Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 1...

The continued tale of the crew of the Normandy SR2, as they transpire AFTER the events of Mass Effect 2. For those who haven't played it - SPOILERS will ensure. You have been WARNED!

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The Normandy was burning. The acrid stench of smoke in a confined space was overpowering. It hung from the bulkheads like a pall, slowly filling the deck, consuming what little oxygen remained. The smell, the smell came first. Everything else was muted, but not that. As he recognised it for what it was, a momentary flash of fear jolted him awake, and the universe swam back into existence as he blinked his eyes open.

He became aware of the flickering lights almost immediately, everything given that awful orange cast, dancing across the surface of the world like that of a dreadful sea. A dull crackling invaded his senses next, muted, like he was hearing it through water. Shell shock, from whatever explosion had knocked him on his arse. It came back quickly, the dull echoes that reverberated through his skull retreating and leaving behind the acute realisation that the world was on fire.

For a single stuttering moment the orange was replaced by white, brilliant and painful to his vision. It came with violent, threatening cracks as something mechanical spat electricity into the room, sparks bouncing across the deck and spattering his armour. The smell was muted, as was the crackling of flames and the spark of electricity, as he pulled on his helmet, securing the pressure seal and allowing his suit to begin pumping its own internal oxygen supply. That should keep him from asphyxiating from smoke inhalation.

Then he remembered where he was, and what had happened before he had blacked out. He also became aware that most of the crew of the Normandy SR2 didn't have the luxury of a pressure sealed suit of armour designed for void combat. They would die from the smoke sooner than the fire which swept the ship. Hell, a lot probably already had.

He felt something at that moment , something he hadn't felt in years. Compassion. He realised then that he truly cared for the fates of these people, the crew of this Cerberus vessel. Too much time around the rest of his team. Making him soft. No, not soft. Making him remember what it had been like, all those years before. When the people he fought alongside had been friends as well as comrades in arms, and not some mercenary crew paid by some rich bastard with too much money and not enough skill to do a job with his own two hands.

He dragged himself to his feet, looking around the communications room to assess the situation. It was a wreck, the console housing the AI interface had overloaded, the resulting explosion demolishing the conference table and holographic projector. EDI wouldn't be able to talk to him in here, but she sure as shit could see and hear him. The cameras in the fibre optic bands running around the room up by the ceiling would ensure that. The smoke wouldn't matter to her, she could see right through it.

He staggered as a wave of nausea washed over him. He must have stood up too fast, throwing off his fragile centre of balance. He knew he'd hit his head when he fell. He'd hit it hard, too - the blood running down the back of his neck could stand witness to that. He reached out to steady himself against the wall, and it was then, as he did so that his foot caught on something, displacing it from where it had fallen.

He looked down through blurred vision, his head swimming, and blinked until he could see straight again. It was his rifle, folded up into its idle state. It must have collapsed into itself when he dropped it. He carefully bent over and grabbed it, his battered body protesting at the abuse. The rifle reacted to his touch, snapping open like a mechanical flower, the tell tale whine of a charging mass effect core music to his bruised ears. Hefting the weapon in his hand his face twisted into a lop-sided grin. He checked the thermal clip, the weapon display reading it as cold. Not a single shot fired. Ready as it ever could be. Flexing his fingers around the weapon, he rolled his shoulders, stretching the muscles, and craned his neck, tendons popping as he worked out the fatigue of his injury.

"Now we're in business." He said out loud, to no one in particular. Not that he had spotted anyone that could hear it anyway, except of course EDI.

EDI... he'd need her help to get this shit storm under control. Looking at where he thought the fibre optic strip would be, he cleared a gobbet of blood and saliva from his throat before speaking.

"EDI, I need you to show me where I need to go. You can see who needs me the most on this ship, so guide me will you?" He said, and set off toward the comms. room door. A bright blue glow pierced the smoke from where he was looking, and began to race away from him in pulses, acting like the docking lights of a space port. He would follow them, and see where EDI took him.

The first stop was the tech lab, the door half ajar as he reached it. It tried to slide back into its housing as he approached, but the mechanism was shot all to hell and it moved but a few inches. Stooping low, he squeezed through the gap and emerged into the lair of Mordin Solus.

The salarian was nowhere in sight. His heavy pistol was gone from its usual storage space - a hidden compartment built into the edge of the scientist's work bench. You could take a salarian away from the STG, but that merciless paranoia stuck with them for life. That was good, it meant the professor had enough of his wits about him to arm himself before fleeing the lab, and that meant that he wasn't seriously injured. Or at least he hadn't been when he left this place.

Smoke filled the lab, albeit not as heavily as it had the comms room. Other than what had filtered through the life support systems and had ventilated into the room, it looked largely undamaged. Mordin's little chemistry set was a write off - glass vials, bottles and specimen jars lay shattered where they had fallen, their contents mixing and creating a vile looking mess that he didn't dare tread in. Every time the ship shook from impacts and secondary explosions, ripples ran across its surface from the centre of the puddle to its edges and back again. It served as a reminder that whoever had attacked them was still attacking them - not that he needed to be reminded.

Nodding in satisfaction at knowing the salarian wasn't here, he had turned toward the airlock that lead into the Normandy's combat information centre, the blue lights from EDI guiding him along the path. He spotted the AI projection interface here had overloaded as well. That didn't bode well at all. Whoever had hit them had managed to take out at least two of EDI's emitters, essentially muting the shipboard AI from coordinating a counter offensive. With EDI contained, the Normandy would be that much more vulnerable to attack. Only a select few of the crew had any knowledge of EDI's unshackling, which meant that if their enemy knew it, then their enemy could be only one.

Cerberus.

It seemed the Illusive Man had finally come to cash in on their debts with the Collector base, and the theft of the Normandy itself. Well, that was a start, at least he knew who - if not what - he was up against. Right now, he'd take any advantage he could get.

He was about to head through the door out of the lab when he stopped in his tracks. Something made him turn around and head to the far end of the lab and look down into the engine room, the mass effect core it housed thankfully intact. Stepping onto the glass floor of the viewing platform, he pressed himself against the glass and strained to see down onto the engineering deck, to see if anyone could be alive down there.

There he saw her. Standing alone, swiftly but calmly working at the consoles overlooking the core. She was so tiny, at least to him. Lithe and shapely at the same time. He couldn't deny her body was enticing, if you were into that kind of thing. It was the face that gave him pause, though, hidden as it was behind the mask of her form fitting - and armoured - enviro-suit. Not knowing what she looked like under that helmet was akin to dating a woman with a paper bag over her head.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he realised what he was thinking, and banged on the armoured glass of the window. It was futile though, she couldn't hear him. Not that it would matter if she could, he realised as he watched her work. She wasn't going anywhere. That damn quarian would go down with the ship if she had to. His loyalty to his team ensured that he knew one more thing; he'd damn well die before he let that happen. She'd earned that much, this Tali'Zorah vas Normandy.

Turning away from the window, he hurried toward the CIC, and hoped he could get to her in time.