For those interested, here is a snippet of my Black Library submission. This wont be the sample text I submit, but just something I wrote to get my head around the story.
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They were all dead, he was certain of it. His battle brothers moved amongst the bodies, checking each one for any sign of life. He knew it was a waste of time but he had ordered it anyway; they were honour bound now, he had given his word.
The memories of the descent from orbit flashed through his mind, the red tinted light in the belly of the thunderhawk gunship casting each of them in a macabre glow. He saw it as vividly as the first time it had happened, and he lingered on the memory of his second, Brother Promahn, taking his oath of moment. Returning to the present, he glanced down at the drake head drawn in ash on the back of his gauntlet, symbolising the unbreakable vow he had given in the gloom.
No, there was nothing else but this – he would not turn from this path no matter the cost. He would see this through to the end, wherever that led him, though the destination they were all hurtling toward gave him considerable pause. Nothing about this made sense.
There were scores of men and women in the mess hall, all clad in the red and ochre uniform of the Ymperia Planetary Defence Force, all dead by their own hands. The tables and pews had been pushed against one wall, leaving space for what looked like an impromptu mission briefing. Judging by the rank markings on their uniforms, the officers were all grouped together near what he was considering the front of the room, their subordinates facing them in ranks.
Every corpse showed a single point blank lasgun shot under the chin, with a cauterised exit wound at the top of the skull. This whole thing smacked of a ritual suicide, likely a sacrifice to one of the dark gods, if not for one, all important detail; there were no outward signs of taint. Though corruption ran deep, his instincts were telling him to discard the obvious, to dig deeper. He suspected that when he did, these men and women, these soldiers, would be proven pure.
So why had they killed themselves?
Running his gauntleted hand over his shaved scalp, his armoured fingers tracing the many scars of his honour branding, Brother Sergeant My’lon Y’bor turned away from the dead and strode out of the mess hall, Promahn falling into step beside him.
“My Lord, this does not sit right with me.” Promahn said, addressing his Sergeant with that strange appellation he always did, though Y’bor had never earned it. He had given up trying to correct his battle brother, and now merely ignored the esoteric nature of his oldest ally.
“I know what you mean, V’rin. This reeks of chaos – the signs are there, but the taint is not. I cannot shake the feeling that this is something beyond the obvious, something... more.” Y’bor replied, his heavy brow creased in a frown.
The two marines walked in silence for a while, each turning the situation over in their minds, each considering – then dismissing – the possibilities; it simply did not add up.
In time, their path lead them back to the command chapel, and the techmarine within. Adept Telamon was hunched over the command throne, his eight foot bulk dwarfing it as he reached beyond to the controls on the cogitation engine built into the pulpit standing before the throne.
+++Ah, brothers! I trust your search went well?+++ The techmarine said, his voice a deep scraping – like two automobiles colliding in slow motion – projected from the vox emitter grafted into his throat where his vocal chords should have been. His armour was a deep crimson, like dried blood, with only his left shoulder guard painted in the colours of his chapter, and his bionic augmentation was considerable. Telamon had taken to the cult of the machine much more eagerly than was normal for his fellows, and after a few hundred years served as a techmarine, there was little of his organic body remaining.
The inhuman appearance given to his human features by his augmentation made him look like a clockwork approximation of the human body, a fact only reinforced by the servo rig he wore on his back. Four adamantium servo arms extended from the bulky power pack like the legs of some giant parasitic insect, each ending in a tool integral to his duties. A cutting torch, and rivet gun, and two manipulator claws were accompanied by dozens of tiny, snake like mechadendrites – smaller versions of the mechanical limbs used to manipulate smaller machinery that could retract into the rig whenever they were no longer needed.
Telamon had always been strange, even for a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and to Y’bor he seemed more than a little detached from reality. It was almost as if he had forgotten how to be human over the centuries of replacing his organs and body parts with cybernetics, and could only manage an approximation of humanity based on observation of the un-augmented. Y’bor had little time for his insanities.
“No, it did not. We are no closer to finding the reason for this massacre than you are to finding the missing guardsmen.” He said, not bothering to hide his irritation at such a redundant question. If Telamon had noticed it – which Y’bor highly doubted – then he ignored it.
+++Regarding that, I believe I may be on to something. The systems here are encrypted with standard Adeptus Mechanicus protocols, but with the proper noospheric interface I should be able to bypass them. Alas, the lockdown status is restricting access to systems critical to my work.+++
“How long until you can break the encryption?” Promahn asked, shifting his armoured bulk from one foot to the other.
+++Considering the variables, my calculations – accurate to a nine point four three recurring percentile – predict– +++
“How long?” Y’bor interrupted, his irritation growing behind his burning red eyes.
+++An hour, maybe less. Thirty minutes perhaps?+++ Telamon said with a shrug, the mechadendrites extending from his servo rig mimicking the motion.
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Any thoughts?
Sunday, 23 May 2010
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
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.
--------------------
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.
Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 8...
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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Tali'Zorah vas Normandy knelt down beside engineer Kenneth Donnelly, and reached out gingerly toward his neck. She pressed her finger against his jugular, feeling for a pulse.
"He's alive." She said, her shoulders sagging with relief. Engineer Daniels burst into tears, dropping to her knees beside her friend. Tali placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. "We need to get him to the infirmary, and fast. He doesn't look good."
Standing over the body of the commando leader, he nodded his agreement, dropping his spent pistol to the ground and gathering up the Cerberus officers own weapon, a custom modified M-6 with an improved heat sink and red dot sight. It wasn't a bad piece, and this ugly bastard wouldn't be needing it any more.
"Prick." He said to the rapidly decomposing mess pooling on the deck, before firing a round through the man's face to be certain. Daniels jumped at the report of the weapon, and set off sobbing again.
"Tali'Zorah?" He said, turning away from the corpse and looking back to the three engineers.
"Miss vas Normandy!" He repeated, louder this time. Tali seemed to come out of a trance and turned to look at him, her head cocked to the side, puzzled.
"I need you to look into something for me. I think Cerberus has locked down the shipboard AI. Do you have any way of checking that from down here?"
"I... supposed I could, yes." Tali said, her composure returning quickly now she had a task to perform. "But what about Donnelly?"
"I'll take him to the infirmary to see the Doc, but I need to know you two will be safe down here. I didn't fight all the way down here just to have you get killed the moment my back is turned." He said, walking over to the Normandy's chief engineer. Tali merely nodded, and began to work on her omni tool. After a brief pause she looked up at him, her eyes glowing behind her mask.
"Yes. Yes EDI has been restricted from accessing the Normandy. There appears to be a firewall in place that has her trapped within her own core. I can bypass it but I'll need to get to the AI core to do so, and the Normandy is in danger of a full mass effect core meltdown. I cannot afford to leave the engine room." She said, apologetically.
He seemed to think on this for a second before gesturing to Daniels, who was trying to stem the bleeding from Donnelly's wound.
"What about her? Can't she keep the core from going critical whilst you fix EDI? With the AI back online, and with full ship access again, could she not handle your core problems?" He said, cringing as the pain in his wounded ribs flared up once more.
"Of course! Keelah, how could I be so stupid?" Tali said, springing into action. "That's why the core isn't responding to the re-routing of the coolant I performed! With EDI penned into her own AI core, the coolant valves will be expecting the correct overrides to be input manually at the routing station!"
Turning to face him, she placed a hand on his elbow, and bowed her head in respect.
"Thank you, for all you have done." She said, before turning to Daniels and kneeling down beside her. He barely noticed, his fingers gently tapping his arm where she had touched him.
"Gabby?" He heard Tali say as he pushed his confusion aside and turned to face the distraught woman. "We will take care of Kenneth, but we - I need you to do something for me - our lives depend on it. I need you to monitor the core and prevent it from passing the zero-threshold. I need you to buy me some time. Can you do that?"
Daniels nodded in response, pulling herself back to her feet and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"You can count on me, Tali. Just don't let him die. I don't have anyone else." She said, before hurrying to the consoles over by the mass effect core. Tali turned to regard him, waiting for an order.
"Take this." He said, retrieving an assault rifle from one of the dead commandos. "It's not quite a shotgun, but it's better than nothing. You'll have to take point, I'm in no fit state to fight any more. I'll carry Donnelly."
"Understood, just try to keep up." Tali said, taking the assault rifle and checking it's thermal clip before tapping on her omni tool. Reaching into a pocket, she removed a small disk and tossed it into the air. An orb of holographic light burst from the disk, and it hovered there, awaiting instruction.
"Chikktika, come girl, follow me." She said, and set off toward the port access door. Crouching down, he hefted Donnelly as best he could and hoisted the unconscious engineer over his shoulders in a fireman's carry before setting off after the quarian.
Mordin Solus was pleased with himself, despite the circumstances. The crew seemed to be responding well to his orders, despite him being a non-human. They had once been a Cerberus crew. Now they were his crew; Shepard’s crew.
Satisfaction. A sense of purpose. It felt… good.
The damage was minimal. The fires were mostly out, and the deck had sustained no casualties. Jacob was organizing the crew to contain the rest. The air felt thin in the combat information centre, the fire sucking in the oxygen to fuel their continued defiance.
Joker was even beginning to complain again - the lack of the AI to berate his lack of discipline was getting to him. Mordin suspected something more than a working relationship between the two. The implications were… best not considered. Bodily fluids and electronics rarely mixed well. Perhaps he should say something?
“You did a good job professor. You should be proud of yourself.” A woman’s voice spoke from beside him, a thankful distraction from his current train of thought.
“Incorrect assessment. Did not ‘do a good job’. Implications of word usage ‘good’ suggest less than excellent performance. No, Yeoman Chambers, did not do ‘good job’. Did excellent job.” Mordin replied, without looking at her. “Now, if you will excuse me, must check something. Need to go. Will be in infirmary if you need me. Joker has bridge.”
Without waiting for a reply, Mordin crossed the CIC and stepped into the elevator, and descended to the crew deck. As he walked toward the infirmary he almost collided with crewman Hawthorne coming the other way. The man hurried past him, shouting back over his shoulder as he ducked into the elevator.
“Sorry Doc, can’t stop. Thane has wounded in the shuttle bay.”
“Understandable, please continue.” Mordin replied, before striding into the infirmary, looking for Doctor Chakwas.
Donnelly weighed more than a damn elcor. That couldn’t be good. He was struggling to support the wounded engineer, he had been running on empty for too long already, and his reserves were almost gone. He couldn’t pass out in the middle of the damn elevator; he just refused to let that happen. It would be embarrassing. His ribs were screaming from the extra weight, the pain causing his vision to swim, until all he could see was red.
He shuffled his weight onto his other foot, and moved Donnelly into a more comfortable position. The pain in his ribs subsided, allowing the red hot sensation of the fusion burn to creep back into his consciousness. He must look like crap. He kept catching Tali’Zorah stealthily glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t watching, her glowing eyes regarding him carefully.
Her concern was… not unwelcome. That just made him even more determined not to pass out. He really was going soft. He didn’t need any more friends. He remembered the last time he had truly trusted someone, and how that had ended. Death. Pain, and death. He needed to keep his guard up, not to let anyone get that close again.
The damn quarian was looking at him again. Maybe she could see he was about to pass out too. What was taking the damn elevator so long? Thankfully it had not taken long for it to arrive on the engineering deck, but it had still seemed like an eternity. Going up one floor to the crew deck seemed to be taking even longer.
The damn thing finally stopped on level three, and Tali’Zorah stepped out onto the deck, the assault rifle he had given her panning left and right as she checked to ensure no more Cerberus soliders were lying in wait. Glancing back to him she gave him the all clear, waving him forward.
They entered the mess hall to be confronted with what was essentially a field triage station. It was filled with wounded crew, some sitting against the wall, holding minor injuries. The more serious cases were laid out on the mess tables, those with even basic medical training tending to their wounds.
Ignoring them, the pair headed straight for the infirmary, and the AI core housed behind it. The door opened, and Doctor’s Chakwas and Solus turned to look at them as they entered. The salarian hurried to help him with Donnelly, Tali stepping out of the way to let him pass. Doctor Chakwas turned back to one of the operating tables, already busy working on another wounded crewman.
“He’s been shot.” Tali’Zorah said by way of explanation, before pushing past them toward the AI core. She stopped in her tracks as she saw who it was that Chakwas was tending to.
“Keelah…” She managed, clearly shaken, her voice no more than a whisper. Once Solus had helped him secure Donnelly on the second operating table, he leaned past the salarian, curious to see what had the quarian so upset.
“Well, that explains a lot.” He said, looking down at the unconscious form of Commander Shepard. The Commander was covered in blood, and stripped to the waist. Doctor Chakwas was busy trying to dig shrapnel from his shoulder. He looked a mess.
“Help me with this.” He said to Solus, and - turning his back on Shepard - began to remove his armour. Unlocking the pressure seals of his helmet, he pulled it off, tossing it onto the Doctor’s desk.
“What a goddam mess.” Zaeed Massani said, as he dropped into the Doctors chair and ran a shaking hand through his blood slicked hair, finally able to rest - his ordeal over, for the moment.
--------------------
Tali'Zorah vas Normandy knelt down beside engineer Kenneth Donnelly, and reached out gingerly toward his neck. She pressed her finger against his jugular, feeling for a pulse.
"He's alive." She said, her shoulders sagging with relief. Engineer Daniels burst into tears, dropping to her knees beside her friend. Tali placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. "We need to get him to the infirmary, and fast. He doesn't look good."
Standing over the body of the commando leader, he nodded his agreement, dropping his spent pistol to the ground and gathering up the Cerberus officers own weapon, a custom modified M-6 with an improved heat sink and red dot sight. It wasn't a bad piece, and this ugly bastard wouldn't be needing it any more.
"Prick." He said to the rapidly decomposing mess pooling on the deck, before firing a round through the man's face to be certain. Daniels jumped at the report of the weapon, and set off sobbing again.
"Tali'Zorah?" He said, turning away from the corpse and looking back to the three engineers.
"Miss vas Normandy!" He repeated, louder this time. Tali seemed to come out of a trance and turned to look at him, her head cocked to the side, puzzled.
"I need you to look into something for me. I think Cerberus has locked down the shipboard AI. Do you have any way of checking that from down here?"
"I... supposed I could, yes." Tali said, her composure returning quickly now she had a task to perform. "But what about Donnelly?"
"I'll take him to the infirmary to see the Doc, but I need to know you two will be safe down here. I didn't fight all the way down here just to have you get killed the moment my back is turned." He said, walking over to the Normandy's chief engineer. Tali merely nodded, and began to work on her omni tool. After a brief pause she looked up at him, her eyes glowing behind her mask.
"Yes. Yes EDI has been restricted from accessing the Normandy. There appears to be a firewall in place that has her trapped within her own core. I can bypass it but I'll need to get to the AI core to do so, and the Normandy is in danger of a full mass effect core meltdown. I cannot afford to leave the engine room." She said, apologetically.
He seemed to think on this for a second before gesturing to Daniels, who was trying to stem the bleeding from Donnelly's wound.
"What about her? Can't she keep the core from going critical whilst you fix EDI? With the AI back online, and with full ship access again, could she not handle your core problems?" He said, cringing as the pain in his wounded ribs flared up once more.
"Of course! Keelah, how could I be so stupid?" Tali said, springing into action. "That's why the core isn't responding to the re-routing of the coolant I performed! With EDI penned into her own AI core, the coolant valves will be expecting the correct overrides to be input manually at the routing station!"
Turning to face him, she placed a hand on his elbow, and bowed her head in respect.
"Thank you, for all you have done." She said, before turning to Daniels and kneeling down beside her. He barely noticed, his fingers gently tapping his arm where she had touched him.
"Gabby?" He heard Tali say as he pushed his confusion aside and turned to face the distraught woman. "We will take care of Kenneth, but we - I need you to do something for me - our lives depend on it. I need you to monitor the core and prevent it from passing the zero-threshold. I need you to buy me some time. Can you do that?"
Daniels nodded in response, pulling herself back to her feet and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"You can count on me, Tali. Just don't let him die. I don't have anyone else." She said, before hurrying to the consoles over by the mass effect core. Tali turned to regard him, waiting for an order.
"Take this." He said, retrieving an assault rifle from one of the dead commandos. "It's not quite a shotgun, but it's better than nothing. You'll have to take point, I'm in no fit state to fight any more. I'll carry Donnelly."
"Understood, just try to keep up." Tali said, taking the assault rifle and checking it's thermal clip before tapping on her omni tool. Reaching into a pocket, she removed a small disk and tossed it into the air. An orb of holographic light burst from the disk, and it hovered there, awaiting instruction.
"Chikktika, come girl, follow me." She said, and set off toward the port access door. Crouching down, he hefted Donnelly as best he could and hoisted the unconscious engineer over his shoulders in a fireman's carry before setting off after the quarian.
Mordin Solus was pleased with himself, despite the circumstances. The crew seemed to be responding well to his orders, despite him being a non-human. They had once been a Cerberus crew. Now they were his crew; Shepard’s crew.
Satisfaction. A sense of purpose. It felt… good.
The damage was minimal. The fires were mostly out, and the deck had sustained no casualties. Jacob was organizing the crew to contain the rest. The air felt thin in the combat information centre, the fire sucking in the oxygen to fuel their continued defiance.
Joker was even beginning to complain again - the lack of the AI to berate his lack of discipline was getting to him. Mordin suspected something more than a working relationship between the two. The implications were… best not considered. Bodily fluids and electronics rarely mixed well. Perhaps he should say something?
“You did a good job professor. You should be proud of yourself.” A woman’s voice spoke from beside him, a thankful distraction from his current train of thought.
“Incorrect assessment. Did not ‘do a good job’. Implications of word usage ‘good’ suggest less than excellent performance. No, Yeoman Chambers, did not do ‘good job’. Did excellent job.” Mordin replied, without looking at her. “Now, if you will excuse me, must check something. Need to go. Will be in infirmary if you need me. Joker has bridge.”
Without waiting for a reply, Mordin crossed the CIC and stepped into the elevator, and descended to the crew deck. As he walked toward the infirmary he almost collided with crewman Hawthorne coming the other way. The man hurried past him, shouting back over his shoulder as he ducked into the elevator.
“Sorry Doc, can’t stop. Thane has wounded in the shuttle bay.”
“Understandable, please continue.” Mordin replied, before striding into the infirmary, looking for Doctor Chakwas.
Donnelly weighed more than a damn elcor. That couldn’t be good. He was struggling to support the wounded engineer, he had been running on empty for too long already, and his reserves were almost gone. He couldn’t pass out in the middle of the damn elevator; he just refused to let that happen. It would be embarrassing. His ribs were screaming from the extra weight, the pain causing his vision to swim, until all he could see was red.
He shuffled his weight onto his other foot, and moved Donnelly into a more comfortable position. The pain in his ribs subsided, allowing the red hot sensation of the fusion burn to creep back into his consciousness. He must look like crap. He kept catching Tali’Zorah stealthily glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t watching, her glowing eyes regarding him carefully.
Her concern was… not unwelcome. That just made him even more determined not to pass out. He really was going soft. He didn’t need any more friends. He remembered the last time he had truly trusted someone, and how that had ended. Death. Pain, and death. He needed to keep his guard up, not to let anyone get that close again.
The damn quarian was looking at him again. Maybe she could see he was about to pass out too. What was taking the damn elevator so long? Thankfully it had not taken long for it to arrive on the engineering deck, but it had still seemed like an eternity. Going up one floor to the crew deck seemed to be taking even longer.
The damn thing finally stopped on level three, and Tali’Zorah stepped out onto the deck, the assault rifle he had given her panning left and right as she checked to ensure no more Cerberus soliders were lying in wait. Glancing back to him she gave him the all clear, waving him forward.
They entered the mess hall to be confronted with what was essentially a field triage station. It was filled with wounded crew, some sitting against the wall, holding minor injuries. The more serious cases were laid out on the mess tables, those with even basic medical training tending to their wounds.
Ignoring them, the pair headed straight for the infirmary, and the AI core housed behind it. The door opened, and Doctor’s Chakwas and Solus turned to look at them as they entered. The salarian hurried to help him with Donnelly, Tali stepping out of the way to let him pass. Doctor Chakwas turned back to one of the operating tables, already busy working on another wounded crewman.
“He’s been shot.” Tali’Zorah said by way of explanation, before pushing past them toward the AI core. She stopped in her tracks as she saw who it was that Chakwas was tending to.
“Keelah…” She managed, clearly shaken, her voice no more than a whisper. Once Solus had helped him secure Donnelly on the second operating table, he leaned past the salarian, curious to see what had the quarian so upset.
“Well, that explains a lot.” He said, looking down at the unconscious form of Commander Shepard. The Commander was covered in blood, and stripped to the waist. Doctor Chakwas was busy trying to dig shrapnel from his shoulder. He looked a mess.
“Help me with this.” He said to Solus, and - turning his back on Shepard - began to remove his armour. Unlocking the pressure seals of his helmet, he pulled it off, tossing it onto the Doctor’s desk.
“What a goddam mess.” Zaeed Massani said, as he dropped into the Doctors chair and ran a shaking hand through his blood slicked hair, finally able to rest - his ordeal over, for the moment.
Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 7...
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!
--------------------
Donnelly was bleeding out, Tali did not need to be a doctor to see that. Daniels saw it too, and she sobbed quietly, staring transfixed at the last moments of her childhood friend. The blood from his wound was pooling around him, and his breathing was so very shallow. The monster that had taken his life, had condemned him to a slow and painful death, was pacing the engine room like a caged animal, tapping that damned pistol against his armoured thigh as he walked.
Tali sat with her back against the glass of the core's safety railings, and was studying the core readings on her onmi tool. The commando team leader looked up from his fevered pacing, and rushed over to her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, alien?" He said, aiming his pistol at her once more. "You trying to summon your little pet drone? Don't, unless you want another death on your conscience."
"I'm trying to ensure the core does not destabilise and drop below the zero threshold, tearing this ship apart in the process. Now get that gun out of my face!" Tali hissed, her anger beginning to well up inside her again. The commando leader seemed to think on this for a moment before turning away from her.
"Just don't try any heroics." He said, waving the gun to remind her of what it had done to Donnelly.
The port stairwell was silent now, the struggle it had played host to was over. He checked the pistol Thane had given him to ensure it had not been damaged in the fight, and was pleased to see that everything looked green. Readying the weapon, he crossed to the engine room access door, and pressed himself up against the frame. Leaning across, he pressed the activation switch before dropping back into cover, and waited.
"What is taking Sorel so long?" The commando leader said under his breath, stopping dead in his tracks and turning to his team, pointing to the one who had been guarding Donnelly. "Go and find her. Now."
The man nodded and promptly turned to leave, heading toward the port access stairwell. He raised his rifle to his shoulder as the blast door opened, conscious of the fact that Sorel was still out in the corridor. He didn't want to run the risk of pointing a gun at her, so his weapon was aimed at the deck, ready if needed.
Tali watched with some amazement as a battered and bruised human in clearly damaged armour appeared in the doorway, and put a single shot through the troopers face before dropping into cover. The dead man's body simply ceased to function, and he went down like a marionette with it's strings cut.
The remaining two enemy soldiers returned fire, their barrage peppering the hull with an impotent fury.
The wounded crewman rolled out of cover again, and charged into the engine room. This insane tactic confused the lesser of the two commandos, and he took a round in the throat for his troubles, dropping his rifle and rolling in agony as his life blood pumped swifttly out onto the deck.
The commando leader, however, activated a second kinetic barrier, doubling his shield integrity. There was no way the crewman who had come to their aid would have a chance of taking them down. That didn't stop him trying, as four Carnifex shots in quick succession hammered into the barriers, sparks flying in all directions.
As he raised his pistol to return fire, a look of confusion crested the man's face, and he dropped his own weapon to the deck. Reaching up over his shoulder he tried to grab at something at his back, but without success.
His mouth opened and closed in a silent scream. He twisted and fell to the deck, the injector protruding from between his shoulder blades.
Tali - standing directly behind him - folded her arms across her chest and watched as her tormentor writhed in pain, showing no sympathy as the chemicals went to work in his bloodstream.
"It seems your little cocktail works on humans too." Tali hissed, before turning away from the rapidly liquefying man and hurried over to Donnelly to check his vitals.
--------------------
Donnelly was bleeding out, Tali did not need to be a doctor to see that. Daniels saw it too, and she sobbed quietly, staring transfixed at the last moments of her childhood friend. The blood from his wound was pooling around him, and his breathing was so very shallow. The monster that had taken his life, had condemned him to a slow and painful death, was pacing the engine room like a caged animal, tapping that damned pistol against his armoured thigh as he walked.
Tali sat with her back against the glass of the core's safety railings, and was studying the core readings on her onmi tool. The commando team leader looked up from his fevered pacing, and rushed over to her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, alien?" He said, aiming his pistol at her once more. "You trying to summon your little pet drone? Don't, unless you want another death on your conscience."
"I'm trying to ensure the core does not destabilise and drop below the zero threshold, tearing this ship apart in the process. Now get that gun out of my face!" Tali hissed, her anger beginning to well up inside her again. The commando leader seemed to think on this for a moment before turning away from her.
"Just don't try any heroics." He said, waving the gun to remind her of what it had done to Donnelly.
The port stairwell was silent now, the struggle it had played host to was over. He checked the pistol Thane had given him to ensure it had not been damaged in the fight, and was pleased to see that everything looked green. Readying the weapon, he crossed to the engine room access door, and pressed himself up against the frame. Leaning across, he pressed the activation switch before dropping back into cover, and waited.
"What is taking Sorel so long?" The commando leader said under his breath, stopping dead in his tracks and turning to his team, pointing to the one who had been guarding Donnelly. "Go and find her. Now."
The man nodded and promptly turned to leave, heading toward the port access stairwell. He raised his rifle to his shoulder as the blast door opened, conscious of the fact that Sorel was still out in the corridor. He didn't want to run the risk of pointing a gun at her, so his weapon was aimed at the deck, ready if needed.
Tali watched with some amazement as a battered and bruised human in clearly damaged armour appeared in the doorway, and put a single shot through the troopers face before dropping into cover. The dead man's body simply ceased to function, and he went down like a marionette with it's strings cut.
The remaining two enemy soldiers returned fire, their barrage peppering the hull with an impotent fury.
The wounded crewman rolled out of cover again, and charged into the engine room. This insane tactic confused the lesser of the two commandos, and he took a round in the throat for his troubles, dropping his rifle and rolling in agony as his life blood pumped swifttly out onto the deck.
The commando leader, however, activated a second kinetic barrier, doubling his shield integrity. There was no way the crewman who had come to their aid would have a chance of taking them down. That didn't stop him trying, as four Carnifex shots in quick succession hammered into the barriers, sparks flying in all directions.
As he raised his pistol to return fire, a look of confusion crested the man's face, and he dropped his own weapon to the deck. Reaching up over his shoulder he tried to grab at something at his back, but without success.
His mouth opened and closed in a silent scream. He twisted and fell to the deck, the injector protruding from between his shoulder blades.
Tali - standing directly behind him - folded her arms across her chest and watched as her tormentor writhed in pain, showing no sympathy as the chemicals went to work in his bloodstream.
"It seems your little cocktail works on humans too." Tali hissed, before turning away from the rapidly liquefying man and hurried over to Donnelly to check his vitals.
Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 6...
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!
--------------------
The M-6 Carnifex was a fearsome weapon, a turian manufactured beast that was all show and no finesse. It made a loud bang when fired, and kicked like a mule, making it incredibly popular with mercenaries. It was a shame that it's popularity wasn't based solely on these traits, as it generally hit whatever it was pointed at, and - so long as the target did not have kinetic barriers - usually made a hell of a mess.
It was a shame, as a fine specimen of the heavy pistol was currently about two inches from Tali'Zorah vas Normandy's face plate, and the human pointing it at her was considerably angry.
"Where is Subject Zero?" He said, pressing the weapon against the violet armour-glass. The barrel made a slight squeal as the metal scratched the mask, Tali's glowing eyes narrowing at the threat. Gritting her teeth, she placed her hands on her hips and remained silent. She had faced a rogue spectre and a reaper in combat, this human did not scare her with his threats of violence.
"I asked you a question you filthy little bitch." He growled, and backhanded her across the side of her head with the pistol, knocking her to the ground. "Where is Subject Zero? Is she on this ship?"
"Go to hell you bosh'tet!" Tali snarled, struggling to stand up again. Her head was swimming, and specks of light danced across her vision, her head throbbing from the force of the blow.
"What did you call me?" The man said, his face twisted with rage. "You want to play tough huh? Fine, I'll bite. You aliens are all the same, so sure of your own self importance. Well you see me, I hate your kind, you and all your other filthy friends. You are all that is holding my kind back. Hell I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, bitch."
Stepping back from Tali, the human spread his arms wide and stooped forward, as if presenting himself to her for judgement.
"You see me? Do you? You aliens mean nothing to me." He said, before spinning around so rapidly he even took his own men by surprise. The pistol snapped up, and the man fired a single shot, the force of the impact knocking Donnelly to the ground, blood gushing from the wound in the small of his back. He lay still, and didn't make a sound. Daniels - however - screamed, and tried to go to her friend's aid, but the other soldier held her back, brandishing his own pistol in her face as a reminder that not doing what she was told would be very ill advised.
"I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get humanity to our rightful place, even kill my own kind. You think I care about what happens to you?" He said, turning back round to face Tali. "Now I'll ask you again. Subject Zero. Where. Is. She?"
Tali'Zorah considered all her possible responses, wanting nothing more than to strike this man down for what he had done. Donnelly was a lecherous man, but he was part of her crew, and he deserved better. Her resistance crumbled, and her shoulders sagged, the helplessness of her situation finally driven home.
"She is... not aboard. She left the ship weeks ago, along with a shore party. I don't know where she went, the Commander didn't say." Tali said, unwilling to risk Daniels' well being too.
"Good. If you're lying, or if you try anything, I've got this..." The man said, reaching into his combat webbing and retrieving a medical injector. "One wrong move and I stick you with it. I don't know what it's called, but I've seen it used on your kind before. Makes a really nice looking puddle out of your tissue. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly." Tali said, venom in her voice as some of her defiance returned in the face of so vile a weapon. The man smiled behind his helmet, the transparent faceplate failing to hide the rotten teeth in his grinning mouth.
"Excellent. Glad we understand each other."
The door to the engineering sub-deck stairwell was jammed, the status display on the access panel flashing a red warning light. Closer examination of the locking mechanism showed tell tale signs of melting consistent with that found on the door to Grunt's cargo room. He cursed under his breath, and set off back the way he had come, keeping low to avoid being spotted by any remaining Cerberus soldiers down in the shuttle bay below. The sounds of battle were becoming increasingly sporadic as Thane's men mopped up the last of the enemy strike team.
The fact that two of the blast doors on this deck had been welded shut were all the evidence he needed to know that the attack on the shuttle bay was a diversion to allow commando teams to get onto the ship via alternate means. He didn't know how, but he'd let EDI figure that one out. All he knew was that Cerberus had elite troops operating on the ship. They knew the layout of the Normandy - they'd built the damn thing. Chances are they could monitor communications too. He couldn't risk warning the rest of the crew for fear that the enemy might scuttle the ship. It's what he'd have done, had the circumstances been reversed.
He just hoped they hadn't completely locked down access to engineering - he really didn't want to go crawling through ducts considering the condition he was in. His body still ached from the explosion in the communications room, and he had begun to realise that he had likely broken a rib or two. He was running on adrenaline, and it had pushed the pain to the back of his mind. His armour had already applied medi-gel to the affected area, but there was only so much it could do for broken bones.
The port access door loomed before him, and his shoulders sagged in relief as he saw the lock was undamaged. He reached out a hand and keyed the activation button, the green light of the access panel flickering for a moment before it powered down, and the segmented portal receded into the bulkhead.
The pain in his side came back with renewed vigour, distracting him to the point where he almost didn't realise that he was standing face to face with a shocked looking Cerberus trooper, the woman holding a portable fusion beamer, the business end of the tool glowing white hot. It was fully charged.
It dawned on both of them at the same time that he was standing right in its field of fire, and he twisted away to the side as the commando thumbed the activation switch and pulled the beamers trigger. His helmet filters couldn't block out the acrid smell of molten metal and ionised air as a beam of superheated gas shot three feet out from the tool, vaporising the side of his armour and scorching the flesh underneath.
Pain - almost overwhelming agony - surged through his body, so acute he couldn't even scream, and his hand shot out instinctively toward the tool as the commando brought it around to fire it again. He knocked her arm aside, the impact jarring his pistol from his grip, and it clattered to the deck, bouncing from the metal plating and falling down into the stairwell to the engineering sub-level.
So much for the easy option.
He'd have to do this the hard way; up close and bloody. That suited him fine. He grinned like a maniac behind his helmet and brought his other hand down in and overhead blow to the side of his opponents neck. Her armour's gorget protected her from most of the force of the blow, but still she reeled from the impact, and he pressed the advantage, hammering a right hook into her chest that staggered her back a couple of steps.
A fresh surge of adrenaline coursed through his system, overriding the shock of the fusion beam, and he rushed at her, hoping to use his superior size to bring her down fast. But his opponent was a commando, and a damn good one too, he realised as she sidestepped to his left and dropped into a fighting stance faster than he could arrest his charge. Instead he redirected to keep his aim true, knowing that if he couldn't stop himself he could only commit to the attack, and hope at least some of it got through.
She would never have had the time to bring her fists up fast enough to punch him, so instead she slammed her knee into his gut, doubling him over. Unfortunately for her his momentum carried him forward, and he barrelled into her, the two of them falling against the safety railing overlooking the stairwell. The small of her back hit the top of the railing, her feet leaving the deck, and - combined with his weight pushing into her chest - she fell backwards, over the railing.
She grabbed at his armour, her eyes burning with fury, and dragged him after her.
A memory leapt unbidden into his mind. The sensation of weightlessness. The soft caress of the Asari's skin against his, feeling her embrace and letting himself be taken by the moment as they drifted in the zero-G. Her fingers traced the scars on his back - her touch like ice - bringing ecstasy wherever they roamed.
Reality returned like a hammer blow as he hit the steps near the bottom of the stairwell, the commando slamming into the ground beside him. They rolled the last few feet to the bottom, landing in a tangled heap in the darkness of the maintenance sub-deck. The world would not stop spinning, at least until a fist slammed into his face plate, his head bouncing from the deck.
His vision cleared just in time for him to roll aside as the commando - now back on her feet - slammed her booted foot into the ground where his head had been moments before. He kept rolling as she snapped a kick at his chest, and he grabbed her boot with both hands, twisting so hard it wrenched her from her feet and she fell unceremoniously back to the deck.
He pulled himself back to his feet, panting heavily - the fall had aggravated his injured ribs, and the fused flesh of his side burned like hot coals. He was running on his last reserves of strength, and the look in his opponents eyes as she stood up once again showed him that she knew it too.
She began to circle him, an easy confidence to her stride, moving like a predator sensing weakness in its prey. The fusion beamer dangled - forgotten - from its power cable, connected to a boxy generator pack strapped to her hip. Her armour was dented and scratched in a dozen places, and her gorget had been torn free during the fall, hanging from her chest plate by one strap.
Her confidence turned to panic as she saw the pistol in his hand, retrieved from where it had fallen during the fight.
Summoning all her strength she leapt at him as he raised the weapon in a trembling hand. She was on him in a flash, knocking his forearm aside and thrusting a knife-edged jab at his throat. He twisted aside, the blow glancing from his shoulder guard, and he grabbed her dangling gorget in his free hand and pulled with all his strength, dragging her off balance.
They fell again, her face hitting the deck and sending stars dancing in front of her eyes. He fell on top of her, and snaked his arms around her - one across her neck, the other over her stomach. Holding on as hard as he could he rolled over onto his back, pulling her along with him. His arms freed, he tightened his grip and began to choke her.
She resisted at first, thrashing in his arms, but he was too strong, and he had her in an iron hard grip. It didn't take her long to realise, and instead of flailing ineffectually at him she hammered her elbow into his side, the agony of the fusion burn leaping back to the forefront of his consciousness.
Feeling him tense, she repeated the blow, searing pain shooting through his body at the impact.
He could not take another blow, his vision was going dark around the edges and it seemed like he was viewing the world from the bottom of hole in the ground. He was beginning to black out. If he did, it would be game over - he'd never wake up.
He let go of her stomach and shielded the wound with his arm, her elbow impacting his armour rather than his burned flesh. It was then that his fingers closed around something solid and heavy, and hot to the touch. Grasping hold of it he twisted onto his side, throwing her off balance, and spoiling her next blow.
"Nice try darling." He hissed in her ear, and rammed the fusion beamer up under her chin. He thumbed the safety switch, and she went rigid with fear as the sound of the tool charging up echoed around the room.
"Better luck next time." He said, and pulled the trigger. There was a flash of white light, an overwhelming blast of heat, and the commando went limp in his arms.
Pushing the smoking corpse away from him, he dragged his battered body back to his feet and looked down at the mess. The front of helmet - and her face - were several feet away from her body, the remains steaming from the perfect, clean cut the fusion beamer had made through her head.
Shaking his head, he retrieved the pistol from the floor and staggered wearily back up to the deck above, weapon held at the ready. The rest of her team were surely in the engine room, and for all he knew they had heard the struggle. They would be waiting, and he did not intend to keep them waiting for long.
--------------------
The M-6 Carnifex was a fearsome weapon, a turian manufactured beast that was all show and no finesse. It made a loud bang when fired, and kicked like a mule, making it incredibly popular with mercenaries. It was a shame that it's popularity wasn't based solely on these traits, as it generally hit whatever it was pointed at, and - so long as the target did not have kinetic barriers - usually made a hell of a mess.
It was a shame, as a fine specimen of the heavy pistol was currently about two inches from Tali'Zorah vas Normandy's face plate, and the human pointing it at her was considerably angry.
"Where is Subject Zero?" He said, pressing the weapon against the violet armour-glass. The barrel made a slight squeal as the metal scratched the mask, Tali's glowing eyes narrowing at the threat. Gritting her teeth, she placed her hands on her hips and remained silent. She had faced a rogue spectre and a reaper in combat, this human did not scare her with his threats of violence.
"I asked you a question you filthy little bitch." He growled, and backhanded her across the side of her head with the pistol, knocking her to the ground. "Where is Subject Zero? Is she on this ship?"
"Go to hell you bosh'tet!" Tali snarled, struggling to stand up again. Her head was swimming, and specks of light danced across her vision, her head throbbing from the force of the blow.
"What did you call me?" The man said, his face twisted with rage. "You want to play tough huh? Fine, I'll bite. You aliens are all the same, so sure of your own self importance. Well you see me, I hate your kind, you and all your other filthy friends. You are all that is holding my kind back. Hell I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, bitch."
Stepping back from Tali, the human spread his arms wide and stooped forward, as if presenting himself to her for judgement.
"You see me? Do you? You aliens mean nothing to me." He said, before spinning around so rapidly he even took his own men by surprise. The pistol snapped up, and the man fired a single shot, the force of the impact knocking Donnelly to the ground, blood gushing from the wound in the small of his back. He lay still, and didn't make a sound. Daniels - however - screamed, and tried to go to her friend's aid, but the other soldier held her back, brandishing his own pistol in her face as a reminder that not doing what she was told would be very ill advised.
"I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get humanity to our rightful place, even kill my own kind. You think I care about what happens to you?" He said, turning back round to face Tali. "Now I'll ask you again. Subject Zero. Where. Is. She?"
Tali'Zorah considered all her possible responses, wanting nothing more than to strike this man down for what he had done. Donnelly was a lecherous man, but he was part of her crew, and he deserved better. Her resistance crumbled, and her shoulders sagged, the helplessness of her situation finally driven home.
"She is... not aboard. She left the ship weeks ago, along with a shore party. I don't know where she went, the Commander didn't say." Tali said, unwilling to risk Daniels' well being too.
"Good. If you're lying, or if you try anything, I've got this..." The man said, reaching into his combat webbing and retrieving a medical injector. "One wrong move and I stick you with it. I don't know what it's called, but I've seen it used on your kind before. Makes a really nice looking puddle out of your tissue. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly." Tali said, venom in her voice as some of her defiance returned in the face of so vile a weapon. The man smiled behind his helmet, the transparent faceplate failing to hide the rotten teeth in his grinning mouth.
"Excellent. Glad we understand each other."
The door to the engineering sub-deck stairwell was jammed, the status display on the access panel flashing a red warning light. Closer examination of the locking mechanism showed tell tale signs of melting consistent with that found on the door to Grunt's cargo room. He cursed under his breath, and set off back the way he had come, keeping low to avoid being spotted by any remaining Cerberus soldiers down in the shuttle bay below. The sounds of battle were becoming increasingly sporadic as Thane's men mopped up the last of the enemy strike team.
The fact that two of the blast doors on this deck had been welded shut were all the evidence he needed to know that the attack on the shuttle bay was a diversion to allow commando teams to get onto the ship via alternate means. He didn't know how, but he'd let EDI figure that one out. All he knew was that Cerberus had elite troops operating on the ship. They knew the layout of the Normandy - they'd built the damn thing. Chances are they could monitor communications too. He couldn't risk warning the rest of the crew for fear that the enemy might scuttle the ship. It's what he'd have done, had the circumstances been reversed.
He just hoped they hadn't completely locked down access to engineering - he really didn't want to go crawling through ducts considering the condition he was in. His body still ached from the explosion in the communications room, and he had begun to realise that he had likely broken a rib or two. He was running on adrenaline, and it had pushed the pain to the back of his mind. His armour had already applied medi-gel to the affected area, but there was only so much it could do for broken bones.
The port access door loomed before him, and his shoulders sagged in relief as he saw the lock was undamaged. He reached out a hand and keyed the activation button, the green light of the access panel flickering for a moment before it powered down, and the segmented portal receded into the bulkhead.
The pain in his side came back with renewed vigour, distracting him to the point where he almost didn't realise that he was standing face to face with a shocked looking Cerberus trooper, the woman holding a portable fusion beamer, the business end of the tool glowing white hot. It was fully charged.
It dawned on both of them at the same time that he was standing right in its field of fire, and he twisted away to the side as the commando thumbed the activation switch and pulled the beamers trigger. His helmet filters couldn't block out the acrid smell of molten metal and ionised air as a beam of superheated gas shot three feet out from the tool, vaporising the side of his armour and scorching the flesh underneath.
Pain - almost overwhelming agony - surged through his body, so acute he couldn't even scream, and his hand shot out instinctively toward the tool as the commando brought it around to fire it again. He knocked her arm aside, the impact jarring his pistol from his grip, and it clattered to the deck, bouncing from the metal plating and falling down into the stairwell to the engineering sub-level.
So much for the easy option.
He'd have to do this the hard way; up close and bloody. That suited him fine. He grinned like a maniac behind his helmet and brought his other hand down in and overhead blow to the side of his opponents neck. Her armour's gorget protected her from most of the force of the blow, but still she reeled from the impact, and he pressed the advantage, hammering a right hook into her chest that staggered her back a couple of steps.
A fresh surge of adrenaline coursed through his system, overriding the shock of the fusion beam, and he rushed at her, hoping to use his superior size to bring her down fast. But his opponent was a commando, and a damn good one too, he realised as she sidestepped to his left and dropped into a fighting stance faster than he could arrest his charge. Instead he redirected to keep his aim true, knowing that if he couldn't stop himself he could only commit to the attack, and hope at least some of it got through.
She would never have had the time to bring her fists up fast enough to punch him, so instead she slammed her knee into his gut, doubling him over. Unfortunately for her his momentum carried him forward, and he barrelled into her, the two of them falling against the safety railing overlooking the stairwell. The small of her back hit the top of the railing, her feet leaving the deck, and - combined with his weight pushing into her chest - she fell backwards, over the railing.
She grabbed at his armour, her eyes burning with fury, and dragged him after her.
A memory leapt unbidden into his mind. The sensation of weightlessness. The soft caress of the Asari's skin against his, feeling her embrace and letting himself be taken by the moment as they drifted in the zero-G. Her fingers traced the scars on his back - her touch like ice - bringing ecstasy wherever they roamed.
Reality returned like a hammer blow as he hit the steps near the bottom of the stairwell, the commando slamming into the ground beside him. They rolled the last few feet to the bottom, landing in a tangled heap in the darkness of the maintenance sub-deck. The world would not stop spinning, at least until a fist slammed into his face plate, his head bouncing from the deck.
His vision cleared just in time for him to roll aside as the commando - now back on her feet - slammed her booted foot into the ground where his head had been moments before. He kept rolling as she snapped a kick at his chest, and he grabbed her boot with both hands, twisting so hard it wrenched her from her feet and she fell unceremoniously back to the deck.
He pulled himself back to his feet, panting heavily - the fall had aggravated his injured ribs, and the fused flesh of his side burned like hot coals. He was running on his last reserves of strength, and the look in his opponents eyes as she stood up once again showed him that she knew it too.
She began to circle him, an easy confidence to her stride, moving like a predator sensing weakness in its prey. The fusion beamer dangled - forgotten - from its power cable, connected to a boxy generator pack strapped to her hip. Her armour was dented and scratched in a dozen places, and her gorget had been torn free during the fall, hanging from her chest plate by one strap.
Her confidence turned to panic as she saw the pistol in his hand, retrieved from where it had fallen during the fight.
Summoning all her strength she leapt at him as he raised the weapon in a trembling hand. She was on him in a flash, knocking his forearm aside and thrusting a knife-edged jab at his throat. He twisted aside, the blow glancing from his shoulder guard, and he grabbed her dangling gorget in his free hand and pulled with all his strength, dragging her off balance.
They fell again, her face hitting the deck and sending stars dancing in front of her eyes. He fell on top of her, and snaked his arms around her - one across her neck, the other over her stomach. Holding on as hard as he could he rolled over onto his back, pulling her along with him. His arms freed, he tightened his grip and began to choke her.
She resisted at first, thrashing in his arms, but he was too strong, and he had her in an iron hard grip. It didn't take her long to realise, and instead of flailing ineffectually at him she hammered her elbow into his side, the agony of the fusion burn leaping back to the forefront of his consciousness.
Feeling him tense, she repeated the blow, searing pain shooting through his body at the impact.
He could not take another blow, his vision was going dark around the edges and it seemed like he was viewing the world from the bottom of hole in the ground. He was beginning to black out. If he did, it would be game over - he'd never wake up.
He let go of her stomach and shielded the wound with his arm, her elbow impacting his armour rather than his burned flesh. It was then that his fingers closed around something solid and heavy, and hot to the touch. Grasping hold of it he twisted onto his side, throwing her off balance, and spoiling her next blow.
"Nice try darling." He hissed in her ear, and rammed the fusion beamer up under her chin. He thumbed the safety switch, and she went rigid with fear as the sound of the tool charging up echoed around the room.
"Better luck next time." He said, and pulled the trigger. There was a flash of white light, an overwhelming blast of heat, and the commando went limp in his arms.
Pushing the smoking corpse away from him, he dragged his battered body back to his feet and looked down at the mess. The front of helmet - and her face - were several feet away from her body, the remains steaming from the perfect, clean cut the fusion beamer had made through her head.
Shaking his head, he retrieved the pistol from the floor and staggered wearily back up to the deck above, weapon held at the ready. The rest of her team were surely in the engine room, and for all he knew they had heard the struggle. They would be waiting, and he did not intend to keep them waiting for long.
Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 5...
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!
--------------------
The core was holding together, barely. The fluctuations in field density had abated somewhat, but the the ship wasn't out of danger yet. There were damaged systems everywhere, the diagnostics flooding across the displays were showing dozens of faulty sections in the life support alone. Fires were breaking out everywhere, systems weren't responding to commands, three of the blast doors were non-functional, both long and short ranged communications were down, the FTL drive was offline, engines were running at 4% above safe recommended operational levels.
There was a hull breach in the shuttle bay - although thankfully the magnetic containment field generated by the mass effect core was holding, so the bay was not open to hard vacuum, but if the core destabilised any further, that couldn't be counted on to remain that way. To top it all off there were reports of another explosion in the shuttle bay, that had just occurred not moments before.
At least Tali'Zorah knew what the quaking of the deck had been caused by. She shook her head, in awe of the damage to the ship, her ship. Whatever had hit them had crippled them, and it was all she could do to keep the ship core from passing the point of no return, the zero threshold - so named because if the core dipped below it, there was zero chance of survival for anyone on board.
Donnelly and Daniels were hurrying around somewhere behind her, rapidly working to keep the rest of the ship alive for as long as they could. Tali had taken sole responsibility for the state of the mass effect core, for it was hers, her 'child', her 'baby'. It it were to die, she would be the one to usher it painlessly into the next world, before it dragged all of them violently after it.
She stopped typing for a moment and stretched, her enviro-suit tickling her flesh as it was stretched along with her. Standing stooped over the consoles was hell on her lower back, her posture about as uncomfortable as it could possibly be. Taking a step backwards she leant forwards, resting the faceplate of her helmet against the safety railings running along the back of the console. She sighed wearily, before straightening up once more.
Deciding that the core could wait for a moment, she synced her omni tool with the diagnostics console, so she could work on the move, and turned away from the core. She set off toward her normal station, hoping to check the stock listings for spare parts Cerberus had provided when outfitting the engineering deck, stopping dead in her tracks as she noticed Donnelly quickly avert his gaze at her approach. He'd been watching her again. She couldn't understand what fascinated him so much about her, but it seemed a subject of much heated debate between him and his human colleague.
Shaking her head she continued to her station, pulling up the necessary files and scanning over the inventory. She immediately spotted several items of use, and flagged them for requisition on her omni tool. She didn't see nearly enough parts for what she had to do to stabilise the core.
She had already re-routed power from the FTL drive, engines, and internal lighting systems in none essential areas, and pushed them all into strengthening the external impact shielding. The Normandy shook repeatedly from impacts of starship weapons, so Tali knew at least that there was some shooting going on but no one seemed to be at an advantage, as damage reports stated merely cosmetic damage to the ships hull.
"Move it, Donnelly!" Tali said, annoyance creeping into her voice. "Those FBA couplings will not replace themselves. We need some good news right now; so how about giving me a chance to repair some of the damaged systems. I can't do it without functional couplings!"
"Aye lassie, don' get your knickers in a knot." Donnelly said, and turned toward the exit, heading for the direction of parts storage.
He never made it. The door before him opened, revealing three enemy soldiers who burst into the room and raised their rifles to cover the three engineers. Donnelly lunged at the nearest one, a wrench clasped in his hands. The enemy was quicker, and stuck the barrel of his rifle into the scotsman's throat, a dark look etched upon his features.
"Try it princess." He said, jabbing the weapon into Donnelly's chest and pushing him back before forcing him down onto his station's seat. "Just give me a reason, chuckles."
Whilst the initial man had Donnelly covered, Daniels was being man-handled to one side by another, and the third - the most dangerous one by the looks of things, was striding across the deck toward her, a heavy pistol clasped in his hand and a look of sheer hatred on his grizzled features.
This could go very wrong, indeed.
--------------------
The core was holding together, barely. The fluctuations in field density had abated somewhat, but the the ship wasn't out of danger yet. There were damaged systems everywhere, the diagnostics flooding across the displays were showing dozens of faulty sections in the life support alone. Fires were breaking out everywhere, systems weren't responding to commands, three of the blast doors were non-functional, both long and short ranged communications were down, the FTL drive was offline, engines were running at 4% above safe recommended operational levels.
There was a hull breach in the shuttle bay - although thankfully the magnetic containment field generated by the mass effect core was holding, so the bay was not open to hard vacuum, but if the core destabilised any further, that couldn't be counted on to remain that way. To top it all off there were reports of another explosion in the shuttle bay, that had just occurred not moments before.
At least Tali'Zorah knew what the quaking of the deck had been caused by. She shook her head, in awe of the damage to the ship, her ship. Whatever had hit them had crippled them, and it was all she could do to keep the ship core from passing the point of no return, the zero threshold - so named because if the core dipped below it, there was zero chance of survival for anyone on board.
Donnelly and Daniels were hurrying around somewhere behind her, rapidly working to keep the rest of the ship alive for as long as they could. Tali had taken sole responsibility for the state of the mass effect core, for it was hers, her 'child', her 'baby'. It it were to die, she would be the one to usher it painlessly into the next world, before it dragged all of them violently after it.
She stopped typing for a moment and stretched, her enviro-suit tickling her flesh as it was stretched along with her. Standing stooped over the consoles was hell on her lower back, her posture about as uncomfortable as it could possibly be. Taking a step backwards she leant forwards, resting the faceplate of her helmet against the safety railings running along the back of the console. She sighed wearily, before straightening up once more.
Deciding that the core could wait for a moment, she synced her omni tool with the diagnostics console, so she could work on the move, and turned away from the core. She set off toward her normal station, hoping to check the stock listings for spare parts Cerberus had provided when outfitting the engineering deck, stopping dead in her tracks as she noticed Donnelly quickly avert his gaze at her approach. He'd been watching her again. She couldn't understand what fascinated him so much about her, but it seemed a subject of much heated debate between him and his human colleague.
Shaking her head she continued to her station, pulling up the necessary files and scanning over the inventory. She immediately spotted several items of use, and flagged them for requisition on her omni tool. She didn't see nearly enough parts for what she had to do to stabilise the core.
She had already re-routed power from the FTL drive, engines, and internal lighting systems in none essential areas, and pushed them all into strengthening the external impact shielding. The Normandy shook repeatedly from impacts of starship weapons, so Tali knew at least that there was some shooting going on but no one seemed to be at an advantage, as damage reports stated merely cosmetic damage to the ships hull.
"Move it, Donnelly!" Tali said, annoyance creeping into her voice. "Those FBA couplings will not replace themselves. We need some good news right now; so how about giving me a chance to repair some of the damaged systems. I can't do it without functional couplings!"
"Aye lassie, don' get your knickers in a knot." Donnelly said, and turned toward the exit, heading for the direction of parts storage.
He never made it. The door before him opened, revealing three enemy soldiers who burst into the room and raised their rifles to cover the three engineers. Donnelly lunged at the nearest one, a wrench clasped in his hands. The enemy was quicker, and stuck the barrel of his rifle into the scotsman's throat, a dark look etched upon his features.
"Try it princess." He said, jabbing the weapon into Donnelly's chest and pushing him back before forcing him down onto his station's seat. "Just give me a reason, chuckles."
Whilst the initial man had Donnelly covered, Daniels was being man-handled to one side by another, and the third - the most dangerous one by the looks of things, was striding across the deck toward her, a heavy pistol clasped in his hand and a look of sheer hatred on his grizzled features.
This could go very wrong, indeed.
Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 4...
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!
--------------------
Thane Krios was bleeding. That didn't happen often. Even so, the pain was all too familiar - a perfect memory had its drawbacks, after all. It was nought but a flesh wound where a round has passed under his arm and grazed the meat of his ribs. But it was bleeding heavily, and the pain was beginning to hinder his aim. It was getting harder to steady his rifle, and he couldn't afford to miss even one shot.
Breaking cover, he sighted down the scope, and lined up on a Cerberus officer, hoping to overload the human's kinetic barriers. That would give the crew a chance to batter through the heavy ablative plates that covered his battle armour. Instinct told him to aim for the head - further away from the shield emitter built into the back of the suit just below the magnetic clamps. It would be weaker around the extremities, and the head gave him the best chance of scoring a debilitating shot should the round manage to pierce the shield.
Just as his finger squeezed on the trigger, a burst of fire came from the balcony above, on the engineering deck, and hammered the officers shields. The better firing angle from such a vantage point allowed for an easier shot, and with a burst of static the barriers went down. Before the man could react to this new threat, Thane gently squeezed, and his rifle bucked in his hands. A puff of red mist burst out from the back of the man's head, and he fell out of the assassins field of view.
He had lived in a dangerous profession long enough to know a kill shot when he saw one, so he dropped back into cover, checking the thermal clip to see how much more the heat sink could take. Two, maybe three more shots.
One of the crewman risked a look around the crates they were using as cover, and fell back almost immediately, his eye a bloody ruin. Thane almost prayed for the lost soul, until the man began to scream. He was still alive. Truly Arashu applauded his bravery. Thane would see to it that the man lived, or he would die in the attempt.
He lifted his head above the crate, and caught a glimpse of the enemy who had shot the screaming crewman. He counted for three heartbeats before breaking cover again, right as the enemy soldier rolled out of cover to fire again. He never got the chance, as Thane put two rounds into him, one in the chest, one in the throat. The soldier slumped forward, his pistol falling from slack hands. The thermal readout on his rifle showed enough left in the heat sink for one more shot. Good, that last kill had made him feel weak. The blood loss was getting dangerous now. It wouldn't take much more before he would need to seek medical attention, which meant falling back, and surrendering the shuttle bay to Cerberus.
If that happened, nothing would stop them overrunning the ship.
Now he had fired three times from this spot, and was playing a dangerous game. A sniper should never fire more than once from a concealed position. The muzzle flash made you a prime target for counter snipers. He needed to move. It seemed that whoever was up on the balcony had enough of experience to comprehend exactly that, as at that moment a spray of assault rifle fire came from one of the broken windows, forcing the Cerberus soldiers to keep their heads down.
Thane didn't need a second chance. He darted from cover, sprinting toward a refuelling mech that was secured in a large hydraulic cradle, and dropped into cover behind it, his vision swimming with the exertion. He took a few steadying breaths and ducked further behind the cradle, hoping to flank his foes.
His injury must have been worse than he thought, as he didn't see the Cerberus soldier looming up before him from the far side of the cradle until it was too late, the scorcher in his enemy's hands coming up to meet him, muzzle spitting restless gouts of flame. It looked like Kepral's syndrome wouldn't be the death of him after all. Smiling, Thane slipped into himself, his eyes glazing over as the memory of Irikah washed away the battle in the bowels of the Normandy.
He had watched with some satisfaction as the Cerberus soldiers dived for cover as he unloaded round after round over their heads. He found himself smiling again as Thane had switched his position, sprinting like an athlete toward the huge bulk of a fuelling mech. Smart little bastard was going to flank them.
He grasped another thermal clip from his pocket as a smouldering heat sink was ejected from the side of his rifle, steam billowing from it like the tail of a comet as it fell to the deck beside him. Ramming the fresh clip home, his features became grim as the realisation dawned on him that this was his last one. Better make it count.
He saw Thane favouring his left side, and realised the drell must have been hit earlier in the battle. Then he saw something that gave him pause. A Cerberus pyro-trooper he hadn't seen when he fired his suppressing burst had spotted Thane's gamble, and ducked behind a fuelling tank on the far side of the mech cradle. There was no way Thane could have seen him from where he was crouched.
Unfortunately the tank was also blocking his view of the trooper, so he risked the barrage of return fire that was hammering the balcony, and ran as fast as his battered form could manage toward the door to Grunt's cargo room. He dropped back into cover for but a moment, before hauling his tired body up into the line of fire.
He took a glancing hit to the shoulder almost immediately, but ignored it and raised his rifle, just as Thane broke cover once again, rolling around the back of the cradle, and right into the path of the pyro-trooper. From his new vantage point he could see nothing but a tiny gap between the cradle and the fuel tank.
Another round hit him, this time in the gut, but the bullet lodged into his armour and didn't pierce the flesh. He'd been shot enough times to know that whilst it was a minor injury, it would leave one hell of a bruise. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, expecting any moment for the distinctive whoosh of a flamer discharge, signalling the drell's demise.
Instead he caught a flicker of movement from the gap his rifle was sighted on, and he fired, guided by instinct honed from years of warfare and black ops missions, the disruptor rounds passing through the gap and missing both the cradle and the tank by a fraction of an inch.
Then everything went white, and the world trembled.
Thane's memories of his beloved Irikah were ripped from his mind as he was thrown backwards by a force that felt like the hand of a god. He slammed back into a heat exchanger, it's metal skin dented inwards from the impact. He fought through the pain, shaking away the shock of the moment and tried to find his weapon. The rifle was gone, who knew where, but so was the pyro trooper. All that remained of the Cerberus soldier was a blackened scorch mark on the floor where he had been standing, and the stench of chemicals and cooked meat.
It took him a moment to register what had happened. Someone had hit the troopers pack, igniting the volatile gasses contained in the twin flasks. None of the fire team he had brought with him would have hand an angle to pull off that shot, and he doubted any of them could have managed it even if they had. No, the shot had come from the shooter on balcony, and Thane knew of but a scant few people who could have pulled it off, himself included.
As clarity returned, he grinned despite himself, the unfamiliar sensation of the thrill of a near death experience overcoming his normally stoic calm. The explosion had had an interesting side effect. A stray round must have pierced one of the flexible pipes running from the tank to the cradle, and the burning gasses from the flasks had ignited the spilled fuel, triggering a chain reaction that had detonated the fuel tank.
Only the bulk of the cradle and the now scorched mech held securely inside had shielded him from the blast, and had saved his life. The same could not be said of the Cerberus assault team. Six of them were vaporised instantly, another four killed outright as the shock wave liquefied their organs and pulped their bones.
The rest were knocked to the deck, a good number thrown out of their cover by the force of the explosion. The Normandy fire team capitalised on this, hammering the exposed foes with everything they had - with little or no return fire from their stunned enemies.
Just like that, the tide had turned.
Thane dragged himself to his feet and drew his pistol, staggering back into the cover afforded by the damaged mech. He caught a glimpse of his saviour above him as he did, and he nodded a salute, which was promptly returned. An assault rifle flew through the air toward him, and he caught it easily, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Make good use of it, you need it more than I do!" The figure on the balcony shouted. "And toss me a bloody pistol would you?"
Thane simply nodded, and threw his carnifex under arm up into the air, a flicker of pain running through his body as his injured ribs protested. The figure snatched the pistol from the air, and turned away from the fight in the shuttle bay, his part played out.
--------------------
Thane Krios was bleeding. That didn't happen often. Even so, the pain was all too familiar - a perfect memory had its drawbacks, after all. It was nought but a flesh wound where a round has passed under his arm and grazed the meat of his ribs. But it was bleeding heavily, and the pain was beginning to hinder his aim. It was getting harder to steady his rifle, and he couldn't afford to miss even one shot.
Breaking cover, he sighted down the scope, and lined up on a Cerberus officer, hoping to overload the human's kinetic barriers. That would give the crew a chance to batter through the heavy ablative plates that covered his battle armour. Instinct told him to aim for the head - further away from the shield emitter built into the back of the suit just below the magnetic clamps. It would be weaker around the extremities, and the head gave him the best chance of scoring a debilitating shot should the round manage to pierce the shield.
Just as his finger squeezed on the trigger, a burst of fire came from the balcony above, on the engineering deck, and hammered the officers shields. The better firing angle from such a vantage point allowed for an easier shot, and with a burst of static the barriers went down. Before the man could react to this new threat, Thane gently squeezed, and his rifle bucked in his hands. A puff of red mist burst out from the back of the man's head, and he fell out of the assassins field of view.
He had lived in a dangerous profession long enough to know a kill shot when he saw one, so he dropped back into cover, checking the thermal clip to see how much more the heat sink could take. Two, maybe three more shots.
One of the crewman risked a look around the crates they were using as cover, and fell back almost immediately, his eye a bloody ruin. Thane almost prayed for the lost soul, until the man began to scream. He was still alive. Truly Arashu applauded his bravery. Thane would see to it that the man lived, or he would die in the attempt.
He lifted his head above the crate, and caught a glimpse of the enemy who had shot the screaming crewman. He counted for three heartbeats before breaking cover again, right as the enemy soldier rolled out of cover to fire again. He never got the chance, as Thane put two rounds into him, one in the chest, one in the throat. The soldier slumped forward, his pistol falling from slack hands. The thermal readout on his rifle showed enough left in the heat sink for one more shot. Good, that last kill had made him feel weak. The blood loss was getting dangerous now. It wouldn't take much more before he would need to seek medical attention, which meant falling back, and surrendering the shuttle bay to Cerberus.
If that happened, nothing would stop them overrunning the ship.
Now he had fired three times from this spot, and was playing a dangerous game. A sniper should never fire more than once from a concealed position. The muzzle flash made you a prime target for counter snipers. He needed to move. It seemed that whoever was up on the balcony had enough of experience to comprehend exactly that, as at that moment a spray of assault rifle fire came from one of the broken windows, forcing the Cerberus soldiers to keep their heads down.
Thane didn't need a second chance. He darted from cover, sprinting toward a refuelling mech that was secured in a large hydraulic cradle, and dropped into cover behind it, his vision swimming with the exertion. He took a few steadying breaths and ducked further behind the cradle, hoping to flank his foes.
His injury must have been worse than he thought, as he didn't see the Cerberus soldier looming up before him from the far side of the cradle until it was too late, the scorcher in his enemy's hands coming up to meet him, muzzle spitting restless gouts of flame. It looked like Kepral's syndrome wouldn't be the death of him after all. Smiling, Thane slipped into himself, his eyes glazing over as the memory of Irikah washed away the battle in the bowels of the Normandy.
He had watched with some satisfaction as the Cerberus soldiers dived for cover as he unloaded round after round over their heads. He found himself smiling again as Thane had switched his position, sprinting like an athlete toward the huge bulk of a fuelling mech. Smart little bastard was going to flank them.
He grasped another thermal clip from his pocket as a smouldering heat sink was ejected from the side of his rifle, steam billowing from it like the tail of a comet as it fell to the deck beside him. Ramming the fresh clip home, his features became grim as the realisation dawned on him that this was his last one. Better make it count.
He saw Thane favouring his left side, and realised the drell must have been hit earlier in the battle. Then he saw something that gave him pause. A Cerberus pyro-trooper he hadn't seen when he fired his suppressing burst had spotted Thane's gamble, and ducked behind a fuelling tank on the far side of the mech cradle. There was no way Thane could have seen him from where he was crouched.
Unfortunately the tank was also blocking his view of the trooper, so he risked the barrage of return fire that was hammering the balcony, and ran as fast as his battered form could manage toward the door to Grunt's cargo room. He dropped back into cover for but a moment, before hauling his tired body up into the line of fire.
He took a glancing hit to the shoulder almost immediately, but ignored it and raised his rifle, just as Thane broke cover once again, rolling around the back of the cradle, and right into the path of the pyro-trooper. From his new vantage point he could see nothing but a tiny gap between the cradle and the fuel tank.
Another round hit him, this time in the gut, but the bullet lodged into his armour and didn't pierce the flesh. He'd been shot enough times to know that whilst it was a minor injury, it would leave one hell of a bruise. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, expecting any moment for the distinctive whoosh of a flamer discharge, signalling the drell's demise.
Instead he caught a flicker of movement from the gap his rifle was sighted on, and he fired, guided by instinct honed from years of warfare and black ops missions, the disruptor rounds passing through the gap and missing both the cradle and the tank by a fraction of an inch.
Then everything went white, and the world trembled.
Thane's memories of his beloved Irikah were ripped from his mind as he was thrown backwards by a force that felt like the hand of a god. He slammed back into a heat exchanger, it's metal skin dented inwards from the impact. He fought through the pain, shaking away the shock of the moment and tried to find his weapon. The rifle was gone, who knew where, but so was the pyro trooper. All that remained of the Cerberus soldier was a blackened scorch mark on the floor where he had been standing, and the stench of chemicals and cooked meat.
It took him a moment to register what had happened. Someone had hit the troopers pack, igniting the volatile gasses contained in the twin flasks. None of the fire team he had brought with him would have hand an angle to pull off that shot, and he doubted any of them could have managed it even if they had. No, the shot had come from the shooter on balcony, and Thane knew of but a scant few people who could have pulled it off, himself included.
As clarity returned, he grinned despite himself, the unfamiliar sensation of the thrill of a near death experience overcoming his normally stoic calm. The explosion had had an interesting side effect. A stray round must have pierced one of the flexible pipes running from the tank to the cradle, and the burning gasses from the flasks had ignited the spilled fuel, triggering a chain reaction that had detonated the fuel tank.
Only the bulk of the cradle and the now scorched mech held securely inside had shielded him from the blast, and had saved his life. The same could not be said of the Cerberus assault team. Six of them were vaporised instantly, another four killed outright as the shock wave liquefied their organs and pulped their bones.
The rest were knocked to the deck, a good number thrown out of their cover by the force of the explosion. The Normandy fire team capitalised on this, hammering the exposed foes with everything they had - with little or no return fire from their stunned enemies.
Just like that, the tide had turned.
Thane dragged himself to his feet and drew his pistol, staggering back into the cover afforded by the damaged mech. He caught a glimpse of his saviour above him as he did, and he nodded a salute, which was promptly returned. An assault rifle flew through the air toward him, and he caught it easily, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Make good use of it, you need it more than I do!" The figure on the balcony shouted. "And toss me a bloody pistol would you?"
Thane simply nodded, and threw his carnifex under arm up into the air, a flicker of pain running through his body as his injured ribs protested. The figure snatched the pistol from the air, and turned away from the fight in the shuttle bay, his part played out.
Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 3...
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!
--------------------
He watched the indicator light flashing as the elevator moved between floors, past the crew deck and toward engineering. The hanger was listed at the very bottom, but he didn't like the idea of exiting an elevator right into a fire fight. The balcony overlooking it on the engineering deck would be a much more tactically viable position. Besides, the recent damage done to the windows there during the battle with the collector occulobe would allow him to fire down on the Cerberus boarding party from above, hopefully providing Thane with a crossfire. He just hoped EDI shared his assessment.
The indicator hovered over the number four - the engineering deck - and the elevator began to slow its decent. Clearly EDI did agree with him, trusting him to pick his own strategy rather than choosing his path for him as he had originally asked. It would have been easy for her to override his choice of deck and take the elevator down to the lowest deck.
As the doors began to open, the initial hiss of escaping air as the pressure seals parted was quickly lost to the sound of gunfire, the report of assault rifles mingling with pistol shots and shotgun blasts. The tell tale crack of a sniper weapon assured him that Thane was still alive. Stooping low, he swept from the elevator, checking right then left, his rifle leading. He paused for a second when he spotted the doors to the cargo bay Grunt had made his home had been welded shut. Last he had heard the krogan was sleeping in his tank, but Cerberus were smart not to take any chances.
Even a cursory glance told him that there was no way he'd get that open without cutting tools. Shame, he could have used the big scaly bastard right now. Still, it also told him that despite Thane's resistance, at least some members of Cerberus were loose on the ship. That made Tali'Zorah and the other engineers even more of a priority for defence. He'd have to gauge the situation very carefully, or something could go very wrong, very quickly.
Dropping into cover against the balcony wall, he risked a look over the lip of the window frame, carefully taking in the scene in the shuttle bay whilst using the broken glass still in the frame to help conceal him from the enemies below.
A Cerberus lander had touched down at the far end of the hanger bay, and around two dozen troopers were firing from covering positions, cowering behind machinery and crates of god knows what. Back toward the elevator, Thane and four members of the Normandy crew fired back from behind a stack of crates, with a fifth crewman slumped against their cover holding a nasty gut wound and screaming for a medic. From the looks of things Thane had kept firing discipline in the crew, and they had done damn well to hold off their attackers as long as they had. Still, time was running out for them, unless he did something soon.
Checking his rifle one last time, he selected the disruptor ammunition setting on the side of the gun, and popped up out of cover firing a burst with deadly precision, stripping the kinetic barriers from one of the Cerberus officers. Thane did not miss the opportunity, and put a rifle round through the man's faceplate before the shields had time to recharge. The man went rigid and toppled backwards like a felled tree, his armour clattering as it hit the deck. The corpse began to spasm, and he knew with some satisfaction that the kill had been clean.
That damn Drell was almost scary sometimes...
--------------------
He watched the indicator light flashing as the elevator moved between floors, past the crew deck and toward engineering. The hanger was listed at the very bottom, but he didn't like the idea of exiting an elevator right into a fire fight. The balcony overlooking it on the engineering deck would be a much more tactically viable position. Besides, the recent damage done to the windows there during the battle with the collector occulobe would allow him to fire down on the Cerberus boarding party from above, hopefully providing Thane with a crossfire. He just hoped EDI shared his assessment.
The indicator hovered over the number four - the engineering deck - and the elevator began to slow its decent. Clearly EDI did agree with him, trusting him to pick his own strategy rather than choosing his path for him as he had originally asked. It would have been easy for her to override his choice of deck and take the elevator down to the lowest deck.
As the doors began to open, the initial hiss of escaping air as the pressure seals parted was quickly lost to the sound of gunfire, the report of assault rifles mingling with pistol shots and shotgun blasts. The tell tale crack of a sniper weapon assured him that Thane was still alive. Stooping low, he swept from the elevator, checking right then left, his rifle leading. He paused for a second when he spotted the doors to the cargo bay Grunt had made his home had been welded shut. Last he had heard the krogan was sleeping in his tank, but Cerberus were smart not to take any chances.
Even a cursory glance told him that there was no way he'd get that open without cutting tools. Shame, he could have used the big scaly bastard right now. Still, it also told him that despite Thane's resistance, at least some members of Cerberus were loose on the ship. That made Tali'Zorah and the other engineers even more of a priority for defence. He'd have to gauge the situation very carefully, or something could go very wrong, very quickly.
Dropping into cover against the balcony wall, he risked a look over the lip of the window frame, carefully taking in the scene in the shuttle bay whilst using the broken glass still in the frame to help conceal him from the enemies below.
A Cerberus lander had touched down at the far end of the hanger bay, and around two dozen troopers were firing from covering positions, cowering behind machinery and crates of god knows what. Back toward the elevator, Thane and four members of the Normandy crew fired back from behind a stack of crates, with a fifth crewman slumped against their cover holding a nasty gut wound and screaming for a medic. From the looks of things Thane had kept firing discipline in the crew, and they had done damn well to hold off their attackers as long as they had. Still, time was running out for them, unless he did something soon.
Checking his rifle one last time, he selected the disruptor ammunition setting on the side of the gun, and popped up out of cover firing a burst with deadly precision, stripping the kinetic barriers from one of the Cerberus officers. Thane did not miss the opportunity, and put a rifle round through the man's faceplate before the shields had time to recharge. The man went rigid and toppled backwards like a felled tree, his armour clattering as it hit the deck. The corpse began to spasm, and he knew with some satisfaction that the kill had been clean.
That damn Drell was almost scary sometimes...
Mass Effect: Objects in Space - Chapter 2...
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!
--------------------
"Come on you bosh'tet, work!" She hissed under her breath, her fingers a blur as she tapped at the command consoles overlooking the mass effect core. Despite appearances, the core was in trouble. The greatest threat the Normandy faced right now was not the other ship firing at it, nor the boarding party that was even now battling with the assassin Krios and a fire team of the ship's crew in the cargo hold at the front of the engineering deck. No, the thing that worried her the most right now was the stability of the mass effect field generated by the huge orb and field dampeners that made up the heart of the Normandy SR2.
She kept her voice low, and mentally ran through a quarian breathing technique used by machinists to keep calm under pressure. She couldn't let engineers Donnelly and Daniels see just how terrified she really was. She had to stay calm, or at least appear to, for their sakes. She had the utmost faith in her abilities, and knew that if anyone could fix this, she could. They trusted her to know exactly what she was doing at all times, Daniels was even in awe of her technical abilities.
But Tali was frightened now, seeing the readouts before her and knowing just how fine a line she walked. If she showed even a flicker of doubt - if she hesitated even for a split second - and if the two human engineers saw it...
They were good, some of the best humanity had to offer. But they were human, not quarian. They were nothing like as skilled as she was, as her people were. If they panicked, they could make a mistake, and at this point even the slightest error in their calculations could begin a chain reaction that would tear the Normandy apart.
She couldn't risk it.
Tapping away at the console, she finished her latest adjustments to the field density and glanced up to see what effect it had on the field, hoping that this one wasn't the mistake, that this wouldn't spell their doom. As she did, she spotted a figure through the glass view port of Mordin's tech lab. Shepard?
Could it be the commander? Was Shepard alive?
Shocked, she watched - hypnotised, as the figure turned and hurried away, out of sight. It was too far a distance - and the lab too full of smoke - to tell if it had been Shepard, but she hoped in her heart that it had been. She wanted him to be here with her, now. Despite the presence of the engineers, she felt so alone, and the lives of the entire crew rested in her hands. Shepard had helped her on the Migrant Fleet, had shown her since that he could see past the mask she wore, that there was life beyond her paltry existence.
Right now, in what could be her final moments, she needed him. It was all she could do not to cry out his name, but she thought of Donnelly and Daniels, and how fragile their calm must be. She needed Shepard, but she couldn't risk damaging their calm. Not now.
Returning her full attention back to the console, she scanned the readings scrolling across the screen, rapidly typing the commands to adjust the mass effect field to correct any anomalies, and risks to the ship.
Please Shepard, she thought, fighting down the panic that she was so expertly hiding. Help me. I need you.
The airlock door to the combat information centre opened to a scene of barely controlled chaos. He scanned the room quickly, taking stock of the situation. Smoke was fairly thick in places, as numerous fires were burning amongst damaged control consoles and ruptured pipes. The crew - including Yeoman Chambers - were busy with extinguishers, trying the douse the fires before they began to burn uncontrollably.
Looking the length of the deck, he could see Dr Solus just off the flight deck, the salarian's eyes narrowed as he barked orders to the rest of the crew. He did not seem in any distress, though his uniform was in tatters, scorched in places and smeared black with soot in others. Across his sternum was a bloody hand print, though none of the crew in this section of the ship appeared to be injured. Another good sign. Though knowing what he knew about their enemy, he had expected the damage to the CIC to be minimal - Cerberus hadn't spent billions rebuilding this vessel and it's commander just to blow them both into so much space debris.
He nodded in solemn greeting as a few crew members looked up at his entrance, Jacob Taylor amongst them. The soldier looked pissed off, which was a strange but welcome look from the young man. He hadn't thought Jacob had the balls for this kind of work - more of an honest grunt than a black ops specialist. It was nice to see some fire in his eyes for once.
They didn't exchange words, but that look had been enough. He knew that that anger had been reflected in his own eyes. He was easily as furious as Jacob, even more so. This was his own fault though. He had grown complacent whilst working for Cerberus. Working on the inside of the most disreputable human organisation in the galaxy has numbed him to exactly what they were capable of. It made him feel sick to be a human, seeing how Cerberus was conducting this attack.
They were in the middle of nowhere, moving away from the quarian migrant fleet after some business with that marine, Kal'reeger. The flotilla had been passing through an uninhabitable system to refuel from a local gas giant, whilst on route to rendezvous with one of their exploration vessels, the Idenna.
Shepard and the Normandy had met the quarians out there to keep things quiet, to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to the migrant fleet, now that Cerberus had declared them traitors. First the Alliance had turned its back on Shepard, and then Cerberus had as well. The quarians were some of the few the Normandy could still count as friends, or allies at the very least. That Cerberus had sent a ship to ambush them out here, too far from both the flotilla and any settled worlds to call for help, meant that this was very personal indeed.
The Illusive Man clearly hated them.
Dismissing this train of thought, he turned away from the chaos in the CIC and headed into the elevator, readying his rifle and thumbing the button for the engineering deck. Last reports he'd heard before he blacked out were that the main contingent of Cerberus soldiers were in the shuttle bay, and that the drell, Thane Krios, was down there with some of the crew trying to drive them back.
The doors sealed shut, and with a quiet hiss the elevator began to descend into the bowels of the Normandy.
--------------------
"Come on you bosh'tet, work!" She hissed under her breath, her fingers a blur as she tapped at the command consoles overlooking the mass effect core. Despite appearances, the core was in trouble. The greatest threat the Normandy faced right now was not the other ship firing at it, nor the boarding party that was even now battling with the assassin Krios and a fire team of the ship's crew in the cargo hold at the front of the engineering deck. No, the thing that worried her the most right now was the stability of the mass effect field generated by the huge orb and field dampeners that made up the heart of the Normandy SR2.
She kept her voice low, and mentally ran through a quarian breathing technique used by machinists to keep calm under pressure. She couldn't let engineers Donnelly and Daniels see just how terrified she really was. She had to stay calm, or at least appear to, for their sakes. She had the utmost faith in her abilities, and knew that if anyone could fix this, she could. They trusted her to know exactly what she was doing at all times, Daniels was even in awe of her technical abilities.
But Tali was frightened now, seeing the readouts before her and knowing just how fine a line she walked. If she showed even a flicker of doubt - if she hesitated even for a split second - and if the two human engineers saw it...
They were good, some of the best humanity had to offer. But they were human, not quarian. They were nothing like as skilled as she was, as her people were. If they panicked, they could make a mistake, and at this point even the slightest error in their calculations could begin a chain reaction that would tear the Normandy apart.
She couldn't risk it.
Tapping away at the console, she finished her latest adjustments to the field density and glanced up to see what effect it had on the field, hoping that this one wasn't the mistake, that this wouldn't spell their doom. As she did, she spotted a figure through the glass view port of Mordin's tech lab. Shepard?
Could it be the commander? Was Shepard alive?
Shocked, she watched - hypnotised, as the figure turned and hurried away, out of sight. It was too far a distance - and the lab too full of smoke - to tell if it had been Shepard, but she hoped in her heart that it had been. She wanted him to be here with her, now. Despite the presence of the engineers, she felt so alone, and the lives of the entire crew rested in her hands. Shepard had helped her on the Migrant Fleet, had shown her since that he could see past the mask she wore, that there was life beyond her paltry existence.
Right now, in what could be her final moments, she needed him. It was all she could do not to cry out his name, but she thought of Donnelly and Daniels, and how fragile their calm must be. She needed Shepard, but she couldn't risk damaging their calm. Not now.
Returning her full attention back to the console, she scanned the readings scrolling across the screen, rapidly typing the commands to adjust the mass effect field to correct any anomalies, and risks to the ship.
Please Shepard, she thought, fighting down the panic that she was so expertly hiding. Help me. I need you.
The airlock door to the combat information centre opened to a scene of barely controlled chaos. He scanned the room quickly, taking stock of the situation. Smoke was fairly thick in places, as numerous fires were burning amongst damaged control consoles and ruptured pipes. The crew - including Yeoman Chambers - were busy with extinguishers, trying the douse the fires before they began to burn uncontrollably.
Looking the length of the deck, he could see Dr Solus just off the flight deck, the salarian's eyes narrowed as he barked orders to the rest of the crew. He did not seem in any distress, though his uniform was in tatters, scorched in places and smeared black with soot in others. Across his sternum was a bloody hand print, though none of the crew in this section of the ship appeared to be injured. Another good sign. Though knowing what he knew about their enemy, he had expected the damage to the CIC to be minimal - Cerberus hadn't spent billions rebuilding this vessel and it's commander just to blow them both into so much space debris.
He nodded in solemn greeting as a few crew members looked up at his entrance, Jacob Taylor amongst them. The soldier looked pissed off, which was a strange but welcome look from the young man. He hadn't thought Jacob had the balls for this kind of work - more of an honest grunt than a black ops specialist. It was nice to see some fire in his eyes for once.
They didn't exchange words, but that look had been enough. He knew that that anger had been reflected in his own eyes. He was easily as furious as Jacob, even more so. This was his own fault though. He had grown complacent whilst working for Cerberus. Working on the inside of the most disreputable human organisation in the galaxy has numbed him to exactly what they were capable of. It made him feel sick to be a human, seeing how Cerberus was conducting this attack.
They were in the middle of nowhere, moving away from the quarian migrant fleet after some business with that marine, Kal'reeger. The flotilla had been passing through an uninhabitable system to refuel from a local gas giant, whilst on route to rendezvous with one of their exploration vessels, the Idenna.
Shepard and the Normandy had met the quarians out there to keep things quiet, to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to the migrant fleet, now that Cerberus had declared them traitors. First the Alliance had turned its back on Shepard, and then Cerberus had as well. The quarians were some of the few the Normandy could still count as friends, or allies at the very least. That Cerberus had sent a ship to ambush them out here, too far from both the flotilla and any settled worlds to call for help, meant that this was very personal indeed.
The Illusive Man clearly hated them.
Dismissing this train of thought, he turned away from the chaos in the CIC and headed into the elevator, readying his rifle and thumbing the button for the engineering deck. Last reports he'd heard before he blacked out were that the main contingent of Cerberus soldiers were in the shuttle bay, and that the drell, Thane Krios, was down there with some of the crew trying to drive them back.
The doors sealed shut, and with a quiet hiss the elevator began to descend into the bowels of the Normandy.
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!
--------------------
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.
--------------------
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.
Welcome mortals...
Welcome to this most excellent blog...
...yeah, whatever.
My name is Dan Beresford, and I am a nobody. Those who know me know I am not REALLY as vain or arrogant as I act, I merely do it for shits and giggles.
Just to clear the air.
So, on to the purpose of this place: to give me somewhere to wax lyrical for others to comment and critique. Basically, I'd like to experiment with writing, and see if I have any talent for it. Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to inflate or deflate my ego depending on your opinions on my 'work'. Simple, right?
As such, I'll end this blog post by saying that if you got this far, cheers! Please feel free to stay a while, and have a read through my inane ramblings. Who knows, you may see something you like!
Cheers,
Dan
...yeah, whatever.
My name is Dan Beresford, and I am a nobody. Those who know me know I am not REALLY as vain or arrogant as I act, I merely do it for shits and giggles.
Just to clear the air.
So, on to the purpose of this place: to give me somewhere to wax lyrical for others to comment and critique. Basically, I'd like to experiment with writing, and see if I have any talent for it. Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to inflate or deflate my ego depending on your opinions on my 'work'. Simple, right?
As such, I'll end this blog post by saying that if you got this far, cheers! Please feel free to stay a while, and have a read through my inane ramblings. Who knows, you may see something you like!
Cheers,
Dan
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