Commander Shepard made the ultimate sacrifice to [red energy]DESTROY [/red energy] the Reapers. Eight years later, the survivors of the war seek to put the galaxy back together.
"Make sure he doesn't touch whatever it is,"Hestia snaps, "He can't take any more damage." She cranes her neck to try to make out what has Gir alarmed.
Alertness:4d3 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (1, 1, 1, 2) - 8 + 2 = -1
Dern and Gir block her view, and she glares at the backs of their heads to make her point.
"Site: Phoebe... small...little more than an office....but it was the hearth...the money...keeps other sites going, but now...independent. Moving ahead with Tartarus. Buddha forgive me."
Grace, looking legitimately concerned, leans in toward the man.
"Please, is there anything more you can tell us about Site: Phoebe? Or Tartarus? The information you have could be used to help a great many people... Humans. Is there anything we can do?"
Standing back up straight, she gives Dern a meaningful look, nods, and then places a hand on Hestia's shoulder.
"We have to keep him talking. Restrain him, if it comes to it. Be gentle. I trust you."
Removing her hand from the young woman's shoulder, she folds her arms, her lips tight and jaw set.
The old man doesn't so much do something as he accesses something in his omnitool, a program that it looks like he is offering to anyone nearby. Meanwhile, he feet seem to be...melting.
Hestia relaxes slightly when her omnitool signals the receipt of the data from the melting old man. "Dude, why? Why did you let them do this to you? What was so important?" she half-whispers to the unfortunate patient, attention torn from the transmission by the horror of the man's transformation to goo.
The old man smiles as the transformation continues, humming a tune that is far too cheerful to be a dirge. Somewhere behind you, the turian empties his stomach- something surprising for both profession and race.
The file chirps patiently on Hestia's omnitool, waiting to be accessed.
Hestia nopes right out of the room, hoping to avoid the turian's affliction. Once out, she leans against the wall, breathing deeply, and takes a peek at the captured file to distract her stomach.
Dern looks at the liquifying old man with clinical curiosity. "Most curious. Some type of acidic or alkali delivery system perhaps? Or a bacteria? If it is the latter, this fate likely awaits us all as this environment is not suited for quarantine conditions."
Hestia nopes right out of the room, hoping to avoid the turian's affliction. Once out, she leans against the wall, breathing deeply, and takes a peek at the captured file to distract her stomach.
The file is surprisingly plain. Just an office address and a name: Reverend Building 5, Room 101, Dalton Young. An Academics roll is needed for more information.
Dern looks at the liquifying old man with clinical curiosity. "Most curious. Some type of acidic or alkali delivery system perhaps? Or a bacteria? If it is the latter, this fate likely awaits us all as this environment is not suited for quarantine conditions."
Gir shakes his head- you cannot quite make out his features but he seems to be frowning. He says this is no bacteria but something humans call "grey goo"- a series of micro computers that eat organic components and then self destruct immediately-turning the unfortunate into its namesake.
Dern looks at the liquifying old man with clinical curiosity. "Most curious. Some type of acidic or alkali delivery system perhaps? Or a bacteria? If it is the latter, this fate likely awaits us all as this environment is not suited for quarantine conditions."
Grace's face retains something of a concerned expression, but becomes impassive as the man's body disintegrates, though her complexion turns somewhat gray as she motions to the orderlies on duty.
"Contain this as best you can. Dern, Gir, see what you can gather from the remains. I'll deal with Harper."
Her expression softening somewhat, she gestures toward the turian crewman unable to contain the contents of his stomach.
"First time, soldier? It's alright. Someone get him something. Double-check the active ingredients, make sure it's OK for dextro-proteins."
Leaving the room, Grace moves to comfort the obviously shaken young officer, placing a hand on Hestia's shoulder as the younger woman consults her omni-tool.
"You alright? I've seen what Cerberus can do to agents who have been... compromised. My first time seeing... I was a mess. Wouldn't wish it on anyone."
Grace remains quiet for a moment before removing her hand from Hestia's shoulder, her demeanor becoming more guarded and professional.
"Please, tell me, were you able to get anything from the file transfer?
Dern continues to inspect the remains and the man's personal effects, to see if there is anything else noteworthy to uncover.
Let me know if any checks are needed.
Also - if it helps, here's an Academics check on that address info.
[dice=Academics]4d3-8+2
there isn't much to see...the man has completely melted, and the goo that remains is starting to...evaporate. You are unsure whether or not you should tell your partners that they may be breathing this unfortunate in. With respect to the file, you can tell at a glance that it is indeed from Noveria...but you are a salarian and are aware that Noveria is at the very edge of salarian space. Of late your people have been very aggressive along the border. The balance of power between Noveria and Salarian space is concerning.
Dern returns to Grace and Hestia. ”It would seem for further investigation we must head to Novaria. The situation there is delicate, or so I understand, but perhaps some of my contacts will avail us when it comes to accessing that sector.”
”In any event, that will be the last of our Cerberus operative. There is not much more to be learned here.” He coughs slightly, and apologizes: ”Excuse me. I believe I had a bit of him in my airway.” He looks as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing for a person to say.
"Oh no. It's effectively a nanobot self-destruct system. 'Gray goo,' I think they call it. Leaves a bit of a mess though. I'd like to move on from here before somebody hands me a mop."
"I understand. Dern, see what you can dig up from your contacts. In the mean time, I'll talk to Captain Arpin and Lieutenant Vaws to see about our next steps with this investigation and setting our new course."
She pauses, her professional demeanor softening a bit as she runs a hand through her close-cropped hair.
"It'll probably be a while until we get to Noveria, what with the current state of the relays. Let's all get some rest. You've earned it. Once I'm done meeting with the command staff, I'll probably be in our quarters. Please, don't hesitate to see me if you need anything, alright?"
Grace smiles faintly, but overall, she looks a bit lost.
Hestia shoves away from the wall and stalks off to the locker room, showering away all possibility of gick and donning a new uniform.
Once she's in a clean uniform, she stops by the quarters. With a nod to Grace, she walks past to check her gear, then casually meanders over to stand near the older woman.
"Sarge? I, uh.. I know that address is on Novaria. I don't think we should go there."
Once she's in a clean uniform, she stops by the quarters. With a nod to Grace, she walks past to check her gear, then casually meanders over to stand near the older woman.
"Sarge? I, uh.. I know that address is on Noveria. I don't think we should go there."
After a shower and a change of uniform, Grace has been relaxing in her bunk. As Hestia approaches, she puts down a worn copy of Justicar Heroes Compilation, vol. CCCXXI and sits up as the young officer addresses her.
"You don't think we should follow up? Why is that?"
Hestia manages to stave off a galactic-champion level eyeroll at the title of Grace's reading material.
"No." The young biotic shakes off the offered seat before realizing it might be construed as an answer to the last question. "I mean yes. I think. No. Probably not."
Now that the question of why has been raised, Hestia is momentarily baffled. I need something more compelling than 'Plan B' and 'music.' Grace's patient waiting compels her to say something, anything.
"See... the Cerberus plan on Novaria went bust, because of the Alliance. But there's a backup plan..."
The girl closes her eyes and tilts her head slightly as if listening for a far off voice, frowning with concentration. Hestia, where the hell did you go? I need what you knew. Mentally, she tries to activate the circuits that connected her to her AI, virtually kicking at the door of the house that stands silent and dark in her mind. Dammit, tell me!
She whispers, "There's always a Plan B. And it's always worse. And the music..." The girl's hands creep up her arms until she's hugging herself, fingernails digging in to her upper arms, eyes still closed in concentration, face twisting in some internal struggle.
Plan B for the geezer was decades alone and grey goo for his loyalty, something inside her head says. What is it for you? He made you, then he abandoned you, just like the geezer. Everyone left you alone. He left you alone, no plan B for rescue, maybe a plan B for something else... like grey goo? Or maybe everyone was just too busy to care and abandoned you, pure and simple.
"Gir didn't," Hestia rasps suddenly, eyes flying open with apparent startlement at the sound of her own voice. In a pico of panic, she tries to shake off the blue flames now wreathing her hands before remembering that she controls the power. She quenches it.
She stares Grace in the eyes. "I. Don't. Know!" The statement rises to a shout. "Happy?" she snarls, then staggers back a step, clapping her hands over her face.
"Sorry... sorry Sarge," comes out very muffled, before she drops her hands and goes for the biotic drink at her belt. Once the bottle is drained, she shakes her head. "I don't know. I can't get to it, if it's even there anymore."
Showered and refreshed, Dern strolls into the room while softly singing a jaunty tune. "Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet-ass p****. Give me everything you got..." Oblivious to the discussion prior to his entry, he opines: "I have been listening to some classical music from Earth. So creative and delightful! Have either of you ever heard..." He stops mid-sentence as he perceives the mood of the room. He shifts uncomfortably.
"Oh dear. I fear I have walked into a sensitive conversation. Please excuse me." He looks from Hestia to Grace as he stands awkwardly near the doorway. "Should I... step out?"
Hestia shakes her head and drops down onto her own bunk, shaking slightly. "Not for me. I was just telling Sarge that I remember something bad about Noveria, but can't remember what it was. Sometimes, my memories were stored in my brain. Sometimes they were in my AI. Since that was destroyed, I have a bunch of memory pointers that point to inaccessible storage. This article is a stub. That kind of thing. It's frustrating. And I'm starving."
With a wan smile at Grace, she continues, "If Sarge wants to discipline me, she can do it in front of you. It's better for unit morale and discipline not to allow blowups at your CO. And it's poor operant conditioning to reward bad behavior. So whatever. But that's all it is, Dern." She finally looks at the Salarian and grimaces. "Not even something human for you to study. Just the wreckage of a failed experiment."
For more than a few beats, Grace doesn't speak. Finally, she lets out a long, shaky breath.
"That's... a lot to take in." She pauses again for a few seconds, her jaw set, then continues. "If something bad happened on Noveria, even if you can't remember now... maybe you will once we're at the site. We need as much intel as we can on this, but I promise I won't push you. I'm not sure what to make of some of it. You said something about Gir? And an AI? What..."
Grace trails off, rubbing her eyes, suddenly seeming a lot older than her thirty-four years.
"For now, just... don't worry about it. If you want to, if you ever... I... it's alright to vent once in a while, yeah?" She smiles slightly, raising a hand as if to rest it on Hestia's shoulder, but thinks better of it. "When I was your age, I wasn't even through basic training yet. I can't imagine what you've been through. I just know... I haven't known you for too long, but as far as I'm concerned, you're part of this team. And to me, that means something."
Grace lets out another shaky breath, looking tired, lost, burnt-out. Absentmindedly, she runs her fingers across the scars covering the side of her face and neck.
"We've still some time before we reach our destination. I know all of us are dead tired. Take some time, see if you can relax. Eat something, get some sleep. Please. That goes for you too, Dern."
She stands, massaging her temples with her thumb and forefinger.
"I'm going for a walk. See if I can't find the observation deck."
But she waits for Dern to leave before hauling herself to her feet, swaying slightly, and beelining to the mess hall. It doesn't really matter what they're serving or what it tastes like -- she piles her tray high with her biotic allowance and sits alone, eating in a steady, workmanlike fashion until all traces of food are gone. She swaps her empty power shake bottle for a full before heading straight for her bunk and crashing.
The dreamscape of swirling snow, children, and labs gives way to the everpresent hum of a starship as Hestia struggles to distinguish between dream and reality. She feels refreshed by the meal and the nap, more ready to take on the galaxy than before.
She remains in her bunk for a while, eyes closed, to have privacy inside her own head. I've been an idiot. How much of my smarts were Hestia... the AI... instead of me? You've been lazy, Harper. Time to get to work, figure this stuff out. She lies planning a while longer, then takes herself off to find the ship's workout room, to get the blood flowing and what remained of her brain working.
An alarm goes off, disturbing the party members out of their thoughts and rest. Apparently, everyone needs to get to the bridge to speak with Captain Arpin.
The alarm cuts through the music playing in Dern's chamber - "50 Cent: Classic hits - The Early Years (2002-2075)." "Ah, this will have to wait," Dern says to himself. He tidies his uniform in the mirror briefly before heading to the bridge to see Captain Arpin.
When the alarm sounds, Hestia is, quite naturally, upside-down. She groans, does one final hanging sit-up to grasp the bar her knees are hooked to, and flips through her arms to land standing on the cushioned floor of the bare-bones PE area.
Weighing lateness against tidiness, she figures she'll be in hot water one way or another. With a brief drying off with a sweat towel and a finger-comb of her hair, she trots to meet the others on the bridge, hoping to at least avoid the lateness part.
Exercise has burned through some of the adrenaline in her system and increased the bloodflow to her brain. She fervently hopes it's enough to keep her from snapping at her superiors again.
As the alarm blares, Grace lies curled up on a bench on the observation deck, cradling a mostly-empty bottle of akantha liquor from the ship's stores.
"I'm awake, I swear..."
Her eyes snap open as the alarm continues to blare. She sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, almost falling from the bench in the process. Picking up the discarded bottle, she regards it for a moment.
"Akantha... You were right, V, as always. No hangover..."
Smiling to herself, Grace's hand snaps to her shoulder, as if to tap a nonexistent comm badge. She looks around for a moment, suddenly self-conscious, even though no one's around.
"Right..."
She checks her appearance in the nearest reflective surface, straightening her BDUs as best she can, then makes for the captain's ready room.
On her way from the observation deck, Grace runs her hand through her short-cropped hair. Thinking back on the old man's words as he... disintegrated... on the med-bay berth, Grace is briefly called back to a memory from her time on Ilium. Not anything profound, but enough to slow her pace as she steadies herself against a bulkhead. As she regains her stride, she remembers a few lines from a centuries-old tune she remembers hearing as a girl...
Hestia jog-trots up to Dern before he can enter the captain's office. "Dern? Hold up." Hestia nods in greeting, feeling red-faced and dishevilled next to the Salarian's tidiness. "Hey. Sarge here yet? I wasn't sure if I had time to change." She grimaces at his regulation uni and takes a moment to straighten her workout gear and rebuild her ponytail, eyes darting to survey the area. She sighs in relief when Grace appears in the hall.
"Hey, Sarge. You know what this is about? Did you already give the Captain our next destination? Could we be here already? Where are we?" Now that she's done tidying up as much as can be done, the girl's fidgets have returned. She shifts from foot to foot and wrings her hands without seeming to notice.
Yes, please. Dungeon Master Player 15/Dungeon Master 13/Monk 2(I'm out of practice!)
Due to the layout of the Dolphin, the party can see Captain Arpin and the bridge crew at a bit of a distance. There is one figure there that is in a somewhat unique outfit that stands out from the crew...make a Contacts roll.
There is one figure there that is in a somewhat unique outfit that stands out from the crew...make a Contacts roll.
This is probably going to go nowhere, but...
[dice="Contacts]4d3-8+0
Spoiler:
Holy s~~~. It's him.
You are a veteran of wars against cruel A.Is, flesh made into machines, and ancient godlike entities, but this face makes your blood run cold. There were briefings even when it was just you and whomever was left back to back fighting against whomever was trying to take over the galaxy that week- a part of you suspects it was to offer some level of normalcy- and it all comes back as you see that profile.
A rising star in Cerebus. A person of interest in at least 3 disappearances. A suspect in 2 high tier assassinations. He was more whispered about than discussed after that. Some said he was the end result of illegal experimentation, some said he was a straight out cyborg that retained just enough of his own sense of self that they had to let him operate independently of the pack. The people they sent out after him never came back, including a pair of freaking N2s that were borrowed from wherever the hell they were at day. And here he is. Wearing a RITS uniform.
The poster boy of a thousand omnitool forwards, he was held up as an example of all the good the other peoples of the galaxy could do, in the vessel of humanity. He had taken out petty backwater dictators in parts of the galaxy the Alliance ignored, and had flipped at least one or two assets in the Alliance to boot. Naturally his existence ruffled a few feathers, which made him unique, but still...you never thought you would actually MEET him and part of you didn't think he actually existed. I mean he's part...everything, isn't he? Or was that just propaganda? You aren't quite sure how you feel about his...heritage...but he seems quite real enough to touch.
