Jason Hough - Mass Effect - Nexus Uprising

They were long gone already, but she needed a minute to think. Her team flooded in and began an aisle-to-aisle search. Sloane lifted her wrist and tapped into the omni-tool. She called for medics.

“Bring body bags.” She reported the deaths of three security staff and one life-support tech in the armory.

“Sir?” She jumped involuntarily. One of her officers had approached from the direction of the weapons lockers. The ones with military training always called her “sir.”

She let it slide. “Go ahead.”

“They were smart,” the woman said. “Only took the weapons that didn’t have tracking gear. We won’t be able to find them via sensors.”

“Figures,” Sloane replied, shaking her head. Calix knew his stuff, or someone with him did. She wondered what other surprises he had in store. She also wondered how long he’d been planning this. Bits of her interview with him after Irida’s arrest replayed in her mind. She’d gone to get information from him, and somehow told him far more than someone of his rank needed to know.

He had that way about him. She shuddered at the memory of it, feeling like the victim of a con. Combined with the knowledge that his entire team had followed him from their previous posting, and phrases like “cult of personality” started to flitter through her mind.

Their search complete, the rest of her team gathered around. One look at their faces confirmed what she already knew. As she suspected, they’d gotten away.

“Tracking down these weapons is our top priority now,” she said to them. “Arm up as best you can, with whatever’s left. I’ll need two of you to remain here with the door closed and locked. Minch, Kwan, you handle it. No one gets in unless you clear it with me first. Understood?”

They both nodded. Someone offered Sloane a rifle. She took it, checked the load out, and deactivated the safety.

“Everyone else with me.”

“We have to seal the room,” Tann said.

He ignored the shocked intake of breath from Foster Addison. She’d reach the same conclusion soon enough. For now, there was no time to debate. He left her at the console and strode toward the doors.

Spender stood near the wall, casually reviewing who-knows-what on his omni-tool. More reports of looting or firefights, no doubt. Spender had been in the middle of just such a battle only minutes before, and barely escaped with his life from the way he told it.

Tann nodded to him as he passed. “Help me secure the room.”

No guards were posted at the Operations door. Hadn’t been since the Scourge had struck, in fact. Tann marveled at that, in hindsight. Despite everything, he’d never once thought to have security posted here. Whatever grumblings the crew might have, he had not truly believed anything like this could happen.

A miscalculation, one he intended not to make again.

Spender helped him with the doors. There were three entrances to Operations, two of which led to blocked passageways, but they sealed those all the same. The time for lax security, for taking chances, was over.

“In a strange way,” Tann said as he rejoined Addison, “this altercation gives us the excuse we need to act with impunity. If the crew won’t return to cryostasis of their own accord, they—”

“How can you even be talking about that?” Addison asked, naked disgust on her face. “Three people are dead in the armory. Who knows how many more in Hydroponics.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about,” Tann said, confused at her resistance.

“The bodies are still warm and you’re already trying to twist this into some kind of advantage.”

He shrugged. “Of course. Any event must be factored into future decisions and directions. Naturally—”

“I can’t listen to this right now,” she said, and she walked away. Tann debated following her, explaining, but Spender caught his eye. The man held up one hand and made a face, a uniquely human expression that said, I’ve got this.

So be it. Tann went back to the console. Its capabilities were still limited, but one thing he could do was access cameras placed around the station. Not all of them, but some. Hopefully enough.

Every one of them showed nearly the same thing. People running about, or clustered in groups embroiled in heated conversation, some on the verge of violence. Panic and chaos. Exactly what Calix Corvannis wanted, no doubt. Tann stroked his chin, impressed despite himself. He’d underestimated the turian. Or rather, he’d had no reason to estimate him at all. Calix was middle-management. A capable life-support technician and a reasonably good leader of his team. Tann wondered what kind of background could lead someone like that to exhibit such political acuity.

He brought up Calix’s personnel file and skimmed it. Nothing stood out. Assigned to various ships and space stations throughout his career, rising to a rank of chief only a year before the Andromeda Initiative put out its open call for volunteers. Interestingly, Calix’s application had come in late, and it wasn’t just him. He and his entire team had all applied simultaneously. In his application Calix had stated that they would join the Initiative together, or not at all.

Tann pondered this for a moment. He pulled a chair over and sat. Sipping water, he pulled up the dossiers on everyone that reported to Calix, skipping the summaries and analysis in favor of the detailed parts. He began to read.

Three levels below Operations, a group of armed civilians rushed into a common area frequented by the non-krogan members of the crew.

Calix had hoped it would be empty, that people would have decided it best to stay in their quarters until the situation settled down. He’d neglected to consider the fact that most didn’t have quarters. They’d taken to sleeping in the commons, out of necessity and perhaps for the company.

And so there they were. Clustered in little groups, engaged in hushed, urgent conversations. The room went quiet at the sight of him and his… gang? Somewhere along the line he’d begun to think of them that way, and saw the truth of it in the eyes of those who were now staring, wide-eyed.

How we must look , he thought, barreling in with assault rifles in hand and the splatter of blood on their uniforms. For an instant Calix feared they might seek to block his path. Then came the odd sense that they might instead burst into applause. Congratulate him for standing up for their rights.

What actually happened was both.

Shouts of derision, exclamations of support, all mingled together into something else. The crowd split along ideological lines and chaos quickly ensued. Fights broke out. People shouted, falling to the floor, running for safer ground. Somehow he found himself at the center of it all, surrounded in a bubble of loaded weapons wielded by his almost perversely loyal team. His gang .

Yes, Calix thought, that really was the most apt description. No getting around it. Most of them had been with him for years. A bunch of misfits he’d somehow managed to tame, one at a time. They’d said—after the Warsaw —that they would follow him anywhere. He hadn’t meant to put that to the test when he announced he was going to apply for Andromeda. In fact, he’d hoped to finally break from this life and start fresh. But they’d been good to their word, and before he even realized what was happening, they’d decided for him that the application would be for the entire team.

That had been born more of a desire to leave a horribly commanded ship en masse than anything else. He doubted back then, as he did now, that they’d really understood what they were getting into by joining the Initiative. They just wanted to be part of something.