Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 9...

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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Darkness, cold like the void, empty, and silent. It lingered for a very long time, though it seemed wrong somehow – out of place. Flickers of memories lurked in the black, moments captured in time – dimly remembered, blissfully forgotten. Blue skin on white. Fire, burning. An outstretched hand, fingertips brushing for but a fleeting caress. Cold metal pressed against skin. A whine of a power core. The lethal finality of a gunshot.

Zaeed woke with a start, his eyes snapping open. He blinked against the light, growling under his breath as the stark luminescence stung his vision. Half awake, half dreaming, he heard the whine of the power core again, followed by the bang of the gunshot.

A shiver ran down his spine at the sound, chasing away any lingering chance of sleep. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. A hospital? No, an infirmary. A ship… Normandy? It all came flooding back; the Cerberus contract, the suicide mission against the collectors, the attack on the ship, the fight in the engine room.

There were others in the room. Doctor Chakwas was standing beside Professor Solus, the two working frantically on engineer Donnelly. The whine of an electrical charge building filled his ears, followed by the dull thud of a defibrillator. It was then he noticed the monotone beep of a heart monitor flatlining.

Donnelly was dead then, the two medical officers working to bring him back from the brink.

Been there, done that.

There was nothing he could do, so instead he looked around at the rest of the crew present in the room. The quarian, Tali’Zorah, was kneeling beside one of the infirmary’s cots, seemingly praying over the unconscious form of Commander Shepard. Garrus Vakarian stood beside her, awkward. He looked like he wanted to place a hand on the woman’s shoulder, but didn’t know if it would be appropriate. He kept looking between the commander, the quarian, and Donnelly, his mandibles twitching in apprehension.

That was why Zaeed never formed attachments. The galaxy had a way of spitting on them. No, the only attachment he had was to his credit chit.

As the memories of the last few hours returned, so did the pain of his injuries. Broken ribs, a flash burn from an industrial cutting tool, countless cuts and bruises, and the headache from hell. Not his idea of fun.

He looked down at his battered body, seeing that someone had managed to treat his injuries whilst he had been sleeping. Which made him wonder if he’d been stuck with something whilst he was unconscious; he never slept deep enough not to be woken by someone wrapping bandages around his torso.

Something didn’t feel right, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him something was out of place, but he couldn’t quite latch on to it. He tried to stand, but his legs were not his own, and refused to obey his commands. He stumbled and fell back down into the chair beside Doctor Chakwas’ desk, where he had fallen asleep… whoever knew how long ago. His arm knocked into some glass vials, thankfully not spilling the contents but making a hell of a racket.

Garrus turned at the noise, and nodded his greeting to the wounded mercenary. Zaeed ignored the gesture, instead trying once more to stand. He managed it this time, his movements slow and deliberate. His head spun at the change in altitude, and he had to fight to remain standing.

“What the hell did you give me, Doc?” He said to Chakwas, his voice even more hoarse than usual.

“Not her, me.” Solus said, not turning around. “cocktail. Painkillers, antibiotics, regenerative booster, the usual. Oh, and mild tranquilizer – needed rest.”

“You knocked me out?” Zaeed replied, anger flaring in his voice. “How long?”

“Hmm… difficult to say – have been preoccupied. Lost track of time. Couldn’t be more than a few hours.” Mordin replied cheerily, ignoring the mercenary’s tone of voice.

“Well you don’t need me around here anymore; I’m just getting in the way. Tali’Zorah, Garrus, follow me.” He said in a tone that brooked no argument, and turned to leave, pausing in the doorway to allow his two team mates to catch up. Exiting the infirmary, he led the two across the mess hall, passing Thane Krios along the way – who was tending to a crewman who looked to have taken a bullet in the eye. The man was whimpering softly, clearly his dose of medication was only taking the edge off the pain.

The drell looked up as they passed, falling into step with them as he saw the murderous look on Zaeed’s face. Clearly violence was being contemplated, and someone needed to keep the human in check.

They reached the door to the gunnery station and stepped inside, Garrus closing it behind them. Zaeed admired the capacitors for the Normandy’s thanix cannon, and it dawned on him where his sense of dislocation had come from; the cannons were no longer firing, the Cerberus vessel no longer fighting back.

Zaeed looked up and studied each of his three compatriots in turn. Garrus looked as ugly as he always did, the scars on the turian’s face and the considerable damage to his armour giving him a threatening appearance that Zaeed suspected he played up whenever he could.

He had heard of this ‘Archangel’ during his time on Omega – before Cerberus had recruited him for the collector mission – and had done a little digging of his own. He had managed to track down Garrus’ true identity, and hadn’t believed it at the time. Now he could see that taking down Sovereign had changed the turian – wizened him up to the cruelty of the galaxy. Morals were all good and well to have, but your enemies never paid them much heed. Zaeed had stopped caring about his morals a long time ago, and from the looks of things Garrus was slowly beginning to do so as well.

Tali’Zorah vas Normandy was something of an unknown to him, which concerned Zaeed more than he’d care to admit. There was no denying her proficiency with all things technological; even for a quarian she was good, almost prodigal. A good tech specialist was always a key asset to a team used to wet work, and she had already proven her worth to him many times during the time he’d spent under Shepard’s employ. She was pretty damn handy with that shotgun too, but she seemed soft – idealistic. That was a burden to any leader, and a liability in his eyes, but Shepard not only tolerated it, he outright encouraged it. That he was screwing the little bitch was just the icing on the cake.

No, Zaeed wasn’t ready to trust her just yet. He’d keep an eye on her, lest she fold when required to do what needed to be done.

Thane Krios was a legend in the Terminus Systems. A drell assassin who had ripped apart the upper echelons of a batarian slaver organisation so methodically that they had gone after his family in retaliation. Zaeed had heard whispers that the batarians were working for the Blue Suns, but had never managed to prove it. What Thane had done to them by way of revenge was a cautionary tale amongst mercenaries who often dealt with the Hanar; a ghost story of a drell ‘boogeyman’ who would come for you no matter where you ran to.

Having seen the security investigation squad reports on the assassinations – if they could be called that – he knew just how tame the stories really were by comparison. As it stood, he had been surprised to find not a bloodthirsty psychopath, but instead a calm – collected – and quietly reserved man. It just went to show how hard someone could hit back if pushed hard enough.

Garrus folded his arms across his chest as he waited for Zaeed to speak. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Those bastards hit us hard. Shepard is out of it, and half the crew are too beaten to stand. Some are dead. Cerberus made a mistake when they hired me for this job. The paid me to help Shepard take out the collectors, and now they try to kill me before the job is complete.” He said, making eye contact with each of them. When he reached Garrus, he saw his own rage quietly boiling behind the turian’s eyes.

“I don’t take kindly to betrayal.” He growled, the turian nodding in agreement.

“What do you propose?” Krios said, his tone of voice making it clear that he was concerned Zaeed intended to start a war. If that was what he thought, the mercenary did not intend to disappoint.

“Well they aren’t shooting at us anymore. What happened to the ship?” He asked, rounding on Garrus.

“It’s out there, disabled. In as bad a shape as we are I’d wager, if not worse.” The turian said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“We are in serious trouble.” Tali’Zorah interrupted before Zaeed could continue. “I’ve been going over the damage reports now EDI is back in control of the Normandy. We’re dead in the water – we need to perform some major repairs, and I don’t have the parts to do it out here.”

“Good, then that gives us even more reason to take the Kodiak and board that ship.” Zaeed replied, a plan forming in his head. “They should have the parts on their ship right? Or at least enough to allow us to limp as far a port, or back to the Migrant Fleet, yes?”

“Perhaps, but they will need those parts to leave this place, so I doubt they’ll share.” Tali said, shaking her head.

“Who said anything about them leaving?” Garrus said, catching on to Zaeed’s train of thought. “I think it’s time for a little payback.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Zaeed said, smiling for the first time in hours.