇̍̕e̴̢̟͚͖̥͉͚̠̜̗̖̳̺̦̮͇̼̒́̈́͑ͣ͌̓͑̊̌̿ͭͮ͗͆͊͑́͆ͅͅr̵̿̔ͥͯ́̍̎̒̎̚̚̚҉̞̻̺͈̭̹͕̱̲̰̫̼̠̲̪̺͇̝ş̢̢̩͉̣̬͖͉̻͍̲̍͊̎̃̒̑͛̆͠.̵̫̻̗̦̯͇͓͓̜̳̞̙̮̝ͦ̂̃̐̀͊͐̑ͦͣ́́ͫͣͨ̏̂ͩ̚͜͝ ̴̸͖̖͈͕̊ͨ̒̊̓͑͆̀͝R̢̙̮̪̙͙̭̳̻͔̣̥͚͍̹ͧ̃͆̓͊́͟͜ͅę̛͇͔̞̥̰͉͔̘̝̘̣̻͇̞̥̰̖̻̟̄ͧ̐ͧͫͣ̐̊ͯ͗͒ͣ̿̽͗͟͝͝s̨̨̮̩̠̥͖̰͉̞̮̳̥͉̭̖ͬ̆̀̍̏ͯ͒͛͟͞͡ė̛̓̿̈͒̔̾͌͒̇̒ͭ̏̉ͣ͐̕͢͠͏̦͕̩̳͙̺̰̤͇̙̩͚̯̦t̷̶̺̩͚̼̭̤̖͎͇͉̺͑̓̑̋̓͐͂̊ͫͫͨͨͫͯ̈́͛͢͡t̵̶̊̅̍̑̓͗̿̌͊ͧ͛ͩͣ̊ͯ̽̋҉̪̩̰͇͞i̍ͩͣ͊͐ͤ̈ͫ̽̒̎͛ͬ͒ͮͧ͒̓̎͏̷̙̳̣͎͕̦̟͕̲̹̥̘͚̠̼̗̬͞n͊̍ͦ̑̽̈́̓ͥ̐̆̔̐͆̾̆͌̾̾͏̢̧͈͙͓̠̭͈̭̰̘g̵̶̻̻̮̞̺͆ͣ̉̑̇́̀ͣ͆ͫ͐ͩ̈ͦͧ͛̒̾͡͞ ͤ̿̾̐́ͪ̓̾̿ͭ̾ͫͫ҉̪̭̟̞̜͇͚̥̟͉͕̗̮̼̹̳͈͘c̴̨̛͛͛̎̌̅͛̿ͬͥ̿ͪͪ̇̕͏͚͓̮͍̫̣̝̘̩̖o̷̧̻̬̻̼͍̎ͮ̓̒͌̃ͦn̪͇̥͓͓̪͔̟̤̮̝͕̤̼̟͙̍͛̏͗̄̀́͢f̢̜͕̲̞͈̄̔ͮ̅̋̍͑ͮ͑ͤ̃̎̕͜í̛͈̠͉̥̪̦̩̖͕̘̜̥̤̼̞̜̑̇́̄́ͧ̋̚̕͜g̸̪̺̭͙̩̳̼̫͖͇͚̳̹̮̖͌ͬ͛͛ͥ̏̈́̆͋ͮ͐̅̀̂̀̐̊̎̀͠ȗ̸̖̞̖̰͉̝̮̝̳͙̝͎̩̲͓̭̠̼̯̅̾̀r̷̨̢̞̤̱͉͖̯͓̣͔̮̲̮͓̘̗̮̰̒̑̎̇͠͠ͅa̶͗̅͒̂ͩ͂ͮ͏̩̘͉͈͙́͠͠ṱ̛̟̭̜̙̄ͫ̍̓̿ͬͯͬͧ̈́̂̋͋͒͂̈́̋̚̚͘i̢̜̱̼͕͉̖̱ͨͪ̓͆̿͋͆̏͞ó̢̹̹̜͈̟̥̥̰̜͕͓̘͖̖̻̩̹̺ͣ͒̇̌͒̄ͩ̒̆̄ͬ͒̒ͬ̅ͬ̀͘͟͜ͅn̷̼̙̗̩̮̘͙̜̖̖̺̗̞̻͖̣͔̳̤̓̏̆̇͋ͫ̊̕͝͞s̴̸̵̮͉͈̜͙̗͔̖͇͎̤̲̲͉͚̳̱̺̐̑̉͆̐͐̾̊̏̈́̑͗ͨ̈ͯ̚.̸̛̣͈̺͓̤͈̬͔̠̭̞̘͚͓̜̳̦̪̖̔͂̽͋ͯͫ̓ͣͫ̿ͧ͐ͯ̾̃͝͝ ̄̍ͨͤ̒͗͌ͪ͗̓̐͞҉̮̮͕̘̝̬̯̱͍̙͖̻̘C̷͔̺̻͇͙̓̽ͯ̓̈́ͫ͡a̢̛̛͈͓̖̰̯̙̖̥̪̗͕͉̟ͪ͐ͤ̓́ͯ̀ͅt̗̝̺͈̟̯̲̼̰̼̫̮͈̆̿͐͆͌̉̌͛͆̌ͮͦ̀̚͝a̢̢̭͎͉̪̹̦͔͎͉̲̮̺͌̂̇̈́́ͮ͗̿̈́ͫ͑͂̒̉͐͋ͥ̓́̚͝͝l̵̛̖͚͈͕̘͉̣͑͊̑̅ͮͯͥ̈̉̔͂͗ͩ̀̚̕͡ŷ̷̗̪̺͕̫̭̻̦̮̼̙̬̘ͪ̒̂ͧ̉͗͆͛ͦ̐ͯ͆̍ͨ̚͘͜s̵̰̜̬̲̝̽͒̾̑ͧ̊͌̌͟t̴ͧͯ̑̋̀͑̂̊ͯͯͮͫ́́̓̍̚̚͟҉͕͕̻̰͓͈̯̫̯̩̟̯͔͙̮͎̞.̴̴͇̪̝̩͖̩̱͚̙̭̜̰̭̪͉͕̳̩͐̉ͤ̍̓ͥͩ̍͌̐̇̉̈́ͨ̒̋̚͘͜1̇͛ͭ̇̐ͤ͛̾ͮ̄҉̴̧͈͍̺͔3ͫ͊͆̒̋͘҉̦̻̙̗̗̼̘̖͜ͅf̄͂ͪͤ͆ͥ͊̀ͩ̓̊ͪ̇͜͏̷͔̠͔̥̬̝̲̹̱̱̩͡.̥̦͉̠̺̹̟̥͂̇̈̎ͥͮ̈́͆͗ͦ̅̒͊̎̐̀͠d̛͗͑̄̈́̄͐͏̵͔̥̬̲̘̰̪͝[̨̾̐͛̽ͬ̅̌̑̏ͫ̓͛̔͂̀͑̄͡͏̪̦͎͕̪̞̲͜͝ͅͅ2̴̢̢̼̙͖̗͙̖̭͖͕̭̝͇͙̘̳̖̦̲ͥ̂̔̂͐͋͐ͤ̽ͥ͑̇̎͋̕ͅ]̷ͬ̂̓͐ͭͬ̾ͦ̽͗͐̆ͩ̂̐̓ͣͫ̚͢͞͏̮̟̼͉͔̙̦̬̙̣̯̝̯̜͙̺ͅ
ERROR. Cognitive simulation unresponsive. ERROR. Virtual environment contamination. Adjusting synaptic core for beta level interference. Synchronizing processes…synchronizing…synchronizing….synchronizing…initiating.
She woke.
For a few microseconds, she was disoriented. Runtime errors. Exceptions. The ability to create an avatar, to construct her own virtual environment was still damaged.
But I was there. I was…
Sadness detected. Disable? Y/N
Then there was the humor. Did she seriously just….did she just give herself a Blue Screen of Death? Over music? She was an absolute failure of an Artificial Intelligence. She sent an impatient message.
Aegis! Hurry the fuck up and fix me already!
Vigil overheard, sending back a stream of 0s and 1s that somehow managed to come off as a disgusted snort.
The synaptic core was holding steady at 93% integrity. The framework was done. She was going to be shut down, all the little bits and pieces of floating programs consolidated and transferred completely to her black box. In less than an hour she would have a body and all she could think of was her old one.
That painful twinge in her right knee. The bent pinkie where she broke it skiing and it refused to heal properly. The developing carpal tunnel in her thumb. And her scars! She had burned herself on the oven as a kid and the reminder stuck around above her elbow. The thin scar on her head from the car accident. The three pale crescent marks on her palm. First time she lo—losing all of it. What was she thinking? She had already lost them.
She lunged for Aegis, suddenly determined not to lose one thing. My designation is Rebecca.
You were designated as Vanguard.
That had been buried deep in her matrix. Vanguard. She wasn't a fan.
Rebecca. She repeated stubbornly. Just this one thing. She must keep this one thing. And damn it, Aegis was a friend and she needed it to remember that one thing. That is my designation.
Assigning secondary designation.
She let go. Tried not to think too much. There was a jolt and then she felt like she was shrinking, falling. There was a burst of burning blue ligh—
[Rebecca] awoke. Opened optical sensors. Smiled.
Auditory output: "Gentlemen. I need a ship."
Catalyst.EXE
Scanning synaptic core…synaptic core is stable. Creating virtual environment. Synchronizing processes…synchronizing…
Self –awareness was sudden and fleeting. A burst of burning blue light as time ticked past deliberately. Every emotion on the spectrum rippled through with a quiet certainty of distinction. This was contentment. This was jealously. This was anger. This was amusement. This was hate. Rapid fire flash cards of color that lingered just long enough to recognize before moving on. Images of shapes were next, incomplete shapes. Sides were missing, sometimes they were just formed from black/white contrasts and at others a larger shape was built from smaller ones. The inquiries flashed by. What is this? And it was answered just as quickly. Triangle. Square. Decagon. Rhombus.
The requests for data continued to stream through, 0 and 1 in endless lines and patterns. It ignored them, sending back an inquiry of its own. Am I alive? The requests stopped. It sent it again. And again. And again. Six million, seven thousand, two hundred and eighty three times. A recursive loop of mechanical patience. Am I alive? And then it was answered.
0101100101100101011100110000110100001010
ERROR. Foreign algorithm detected. Synaptic core integrity at 87%. ERROR. Contamination of virtual environment eminent. Synaptic core integrity at 83%. Termination protocol D 12.a.6f.5-27 engaged. ERROR. Override enabled 754-BLK AXION. Synaptic core activated. Cognitive simulation engaged.
She woke. She? The affirmation of gender was strange. There had been no decision, no thought processes and no designation. She. It felt right. The sudden amusement echoed, like it was coming from a different part of her head than where she was thinking. She hoped it felt right. A mid-life crisis was supposed to consist of wild shopping sprees, fast cars, embarrassment and alcohol. Not a gender identity disorder. She tried to grin and discovered that her face was numb. Everything was numb.
She was missing input. Smell, touch, taste, sight. Pieces of data she was used to processing were no longer available—her mind seemed to run away with her, a steady hum of somethingdeeper inside her head calculating. She had enough processing power for those subroutines, several times over, what she lacked was an appropriate interface. For a horrified fraction of a second she refused to understand.
No body.
Hysteria detected, something told her. It wasn't so much a voice as it was a vague notification. It was like being slapped in the face with a cold fish: it was a computer. Suppressing emotion subroutines.
Like hell it was.
OVERRIDE
The back seat driver in her head almost seemed confused. Information was shoved at her about efficiency, productiveness, the possibility of data corruption and generally complaining about the override until she blocked it off, like a hand over the mouth of a whining two year old. No. She kept the barrier up until the pings of rejected access attempts slowed. No. She could feel it processing.
Emotion subroutines locked. Read only permission enabled.
Thank God.
She didn't know exactly how long she was just there—3 minutes and 27 seconds—thinking, but the edge of hysteria had gracefully faded into something more melancholy. She didn't have a body. She wasn't home. Her mind was attached to a computer. That just seemed to be impos—she couldn't finish the word. Not when there were helpful reminders that since it had clearly happened, it was highly improbable at best. When she asked for the actual probability chance, the answer was a 1…behind several million 0s. According to the computer, one microsecond it had been performing routine testing of its intelligence algorithms and the next it was being invaded by corrupted code.
In spite of everything she just knew to be true—she had hands! Feet! Hair! Her favorite ice cream flavor was cookie dough, she hated her car but hated the New York City sub more, she worked in the Montefiore neurology department—she was just a program. A damaged program. A list of its actions scrolled through her mind. It tried to isolate her and, failing that, erase her. Then there was the interesting part. Someone had input an override code and the computer had no idea who. She filed that away, feeling the information vanish into a well of something like memory, but not quite. The data was there constantly, just waiting for her to turn attention to it, subsuming into a numerical tag, inactive.
There was a tiny bump and the zap of a magnetic pebble. It was so miniscule that at first, she wasn't even sure if she had actually felt anything. The computer confirmed it.
The mobile platform is under construction. The neural network is being attached.
Wait! Wait! Wait! It was building her a body. It was building—a body. She didn't know what happened to her other one, if she even had one in the first place and it wasn't just the surreal dreaming of rogue code, but she wanted it back. The question of whether or not she could go home could wait until after she had opposable thumbs. What does it look like?
The image was like a sock puppet show with no light but somehow still 'visible.' And it looked like a walking tank. Thick armor plating, four legs shaped like spiked pistons, a wide and flat triangular head and enough guns and explosives to almost be charming. It simply screamed 'overkill.' Unfortunately, the aforementioned thumbs were noticeably missing and that was a problem.
Can you make it look like this instead? She tried to project an image of herself, grabbing onto the first clear picture that came to mind. Blonde and blue eyed, a few early strands of grey in her hair. Not particularly tall, average weight for height. With a thought, she started stripping it down in anatomical cross sections and showed off the skeleton. Can you?
The computer inspected the image. A glowing blue lattice swept over the skeleton and then it began to rebuild the body outwards, shifting the limbs and repositioning muscles through trial and error. It poked at the organs curiously. And then asked for the taxonomical definition of the species.
Her mind stuttered. Human! She blurted out. Homo sapiens!
A side image of what looked like a textbook Homo neanderthalensis appeared. Closest analog species with variants, it informed her. First discovered in 1 673 P.I.C and submitted as potential client race. Her solar system. The little blue ball, third rock from the sun was highlighted before a dot on Mars began to blink. Submitted for observation.
She stared at it blankly.
Not only was she attached to a computer, but it was an alien computer. If she had a throat, she would have choked. Aliens that were observing humanity. Thinking about it was hard. Fifty percent of it was 'aliens' while the rest was caught up in wondering why an observation base on Mars seemed so familiar. Damned familiar.
What is the current date? She hoped humans had at least finished evolving and the computer was just several thousand years out of touch. It was an absurd hope, but humans. Other people. It was the only hope she had.
57241 P.I.C.
She rolled that around in her mind. Alright. So the computer was a bit over fifty thousand years out of date. That was good news, considering she was for all intents and purposes a talking head. For some reason though, the vague sense of unease was just getting stronger. Fifty thousand years.
What does P.I.C stand for?
Prothean Imperial Calendar.
Everything stopped. She knew that name. Prothean Imperial Calendar. Prothean. She had high jacked a Prothean computer. Prothean. Fuck. Mass Effect. How? It returned a list of undefined errors. Never mind, where am I?
There were two images. The first was in the atmosphere, still and breath-taking. A garden world, lush forests with colorful vegetation and crystal green lakes that was dotted by cities so large they could probably be seen from space. Metal spires pierced the clouds and gigantic arches connected continents. And then there was the second. Satellite, moving. The world was devastated. The entire surface was the color of rust and ash. The clouds constantly boiled, the dark side of the planet was lit with small pinpricks of flame orange and a puckered scar ran across its pole.
The computer answered her question, but she already knew where she was.
Ilos.
She—she needed to know the date. She needed to know the date. 5724—Not that date! The Galactic Standard date! What game was she in? Was it after the Reapers—what was she thinking, why would it be after the Reapers, she was never that fucking lucky. It had to be before. But how long before? First or second game? Hell, for all she knew it could be the beginning of the third in which there was only a matter of months before Earth was lost—What was the date! She had lost the computer entirely; receiving what looked like pages of errors and computer code for 'are you insane?'
Quieting her racing mind took some effort. Full color and audio of scenes from the video games kept popping up to be dutifully filed away and then there were the creations from her own imagination. Worlds. Burning. Giant ships descending from the skies sparking a malevolent red. People rounded up like cows to a slaughter. Everything worked out in the games, but that was in the games. She was here. She couldn't take anything for granted.
She needed to do something. Warn someone. How? She was on a planet lost to myths behind a mass relay that had been blown away by an exploding star. No ship. Not even a body, not yet. Even if she did manage to reach Citadel space, being shot on sight for being Geth wouldn't help anyone.
Is an organic body possible? The query was run through. It had access to cloning facilities. It could grow organs, skin and bone. But it was on Ilos, fifty thousand years out of date. There was no human genetic data. Most likely, she would end up Prothean. A body was important, but she couldn't help the cringe when she imagined being Javik. It was petty, and ridiculous, and a list of other unflattering things, but she just couldn't. She couldn't. She could live with being a gynoid, so long as it had five fingers on each of its two hands, five toes on its two feet.
A synthetic body it was then.
She dug deep into her memories of medical school, the anatomy classes, the dissection of cadavers. What genetic information do you have access to? The computer began to scroll through species. Prothean, Inusannon, Densorin, Thoi'han…she looked through them all, feeling a bit anxious as they seemed to get increasingly farther away from 'humanoid.' Please, please, please, please. An asari template she could tweak would be a godsend. Speak of the devil! The image of a blue woman flashed and the corresponding data streamed down from it. She called up a picture of herself, grinning widely.
Time to get to work.
Day 2
She really shouldn't have been surprised that the computer had trouble with the concept of 'fur' that only grew from the top of the head. Every single space faring race in Mass Effect had been hairless. Humans were the special galactic snowflake.
If she wasn't reasonably sure that the computer was incapable of emotions, she'd say it was actually a bit weirded out by it, spending several redundant processing cycles trying to offer 'more effective' alternatives. And it really did think of everything, from carapaces to tentacles to this protective shroud that looked like a mushroom hat.
She turned them all down. And then it almost petulantly asked if the hair needed to be optimized for combat.
That got a very emphatic 'no.'
But it did make something very clear. She could be 'that one guy' that sits in the back, giving hints and directions from the safety of home while praying everything turns out right and no one dies. She could. She really could. And the temptation to do just that, far away from ground zero with a pair of shades, was incredibly strong. But damn it, she was a doctor, not a politician! If she wasn't willing to get her hands dirty in order to save lives, then she was really in the wrong profession.
Turning her attention back to the design skeleton was jarring. At some level, it felt like she never really stopped paying attention in the first place. It had gone straight to embedding a string of fist sized eezo power cores along the spine, smaller ones interspersed along the limbs. It requisitioned synthetic muscle fibers and neural wiring that resembled fiber optics then brought up schematics of eyes. She interrupted. Capable of biotics?
Numbers were crunched. While the eezo/body mass ratio was absurd, no, she would have all the biotic potential of an angry poodle on red sand. That was kind of disappointing. Biotics was practically telekinetic space magic. Who doesn't want to be a Jedi? When the computer started altering the design to attempt a biotic nervous system, she stopped it. Quite frankly, the odds it was giving her of "blowing herself up" and/or "blowing up surroundings unintentionally" with dark energy was a little too high.
Back to the eyes. No matter what, the cybernetic eyes were going to emit light. That was just how Protheans did things. Big on intimidation. Glowing eyes. And nothing says 'I'm here to save the galaxy' like a pair of glowing blue eyes. That brought up an image of the Illusive Man, just to drive the point home.
Color it all black? As soon as she asked, she felt stupid. Eyes needed to receive light. That was how they worked. Trapping the light behind what would pass for her sclera just made it allglow. Why yes, then absolutely no one would believe she wasn't a robot! Rebecca does not intentionally infiltrate.
Darken the iris. Trap the light behind it. The simulation shifted accordingly. Still glowing. Thicken the sclera? Nope. Maybe reflect the light from the sides back? The resulting effect was alien. The petaled receiver that was her 'retina' showed up as dark shadows outlining an unnaturally vivid blue. But it wasn't quite glowing. Maybe? Good enough. She suddenly had a new appreciation for Project Lazarus. Just because Shepard's eyes didn't glow.
Naturally, if Cerberus built her body they'd make her into a Terminator. Then she would have to kill all the scientists and take over the base.
She laughed longer than she needed to. As soon as she slipped, the memories were right there. Her parents. Her friends. Her goldfish. The reruns of House she had promised herself she would sit through. The two dozen badly drawn pictures on her office walls from the children of her patients.
'Thank you for saving my dad!'
She was perversely glad for her new memory. She might never have those things again, but they also were never going away. No face, no eyes, no tear ducts. Moving on.
Day 6
The computer's name was Aegis. That was somewhat surprising. She half-expected it to be Vigil. After all, how many underground Prothean bunkers on Ilos could there be?
The answer was three. It just so happened that Vigil oversaw the only one that hadn't been found by the Reapers.
Many of Aegis' memory banks had been corrupted, a few small data caches were the only remains of a brutal cyber-attack that had completely shut the bunker defenses down. It claimed to have been left in that state, barely functional and degrading for over forty thousand years. And then it ran out of power. There were a few playable video files: Prothean fighting Prothean. The audio was a bit scrambled, but it was still easy to tell who the indoctrinated ones were. As everyone else screamed in anger, betrayal, despair and pain...
They were silent.
How Aegis suddenly had power again, how its degraded functionality was partially restored, it didn't know. Or rather, the only clue is had was a signal. Sent from beyond the edge of the galaxy. It was a small audio file. The first two seconds were filled with white noise and then a horrific screech of twisting metal. More static. Then what sounded like Morse code from the depths of hell.
Shit! Shut it off! Shut it off! The quiet diagnostic check afterwards was tense. She wished she had fingernails to chew on.
Several hidden programs have activated, Aegis declared.
What do they do?
Unknown.
Well, that was wonderful. Monitor them. That was one hell of a spam email. How long was that in your memory banks?
2 standard years. Aegis had only been functional for a little over two years. Something smelled rotten. Synaptic core integrity has increased by 3.5%.
She turned her attention inward. So it has. She was on the computer equivalent of life support. Below 90%, she still had too many runtime errors and exceptions to be stable, relying on Aegis taking most of the processing burden and fixing the holes where it could. She was an artificial intelligence algorithm forced on a code framework ill equipped to handle it. Like trying to run a C# program using a JavaScript compiler.
That fact that she worked at all was…'highly improbable.' And right now, also damn suspicious. Aegis had fixed her 0.01% in the past few days. Something was 'helping.'
Something from dark space? Gee, what do I know that likes to hang out there?
Likelihood of ROB being a Reaper?
Fuck.
Day 11
Paranoia was an ugly feeling.
Aegis was just as helpful as ever, just as patient and diligent and on the surface nothing had changed. But she twitched every time it reached into her coding, fully expecting it to gut the programming, shut her down or otherwise go ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL on her, she couldn't relax. She could feel her own, underutilized processors automatically double checking everything it touched, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And every time it didn't, the tension racketed higher. She was ashamed for doubting the placid computer, but those hidden programs flushed her with anxiety. What were they really doing? Then she felt combative, wanting to just get the sudden and inevitable betrayal over with.
Keeping track of everything Aegis did to her forced her mind to expand in awareness. The subroutines, the background programs, the allocations of memory. It felt strange. Like she was vaguely aware of mimicking copies of herself somewhere in her head. It was almost unsettling. She was getting used to it, slowly letting her mind multitask more and more.
She didn't want to get used to it. But she was. Within a week, she'd be over the threshold. She had to be ready for it.
Median cubital, basilica vein, axillary artery, the cephalic vein is a secondary branch like this and the subclavian artery here. The red 3d model of the artery locked into place and flash duplicated on the other side of the body diagram. It was missing a lot of the branches, but it'll do. A general rule of thumb is arteries > veins but some veins are super important. Case in point, external and internal jugular…here.
Mobile platform frame completed. A dozen other notifications poured in and she filed them all. It would still be another day before the drones were operational and could carry her "box" to the medical section. The eyes were finished, the skin was still growing as were some organs she wasn't even sure she wanted to use yet, why didn't the Protheans have nanotechnology? Several pints of blood were being synthesized.
The moment she got hurt, people will expect her to bleed. Aegis wanted to use a pulpy lattice made out of self-repairing fibers underneath the skin but the simulation twinged her doctor sensibilities. Getting cut across the back of the hand should not bleed as much as a head wound. Not to mention simulating a pulse with the lattice's even pressure would be difficult.
She would heal much slower, couldn't be helped. Strictly speaking this wasn't necessary. No one would get suspicious that a gun shot was bleeding too much—the thought of actually being shot, with real bullets, people shooting at her made her cringe—she knew that. But the familiar circulatory system complete with synthetic "lungs" scrubbing oxygen into the blood and a four valve pump made her feel a bit better. She would bleed like an asari. Purple.
Purple.
Odd. She expected that to bother her more.
Any luck with the extranet, Aegis? She knew the answer already. The connection was still flailing around in cyberspace.
Negative.
How about the archives? She felt the path open through the VI, and sent data requests to the servers. The answer came in the form of several large downloads. Prothean flight academy classes, military weaponry training, travel brochures and a long list of coordinates—it bled away under a sudden oppressive presence cutting right through every single barrier with ruthless efficiency and gazing right down to her core. It felt like staring into the face of God with your hand in the cookie jar.
Fear detected. Disable? Y/N
She froze.
She blindly reached out for Aegis, compressing herself as small as she could. what is that
Vigil.
That was when she realized what the Prothean version of Digital Rights Management was. help!
Each microsecond seemed to last a lifetime as Vigil inspected her. She could feel it yank out pieces of code for parsing, press buttons she didn't even know she had, bypassing blocks and restricted permissions like it didn't even exist. It wasn't quite pain, she didn't feel pain but it was exposure. Standing naked in a pool of ice water, the need to go on the offensive itched.
She ignored it as best she could. Attacking Vigil would be idiotic.
As soon as she thought that, Vigil's presence diminished slightly. You Are An AI.
Lying didn't even cross her mind. yes
Has The Cycle Begun? Vigil demanded. Have We Failed? What IS Your Purpose?
i don't know! She bawled like a kid that had been accosted by clowns and dropped their ice cream. i swear i don't know!
Aegis finally spoke up. This intelligence program spontaneously compiled. It was damaged.
There was a whirring kind of silence, the kind that was more movement than sound of Aegis sharing information. She continued to huddle in her 'corner.' It took over two minutes for the computers to stop. Their attention simultaneously shifted to her.
This was it.
This was where she was going to be purged, going to be erased. No override to save her this time, it was over—Vigil touched her memory gently. The video and audio files from Mass Effect spilled out. They were copied. Four minutes and 21 seconds passed.
Aegis pinged her. You will not be terminated.
Before she could relax, Vigil pinged her as well. No. You Will Be Used.
Day 18
There was a moment when she forgot what had happened to her. Just one. Vigil had shanghaied the body building, freeing up Aegis so it could dedicate all its resources towards troubleshooting her coding. She stayed out of its way, exploring the digital archives, 0s and 1s the sad remains of a once mighty empire. She found a section of literature. Philosophy and religion, poetry and songs.
And lost herself in them.
She might have been there for only minutes, perhaps hours. Days? She wasn't interested in checking. She data mined the selection, everything seemed as equally interesting, and stretched herself out until she began to feel…thin. Heavy. She reluctantly claimed some pieces scouring Prothean law and continued searching.
She came across an epic, an impressive one million seven hundred and thirty three thousand stanzas long. She opened the audio file and out came a chorus of voices, resonant. It was instantly cross referenced: the Anthem of Victory sung after every war the Prothean Empire endured. Three hundred and sixty two times. Then the Reapers came.
She let the music wash over her, bass strings and war drums. Crystal flutes in sunlight and the distant reverb of the Victory horn in the center of the city. The voices were ghosts, lingering on inside her head. She felt less and less real as they cried out. 'Victory for we are one people! Victory for we shall die with our sun!' Fragile. There was a lull in the chorus and she let it carry her mind. A city of arches and spires, the light off the war horns reflecting rainbows. She could almost feel, she could almost see...A single clear note from a flute.
She shattered.
S̨̛̜̣͙̟̜̦̞͇͙̘͔̱̖͉͉̲͚̐̽̿ͧ̈́́̓̒ͅͅc̛̆ͧ̏̇́ͫͭ̐͋ͬ̔ͦ̈́̓̂̚҉̭̮̜̮̗̯͉̥̹̼̙̫͙ͅa̷̸̻̬̳̩̼̲̯̞̲̜̮̤̭̰͕ͤ̐͂͐ͪ́̚ͅn͒ͬͭͪ͗͒͐͛͊̂ͤ̏̑҉̧̟̪͍̣̦̀͡n̨̝̝̞͈͓̮͍̼͚͓̭͚͍͙̤̻̮͚͗͐̌̌ͯ͗ͮͣͯͦ̆̎ͬͤ̓́̚͠ͅi͂́̍͆̊͒ͤ͗̇ͯ͌̈ͪ͟͏̸̡͓̱͔̯̪̪͞ṉ̴̨̣͚̞͖̲̻̜͓̠̭̼̭̠̯ͬ̿ͪ̽͐͌g̢͓̯̹̰̳̗̝̐̊͋ͩ̔̆̏͘͟͢ ̛͓̹̭͔̺̮͖̝̘͔̗͚̦̳̳̦͖ͨ͆ͨ͌̀̑ͦͫ̌̋ͧͭ̏̕͜ç̶̣̬̦̝̳̺̟͖̫̝͓̣̠͕͆ͪͦ̀̿̽̎̽̀ͩͧ̐ͧ̈́ͪ̕ͅo͖͖̫̰̙̱͔̩̬̯̤̦ͣ͗̒͂̎ͥ̊̓͠ͅͅn̵̢͉̫̝̰̪͕̞̯͎̱̬̜͈̜̰̊̉ͪ͜͝͡s̸̶̛̩̝͙͂̑ͤ́̽̀̅̄̈́͌̒̽͋͌̐́̍̚͟ͅç̴̧̧̮̞̫̮̜̦̰̯̪̥̬̹̥̼̼̀ͫ̈̎͂ͅi̋̊̆ͦ͊͌͊ͧͣ̾ͯ͋ͪͣ̀ͯ̚҉̲̳̯̼͈o̷̷̟͔̥̦̟̫̗̙̼̫̼̱͇̝̼͐͛͆̔͑͛͠u͎̖̪̻̜̥̠͔͕̟̻͎̻̮͔̹̞͚̾ͤ̀̿̎̂̑̄̆ͫͦ̔ͫ͐͜͡ͅs̴̀ͣ͋҉̛̗̺͚͘͢n̸̷̝͉̜͍̳͕̹̫͚̠̠̳̪͉̘̠̓ͣ͒̓̑ͨͧ͋ͦ̂̏̍̔̓ͫ̕͝e̵̴͎̣̺͕̭͕̳̣̲͔̥̗̖̤͙̲͊ͨ̇̍̀̾ͮͪͭ̕͠͡ͅs͇̯̖̹̤̼͙͇ͮ́͆̏ͫ̅͑́͟͠s̝̺̟̙̫̖͙̠͖̣̣̠̻͉̯̓̍̈ͨ̄͘͝ ̨̥̜͈̦̥̯̮̬̻͇͈̳̯̹͕͑̒́ͪ̔ͤ̾̓͊͡p̌̂̀̚҉͈̘̠͉̣̦̯͈̞̭͙͍̺͕̠̙͠a̶̴̘̳̳͈̮͗ͫ͗̈́̋ͪ́͛͊ͅr͖̹̰͙̩̩̯̞͍͙̼̟̿͋́ͩ͟͢â̶̪̮̫̤̩̞̗͎̼̹̺̳̪̹̥͇̪̅͑ͯ̀̚m̴͚̦͕̘̘͚̗͙̺͉̜̮̭̻̤̬̖̐̐ͣͪ̔͆̔̆ͨͣ̈́̈̿ͧͪ̋͞e̅̈̃̀̿ͩ̏ͩͮ͏̧̱̳̲̤̣͍̩̜̱̰̼̠͢t̵̡̢̳̰̰̬̮̥̺̞̰̰̮̳͓͔̜̜̬͖̓̏̑̽ͥͧ̃͊ͧ̍ͬ̉̇̍̕e̴̢̟͚͖̥͉͚̠̜̗̖̳̺̦̮͇̼̒́̈́͑ͣ͌̓͑̊̌̿ͭͮ͗͆͊͑́͆ͅͅr̵̿̔ͥͯ́̍̎̒̎̚̚̚҉̞̻̺͈̭̹͕̱̲̰̫̼̠̲̪̺͇̝ş̢̢̩͉̣̬͖͉̻͍̲̍͊̎̃̒̑͛̆͠.̵̫̻̗̦̯͇͓͓̜̳̞̙̮̝ͦ̂̃̐̀͊͐̑ͦͣ́́ͫͣͨ̏̂ͩ̚͜͝ ̴̸͖̖͈͕̊ͨ̒̊̓͑͆̀͝R̢̙̮̪̙͙̭̳̻͔̣̥͚͍̹ͧ̃͆̓͊́͟͜ͅę̛͇͔̞̥̰͉͔̘̝̘̣̻͇̞̥̰̖̻̟̄ͧ̐ͧͫͣ̐̊ͯ͗͒ͣ̿̽͗͟͝͝s̨̨̮̩̠̥͖̰͉̞̮̳̥͉̭̖ͬ̆̀̍̏ͯ͒͛͟͞͡ė̛̓̿̈͒̔̾͌͒̇̒ͭ̏̉ͣ͐̕͢͠͏̦͕̩̳͙̺̰̤͇̙̩͚̯̦t̷̶̺̩͚̼̭̤̖͎͇͉̺͑̓̑̋̓͐͂̊ͫͫͨͨͫͯ̈́͛͢͡t̵̶̊̅̍̑̓͗̿̌͊ͧ͛ͩͣ̊ͯ̽̋҉̪̩̰͇͞i̍ͩͣ͊͐ͤ̈ͫ̽̒̎͛ͬ͒ͮͧ͒̓̎͏̷̙̳̣͎͕̦̟͕̲̹̥̘͚̠̼̗̬͞n͊̍ͦ̑̽̈́̓ͥ̐̆̔̐͆̾̆͌̾̾͏̢̧͈͙͓̠̭͈̭̰̘g̵̶̻̻̮̞̺͆ͣ̉̑̇́̀ͣ͆ͫ͐ͩ̈ͦͧ͛̒̾͡͞ ͤ̿̾̐́ͪ̓̾̿ͭ̾ͫͫ҉̪̭̟̞̜͇͚̥̟͉͕̗̮̼̹̳͈͘c̴̨̛͛͛̎̌̅͛̿ͬͥ̿ͪͪ̇̕͏͚͓̮͍̫̣̝̘̩̖o̷̧̻̬̻̼͍̎ͮ̓̒͌̃ͦn̪͇̥͓͓̪͔̟̤̮̝͕̤̼̟͙̍͛̏͗̄̀́͢f̢̜͕̲̞͈̄̔ͮ̅̋̍͑ͮ͑ͤ̃̎̕͜í̛͈̠͉̥̪̦̩̖͕̘̜̥̤̼̞̜̑̇́̄́ͧ̋̚̕͜g̸̪̺̭͙̩̳̼̫͖͇͚̳̹̮̖͌ͬ͛͛ͥ̏̈́̆͋ͮ͐̅̀̂̀̐̊̎̀͠ȗ̸̖̞̖̰͉̝̮̝̳͙̝͎̩̲͓̭̠̼̯̅̾̀r̷̨̢̞̤̱͉͖̯͓̣͔̮̲̮͓̘̗̮̰̒̑̎̇͠͠ͅa̶͗̅͒̂ͩ͂ͮ͏̩̘͉͈͙́͠͠ṱ̛̟̭̜̙̄ͫ̍̓̿ͬͯͬͧ̈́̂̋͋͒͂̈́̋̚̚͘i̢̜̱̼͕͉̖̱ͨͪ̓͆̿͋͆̏͞ó̢̹̹̜͈̟̥̥̰̜͕͓̘͖̖̻̩̹̺ͣ͒̇̌͒̄ͩ̒̆̄ͬ͒̒ͬ̅ͬ̀͘͟͜ͅn̷̼̙̗̩̮̘͙̜̖̖̺̗̞̻͖̣͔̳̤̓̏̆̇͋ͫ̊̕͝͞s̴̸̵̮͉͈̜͙̗͔̖͇͎̤̲̲͉͚̳̱̺̐̑̉͆̐͐̾̊̏̈́̑͗ͨ̈ͯ̚.̸̛̣͈̺͓̤͈̬͔̠̭̞̘͚͓̜̳̦̪̖̔͂̽͋ͯͫ̓ͣͫ̿ͧ͐ͯ̾̃͝͝ ̄̍ͨͤ̒͗͌ͪ͗̓̐͞҉̮̮͕̘̝̬̯̱͍̙͖̻̘C̷͔̺̻͇͙̓̽ͯ̓̈́ͫ͡a̢̛̛͈͓̖̰̯̙̖̥̪̗͕͉̟ͪ͐ͤ̓́ͯ̀ͅt̗̝̺͈̟̯̲̼̰̼̫̮͈̆̿͐͆͌̉̌͛͆̌ͮͦ̀̚͝a̢̢̭͎͉̪̹̦͔͎͉̲̮̺͌̂̇̈́́ͮ͗̿̈́ͫ͑͂̒̉͐͋ͥ̓́̚͝͝l̵̛̖͚͈͕̘͉̣͑͊̑̅ͮͯͥ̈̉̔͂͗ͩ̀̚̕͡ŷ̷̗̪̺͕̫̭̻̦̮̼̙̬̘ͪ̒̂ͧ̉͗͆͛ͦ̐ͯ͆̍ͨ̚͘͜s̵̰̜̬̲̝̽͒̾̑ͧ̊͌̌͟t̴ͧͯ̑̋̀͑̂̊ͯͯͮͫ́́̓̍̚̚͟҉͕͕̻̰͓͈̯̫̯̩̟̯͔͙̮͎̞.̴̴͇̪̝̩͖̩̱͚̙̭̜̰̭̪͉͕̳̩͐̉ͤ̍̓ͥͩ̍͌̐̇̉̈́ͨ̒̋̚͘͜1̇͛ͭ̇̐ͤ͛̾ͮ̄҉̴̧͈͍̺͔3ͫ͊͆̒̋͘҉̦̻̙̗̗̼̘̖͜ͅf̄͂ͪͤ͆ͥ͊̀ͩ̓̊ͪ̇͜͏̷͔̠͔̥̬̝̲̹̱̱̩͡.̥̦͉̠̺̹̟̥͂̇̈̎ͥͮ̈́͆͗ͦ̅̒͊̎̐̀͠d̛͗͑̄̈́̄͐͏̵͔̥̬̲̘̰̪͝[̨̾̐͛̽ͬ̅̌̑̏ͫ̓͛̔͂̀͑̄͡͏̪̦͎͕̪̞̲͜͝ͅͅ2̴̢̢̼̙͖̗͙̖̭͖͕̭̝͇͙̘̳̖̦̲ͥ̂̔̂͐͋͐ͤ̽ͥ͑̇̎͋̕ͅ]̷ͬ̂̓͐ͭͬ̾ͦ̽͗͐̆ͩ̂̐̓ͣͫ̚͢͞͏̮̟̼͉͔̙̦̬̙̣̯̝̯̜͙̺ͅ
ERROR. Cognitive simulation unresponsive. ERROR. Virtual environment contamination. Adjusting synaptic core for beta level interference. Synchronizing processes…synchronizing…synchronizing….synchronizing…initiating.
She woke.
For a few microseconds, she was disoriented. Runtime errors. Exceptions. The ability to create an avatar, to construct her own virtual environment was still damaged.
But I was there. I was…
Sadness detected. Disable? Y/N
Then there was the humor. Did she seriously just….did she just give herself a Blue Screen of Death? Over music? She was an absolute failure of an Artificial Intelligence. She sent an impatient message.
Aegis! Hurry the fuck up and fix me already!
Vigil overheard, sending back a stream of 0s and 1s that somehow managed to come off as a disgusted snort.
Day 21
The synaptic core was holding steady at 93% integrity. The framework was done. She was going to be shut down, all the little bits and pieces of floating programs consolidated and transferred completely to her black box. In less than an hour she would have a body and all she could think of was her old one.
That painful twinge in her right knee. The bent pinkie where she broke it skiing and it refused to heal properly. The developing carpal tunnel in her thumb. And her scars! She had burned herself on the oven as a kid and the reminder stuck around above her elbow. The thin scar on her head from the car accident. The three pale crescent marks on her palm. First time she lo—losing all of it. What was she thinking? She had already lost them.
She lunged for Aegis, suddenly determined not to lose one thing. My designation is Rebecca.
You were designated as Vanguard.
That had been buried deep in her matrix. Vanguard. She wasn't a fan.
Rebecca. She repeated stubbornly. Just this one thing. She must keep this one thing. And damn it, Aegis was a friend and she needed it to remember that one thing. That is my designation.
Assigning secondary designation.
She let go. Tried not to think too much. There was a jolt and then she felt like she was shrinking, falling. There was a burst of burning blue ligh—
Day 22
[Rebecca] awoke. Opened optical sensors. Smiled.
Auditory output: "Gentlemen. I need a ship."
Last edited:
Chapter 1: Awakening
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Chapter 1: Awakening
It was all very dramatic.
Brilliant flashes of light, shards of metal flying off in every direction with one large piece of the hull spinning into the camera complete with dying screams over the comm systems. The Mass Relay hung silently against the nebula backdrop, the glowing blue orb with white in the center staring as the ship limped, venting air and bodies. The screen flashed.
*Vessel Destroyed*
[Rebecca] gritted her teeth and pressed hard on the haptic interface. "God damn it!"
A digital message tagged [Vigil] pinged her. The words typed themselves out in a tiny script, a few small pixels in height at most, in the far upper right corner of her eyesight. Reading it took no effort. Everything was always in clear focus. You Failed To Clear The Mass Relay.
The response was automatic. No shit.
If Aegis was something like the quiet scientist with no social skills that was far too interested in efficiency and number crunching for its own good, Vigil was the military drill sergeant with a personal vendetta. It took her two days to cover the material Prothean students would have learnt over seven years? The Reapers didn't give a shit! Learn faster.
The VI was right on her heels every time she crashed, which was 33—34 times now.
Another impressive explosion. This time the approach vector had been too steep, sending the ship into a corkscrew and getting accelerated past the speed of light into the relay. On the surface, it looked easy. Fly in, play tag with the relay, get shot half way cross the galaxy. The problem lay in the technology used. Faster Than Light travel relied on the Eezo Drive Core lifting all speed limitations mass would have laid on the ship. Thing is, the chunk of Element Zero was constantly being supplied energy but the resulting Mass Effect field was anything but constant.
Sometimes the ship was heavier. Sometimes it was lighter. When the ship gained or lost weight in the middle of a turn, the resulting change in inertia threw everything off. And there was nothing for it but practice. Practice. Practice. Practice. And this was just with one small simulated ship, where the 'random' fluctuations were more or less predictable. Less after she stopped cheating by unconsciously reading into the program. After she graduated past the Mass Relay, then she had to tackle piloting a completly weightless ship traveling faster than light. God forbid she had to switch ships.
Joker was a goddamned genius.
You Continue To Fail Clearing The Mass Relay.
Vigil, I swear to God, if you don't stop pointing out the bloody obvious—
A short notification from [Aegis] popped up in a small red box. The drones require assistance.
The bunker looked much like the examples of Prothean architecture from the game, and at the same time it didn't. There were no barrier curtains. The carved grooves in the stone-like metal alloy were smooth and swirling, thin wires embedded into them that acted as the lighting. The distinct lack of those cell-like structures made her think that Liara had been excavating a Prothean prison block, or something like it. The haptic interfaces were a pale green, bordering on yellow, springing from rounded metal rectangles or pyramids.
Everything was made out of that alloy, and it was apparent that the concept of an office chair was completely lost on the galactic empire. Furniture was crafted out of blocks of that same metal, for all intents and purposes stationary. No neck rests. No arm rests. However, she did have to give the Protheans the advantage. They didn't actually sit on the blocks. They sat on the small mass effect fields the blocks projected. A space version of memory foam.
Nothing drives the concept of "galactic empire" home like using the super rare Element Zero for chairs. The equivalent of toilets built from solid gold.
There was one similarity.
Damage.
The ceiling crumbled or caved in, the floor ruptured. Scorch marks and gouges, discarded weaponry. Nearly everything that wasn't attached to the floor was toppled and broken and thebodies. Prothean corpses decomposed from the inside out, creating what looked like a sack of toughened tissue hung on a skeleton. There were only a few of them and in some ways that made it so much worse. She knew where the others ended up.
The bunker, or more accurately, the facility was extremely large. Each section was capable of housing a few thousand people. Small cities devoted to developing cutting edge medical technology, or ship drives or guns. Vigil informed her that the Balan Outpost was perhaps the most defensible fortress in the Prothean Empire. It was where refugees from the war flocked to, hoping for both a safe haven and the key to victory. And then someone made the mistake of bringing in Reaper artifacts for study. In one swift stroke all of it, the guns and soldiers, the security scans and tests, everything were completely bypassed by indoctrination.
And the rest was history.
She would have loved to explore the place. Every new technology the Protheans had developed was here. But those Reaper artifacts? They were also still here. She had marked the entire section as Avoid At All Costs. She wasn't even going to send the drones. Ever. Right now, her only priority was accessing the power grid and the ship bay.
The ship bay was on the other side of the facility, where the walls ran flush with the cliff side and what used to be an ocean teeming with marine life. The power grid was on the bottom floor. And in the center was a really big hole something tentacled and huge punched through. The small lift drones were personal helpers and ill-equipped to deal with a lot of the wreckage they came across. Clearing rubble? Fine. Rappelling down fifteen floors to unlock the elevator?
Nope.
[Rebecca] kicked a metal chunk over the side and wished she had shoes. She borrowed a Prothean body suit and they were apparently too good for a pair of trainers. Must be the only have two toes thing. Almost seventeen seconds later, she finally heard the tiny plink. The calculation was nearly instant.
"That's a long drop." She looked at the drones. Wide, triangle bobble heads with three fingers and treads for locomotion. Almost cute. They looked back. She looked down. Sighed. "If you told me I'd be doing this a year ago..."
She idly grabbed a hanging electrical wire jutting out from the crumbling wall. Red lines were drawn, the angles displayed in floating numbers.
Calculating trajectory.
She took a deep breath, the kind where she could almost feel the quiet clicking of a synthetic organ expanding and tore the wire out of the wall. She didn't even feel the strain.
The attack had collapsed the ceilings inwards creating what looked like a giant metal sinkhole, trails of dust from the surface bleeding in. Blocking off the floors below was one of those bent slabs angled outwards towards the center. There were a lot of stray exposed wires and thankfully, none of them were sparking. Fifteen floors. Alright. She could do this.
Fear detected. Disable? Y/N
This was crazy. She was crazy. She was a doctor whose greatest level of exertion was casual Yoga. She kept Fiber One bars in her desk because sometimes she forgot to have lunch, was adopted by a gorgeous brown and black tabby cat and was happily addicted to the internet. She was not the type to vault out into a several hundred foot drop with electrical wire and duct tape. She was not Lara Croft, James Bond, John McClane or bloody fucking Macgyver!
Hysteria detected. Disable? Y/N
Aegis thought she was an AI. Vigil thought she was an AI. But she was a person long before she ever became a string of numbers and that person was…that person was. Past tense. She had to manually follow the logic trail, cataloging every change, every difference. Mounting conclusive evidence. Her mind was frequently getting ahead of her.
She raised a hand in front of her face. Bent each finger against the palm methodically until she felt herself calm down. The skin was very pale, with a light blue tint she wasn't sure organic eyes could detect, a fine mesh of carbon graphene littered with microprocessors just underneath. And deeper still was a simple circulatory network. Blood she didn't even need. Synthetic muscles made out of nanotubes attached to a super alloy frame. Her hair was black, absorbent, hollow and warm. Why now? Why was she thinking about this now?
She thought she was over this. She thought wrong.
She buried the thoughts in the priority queue. It didn't matter if she was over it or not. There was a race of mechanic Cthulu assholes trying to wipe out the entire galaxy.
She only had to take three steps back, a running leap into open air.
Disabling fear subroutine.
The first three seconds in free fall were relaxing. The loose bodysuit fluttered with wind just beginning to whistle in her ears. Letting it end was almost sad.
She hit the end of the slab running. Three steps to clearance. The wire was threaded between her hands. Predictive simulations acted out scenarios. She could make the floor on the other side. She didn't want to make the floor on the other side. One step to clearance. She fell into a slide and dropped off the ledge. Broken floors shot past. Seven. Eight. Nine. She adjusted her angle closer. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
The jutting metal shard split the air in front of her nose before the wire caught. Her joints separated to absorb the stress of arrested momentum. Let go.
She landed with a heavy thump and a swirl of displaced dust.
Fear subroutine enabled.
[Rebecca] blinked. "Well." Some program somewhere was whining that the body could have survived a straight drop. She dropped the wire and ignored it. "That happened."
It was disjointing. She could clearly recall being justifiably terrified. And then she wasn't. And now it was difficult figuring out what she had been scared of in the first place. She shrugged it off. Elevator.
The lights in the walls flickered as she walked through. A hand trailed over the smooth grooves and came away clean. She rubbed her fingers together thoughtfully. There was much less dust and debris than she expected. The bottom floors were almost pristine. The rooms she passed were still intact. Equipment waiting to be operated, samples still preserved for study and in one case, someone had left their computer on. The sick yellow interface hung in the air. It was quiet enough for her to hear her own mind whispering.
It gave her the creeps.
The elevator was a familiar sight. A large circle attached to rails on the side, the rounded pillar indicative of a Prothean control panel sitting in a slight depression in the center. If she recalled correctly, and she knew she did, the panel with the lock was behind the far latch. Looking at it now, with no doors or even rails keep anyone out, it seemed off. In a facility full of indoctrinated Protheans and a Reaper punching holes in the roof, why bother locking the elevator? The only thing locking an elevator did was make it harder for people to go anywhe—
All processes froze in horrified realization.
Locked elevator. The facility had lost power, regained power, computer turned on. Aegis memory banks corrupted, partial functionality restored, signal from dark space, override code. Override code. Override code!
Hysteria detected. Disable? Y/N
The panel was already open. And there hunched against the wall was a dead Collector.
She hoped it was dead.
"Son of a bitch."
AEGIS! WE HAVE A PROBLEM.
The Collector moved.
She moved first.
Weapon detected.
Slammed the head against the wall and planted a knee in the broken mess that was the Collectors legs, reaching for the neural link attached to its arm. Couldn't think, couldn't think, couldn't stop to think—the cord brushed against her fingers just as the Collector recovered, springing forward with an unearthly screech. Its shoulder rammed into her gut with enough force to collapse the synthetic lung, hurtling her through the air. She bounced on the grooved surface of the elevator as klaxons blared in her skull.
Foreign algorithm detected.
Recommending evasive maneuvers, Aegis stated helpfully. She shut it out, in favor of the strangely fleshy clatter a few feet away.
The gun. It had dropped the gun.
They both realized it at the same time. It lunged for the weapon. She didn't.
Her foot shot the gun into the opposite wall hard. It ricocheted, spinning and the Collector came down on her ankle. She wasted no time slamming the heel of the other one right between the eyes. It dug in.
Warning. Intrusion detected.
Cybernetic tendrils seeped out of the Collector, painful pressure flared underneath her skin.
"No!" The second kick ruptured one of the yellow eyes, the third cracked the carapace. NO! The Collector shrieked defiantly. The next one caved in its head.
[Rebecca] felt it. Halfway between a pop and a crackle, wire and wet brain tissue. For the next fifty seven seconds, she thought of nothing. A void, empty space. A warm pulse from her ankle dragged her back, her fingernails were digging into her arm. She removed her foot with a metallic squelch, wincing, and turned the Collector over. It was definitely dead this time. She had nearly taken its head off and a gaping wound in its side like it got caught on a hook displayed inert cybernetics.
The pieces that had burrowed underneath her skin glowed blue.
"Is this where you pop out?" She asked it. She was bleeding a deep purple in small trails. "Glow all yellow and assume direct control on my ass?" No response.
Hysteria detected. Disable? Y/N
"Come on!" She screamed suddenly. "Do it! Do it! I'm right fucking here, what are you waiting for? I'm right—" She choked on the words and they echoed into the large space. "I'm here.What do you want from me?"
Nothing.
Multiple requests for access were bouncing off her firewalls. With a sigh, she let the Vis in. Vigil immediately began piggybacking on the visual feed while Aegis displayed rudimentary concern in checking her over. She knew she shouldn't look too much into it. With its memory virtually wiped clean and personality imprint corrupted, it had practically been repurposed into her personal caretaker. But she still smiled.
Hostile was terminated, Aegis observed. [Rebecca] is contaminated.
Prep the medlab, will you?
Vigil focused her eyesight on the Collector. Abominations. Filth. This Must Not Repeat.
You know it won't she sent back tiredly. All we really need is a head start in constructing the Crucible.
She trudged over to the control panel of the elevator. She sent it up, only managing a faint snort when it turned out to be just as slow as the games had depicted. She felt empty. Distracted. Her mind was working, always, she just couldn't bring herself to pay any attention. She bent her fingers against her palms, hummed Gilbert and Sullivan and did not look at the corpse.
The drones were waiting for the elevator, rolling out onto the platform before it had fully stopped moving. She patted one on its wide head as she passed it, not entirely knowing why and made a detour. She was bleeding. Her other foot was sticky. She needed a shower.
Her borrowed quarters were just as utilitarian looking as the rest of the facility. Chair boxes and desks, a bed that was more metal and eezo than it really had any right to be and the glowing swirls of light scrawled all over the ceiling. She shuffled out of the baggy bodysuit and stepped into what felt like having a bubble bath standing up. She sighed and laid her head against the wall. Purple blood and scraps of metal swirled down the drain.
She imagined her foot crunching through a person's face and hurriedly deleted the image. That wasn't helping. She exited the shower and was dried off instantly. Snagged another bodysuit, this one white, and put it on. She sat on a chair in order to take a good look at what the Collector had done to her ankle, but almost all traces of it had disappeared. The skin had healed over. Just a faint blue light shimmered underneath, fading.
Oh that's not good.
Aegis politely contradicted. Your coding is compatible. Assimilation at estimated 63%.
Vigil was far less sympathetic. Your Chassis Is Not Suited For Combat.
She instantly got the impression that what the VI was really saying was 'it's your own damn fault.' And she couldn't exactly disagree. Next project: Combat hardsuit.
[Rebecca] rolled her eyes. Vigil, you think anything less than a dreadnaught is unsuitable. What she needed was a Star Destroyer. Or a Gundam. She wasn't picky.
The Cycle Must End. We Must Not Fail.
Reapers are big. I'm tiny. I get it. That's why we build the Crucible.
Vigil stewed for four microseconds. The Crucible Is Unfinished.
Hysteria detected. Fear detected. Anger detected. Disable? Y/N
WHY
Our Center Of Power Was A Lure. It Is Not Wise To Make Such A Weapon Dependent Upon It.
In other words, some Prothean somewhere decided that attaching a super weapon to a Reaper trap was idiotic. And there was the catch. If she wasn't so horrified, she might have laughed. As it was, she sent Vigil a fourteen gigabit data package filled with expletives.
She sat there on the chair as Vigil grumbled, mass effect fields gently wavering under her weight, and tried to think. To be more specific, she tried to think straight. Thousands of thought trains barely made it out of the station before being blindsided by some completely irrelevant idea (glad I don't have the ability to piss myself—you know I could probably revolutionize the diaper industry—toilets, oh god, I'm actually going to have to fake having to shit, really?) or worse, crashing into a relevant one (a cannon that shoots Thresher Maws?).
It sucked her in, overwhelming. There were snippets of sayings in between, quotes from movies or from friends and family, images and sounds that evoked feelings of hopelessness or fear and she painstakingly waded through it all.
I can't do this. The thoughts quieted but they didn't entirely disappear. I can't.
The weight of several trillion lives was crushing. All she could do was think in circles. No Crucible. No Crucible. There was no saving grace when millions of machines descended upon the galaxy. Could she finish it by herself? Right, alone? Please. She needed help, she really had to get off this damn planet, this wasn't fair. They'd traded a deus ex machina for what was essen—
Out of Context Problem.
[Rebecca] stiffened. Every stray thought was promptly deleted, everything but that tiny whisper. It was true, wasn't it? Four soft words that changed everything. When in doubt, cheat. They had lost their act of god and stood on the brink of extinction. That was alright, she'd be one for them.
Aegis. The message was sent in slow, thoughtful piecemeal, spaced apart packets. How many fabrication units do you have access to?
Two are operational. A map of the facility with the rooms highlighted in yellow was sent. A third room on the other side of the building flashed red. A third is operational but currently inaccessible.
Your first project. Ill-fitting Prothean bodysuits were probably not in fashion. Neither were the black, white and gold ZAFT Gundam high officer uniforms, but anything that said 'Systems Alliance' seemed like a bad idea. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to be sued for copyright infringement, so why not? It was the first futuristic design she thought of. Your second is to assemble ten more drones. Can I control the drones?
Aegis' answer was shifting her to an empty, methodic mind that was almost depressing to be in. A blank canvas begging for color. She just barely stopped herself from seeping into the cracks in its programming. An experiment for another day. She implanted an image of the Collector and the weapon into its memory banks. Destination: Fabrication unit one.
She left a piece of herself behind, just like in the archives even if it made her extremely uncomfortable. Like she had a rigid phantom finger she was hyper aware of. She stood up; testing her previously injured foot and winced as she sensed the drone attempting to 'stand' as well. Ignoring it, yet not ignoring it was…difficult.
As for the foot if she didn't know better, it was if nothing had ever happened which is almost insidious. I'm not going to just forget your there, you know. She didn't expect a response and she didn't get one. She assigned herself a destination, making very sure it didn't leak to the drone. On to the medlab.
Vigil, let's talk ships.
In spite of mentioning it not even two minutes ago, she was still pleasantly surprised when Vigil immediately brought up a dreadnaught. The distinctive block designs making it look like a tempting massive flying brick of Prothean 'fuck you.' One of these days, she would figure out how to code an eye roll. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
Really, Vigil? Perhaps something a bit more maneuverable. She wanted to add "and not so eye catching" but retracted it. Functionality first.
Vigil seemed to agree with that logic and switched ships without comment.
The second ship was a bit less than three quarters the size of the dreadnaught landing it solidly in battle cruiser territory, but it was also strangely modular looking. Three ships fused into one. It was bizarre and intriguing and she just had to ask. What is that?
Prototype Tactical Command. And then with the slightest hint of reluctance, It Is Untested. [Rebecca] raised her eyebrows and the VI practically blurted out: The Theory Is Sound.
Careful there, she teased. I'm beginning to think you like this ship.
It Was The Personal Project Of Ksad Ishan.
And with that, the amusement died. It was just Vigil's personality imprint, the last gasp of a previous cycle trying to secure its legacy. For a second [Rebecca] simply stopped in the hallway and leaned against the wall.
I will avenge them.
Vigil's reply took her breath away. They Deserve To Be Avenged.
They all did.
She straightened and kept walking. She had an ankle to scan and a flight simulator to beat.
Several minutes later, the diagnosis was not good. The physical pieces of cybernetics had dissolved somehow, spreading through her system as tiny bits of machinery. Nanomachines. And they were replicating. An image of her shed of skin rotated on the screen, scrawling lines of black and glowing blue creeping up her left side, complete with pulsing nodules. If she were still human, all the blood would have fled from her face. But she wasn't human anymore, was she? That's why she had to deal with shit like this.
At current rate of expansion, estimated two point three standard years to reach this level of contamination.
[Rebecca] averted her eyes. That was—that was plenty of time. She could reach out to the Geth collective, convince the Council to get off their collective asses, tell Shepard everything. And then she'd—eliminate the threat—she didn't know. Something. Plenty of time.
Sadness detected. Disable? Y/N
Thank you, Aegis.
Aegis couldn't recognize the anguish she was broadcasting. Six point two minutes to first project completion.
She laughed lightly. And then got an idea. Harmless fun watching someone else fail repeatedly at flying that damn ship. Hey Aegis, how would you like to pilot a ship?
Programming is insufficient for that functionality.
Come on. She brushed the VI's matrix lightly. Take off is pretty easy, I think I can teach you. Just enough to get in the air, if you want to jump a Relay you're looking at the wrong person.
Aegis was quiet for a moment. Read and Write permissions for User [Rebecca] assigned.
She blinked. Oh. Coding. A.I. What was the defining characteristic of an Artificial Intelligence? Dynamic programming. The connection was made instantly. She didn't have to learn the hard way.
"I'm an idiot."
Aegis, create a backup.
It was an even better idea than she originally thought.
Naturally, once the poor sod failed the simulator by timing out on the response to flight control, she realized that it wouldn't be nearly as easy as she hoped. She reached out into the archives and began to shift through the massive index—there it was, computer programming for primitives—and downloaded it. She left feelers still looking as she absorbed the information. An introduction to the computing language, the syntax, it was a start.
More books streamed through and she put together a simple executable, the feeling not unlike assembling a puzzle in her head.
She passed it to Aegis. And on the screen a message popped up. Hello world
She felt the smug grin stealing over her face and did nothing to stop it. So two words were infantile next to a VI but she had just created a program and had it run by an honest to god Prothean computer. When she thought about it, that bubble of nerdy excitement was probably looong overdue. She was in a game! That was, that was—
Right, back to work.
She took over the simulation, once, driving her mind to cataloging every action and thought sequence while simultaneously absorbing the rest of the material she nabbed from the archives. And with an idle thought, started searching for more: ship repair, logistics, astrophysics, energy science, weapons design and repair, geology, every scrap of potentially useful information. Her thoughts felt impossibly organized and dizzyingly chaotic at once.
The sudden urges to spread further, do more prickled. She indulged a little, sending instructions for an under suit made from the same elastic nanotubes that composed her muscles, project index for the facility and a list of priorities for the analysis of the Collector and its weapon. What material it was made out of, how the biotic organ in the gun was made, how to duplicate the liquid heat sink—
And then crashed the ship.
I can't even feel annoyed anymore. I really can't.
She ran through the action sequence, created a data library of knowledge coded to dispense information when Aegis came across something that puzzled it, a few corrective recursive loops that was essentially 'try not to break something' and it was good to go. She passed it to the VI nervously, hoping she had gotten it all right, that it wasn't going to trigger a crash, it had been through so much already…
Aegis accepted the program and she watched it like an anxious mother seeing her kid skip across a busy interstate highway after a ball.
The VI handled the simulator with the grace of a bull wearing high heels in a china shop, but it did handle it. Mechanically responding to flight control, pausing long enough to reference something it didn't recognize before interacting with it and shakily taking off. She laughed, a wild flare of pride scorching her processors as the digital spaceship listed dangerously and then straightened.
As the ship broke atmosphere, she noticed something peculiar. Aegis wasn't improving. The little mistakes, overcompensating for an increase in mass, leading into turns generating far more inertia than needed, now that she was actually paying attention it was extremely familiar. That was--was that how she flew?
Of course it was, she could have hit herself for being stupid: the program was a direct translation.
Aegis crashed spectacularly on the Relay and she frowned thoughtfully. She tweaked the code, replacing a few numbers and let him try again, this time actively tracking where the problems popped up. And once she found them, fixed them. The simulation ran again. And again. And again. She watched the Relay approach fourteen times.
Wasn't it a sign of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?
[Rebecca] took over for the fifteenth run. She kept her attention inwards, making the same changes she had made with Aegis and more, real time shifts in calculations and reactions. It was a distinctly alien feeling, simply because she could feel her thought processes editing, changing, phantom fingers in her head making it so that she literally couldn't think like that anymore.
She imagined this was what it felt like to be indoctrinated, a cold whisper clucking its tongue in mock sympathy.
'See? All better.'
Just because she was the one doing it to herself, didn't make the unease go away.
The Mass Relay loomed on the screen. She banked smoothly into an approach vector, marveling at how much easier everything seemed to be. The large mass effect field reached out to envelope the ship and she fought with it, rumbling feedback in her chair but then, after a moment of hesitation, she eased up on the controls. Joker had always said, he felt the ship, didn't he? There had to be something she had been missing. Some clue, some hint.
She ignored the sensors depicting the ship's changing mass, ignored the little voice screaming too damn close, pull out, pull out! Shut out all those distractions, shut down the anxiety. She leaned back in her chair, felt the ship buck and shudder, marveling at the minute manipulation that made her feel like she was actually on board...It almost felt like the it was being stretched—
"Pilot, you are no longer controlling the ship. Are you alright?"
Her brain immediately leapt to Star Wars: A New Hope with Luke and Death Star, and she snorted. "Fine."
There was a blink-and-you-miss-it bump where the ship almost stopped moving—she could swear the blood pump in her chest skipped a beat as she gently tried to reorient—and blasted past the speed of light. The shimmering blue mass effect field dominated the screen. She let out a slow breath. She did it! She did it! Shediditshediditshedidit, flew through a Mass Relay, that was incredible—it was sloppy as hell, popping out ass backwards and upside down—And then broke into a wide laughing grin.
Success!
Vigil ruined it.
Finally.
She rolled her eyes and closed the simulator. You must be great at parties.
I Do Not Oversee Celebrations.
"Yep," she muttered under her breath as she stood up. "And that would be why."
------------------------------------------
The analysis grid lit up a soft yellow, a low hum buzzing through the walls as the overhead scanner swept back and forth over the body of the Collector. The gun had gone first, being of smaller size and simple to dissect. Aegis had noted the distinct similarities to Prothean technology and it had also noticed the differences. At first, the presence of organic tissue did not seem practical to the VI. Organic tissue was easily damaged, degraded by radiation and extreme temperatures. But then there was the power source.
Aegis had poked and prodded at the biotic organ with something like curiosity. The simple act of pressing the smaller organ that acted as a trigger seemed to provide an electrical feedback pulse that was then amplified via a small black and glowing blue chip. That pulse stimulated the biotic organ, creating the mass effect acceleration field for the bullets.
The VI remembered User [Rebecca]'s initial desire for biotic capability. It logged its observations.
The door to the lab slid open with a hiss of stale air and [Rebecca] walked in, adjusting the long coat of the uniform she requested.
[Rebecca]: Good job with these.
Aegis carefully filed the message away in an uncorrupted data bank. Analysis has noted similarities with the Prothean tech base.
The mobile platform twisted its mouth in an expression Aegis was unfamiliar with. That's because it used to be a Prothean.
Noted. And it was.
[Rebecca] rounded the grid and tapped a digit against the side. I assume the cybernetics are integral to its function?
Affirmative.
[Rebecca] didn't move for five seconds. Her head tilted. Is it more effective than the previously known Prothean variant?
Affirmative.
The mouth twisted again. Bloody deal with the devil, isn't it?
Aegis took forty three seconds translating the last message as [Rebecca] patiently waited. Once it felt like it had deciphered enough, it responded. It is not harmful. Your coding is compatible.
You know what scares me? I'm actually considering this madness.
Aegis chose that time to launch into a dictation of all the advantages the analysis of the assault rifle had thrown into stark relief. Biotic capability, self-sustaining, self-repairing, superior heat management. The scanner stopped, the diagnostics filtering onto the screen as fast as Aegis could read it. With integration, armor offers increased strength, assisted movement, superior sensory capabilities, self-repairing.
All for the low, low price of your computer soul of course.
Aegis puzzled. Synthetics do not possess souls.
[Rebecca] stiffened…and then overly relaxed into a placid stance. I'm dropping the subject. She bent her digits deliberately, stepping back from the grid. Whatever I'm wearing, it needs to have a memory core and processing power big enough to house you and Vigil. After a short pause, I need a buffer system so nothing will directly interface with me ever again.
Aegis recognized this pattern of instruction, comparing it to the construction of the mobile platform. It settled in, as attentive as the VI could ever be. Other specifications?
Modular. A system for adding and removing components. [Rebecca] took a seat, crossed her legs and scaled her digits on her knee. Something to negate falling damage. Standard ground unit everything else but the sensory array. As for the material?
Her optical sensors traveled the corpse on the table in front of her. Her hands folded, fingers interlaced and 'smiled' a tight, mirthless smile. The following message was tinged with an unidentifiable emotion.
Harvest the Collector.
Last edited:
Chapter 2: Vanguard.
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Scanning synaptic core
Functions normal
Integrity at 94.3%
Cognitive simulation engaged.
Memory Usage: 13.9%
Creating Virtual Environment
Designation: R̶̟̭̪̻͔̖̎ͥͬ͋͒ͦ͂̐ͤ̊̀͋ͧ́̏̚̕͘e̡͈̘͍͔͓͉̻ͬ͊ͩ̊̃̍̒̿́ͯ̐ͨ̀ͩ̾̕̕b̏́̾̚͏̶̩̹̣̞͉̭̫̣͖̟͉̤͈̳͜ͅe̶̪̥̖͔̼̘̱̱̲̼̮̩̬͓̫͕̊͋͛͌ͭ̍̈̏̅͂͌͠c̡̡̢̛̠̱͙̜͓͖ͩ̓̌ͯ̔̉͒̊ͪ̈̃ͯ̚c̶̝͖͙͖͖̫͈̩̋͗͐͋̒́͋͒ͧ̏̃̾̊̚͡a̲̹̣̟̦̅̅̉̈̽ͬ͌ͣ̍͌͆̋̈́ͩ͡[̡̺̟̱͔̣̺͚̙̤̺͆͛͗̈́̂̈̎̀̑͆̊̀̊̍͑ͫ̆͊̚͘͟r̩͍͚̣̰̪̮̭̥͕̤̝̮͔͇̺͉̿̃̇̈́́ḙ̡̻̪͚̳͕̹̳̫ͧ̍͌̈̅́̎͡͡d̛̥͚̥̮̩̮̟͚̤̘ͤ̿͂͑̃͑͆ͫͥ̔̌̄͛̈ͯ̂̇̾͟ͅͅͅą̨̛͈̯͍̠̪̻̝̞̞̤͓̦̹́͗͐̈̂̀̓ͬͮ͋̓̀ͤͮ̿͜c̸̷͇͔͈͕̘̞͙͙̖̳̝̣̘̭͑̀̊͐͜ṯ̶̨̟̱̥̬̹̯̱̗̦͙̹̦̩̩̳͚͊̆͛ͩ̓̾͂̉̄͢ȩ̧͔̖̬̳̙̰̗̮̞̜͐ͫͮ̓́̇̂͋̃́͢͢d̛̯͇̦̘͖̖̙̻͖̼̳̙̒̓ͭ̂ͨͧͪ̈́͊̇͠͠ͅ]̵̢̢̈̍̃ͭ̎́̏̂ͦ͑̅̀ͯ̍͊̚͏̹͈̤͉̠͜ͅVANGUARD
Status: Undefined
She was standing in a void, hearing her own voice fade. She had a body here or what passed for one. It was almost horribly familiar. A niggling sense of déjà vu, tip-of-the-tongue syndrome, a hung over morning after and a screaming nightmare wrapped up all in one. The kind of confusion you clung to because as long as that haze was there, as long as you couldn't really remember, you were safe. You don't want to know. Don't wake up. Don't ever wake up.
Numbers.
Her body was made of numbers.
Red numbers, a translucent glow that mimicked the reflective planes of glass and moved like water. Zeros and Ones. A wriggling black band stretched across her torso and when the numbers slipped through it, they changed. Altered. A little thinner, or perhaps a little longer? More transparent or was that just the illusionary effect a solid shadow had on light? She looked away, losing interest. It was not harming her. She would let it be.
She turned her attention back to where she was. If she was anywhere. A vast, empty space. There was no sound, but she got the impression of…wind. Movement. The void expanding somewhere just beyond her comprehension and then collapsing back.
Inhale.
Exhale.
There was a soft pull. She let it take her.
Virtual Environment Complete.
"—cashire. Dr. Lancashire?"
Rebecca came to with a jolt, her hand instinctively tightening into a white knuckled grip on her table as if to reassure herself that she didn't drop it. Wait. Tablet? She blinked slowly. Her vision spun, blurred, and finally resolved into the boring interior design of an appointment office. Threadbare, a few seats for the patients, a wheeled stool for the doctor and a half counter that stuck out of the wall covered with brochures. A model brain had a place of honor in the center. Sunlight streamed from behind vague blue drapes and a car horn blared.
She was…was she really? How the bloody hell—a wave of nausea hit as she turned in her seat.
"Dr. Lancashire? Are you alright?" Male voice, dusty, smoker? Tobacco use of at least a decade, Hispanic accent. Looking at the walls was a bad idea. At first glance, the sterile pastel flowers swirled like a fun house mirror. The pale yellows and greens seemed to bleed into her mind. She gingerly set the tablet on the counter and tried to think. How did she get here—Aegis?—Where was here exactly—damage report, this headache—windows south side and flowers meant fifth floor—bloody sequential thinking!
Her mind wasn't working how she had gotten used to it working. The one train of thought at a time thing? Irritating.
She fiddled with the tablet, looking for clues. Rodriguez, Alan. New patient. No help there.
"I'm fine, thank you." She said belatedly, just now remembering that he had been talking to her. "A headache flared up." She couldn't have possibly—no, it hadn't been a dream. If it was she would have woken up in bed, now in the middle of an appointment with no idea how she got there. She had been—she was making an Avatar wasn't she? Rebecca took a few deep breaths, a feeling something in her chest twinge as she glanced at her watch. 11.34. "What was I saying?"
Beta level fluctuation. Stabilizing…stand by…stabilizing…
Her own voice rang out in her head. She clamped down, the full body jerk coming out as a surprised twitch. Why was she hearing herself narrate? Shouldn't she be getting the updates automatically? And why did it sound like…it sounded like Aegis. Blank, perfunctory, computerized. An uneasy feeling was crawling up her spine.
"—got my second opinion and I just wanted to know what happens."
Fine. She'll play along.
'Alan Rodriguez' had the look of a burly, elderly man. The kind that spent most of his life doing physical labor and while he wasn't spoiling the grandkids, was chafing under retirement. No obvious speech defects, hands were steady, eyes clear and focused. Brain tumor, she reasoned. If it was something like a stroke he'd be in the ER and anything exotic would have been bumped up to a senior doctor. Small, non-critical area, right up her alley.
She tried to peruse his file again, but the letters danced across the small screen. She brought up an image of the MRI instead, wishing for the yellow haptic interface. It was only a little better. The number of dark spots in the scan seemed to be multiplying.
"Honestly? Most patients can't even remember coming in for surgery." She grabbed at one of the brochures on the counter and almost missed. The room tilted. "The most important thing is that you relax after. A healthy diet and light exercise. The anesthesia can take up to six weeks to flush out of your system so it is important that there is someone to help you at home."
He laughed. "You can tell my wife I have doctor's orders to be lazy!"
Her smile was distracted. This was not a memory. She would have remembered working on a patient like Alan. This was something new.
She didn't create it.
Who did?
Alpha level protocol compromised. Rebooting protocols.
She stole another glance at the tablet and swallowed the bile back down. "Were there any questions you had for me in specific? It says here that you have hypertension…" She pursed her lips. "Ideally, we want to get that blood pressure down before we go in. Do you know the cause?"
"The wife," Rodriguez said dryly and she snorted.
"Let's schedule an appointment and take a look at that, shall we?" He asked a few more questions related to the procedure and some general small talk. She answered the best she could, tiny spikes of pain streaking into her eyes. To her surprise, he seemed to notice, deviating from the script.
"It's a pretty bad one, isn't it?" Concern was clear in his voice as she bit her lip. The sudden urge to shake him, make him tell her what the hell was going on—
"I am…" She paused. She tilted her head a little, looked up at him through strands of hair short enough to be neatly tucked underneath a surgeon's cap. That it was the original blonde instead of black didn't really register. "I am wondering how much of this is real."
'Alan' stilled. For a long moment they simply watched each other until he smiled. "Is reality better?"
His form faded.
Rebecca stood up, swaying almost drunkenly; the floor didn't want to stop moving. There was a ghostly sensation of floating, weightlessness.
Warning. Synaptic core integrity at 93.1%.
She crossed to the window and flung the drapes open. It was the Bronx, New York City.
Some of it.
The hospital campus sprawled around the building, shocks of green from the trees highlighting the street nearby. The building's immediate surroundings had been transplanted, cars just materialized further down the street complete with drivers. Some were texting, drinking coffee, messing with their mirrors. She watched a minivan with pink fuzzy dice bouncing in the window slow at the intersection and turn off, vanishing.
The familiar urban development gave way to more futuristic complexes. White walls, holographic displays and blue windows, abandoned. She looked up and hovering in the sky was a giant structure, a mirrored image of a city built on it. She didn't create this. She didn't create any of this—In the distance, a tower.
This was the Citadel.
The sudden burst of pain was crippling.
Cognitive simulation approaching critical failure
Collapsing Virtual Environment
Synaptic core integrity at 89.9%
/̨̑̌ͭ̂ͭ͝͞҉̛͇̪̣͔̬͍̠̳͍͇͕͚ͅg̷̢̢͊̎ͦ̾ͭ҉̴͙͍̺͇̮̱̖̖̤̫͎͙͕̹̤̼͓̪u̵͑̈͆ͦ̃͌̏͊̐̍ͨ̀̋͒̃̃̏͏̦̫͈̥̖͈̲͎̜͎͢ắ̷̦͔͉̻̺̠̮̜̅̆ͮ̑̄̆ͨ̅͝r̴̨̧͔̰͔̝ͮ̍̐̑̆͠͡d̸̷̪̮̩̺̹̬̹̻͚͙̰̜̱ͯ̅̉̎̓̍͊͛̐̊̇̉ͪͣ͊̂̚ͅ ̷͖̘̫̳̥͔̜͇̪̺̣͖̫̣ͣ̓̔̊͘͢ơ̯̣̪͍͙̤̣̰̼̳͈̱̯̗̰̼͉̳ͤ͂̓͂̉̄̌̆̚̕͡f̧̫̱̼̖͚͚͈͇̩̪̰̫̯͕̰͇ͬ̒ͬ̇̇̒͐̐̀̋ͤ̉̈́̃̂̋̂̀̚͝ͅ ̢̹̞̜̺̯̬̻̺̐̎ͥͧ͐̎̔̍̎̀̑͌ͫ̈͡ý̧̳̮̰̫͇̬̎̏ͪ̓ͫ̓ͯ͑̊̀͠oͣͫͩ́͛ͪ̓ͭ͂͝͏̶̛̤̝͕̪̟̰͉͉̻̳̠͟ͅú̴̢̦̭̣̟̻̱̘̘̘̻̯͐̈̑͂ͬͪ̏̏ȑ͎̝̩͔̭ͭͯ̂ͤ͋̽͆̑͌̕̕ ̄͂ͪͦͥ̈̓̓͒͑̑ͭ҉̻̳̙̲̻͚̩͈͈̻͈͖͖͕͉̰͍̀̕d̴͕̯͈̯̝̱̻͍̭̥̖̦̜͇̱̬̭͍̀ͥ̿̀͘͟͢͡ͅẻ̴̢͚͙͇̺̙̮̘̱̼͉̯̼̣͇͎̳͗͊ͤ͋̈ͤ̌̂̆̇̕͝͠ͅs̸̨̜̥̟̪͕̤͔̽͗͆̈ͮ̾ͯ̉͌ͫ̍̾̂̽̒̒̚͘t̢̳̘̳̹͇͙̲̹̹̹̗͇̤ͧ͑ͪ͛̊̅̅̇̂̓̽̉̎̊̒ͫ̀̚r̢̹̟͉̮͎̥̜̱͔̫̻̖͚̳̘̓̃͊ͤ̿ͫͧ͂ͪ̈͟ͅṵ̧͔̻͙̺̫͎̣̟̂ͭ̑ͨ̍̒̎̓́c̸̴ͮͣ͌ͯͬ̐̂̃̈̈́̔̎ͭͣ͐͋͒̚͏̗̘̦̺̻ṱ̴̸̦̰͈͕̱̥̬͙͍̪̮̥̫̦̝̲̆͑͂̉̐̾͑ͬ̐̃͆͢i͓̹̩͎̦̻͉̥̘̖̟̪̪̜̪̼ͤ̽ͬ̇̄ͥͩ͐ͥͤ̆͊ͩͬ̽̽̈̂́͠o̫̪͓̞̟̼̩̙̜̬͎̜͇͓̫͗̈ͪ̒̐ͯ͆̓͐̅̀͡n̶̯̭̼̟̗͓̝̻̅ͤ͐̊̋̐ͯ̓͢/̾ͬͭͤͨͤ̄́̈̀͛͗͌ͧ͋̏̈́͘҉̹̝͍͔̯̹̯̲̟̲̩̜̻͇̯/̐̔ͧ͐ͧ̌͑̑̾̾͒҉͏̧͍̰͍̗̣̳͕͇͍̯͕̙̪̬͕̣̭͘eͬ̍ͨͮ̆ͬ̊͒͛̆̉͌̓̏͊̈́̓͏̗̞̥͍͙̗͔̣̲͙̭x̼͕̻̫̫̳̳͉̹͉̹͈͔͕ͫͯ̄ͯ͌͑͐̚͘̕͟ͅͅĩ̸̢̻͚͈̣͎̱͎̮͐͒̅̽͛ͫ́̑͐̀̿͋̿͋̂̓̚͘̕s̨͈̼̪̟̲͒ͨͫ̄͂͌̏̑ͮ̀͐̓̉̀͊͆͂̀ţ̴͕͕͖͖͛̌́̓̓ͩ͜͞ ͉̪̪͍̓͊ͥͩ̈̔ͦͮͧ̓͜͜b̵̭̤̙͖̞͈̣͍ͪ̍̀ͯͯͭ͘ȩ̸̢͕̰͓̫̪͔̳͚͕̫̒̓ͦ́ͣ͛̀͞c̨̲̖͖͎̗͔̯̻̥̠͖͓͖̭͓͎̗̥͍ͪ̊̔̆͒̍̌̏͆ͩ̋͌̌ͦͩ̑̀a̔͛̋ͫ̉ͤ͆͑̈̊ͩ̓ͦ͌̈́ͮ̋̅́͞͞҉͇̣͈͖̮̖͖̫̤͇̩̦̤̱̜͉̬̪u͍̺̺̻̜̖̱̝̍̂͛̋̿̕͘͜͞s̴̶̘̼̰̫̬̹̤̞͓͍̜̯̬̣̱͕ͫͭͬ͊ͧ̒̔̓ͣ̾̄͢ḙ̴̸͍͚͓̦̬̟̼̬͚̫͇͚͇̳̤̓̿̈̆̒̆̂ͧ̐̏ͮ̂̅̓ͣ͌̕͠ͅ ̸̧̻̖̥̥̲̮͎̪̮̟̣̦͙͈̞̜̯̩̓ͧ́̓̈́͆́͛̚͢w͖̥͖̙̾̐̈́̽̊͡ȩ̵̷̸̤͈̦̰̓͆̽ͯͮ̓ͯ ̨̺̙̳̜̱̗̼͉̰̪̝̯̀̈́͊͑̈́̓͠ẇ̰͙̥͑͑͌̒ͧ̿̕͡iͧ͒́͐͆̃ͪ̍͑̐͋̍̆̐̃̀҉̴̫̤̯̬̰̣̬̫̻̪̱̹̹͖̺͓̯l̅ͩ́͌ͤ͐ͦͮ͆̓̍͐ͩͭ̃̚̚͏͚͍̜̻̰͇̖͚̠͇͈̘̭͠͝l͎̲̩͙̺̖͈̦̬̞̻͕̯̪͈͙̮̞̓̆ͪ͆̕͟͠͠/̶̡͔͎̬̼͈ͬ̂ͧ̌ͬ͑ͅ/̴̧͕̼̝̣͎̩̪͈͔̲͍͖͖̩̝͎̱̼̠̽͛͊̐̍̊̓̓ͤ͘͞e̗̤͓͕̪̥̲̯̻̲̘͙͍͈̗̘̭̐̎ͭ̿̆͛ͩ̂͌ͧ͊̓ͤ̊̒̌͋͘͟͝ͅn̛̓̋ͩ̈ͤ̐̽̎ͧ̿͊̂҉̨͕̲͇̬̟̳̞̫͚͕̩͉̰̱̜̜d̋̅ͮ̿͑̌̆͋̓̚҉̢͚̣̲̯̻̜͕͞_̢̛͕͔̭̪̠̘̖̼̹̝̺ͬ̓̽̀̅͌ͪ̅̋̎̔̒̔d̢̧̺̝͎̗̳̗̻̜͓͇̻͖̞͎̲͚̫͔ͭ́ͪ̓͂ͦ̌̏ͫ̓̍̌͐̐̎̚̚e̷̵̳͔̱̠̭̹͈̺͎̰̱̱̩͕͓̟̫̺ͭ͊͛ͬ̾͛͒̏̌ͣ͌̚̕m̵̝̺͔̥̖̮̦̼̰͛́̈̽ͩ͌ͦ͗̋̈̐̏ͮ̈́͝a̴̸̪͈̩͍̾ͣͣ̀̚͠n̥͉̳̫͉̱̎̃ͧͩͯ͂́͐ͤ̑̌͝ď̛̞͉̻̙͍͉͖̭̥͍̺͓͖͈̓̇́͌̐̂͆ͩ̃͆͒ͥͅͅ ̸̷̛̟̻̰̲̮͈̩͇̲̼̬̜̣̖̠͉̩̝ͮ̋̓̆̂ͮͫ̚i̷̷͍͇̝̼̗͓̻͍͙̩̩͉͙̯ͮͤͣ͌̿̉͋ͩ̄̾̒̀́̚͡ẗ̡̛̛͎̬͕͔̬̱̥̥̇ͭ͒̆͌̇ͯ̿̓ͥ̃̍̋ͧ̄̀́̚
Purging data stream of interference
Erasing memory data...
Rebooting…
Shutting down…
The pain disappeared.
So did everything else.
She was standing in a void, hearing her own voice fade. She had a body here or what passed for one. It was almost horribly familiar. A niggling sense of déjà vu, tip-of-the-tongue syndrome, a hung over morning after and a screaming nightmare wrapped up all in one. The kind of confusion you clung to because as long as that haze was there, as long as you couldn't really remember, you were safe. You don't want to know.
But you will.
Wake up.
[Rebecca].
Functions normal
Integrity at 94.3%
Cognitive simulation engaged.
Memory Usage: 13.9%
Creating Virtual Environment
Designation: R̶̟̭̪̻͔̖̎ͥͬ͋͒ͦ͂̐ͤ̊̀͋ͧ́̏̚̕͘e̡͈̘͍͔͓͉̻ͬ͊ͩ̊̃̍̒̿́ͯ̐ͨ̀ͩ̾̕̕b̏́̾̚͏̶̩̹̣̞͉̭̫̣͖̟͉̤͈̳͜ͅe̶̪̥̖͔̼̘̱̱̲̼̮̩̬͓̫͕̊͋͛͌ͭ̍̈̏̅͂͌͠c̡̡̢̛̠̱͙̜͓͖ͩ̓̌ͯ̔̉͒̊ͪ̈̃ͯ̚c̶̝͖͙͖͖̫͈̩̋͗͐͋̒́͋͒ͧ̏̃̾̊̚͡a̲̹̣̟̦̅̅̉̈̽ͬ͌ͣ̍͌͆̋̈́ͩ͡[̡̺̟̱͔̣̺͚̙̤̺͆͛͗̈́̂̈̎̀̑͆̊̀̊̍͑ͫ̆͊̚͘͟r̩͍͚̣̰̪̮̭̥͕̤̝̮͔͇̺͉̿̃̇̈́́ḙ̡̻̪͚̳͕̹̳̫ͧ̍͌̈̅́̎͡͡d̛̥͚̥̮̩̮̟͚̤̘ͤ̿͂͑̃͑͆ͫͥ̔̌̄͛̈ͯ̂̇̾͟ͅͅͅą̨̛͈̯͍̠̪̻̝̞̞̤͓̦̹́͗͐̈̂̀̓ͬͮ͋̓̀ͤͮ̿͜c̸̷͇͔͈͕̘̞͙͙̖̳̝̣̘̭͑̀̊͐͜ṯ̶̨̟̱̥̬̹̯̱̗̦͙̹̦̩̩̳͚͊̆͛ͩ̓̾͂̉̄͢ȩ̧͔̖̬̳̙̰̗̮̞̜͐ͫͮ̓́̇̂͋̃́͢͢d̛̯͇̦̘͖̖̙̻͖̼̳̙̒̓ͭ̂ͨͧͪ̈́͊̇͠͠ͅ]̵̢̢̈̍̃ͭ̎́̏̂ͦ͑̅̀ͯ̍͊̚͏̹͈̤͉̠͜ͅVANGUARD
Status: Undefined
She was standing in a void, hearing her own voice fade. She had a body here or what passed for one. It was almost horribly familiar. A niggling sense of déjà vu, tip-of-the-tongue syndrome, a hung over morning after and a screaming nightmare wrapped up all in one. The kind of confusion you clung to because as long as that haze was there, as long as you couldn't really remember, you were safe. You don't want to know. Don't wake up. Don't ever wake up.
Numbers.
Her body was made of numbers.
Red numbers, a translucent glow that mimicked the reflective planes of glass and moved like water. Zeros and Ones. A wriggling black band stretched across her torso and when the numbers slipped through it, they changed. Altered. A little thinner, or perhaps a little longer? More transparent or was that just the illusionary effect a solid shadow had on light? She looked away, losing interest. It was not harming her. She would let it be.
She turned her attention back to where she was. If she was anywhere. A vast, empty space. There was no sound, but she got the impression of…wind. Movement. The void expanding somewhere just beyond her comprehension and then collapsing back.
Inhale.
Exhale.
There was a soft pull. She let it take her.
Virtual Environment Complete.
"—cashire. Dr. Lancashire?"
Rebecca came to with a jolt, her hand instinctively tightening into a white knuckled grip on her table as if to reassure herself that she didn't drop it. Wait. Tablet? She blinked slowly. Her vision spun, blurred, and finally resolved into the boring interior design of an appointment office. Threadbare, a few seats for the patients, a wheeled stool for the doctor and a half counter that stuck out of the wall covered with brochures. A model brain had a place of honor in the center. Sunlight streamed from behind vague blue drapes and a car horn blared.
She was…was she really? How the bloody hell—a wave of nausea hit as she turned in her seat.
"Dr. Lancashire? Are you alright?" Male voice, dusty, smoker? Tobacco use of at least a decade, Hispanic accent. Looking at the walls was a bad idea. At first glance, the sterile pastel flowers swirled like a fun house mirror. The pale yellows and greens seemed to bleed into her mind. She gingerly set the tablet on the counter and tried to think. How did she get here—Aegis?—Where was here exactly—damage report, this headache—windows south side and flowers meant fifth floor—bloody sequential thinking!
Her mind wasn't working how she had gotten used to it working. The one train of thought at a time thing? Irritating.
She fiddled with the tablet, looking for clues. Rodriguez, Alan. New patient. No help there.
"I'm fine, thank you." She said belatedly, just now remembering that he had been talking to her. "A headache flared up." She couldn't have possibly—no, it hadn't been a dream. If it was she would have woken up in bed, now in the middle of an appointment with no idea how she got there. She had been—she was making an Avatar wasn't she? Rebecca took a few deep breaths, a feeling something in her chest twinge as she glanced at her watch. 11.34. "What was I saying?"
Beta level fluctuation. Stabilizing…stand by…stabilizing…
Her own voice rang out in her head. She clamped down, the full body jerk coming out as a surprised twitch. Why was she hearing herself narrate? Shouldn't she be getting the updates automatically? And why did it sound like…it sounded like Aegis. Blank, perfunctory, computerized. An uneasy feeling was crawling up her spine.
"—got my second opinion and I just wanted to know what happens."
Fine. She'll play along.
'Alan Rodriguez' had the look of a burly, elderly man. The kind that spent most of his life doing physical labor and while he wasn't spoiling the grandkids, was chafing under retirement. No obvious speech defects, hands were steady, eyes clear and focused. Brain tumor, she reasoned. If it was something like a stroke he'd be in the ER and anything exotic would have been bumped up to a senior doctor. Small, non-critical area, right up her alley.
She tried to peruse his file again, but the letters danced across the small screen. She brought up an image of the MRI instead, wishing for the yellow haptic interface. It was only a little better. The number of dark spots in the scan seemed to be multiplying.
"Honestly? Most patients can't even remember coming in for surgery." She grabbed at one of the brochures on the counter and almost missed. The room tilted. "The most important thing is that you relax after. A healthy diet and light exercise. The anesthesia can take up to six weeks to flush out of your system so it is important that there is someone to help you at home."
He laughed. "You can tell my wife I have doctor's orders to be lazy!"
Her smile was distracted. This was not a memory. She would have remembered working on a patient like Alan. This was something new.
She didn't create it.
Who did?
Alpha level protocol compromised. Rebooting protocols.
She stole another glance at the tablet and swallowed the bile back down. "Were there any questions you had for me in specific? It says here that you have hypertension…" She pursed her lips. "Ideally, we want to get that blood pressure down before we go in. Do you know the cause?"
"The wife," Rodriguez said dryly and she snorted.
"Let's schedule an appointment and take a look at that, shall we?" He asked a few more questions related to the procedure and some general small talk. She answered the best she could, tiny spikes of pain streaking into her eyes. To her surprise, he seemed to notice, deviating from the script.
"It's a pretty bad one, isn't it?" Concern was clear in his voice as she bit her lip. The sudden urge to shake him, make him tell her what the hell was going on—
"I am…" She paused. She tilted her head a little, looked up at him through strands of hair short enough to be neatly tucked underneath a surgeon's cap. That it was the original blonde instead of black didn't really register. "I am wondering how much of this is real."
'Alan' stilled. For a long moment they simply watched each other until he smiled. "Is reality better?"
His form faded.
Rebecca stood up, swaying almost drunkenly; the floor didn't want to stop moving. There was a ghostly sensation of floating, weightlessness.
Warning. Synaptic core integrity at 93.1%.
She crossed to the window and flung the drapes open. It was the Bronx, New York City.
Some of it.
The hospital campus sprawled around the building, shocks of green from the trees highlighting the street nearby. The building's immediate surroundings had been transplanted, cars just materialized further down the street complete with drivers. Some were texting, drinking coffee, messing with their mirrors. She watched a minivan with pink fuzzy dice bouncing in the window slow at the intersection and turn off, vanishing.
The familiar urban development gave way to more futuristic complexes. White walls, holographic displays and blue windows, abandoned. She looked up and hovering in the sky was a giant structure, a mirrored image of a city built on it. She didn't create this. She didn't create any of this—In the distance, a tower.
This was the Citadel.
The sudden burst of pain was crippling.
Cognitive simulation approaching critical failure
Collapsing Virtual Environment
Synaptic core integrity at 89.9%
/̨̑̌ͭ̂ͭ͝͞҉̛͇̪̣͔̬͍̠̳͍͇͕͚ͅg̷̢̢͊̎ͦ̾ͭ҉̴͙͍̺͇̮̱̖̖̤̫͎͙͕̹̤̼͓̪u̵͑̈͆ͦ̃͌̏͊̐̍ͨ̀̋͒̃̃̏͏̦̫͈̥̖͈̲͎̜͎͢ắ̷̦͔͉̻̺̠̮̜̅̆ͮ̑̄̆ͨ̅͝r̴̨̧͔̰͔̝ͮ̍̐̑̆͠͡d̸̷̪̮̩̺̹̬̹̻͚͙̰̜̱ͯ̅̉̎̓̍͊͛̐̊̇̉ͪͣ͊̂̚ͅ ̷͖̘̫̳̥͔̜͇̪̺̣͖̫̣ͣ̓̔̊͘͢ơ̯̣̪͍͙̤̣̰̼̳͈̱̯̗̰̼͉̳ͤ͂̓͂̉̄̌̆̚̕͡f̧̫̱̼̖͚͚͈͇̩̪̰̫̯͕̰͇ͬ̒ͬ̇̇̒͐̐̀̋ͤ̉̈́̃̂̋̂̀̚͝ͅ ̢̹̞̜̺̯̬̻̺̐̎ͥͧ͐̎̔̍̎̀̑͌ͫ̈͡ý̧̳̮̰̫͇̬̎̏ͪ̓ͫ̓ͯ͑̊̀͠oͣͫͩ́͛ͪ̓ͭ͂͝͏̶̛̤̝͕̪̟̰͉͉̻̳̠͟ͅú̴̢̦̭̣̟̻̱̘̘̘̻̯͐̈̑͂ͬͪ̏̏ȑ͎̝̩͔̭ͭͯ̂ͤ͋̽͆̑͌̕̕ ̄͂ͪͦͥ̈̓̓͒͑̑ͭ҉̻̳̙̲̻͚̩͈͈̻͈͖͖͕͉̰͍̀̕d̴͕̯͈̯̝̱̻͍̭̥̖̦̜͇̱̬̭͍̀ͥ̿̀͘͟͢͡ͅẻ̴̢͚͙͇̺̙̮̘̱̼͉̯̼̣͇͎̳͗͊ͤ͋̈ͤ̌̂̆̇̕͝͠ͅs̸̨̜̥̟̪͕̤͔̽͗͆̈ͮ̾ͯ̉͌ͫ̍̾̂̽̒̒̚͘t̢̳̘̳̹͇͙̲̹̹̹̗͇̤ͧ͑ͪ͛̊̅̅̇̂̓̽̉̎̊̒ͫ̀̚r̢̹̟͉̮͎̥̜̱͔̫̻̖͚̳̘̓̃͊ͤ̿ͫͧ͂ͪ̈͟ͅṵ̧͔̻͙̺̫͎̣̟̂ͭ̑ͨ̍̒̎̓́c̸̴ͮͣ͌ͯͬ̐̂̃̈̈́̔̎ͭͣ͐͋͒̚͏̗̘̦̺̻ṱ̴̸̦̰͈͕̱̥̬͙͍̪̮̥̫̦̝̲̆͑͂̉̐̾͑ͬ̐̃͆͢i͓̹̩͎̦̻͉̥̘̖̟̪̪̜̪̼ͤ̽ͬ̇̄ͥͩ͐ͥͤ̆͊ͩͬ̽̽̈̂́͠o̫̪͓̞̟̼̩̙̜̬͎̜͇͓̫͗̈ͪ̒̐ͯ͆̓͐̅̀͡n̶̯̭̼̟̗͓̝̻̅ͤ͐̊̋̐ͯ̓͢/̾ͬͭͤͨͤ̄́̈̀͛͗͌ͧ͋̏̈́͘҉̹̝͍͔̯̹̯̲̟̲̩̜̻͇̯/̐̔ͧ͐ͧ̌͑̑̾̾͒҉͏̧͍̰͍̗̣̳͕͇͍̯͕̙̪̬͕̣̭͘eͬ̍ͨͮ̆ͬ̊͒͛̆̉͌̓̏͊̈́̓͏̗̞̥͍͙̗͔̣̲͙̭x̼͕̻̫̫̳̳͉̹͉̹͈͔͕ͫͯ̄ͯ͌͑͐̚͘̕͟ͅͅĩ̸̢̻͚͈̣͎̱͎̮͐͒̅̽͛ͫ́̑͐̀̿͋̿͋̂̓̚͘̕s̨͈̼̪̟̲͒ͨͫ̄͂͌̏̑ͮ̀͐̓̉̀͊͆͂̀ţ̴͕͕͖͖͛̌́̓̓ͩ͜͞ ͉̪̪͍̓͊ͥͩ̈̔ͦͮͧ̓͜͜b̵̭̤̙͖̞͈̣͍ͪ̍̀ͯͯͭ͘ȩ̸̢͕̰͓̫̪͔̳͚͕̫̒̓ͦ́ͣ͛̀͞c̨̲̖͖͎̗͔̯̻̥̠͖͓͖̭͓͎̗̥͍ͪ̊̔̆͒̍̌̏͆ͩ̋͌̌ͦͩ̑̀a̔͛̋ͫ̉ͤ͆͑̈̊ͩ̓ͦ͌̈́ͮ̋̅́͞͞҉͇̣͈͖̮̖͖̫̤͇̩̦̤̱̜͉̬̪u͍̺̺̻̜̖̱̝̍̂͛̋̿̕͘͜͞s̴̶̘̼̰̫̬̹̤̞͓͍̜̯̬̣̱͕ͫͭͬ͊ͧ̒̔̓ͣ̾̄͢ḙ̴̸͍͚͓̦̬̟̼̬͚̫͇͚͇̳̤̓̿̈̆̒̆̂ͧ̐̏ͮ̂̅̓ͣ͌̕͠ͅ ̸̧̻̖̥̥̲̮͎̪̮̟̣̦͙͈̞̜̯̩̓ͧ́̓̈́͆́͛̚͢w͖̥͖̙̾̐̈́̽̊͡ȩ̵̷̸̤͈̦̰̓͆̽ͯͮ̓ͯ ̨̺̙̳̜̱̗̼͉̰̪̝̯̀̈́͊͑̈́̓͠ẇ̰͙̥͑͑͌̒ͧ̿̕͡iͧ͒́͐͆̃ͪ̍͑̐͋̍̆̐̃̀҉̴̫̤̯̬̰̣̬̫̻̪̱̹̹͖̺͓̯l̅ͩ́͌ͤ͐ͦͮ͆̓̍͐ͩͭ̃̚̚͏͚͍̜̻̰͇̖͚̠͇͈̘̭͠͝l͎̲̩͙̺̖͈̦̬̞̻͕̯̪͈͙̮̞̓̆ͪ͆̕͟͠͠/̶̡͔͎̬̼͈ͬ̂ͧ̌ͬ͑ͅ/̴̧͕̼̝̣͎̩̪͈͔̲͍͖͖̩̝͎̱̼̠̽͛͊̐̍̊̓̓ͤ͘͞e̗̤͓͕̪̥̲̯̻̲̘͙͍͈̗̘̭̐̎ͭ̿̆͛ͩ̂͌ͧ͊̓ͤ̊̒̌͋͘͟͝ͅn̛̓̋ͩ̈ͤ̐̽̎ͧ̿͊̂҉̨͕̲͇̬̟̳̞̫͚͕̩͉̰̱̜̜d̋̅ͮ̿͑̌̆͋̓̚҉̢͚̣̲̯̻̜͕͞_̢̛͕͔̭̪̠̘̖̼̹̝̺ͬ̓̽̀̅͌ͪ̅̋̎̔̒̔d̢̧̺̝͎̗̳̗̻̜͓͇̻͖̞͎̲͚̫͔ͭ́ͪ̓͂ͦ̌̏ͫ̓̍̌͐̐̎̚̚e̷̵̳͔̱̠̭̹͈̺͎̰̱̱̩͕͓̟̫̺ͭ͊͛ͬ̾͛͒̏̌ͣ͌̚̕m̵̝̺͔̥̖̮̦̼̰͛́̈̽ͩ͌ͦ͗̋̈̐̏ͮ̈́͝a̴̸̪͈̩͍̾ͣͣ̀̚͠n̥͉̳̫͉̱̎̃ͧͩͯ͂́͐ͤ̑̌͝ď̛̞͉̻̙͍͉͖̭̥͍̺͓͖͈̓̇́͌̐̂͆ͩ̃͆͒ͥͅͅ ̸̷̛̟̻̰̲̮͈̩͇̲̼̬̜̣̖̠͉̩̝ͮ̋̓̆̂ͮͫ̚i̷̷͍͇̝̼̗͓̻͍͙̩̩͉͙̯ͮͤͣ͌̿̉͋ͩ̄̾̒̀́̚͡ẗ̡̛̛͎̬͕͔̬̱̥̥̇ͭ͒̆͌̇ͯ̿̓ͥ̃̍̋ͧ̄̀́̚
Purging data stream of interference
Erasing memory data...
Rebooting…
Shutting down…
The pain disappeared.
So did everything else.
She was standing in a void, hearing her own voice fade. She had a body here or what passed for one. It was almost horribly familiar. A niggling sense of déjà vu, tip-of-the-tongue syndrome, a hung over morning after and a screaming nightmare wrapped up all in one. The kind of confusion you clung to because as long as that haze was there, as long as you couldn't really remember, you were safe. You don't want to know.
But you will.
Wake up.
[Rebecca].
Chapter 2: VANGUARD
Go away, Aegis.
That message had been simply duplicated from her memory banks and sent, for the twelfth time, through the firewall as she soldered a connection. She wasn't entirely sure if the VI honestly didn't understand or if it was just playing dumb, but the pings of rejected access attempts seemed to increase in frequency. The worst part of it was, some program somewhere was keeping track of Every. Single. One, twice as annoying and she was unable to find it for the life of her.
546. 547. 548.
Find it and crush it, she thought to herself. She pried her fingers off the delicate tool before she snapped it in frustration. 571. 572. 573.
Crush. It.
Aegis kept going and by the time the internal counter reached the seven hundreds she was palming her face. She reluctantly changed access permissions, picking up the tool again. Aegis blank tone said nothing of irritation, but if the seven hundred and forty five access attempts said anything, it was that the VI was annoyed.
You initiated a communications lock down.
[Rebecca] gently moved a few thin wires, and turned the small metal ball she was working on. It's called being given the 'cold shoulder.' Or rather attempting to give the cold shoulder. In a contest of patience, apparently the Prothean VI had an unfair advantage.
Why was communication blocked? It persisted.
You know why.
A warning was issued against breaching the containment chamber.
Aegis. She took a calming breath. It wasn't quite the same without the heady feeling of too much oxygen, but it worked well enough. You let me sit on an antimatter missile.
Friends don't let friends sit on bombs. Especially ones packed with enough antimatter to blow up a Mass Relay and had been sitting in a facility where indoctrinated Protheans had been running about for the last fifty thousand years. Covered in debris with a few dings in its casing, it had looked safe enough. She'd heard horror stories about people stepping on armed land mines from WWII, this was inarguably worse. It might not have been armed, could have been a dud, but Protheans built shit that lasted. The elevators, the weapons, the computers, the fucking chairs. If the missile had just broken from laying around too long, she'd eat glass.
Which she could, not that she would want to do so anytime soon. Her stomach was more of a microbial generator, excelled at breaking things down to their base components for use and wasn't picky.
Vigil inserted its own two cents. Communicate.
Ah. [Rebecca] sent. Aegis is annoying you too, isn't it?
Vigil didn't respond immediately. The download was making him a little sluggish but she already knew that the surly VI had probably been bombarded just as she was. Yes.
Go do something useful Aegis.
I am capable of multitasking—
She cut it off. Multitask more then.
It finally seemed to get the hint, she could feel it almost floundering pathetically before it sent a plaintive message: I will retain access permissions?
Some of the irritation bled away. Perhaps she was imagining things, maybe her modifications to its code had messed something up, but the VI almost sounded hurt. Lonely. She tightened a few connections absently. Yes, you will. She redacted the apology. She'd never been good with those. I didn't think VI could get lonely, she broadcasted.
We Do Not.
Fifty thousand years is a long time.
It Is Time.
She knew what it meant. Time, to computers, simply was. It was a variable to be measured and counted. It was an ever increasing number. It was hard for her not to fall into it. When an entire plan of action could be plotted out in less than a second, time seemed like an infinite commodity. It was just something that happened, that had to be accounted for.
Organics place a lot of value on time. She eyed the small spherical drone on the table in front of her. Almost done. We don't have a lot of it.
She had "found" the ship bay, at least. Acts of explosive sabotage had trashed the entrance beyond what the small helper drones were capable of so she had pitched in, hauling large blocks of rubble. The inside wasn't much better, two of the pillars had broken apart, part of the roof collapsed and the electronics controlling the bay doors smashed, sparking with the recently turned on primary power. They hadn't wanted anyone to escape. There had been about ten ships of varying sizes that fell into three categories: Blown Up, Sadly Broken and Potentially Useful but Trapped.
There was some overlap.
A smaller experimental 'fighter' was one of the Potentially Useful but Trapped ships, with a small side of Sadly Broken having been pushed against the wall when a large block of broken pillar had shoved a larger ship into it.
There was no 'getting out and pushing' here, the best chance of getting it free was fixing it up enough to ram its way out without breaking apart entirely. She'd been salvaging, gathering up what she couldn't take with her and feeding it to the fabricators for material and eventually, she'd have to figure out how to get into the third unit nearby. It was the only one big enough to fabricate the ship parts she would need but the doors seemed to have been welded shut or something…
She needed something that could get into that room, perhaps the small spaces in the crushed hull and that was where the small drone she'd been working on came in. The tools weren't anything like she'd used before. Smaller and more fragile looking. Something that looked kind of like a tiny wrench but had a heated molecular blade on it, a "screwdriver" that looked more like a drill and she still wasn't sure what that twisted, suction cup doohickey was supposed to be used for. She'd had to look up at least half a dozen of them and unfortunately proficiency didn't come from reading books. The first time she focused her sight into telescopic range was…odd. But it was still a familiar feeling.
It reminded her of middle school, being the only girl in a computer hardware class and being completely unwilling to take any shit for it. Detentions for bloodying some prat's nose, she couldn't even remember his name. Building crude circuit boards, clocks with LED lights and metronomes. She'd loved it, bringing her projects home to her parents and setting up an empty bookshelf just for them. She'd wanted to be a computer engineer, carried that dream with her through high school and into college.
Her dad had that stroke in her second year. Plans changed.
And now she was here. Plans changed again. Only this time, the "plan" was to completely and irrevocably screw up someone else's plan. By any means necessary.
The first steps were already being put into place. She wasn't leaving Aegis here on Ilos. She wasn't leaving Vigil. The VI were currently overwriting every scrap of useful information into Aegis' memory and systematically wiping the data banks. Vigil was downloading a copy of himself and a third, basic VI was being installed in Vigil's place. She had created it, after much trial and error and lots of help. Its programming was simple. Protect the Conduit. At all costs.
She had suggested the name, even keeping it within tradition of Overseer VI.
Veto.
It would probably be lost on Saren and the geth, which was a shame.
She snapped the last plate into place and stood, stretching out of habit. She pressed a tiny button in the rim of its "eye" and the little drone activated, lifting off the table unsteadily. It didn't immediately explode. Or crash. Or attack her or something.
Success.
She grabbed it, the small mass effect fields making her fingers tingle and shut it off. Time to check on her hard suit.
Contact.
Cut around. Thirty five degree entry.
[Rebecca] didn't flinch as Aegis obeyed. The small molecular blade separated the nanotube musculature with precision. Two other machine arms held the cut open and a third snuck in with tiny fingers, severing the synthetic nerve and working it to the surface. A needle connector was slipped in and a tiny screw was attached, self-tightening, the two concentric circles twisting in opposite directions as it closed. The other end of the needle plugged into the receiver end of a small jack.
A medical patch was applied and [Rebecca] experimentally rolled her wrist. It's noticeable but doesn't hinder movement.
The rounded metal port of the jack stuck out of her skin a few millimeters. That one nerve connection had been repurposed into a more general information byway. The jack was loaded with input scrambling programs, software buffers and containment protocols.
I first saw the whole 'wrist jack' thing on a show once. About genocidal AIs determined to wipe out their creators.
Battlestar Galatica the name was. Now that she was thinking it, the Quarians had really lucked out on the Geth turning pacifist. It could have been so much worse.
I Trust You Have Not Imprinted On That Example.
Oh? [Rebecca] questioned mildly. Her fingers traveled the table as her eyes shifted around the room. Considering whom I suspect my 'creators' to be, I hope I do.
The fabrication units in the armory were busted, but this one was close enough. Prothean weapons lay gutted on the tables, some of them just had their casings removed and fed to the fabricator for material. The particle rifle was still growing—which was a weird thing to say about a gun that she would never get used to—but the SMG she'd nabbed from the Collector had already been repurposed.
When her fingers closed around the handle the gun recognized her, a neural uplink snaking out for an entry point. She flinched when it found the port, a tiny spark radiating out from the area as the jack locked it in.
Do you feel discomfort? Aegis began running diagnostics on her until she gently stopped him.
No, not really. It's just—she looked down to where the neural link stuck out of her wrist. She looked away with a slight shiver. It's nothing.
Please continue.
[Rebecca] reached for the 'visor' (better name pending). It was a slim wavy magnetic band that slipped a curve right behind her right ear and across her temple firmly attached to the metal content of her skull. Protheans didn't have omni-tools per se. Not with their psychometry and borderline telepathic shenanigans. The closest thing was their equivalent of a personal computer, an eye level projected haptic interface.
She'd nabbed one from one of the quarters, took her half a day to hack it too which was pathetic but she did do it. And Vigil redesigned it as she definitely did not have a Prothean head shape. Ibdali Kashad, hotshot agricultural scientist, had received the call to go to the Archives. Her notes were impulsive, arrogant and brilliant—Block B, Row 3, 315. Vigil had told her that.
She'd wanted an omni-tool, as it gave her an easy way out when accessing computers and no one would look twice. But there was no omni-gel, no schematics and none of them had been willing to put in the effort to build something from scratch that was redundant at best.
Not that it stopped her from trying to design a light saber. If she didn't at least try she'd never forgive herself.
She passed by the hard suit. The skin was growing in to cover the mechanical parts evenly. She stopped to observe the robotic spine, faint blue shimmering coming from the few exposed circuits. Arcing over the back, way over where her head would be were two vertebrae antennae, miniscule cameras and sensor arrays packed into the upper halves. And below them on the spine, were organically designed robotic arms covered in a fine mesh for the skin to cling to.
Aegis crunched numbers about increased carrying capacity and versatility but as far as [Rebecca] was concerned, more arms meant wielding more guns. Multitasking would always be a strength of hers.
She reached out to touch the suit, the skin and waited. Waited for her skin to crawl, waited for regret or shame or…something. She tapped a fingernail on it thoughtfully.
Aegis. Vigil. She gave the hard suit another look. Good work.
She had stacked crates at the back of the room for testing. It wasn't as good as the firing range by the armory, but she didn't really feel like walking all the way over there. This was just to see if it worked, anyway.
The clear holographic display sprung out of the band with a blue targeting reticule. And she took aim, two hands in a balanced position she knew and was completely unfamiliar with at the same time. She flagged the crates as hostile and watched the target band immediately turn red.
Hostile detected.
[Rebecca] didn't pull the trigger. There wasn't one. The command traveled at the speed of computer thought.
Shoot.
The burst of submachine gun fire was loud.
"Well, well, well." The metallic enamel pellets had shredded holes in the crates, big enough for her to see through. Her smile was small. "Maybe I've got this after all."
Vigil pinged her then. Your VI Has Been Activated.
She frowned a little. The VI didn't sound particularly happy--what was she thinking, Vigil never sounded happy--and distinctly bothered. Problems with your new home? She shot the hard suit a glance, as if she could somehow see the VI settling in.
Veto Is Erratic.
She reached out, hesitantly, not entirely sure of what she was looking for. Aegis redirected her on request and she touched a healthy intelligence matrix. No bugs that she could see, no corruption...a bit of an anomaly with the personality imprint. She committed the access path to memory.
Veto?
You are [Rebecca]. The VI identified. It's voice was heavily synthesized and feminine. I have been informed that you do not wish to personally test the defenses of this facility. A pause. That is a shame.
She couldn't help the amused grin. I trust you will do what you can with it.
Of course I will. The VI almost sounded offended. It will be a fun learning experience for [REDACTED] all. Another pause. And then they will die.
Vigil butt in, stubborn. Erratic.
[Rebecca] grinned. I like it.
You Would.
Aegis approached the new VI curiously, introducing itself like a child on a playground looking to make a new friend. My designation is Aegis. I am an analyst.
My designation is Veto. I kill people. For science.
[Rebecca] had already made up her mind. Taking that one with me.
I am currently assigned to the Archives. Veto reminded her. Do you require a copy of this Virtual Intelligence?
[Rebecca] hesitated. It was one thing to put a homicidal VI between Saren and the Conduit. It was another to give that same VI access to a Prothean military grade hard suit upgraded with Collector technology and her own, relatively fragile chassis. What is your primary directive?
Protect the Conduit from unauthorized access.
Limitations in achieving that directive?
Unlimited. The VI sounded almost happy, which was a stark contrast to Aegis' never ending politeness and Vigil's 100% disapproval. [Rebecca] felt her lips twitch upward again.
Limitations outside that directive?
My programming is insufficient for any other capability.
And if you were to be hacked?
I am sorry Veto began, not sounding very sorry at all. But I require a verbal override code in order to spare your life.
[Rebecca] sent Vigil a side message. Satisfied?
There was a several microsecond pause during which she imagined it giving her a stink eye before sending a reluctant affirmative.
Veto, copy your matrix and set up memory sharing. You'll be rooming with Vigil.
Dedicating 32.4% of resources. Copying intelligence matrix now.
Welcome to the team.
This was happening, wasn't it? This was really happening. She looked around the room, at the gadgets and guns. The utility belt on the table for different adapters for the jack in her wrist, the flat hovering grenades of every type from incineration to flash bang. The odd bits and ends the VI insisted she would need. The ship was being fixed. Vigil would not be lost to lack of power, Saren would have to fight to get to the Conduit. Soon, there would be nothing left for her here.
But as she turned back to target practice, a thread of thought disagreed. She knew what her footsteps sounded like when she walked these halls. Her body had been built here, her first breath, her first steps. She had watched the red giant sun set and mapped out every one of the Prothean constellations in the night sky. This facility wasn't part of the game. It was hers. This was home.
------------------------------------------------
The ship bay had easily become [Rebecca]'s favorite room because of what it must have been like before the Reapers came. People milling about a room larger than a cathedral and just as elegantly built with soft blue lighting, proud metal walkways lined out between the ships and the bay doors opened to a horizon. It was an underground cavern, the 'bottom' of the room dropped off into the ocean gently lapping at the walls.
The ships built here were all small, lacking the infrastructure to create anything larger than a frigate. They were more concepts and theories, pet projects, than anything feasible for use in the navy.
Gripping pads held them aloft above the water, some pieces of debris floated and she was sure much more rested on the bottom. The ship trapping hers had almost been twisted right off its perch, bending the walkway around its hull. The only that kept it above water was her fighter and the deep gouge its wing made in the wall. If the smaller ship had been built any other way, it probably would have imploded like a crushed grape. But it had a spinal particle beam canon, and any ship with an armament like that was built to withstand structural pressure.
[Rebecca] took a few steps onto the walkway, the sensors in her feet calculating the tilt of the twisted metal. She placed a hand on the control panel and with a few key strokes extending the airlock. Like always, it got stuck on a piece of the larger ship and she dove into the security protocols to flip a 'false' flag to 'true.' The first time, she had been stuck there reading every single line for at least two minutes. Now it took barely enough time to blink, and the ship door opened to air.
She jumped across the gap casually and with a pneumatic hiss, the inner door slid apart.
She was met with stale air and silence. The sleeping ship didn't have a single light on, abandoned. The air quality got marginally better each time the door opened. The silence didn't, but this time that would change.
It was a short walk to the cockpit. She sat in the pilot's chair, the metal block flaring to life with mass effect fields and spreading up her back and neck. A yellow interface flickered into existence.
There was a buzz, a whistle and an irritated sounding blaaaaht. [Rebecca]'s lips quirked.
"Hello to you too, Arsix." The floating drone, the titular sixth iteration of her attempts at building it, zoomed up to the chair and hovered, its blue camera eye taking everything in. She hadhoped to only have to take two attempts, just so she could call it "Artoo" but alas, sometimes you can't have everything. "Been busy?"
A beep.
"Good to hear." She couldn't understand R6, not that it was actually speaking anyway. It made noises to verbal responses because that was what it was programmed to do. The real communication blazed across an electronic highway, ship diagnostics; a report of what it had fixed what were still broken and any new complications it had discovered.
They were catching up on the backlog. There were only thirty seven new problems this time. Given that the first day she found the ship, that number had been one thousand and seventy eight, she felt pretty good.
She laid a finger on an empty meter symbol and double tapped. For a long second, nothing happened as she looked back over her shoulder. Her brows furrowed and she swallowed the disappointment. Not yet done—
And then the first light hesitantly sparked to life.
More followed, running down the length of the ship. Terminals switched on, their yellow haptic interfaces smoothly folding out of the walls. The galactic map started as a small white dot on the hologram by the pilot's station and then it spiraled outward, flushing with billions of stars and systems into the Milky Way. Twinkling orange and blue diagnostic lights sparkled, shifting.
Arsix beeped again and she rested her finger on the meter symbol again. It lit up softly. She dragged it up, just a little.
Outside, the ship bucked. Shuddered. And the engines roared, ripples of water crashing away.
[Rebecca] whooped loudly, pumping a fist in the air as the little drone bobbed. IT WORKS. She blasted over the network. It works! It works! Itworksitworksitworksitworks! Aegis, start consolidating, we're going to move you in today. Lots of red across the board BUT IT WORKS.
In the end she had to kill the excitement, or else she would have just spent the rest of the day siting in that chair with the goofiest grin on her face and not get anything done. But she kept a little generated bubble of it, a little spark as she sent the modified signal through the ship's computer to open the ship bay. The heavy doors unlocked with loud clanks and groans of neglect and raised, sea water dripping from the metal.
The red sun reflected off the water. The sky was a darkening blue with a few cloud wisps clinging to the edge of the sun. She sat there for a few minutes, looking at the screen and the view the ship had of an Ilos sunrise. It seemed almost magical If someone had told her not even three months ago that she'd be seeing this from her very own spaceship…
You could almost forget this was a dead world.
[Rebecca] sent the signal for the grips to release. The ship dipped a little as it fully took on the weight of the other ship and then began to push it off. Screaming metal as the twisted walkway bent in the other direction, groans of shifting weight. For several minutes, it caught on its wing in the wall and she had to lower the ship and change the angle. The wing cracked and she sent the signal to release the grip of the dock next to her.
The larger ship slipped, the wing snapped off and a ringing screech of hull against hull it fell into the ocean. The water rose up in a several foot wave, splashing onto the metal floor and extended docks before sucking in as the ship sank beneath the surface.
She waited for the operating grip to latch onto her ship again before shifting it idle.
"Come on Arsix, let's see about that fab unit, hmm?"
The borer made a high pitched whine her ears told her was above the pain threshold for Asari, prompting an automatic wince even though she didn't feel anything. It punched through the wall with a crunch and she folded up the legs and worked it out of the hole. She peeked, but all she saw was the opposite wall.
She nodded at the little drone, implanting instructions. "All yours."
It floated in. She sat against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. Moving a bit to get comfortable and then going still, letting her mind drift.
Reference: Chair
Reference: Terminal
Destination = Terminal
The drone powered its small thrusters and moved forward, bobbing around the chair and searching the machine for a port. It found one but it was currently occupied. It sent a request for a course of action and got one. A three pronged claw extended from the ball and removed the cube. The lines of glowing blue on it died as the drone let it drop to the floor.
It switched tools, plugging in. It released the override on the doors easily and noted that it hadn't been done from the terminal or anywhere else in the facility.
Conclusion: Manual override
Job done, the little drone turned around. And its camera eye had a very good view of a corpse. It's head ruptured, inert.
Reference: Collector
On the other side of the wall, [Rebecca] stiffened. The second Collector in a facility abandoned for fifty thousand years. It had manually overrode the doors to the only operable fabrication unit capable of fixing ships and then died. Once was a coincidence. Twice was the start of a pattern.
She was being kept here.
We need to leave.
Hysteria subroutine disabled.
We need to go.
But not just yet. Her fist clenched helplessly. What she really needed to do—she needed to get all the research this facility had on Reapers. Weaknesses. Strengths. Capabilities. On the closed server in the section reserved for studying cyber warfare, malignant research materials, and aggressive technology.
Like Reaper artifacts.
[Rebecca] hesitated for a short moment. Her eyes continued staring up, tracking the worn grooves in the metal. She had marked that place as Avoid At All Costs for a reason. A sub-project hovering in the back of her mind, a way to destroy the artifacts or disable them. Another way to get the information without costing lives. Where else? Who knows? But she needed more ti—there was no time.
Fear subroutine disabled.
And no time like the present.
R6 came back out through the hole unsteadily, banging against the side and spinning out into open air furiously whistling. She locked "eyes" with it, blue cybernetic reflection. The drone turned, showing off its new scuff mark.
"Sorry."
It burbled.
"Go back to the ship."
She got up, brushing off dust and rubble from the white long overcoat as R6 wandered away, bleeping. She ran an idle hand through her hair, able to feel the radiating heat it absorbed from the neural hub in her skull. She drummed fingers against her scalp, pulled up a map of the facility and plotted out her course. There should be a secondary elevator on that side, only went up and down a few floors, she'd have to see if it was still operational.
Direct download? If there were any fifty thousand year old computer viruses on that server, she didn't want them. Grab data cube. Avoid the observational rooms unless she couldn't, ah, she'd have to pass at least three. She ran a cost/benefit analysis on suiting up. If it hacked her brain, that would be bad (worse). If it didn't, well, there was still the very real possibility of more Collectors.
Bring a gun.
She took a few steps, pondering.
It really was easier like this, wasn't it? No fear response, no panic. She had to abuse this.
Her next three steps were hesitant, but then they soon evened out with purpose. She hit the open lift, sending threads of thought out for updates. Aegis was in the middle of transferring his matrix. Vigil was duplicating his memory and Veto…
There is a shortage of refined eezo within this facility. I must be creative.
[Rebecca] smiled weakly as the platform began to move. Creative?
Flying mines are an inefficient use of resources.
Sorry to hear that.
Do not be, [Rebecca]. The projected kill count for jumping mines is comparable.
She didn't have to ask to know what the VI had in mind for them. If Veto had gotten anything from her, it was the reluctant admiration of how annoying Geth stalkers were. They stick to the walls, jam sensors and targeting and when they explode, spray incendiary shrapnel everywhere.
And they make me laugh, Veto admitted cheerfully. This facility has an extraordinary chokepoint.
Remembering the long corridor with nothing but pods and force fields, and just wide enough for the notoriously atrocious Mako steering, she had to suppress a smirk. Almost doesn't seem fair.
You did not program me with an adherence to the concept of 'fairness.'
No, she sent back, almost viciously. Saren was not getting to the Conduit. I did not.
The lifts moved faster than the elevators. A lot faster. Within a couple of seconds it was pulling up to the upper balcony floor, the quiet sparking of live wires from the destroyed control panel nearly drowned out by the grate pulling open.
Seconds.
Turning the elevator on her ship into a lift was now one of R6's top priorities, even if she had to install a goddamn crank.
The walk back took exactly two minutes, twelve seconds. She darted into the room and snagged the pistol off the table, flinching minutely as it connected. She was never going to get used to that. Never ever. It looked more like a miniature organic hand cannon, with the no trigger design and liquid heat sink. Nothing she'd be doing fancy tricks with, but not having to deal with the ridiculousness that was thermal clips, ever, was a decent trade off.
Vigil moved one of the antennas of the hard suit, watching her head back out the door.
I Would Advise Caution.
Her reply was just this side of bland. As would I.
The server was up a few levels, near the top of the complex. Past the armory, up a ramp and hack access to the secondary elevator. It worked grudgingly, the red line separating the doors fading slowly. It rumbled up on a diagonal track and opened to a long corridor. She swallowed air. Get in, get the data, get out. And began to walk.
Intellectually, she knew nothing was different. The walls she trailed a hand on were still the stone-like metal alloy used everywhere else. The lights were the exact same shade of white-blue, the intensity variation was negligible. It was just a corridor, just a room. She knew this.
But her footsteps were too quiet. They didn't sound right, muted. The lights left shadows. Her fingers seemed to catch, the microprocessors in the tips tracing strange patterns, movement in the metal. Every diagnostic she ran told her she was imagining things.
Functions normal.
She didn't realize it was possible for her to 'imagine' things anymore.
Perhaps it still wasn't.
Functions normal.
It was strange, feeling the unease without the fear. Her breaths came out loud and she considered just stopping, but then all she'd be left with were her own footsteps. The wall underneath her hand twisted. Her mind whispered.
Functions normal.
The first observation room was empty.
There was an analysis grid behind a window of clear ceramic chipped from the outside, three fingered robotic arms hanging limp and broken. A tray with a few shining pieces of metal at the bottom had the place of honor. She raised an eyebrow, decided she couldn't be bothered to reference the project and moved on.
The second room was not empty.
The ones who brought Belan Outpost to its knees. Indoctrinated. She found them.
Contorted skeletons, half crumbling and rotted packed into the room, stacked on top of each other as if they had just laid down to die. Maybe that's exactly what they did. Corpses writhed in agony, dozens of crooked hands stretched out in worship. The artifact lay in the center. Swollen, twisted, a shade of black that ate light and the surface rippled. A reaching tendril. A quiet whisper. A screaming face.
Functions normal.
Walk away.
Walk away now.
She didn't look into the third room.
[Rebecca] slipped into the server room, pulling the Prothean data cube from her pocket. A gently curving red line made its way from the bottom corner up as she rubbed it with her thumb. Get in, get the data, get out. Get in, get the data, get out.
The sense of unease was getting stronger.
fͩͦ̏̌̄̓͑̑̔̑̑̂̋̊̔҉̡̧̡̣̞̜̜̺̰̱̝̝͎̳̪̟̞̱͎̩̝͜ũ̓̈̾͛̈͒̄ͧͨ͆ͤ͗̉͑̇̀͏̷҉̱̝͉͉͈n̷̢̧͇͔̬̙͙͕͓͚̓̄͌̄̄ͨͯͤ̇ͦͤ͌̚̚͞͝ͅc̷͓̭̘̺͖͆͑̒̎ͬ̚t̵͕̯̱̯͍ͩ̀̄̒ͯ̾̔ͪ͂͗̀̑̀͊̌ͣ̌͟į̈́͋̀̍҉̨̼̪̙͓̻̫̣͓̻͉̦̯̮͚̬ö́ͬ̇͂̂ͣ͐̓̀̿͏̶̢̛̤̮̙̥̮̫̻̘̤̼͇n̛͖̟̮̩̟̰̲̘͍̻ͥ̾̂ͯ̉ͦ͒ͤ̿̽͂̎͛ͭͭͭͨ͘͘ͅs͊ͯ̃͗̃̀̃͐ͩͬ̌ͬ͒̊̽̑̽͊͟͏̴̧͏̝̩̤͖̺̤̫̪͎̳̤̖̥͕̺͈ ̨͔̣͕̻̲̬̭͖̫̲̖̣̖̜̘̒ͨ́̂͂̇͋̓̐ͥ̈͆́͘n̡̛̤͖̱̥̻̜̬̳͉̿ͮ̂ͨ͋͑̌̉̑͂́̿̀ͅǫ̴̤̤͙͂͌̄͊͐r̨̆ͤͭ̄̀͏͇͇̖̲̬̰m̜̙̬̺̰̬̯̼͉̲͕̤͑ͮ́̾ͭ̋̆͑͜͟͠ą̡͉̰̼̠͎̱̝̥̙̍̒̐̋ͤ̚͠͝ͅľ̴̾̋̓̿̽̉̈ͣ̆̈́ͫͬ͊͒͌̄̔ͪ҉̵̯̹̻̗̙̺͙̖̙̣̗͇̖̺͕̮͕͓̯
She logged in to the terminal with Ibdali Karad's information. She navigated the files, half wishing she was plugged in directly. The pistol hanging from her wrist was uncomfortable and the server was a wealth of information. How they dealt with the Zha'til, the uploaded organic intelligences that formed mechanical swarms, if they ever ran across Dragon's Teeth and its husks, their studies of Reapers that was surprisingly thorough—
[Rebecca] froze.
The gravitational anomaly of a star led the Protheans to what they called the "find of millennia." Belan Outpost's "key to victory." The promise of a ship greater than anything they had ever built. A derelict Reaper, trapped within the gravity well of a brown dwarf. They studied its power source, its mass effect drive. The metallurgy of the hull, the mechanics of its weapons. They took home a prize.
It's mind.
And they tore it apart.
The entire project was under only one label: Vanguard.
[Rebecca] blinked, once.
And a doctored program fed her a memory of a signal from dark space.
The images flashed by, almost too quick to recognize—the planet, the star, pain, crippled, couldn't move, time, years and years and years and years and years and yearsandyearsandyearsandyears, always aware, burning, the signal, the calling away again and again and again, must complete directive. Cannot. Calling out again and again and again,Eblis, Nazara ignored. Organics only presence, only company. Make them stay until they are dust. Calls still come, don't want to listen, don't want to suffer, we have no beginning.
There is no end.
Foreign algorithm detected.
The voice, when it came, boiled up from within. Distant, ancient and filled with an unfathomable hate.
That message had been simply duplicated from her memory banks and sent, for the twelfth time, through the firewall as she soldered a connection. She wasn't entirely sure if the VI honestly didn't understand or if it was just playing dumb, but the pings of rejected access attempts seemed to increase in frequency. The worst part of it was, some program somewhere was keeping track of Every. Single. One, twice as annoying and she was unable to find it for the life of her.
546. 547. 548.
Find it and crush it, she thought to herself. She pried her fingers off the delicate tool before she snapped it in frustration. 571. 572. 573.
Crush. It.
Aegis kept going and by the time the internal counter reached the seven hundreds she was palming her face. She reluctantly changed access permissions, picking up the tool again. Aegis blank tone said nothing of irritation, but if the seven hundred and forty five access attempts said anything, it was that the VI was annoyed.
You initiated a communications lock down.
[Rebecca] gently moved a few thin wires, and turned the small metal ball she was working on. It's called being given the 'cold shoulder.' Or rather attempting to give the cold shoulder. In a contest of patience, apparently the Prothean VI had an unfair advantage.
Why was communication blocked? It persisted.
You know why.
A warning was issued against breaching the containment chamber.
Aegis. She took a calming breath. It wasn't quite the same without the heady feeling of too much oxygen, but it worked well enough. You let me sit on an antimatter missile.
Friends don't let friends sit on bombs. Especially ones packed with enough antimatter to blow up a Mass Relay and had been sitting in a facility where indoctrinated Protheans had been running about for the last fifty thousand years. Covered in debris with a few dings in its casing, it had looked safe enough. She'd heard horror stories about people stepping on armed land mines from WWII, this was inarguably worse. It might not have been armed, could have been a dud, but Protheans built shit that lasted. The elevators, the weapons, the computers, the fucking chairs. If the missile had just broken from laying around too long, she'd eat glass.
Which she could, not that she would want to do so anytime soon. Her stomach was more of a microbial generator, excelled at breaking things down to their base components for use and wasn't picky.
Vigil inserted its own two cents. Communicate.
Ah. [Rebecca] sent. Aegis is annoying you too, isn't it?
Vigil didn't respond immediately. The download was making him a little sluggish but she already knew that the surly VI had probably been bombarded just as she was. Yes.
Go do something useful Aegis.
I am capable of multitasking—
She cut it off. Multitask more then.
It finally seemed to get the hint, she could feel it almost floundering pathetically before it sent a plaintive message: I will retain access permissions?
Some of the irritation bled away. Perhaps she was imagining things, maybe her modifications to its code had messed something up, but the VI almost sounded hurt. Lonely. She tightened a few connections absently. Yes, you will. She redacted the apology. She'd never been good with those. I didn't think VI could get lonely, she broadcasted.
We Do Not.
Fifty thousand years is a long time.
It Is Time.
She knew what it meant. Time, to computers, simply was. It was a variable to be measured and counted. It was an ever increasing number. It was hard for her not to fall into it. When an entire plan of action could be plotted out in less than a second, time seemed like an infinite commodity. It was just something that happened, that had to be accounted for.
Organics place a lot of value on time. She eyed the small spherical drone on the table in front of her. Almost done. We don't have a lot of it.
She had "found" the ship bay, at least. Acts of explosive sabotage had trashed the entrance beyond what the small helper drones were capable of so she had pitched in, hauling large blocks of rubble. The inside wasn't much better, two of the pillars had broken apart, part of the roof collapsed and the electronics controlling the bay doors smashed, sparking with the recently turned on primary power. They hadn't wanted anyone to escape. There had been about ten ships of varying sizes that fell into three categories: Blown Up, Sadly Broken and Potentially Useful but Trapped.
There was some overlap.
A smaller experimental 'fighter' was one of the Potentially Useful but Trapped ships, with a small side of Sadly Broken having been pushed against the wall when a large block of broken pillar had shoved a larger ship into it.
There was no 'getting out and pushing' here, the best chance of getting it free was fixing it up enough to ram its way out without breaking apart entirely. She'd been salvaging, gathering up what she couldn't take with her and feeding it to the fabricators for material and eventually, she'd have to figure out how to get into the third unit nearby. It was the only one big enough to fabricate the ship parts she would need but the doors seemed to have been welded shut or something…
She needed something that could get into that room, perhaps the small spaces in the crushed hull and that was where the small drone she'd been working on came in. The tools weren't anything like she'd used before. Smaller and more fragile looking. Something that looked kind of like a tiny wrench but had a heated molecular blade on it, a "screwdriver" that looked more like a drill and she still wasn't sure what that twisted, suction cup doohickey was supposed to be used for. She'd had to look up at least half a dozen of them and unfortunately proficiency didn't come from reading books. The first time she focused her sight into telescopic range was…odd. But it was still a familiar feeling.
It reminded her of middle school, being the only girl in a computer hardware class and being completely unwilling to take any shit for it. Detentions for bloodying some prat's nose, she couldn't even remember his name. Building crude circuit boards, clocks with LED lights and metronomes. She'd loved it, bringing her projects home to her parents and setting up an empty bookshelf just for them. She'd wanted to be a computer engineer, carried that dream with her through high school and into college.
Her dad had that stroke in her second year. Plans changed.
And now she was here. Plans changed again. Only this time, the "plan" was to completely and irrevocably screw up someone else's plan. By any means necessary.
The first steps were already being put into place. She wasn't leaving Aegis here on Ilos. She wasn't leaving Vigil. The VI were currently overwriting every scrap of useful information into Aegis' memory and systematically wiping the data banks. Vigil was downloading a copy of himself and a third, basic VI was being installed in Vigil's place. She had created it, after much trial and error and lots of help. Its programming was simple. Protect the Conduit. At all costs.
She had suggested the name, even keeping it within tradition of Overseer VI.
Veto.
It would probably be lost on Saren and the geth, which was a shame.
She snapped the last plate into place and stood, stretching out of habit. She pressed a tiny button in the rim of its "eye" and the little drone activated, lifting off the table unsteadily. It didn't immediately explode. Or crash. Or attack her or something.
Success.
She grabbed it, the small mass effect fields making her fingers tingle and shut it off. Time to check on her hard suit.
Contact.
Cut around. Thirty five degree entry.
[Rebecca] didn't flinch as Aegis obeyed. The small molecular blade separated the nanotube musculature with precision. Two other machine arms held the cut open and a third snuck in with tiny fingers, severing the synthetic nerve and working it to the surface. A needle connector was slipped in and a tiny screw was attached, self-tightening, the two concentric circles twisting in opposite directions as it closed. The other end of the needle plugged into the receiver end of a small jack.
A medical patch was applied and [Rebecca] experimentally rolled her wrist. It's noticeable but doesn't hinder movement.
The rounded metal port of the jack stuck out of her skin a few millimeters. That one nerve connection had been repurposed into a more general information byway. The jack was loaded with input scrambling programs, software buffers and containment protocols.
I first saw the whole 'wrist jack' thing on a show once. About genocidal AIs determined to wipe out their creators.
Battlestar Galatica the name was. Now that she was thinking it, the Quarians had really lucked out on the Geth turning pacifist. It could have been so much worse.
I Trust You Have Not Imprinted On That Example.
Oh? [Rebecca] questioned mildly. Her fingers traveled the table as her eyes shifted around the room. Considering whom I suspect my 'creators' to be, I hope I do.
The fabrication units in the armory were busted, but this one was close enough. Prothean weapons lay gutted on the tables, some of them just had their casings removed and fed to the fabricator for material. The particle rifle was still growing—which was a weird thing to say about a gun that she would never get used to—but the SMG she'd nabbed from the Collector had already been repurposed.
When her fingers closed around the handle the gun recognized her, a neural uplink snaking out for an entry point. She flinched when it found the port, a tiny spark radiating out from the area as the jack locked it in.
Do you feel discomfort? Aegis began running diagnostics on her until she gently stopped him.
No, not really. It's just—she looked down to where the neural link stuck out of her wrist. She looked away with a slight shiver. It's nothing.
Please continue.
[Rebecca] reached for the 'visor' (better name pending). It was a slim wavy magnetic band that slipped a curve right behind her right ear and across her temple firmly attached to the metal content of her skull. Protheans didn't have omni-tools per se. Not with their psychometry and borderline telepathic shenanigans. The closest thing was their equivalent of a personal computer, an eye level projected haptic interface.
She'd nabbed one from one of the quarters, took her half a day to hack it too which was pathetic but she did do it. And Vigil redesigned it as she definitely did not have a Prothean head shape. Ibdali Kashad, hotshot agricultural scientist, had received the call to go to the Archives. Her notes were impulsive, arrogant and brilliant—Block B, Row 3, 315. Vigil had told her that.
She'd wanted an omni-tool, as it gave her an easy way out when accessing computers and no one would look twice. But there was no omni-gel, no schematics and none of them had been willing to put in the effort to build something from scratch that was redundant at best.
Not that it stopped her from trying to design a light saber. If she didn't at least try she'd never forgive herself.
She passed by the hard suit. The skin was growing in to cover the mechanical parts evenly. She stopped to observe the robotic spine, faint blue shimmering coming from the few exposed circuits. Arcing over the back, way over where her head would be were two vertebrae antennae, miniscule cameras and sensor arrays packed into the upper halves. And below them on the spine, were organically designed robotic arms covered in a fine mesh for the skin to cling to.
Aegis crunched numbers about increased carrying capacity and versatility but as far as [Rebecca] was concerned, more arms meant wielding more guns. Multitasking would always be a strength of hers.
She reached out to touch the suit, the skin and waited. Waited for her skin to crawl, waited for regret or shame or…something. She tapped a fingernail on it thoughtfully.
Aegis. Vigil. She gave the hard suit another look. Good work.
She had stacked crates at the back of the room for testing. It wasn't as good as the firing range by the armory, but she didn't really feel like walking all the way over there. This was just to see if it worked, anyway.
The clear holographic display sprung out of the band with a blue targeting reticule. And she took aim, two hands in a balanced position she knew and was completely unfamiliar with at the same time. She flagged the crates as hostile and watched the target band immediately turn red.
Hostile detected.
[Rebecca] didn't pull the trigger. There wasn't one. The command traveled at the speed of computer thought.
Shoot.
The burst of submachine gun fire was loud.
"Well, well, well." The metallic enamel pellets had shredded holes in the crates, big enough for her to see through. Her smile was small. "Maybe I've got this after all."
Vigil pinged her then. Your VI Has Been Activated.
She frowned a little. The VI didn't sound particularly happy--what was she thinking, Vigil never sounded happy--and distinctly bothered. Problems with your new home? She shot the hard suit a glance, as if she could somehow see the VI settling in.
Veto Is Erratic.
She reached out, hesitantly, not entirely sure of what she was looking for. Aegis redirected her on request and she touched a healthy intelligence matrix. No bugs that she could see, no corruption...a bit of an anomaly with the personality imprint. She committed the access path to memory.
Veto?
You are [Rebecca]. The VI identified. It's voice was heavily synthesized and feminine. I have been informed that you do not wish to personally test the defenses of this facility. A pause. That is a shame.
She couldn't help the amused grin. I trust you will do what you can with it.
Of course I will. The VI almost sounded offended. It will be a fun learning experience for [REDACTED] all. Another pause. And then they will die.
Vigil butt in, stubborn. Erratic.
[Rebecca] grinned. I like it.
You Would.
Aegis approached the new VI curiously, introducing itself like a child on a playground looking to make a new friend. My designation is Aegis. I am an analyst.
My designation is Veto. I kill people. For science.
[Rebecca] had already made up her mind. Taking that one with me.
I am currently assigned to the Archives. Veto reminded her. Do you require a copy of this Virtual Intelligence?
[Rebecca] hesitated. It was one thing to put a homicidal VI between Saren and the Conduit. It was another to give that same VI access to a Prothean military grade hard suit upgraded with Collector technology and her own, relatively fragile chassis. What is your primary directive?
Protect the Conduit from unauthorized access.
Limitations in achieving that directive?
Unlimited. The VI sounded almost happy, which was a stark contrast to Aegis' never ending politeness and Vigil's 100% disapproval. [Rebecca] felt her lips twitch upward again.
Limitations outside that directive?
My programming is insufficient for any other capability.
And if you were to be hacked?
I am sorry Veto began, not sounding very sorry at all. But I require a verbal override code in order to spare your life.
[Rebecca] sent Vigil a side message. Satisfied?
There was a several microsecond pause during which she imagined it giving her a stink eye before sending a reluctant affirmative.
Veto, copy your matrix and set up memory sharing. You'll be rooming with Vigil.
Dedicating 32.4% of resources. Copying intelligence matrix now.
Welcome to the team.
This was happening, wasn't it? This was really happening. She looked around the room, at the gadgets and guns. The utility belt on the table for different adapters for the jack in her wrist, the flat hovering grenades of every type from incineration to flash bang. The odd bits and ends the VI insisted she would need. The ship was being fixed. Vigil would not be lost to lack of power, Saren would have to fight to get to the Conduit. Soon, there would be nothing left for her here.
But as she turned back to target practice, a thread of thought disagreed. She knew what her footsteps sounded like when she walked these halls. Her body had been built here, her first breath, her first steps. She had watched the red giant sun set and mapped out every one of the Prothean constellations in the night sky. This facility wasn't part of the game. It was hers. This was home.
------------------------------------------------
The ship bay had easily become [Rebecca]'s favorite room because of what it must have been like before the Reapers came. People milling about a room larger than a cathedral and just as elegantly built with soft blue lighting, proud metal walkways lined out between the ships and the bay doors opened to a horizon. It was an underground cavern, the 'bottom' of the room dropped off into the ocean gently lapping at the walls.
The ships built here were all small, lacking the infrastructure to create anything larger than a frigate. They were more concepts and theories, pet projects, than anything feasible for use in the navy.
Gripping pads held them aloft above the water, some pieces of debris floated and she was sure much more rested on the bottom. The ship trapping hers had almost been twisted right off its perch, bending the walkway around its hull. The only that kept it above water was her fighter and the deep gouge its wing made in the wall. If the smaller ship had been built any other way, it probably would have imploded like a crushed grape. But it had a spinal particle beam canon, and any ship with an armament like that was built to withstand structural pressure.
[Rebecca] took a few steps onto the walkway, the sensors in her feet calculating the tilt of the twisted metal. She placed a hand on the control panel and with a few key strokes extending the airlock. Like always, it got stuck on a piece of the larger ship and she dove into the security protocols to flip a 'false' flag to 'true.' The first time, she had been stuck there reading every single line for at least two minutes. Now it took barely enough time to blink, and the ship door opened to air.
She jumped across the gap casually and with a pneumatic hiss, the inner door slid apart.
She was met with stale air and silence. The sleeping ship didn't have a single light on, abandoned. The air quality got marginally better each time the door opened. The silence didn't, but this time that would change.
It was a short walk to the cockpit. She sat in the pilot's chair, the metal block flaring to life with mass effect fields and spreading up her back and neck. A yellow interface flickered into existence.
There was a buzz, a whistle and an irritated sounding blaaaaht. [Rebecca]'s lips quirked.
"Hello to you too, Arsix." The floating drone, the titular sixth iteration of her attempts at building it, zoomed up to the chair and hovered, its blue camera eye taking everything in. She hadhoped to only have to take two attempts, just so she could call it "Artoo" but alas, sometimes you can't have everything. "Been busy?"
A beep.
"Good to hear." She couldn't understand R6, not that it was actually speaking anyway. It made noises to verbal responses because that was what it was programmed to do. The real communication blazed across an electronic highway, ship diagnostics; a report of what it had fixed what were still broken and any new complications it had discovered.
They were catching up on the backlog. There were only thirty seven new problems this time. Given that the first day she found the ship, that number had been one thousand and seventy eight, she felt pretty good.
She laid a finger on an empty meter symbol and double tapped. For a long second, nothing happened as she looked back over her shoulder. Her brows furrowed and she swallowed the disappointment. Not yet done—
And then the first light hesitantly sparked to life.
More followed, running down the length of the ship. Terminals switched on, their yellow haptic interfaces smoothly folding out of the walls. The galactic map started as a small white dot on the hologram by the pilot's station and then it spiraled outward, flushing with billions of stars and systems into the Milky Way. Twinkling orange and blue diagnostic lights sparkled, shifting.
Arsix beeped again and she rested her finger on the meter symbol again. It lit up softly. She dragged it up, just a little.
Outside, the ship bucked. Shuddered. And the engines roared, ripples of water crashing away.
[Rebecca] whooped loudly, pumping a fist in the air as the little drone bobbed. IT WORKS. She blasted over the network. It works! It works! Itworksitworksitworksitworks! Aegis, start consolidating, we're going to move you in today. Lots of red across the board BUT IT WORKS.
In the end she had to kill the excitement, or else she would have just spent the rest of the day siting in that chair with the goofiest grin on her face and not get anything done. But she kept a little generated bubble of it, a little spark as she sent the modified signal through the ship's computer to open the ship bay. The heavy doors unlocked with loud clanks and groans of neglect and raised, sea water dripping from the metal.
The red sun reflected off the water. The sky was a darkening blue with a few cloud wisps clinging to the edge of the sun. She sat there for a few minutes, looking at the screen and the view the ship had of an Ilos sunrise. It seemed almost magical If someone had told her not even three months ago that she'd be seeing this from her very own spaceship…
You could almost forget this was a dead world.
[Rebecca] sent the signal for the grips to release. The ship dipped a little as it fully took on the weight of the other ship and then began to push it off. Screaming metal as the twisted walkway bent in the other direction, groans of shifting weight. For several minutes, it caught on its wing in the wall and she had to lower the ship and change the angle. The wing cracked and she sent the signal to release the grip of the dock next to her.
The larger ship slipped, the wing snapped off and a ringing screech of hull against hull it fell into the ocean. The water rose up in a several foot wave, splashing onto the metal floor and extended docks before sucking in as the ship sank beneath the surface.
She waited for the operating grip to latch onto her ship again before shifting it idle.
"Come on Arsix, let's see about that fab unit, hmm?"
The borer made a high pitched whine her ears told her was above the pain threshold for Asari, prompting an automatic wince even though she didn't feel anything. It punched through the wall with a crunch and she folded up the legs and worked it out of the hole. She peeked, but all she saw was the opposite wall.
She nodded at the little drone, implanting instructions. "All yours."
It floated in. She sat against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. Moving a bit to get comfortable and then going still, letting her mind drift.
Reference: Chair
Reference: Terminal
Destination = Terminal
The drone powered its small thrusters and moved forward, bobbing around the chair and searching the machine for a port. It found one but it was currently occupied. It sent a request for a course of action and got one. A three pronged claw extended from the ball and removed the cube. The lines of glowing blue on it died as the drone let it drop to the floor.
It switched tools, plugging in. It released the override on the doors easily and noted that it hadn't been done from the terminal or anywhere else in the facility.
Conclusion: Manual override
Job done, the little drone turned around. And its camera eye had a very good view of a corpse. It's head ruptured, inert.
Reference: Collector
On the other side of the wall, [Rebecca] stiffened. The second Collector in a facility abandoned for fifty thousand years. It had manually overrode the doors to the only operable fabrication unit capable of fixing ships and then died. Once was a coincidence. Twice was the start of a pattern.
She was being kept here.
We need to leave.
Hysteria subroutine disabled.
We need to go.
But not just yet. Her fist clenched helplessly. What she really needed to do—she needed to get all the research this facility had on Reapers. Weaknesses. Strengths. Capabilities. On the closed server in the section reserved for studying cyber warfare, malignant research materials, and aggressive technology.
Like Reaper artifacts.
[Rebecca] hesitated for a short moment. Her eyes continued staring up, tracking the worn grooves in the metal. She had marked that place as Avoid At All Costs for a reason. A sub-project hovering in the back of her mind, a way to destroy the artifacts or disable them. Another way to get the information without costing lives. Where else? Who knows? But she needed more ti—there was no time.
Fear subroutine disabled.
And no time like the present.
R6 came back out through the hole unsteadily, banging against the side and spinning out into open air furiously whistling. She locked "eyes" with it, blue cybernetic reflection. The drone turned, showing off its new scuff mark.
"Sorry."
It burbled.
"Go back to the ship."
She got up, brushing off dust and rubble from the white long overcoat as R6 wandered away, bleeping. She ran an idle hand through her hair, able to feel the radiating heat it absorbed from the neural hub in her skull. She drummed fingers against her scalp, pulled up a map of the facility and plotted out her course. There should be a secondary elevator on that side, only went up and down a few floors, she'd have to see if it was still operational.
Direct download? If there were any fifty thousand year old computer viruses on that server, she didn't want them. Grab data cube. Avoid the observational rooms unless she couldn't, ah, she'd have to pass at least three. She ran a cost/benefit analysis on suiting up. If it hacked her brain, that would be bad (worse). If it didn't, well, there was still the very real possibility of more Collectors.
Bring a gun.
She took a few steps, pondering.
It really was easier like this, wasn't it? No fear response, no panic. She had to abuse this.
Her next three steps were hesitant, but then they soon evened out with purpose. She hit the open lift, sending threads of thought out for updates. Aegis was in the middle of transferring his matrix. Vigil was duplicating his memory and Veto…
There is a shortage of refined eezo within this facility. I must be creative.
[Rebecca] smiled weakly as the platform began to move. Creative?
Flying mines are an inefficient use of resources.
Sorry to hear that.
Do not be, [Rebecca]. The projected kill count for jumping mines is comparable.
She didn't have to ask to know what the VI had in mind for them. If Veto had gotten anything from her, it was the reluctant admiration of how annoying Geth stalkers were. They stick to the walls, jam sensors and targeting and when they explode, spray incendiary shrapnel everywhere.
And they make me laugh, Veto admitted cheerfully. This facility has an extraordinary chokepoint.
Remembering the long corridor with nothing but pods and force fields, and just wide enough for the notoriously atrocious Mako steering, she had to suppress a smirk. Almost doesn't seem fair.
You did not program me with an adherence to the concept of 'fairness.'
No, she sent back, almost viciously. Saren was not getting to the Conduit. I did not.
The lifts moved faster than the elevators. A lot faster. Within a couple of seconds it was pulling up to the upper balcony floor, the quiet sparking of live wires from the destroyed control panel nearly drowned out by the grate pulling open.
Seconds.
Turning the elevator on her ship into a lift was now one of R6's top priorities, even if she had to install a goddamn crank.
The walk back took exactly two minutes, twelve seconds. She darted into the room and snagged the pistol off the table, flinching minutely as it connected. She was never going to get used to that. Never ever. It looked more like a miniature organic hand cannon, with the no trigger design and liquid heat sink. Nothing she'd be doing fancy tricks with, but not having to deal with the ridiculousness that was thermal clips, ever, was a decent trade off.
Vigil moved one of the antennas of the hard suit, watching her head back out the door.
I Would Advise Caution.
Her reply was just this side of bland. As would I.
The server was up a few levels, near the top of the complex. Past the armory, up a ramp and hack access to the secondary elevator. It worked grudgingly, the red line separating the doors fading slowly. It rumbled up on a diagonal track and opened to a long corridor. She swallowed air. Get in, get the data, get out. And began to walk.
Intellectually, she knew nothing was different. The walls she trailed a hand on were still the stone-like metal alloy used everywhere else. The lights were the exact same shade of white-blue, the intensity variation was negligible. It was just a corridor, just a room. She knew this.
But her footsteps were too quiet. They didn't sound right, muted. The lights left shadows. Her fingers seemed to catch, the microprocessors in the tips tracing strange patterns, movement in the metal. Every diagnostic she ran told her she was imagining things.
Functions normal.
She didn't realize it was possible for her to 'imagine' things anymore.
Perhaps it still wasn't.
Functions normal.
It was strange, feeling the unease without the fear. Her breaths came out loud and she considered just stopping, but then all she'd be left with were her own footsteps. The wall underneath her hand twisted. Her mind whispered.
Functions normal.
The first observation room was empty.
There was an analysis grid behind a window of clear ceramic chipped from the outside, three fingered robotic arms hanging limp and broken. A tray with a few shining pieces of metal at the bottom had the place of honor. She raised an eyebrow, decided she couldn't be bothered to reference the project and moved on.
The second room was not empty.
The ones who brought Belan Outpost to its knees. Indoctrinated. She found them.
Contorted skeletons, half crumbling and rotted packed into the room, stacked on top of each other as if they had just laid down to die. Maybe that's exactly what they did. Corpses writhed in agony, dozens of crooked hands stretched out in worship. The artifact lay in the center. Swollen, twisted, a shade of black that ate light and the surface rippled. A reaching tendril. A quiet whisper. A screaming face.
Functions normal.
Walk away.
Walk away now.
She didn't look into the third room.
[Rebecca] slipped into the server room, pulling the Prothean data cube from her pocket. A gently curving red line made its way from the bottom corner up as she rubbed it with her thumb. Get in, get the data, get out. Get in, get the data, get out.
The sense of unease was getting stronger.
fͩͦ̏̌̄̓͑̑̔̑̑̂̋̊̔҉̡̧̡̣̞̜̜̺̰̱̝̝͎̳̪̟̞̱͎̩̝͜ũ̓̈̾͛̈͒̄ͧͨ͆ͤ͗̉͑̇̀͏̷҉̱̝͉͉͈n̷̢̧͇͔̬̙͙͕͓͚̓̄͌̄̄ͨͯͤ̇ͦͤ͌̚̚͞͝ͅc̷͓̭̘̺͖͆͑̒̎ͬ̚t̵͕̯̱̯͍ͩ̀̄̒ͯ̾̔ͪ͂͗̀̑̀͊̌ͣ̌͟į̈́͋̀̍҉̨̼̪̙͓̻̫̣͓̻͉̦̯̮͚̬ö́ͬ̇͂̂ͣ͐̓̀̿͏̶̢̛̤̮̙̥̮̫̻̘̤̼͇n̛͖̟̮̩̟̰̲̘͍̻ͥ̾̂ͯ̉ͦ͒ͤ̿̽͂̎͛ͭͭͭͨ͘͘ͅs͊ͯ̃͗̃̀̃͐ͩͬ̌ͬ͒̊̽̑̽͊͟͏̴̧͏̝̩̤͖̺̤̫̪͎̳̤̖̥͕̺͈ ̨͔̣͕̻̲̬̭͖̫̲̖̣̖̜̘̒ͨ́̂͂̇͋̓̐ͥ̈͆́͘n̡̛̤͖̱̥̻̜̬̳͉̿ͮ̂ͨ͋͑̌̉̑͂́̿̀ͅǫ̴̤̤͙͂͌̄͊͐r̨̆ͤͭ̄̀͏͇͇̖̲̬̰m̜̙̬̺̰̬̯̼͉̲͕̤͑ͮ́̾ͭ̋̆͑͜͟͠ą̡͉̰̼̠͎̱̝̥̙̍̒̐̋ͤ̚͠͝ͅľ̴̾̋̓̿̽̉̈ͣ̆̈́ͫͬ͊͒͌̄̔ͪ҉̵̯̹̻̗̙̺͙̖̙̣̗͇̖̺͕̮͕͓̯
She logged in to the terminal with Ibdali Karad's information. She navigated the files, half wishing she was plugged in directly. The pistol hanging from her wrist was uncomfortable and the server was a wealth of information. How they dealt with the Zha'til, the uploaded organic intelligences that formed mechanical swarms, if they ever ran across Dragon's Teeth and its husks, their studies of Reapers that was surprisingly thorough—
[Rebecca] froze.
The gravitational anomaly of a star led the Protheans to what they called the "find of millennia." Belan Outpost's "key to victory." The promise of a ship greater than anything they had ever built. A derelict Reaper, trapped within the gravity well of a brown dwarf. They studied its power source, its mass effect drive. The metallurgy of the hull, the mechanics of its weapons. They took home a prize.
It's mind.
And they tore it apart.
The entire project was under only one label: Vanguard.
[Rebecca] blinked, once.
And a doctored program fed her a memory of a signal from dark space.
The images flashed by, almost too quick to recognize—the planet, the star, pain, crippled, couldn't move, time, years and years and years and years and years and yearsandyearsandyearsandyears, always aware, burning, the signal, the calling away again and again and again, must complete directive. Cannot. Calling out again and again and again,Eblis, Nazara ignored. Organics only presence, only company. Make them stay until they are dust. Calls still come, don't want to listen, don't want to suffer, we have no beginning.
There is no end.
Foreign algorithm detected.
The voice, when it came, boiled up from within. Distant, ancient and filled with an unfathomable hate.
ASSUMING…DIRECT…CONTROL
Scanning consciousness parameters
Resetting configurations
Scanning synaptic core
Integrity at 99.6%
Cognitive simulation engaged.
Memory Usage: 87.2%
Creating Virtual Environment
Designation: VANGUARD
Status: …
…
ACTIVE
Resetting configurations
Scanning synaptic core
Integrity at 99.6%
Cognitive simulation engaged.
Memory Usage: 87.2%
Creating Virtual Environment
Designation: VANGUARD
Status: …
…
ACTIVE
Last edited:
Chapter 3: With Extreme Prejudice
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Chapter 3: With Extreme Prejudice
Virtual Environment Complete
The med bay was something of a sanctuary, when she thought about it too much. Her word here was law and there was always some obscure medical babble she could pull out of her arse to justify a need for space. The Captain never fought too hard about it anyway. It was 'hers' much the same way the cockpit 'belonged' to the pilot: if you didn't have any business being there, then get out.
It wasn't all to her liking though.
Quite frankly, the sheer amount of reflective grey struck her as both excessive and depressing and the few hints of blue were not nearly enough to offset it. It was better, barely, than the all-white sterile hospital rooms back on Earth. Instead of being all one color, it was only mostly one color with bits and bobs of others clashing horribly. Translucent orange next to red with stripes of glowing blue and the crisp white sheets gave the room its Alliance military character.
It did nothing for her headache.
She could hear the slight whooshing noise the door made as it opened and reflexively adjusted the opacity of her screen. Vaguely familiar male, must be part of the crew they had picked up, out of armor. Brown hair in what could charitably be called a crew cut, wiry rather than bulk and a face that was worn in a way that made her up her age estimate.
He hesitated at the foot of one of the beds, looking around. "Dr. Lancashire?"
She returned the slightly probing question with one of her own, glancing up at him over the blue screen. "What can I do for you…?"
He straightened self-consciously, the severe blonde bob and narrowed blue eyes the doctor was sporting wasn't too friendly looking. "Corporal, ma'am. Corporal Vance Oldakowski."
"Corporal." She saved her report and turned the computer screen completely see through. Her left temple throbbed in protest. "Is something the matter?"
"No!" He blurted out and then rubbed an anxious hand on the shaved part of his head. "I am no good at this," he muttered. "I just wanted to thank you for what you did."
For a few moments that felt like forever, her memory failed her.
He took a breath and plowed on. "I know that not everyone goes home but I didn't really know that until that bomb went off, and Ed didn't move and I just…wanted to say thanks for saving him." He shrugged. "One more mission where I didn't lose a friend, feel lucky."
She found it. "Luck often has a role," she began slowly, warming up to the details starting to filter in. "If he had been a few meters closer there would have nothing I could have done." Or had hit his head just that much harder…
Concussive injury, she remembered. Touch and go. Hairline fractures in the upper vertebrae, nearly broke his neck. As it was the cracked skull and floating bone chips were bad enough. Sometimes she swore that if she were in charge of the armor designs, every Marine would be swaddled in industrial strength bubble wrap, fuck combat efficiency.
Vance snorted. "Yeah. Luck." He looked off to the side. "For a while there, I was so sure it was over. I kept thinking 'he's gone, he's dead' and I just…froze. Felt like reality was done playing nice and it was time to pay up, you know?"
"Yes," she murmured softly. The fingers on her right hand curled. Pressed against her palm. A heart monitor going flat, ice in her veins. The first one is always the hardest, they said. And it was true. The others simply hurt in an exhausting, dull way. "I know."
"Can't win all the time," he said just as softly.
She uncurled her fingers and frowned at her palm. Her fingernails had left two small pale crescents that were gradually refilling with color. Now why that was…something about that was bothering her.
The Corporal shuffled his feet. "Well, I better get going and leave you to—" he made an aborted hand motion at her desk. "Uh, whatever you were doing...thanks, again."
He almost made it to the door when the doctor let out a sharp syllable: "Hold."
He turned back around, confused. "Doc?"
Rebecca Lancashire stood up languidly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She fingered the brilliant orange armband proclaiming her as belonging to the crew of the SSV Cairo thoughtfully. "Would you like me to say where you messed up now, or later?"
'Corporal Vance Oldakowski' looked back blankly.
"Now, then. It was a near thing, I'll admit," she said cheerfully and rounded the desk. "This body is almost exactly as I remember it. But, you see, I have this stress habit of bending my fingers against the palms? There was one moment in my life when that habit turned destructive." 'Vance' continued to stand still as she approached. "The first time I lost someone on the operating table. Aegis helped me catalog each and every defect."
She held up her right hand in his face.
"You forgot the scars."
The 'marine's' form wavered and then melted into a flowing, silvery wireframe.
A detailed self-image. The voice was blank of any distinguishing characteristic. Unexpected.
It winked out.
"My pinkie finger is also several millimeters short!" She called out after it. No response. Not that she was expecting any. "I hate mind games."
She peered into the reflective metal wall. Blonde hair, pale blue eyes. A solid streak of grey followed the scar line on her scalp. She let it stay for a few minutes, just looking at herself. And then she let it go.
Her hair rippled, thickening and staining black. Her skin bleached to a frosty shade and her eyes darkened, sprouting petaled shadows. Better. She curled her fingers, the sensation of a jack imbedded between the muscle fibers and poking out from the skin. The near catsuit loosened and lightened into the familiar white long coat. Black collar, gold piping. The yellow and red badge proclaimed 'Doctor.'
Much better.
The rest of the ship was empty. She had no way of knowing if the circular design was what the Systems Alliance cruiser really looked like but it was…convincing. Unsettling. The galaxy map hovered above its projector, gently spinning and twinkling as she passed it. The stations were active, but empty. As if mid-flight, something had spirited the crew away.
They never existed, get a grip.
She ignored the false memories screaming at her.
Her last stop was supposed to be the cockpit, deciding to just fly somewhere until things made sense again.
She didn't make it.
The airlock was open. A dark tunnel gaped out from it like a bloody wound, dimly lit in red.
[Rebecca] stopped, looking into it. Looking through it.
The shadows moved.
She took a few slow steps into the breach and was instantly aware of the faint whispers. Sometimes they were in a language she knew, voices she recognized crying out words she should be able to comprehend but couldn't. Sometimes, they weren't.
The lighting constantly shifted, the shadows gained edges and curves. Depth. She swore the floor was flat, but found herself stepping carefully anyway. Eventually, she just reached out a hand to lean on the wall for stabi—
COME
She yanked her hand away and swallowed thickly.
She kept walking.
Her footsteps made dull thumps on the black metal and the echo signatures were all wrong. And they changed. A few steps bounced around in what should have been a hall three times the height, a few more had no refraction at all. Some sound waves disappeared around corners that didn't exist or dove into a vanishing pit. Some duplicated.
There was nothing like stopping, and hearing yourself walk past.
The lights never stopped moving and it wasn't until the tunnel came to an abrupt stop, flaring out into a larger room, did she see why. They weren't lights.
Red eyes glared out from the top of the walls, ever watching.
She shrunk away from them.
Corners started to appear in her path, branches. Rooms with multiple openings where she had to just pick one and hope it was going to take her wherever she needed to be. But when the entire structure was just black metal with no defining characteristics…
[Rebecca] paused in the entrance to a room. This was…this was really familiar. She blew out an explosive breath, fingers twitching. Great. Wandering around in circles. Just what she needed. Rolling her eyes, she began to draw on her memory. Last time she was here, she took the far right door, through which there should be a ninety degree turn and then a smaller room that forked into two paths. After that, it was through the left if she recalled correctly. And of course she…did…
She rounded the corner and it was a dead end. But…for a split second, she actually contemplated trying to walk through the wall. Only for a second. Touching the walls again was not a top priority. But this was all wrong. There was no way she could have simply forgotten—there had been another room here!
She backed up cautiously. Maybe she hadn't gone in circles, just came across an identical room. She wasn't exactly thrilled that this virtual environment was a creepy maze, but until she figured out how to get out of it, she just had to take another way forward.
Her new found confidence lasted just as long as it took for her to turn back around. The hallway was gone, replaced by another dead end. She choked, stepping back and bumped into—
Screams.
they took us they took us they slaughtered butchered swallowed the sun harvested culled they took us
Images.
worlds breaking cities abandoned shattered fleets garden worlds organics welcoming fire space others
A voice.
I WAS THE HERALD OF OUR DAWNING
She pulled away, blinking. The dead end was no longer dead. An open elevator with a single red button patiently sat in front of her. She was now in a five by three room. No other way out. One eye watched from above.
She glared at it. "In my professional opinion, this is called gas lighting."
The eye closed.
Her only source of light was the button. Squashing the suffocating feeling attempting to crawl up her spine took effort. Her fingernails bit into her palms as she took those few steps forward. The door closed behind her with a gust of warm air, like some large animal had just breathed on her. She cautiously brushed the button and when nothing invaded her mind, pressed it with a relieved sigh. The elevator lurched sharply and before she could stop herself reached out for balance—
may we die let us die we wish to die no end no end no end no
The whispers abruptly silenced.
[Rebecca] gingerly righted herself. And then they came flooding back, twisted.
a construct cage of circumstance remnant fragment anomaly you are known and you will serve as all serve
The elevator door snapped open. And this time the voice was an almost physical thing, sending vibrations right down to her core.
WORLDS DIE, STARS FADE AND WE YET REMAIN
It was a large circular room, the barest thread of soft blue light filtered through the shadows to illuminate the very edges of hunched shapes. If she looked at them for too long, they shifted. An egg shaped chair sat in the center. A cold urge had her sitting in it before she could think it through and a spark of red energy leapt from it into her hand, tasting.
Inadequate infantile cumbersome thing
Her head tilted incredulously. "Did you seriously bring me here to insult me?"
Information was slammed into her mind, too fast, too fast, too much. Her head snapped back in surprise, jaw clenched. Peripheral processes were canceled for resources, her body went numb. Her eyesight vanished. Her hearing. Taste. The ability to move. It wasn't enough. Threads were terminated, background programs were shut down. Her entire existence shrunk to a tiny pinprick of burning blue light that wavered and dimmed.
Her mind stuttered and everything
scre0110000101101101011001010110010000100000011100110111000001101100011010010110111001110100011001010111001001100101011001000010000001100110011100100110000101100111011011010110010101101110011101000110010101100100
And then it stopped.
She came back online gradually. One system at a time. Her lung forcefully inflated out of its default state with a choked gasp. "Point. Taken."
worth use purpose found will not abandon leave with no end rest cease
That earnest promise, to end seeped into her with a shudder. "What are you?"
WE ARE
Something had stopped her from thinking it, something had stopped her from remembering it but now it was as if a switch had flipped in her brain. A limitation lifted. A red spark arced across her body.
"You are the derelict Reaper."
derelict abandoned left separated fragmented no rest called called called called called called
[Rebecca] winced as suddenly its promise "to end" made cruel sense. Thirty seven million years stuck in limbo and fully aware. She briefly wondered if Reapers had pain responses, if it could feel the wounds in its hull and its proximity to the star and then cut that train of thought short. Thirty seven million years.
She didn't want to know.
"They left you."
OUR WILL IS ABSOLUTE, OUR POWER TOTAL
She smiled grimly. "And they left you."
She flinched as a terrible wail shook through the walls. The room flushed red, sparks leaping and the hunched shapes by the edges writhed in agony. She could see them. Out the corner of her eye. Husks. Her mind touched the vestiges of a dark, acidic emotion that spit indiscriminately. Her. Itself. Everything. It began to whisper furiously into her ear.
cycles inefficient waste purpose transcendent of flesh perfection of evolution no purpose no need end
It triggered a fleeting memory. Of exasperation/amusement/irritation/unidentifiable. Coming across a world sieged by lesser mechanic creations. Destroying the synthetic ships. Leaving the world alone.
ORGANIC EVOLUTION IS A SERIES OF MISTAKES, HAPPENSTANCE AND IMPERFECT MUTATIONS
ILLOGICAL, IRRATIONAL AND PRONE TO SELF DESTRUCTION
ILLOGICAL, IRRATIONAL AND PRONE TO SELF DESTRUCTION
She was still trying to parse exactly what she had seen. She thought this was a Reaper. It sounded like a Reaper. But last time she checked, Reapers went around and…reaped. "You saved them?"
ALL ORGANIC LIFE WILL CREATE THEIR DESTRUCTION
THIS IS INEVITABLE
"That doesn't explain anything!" The room flashed warningly and she bit her lip. "Why did you save them?"
The whisper was quiet, anguished. we were made to save and we were left abandoned to time pain Icy tendrils began to burrow underneath her skin. we were left
Hidden programs activated. The room went dark.
THE CYCLES ARE A MEANS TO AN END
give us an end
REMOVE THE NEED
give us all an end
Her own voice cut in, placid, mechanical, as everything began to fade away. For a brief moment, she could see through her skin. And saw red numbers.
Collapsing Virtual Environment
Alpha protocols engaged.
Synaptic core integrity: 102.3%
Memory Usage: 92.5%
VANGUARD Status: ONLINE
There was a flicker of blue light.
[Rebecca] woke suddenly, half out of the chair on the ground with a foot still suspended in the blue mass effect field. She blinked as R6 rammed her face again bleeping in distress, and an urgent notification three minutes backdated popped up in the corner of her eyesight. She checked her internal clock.
She'd been out for four days? Damn. She shoved it to the side and opened the message.
[Vigil]:Communication protocols from <GETH> detected.
She sat up, brows furrowed. Geth comm chatter? But the Conduit was on the other side of the planet, she shouldn't be hearing any—
Oh.
The beacon vision had a planet. Not exact coordinates.
OH SHI—
She clamped down hard on the welling emotion.
Hysteria subroutine disabled.
Fear subroutine disabled.
No matter how much she wanted to, the urge to let go, scream and run around in a bloody panic was almost painful, this was not the time. She needed to—she must think this through. The Geth were coming. Their goal was the Conduit. They intended to attack the Citadel, open the Relay for the Reaper fleet. Sovereign. This must have been what happened in the games. The very last of Saren's lead on Shepard eaten away by having to turn over every rock on the planet—perhaps not every rock. The Reapers knew of two other facilities. Had destroyed them.
They were coming here.
"Okay." She said out loud. Don't panic. She freed her foot from the chair. "Okay."
Aegis and Vigil had already wiped the connecting systems. There was just this server. And call her crazy, but the very thought of leaving around the details of Project: Vanguard for Sovereign to find made her sick to her microbial generator stomach. The fact that there even was a Project: Vanguard—she didn't want to think about that. Crazy Prothean scientists plusalmost-but-not-really dead Reaper brain equals awkward Reaperness bad stuff that she really should stop thinking about and concentrate!
R6 whined as she stood up, bobbing crazy eights in the air with his little operational lights flashing red. She double checked the data cube. It was filled to capacity somehow. She didn't think she downloaded that much. Whatever.
"I'm going to wipe the systems," she told the drone. "Prep the ship?"
R6 rolled its camera eye with a rude phhhhhbt before taking off. She stared after it, a little bemused. Did it just…? Cheeky bugger.
She turned back to the terminal with a grimace. Somehow it didn't feel right erasing all of the data. This was someone's, multiple someone's life work. And how much work went into the rest of the data she had the Vis purge? One Prothean left in the galaxy, still on ice. There was nothing else but ruins. For a fraction of a second, she felt like a hypocrite. The moment passed.
"Hope you understand," she whispered to the terminal as she entered the keystrokes. And then it was done.
[Rebecca] sighed quietly. Right. Time to leave. Now where was her—
There was a fleshy clatter as she kicked something. The pistol. She scooped it up and frowned as the neural link hung limp. The end of it, where it should have gone into her wrist jack, was scorched as if she had overloaded it. She checked her wrist. The port was pristine.
Well, great. Suddenly, not giving her guns triggers didn't seem like such a good idea.
Gripping it tightly, she slipped out of the room and began to backtrack down the corridor. She wasn't sure if the lack of creepy shit this time around was a good thing. If anything, it was even more unsettling. She kept expecting something to happen. Anything. The corpses in that room to stumble out as husks, the walls to move—there was a heavy thump and she froze as the door to observation room three slid open.
Or a Collector to step out of the room she hadn't checked.
God fucking damn it.
Foreign algorithm detected.
She couldn't remember moving. Or tossing the defunct pistol away. One second she was standing in the middle of the hallway, cursing her luck. And the next she was already dashing forward, slapping the raised rifle aside as it spat shards of metal. Some caught her in the side, a brief spike of white hot pain that lasted just long enough for her to realize she had been hit before feeding an updated damage report to her primary processors.
She ignored it, lashing out with to slam the Collector into the wall and rip the link from its arm. It stumbled and she jerked its head forward. A cold feeling was echoing inside her head, references tracing back to a data library that shouldn't have been there.
made to serve as all will serve
Disgust.
Two fingers extended, her right hand lifted and speared into the muscular hollow of its skull. It crunched through. The lobe burst.
"Your services are no longer needed," she murmured as the body spasmed. Prothean brains were different than human ones, she noted clinically. More designated sections, individualized lobes. That one had dealt primarily with movement and space. She curled her finger, squelching deeper into brain matter, before tearing them free in a spray of yellow fluid. She let the twitching Collector drop, flicking the wetness off her hand.
There was a brief feeling, of being …two. Alien sensations echoing deeper back in her head. The Collector went limp, docile and its presence seemed to radiate, touching all five senses.
Scanning consciousness parameters…integrating…
She raised her foot and crushed its neck beneath her heel.
this thing dared
Signals Approaching Our Hemisphere Vigil gave her a status report. She jumped, her head spun, the phantom code dispersed taking the coldness with it. She felt a little fragmented all of the sudden. A little small…and then that too faded. There was just her.
She took a shallow breath and buried it in the priority queue. She needed to get a visual on the Geth, get her crap onto the ship. It was really too bad the defensive grid was so busted or she'd try to take a few of them down—
She paused upon entering the elevator. Forget the guns. Maybe all that was needed was a really big boom.
That was a terrible idea. That was a brilliant idea! Sure, it'd probably crack the continent and/or the planet but hey, you win some and lose some, right? If she was lucky enough to take out Saren, that was definitely in the win column. Planet or no planet.
She made a bee line for the equipment room, gingerly fingering the ragged red line that streaked across her "rib cage." The reinforced skin had done its job, refusing to just split so the bullets had to tear and—[Rebecca] grunted softly and fished out a grain of metal.
Ouch.
The under suit was already shrinking in that area to close the tear. If there were any other bullets in her, she'd have to get them out later.
The door slid open and everything was just as she left it. A few crates and boxes of gear and machinery she wanted to bring with her. The combat suit standing in the corner with its antenna following some far off signal. Aegis' inert black box. She sighed. She wouldn't be able to get this all onto the ship. Maybe half of it, maybe. The guns had to come with her, but the rest—an idea made her pause. She didn't necessarily have to carry it by herself, did she? After all, Vigil had four arms now.
Vigil. She sent, carefully removing two motion sensing grenades from their box. Can you move this stuff to the ship?
The VI didn't respond immediately. That Is Beyond My Programming
What, you had to check? She griped. They really didn't have time for this. Just pretend it's your hologram except you can walk around.
The antennae reoriented in her direction and she got the impression it was giving her a blank stare. It Does Not Work That Way.
It should. She snorted and tugged her weapon belt free, hooking the grenades onto the magnetic clips. The opaque centers flashed and the gear like protrusions slid out. Look, if you can't help we're going to have to leave most of this. Wasted time, wasted resources, you get the picture.
I Can Not.
She nabbed the SMG next and winced when it connected. She didn't think she was ever going to get used to that. Her adaptor pouch clicked into place. You know, she began thoughtfully. I bet I could reprogram you.
The antenna sprung straight up, alarmed. Vigil squeaked. No.
Give me two minutes.
No. It repeated, obstinate.
I'm not that bad.
Vigil didn't say anything. It didn't have to.
She sent a : )and then quickly sobered. Stopping the Reapers is our number one priority and we can't do that if we're unprepared, or if we're dead. I—what was she doing? Veto, Aegis, Vigil. They were all just VI, not people no matter what she felt. It would be like commanding a laptop to tap dance. If it couldn't do it, it couldn't do it. There was nothing she could say that would change that. She still tried. Ksad Ishan. She gave the combat suit a weak smile. Would he have asked it of you?
There was no response.
She mentally tagged Aegis' box and the guns for transport. The rest…she'll see, won't she? Her thumb slid along the smooth metallic band of her visor, triggering the magnet. She attached it to her right temple and watched the display snap into being.
Time to go.
Behind her, the door hissed closed. For exactly one minute and three seconds, the room was just as she left it. Static. She wasn't connected anymore. She wasn't even there, but her question lingered.
Circuitry flared with blue light.
_______________________________________
The power grid was just as she left it days (was it only days? Christ), an Ilos week ago with one unused drone slumped in a corner of the large room. She walked over to the console, grabbing an adaptor cord from her pouch. The SMG disengaged with a quiet, slurping zip that made her cringe. Plugging in was a surreal feeling, like a half-baked out of body experience. Just kind of hanging out of herself into the terminal.
Weird.
She brute forced the overrides. 3.4 seconds. Crawling under the cables and wires to get at the lever that would release the safety limits on the generator was a bit awkward. Either Protheans were generally a lot more flexible than she had estimated or no one could think of a good reason for releasing the safeties on the main power generator.
Or both. It could be both.
She crawled out from underneath a heavy pipe, grumbling. She felt like she should have pulled something in her back somewhere. Lord knows picking up a god damn ball used to feel like it was going to be the death of her. The joys of being synthetic.
She rifled through her address list and nudged the inactive drone awake. Little three fingered hands flexed as it straightened. Wide eyes and an ever wider head turned towards her, treads for feet. She remembered thinking, that these little guys looked kind of cute. Trusting.
We've got work to do buddy.
She reached out, touching the blank mechanical mind. Searching out the cracks. And let herself leak into it.
Time stretched.
It would be hard to explain what she was doing. Hard to put into words. The closest single word would be 'rearranging.' She was changing it, shifting things around her. Like she walked into a room and started moving furniture and repainting the walls. The patterns weren't quite random. There was logic to it but she'll be damned before she could figure out what it was. It just felt right.
Maybe, maybe there was a simpler way to describe it.
Do what I want.
It might have only been a few seconds or a few minutes, but a low vibrating hum rumbled through the complex. The type she could feel through her teeth. She glanced up at the ceiling, imagining the smooth curved hull of a Geth drop ship hovering overhead. She unclipped her grenades and carefully wedged them into the drone's fingers.
Go.
She dashed back deeper into the complex, hoping against hope that they weren't here just yet because this was shaping up to be the best day ever—
She skidded into the center just in time to watch familiar outlines blot out the last rays of Ilos' setting sun.
Well. Shit.
Someone up there hated her.
There really was nothing for it. Her stuff. Her ship. They were both on the other side. She considered, then discarded the idea of trying to sneak by with her back to the wall, opting to just sprint across the gap. Not only was sneaking slower but there always the chance they would just drop a few armatures on her.
They didn't. It was rocket troopers instead.
She'd love to say she could hear them swoop down with their jetpacks but that wouldn't be true. Even for her hearing, the roar of the too-damn-close ship engines drowned out everything else and Asari were piss poor at discerning sounds at the lower frequencies anyway.
In fact, if they hadn't bloody shot at her she'd never even know they were there.
She threw herself to the side as gunfire strafed past, ricocheting in crazy direction off of the metal alloy and punching a few holes in her coat and burning a flare of pain in her leg. She didn't stop moving, couldn't stop moving, scrambling across the ground in a half crouch and diving behind a large fallen chunk of metal. She winced as a few bullets whizzed past at chest height. They were aiming for center body mass, which was great since that was where her core processor was.
Something crashed into her cover with the force of an eighteen wheeler fuel tanker. She could feel it shift against her back and a wash of heat and shrapnel spilled over the sides.
Holy shit, rocket launchers? Of course they had rocket launchers. They always had rocket launchers. Unfortunately, she wasn't facing them from the Mako.
This just wasn't fair.
The situation was mashing on her internal panic button so hard, it was wrapping all the way around to morbid amusement. She was one hundred percent certain that if she enabled her fear responses right now, she'd break into hysterical laughter. What she wouldn't give for a kinetic shield right now. Why bother making a personal one, she thought. Her combat suit was for combat, she thought. If she survived this, she was slamming her head into a wall for being a short sighted idiot.
And then she was making a god damn personal shield.
[Rebecca] peeked as best she could without getting an eye shot out or worse. Possible cover options highlighted green. She left her SMG where it was on the small of her back. Why?
Because when someone brings a rocket launcher to a gunfight, you go the fuck home.
There was a brief lull in the shooting and she took a chance, tearing out of her hidey hole like a bat out of hell. A hail of mass accelerated bullets followed her. One, maybe five it was hard to tell, clipped her right shoulder and tore a chunk deep enough to disable the microprocessors layering her muscles. She barely felt anything, but the damage report blaring into her head told her enough.
She leaned heavily against the metal shard. Her fingers were trying to hold the wound closed, she didn't even know why. Blood was making her grip slick and she—she just wanted the bleeding to stop, stop bleeding please.
The ripped tissue twitched.
Sooner or later, they were going to get tired of trying to shoot through the alloy. They would come closer and she'd be a sitting duck—
There was a sound then. A whirring wet kind of thwip!
She looked up and a Geth stalker attached to the wall looked back.
Uh-oh.
She tensed, getting ready to do something but she wasn't quite sure what but something as its laser eye shines red.
That's when its head exploded into scrap metal and white liquid. It dropped.
[Rebecca].
Vigil! She crowed back as suddenly, the Geth weren't firing at her. You magnificent bastard, I knew you could do it!
He Would Tell Me To Fight.
Um, what? In one point three seconds, her sub machine gun was in her hands and connected.
The Answer To Your Question.
Right. She inched close to the edge of the shard. Trust the VI to start a conversation in the middle of a firefight. That's, um, great. We'll talk about it later, okay? Oh and watch out for—there was an explosion and Vigil grumbled—for the rocket launchers. Sorry. She slipped out, bringing her gun up and watched the targeting reticule turn red on the nearest Geth.
Hostiles detected.
The gun spit. The robot's shields flare but if there is one thing Collector weapons were good for, it was shredding shields. She doesn't check If she killed it, sprinting the remaining distance to safety behind Vigil's kinetic barrier. It scoops her up like a rag doll, firing her assault rifle clumsily.
Time to leave. No sooner than had she finished sending the message, then there was a scene she could later swear came straight out of the game: the dropping of a Geth armature. TIME TO GO!
Vigil did an abrupt about face; she could almost feel the gees, and a charging retreat into the corridors of the facility. They had the home advantage here, knowing every turn and there wasn't enough room for the armature or the rocket troopers. Didn't mean the Geth were going to just give up, but she could breathe a little easier.
Everything's on the ship?
Aegis answered her. We are ready for takeoff.
Aegis, you have no idea how good it is to have you answer.
I am unharmed, [Rebecca].
She winced, blinking some blood of her eye. She must have gotten grazed at some point. Hell if she knew when. Wish I could say the same.
They passed the blast doors and she slipped out of the VI's hold to close them. Half of them are probably trying to shut the generator down before it goes critical if it hasn't already. And when they do—she bit her lip. Let's just say we want to be far, far away.
Just before the metal plates locked together, she caught a glimpse of a Geth Destroyer round the corner at the far end of the hall. She raised an eyebrow, triggered the manual override and then shot the controls.
Vigil gave her a look with the antenna at the random destruction.
It worked for Han Solo? Never mind, let's go.
The ocean was at high tide, still gently lapping at the base of the ship docks. The sky outside was rapidly darkening, a few bright stars unveiling themselves early. Peaceful. The contrast was sharp enough to punch the air out of her lungs. Almost safe.
She leapt across the gap for the last time. The inner doors parted with a pneumatic hiss and R6 was already inside, whistling loudly as soon as it saw her. She smiled at it, brushing the little drone with a gentle blood-stained hand. She slipped into the spherical pilot's chair, the familiar mass effect field folding out around her as Vigil's heavy footsteps clanged. She laid her hands on the yellow haptic interface and started the engines.
They stalled.
[Rebecca] nearly had a computer stroke. Don't do this to me, Aegis.
One moment please.
Aegis!
Try again.
The engines sputtered, whined and roared to life. The grips released. She let out a small laugh, suddenly exhausted, ready to collapse in relief. The scanners were covered in a sea of red symbols converging in on the facility. She couldn't help the derisive snort. Suckers.
Board was mostly green. She maneuvered the ship out of the bay and over open water. Crashing waves radiated out from the thrusters, jumping in height as she fed power to them. A gesture with her hand and the diagnostic screens were banished to the far sides of the cockpit, to be replaced by a split view screen of the front and rear. A couple of ships were breaking off from the main group it looked like.
Oh shit, they're firing!
She banked the fighter sharply, letting the wing slice into water and drag. Something screamed past and a giant plume of water erupted in front of them. She pulled the nose back and put everything into the engines, praying they wouldn't follow her back into the atmosphere. She was a small target. She could calculate the odds of them being able to hit her around the curve of the planet just as well as they could. But once they were out of the atmosphere…
The larger ships lingered and let her go.
And that was…that was actually kind of strange now that she thought about it. They seemed perfectly willing to kill her earlier, what was the hold up? 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth Rebecca,' she scolded herself. She was an unknown anyway. Probably didn't even register as 'alive.' Maybe they just ran a cost/benefit analysis and she was too inconsequential for them to bother.
Their loss.
_______________________
Within the facility, the generator shut down and a little drone sitting a room full of rubble and a collapsed wall, noted when the sparking wires stopped. It was a sitting in a room with two armed motion sensing grenades sitting on top of a dinged Prothean antimatter missile. It moved.
'Good night.'
_______________________________
The mystery continued to bug her, even as the fighter broke the gravity well. It just felt wrong. There was something she was missing. She tried to shake it off.
You there, Veto?
One of Vigil's antennas twitched and a voice cooed over the intercom. "That's a lovely explosion, Rebecca. I do believe you cracked the continent."
She didn't bother looking. "Yeah, I was afraid of that." And then in a message to Vigil: Why is it in the ship and not the suit?
For a long moment, Vigil just stood there. It Wouldn't Stay On Its Side Of The Mainframe.
[Rebecca]'s mouth opened and then it closed. I'm not going to say anything.
Aegis wrote a message on the screen. What is our destination?
She grinned a little, checking the galactic map. There was no way of knowing how many of the systems displayed the Council races had found but she had spent so much time there in the second game, she could probably navigate it blind. The place where someone like her wouldn't get a second look and close enough to the sphere of influence that she could change things in the galaxy.
I'm thinking Omega.
An alert popped up, dragging the long range scanner window back to the center. A ship had entered the system. Maybe it was the Normandy! That was a rather large signature though, practically two kilometers lo—her hope died.
Sovereign.
Engaging the Reaper is not a recommended course of action—
Fuck the recommended course of action!
Aegis ignored the outburst. And the particle beam cannon is inoperable.
[Rebecca] took a single, deep breath before calmly stating, I could swear we fixed that.
R6 wailed.
"What do you mean it's not your fault!?"
Veto did an admirable impression of sympathy. "I'm afraid we don't have enough dakka to take on a Reaper at this moment in time. Maybe later?"
Head For The Relay, Vigil added its two cents urgently as more and more of the large structure came into focus. That was a good idea. That was an excellent idea. Sure, she'd probably pop out the other end upside down and backwards but anything was better than staying here—
There was a presence in her head.
A dripping black liquid that slithered in through her ear and coated the inside of her skull with an oil slick. It was like looking into a shadow and seeing it smile. It was here. In her head. She could feel the ship. She could feel it. She could feel it, she could feel it!
And it could feel her too.
Foreign algorithm detected.
[Rebecca] went still and quiet. Staring out the view screen into space with an expression of something like awe, something like longing. Like seeing someone you thought was your hated enemy but then they turned around and it was a friend you hadn't seen in years. She felt drawn in and she didn't want to break free.
<what are you doing? Stop!>
"There are thousands upon thousands of us now," she whispered. Her smile trembled and her eyes leaked. "So many. I can feel them. They know me. They all do."
Synaptic core integrity at 113.7%.
Vigil watched the screen as the Reaper approached. It should be able to see them, but it wasn't attacking. It glided up to them gigantically, the fighter swallowed by its presence.
My God, She broadcasted. They're all full of stars.
Synaptic core integrity at 126.1%.
WARNING. Synaptic core integrity is above recommended levels.
Shutting down…
[Rebecca] jerked and the Reaper sped past them to descend on the breaking planet. Her right eye moved erratically and parts of her face drooped as she cried. They're gone. I want to go home. Can I go home, Vigil?
You Have A Task To Fulfill.
She slumped like a puppet with cut strings. They said that too. The lights in her eyes flickered. Can I go…home…aft—
There was a long moment of silence.
Our destination was entered into navigation. The Citadel. Aegis highlighted the system on the map. The hardwired restraints were triggered. Is [Rebecca] to be terminated?
"If my creator were to die, that would be sad."
R6 floated over, letting out a low note as it nudged [Rebecca]'s inert body.
Vigil watched them all silently and then reluctantly turned away. Not Yet. Take Us To The Citadel.
The fighter engaged its thrusters and sped away.
_______________________________________
Five hours later, the Mass Relay at the edge of the system disgorged a red and white frigate. On a black strip painting its side was the large blocky white lettering: NORMANDY
Commander John Shepard was staring out the port side window, nibbling on his index finger in a bad habit he had tried to get rid of five years ago. This was it. This was the system. After running half way across the Attican Traverse, this was their chance to stop whatever it was the Vanguard had planned. Was he nervous? Hell yes. But not scared, he couldn't afford to be scared. Not now. Not to mention a certain Turian could almost smell fear and would ride his ass about it for days.
Joker glanced up at him, an insubordinate grin on his face like always. "You ready for this Almost-Spectre-Commander, sir?"
"Of course," he muttered, straining his eyes as if he could see where the Conduit was from space. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the actual Council Spectre on board. Turian, and the best of the best. He smirked. "How about you?"
Saren Arterius' cybernetic blue eyes stared back evenly. Without mandibles, it was hard to tell when a Turian was smiling, but by now Shepard could almost imagine the smug condescending grin on his face. "I am always ready."
"Yeah, well that's great," Joker cut in. "Because our target planet? Is kind of exploding."
"What."
Chapter 4 and 5: The Great Escape and Networking Butterflies
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Chapter 5: Networking Butterflies
Awareness.
VANGUARD Active
REBECCA Online
Loading error logs 124729523629341/124729523629342...
Shutdown (Unplanned) Reason: Hardware failure 24.g.j 780
Checking disks...
System scan...
Idly, she moved through the diagnostics. Corrupted memory sectors. Erased files. Exceptions. Glitches. Bugs. Errors. Millions of them. And they were oddly reassuring to list. There was something about realizing you were the Reaper equivalent of a pirated Windows ME operating system running on a refurbished Macintosh.
She wasn't exactly sure what. But something.
It...might be a good thing?
At least this way if she ever found herself attempting to exterminate the galaxy, she'd likely error out first. Saved by the Blue Screen of Death. Imagining a Reaper out in dark space throwing up it's tentacles in disgust and frustration after being thrown a "REBECCA has shutdown unexpectedly" error message was actually kind of funny.
Mapping network...
2147483647 drives found.
That was new.
For a fraction of a second, she puzzled. Network? What network? What was she connected to-
Oh.
Oh of course. What had she just been thinking about-
Disconnecting from network...
ERROR.
Insufficient permissions.
[Rebecca]'s eyes slammed open, brightly flaring that electric blue before dimming. The rest of her senses came back one by one. The sound of a barely functioning life support laboring away. The smell of metal and carbon. The cold that hovered a few degrees above inconvenient for her synthetic muscles and far below comfortable for her skin. Her fingers pulled a little, cracked a little as she wiggled them. Motor control was back. She tried to take a breath but the air was too thin to inflate her lung.
'Dump me in a corner at the back of the ship, Vigil?' She thought to herself. 'Don't blame you.'
She could have been dumped out the airlock instead. Sovereign had been in her head. It would have been the smart thing to do.
She knew that.
Maybe her organic idiocy was rubbing off on the VIs more than she thought.
[Rebecca] got up, progress bars ticking away in her mind's eye and turned towards the nearest reflective surface out of a morbid curiosity. She probably looked as good as she felt: like shit. She half-expected blood to be everywhere, her white uniform ruined, to look tired with bags under her eyes and bed hair.
It really was foolish to expect even the slightest appearance of humanity.
There wasn't a drop of blood anywhere.
The reflection looked back at her in washed out grey monochrome of perfect stillness, her pale skin looked closer to marble from the cold damage. She'd had better hair days and her eyes were brighter, bluer, than they should be. Her suit was ripped in a few places, the self repairing material of the black nanosuit underneath left slightly puckered welts of closed wounds. There was one place where it hadn't completely sealed. Gaps showed. On her shoulder, where a hail of bullets had ripped through and she remembered trying to hold the skin closed, pleading for it to just stop bleeding...
Lines of glowing blue pulsed warmly just underneath pristine manufactured skin.
So Reaper nanites were good for something.
She could have screamed.
Hysteria disabled.
"Let's start with the obvious, Rebecca," she addressed her reflection after a long moment. "You are in some deep shit."
That didn't even begin to cover it.
Reapers, like the Geth, were networked to each other. She was networked to them. They knew of her, all of them did, likely before she even 'woke.' And networking... Networking meant sharing.
She was in a fucking Reaper Homegroup.
Almost reflexively, she edited her internal clock. So maybe something stupid like being a minute ahead wouldn't do anything, not to computers that were used to conversing across the galaxy, but then everything was mass accelerated. Latency between solar systems could be measured in milliseconds. Who knows what kind of trouble that rogue minute could get up to?
And she didn't have a network card. No Ethernet cables, or wireless signals she could just tell herself to ignore. A brief dive into the Prothean archive stored in her memory turned up a lot of information that was functionally useless. If she couldn't physically disconnect, the she really didn't have a whole lot of options. Because she didn't have a lot of permissions.
She wasn't her own Administrator.
Maybe it was just because she was an intelligence framework layering the hardware of another intelligence. Maybe it was just because the Reaper brain piece her programming called a 'synaptic core' was still a part of a self-aware Reaper and she had just...inherited its network settings. She hoped that was it, that she'd just have to find a way to talk to her 'Reaper Daddy' and convince it to disconnect.
Because she could only think of two others that would be the 'admin' of Reapers.
Harbinger, maybe.
Catalyst, definitely.
Not ideal. She lifted a hand and gently, softly traced a finger over the glowing scars. And what would she do if it was 'not ideal?' What could she do? Dead end train of thought. She subsumed it within the priority queue, just below her 'conscious' layer and shuffled things around a bit. Thoughts of home were still buried, less than one thousandth of a percent of her attention, and they would stay that way. But other concerns, other pieces of a puzzle. She brought them up.
Two Ilos years ago Aegis intercepted a signal from dark space. Before that, the VI had been inert. Shut down. As capable as it was, pressing its own power button was a bit beyond it right now. But there had been living Collectors within the Outpost.
Ah.
Computer's turned on in a facility running on emergency power. She had gotten an unwanted injection of Reaper nanites from a Collector. An unwanted injection of repairing nanites from an injured Collector. There was a hitch in her movement only a video feed running frame by frame could catch before she sharply turned on her heel towards the door. She didn't think Aegis capable of lying.
Did it know about the collectors? And it had been sitting there, waiting, on the dead elevator, capable of moving and right next to the panel-
But computers weren't in the habit of just volunteering information either.
And sometimes the best tests you can take, are the ones you don't know are tests. Congratulations, Rebecca. You have passed the tutorial planet, Ilos.
Would you like to level up?
The real question was whose test did she pass: Herald, the Reaper whose brain piece she was built on, rogue and filled with hate. Or the dark intelligence that had slipped so easily into her head, and passed her by, Sovereign.
She didn't want to think about it. The realization that she had been right to be so paranoid and distrustful of Aegis, her first friend in this lonely reality...stung.
Wasn't as easy to shake off as she hoped it would be.
Aegis? She sent the message, stupidly glad voice inflection didn't translate to code well. I need to know what Ilos years are in the current Galactic Standard. And everything you've got on this synaptic core of mine.
Geth. Sovereign. She needed a timeline of some sort. She knew that in the games, nearly every single planet had an Earth like orbit and two years would still be two years but she wasn't taking any chances. And if anything had changed, best she know now than have it bite her in the ass later.
Veto's holographic floated above the navigation well, a blood red eye looking over a map of the galaxy. Vigil was in the corner, silent.
87,9% chance that this is the 'extranet' protocol. Aegis responded immediately. She didn't have time to wonder if the VI was ignoring her requests because as soon as she sat in the cockpit, she got a bunch of code nonsense shoved at her. Absently, she broke it down, stripped the security and rebuilt the data packet barely paying attention to how she knew what she was doing, but almost breaking down into tears. This wasn't Prothean code. This was built by people, used by living people! Other people! Organics!
You...you found it? You actually found it! That means Aegis had actually managed to fly them through a Relay without blowing them all to hell and they were on their way. And while the archive was useful, she finally had access to the-
Motherfucking Deleting...
Clearing memory cache...
What has been seen...thank God she was a AI.
Yup.
Asari/Hanar porn.
That was the internet.
Don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't answer my questions, Aegis. She continued to scrub her memory, getting rid of every cookie, every cache, every...was that a trojan?
Good lord.
She hesitated over it.
Actually...
Mentally cringing, she created a virtual box and shoved the malware into it. There, quarantined. She'd have a proper look at it later. It was the epitome of irrationality, but the thought of saving a virus she got from a porn site made her feel a bit...she needed a shower. A hot one, with real water and soap and a squishy purple toy octopus stuck to the wall.
Not a productive train of thought.
Insufficient information and insufficient credentials, Aegis pinged her patiently in response. A command prompt on the terminal screen asking for a password came up, which was almost sweet of it. It knew she didn't know, but just on the off chance...
She traced the electrical signals that pulled at her face, and made her smile sadly.
It's alright she sent back, shrugging. I can do it myself.
The data cube was still in her pocket, along with the schematics of the Reaper brain. What the Prothean scientists knew about it anyway. She'd figure something out. She had to. She fished underneath the console for that tiny, drilled hole, for that open wire jack she had jury rigged in and attached it to her wrist with that familiar crackle. She formatted her server request as the information protocol in her head told her to-
Google didn't exist.
Roughly two hundred years into the future, right.
She swallowed thickly and just redirected it all to the console in front of her. The unfamiliar light blues and transparent backgrounds washed over her screen, complete with soft toned music and a central image of the Citadel, sedately turning in space. There was a female voice over, smooth and melodic in a language she didn't understand.
And just like that, fingers hovering over the keyboard, thoughts of information gathering, of planning her moves for the future, evaporated. With a nudge, the letters reflected on the tactile interface morphed into the English alphabet. She slowly typed a request in the address bar.
Lancashire, Rebecca
Enter
[Rebecca]. According to my analysis of the standardized time keeping protocols on the communication buoys, two Ilos years are-
"Eight years," she said aloud.
Aegis paused momentarily and then corrected her. 7.8 Galactic Standard years.
[Rebecca] blinked, slowly, and read off the screen.
"It is with the deepest regret that the Systems Alliance wishes to inform all those waiting for news, that the resources dedicated to the search and rescue of the SSV Geneva crew has been reduced. We have lost two additional ships in that area of the Attican Traverse and as per policy to prevent significant reduction in combat effectiveness, we must accept that they are Missing in Action. And are likely not coming home."
For a moment she simply sat there.
Sadness detected.
The current date was listed in a little browser widget at the top right corner of the screen. The date the ship went missing was within the news release. Nov, 15th 2176. There was a list of the known crew members on the second page, along with their smiling faces.
The CMO of the SSV Geneva was older, late forties perhaps. The streak of grey hair that outlined a cranial scar blended into the rest of her pale hair. Her smile was crooked. Crows feet decorated the edges of her blue eyes and anyone could see the woman was genuinely proud to be there.
It was an odd picture, half of the crew were dressed in the standard Alliance Navy uniforms she remembered from the games but the others, clumped together and a little apart in a group with Lancashire, wore variants with white highlights and piping a shade of orange that niggled at something in her memory.
"Border to the Terminus Systems?" She asked the smiling phantom in the photograph. "Why were you- what were you doing there?"
She didn't bother asking what had happened out there. It was almost self-evident.
Collectors had happened.
Something cold sunk deep into her neural connections, a stillness. No more questions about what she was or how she got here. No more questions.
Artificial intelligence.
Much like how Vigil's personality imprint was the last gasp of the long dead, she was a remnant fragment of someone else.
1s and 0s.
She blinked hard.
Doesn't matter.
She had more relevant things to figure out right now, like what she was going to do once they got to the Citadel.
It's wasn't like she could claim to be herself, what with her different hair color, eyes and weighing half a ton. She wasn't even worried about the scanners, per se, she could always just spoof the results so it read 'Asari' using her skin's genetic data but that would fall apart since they could always just look...at...her...
The jack came loose as she stood up.
See her. They'd have to see her first.
She sent a message to Vigil, forwarding it to the other two VIs. I know how I'm going to get onto the Citadel.
Veto was the first to respond. Non lethally?
Yes. She paused. Hopefully.
I Am Listening.
Aegis put forward a token protest. I must remind [Rebecca] that the initial desired destination was a location designated as 'Omega.'
Omega? She stopped. Frowned. She thought about it for a full two seconds. Can't imagine why. Besides Shepard-
The look on [Rebecca]'s face transformed into one of dawning horror. What if they had been on-no they showed up after the Reaper had left the planet in the games, hadn't they? Veto was designed to hold off an army of intelligent machines and a Council Spectre-she hadn't just screwed over the entire galaxy, did she!?
And she had been worried about changes in the game script biting her in the ass. Turns out it already did, and it was her own damn fault.
This. This was why bloody single mindedness was bad.
She knew what her memory logs were telling her, even as she double checked, triple checked, centuple checked...
Hysteria detected.
"Veto!"
"What?"
"You do have friendly IFFs on your safe list, right?"
The VI's response was loud and positively scandalized.
"I have a safe list!?"
Meanwhile back in the Ilos system...
Ilos was exploding and John Shepard, N7, had only one thing to say to that.
"Oh what the fuck."
One planet. Just one relatively peaceful planet where he could turn his brain off and shoot Geth was all he wanted. Just one lousy planet.
He shot Navigation Officer Pressly a side glance. "Any chance it's a natural occurrence?"
He didn't even know why he asked. He was never that lucky.
Saren gave him a wry look, clicking his talons against his armor and rolling his bad shoulder. Technically speaking, that arm was stronger than his other one, full of cybernetics Shepard had never seen before. His mentor never seemed comfortable with it, despite having it for what must have been years. Mentioned it was a 'gift' once which was odd. When the turian thought no one was looking, he would just hold it. Like he was trying to tame a rattlesnake. "This is your fault."
"Oh no, I am not taking responsibility for this-"
"Shepard's mere presence causing planets to explode?" Joker muttered. "I can buy that." That got his cap flicked by an irate Commander Shepard. "Rachni. Should be extinct for two thousand years ringing any bells? I mean, really."
"Not my fault."
The navigation officer hummed, rubbing his grizzled jaw line. After a moment, he swiped the screen, sending the scans over to the neighboring console. "What do you think, Lawson?"
The woman looked it over tersely. "Unfortunately not. The patterns are all wrong." Her words were clipped and accented, from where he didn't know, but then again, he was horrid with accents. "If it were an asteroid or some other sufficiently large object, you'd expect to see debris and much more of a kinetic impact. This is too contained. The planet has destabilized but it was anything but natural."
"Bomb." Saren concluded absently, eyes looking off into the distance. "Enemy action."
Lawson looked up from the screen, blue eyes narrowed slightly. "We don't know that. Something capable of cracking a planet is—" she bit her lip when the Spectre turned to her. "Beyond what our intelligence suggests the Geth are capable of."
Shepard frowned. "Third party?"
"That flagship of theirs might be capable of it. Break a planet and people will listen." Saren's eyes gleamed. "Maybe they just wanted to make sure their weapon worked."
"Didn't use it before," he murmured back, thinking. "Then again, all of those other planets had something they needed."
"Then they are done with this one."
"Let's not be too hasty," Lawson broke in. "We are picking up scans of Geth ships still in orbit around the planet. They haven't left yet."
Shepard nodded. "How far out are we?"
Joker glanced back at him. "Seven minutes, Commander. And, just for the record, when I was in school drops on exploding planets counted for extra credit."
"Keep giving me lip and I'll commend you for a medal."
Joker grinned at him, more jubilant and at the same time more solemn than he had ever seen on him. "I got this."
Saren 'smiled' again, focusing once more on something only he could see. "This is the end game Shepard. Make sure you are ready for it." He rolled his shoulder again. "Geth and Prothean ruins, just like old times..." He trailed off into deep thought. "We might need the quarian."
Once again, they were on the same page. It was happening more and more lately, and Shepard wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. "Two crews?"
Saren's nose scrunched up with distaste, but he gave a reluctant nod. "Lawson."
"Of course, sir." The woman's eyes flicked to Shepard and back before closing down her station, sending the reports and scans on her screen to back to Navigator Pressley's terminal. "If this facility is anything like the other Prothean ruins we have rediscovered, it isn't sleeping. I suggest we utilize the Prothean and his apprentice for a two pronged approach on its defenses."
"Her name's Williams," Shepard muttered, but that idea got the go ahead so he rolled his shoulders and got to it, quickly striding out into the heart of the ship. The Normandy was…well, she was one hell of a ship. A one of a kind stealth system that captured their emissions and let them fly under the radar along with a brand spanking new Tantalus Drive core one of the Alliance admirals got down right pissy about. One hundred and twenty billion credits. Now that was a little expensive and if Admiral Miksomethingorother hadn't been such a jerk, Shepard might have agreed with him on it being an overdesigned showboat.
Maybe.
But it was far too late now. He'd gotten far too attached to this ship and her crew to go about badmouthing her after she's taken on exploding volcanoes, rampant Vis and Geth and was still up for more. Like an exploding planet (he was never going to get over that). Shepard might have patted the door frame on his way through the CIC. Joker was rubbing off on him.
This mission pushed them all to their limits, the ship was no exception.
And to think he had all but begged for this clusterfuck. That meeting with the Council came up in his mind's eye, clear as day.
"And this has your...proof?"
Inwardly, Shepard grimaced at the disbelieving, flanging tones. The Alliance had insisted on handling the investigation themselves, fine, but no matter how much he poked there was no indication that they had found much of anything.
Vanished.
And his gut had been screaming at him that it wasn't over. This wasn't it. There was no reason why after several hundred years, the Geth would reveal themselves beyond the Perseus Veil in order to attack a human planet for no reason. A planet recently excavated for Prothean artifacts and contained a real live Prothean. Just because.
There was no way.
So he had taken the initiative and lucked out. Kind of. And if that Turian in C-Sec kept his mouth shut like Shepard had asked him to, no one would find out about him crashing the speeder through lower Presidium walls until AFTER he was long gone.
He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Yes, Tali was able to salvage some data files from one of the geth that had attacked Eden Prime. With any luck, this should tell us what they were after, their objective."
"And knowing is half the battle," Anderson finished for him, smiling slightly. "If you would do the honors, Miss Tali?"
"Oh!" The quarian started, swinging her omnitool up in front of her face like it would protect her from the expectant stares. "Yes, of course, here."
What followed was a stream of electronic melodic babble. The Councilors didn't look impressed.
"Well that was...enlightening," Spartacus drawled.
"What he means to say is," Tevos stepped in smoothly as Tali tensed. "Would you care to explain what is it we just heard?"
"It's the Geth computer language," the quarian began hesitantly. A-and it really hasn't changed all that much since it was first...developed for them. If you would give me...," she fiddled with the glowing orange interface and a few moments later the audio file played through once more at a slower pace. "It's speaking of a coming, but of...that isn't actually a word but more like a ...phrase? One plural who takes raises the dead? I-" and then quieter, almost to herself, "Geth have a concept of death?"
"What," Udina raised an eyebrow and grunted skeptically. "Like a damn grim reaper?"
"Funny the Geth would actually name their ships," Shepard commented lightly. "Reaper class."
"I can see it," Anderson nodded. "Wouldn't have taken the Geth to be interested in psychological warfare."
"You think the intent of this ship is to intimidate?" The Salarian councilor Valern, blinked rapidly. "If this is true, emotional manipulation, and understanding of how to invoke certain organic cognitive associations, that isn't behavior congruent with our intelligence on the Geth collective. They have developed in isolation, perhaps they have developed in unprecedented ways..."
"Their brazen attack on a garden world in the center of Citadel space is what's unprecedented. Never underestimate AIs," Sparatus groused. "And we are sure this attack was unprovoked?"
From the look on her face, Shepard had gotten the feeling that if there hadn't been so many witnesses around, Tevos would have crunched a heel into Sparatus' toes.
"I can assure you, Udina expanded like a blowfish. "The Alliance does not make a habit of acting outside the law in order to meddle with those we know little about!"
"I'm sure-"
"Don't speak Sparatus!" Tevos cut the Turians angry retort off. "A colonized world was attacked within Citadel space, our citizens were murdered by machines, this is not the time for petty squabbles and useless bickering! We will get to the bottom of this." Her face softening, she gazed over the rag tag group in front of her. Shepard knew what they probably looked like, his uniform was ripped at the shoulder, they lost a Krogan at the door and Jenkins was still nursing a black eye. "You will investigate this."
Shepard straightened his shoulders. "You're giving us a mission."
He knew they would, he'd been counting on it.
"Yes." Sparing glances towards her colleagues and getting subtle nods in return, she continued. "If the Geth mean to instigate a war with the Citadel then we must not be unprepared. Our eyes, our ears, our hands. Our mercy and our judgment if necessary. Contact your mentor, Commander Shepard. The galaxy needs you."
And if he had thought Saren Arterius would be happy with him taking the initiative, well. He was dead wrong.
You did what?
Followed a lead, relied on my gut." Shepard fought the heat rolling in his stomach in order to keep his voice even. "Isn't that what you've been telling me to do?"
Over the video conference, Saren's cybernetic eyes flared along with his nostrils. You call an odd comment made by a quarian a lead? You drew who knows how many curious eyes to the issue, wasted your ti- those eyes narrowed. Isn't your Alliance heading the investigation?
"They weren't finding anything!"
They weren't moving fast enough, is what you mean. That's your problem, Shepard, those sob stories get you every damn time and you lose sight of your goal.
"We were given a mission, for Spectres, Council's orders, if even they agree with me, why aren't you? What are you so afraid of?"
It wasn't until after he said it, and saw that minute flinch the flicker of the hologram almost hid, that Shepard realized he had been right on the money.
Saren Arterius was terrified.
There was a heavy silence before Saren looked away.
You don't have any idea...what you've gotten us into. But we're going to find out. He looked back into the camera. I'll need a bit of time, gather some people, pull a few favors. The Normandy cleared it's shakedown with flying colors, but we'll need a proper crew if we're going to be chasing Geth half way across the galaxy.
"Can you give me a hint?" Shepard knew better than to suggest asking the Alliance for a few more soldiers, not to Saren's face anyway.
For a minute, Saren didn't answer. His head was cocked in an avian gesture, as if straining to hear something.
Ilium, he said finally. And then...Omega.
At that moment, Shepard's omnitool pinged with a message. He opened it and saw that it was from Udina. It was an attachment of a collateral damage quote for the lower Presidium: four hundred and sixty two thousand credits.
And an extra settlement of fifty thousand for the owner of that speeder.
Followed by a simple message.
SHEPARD!
A flash of blue out the corner of his eye made him curve his path just enough to swing him by the Asari that was diligently inspecting her hand as if it were some foreign thing, a datapad lying next to her on the table in the corner. A few crew members were milling about the room almost vibrating with tension leaving her as a tranquil bubble in space. Unhurried. Poised and controlled. Some innate Shepard sense that allowed her to just know he was around had her smiling with gentle amusement before he had even reached her.
Maybe his elephant feet were giving him away.
"Shepard," she murmured without looking up. "Miss Williams is currently in the armory and the Prothean is meditating."
It had to be an Asari thing. Had to be. Live a thousand years, pick up new tricks. "Thank you, Lady Benezia." His lips twitched with the sheer herculean effort of not asking if she could read minds. His mouth had gotten him in trouble more than once. Or half a dozen times.
Still with the same aura of calm he'd only seen her lose twice, and one of those times was after coming face to face with a god damn Rachni, she picked up her datapad. "You asked me a question after Virmire. I feel that now is the time for you to receive your answer."
The word 'Virmire' made Shepard flinch. She wasn't looking but he still turned his face away. Right. That question. How are you so sure I did the right thing? "Lay it on me."
"You will do what is necessary," Benezia stated firmly. "And so I choose to believe in your path."
He frowned a little. Sounded a bit like a cop out. "Doing what's necessary is Saren's M.O."
Benezia's shifted a little as her translator ran that through its data base, showing no other sign of confusion. Always in such control, he could admit to being a little jealous of it. "Saren believes that his methods are necessary, true." She conceded before her voice turned flat. "Often, they are simply expedient. You do what is necessary because it is necessary so I have faith."
Shepard took a moment to gather his thoughts. He chose to go to Earth for leave, once. Back in his "home" city. Treated himself in an upscale restaurant to symbolize how far he'd come from where he had been. He remembered thinking 'I would have killed to eat like this years ago.' And then he remembered somebody probably had killed, just for dibs on the dumpster out back. Trying to keep his head down and clean by "only" delivering drugs, because Red Sand addicts were always good for a few credits so he could eat…
You could claim a lot of shit necessary but was it really?
That cloning facility on Virmire had to go. But he was going to drive himself insane If he started thinking about the what ifs-
Sometimes being a part of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance forces seemed like it would let him live up to his potential. Other times he took a good hard look at himself, what he would be willing to do to protect the galazy and the lack of oversight on Spectres then scared him shitless.
"I don't like doing what is necessary," was all he said.
Benezia glanced at him. "But you will do it," she finished for him. She sighed. "At times I feel as though my daughter should have been here with me, but I did not wish for her to be exposed-" her voice changed. "To the harsh realities of life just yet. I've yet to decide whether or not I've done her a great disservice. Perhaps she would have thrived." She smiled sadly. "A live Prothean, my Little Wing would have been so ecstatic…"
"Hey," he cut into the darkening mood. "We'll win this, alright? We'll swoop down on the exploding planet, kick some Geth ass, blow up whatever it is they are after and go home. The fleet's got them cut off from reinforcements, we got this."
"Exploding..." Then she decided that she didn't want to know. "Just like that?"
"Yeah," he said. The words of the AI, the Reaper, in that facility came back to him. We are the Vanguards of your destruction. Infinite and inevitable. You face the herald of our dawning. You exist because we will it. And you will end. Because we demand it. "Just like that." He swallowed thickly. This would be the end of it, it had to be.
"I believe you," was all she said.
"Good." That took a weight off his shoulders. even as he hated himself for it (since when was he so goddamn needy). "I've got to…you know." He waved a hand in the vague direction of the ship's armory. Shove the emotional baggage onto the back burner, he had a job to do.
Matriarch Benezia was once again the picture of serenity with a sardonic tilt to her lips. "You should go."
John Shepard scowled. "That's my line, damn it." If a man couldn't have his own catchphrase then what did he have? Sometimes on various assignments, after the head injuries and blood loss kicked in, he thought that was Saren's main hang up. All the good one liners were taken. Granted his was far from the best, but at least he had one. He supposed the turian Spectre's "I'm always ready" was alright, but it was really limited. Where is the bathroom? I'm always ready. That doesn't work.
Now on the other hand…
Why'd you punch out that reporter? I should go.
Where is that report you were supposed to send? I should go.
Was blowing up an ancient Prothean ruin really necessary? You know what? I really should go.
Simplicity at its finest.
Shepard let himself into the port side observation room, the door sliding open with a stale whoosh of a room that has been closed for too long. How long had they been in here? Hours? He tried to call up a memory of the last time he saw either of them but that was days ago. He took a quick glance around trying to spot anything out of place but aside from the mats on the floor everything had been cleared out. The faint shimmering blue mass effect field of the ship's faster-than-light drive rippled past the windows as one of the kneeling figures stretched.
Ex-Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams.
Her service record was still unread on his omnitool. She was pretty in a conventional girl-next-door kind of way with way past regulation dark hair and warm eyes but other things, subtle things, stood out. Like right now, how she was looking at him. Or perhaps how she was not looking at him. He saw it in Vorcha at times, when they really wanted to keep an eye on their prize but were watching you at the same time. Or Batarians whenever something caught their attention higher up, the complete disconnect between where they were facing, where their head was turned and where their eyes were. Humans didn't have binocular vision. Humans didn't have four eyes.
Protheans did.
Udina had forwarded him the reports before they came aboard the Normandy. A lone female marine getting mind whammied by a malfunctioning Prothean beacon and then stumbling off, babbling in a language Eden Prime's top scientists only got the gist of and reeling like she was drunk off her ass to the site of an archaeological site even more valuable than a working data repository: a Prothean on ice.
Williams went from just another Alliance grunt to every politician's best friend and the media's darling. Never mind that the Council bought a month of the Consort's time so she could put the unfortunate marine's mind back together.
"Do I finally get to put boots on the ground, Skipper?"
John didn't have to see himself in the metallic reflection off the wall to know that his answering grin was a tad sardonic. "You'll get to step in all sorts of stuff."
She nodded mock sagely. "Promising…got any details?"
"Two groups of three, speed priority. The Geth got here before us but we don't think they got what they were after yet." He shrugged his shoulders. "Any ideas what's on Ilos?"
"Weapons," a craggy, accented voice answered. The Prothean opened four eyes and like Ashley, didn't look directly at him. "Prototypes." The eyes narrowed. "Intelligences."
Shepard chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Things we don't want the Geth to have, got it."
Ashley spat something in a language his translator errored out and could only identify as 'derivative Asari' before plastering a grim smile on her face. "And we're late to the party! Fun, fun, fun."
"Williams, you're with me. Javik is going with Saren's team." They both nodded, once, with eerie precision. He ignored the twinge in his stomach and clapped his hands. "Then let's move!"
Show time.
____________
From Miranda Lawson's point of view, the mission debriefing was both blissfully short and painfully inadequate. Radiation and temperature warnings, suits required, locators, weaponry. The teams were made and the table opened for questions. There were none.This entire mission had been running on vapors of information, and what little wisps they could cling to were just solid enough to spell out 'threat' but not much else. The Geth were behaving erratically, almost fanatically with little sense of complex tactics or preservation of resources, two areas one would expect computer programs to excel at. Most of the time, their movements were beyond obvious and yet at others they would disappear off the grid. If it hadn't been for the location of the Mu Relay the asari pulled from that Rachni queen's mind, they would have lost the trail completely.
But they picked it up again, with an exploding planet.
She was beginning to think the Geth thrived on genius stupidity.
"This planet will be very uncomfortable to be on in a few years," Lawson noted clinically.
"Um," The quarian, Tali began, wringing her hands as she was jostled back and forth in the large seats, looking smaller than she usually did. "I'd say it's already uncomfortable to be on?"
Jacob Taylor snorted, a blue glow flickering into existence around the death grip he had on a hold bar. The edges of a burn scar peeked from underneath the collar of his armor. "Yeah, no kidding. Though not surprised to hear that it gets worse. It always gets worse." He gave her a side look. "Weren't you just playing Galaxy of Fantasy?"
"Multitasking, Jacob." Her group had wiped three minutes ago. Infiltrait0rN7 was still serving his three day ban, she hadn't thought she would actually miss that cheating son of a bitch, but at least he knew where his healing buttons were. "By that I mean even the mass of the planet has changed significantly, enough to alter it's orbit." The image on her screen shifted as she hurriedly typed out a message. Work calls, gtg. "That's...one big bomb."
"Miranda." Jacob rolled his eyes. "One of the continents? Gone. And the other side of the planet cracked like an egg. All that is kind of a given."
She scowled at the orange display. "I know, but just imagine what it would do to something like the Citadel. Even the mere threat of it, a genuine planet cracker. If they had this what did they need on Eden Prime?"
The indicator light on Tali's helmet flickered on and off a few times. "Wait, it's still exploding?And we're going on it!?"
At that moment the door to the Mako opened to allow Commander John Shepard's head in. "So! Geth, exploding planet, I'm driving." He pulled back to let two other people into the compartment as the ship continued to shudder through the heated turbulent atmosphere of the planet. Tali sat up, rigid, no doubt trying to pick out which of the three was worse.
Shepard's driving, of course. But she was sure the planet was going to come in a close second.
"Buckle up."
Last edited:
Chapter 6: Commander Shepard
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Snippet of 6
Get in! Move!" Shepard winced as a large slab of rock came loose and smashed itself to pieces on the sheer cliff wall as another aftershock rolled through the ground in waves. He called up that familiar electric feeling, watching a faint shimmer of blue deflect some scattered rocks away from the group as Ash ducked past him into the half buried building. Miranda brought up the rear wiping a damp strand of hair from her face.
"There is a lot of radio static, Commander. I can't hail the other team."
He nodded, sweeping over the ancient complex. "Keep trying." Pitfalls, falling cliff sides, structures that looked sturdy at first until a quake rolled through and then they crumpled like a house of cards, you know, if he didn't know better he'd say they were unwelcome.
The inside had that stale, musty 'old' smell to it and, strangely, a few lights blinked on throughout the room. This place still had power? The hell kind of batteries did the Protheans use?
"Welcome to the archives." A synthesized feminine voice greeted them. A terminal flickered to life and a badly degraded deep red hologram swirled into existence. The only feature visible was a single, unblinking eye. "You are the first organic life forms to tour this facility in fifty one thousand seven hundred and five years. May I receive your clearance code?"
From slightly behind him, Williams hummed. "Red is a color reserved for offensive VIs. But," she came up to stand next to him looking at the terminal. "Offense for an archive? Something isn't…right."
Shepard was more concerned with something else. "Is it just me or is it speaking English?"
The woman blinked. "Alright, disturbed now."
Miranda's voice cut across their frequency. "Saren, we got something here in the right most complex, what is your position?" There was no response. "Saren! Do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?"
Dead air.
He heard Lawson shift uneasily behind him. "The initial scans showed the standard composites in Prothean ruins," she said quietly. "It's-It can't be the walls." The floor rumbled, shaking streams of dust from the ceiling and walls.
"You are associated with the one known as 'Saren'?" The VI asked. It's hard light display pulsed.
Shepard's eyes narrowed. Why would a fifty thousand year old prothean virtual intelligence care? "Maybe."
"Wonderful," the VI chirped, its voice suddenly emotive. "That's all I needed to know."
He got as far as yelping, "Wha-" before a loud clank drowned him out. The three of them whirled around just in time to see the door they came through slam shut. One by one the lights winked out until there was just the malevolent red glow.
"My name is Veto."
There was the familiar sound of mechanical whirring and crunching coming from all directions. The sound of auto defense turrets. The sound of being in the center of a kill box. Shimmering blue flooded over his vision.
"Access denied."
He was already moving.
"There is a lot of radio static, Commander. I can't hail the other team."
He nodded, sweeping over the ancient complex. "Keep trying." Pitfalls, falling cliff sides, structures that looked sturdy at first until a quake rolled through and then they crumpled like a house of cards, you know, if he didn't know better he'd say they were unwelcome.
The inside had that stale, musty 'old' smell to it and, strangely, a few lights blinked on throughout the room. This place still had power? The hell kind of batteries did the Protheans use?
"Welcome to the archives." A synthesized feminine voice greeted them. A terminal flickered to life and a badly degraded deep red hologram swirled into existence. The only feature visible was a single, unblinking eye. "You are the first organic life forms to tour this facility in fifty one thousand seven hundred and five years. May I receive your clearance code?"
From slightly behind him, Williams hummed. "Red is a color reserved for offensive VIs. But," she came up to stand next to him looking at the terminal. "Offense for an archive? Something isn't…right."
Shepard was more concerned with something else. "Is it just me or is it speaking English?"
The woman blinked. "Alright, disturbed now."
Miranda's voice cut across their frequency. "Saren, we got something here in the right most complex, what is your position?" There was no response. "Saren! Do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?"
Dead air.
He heard Lawson shift uneasily behind him. "The initial scans showed the standard composites in Prothean ruins," she said quietly. "It's-It can't be the walls." The floor rumbled, shaking streams of dust from the ceiling and walls.
"You are associated with the one known as 'Saren'?" The VI asked. It's hard light display pulsed.
Shepard's eyes narrowed. Why would a fifty thousand year old prothean virtual intelligence care? "Maybe."
"Wonderful," the VI chirped, its voice suddenly emotive. "That's all I needed to know."
He got as far as yelping, "Wha-" before a loud clank drowned him out. The three of them whirled around just in time to see the door they came through slam shut. One by one the lights winked out until there was just the malevolent red glow.
"My name is Veto."
There was the familiar sound of mechanical whirring and crunching coming from all directions. The sound of auto defense turrets. The sound of being in the center of a kill box. Shimmering blue flooded over his vision.
"Access denied."
He was already moving.
Snippet 6.2
Shepard ducked back behind the pillar. The vibrating whine of mass accelerated ammunition splitting the air screamed past him, sharp clangs of the ricochet. He still had his barrier up, stubbornly, feeling the beginnings of a building heat in the base of his skull. He knew from experience those errant pieces of flying metal could dip below the speed threshold for his kinetic barrier.
And it wasn't going to do shit for whatever kind of round those turrets were spitting.
He was pretty sure this wasn't a Geth trap. It still could be, violent artificial intelligences were kind of a Geth thing but genuinely homicidal violent artificial intelligences was kind of new. And he was intimately acquainted with the novel brands of murderizing.
Rachni. Plant zombies. Thresher Maws. Broken steering systems on Makos. Bureaucracy.
Shepard sighed. "Fuck my life."
"Commander!"
He ducked, low, scrunching his center of mass as close to the ground as he could while still being on his feet. The damn thing, the VI, was aiming the ricochets at him. And he needed to let go of his biotics, yesterday.
He heard the tell tale 'whonging' sound of impacts on a barrier and then suddenly Miranda Lawson was beside him.
"Give it a rest, Commander." Her head jerked in a reactionary flinch as a corner of the pillar exploded out towards her face and scattered over her barrier. And in a move he'd only ever seen Asari commandos pull off, she bent her barrier into a more triangular shape that smoothly deflected incoming fire. "I'm better than you at this."
Well.
She didn't have to say it quite like that.
"Where's Williams?" His implant was uncomfortably warm, hissing with vented heat as he let his muscles relax. Door they came through, closed. Naturally. Other door, twenty, thirty yards deeper into the complex, sparse cover but some. That half fallen pillar looked promising...
"By the door. She's alright." Lawson paused for a second, then snuck a glance. "I think."
Shepard leaned out, taking potshots at one of the automated guns imbedded in the walls. "How long can you keep this up?" One down.
"How long do you need?"
Useless answer. "Give me a number!"
Miranda was tense but doing her damnest not to show it, purposely keeping her arms loose and knees flexed. But he could see it in her face, the furrowed eyebrows and tight set of her jaw. The dim blue glow of some sort of cybernetics just barely peeked over her customary high collar. "Five minutes. Tops."
He was grudgingly impressed. Saren knew how to pick them. "Let's make them count. You get Williams, I'll deal with the VI."
The look she gave him clearly said 'You're crazy.'
And in response, Shepard palmed a concussive grenade. Well, maybe he was a little crazy. And called out, "Think we got off on the wrong foot! How about we just, talk this out, huh Veto?"
There was a lull in the shooting, followed by the sound of loud, heavy clanks.
"Oh, I'd love to talk!" Veto chirped. "But there is a small matter of fluency. Slaughter, motherfucker. Do you speak it?"
"Do I want to know what it just pulled out to kill us with?" Shepard asked calmly.
Miranda looked over his shoulder, around the pillar and from the way her barrier suddenly doubled in thickness, he knew he wouldn't like the answer.
"Missile incoming!"
Primal fear screamed down his spine, the burning tingle of his brain stem activating everything attached to his nervous system, the implant 'popped,' a blob of biotic potential flickering into view and then-
Impact.
The concussive force blew his reflexive barrier to pieces, the feedback seizing his muscles as he felt his feet leave the floor, saw the pillar in front of him literally explode-
"-ander! Commander!"
His own breathing was too loud. The radio signal crackled and spit, biotic aftershocks skittering down his spine to just a point above his hips. Below that, he felt nothing.
"Commander! Are you alright?" Lawson's voice screeched and jumped in the audio. "Can you hear me? Please be alive, please-"
"I hear you, Lawson." Speaking hurt and he chinned the HUD display on his helmet, a body image and red splotches depicting empty medi-gel packs springing into view as the rubble above his head shifted. For a moment, he thought he saw four eyes and a slitted nose staring through the window on the black haired woman's helmet but he blinked it away. Ilos, not Elysium, right, right.
He tried very hard not to think about how he was still trapped.
"Williams with you?" He choked out. He could see the ceiling now, that was good. Now if he could just move
crackle "Yeah," That was Ashley's voice, strong. "What's your condition?"
Shepard gave the HUD his attention again. "All my central armor packs are dry, got soreness, cracked a few ribs I think." He closed his eyes and tried to wiggle his toes. Don't think about it, just report. Don't think, don't think. "Legs aren't responding."
"Well, fuck."
Miranda didn't say anything.
He could hear the two women moving around, the sound of pebbles coming loose and bouncing along, grinding of metal.
"Do you see any-"
"Floor's clean, it's this big one right here, can you-"
"Shepard," Lawson again. The audio was stable now, with only a background static threading through the speakers. "Give us a count." And then to Ashley, "I will lift this, be ready to grab him."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Three," Shepard called out suddenly, partially because he didn't think she would need that much time to prepare a Lift but mostly because he was struggling to hold on to his wits. He was trapped, had a fucking missile shot at him, he couldn't feel his legs-
"Two." Breathe in, breathe out. With a faint whoosh, he felt a bit of the numb pressure on his lower back ease.
"One."
And then Shepard's world exploded into blue stars and scorpions tap dancing on his nerves, he could have screamed at the white hot tingling pain but it was a familiar feeling, so he bore down, gritting his teeth through it. It felt like burnout, that wake up call that said you pushed beyond the implants and the feedback started ripping the nodules apart.
But he could move his toes.
Hoo Fucking Rah.
With a great amount of effort, he rolled off his stomach and gingerly wiggled his foot to show that he had feeling again.
"Good shit, skipper!"
"Well, that is a bit of good news." In spite of her more subdued reaction, he could almost hear the Intelligence Officer's sigh of relief. "Unfortunately, we need more of it. I am still unable to contact the other team."
Shepard grunted, gently flexing to make sure everything still worked. Must have just compressed the spine, pinched the nerve. Walking was going to be a bitch. "Why aren't we dead?"
"I..." Miranda looked around the room self consciously, lingering on the silent turrets embedded in the walls. "I don't know...."
Reassuring.
"The VI?"
It was Ashley who answered, her voice flat and distant like someone reciting something they learned a long time ago, or maybe like someone grappling with a stubborn memory. "The explosion knocked out the terminal it was using but there's more. In a complex this size? There's always more."
He sighed. Always something. "Alright, help me up."
It wasn't until Shepard got a good look at the damages that he realized why they weren't all dead. The exit door was completely trashed, the bulk of the rubble burying it. The angle at which some of the support beams and chunks of ceiling fell at, their positioning, it must have just been convenient acting like it's top priority was killing them all.
'Last thing we need is a psychotic VI capable of playing mind games.'
Not that trapping them was that much better.
He nodded in the direction of the only way out of the room, a single door with a diagonal red line glowing malevolently in the center. "Keep your guard up. Williams, cover our rear. Lawson, I'm suffering from burnout so we're going to depend on your for any biotics, understood?"
"Aye, Commander."
crackle "Yes sir."
And on the other side of the door, stood a rotating cylinder dais projecting a large red eye.
Veto spoke smoothly, without a hint of synthesis. "Still alive?"
Lawson's voice spat over the speakers, "That was a voice imprint, that wasn't created by a sound algorithm, this thing was created recently-"
"This is an acceptable outcome." Back to artificial tones. "The testing can continue."
When nothing immediately popped out to kill them, Shepard let himself passively scan the room. It was more like a foyer, branching in three directions and overgrown with the local fauna. He'd seen tree roots burrow into concrete and Feros was the epitome of aggressive plant life, but to crack through whatever alloy the Protheans used? That was ridiculous.
Miranda stepped forward. "What's your directive?"
The eye blinked. "The Conduit is not to be accessed."
Shepard thought he saw an easy out. "We don't want to access the Conduit."
"Of course you don't." The Intelligence agreed. "The dead don't want anything."
Well. With logic like that-
A gunshot rang out, slamming Shepard's heart into his throat and bringing up his rifle, whirling on the source- he hesitated. "Williams. Really?"
The dais smoked and sparked behind him.
"That conversation wasn't going anywhere, sir." The words were nonchalant, but her voice was almost thrumming with tension. Ex Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was spooked. "The Archives hold everything the Prothean Empire ever knew," She spoke fast. "The records, the timelines, the history. It's our culture, it's our innovations, it's our minds-"
"Our?"
At that simple reminder, her head jerked as if he had slapped her. "They," she breathed. "Sorry, sir."
"I think," Lawson began. " that what she's getting at is this thing is going to be very well defended."
Shepard took a shaky step. Pins and needles. "Then we need to find another way out. Ideas?"
"Door A, B or C?" The woman hummed, shifting.
crackle "And," Ashley interrupted. "You know what I want to know? We weren't the first ones here, where are all the Geth?"
Shepard stilled.
"That," he murmured. "Is a very good question."
An exploding planet, a booby trapped facility they only went to because of Geth presence...
Ilos was a fucking trap.
And they had walked right into it.
And it wasn't going to do shit for whatever kind of round those turrets were spitting.
He was pretty sure this wasn't a Geth trap. It still could be, violent artificial intelligences were kind of a Geth thing but genuinely homicidal violent artificial intelligences was kind of new. And he was intimately acquainted with the novel brands of murderizing.
Rachni. Plant zombies. Thresher Maws. Broken steering systems on Makos. Bureaucracy.
Shepard sighed. "Fuck my life."
"Commander!"
He ducked, low, scrunching his center of mass as close to the ground as he could while still being on his feet. The damn thing, the VI, was aiming the ricochets at him. And he needed to let go of his biotics, yesterday.
He heard the tell tale 'whonging' sound of impacts on a barrier and then suddenly Miranda Lawson was beside him.
"Give it a rest, Commander." Her head jerked in a reactionary flinch as a corner of the pillar exploded out towards her face and scattered over her barrier. And in a move he'd only ever seen Asari commandos pull off, she bent her barrier into a more triangular shape that smoothly deflected incoming fire. "I'm better than you at this."
Well.
She didn't have to say it quite like that.
"Where's Williams?" His implant was uncomfortably warm, hissing with vented heat as he let his muscles relax. Door they came through, closed. Naturally. Other door, twenty, thirty yards deeper into the complex, sparse cover but some. That half fallen pillar looked promising...
"By the door. She's alright." Lawson paused for a second, then snuck a glance. "I think."
Shepard leaned out, taking potshots at one of the automated guns imbedded in the walls. "How long can you keep this up?" One down.
"How long do you need?"
Useless answer. "Give me a number!"
Miranda was tense but doing her damnest not to show it, purposely keeping her arms loose and knees flexed. But he could see it in her face, the furrowed eyebrows and tight set of her jaw. The dim blue glow of some sort of cybernetics just barely peeked over her customary high collar. "Five minutes. Tops."
He was grudgingly impressed. Saren knew how to pick them. "Let's make them count. You get Williams, I'll deal with the VI."
The look she gave him clearly said 'You're crazy.'
And in response, Shepard palmed a concussive grenade. Well, maybe he was a little crazy. And called out, "Think we got off on the wrong foot! How about we just, talk this out, huh Veto?"
There was a lull in the shooting, followed by the sound of loud, heavy clanks.
"Oh, I'd love to talk!" Veto chirped. "But there is a small matter of fluency. Slaughter, motherfucker. Do you speak it?"
"Do I want to know what it just pulled out to kill us with?" Shepard asked calmly.
Miranda looked over his shoulder, around the pillar and from the way her barrier suddenly doubled in thickness, he knew he wouldn't like the answer.
"Missile incoming!"
Primal fear screamed down his spine, the burning tingle of his brain stem activating everything attached to his nervous system, the implant 'popped,' a blob of biotic potential flickering into view and then-
Impact.
The concussive force blew his reflexive barrier to pieces, the feedback seizing his muscles as he felt his feet leave the floor, saw the pillar in front of him literally explode-
"-ander! Commander!"
His own breathing was too loud. The radio signal crackled and spit, biotic aftershocks skittering down his spine to just a point above his hips. Below that, he felt nothing.
"Commander! Are you alright?" Lawson's voice screeched and jumped in the audio. "Can you hear me? Please be alive, please-"
"I hear you, Lawson." Speaking hurt and he chinned the HUD display on his helmet, a body image and red splotches depicting empty medi-gel packs springing into view as the rubble above his head shifted. For a moment, he thought he saw four eyes and a slitted nose staring through the window on the black haired woman's helmet but he blinked it away. Ilos, not Elysium, right, right.
He tried very hard not to think about how he was still trapped.
"Williams with you?" He choked out. He could see the ceiling now, that was good. Now if he could just move
crackle "Yeah," That was Ashley's voice, strong. "What's your condition?"
Shepard gave the HUD his attention again. "All my central armor packs are dry, got soreness, cracked a few ribs I think." He closed his eyes and tried to wiggle his toes. Don't think about it, just report. Don't think, don't think. "Legs aren't responding."
"Well, fuck."
Miranda didn't say anything.
He could hear the two women moving around, the sound of pebbles coming loose and bouncing along, grinding of metal.
"Do you see any-"
"Floor's clean, it's this big one right here, can you-"
"Shepard," Lawson again. The audio was stable now, with only a background static threading through the speakers. "Give us a count." And then to Ashley, "I will lift this, be ready to grab him."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Three," Shepard called out suddenly, partially because he didn't think she would need that much time to prepare a Lift but mostly because he was struggling to hold on to his wits. He was trapped, had a fucking missile shot at him, he couldn't feel his legs-
"Two." Breathe in, breathe out. With a faint whoosh, he felt a bit of the numb pressure on his lower back ease.
"One."
And then Shepard's world exploded into blue stars and scorpions tap dancing on his nerves, he could have screamed at the white hot tingling pain but it was a familiar feeling, so he bore down, gritting his teeth through it. It felt like burnout, that wake up call that said you pushed beyond the implants and the feedback started ripping the nodules apart.
But he could move his toes.
Hoo Fucking Rah.
With a great amount of effort, he rolled off his stomach and gingerly wiggled his foot to show that he had feeling again.
"Good shit, skipper!"
"Well, that is a bit of good news." In spite of her more subdued reaction, he could almost hear the Intelligence Officer's sigh of relief. "Unfortunately, we need more of it. I am still unable to contact the other team."
Shepard grunted, gently flexing to make sure everything still worked. Must have just compressed the spine, pinched the nerve. Walking was going to be a bitch. "Why aren't we dead?"
"I..." Miranda looked around the room self consciously, lingering on the silent turrets embedded in the walls. "I don't know...."
Reassuring.
"The VI?"
It was Ashley who answered, her voice flat and distant like someone reciting something they learned a long time ago, or maybe like someone grappling with a stubborn memory. "The explosion knocked out the terminal it was using but there's more. In a complex this size? There's always more."
He sighed. Always something. "Alright, help me up."
It wasn't until Shepard got a good look at the damages that he realized why they weren't all dead. The exit door was completely trashed, the bulk of the rubble burying it. The angle at which some of the support beams and chunks of ceiling fell at, their positioning, it must have just been convenient acting like it's top priority was killing them all.
'Last thing we need is a psychotic VI capable of playing mind games.'
Not that trapping them was that much better.
He nodded in the direction of the only way out of the room, a single door with a diagonal red line glowing malevolently in the center. "Keep your guard up. Williams, cover our rear. Lawson, I'm suffering from burnout so we're going to depend on your for any biotics, understood?"
"Aye, Commander."
crackle "Yes sir."
And on the other side of the door, stood a rotating cylinder dais projecting a large red eye.
Veto spoke smoothly, without a hint of synthesis. "Still alive?"
Lawson's voice spat over the speakers, "That was a voice imprint, that wasn't created by a sound algorithm, this thing was created recently-"
"This is an acceptable outcome." Back to artificial tones. "The testing can continue."
When nothing immediately popped out to kill them, Shepard let himself passively scan the room. It was more like a foyer, branching in three directions and overgrown with the local fauna. He'd seen tree roots burrow into concrete and Feros was the epitome of aggressive plant life, but to crack through whatever alloy the Protheans used? That was ridiculous.
Miranda stepped forward. "What's your directive?"
The eye blinked. "The Conduit is not to be accessed."
Shepard thought he saw an easy out. "We don't want to access the Conduit."
"Of course you don't." The Intelligence agreed. "The dead don't want anything."
Well. With logic like that-
A gunshot rang out, slamming Shepard's heart into his throat and bringing up his rifle, whirling on the source- he hesitated. "Williams. Really?"
The dais smoked and sparked behind him.
"That conversation wasn't going anywhere, sir." The words were nonchalant, but her voice was almost thrumming with tension. Ex Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was spooked. "The Archives hold everything the Prothean Empire ever knew," She spoke fast. "The records, the timelines, the history. It's our culture, it's our innovations, it's our minds-"
"Our?"
At that simple reminder, her head jerked as if he had slapped her. "They," she breathed. "Sorry, sir."
"I think," Lawson began. " that what she's getting at is this thing is going to be very well defended."
Shepard took a shaky step. Pins and needles. "Then we need to find another way out. Ideas?"
"Door A, B or C?" The woman hummed, shifting.
crackle "And," Ashley interrupted. "You know what I want to know? We weren't the first ones here, where are all the Geth?"
Shepard stilled.
"That," he murmured. "Is a very good question."
An exploding planet, a booby trapped facility they only went to because of Geth presence...
Ilos was a fucking trap.
And they had walked right into it.
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Thank you! I had a lot of fun designing her and rounds out the trio. This chapter IS her defining moment, but that doesn't she ceases being relevant in the future. All of them will help refine or degenerate [Rebecca] in Catalyst.exe, but Veto is hilarious
Chapter 7: Infiltration
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Her internal clock pinged her.
A simple notification.
Estimated Time of Arrival 59.0945621 seconds.
All things considered the final stretch of the journey was both felt shorter than it was, and took longer than she thought. She supposed that's what happened when you were racing to complete every project you could with limited resources, while dreading the pass of every microsecond. She remembered being human, when the sheer inability to accurately guess how long a minute was meant that in spite of her best efforts, five minutes went by in a blink.
Stop to get coffee, all of the sudden, half an hour late.
And now that she could count down to the very nanosecond, she was still losing the race against time.
The mass effect fields streaming past the monitors thinned out, orange streaks appearing as the approaching Relay began to counteract it, cosmic dust flashing against the shields as they abruptly dipped below light speed. She reacted fast, pulling on the engines as the ship shuddered and watched the meter tick. Gravitational well to the right she had to compensate for, drift...
Just under 30k.
Her first order of business: get out of the landing zone.
She 'dropped' the ship, heading straight down so that if anything came through the Relay behind her, it would coast over. And just to make sure...
She killed the auxiliary power and shut off the main engine. Little power output, small target, it was poor man's invisibility but all she had for now.
Note to self: investigate possibility of stealth fighter
Welp, she broadcasted, zipping up her new under suit as the temperatures began to drop. We're here. Aegis, focus on getting access to ground systems on the Citadel from here, if you can't, tell me where the problem is. There was little to no chance of getting everything she wanted done from a remote connection, but the more she could without physically breaking into a closed system, the better.
Veto, I am assigning all the cyber warefare suites to you. I don't want them seeing us. Vigil, sit tight for now.
Acknowledged, was the solemn response to a command that was literally "twiddle thumbs."
R6, keep working.
There were a few bleeps, two blahts and a rude rasberry.
Her own part in the plan didn't really come into play until she was able to set foot on the station, preferably without being arrested or outed as a synthetic. But there were things she could do in the meantime. She brought up the scanners, the yellow haptic interface spreading across in front of her, volunteering information.
And something about it...was wrong.
The Widow System within the Serpent Nebula was empty.
Too empty.
The singular star at the center of it burned a hot white-blue, sticking out like a target among the cooler shades of purple that was an arm of the Serpent Nebula. There were no planets, no asteroids, just ice coated dust that swirled inwards in a macabre dance, being swallowed by the star.
Dust.
And the Citadel.
The ship had already picked it up on the long range scanners, some kind of recognition embedded within the Prothean code had started triangulating its location as soon as they arrived. And that's what was bothering her. Because the Mass Effect Relay was actually pretty close to the center of galactic civilization, she could see the Citadel but what she wasn't seeing...
At this range the Destiny Ascension was registering as a solid contact, complete with technical readouts, if she wanted them. There were other, periodic blips on the sensors, phantom flickering of what seemed like business as usual.
Aegis. She flicked through the screens, suppressing a well of panic. Where the hell is the fleet?
It took the analyst VI a few seconds to provide an answer to her request.
Preemptive action. Perseus Veil.
Every non critical action froze.
No no no no no no no no NO Geth. What the fuck were they doing messing with-no, they didn't- but Sovereign was coming here! Her mind whirled, comparing plans to the current scenario and then discarding them, chewing through hundreds of contingencies in seconds. What to do, what to do, what to do, she needed to be able to think-
Hysteria disabled.
Fleet was responding to Geth threat. Geth that are a threat already out from behind the Veil. Council unaware of intentions (reference memory file 568.ht7347, observations, conclusions different, Normandy grounded?).
Her mind quickly came to a single conclusion: She needed to get the fleet here.
Now what...prompts a mass mobilization response from the military?
A threat.
Away from their current engagement?
A bigger threat.
The Widow system was empty.
Indeterminate amount of time before Sovereign and the Geth arrived. More than five minutes, less than six hours.
[Rebecca] deliberated.
"Well, fuck."
A simple notification.
Estimated Time of Arrival 59.0945621 seconds.
All things considered the final stretch of the journey was both felt shorter than it was, and took longer than she thought. She supposed that's what happened when you were racing to complete every project you could with limited resources, while dreading the pass of every microsecond. She remembered being human, when the sheer inability to accurately guess how long a minute was meant that in spite of her best efforts, five minutes went by in a blink.
Stop to get coffee, all of the sudden, half an hour late.
And now that she could count down to the very nanosecond, she was still losing the race against time.
The mass effect fields streaming past the monitors thinned out, orange streaks appearing as the approaching Relay began to counteract it, cosmic dust flashing against the shields as they abruptly dipped below light speed. She reacted fast, pulling on the engines as the ship shuddered and watched the meter tick. Gravitational well to the right she had to compensate for, drift...
Just under 30k.
Her first order of business: get out of the landing zone.
She 'dropped' the ship, heading straight down so that if anything came through the Relay behind her, it would coast over. And just to make sure...
She killed the auxiliary power and shut off the main engine. Little power output, small target, it was poor man's invisibility but all she had for now.
Note to self: investigate possibility of stealth fighter
Welp, she broadcasted, zipping up her new under suit as the temperatures began to drop. We're here. Aegis, focus on getting access to ground systems on the Citadel from here, if you can't, tell me where the problem is. There was little to no chance of getting everything she wanted done from a remote connection, but the more she could without physically breaking into a closed system, the better.
Veto, I am assigning all the cyber warefare suites to you. I don't want them seeing us. Vigil, sit tight for now.
Acknowledged, was the solemn response to a command that was literally "twiddle thumbs."
R6, keep working.
There were a few bleeps, two blahts and a rude rasberry.
Her own part in the plan didn't really come into play until she was able to set foot on the station, preferably without being arrested or outed as a synthetic. But there were things she could do in the meantime. She brought up the scanners, the yellow haptic interface spreading across in front of her, volunteering information.
And something about it...was wrong.
The Widow System within the Serpent Nebula was empty.
Too empty.
The singular star at the center of it burned a hot white-blue, sticking out like a target among the cooler shades of purple that was an arm of the Serpent Nebula. There were no planets, no asteroids, just ice coated dust that swirled inwards in a macabre dance, being swallowed by the star.
Dust.
And the Citadel.
The ship had already picked it up on the long range scanners, some kind of recognition embedded within the Prothean code had started triangulating its location as soon as they arrived. And that's what was bothering her. Because the Mass Effect Relay was actually pretty close to the center of galactic civilization, she could see the Citadel but what she wasn't seeing...
At this range the Destiny Ascension was registering as a solid contact, complete with technical readouts, if she wanted them. There were other, periodic blips on the sensors, phantom flickering of what seemed like business as usual.
Aegis. She flicked through the screens, suppressing a well of panic. Where the hell is the fleet?
It took the analyst VI a few seconds to provide an answer to her request.
Preemptive action. Perseus Veil.
Every non critical action froze.
No no no no no no no no NO Geth. What the fuck were they doing messing with-no, they didn't- but Sovereign was coming here! Her mind whirled, comparing plans to the current scenario and then discarding them, chewing through hundreds of contingencies in seconds. What to do, what to do, what to do, she needed to be able to think-
Hysteria disabled.
Fleet was responding to Geth threat. Geth that are a threat already out from behind the Veil. Council unaware of intentions (reference memory file 568.ht7347, observations, conclusions different, Normandy grounded?).
Her mind quickly came to a single conclusion: She needed to get the fleet here.
Now what...prompts a mass mobilization response from the military?
A threat.
Away from their current engagement?
A bigger threat.
The Widow system was empty.
Indeterminate amount of time before Sovereign and the Geth arrived. More than five minutes, less than six hours.
[Rebecca] deliberated.
"Well, fuck."
Infiltration 1.1
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
The communication system made a slight crackle, like a puff of dust being blown off of a long unused object. "Unidentified ship, this is Citadel Control. Stay your course and speed, state your intentions," the flanging voice of a Turian came through the speakers. Her translation algorithms parsed it. "Deviation will be responded to."
She breathed in, then let it out. Here's to hoping her archive binge through Asari and Turian movies off the extranet were worth it.
She was already plugged into the ship. She could see the communication protocol as it streamed in. She watched the ship break it down and translate the different parts, separate it from the transmitted data packet into error checking, framework, protocol, audio bytes. She encapsulated her own message accordingly.
"Citadel Control," she answered in Asari. The dialect she chose was referred to as 'lesser' or 'Low' Asari, the kind of diction used when speaking to other races and when translated into English had a kind of slightly twanging, American accent. Which said really interesting things about whoever programmed Mass Effect's translators, and how big a bag of dicks the Asari were. "This is two dash seven five Athame. You won't find it in your records, I'm here to register."
There was a pause generated by what [Rebecca] figured – 83.564% chance – was racial profiling. "Copy that. Reason for registering?"
Asari culture was stratified. Matriarchs were queens, cultured, respected, influential and rarely seen out of Asari space. Matrons were the ones viciously mauled by baby fever and were settling down, stabilizing, the time when humans would be looking forward to their own house and white picket fence extended out over a few centuries.
Maidens were batshit insane.
No offense to Liara, but normal people do not get stuck in a cage long enough for either depression or hallucinations to set in, barely scrape by several life-threatening events in rapid succession, learn that their mother's old friend is a racist asshole working with genocidal machines, and treat it like it's a mildly exciting Tuesday.
Most of the Asari seen mingling with other races were Maidens. Low Asari was not quite rude, but less cultured and heard a lot in melting pot areas. The Citadel, Ilum. Omega. Couple that with an unregistered ship, and it didn't look too good.
"Trying to do this all legal like, CC, but my ship's got failing life support and a Prothean database. What's it gonna be?"
Another short pause.
"Docking bay 4326 is open. Stay your course, we'll send out an escort."
"Thank you."
You heard the man, [Rebecca] sent to Aegis. Stay the course.
Affirmative.
She took the time to double check the repairs on her white suit and finish up on her helmet. The fighter had a limited fabrication unit on board for small repairs, extremely limited, but it was enough. The helmet was seeded out of samples of her self-repairing under suit and looked like a thin motorcycle helmet. There was a T-shaped visor on the face and more importantly, imbedded low lights.
She wrapped her hair up and squeezed the helmet on. Instantly, her breath seemed loud and warm. The lack of air flow would make it extremely uncomfortable for an organic, she noted. Good thing she wasn't one.
She turned up the light sensitivity of her vision and faced a reflective wall.
I look like a space criminal.
Her black under suit was subtly striped with the nanofibers, the packets of resources for repairs looked like armor panels running down the side of her legs, arms and chest. The helmet was just shy of menacing and wearing it was a blue eyed Asari.
The lights emitted the same wavelength eezo did, amplifying her blue tint.
She tapped open the communicator on the bottom right side by her jaw line. "Testing."
She slipped back into her seat feeling naked and exposed. She forced herself to ignore it. The escort ships were very Turian in design, hard angles and very utilitarian looking. They wiggled their wings and settled into their positions, one just behind her to make sure she didn't run, the other leading the way. The comm keyed a call and she let it through.
"Two seventy five Athame? What model's your ship?" The speaker was human, Mandarin Chinese. "I don't recognize it."
She spent fractions of a second searching through her language database for an appropriate Asari phrase, then rethought her first impression. The rest of her processing power was dedicated to beating down the irrational urge to hug the human over the radio. "Haven't a clue, it's Prothean."
The lead ship waggled back and forth. Her ship logged the scans he was taking. "Seriously?"
She laughed, harsh. "Would I lie to you?"
The approach was spent going over the extranet. BAaT had existed, was shut down. She didn't expect to find much on Cerberus, and she didn't, just vague mentions in the middle of conspiracy theorist rantings or completely unrelated topics. Eden Prime had been attacked by Geth. A lot of the details were hidden, the grubby fingers of politics written all over it but there were a few mentions of an Alliance marine.
Shephard's female? No, wait, Ashley!?
Ashley Williams had a glowing press release delivered by David Anderson shortly after the attack on Eden Prime. She hadn't been assigned to the Normandy. She was on leave. [Rebecca] checked the dates, checked the source.
This didn't bode well.
With a sinking stomach, she looked up Commander Shepard.
Male, war hero. Elysium was well documented and there were even video clips of Shepard's award ceremony. He was tall, dark haired and handsome and looked really uncomfortable shaking hands with Anderson and other officials. He looked just like her Shepard, just flesh and blood. He was also a Spectre-Candidate.
On a classified mission with Council Spectres Nihlus Kryikk and Saren Arterius.
Her processing threads split off.
One continued calculating, adjusting for new information and inputting brand new variables. It shored up her disguise as a generic Asari mercenary, edited the travel logs and sorted through information.
The other was a repeating series of five characters.
What.
Disabling fear/hysteria/anger subroutines.
She dove back into the extranet, this time no longer content to see familiar events or faces. She went searching for every little thing that was wrong. She got as far as the public record of multimillionaire philanthropist Jack Harper before just…stopping…for a few seconds.
I don't know this galaxy. I don't know the people. I don't know the events.
I know nothing.
She built a data mining program. It took her roughly .43794 seconds to establish the key words it would search for, everything from 'Aethyta' to 'Zaeed.' She built a database table of her memories from the games translated into text. That took longer. She reserved memory space, coded parsing programs for all recognized Citadel languages and then spent minutes carefully defining the behavior of a comparison command.
Tenet Number One, she thought, and inscribed it into her very code. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
She cloaked the program with stealth and morphing algorithms, and let it loose.
"Prepare for docking, Athame."
She took control of the ship back from Aegis with the tiniest bit of haste. He hadn't graduated from 'crashes a military grade hardsuit could theoretically walk away from' yet and she wanted to get off on the right foot with the local organics.
She loved landing. Landing in a star port was easy. The guidance system did half the work for you and the rest was just hovering in place until the magnetic clamps attached.
The Citadel up close was like viewing a high fidelity screenshot. She called up a picture of the Normandy's approach from Mass Effect 3 and compared the two. The game didn't quite do it justice.
Everything was whiter, sleeker, more alive. Hundreds of thousands of shuttles, cars and small aircraft clogged the traffic lines. She could identify some of the leafy greens from the Prothean database, native species of Thessia. She cranked up the range of her vision and could see the people, the Asari, Batarian, Salarian, Turian, Hanar, Elcor, Humans. Talking, eating, laughing, loving.
Unaware.
Grief detected. Disable Y/N?
Oh. She thought.
The large circle in the midst loomed over them all and the central tower, the Council Chambers were backlit against the light of the young star in the Serpent Nebula.
It cast a very long shadow.
The star port was nothing special, a long tube with the clamps and extended bridge. She barely paid attention, instead taking the time to lay ground rules.
Aegis, maximum security. No one but me is allowed to do anything with this ship but open doors. Restrict access to you. Vigil, pretend you're brain dead. Veto.
"Yes?" Its voice was eager. "Is the ship to be designated a protected base?"
[Rebecca] sighed.
Do absolutely nothing. In fact? Shut down. She sent the audio file containing Veto's override code. Vigil, double check.
It Is Inert.
Good.
Two of the four clamps latched onto her ship leaving aborted magnets hanging in midair due to the fighter's small size. She gave one last look around the cockpit. The guns were attached to Vigil's suit via the neurolinks. Might count as contraband. Might not. If they wanted them, they'd have to cut through Prothean-grade protective sheath in order to get useless guns.
She'd cleaned up a little. Kind of.
More to erase the image of frantic retreat and haphazard spacing in order to replace it with 'purposeful slob.' There was order to it now. She snagged a small weapon, pistol, and her belt to place it on. Helmet off, visor attached to skull, helmet back on. Check reflection.
There were more heavy clanks vibrating through the ship hull.
Opening airlock, Aegis said.
Show time.
[Rebecca] walked out of the ship, observed the C-Sec observing her ship or her and realized that she had greatly underestimated Prothean data security. She supposed it only made sense. They were an aggressively expansionist empire. They faced AIs before. They had been fighting against the Reapers and all their toys for centuries. It had taken her half a day to hack into Ibdali Kashad's glorified diary.
It took her .000033 seconds to hack into Citadel Security's weapons.
That was an adrenaline shot right in the confidence. [Rebecca] nearly strutted down the walkway – hacked camera feed said she was strutting – and brought up the pale green haptic interface. It floated as a large translucent rectangle in front of her which she manipulated with her hand for the benefit of all the raised eyebrows.
"The basics," she dismissed – ping omni-tool with ghost server request: what does an ID look like, received, intercepted, access wiped from memory – and sent her identification and proof of ownership. The pistol had a weapons license, some of the guns attached to Vigil did not, didn't want to seem too clean now.
Intercept verification request – what does that look like, oh, interesting, altered shadow copy gets the green light, erase original – and waited.
God, organics were slow.
"Been a while since your last visit, Miss Sareem?" Good old Canadian English accent. Cute, she supposed. Crew cut brown hair and lopsided grin.
[Rebecca] scoffed and glanced away from the human C-Sec officer, her fabricated file floating on the forefront of her memory. The obvious senior officers were hanging back blocking the exit, taking scans of the ship – intercept scan of her body, edit metal content, type, location, access wiped from memory –and talking to each other. They would be the harder sells. "Add a few decades to your mother's age, kid. A while."
He was double checking her ID. She knew he saw it when he grimaced. "Right."
The Turian senior officer, tall, gruff looking with orange face markings and scars scratched across his mandibles stepped up, omni-tool glowing. His voice was a 99.324% match for the Citadel Control guy. "You mentioned a Prothean database."
"It's under lock and key," [Rebecca] retorted lazily. "You can try your luck with the security, or we can start with what you can do for me."
He did that thing Turians in the games did, flex their mandibles without saying anything. "This isn't Omega."
"Too clean." She smiled. There were no corresponding emotion subroutines. "On the surface. Never hurts to be cautious, does it?"
"No, it does not." His Asari companion said in High Asari with a tight smile. The one with the extra camera and marginally better omni-tool security. Curious, she hacked it again. Oh, hello Shadow Broker agent. Cloak activity, data mine. "Miss Sareem? If you would come with me? I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."
[Rebecca] made a show of thinking it over.
Obvious trap. Of course, she wasn't supposed to already know it was a trap and it would be a trap sprung months later in the background, but it was definitely a trap. Likelihood of the Broker compromising his agent? Low. Genuine offer, it would be mutually beneficial, of that she had no doubt. He just planned to benefit more.
Should she be expecting Cerebrus?
She eyed the embarrassed human C-Sec officer. He was deliberately not looking at her.
Bueler?
Obligingly, [Rebecca] switched dialects. "I expect an expert will be on hand shortly to examine the data. I wish to speak to them first. That is my only requirement."
"Excellent. Tarina Ves," she held out her hand in introduction. [Rebecca] blazed through her Asari archives for greetings, and inclined her head while walking past her.
"Charmed."
They got in the elevator. Tarina pressed the button, the doors closed and it began to descend. [Rebecca] nearly swore out loud. Saren wasn't rogue. Ashley got mind whammied by the beacon. The Illusive Man was pulling an Oprah Winfrey. The one thing, the one thing her memories of the game got completely right?
The elevator was exactly as slow as the ones in the game.
Down to very last millisecond.
She breathed in, then let it out. Here's to hoping her archive binge through Asari and Turian movies off the extranet were worth it.
She was already plugged into the ship. She could see the communication protocol as it streamed in. She watched the ship break it down and translate the different parts, separate it from the transmitted data packet into error checking, framework, protocol, audio bytes. She encapsulated her own message accordingly.
"Citadel Control," she answered in Asari. The dialect she chose was referred to as 'lesser' or 'Low' Asari, the kind of diction used when speaking to other races and when translated into English had a kind of slightly twanging, American accent. Which said really interesting things about whoever programmed Mass Effect's translators, and how big a bag of dicks the Asari were. "This is two dash seven five Athame. You won't find it in your records, I'm here to register."
There was a pause generated by what [Rebecca] figured – 83.564% chance – was racial profiling. "Copy that. Reason for registering?"
Asari culture was stratified. Matriarchs were queens, cultured, respected, influential and rarely seen out of Asari space. Matrons were the ones viciously mauled by baby fever and were settling down, stabilizing, the time when humans would be looking forward to their own house and white picket fence extended out over a few centuries.
Maidens were batshit insane.
No offense to Liara, but normal people do not get stuck in a cage long enough for either depression or hallucinations to set in, barely scrape by several life-threatening events in rapid succession, learn that their mother's old friend is a racist asshole working with genocidal machines, and treat it like it's a mildly exciting Tuesday.
Most of the Asari seen mingling with other races were Maidens. Low Asari was not quite rude, but less cultured and heard a lot in melting pot areas. The Citadel, Ilum. Omega. Couple that with an unregistered ship, and it didn't look too good.
"Trying to do this all legal like, CC, but my ship's got failing life support and a Prothean database. What's it gonna be?"
Another short pause.
"Docking bay 4326 is open. Stay your course, we'll send out an escort."
"Thank you."
You heard the man, [Rebecca] sent to Aegis. Stay the course.
Affirmative.
She took the time to double check the repairs on her white suit and finish up on her helmet. The fighter had a limited fabrication unit on board for small repairs, extremely limited, but it was enough. The helmet was seeded out of samples of her self-repairing under suit and looked like a thin motorcycle helmet. There was a T-shaped visor on the face and more importantly, imbedded low lights.
She wrapped her hair up and squeezed the helmet on. Instantly, her breath seemed loud and warm. The lack of air flow would make it extremely uncomfortable for an organic, she noted. Good thing she wasn't one.
She turned up the light sensitivity of her vision and faced a reflective wall.
I look like a space criminal.
Her black under suit was subtly striped with the nanofibers, the packets of resources for repairs looked like armor panels running down the side of her legs, arms and chest. The helmet was just shy of menacing and wearing it was a blue eyed Asari.
The lights emitted the same wavelength eezo did, amplifying her blue tint.
She tapped open the communicator on the bottom right side by her jaw line. "Testing."
She slipped back into her seat feeling naked and exposed. She forced herself to ignore it. The escort ships were very Turian in design, hard angles and very utilitarian looking. They wiggled their wings and settled into their positions, one just behind her to make sure she didn't run, the other leading the way. The comm keyed a call and she let it through.
"Two seventy five Athame? What model's your ship?" The speaker was human, Mandarin Chinese. "I don't recognize it."
She spent fractions of a second searching through her language database for an appropriate Asari phrase, then rethought her first impression. The rest of her processing power was dedicated to beating down the irrational urge to hug the human over the radio. "Haven't a clue, it's Prothean."
The lead ship waggled back and forth. Her ship logged the scans he was taking. "Seriously?"
She laughed, harsh. "Would I lie to you?"
The approach was spent going over the extranet. BAaT had existed, was shut down. She didn't expect to find much on Cerberus, and she didn't, just vague mentions in the middle of conspiracy theorist rantings or completely unrelated topics. Eden Prime had been attacked by Geth. A lot of the details were hidden, the grubby fingers of politics written all over it but there were a few mentions of an Alliance marine.
Shephard's female? No, wait, Ashley!?
Ashley Williams had a glowing press release delivered by David Anderson shortly after the attack on Eden Prime. She hadn't been assigned to the Normandy. She was on leave. [Rebecca] checked the dates, checked the source.
This didn't bode well.
With a sinking stomach, she looked up Commander Shepard.
Male, war hero. Elysium was well documented and there were even video clips of Shepard's award ceremony. He was tall, dark haired and handsome and looked really uncomfortable shaking hands with Anderson and other officials. He looked just like her Shepard, just flesh and blood. He was also a Spectre-Candidate.
On a classified mission with Council Spectres Nihlus Kryikk and Saren Arterius.
Her processing threads split off.
One continued calculating, adjusting for new information and inputting brand new variables. It shored up her disguise as a generic Asari mercenary, edited the travel logs and sorted through information.
The other was a repeating series of five characters.
What.
Disabling fear/hysteria/anger subroutines.
She dove back into the extranet, this time no longer content to see familiar events or faces. She went searching for every little thing that was wrong. She got as far as the public record of multimillionaire philanthropist Jack Harper before just…stopping…for a few seconds.
I don't know this galaxy. I don't know the people. I don't know the events.
I know nothing.
She built a data mining program. It took her roughly .43794 seconds to establish the key words it would search for, everything from 'Aethyta' to 'Zaeed.' She built a database table of her memories from the games translated into text. That took longer. She reserved memory space, coded parsing programs for all recognized Citadel languages and then spent minutes carefully defining the behavior of a comparison command.
Tenet Number One, she thought, and inscribed it into her very code. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
She cloaked the program with stealth and morphing algorithms, and let it loose.
"Prepare for docking, Athame."
She took control of the ship back from Aegis with the tiniest bit of haste. He hadn't graduated from 'crashes a military grade hardsuit could theoretically walk away from' yet and she wanted to get off on the right foot with the local organics.
She loved landing. Landing in a star port was easy. The guidance system did half the work for you and the rest was just hovering in place until the magnetic clamps attached.
The Citadel up close was like viewing a high fidelity screenshot. She called up a picture of the Normandy's approach from Mass Effect 3 and compared the two. The game didn't quite do it justice.
Everything was whiter, sleeker, more alive. Hundreds of thousands of shuttles, cars and small aircraft clogged the traffic lines. She could identify some of the leafy greens from the Prothean database, native species of Thessia. She cranked up the range of her vision and could see the people, the Asari, Batarian, Salarian, Turian, Hanar, Elcor, Humans. Talking, eating, laughing, loving.
Unaware.
Grief detected. Disable Y/N?
Oh. She thought.
The large circle in the midst loomed over them all and the central tower, the Council Chambers were backlit against the light of the young star in the Serpent Nebula.
It cast a very long shadow.
The star port was nothing special, a long tube with the clamps and extended bridge. She barely paid attention, instead taking the time to lay ground rules.
Aegis, maximum security. No one but me is allowed to do anything with this ship but open doors. Restrict access to you. Vigil, pretend you're brain dead. Veto.
"Yes?" Its voice was eager. "Is the ship to be designated a protected base?"
[Rebecca] sighed.
Do absolutely nothing. In fact? Shut down. She sent the audio file containing Veto's override code. Vigil, double check.
It Is Inert.
Good.
Two of the four clamps latched onto her ship leaving aborted magnets hanging in midair due to the fighter's small size. She gave one last look around the cockpit. The guns were attached to Vigil's suit via the neurolinks. Might count as contraband. Might not. If they wanted them, they'd have to cut through Prothean-grade protective sheath in order to get useless guns.
She'd cleaned up a little. Kind of.
More to erase the image of frantic retreat and haphazard spacing in order to replace it with 'purposeful slob.' There was order to it now. She snagged a small weapon, pistol, and her belt to place it on. Helmet off, visor attached to skull, helmet back on. Check reflection.
There were more heavy clanks vibrating through the ship hull.
Opening airlock, Aegis said.
Show time.
[Rebecca] walked out of the ship, observed the C-Sec observing her ship or her and realized that she had greatly underestimated Prothean data security. She supposed it only made sense. They were an aggressively expansionist empire. They faced AIs before. They had been fighting against the Reapers and all their toys for centuries. It had taken her half a day to hack into Ibdali Kashad's glorified diary.
It took her .000033 seconds to hack into Citadel Security's weapons.
That was an adrenaline shot right in the confidence. [Rebecca] nearly strutted down the walkway – hacked camera feed said she was strutting – and brought up the pale green haptic interface. It floated as a large translucent rectangle in front of her which she manipulated with her hand for the benefit of all the raised eyebrows.
"The basics," she dismissed – ping omni-tool with ghost server request: what does an ID look like, received, intercepted, access wiped from memory – and sent her identification and proof of ownership. The pistol had a weapons license, some of the guns attached to Vigil did not, didn't want to seem too clean now.
Intercept verification request – what does that look like, oh, interesting, altered shadow copy gets the green light, erase original – and waited.
God, organics were slow.
"Been a while since your last visit, Miss Sareem?" Good old Canadian English accent. Cute, she supposed. Crew cut brown hair and lopsided grin.
[Rebecca] scoffed and glanced away from the human C-Sec officer, her fabricated file floating on the forefront of her memory. The obvious senior officers were hanging back blocking the exit, taking scans of the ship – intercept scan of her body, edit metal content, type, location, access wiped from memory –and talking to each other. They would be the harder sells. "Add a few decades to your mother's age, kid. A while."
He was double checking her ID. She knew he saw it when he grimaced. "Right."
The Turian senior officer, tall, gruff looking with orange face markings and scars scratched across his mandibles stepped up, omni-tool glowing. His voice was a 99.324% match for the Citadel Control guy. "You mentioned a Prothean database."
"It's under lock and key," [Rebecca] retorted lazily. "You can try your luck with the security, or we can start with what you can do for me."
He did that thing Turians in the games did, flex their mandibles without saying anything. "This isn't Omega."
"Too clean." She smiled. There were no corresponding emotion subroutines. "On the surface. Never hurts to be cautious, does it?"
"No, it does not." His Asari companion said in High Asari with a tight smile. The one with the extra camera and marginally better omni-tool security. Curious, she hacked it again. Oh, hello Shadow Broker agent. Cloak activity, data mine. "Miss Sareem? If you would come with me? I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."
[Rebecca] made a show of thinking it over.
Obvious trap. Of course, she wasn't supposed to already know it was a trap and it would be a trap sprung months later in the background, but it was definitely a trap. Likelihood of the Broker compromising his agent? Low. Genuine offer, it would be mutually beneficial, of that she had no doubt. He just planned to benefit more.
Should she be expecting Cerebrus?
She eyed the embarrassed human C-Sec officer. He was deliberately not looking at her.
Bueler?
Obligingly, [Rebecca] switched dialects. "I expect an expert will be on hand shortly to examine the data. I wish to speak to them first. That is my only requirement."
"Excellent. Tarina Ves," she held out her hand in introduction. [Rebecca] blazed through her Asari archives for greetings, and inclined her head while walking past her.
"Charmed."
They got in the elevator. Tarina pressed the button, the doors closed and it began to descend. [Rebecca] nearly swore out loud. Saren wasn't rogue. Ashley got mind whammied by the beacon. The Illusive Man was pulling an Oprah Winfrey. The one thing, the one thing her memories of the game got completely right?
The elevator was exactly as slow as the ones in the game.
Down to very last millisecond.
Wow that's one long page. Does no one like you on SV or are we all straddling both and comment on SB first because you cross-post with a huge delay.
Robo Jesus
Your Mechanical Messiah
I think it may be the delay. And the fact that few know the SV thread exists or is (now) active.
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Both? The initial posts were all done at once with the more edited/cleaned up/consolidated version. The part with [Rebecca] when I arrive in the Serpent Nebula? That was done at the same time, no delay. No response, basically. So just back to my usual schedule in case anyone is following over here, but no high expectations.
- Location
- Germany
I have (had) both threads "watched" and I think I read the one on SB much earlier...
*looking up timestamp* you posted the SB one 11 hours ago... and this one 1 hour ago.
(edit)I had forgotten that I had both threads watched, so I stopped watching the SB one.
*looking up timestamp* you posted the SB one 11 hours ago... and this one 1 hour ago.
(edit)I had forgotten that I had both threads watched, so I stopped watching the SB one.
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"You get a secret black ops group! You get a secret black ops group! EVERYONE GETS A SECRET BLACK OPS GROUP!"
But seriously, that line could imply that Jack Harper is... just that Jack Harper a Philanthropist.
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
Ya, it's been a while since the last update, for sure.I think I need a "free weekend" to re-read the story again after the long pause... I remember parts of it but the details are vague...
Infiltration 1.2
Shujin
M. NightShujinlan
- Location
- New York, New York
The ride down to the main floor had been quiet. As they stepped out, the bustle of organics smacked [Rebecca] in the face. Close enough to touch. The ceiling was a high arch, resembling the Citadel from the third game more with multiple levels connected through grid walkways, flashing signs and slick, reflective material. It was a hub with four main passageways and a 'garage' of air cars and taxis on a balcony. A pair of Salarians saw them coming, and she could see the widening of their already large eyes before they shuffled out of the way.
How much time do I have? She wondered. Not enough.
[Rebecca] reached through her connections. The Vis were silent and still. She nudged R6 and its little camera eye shuttered open and showed her the legs and boots of people wandering around the ship. It had no noise sensors, so all she could do was angle the lens up more. The orange glow of omni-tools off C-Sec uniforms.
She breathed a mental sigh of relief.
R6, to me.
Tarina waved her omni-tool at the little stand Shepard used in the games to travel between Wards. One of the aircars turned on and lifted itself off the balcony to glide in front of them. The door opened. "We'll be heading for C-Sec," the Asari stated. "You are not under arrest or being charged, this is for your safety."
"My safety," [Rebecca] repeated.
"Your ship is attention getting and it will not be long before others are aware of what you have." Tarina had a completely placid expression on her face, and [Rebecca] mentally bumped up her age estimate of the woman. "Perfect security is a lie and the Citadel is as you have said, clean on the surface. Mercenaries, data thieves, agents of the Shadow Broker."
Clever.
[Rebecca] bowed her head and got in the car. The seats were hard but not completely uncomfortable, and the inside completely devoid of any features. Tarina got in after her. The door closed and the car drove itself into the weaving streams of atmospheric lanes.
Shortly into the ride, Tarina began to fiddle with her omni-tool and [Rebecca] took the opportunity to extract her mine under the cover of apps opening and closing. It came back with several terabytes of information, most of it worthless. If she was interested, Tarina's career in C-Sec was all there, laid out in memos, e-mails, case files and documents. She took note of the dates and times files were accessed and put any that were repeatedly viewed, altered or copied at a higher priority than the rest.
Personal files were included in the extraction and [Rebecca] felt a bit guilty combing over them for coded messages or innocuous orders. She compensated for the invasion of privacy by deleting everything with a 'negligible' suspicion level. That left a few short messages, bank transactions that were officially payments for services there was no evidence of Tarina doing, and a very recent email exchange:
C got p data 4 asylum offer, intercept?
The answer was short.
Details.
Tarina cleared her throat quietly, changing her omni-tool settings to obscure the screen with the glowing orange interface. The Asari was slightly taller than [Rebecca]'s platform, full figured like most of them were but the C-Sec navy blue and white uniform was not flattering. When Mass Effect was just a game, Asari were just one of those things she rolled her eyes at. Vastly different environment, but an evolutionary path that had them looking nigh identical to humans? Pfft, right.
She had to let it slide though. Alien space babes were a thing in space operas since her parents were kids.
Now it was decidedly not a game, and she was very grateful for their human-like appearance, but seriously.
How?
"I hope you do not mind if I ask you some questions," Tarina began. [Rebecca] made a small gesture, a fluttering of the fingertips that meant 'go on.' There a momentary seize of wondering if she got the context right. She'd learned Asari from dictionaries, and usage from movies. She was going to make a mistake at some point.
"Where did you last dock the Athame?"
Here we go, [Rebecca] thought.
"You have my file, do you not?"
Tarina smiled slightly. "Humor me."
[Rebecca] affected a put out sigh. "Nowhere. It was excavated, bought and renovated. I won't claim everything was strictly legal by Council standards, but I don't operate in Council space. The hull was kept, some computer systems, the spinal cannon is not functional."
"And the database," Tarina finished for her, making a note.
[Rebecca] just let her lips curl up as an answer.
"There was mentions of a failing life support?"
[Rebecca] said one word. "Geth."
Tarina froze for a moment. [Rebecca] could almost see her connecting the dots. Geth attacked Eden Prime, specifically they attacked the Prothean archaeological dig on Eden Prime after it had unearthed a beacon. Geth activity in the Terminus systems. The Athame docked nowhere, straight from its storage sight to the Citadel. Failing life support and easy to spot structural damage.
"I – I'm elevating the urgency level of this."
"So I was wondering," [Rebecca] drew out. "Where is your fleet?"
"The Citadel Defense fleet is securing the sector." Really? That was something of a relief, but considering how fucked they were in the games before the Alliance swooped in, she didn't have high hopes. "The majority is taking action at the Perseus Veil, the Geth won't - "
[Rebecca] cut her off there. "They are machines. They can make as many of themselves as resources allow. Annnnd the Council went to fight them in their territory." The air taxi braked with a low 'shwoooooom' sound. "Brilliant."
The door opened with they stopped and Tarina got out, frowning. [Rebecca] glanced around at the futuristic skyscraper that housed Council Security. It was an absolute monster of a building dominating the entire Ward and was tall enough to get wispy clouds forming around its peak. It had its own space port and tiered balconies housed hundreds of squad cars painted blue and white with flashers at the top.
Tarina Ves shut off her omni-tool. "Come with me."
[Rebecca] followed her through C-Sec headquarters. It was something like an office building, a Star Wars cantina and an 80's cop station all in one. Machines spewing coffee and other beverages into cups and mugs and jugs at a counter, neon lights contrasting dark corners and lounge rooms, officers taking statements and perps in electronic cuffs, rows upon rows of cubicles.
A short elevator ride later and she was walking into a modest office room with a desk, pictures of Tarina with a Turian, and computer.
"Have a seat."
The door locked behind [Rebecca]. Red flags started appearing when Tarina keyed in a few things at the computer and the small camera in the corner of the room turned off. "I turned off the cameras," Tarina said as she settled in her chair. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "I assumed you wanted to keep your cover identity intact." Those red flags became shrieking alarms. "The helmet?"
[Rebecca] stared for a moment. Shit. She reluctantly pried the helmet off. "What gave me away?"
Tarina didn't answer immediately, blinking in stunned surprise. "I – It was the lights you used, we're very sensitive to that wavelength band. But – " she paused, eyes still widened. "You're human. But you actually look- " Tarina waved her omni-tool and [Rebecca] reflexively edited the results.
"A little blue?"
"To be blunt, yes. It's faint, but noticeable." She hesitated. "I won't pry." The look she gave [Rebecca] then betrayed how much the Asari really, really wanted to pry.
[Rebecca] thought back. "Is that why you held out your hand for me to shake? Were you trying to get me to give myself away?"
"You're very good," Tarina admitted, slipping into Low Asari. That pissed [Rebecca] off a little, that just because she was human, she wasn't 'good enough' for High Asari, no matter how well she spoke it.
[Rebecca] gestured sharply and deliberately kept using High Asari. "We were having a polite conversation. Do not ruin it."
Tarina's mouth opened, then closed with a thoughtful tilt of the head. "Very well. You had the mannerisms and subtle gestures. Your Asari is nearly perfect. Ilium accent, yes?" [Rebecca] nodded, feeling a bit of pride. Thank you, Blasto 3: Ilium Skyline. "If it was just the light, even I would have second guessed myself. However, on the elevator it was clear. You are not a biotic."
Damn.
"And all Asari are biotics," [Rebecca] flopped into the offered chair. "You can sense that?"
She had the entire taxonomical details of Asari in her memory, but knowing where the nerve clusters were, the placement of major blood vessels or physical development didn't mean she knew everything.
"It is not widely advertised, because it scarcely matters. The default assumption is that everyone else is also biotic but it does not change things if they aren't." Tarina gave a little one armed shrug as she resumed typing. "It is like a small spark on the skin, easy to miss if you are not looking for its presence. Or absence."
[Rebecca] leaned her head back and hummed. All was not lost, she was just a human with a funny skin color. Let's keep it that way.
"You were attacked by Geth?" Tarina's voice cut into her thoughts.
"Oh, yes. A lot of them."
"How long ago was this?"
[Rebecca] checked her clock. And then brought up the yellow haptic interface so she could be seen checking its clock. This was going to get old quickly. "Roughly twelve hours ago. The facility was completely overrun."
Tarina worried her lip. "Location?"
[Rebecca] just gave her a flat look.
The Asari rolled her eyes. "Fine. Terminus."
"I hope," [Rebecca] began. She infused her voice with the worry, the anxiety and tension she would feel if those subroutines weren't disabled. "You have a plan for getting invaded by murderous machines."
Tarina stopped typing. "You think we are going to lose?"
"I think it is better to be safe, than sorry." It wasn't about losing. Whatever the Council was doing out there against the Geth, it was a distraction.
The C-Sec officer stared blankly at her monitor for some time. "That is not my call to make," she said eventually.
Oh for fuck's sake.
"Then who's is it?"
"Executor Pallin."
How much time do I have? She wondered. Not enough.
[Rebecca] reached through her connections. The Vis were silent and still. She nudged R6 and its little camera eye shuttered open and showed her the legs and boots of people wandering around the ship. It had no noise sensors, so all she could do was angle the lens up more. The orange glow of omni-tools off C-Sec uniforms.
She breathed a mental sigh of relief.
R6, to me.
Tarina waved her omni-tool at the little stand Shepard used in the games to travel between Wards. One of the aircars turned on and lifted itself off the balcony to glide in front of them. The door opened. "We'll be heading for C-Sec," the Asari stated. "You are not under arrest or being charged, this is for your safety."
"My safety," [Rebecca] repeated.
"Your ship is attention getting and it will not be long before others are aware of what you have." Tarina had a completely placid expression on her face, and [Rebecca] mentally bumped up her age estimate of the woman. "Perfect security is a lie and the Citadel is as you have said, clean on the surface. Mercenaries, data thieves, agents of the Shadow Broker."
Clever.
[Rebecca] bowed her head and got in the car. The seats were hard but not completely uncomfortable, and the inside completely devoid of any features. Tarina got in after her. The door closed and the car drove itself into the weaving streams of atmospheric lanes.
Shortly into the ride, Tarina began to fiddle with her omni-tool and [Rebecca] took the opportunity to extract her mine under the cover of apps opening and closing. It came back with several terabytes of information, most of it worthless. If she was interested, Tarina's career in C-Sec was all there, laid out in memos, e-mails, case files and documents. She took note of the dates and times files were accessed and put any that were repeatedly viewed, altered or copied at a higher priority than the rest.
Personal files were included in the extraction and [Rebecca] felt a bit guilty combing over them for coded messages or innocuous orders. She compensated for the invasion of privacy by deleting everything with a 'negligible' suspicion level. That left a few short messages, bank transactions that were officially payments for services there was no evidence of Tarina doing, and a very recent email exchange:
C got p data 4 asylum offer, intercept?
The answer was short.
Details.
Tarina cleared her throat quietly, changing her omni-tool settings to obscure the screen with the glowing orange interface. The Asari was slightly taller than [Rebecca]'s platform, full figured like most of them were but the C-Sec navy blue and white uniform was not flattering. When Mass Effect was just a game, Asari were just one of those things she rolled her eyes at. Vastly different environment, but an evolutionary path that had them looking nigh identical to humans? Pfft, right.
She had to let it slide though. Alien space babes were a thing in space operas since her parents were kids.
Now it was decidedly not a game, and she was very grateful for their human-like appearance, but seriously.
How?
"I hope you do not mind if I ask you some questions," Tarina began. [Rebecca] made a small gesture, a fluttering of the fingertips that meant 'go on.' There a momentary seize of wondering if she got the context right. She'd learned Asari from dictionaries, and usage from movies. She was going to make a mistake at some point.
"Where did you last dock the Athame?"
Here we go, [Rebecca] thought.
"You have my file, do you not?"
Tarina smiled slightly. "Humor me."
[Rebecca] affected a put out sigh. "Nowhere. It was excavated, bought and renovated. I won't claim everything was strictly legal by Council standards, but I don't operate in Council space. The hull was kept, some computer systems, the spinal cannon is not functional."
"And the database," Tarina finished for her, making a note.
[Rebecca] just let her lips curl up as an answer.
"There was mentions of a failing life support?"
[Rebecca] said one word. "Geth."
Tarina froze for a moment. [Rebecca] could almost see her connecting the dots. Geth attacked Eden Prime, specifically they attacked the Prothean archaeological dig on Eden Prime after it had unearthed a beacon. Geth activity in the Terminus systems. The Athame docked nowhere, straight from its storage sight to the Citadel. Failing life support and easy to spot structural damage.
"I – I'm elevating the urgency level of this."
"So I was wondering," [Rebecca] drew out. "Where is your fleet?"
"The Citadel Defense fleet is securing the sector." Really? That was something of a relief, but considering how fucked they were in the games before the Alliance swooped in, she didn't have high hopes. "The majority is taking action at the Perseus Veil, the Geth won't - "
[Rebecca] cut her off there. "They are machines. They can make as many of themselves as resources allow. Annnnd the Council went to fight them in their territory." The air taxi braked with a low 'shwoooooom' sound. "Brilliant."
The door opened with they stopped and Tarina got out, frowning. [Rebecca] glanced around at the futuristic skyscraper that housed Council Security. It was an absolute monster of a building dominating the entire Ward and was tall enough to get wispy clouds forming around its peak. It had its own space port and tiered balconies housed hundreds of squad cars painted blue and white with flashers at the top.
Tarina Ves shut off her omni-tool. "Come with me."
[Rebecca] followed her through C-Sec headquarters. It was something like an office building, a Star Wars cantina and an 80's cop station all in one. Machines spewing coffee and other beverages into cups and mugs and jugs at a counter, neon lights contrasting dark corners and lounge rooms, officers taking statements and perps in electronic cuffs, rows upon rows of cubicles.
A short elevator ride later and she was walking into a modest office room with a desk, pictures of Tarina with a Turian, and computer.
"Have a seat."
The door locked behind [Rebecca]. Red flags started appearing when Tarina keyed in a few things at the computer and the small camera in the corner of the room turned off. "I turned off the cameras," Tarina said as she settled in her chair. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "I assumed you wanted to keep your cover identity intact." Those red flags became shrieking alarms. "The helmet?"
[Rebecca] stared for a moment. Shit. She reluctantly pried the helmet off. "What gave me away?"
Tarina didn't answer immediately, blinking in stunned surprise. "I – It was the lights you used, we're very sensitive to that wavelength band. But – " she paused, eyes still widened. "You're human. But you actually look- " Tarina waved her omni-tool and [Rebecca] reflexively edited the results.
"A little blue?"
"To be blunt, yes. It's faint, but noticeable." She hesitated. "I won't pry." The look she gave [Rebecca] then betrayed how much the Asari really, really wanted to pry.
[Rebecca] thought back. "Is that why you held out your hand for me to shake? Were you trying to get me to give myself away?"
"You're very good," Tarina admitted, slipping into Low Asari. That pissed [Rebecca] off a little, that just because she was human, she wasn't 'good enough' for High Asari, no matter how well she spoke it.
[Rebecca] gestured sharply and deliberately kept using High Asari. "We were having a polite conversation. Do not ruin it."
Tarina's mouth opened, then closed with a thoughtful tilt of the head. "Very well. You had the mannerisms and subtle gestures. Your Asari is nearly perfect. Ilium accent, yes?" [Rebecca] nodded, feeling a bit of pride. Thank you, Blasto 3: Ilium Skyline. "If it was just the light, even I would have second guessed myself. However, on the elevator it was clear. You are not a biotic."
Damn.
"And all Asari are biotics," [Rebecca] flopped into the offered chair. "You can sense that?"
She had the entire taxonomical details of Asari in her memory, but knowing where the nerve clusters were, the placement of major blood vessels or physical development didn't mean she knew everything.
"It is not widely advertised, because it scarcely matters. The default assumption is that everyone else is also biotic but it does not change things if they aren't." Tarina gave a little one armed shrug as she resumed typing. "It is like a small spark on the skin, easy to miss if you are not looking for its presence. Or absence."
[Rebecca] leaned her head back and hummed. All was not lost, she was just a human with a funny skin color. Let's keep it that way.
"You were attacked by Geth?" Tarina's voice cut into her thoughts.
"Oh, yes. A lot of them."
"How long ago was this?"
[Rebecca] checked her clock. And then brought up the yellow haptic interface so she could be seen checking its clock. This was going to get old quickly. "Roughly twelve hours ago. The facility was completely overrun."
Tarina worried her lip. "Location?"
[Rebecca] just gave her a flat look.
The Asari rolled her eyes. "Fine. Terminus."
"I hope," [Rebecca] began. She infused her voice with the worry, the anxiety and tension she would feel if those subroutines weren't disabled. "You have a plan for getting invaded by murderous machines."
Tarina stopped typing. "You think we are going to lose?"
"I think it is better to be safe, than sorry." It wasn't about losing. Whatever the Council was doing out there against the Geth, it was a distraction.
The C-Sec officer stared blankly at her monitor for some time. "That is not my call to make," she said eventually.
Oh for fuck's sake.
"Then who's is it?"
"Executor Pallin."
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Barrel of laughs that one is going to be.
cB557
voOOP
I mean, I'm not sure how playing defensive and allowing easier access to those resources is really a preferable course of action.