Deviation Actions
Literature Text
"Look, if you're going to hang out, at least stop whining."
Diana Allers sighed at her guest, who had dramatically flopped on to her bed seven minutes ago.
"I do not whine. I am articulating mild displeasure. A seasoned reporter should be able to distinguish the nuances of difference between the two," Samantha Traynor clarified before sitting up.
I still can't believe the rest of the Normandy crew shares sleeper pods while Princess Diana here gets a palace of a room in Engineering. Maybe I should start wearing miniskirts to my shift, too.
Sighing again, Allers swiveled back to her pair of vid screens at her desk. She was trying to splice together several audio files of some de-classified documents that Commander Shepard had passed on. Her first report from the SSV Normandy was going to be an inspirational rallying cry.
If she could finish the damn thing.
Not turning around this time, Allers waved a hand at the console next to her. "Well, then make yourself useful. When this is done, I want it broadcast to every ANN receiver in the galaxy."
"Only if you feign disinterest at my plight," Sam demanded as she hoisted herself up and tapped away at the private terminal on the desk. Having trouble with our QEC parameters, Miss Allers? Good, that's because I layered the encryptions. Nothing gets broadcast outside this ship without my say so.
Allers' tone was bored. "So continue what I've been doing: got it. Proceed."
"…what am I supposed to read into this? I'm the bloody Senior Comms Specialist. And Xian gets the first combat mission and I'm sidelined?!" Despite the fact Samantha was supposed to be sleeping, her Omni-tool had feeds from Menae ticking by. She was also mentally critiquing Xian's performance for dealing with the turian comms protocols to sync up the ground team.
You're supposed to place that filter after secondary confirmation… no, dammit. Gah. Now you have to start over, because too many pings to the array will force a soft restart and you'll lose about six seconds of feed.
Diana wasn't the coddling, sympathetic sort. She hated girl talk sessions where she was supposed to agree with whatever the other person was saying, no matter how stupid or illogical. "I think you're supposed to say to yourself: 'This is a military ship and I'm off-duty.' Or, try something new and different. 'I can't be on every mission every time.' That would be incredible, too." Her impression of Sam was overly high and exaggerated, with a few old fashioned "wot wots" thrown in.
"I do not sound like that. Your impression is borderline racism," Samantha growled, but she couldn't help but chuckle. As much as she hated to admit it, Allers was right. But not about the "wot wot." No one says that anymore, especially me.
It had been a hit to the gut when Sam saw the shift roster on the approach to Palaven. Especially after all the research she'd done on compatibility with turian protocols to sync up the Normandy's war room. Working her ass off only to be pulled from duty wasn't something Samantha was used to... Plus, part of her thought her growing rapport with the Commander would pay off.
Allers was still focused on her edits, and marked down the time stamp of the clip to splice in her recorded report before continuing. "What's your real problem, Traynor? You didn't strike me as the petty, bitchy sort. I'm giving you a generous, ten-second window of my undivided attention and caring to explain yourself. Then I have to finish this segment. Go."
Turning in her chair, Diana folded her hands into her lap. Her expression was expectant, but, oddly enough, not sarcastic. She appeared genuinely interested in what Samantha could say, which actually took Sam aback for a moment.
Huh. Maybe she's not the climb-the-ladder-at-all-costs harpy I took her for.
"Eight seconds."
Shit.
"So, I'm the ranking Comms Specialist on the Normandy."
"And?"
"And I have more knowledge on turian-human QEC integration than Xian does. Hands down."
"Do you have combat experience?"
"What? No, but I—"
"Does he?"
"Uh, yes?"
"Could that possibly be the oh-so-critical detail you're missing in this pity party scenario?"
"Uhhh..." was all Samantha could manage. Could that be the only reason? I mean... It's not that I didn't see it, I just hate (love?) the idea that it could be that simple. Xian's not better than me, or replacing me, he just has more experience and was a safer bet for the first mission.
The next mission, though… I'm going to kick its arse sideways. No more sidelining for this girl.
Diana turned back to her desk, with a very unsubtle toss of her hair. "Knowing that and coming to terms with that are very different things, though. If you need me to tell you something else you already know, lemme know. And I need to send this to my editor for approval. Be a dear and plug in these coordinates."
"I suppose your non-advice is worth some semblance of charity on my part," Sam grudgingly admitted. Slinging the download Allers provided into the QEC ether, Sam finished encrypting the file. And… done. Let's see Xian re-encrypt a vid-file for the smoothest relay delivery. So fast, it's practically in real time. You're welcome, "Monahan, Erika E, Sr Editor."
She started to get up to leave, before Sam's knees unceremoniously buckled at her next idea. "Allers. Do you have access to the ANN archives?"
"Within reason," Diana replied.
"What about the old Profiles in Courage? Can you dig up the one on Shepard?"
Smiling widely, Diana took on a flirty tone. "Ohhh... Doing some 'research' on your CO?" Her manicured fingers curled to make air quotes.
"Shut it, Allers. I don't know anything about Commander Shepard, actually. Where better to look than my employer's very own propaganda machine?" I'm also too lazy to look myself, and the last thing I need on my extranet browser history is a bunch of bookmarks about Commander Shepard. Even porn would be less embarrassing to be found by Alliance scrubber programs. …Or EDI.
"Hmph." Diana snorted at the crack about her job being propaganda. "Well, you're in luck, Traynor. Hit the jackpot, really. I interned at the ANN right out of high school. First job? Re-editing all the damn PICs to fit different marketing segments."
"That sounds bloody boring, actually."
"Tell me about it. 'Hype the background for human interest segments between broadcasts.' 'We need more hero pieces, recruitment needs a boost.' 'Did you get Temmi's best side?'" Her impression cycled between a low-pitched, air headed, and angry inflection.
"Temmi?" Sam asked.
"Artemis Kingston. She's the lead foreign relations correspondent for the Terminus now." Diana leaned back in her chair. "She's also an insufferable bitch. I pity whatever Alliance ship got stuck with her and her entourage for the war effort. But, just like the rest of us, she had to start somewhere. And that somewhere was the ANN's pride and joy: Profiles in Courage."
Stretching briefly, Allers rummaged around her messy desk (how many datapads does one woman need?) until she found a couple of data chits. She stood up and tossed one to Sam. "I'm starving. I'm gonna go hit up the mess. What're the odds they have good vegetarian up in there?"
Allers straightened her skirt before heading for the door. "That one has all the PIC segments I had to edit, plus the uncut original. Go to town, Traynor. But no sleeping on my bed. Unless you plan on buying me dinner first." With a wink, she was gone.
Not a chance in hell, Allers, Samantha smirked. But Diana's generosity was surprising. She seemed completely unworried that Sam might steal, vandalize or otherwise disturb her stuff. …Assuming anyone could figure out what any of this shit is, Samantha amended when she poked at the first stack of random datapads on the desk.
Vid first, rummage through Diana's shit later.
Production Notes:
[ANN original recording: Shepard, A R, November 9, 2176]
[ANN original broadcast: Profile in Courage: Annelise Shepard, March 6, 2177]
[ANN edited broadcast: Heroes of the Blitz and Beyond re: Annelise Shepard, July 17, 2180]
[ANN edited broadcast: Remembering Courage: Annelise Shepard, April 29, 2183]
[ANN edited broadcast: The Life and Controversy of Annelise Shepard, December 12, 2185]
[Begin Playback of Recording: "Shepard, A R"]
"'Sometimes, to be the best soldier, you have to listen to the orders your commanding officer doesn't give.'"
It wasn't Shepard's voice, but that of a serious blonde woman in a crisp suit. "Not advice you often hear from our men and women in blue. But it is this very advice that propelled a once average colony in the Terminus to the top of the feeds. As well as earned a once average marine the highest honor in the Alliance Navy: the Star of Terra.
"This is Artemis Kingston reporting. And sitting with us today is a woman known to many as the hero of Elysium. To the Alliance, she is Staff Lieutenant Annelise Shepard."
The view swung to a younger Shepard. Dressed in crisp Alliance blues, her formerly loose red hair was smoothed back in a tight bun. She was distracted by the camera and kept looking at something just above the view off screen. It was several long seconds before Shepard realized she'd been spoken to.
"Oh, shit. Is this where I'm supposed to say something? Thanks for having me? I'm honored to be here? The producer was talking kinda fast," Shepard apologized sheepishly. The whole thing appeared to embarrass her. She blinked uncertainly at the bright spotlights around her.
Artemis was quietly patient and insistent. "Just do whatever feels comfortable. We'll edit it in post later. You can say hello, or just smile and nod, or not do anything."
Shepard settled on a curt nod.
"Now, we'll talk about what happened on Elysium in a bit, but I wanted to take the time to get to know you, Lieutenant. May I call you Annelise?" Artemis tapped a datapad stylus to her chin thoughtfully, though Sam suspected the reporter wasn't taking any notes.
"No. Shepard. Unless I can call you Temmi," the young Commander corrected. There were several chuckles off camera. Artemis turned slightly red. Is that how the reporter got that nickname? Turning that into an in-joke seems like something Allers would do. …I would too, if she's the bitch Allers claims she is.
"Shepard it is, then. Now, what was it like growing up on Earth?" It was a boring, open-ended question intended to get the interviewee spinning on a charming childhood tale.
Shepard scratched her chin for a second before answering. "Do you want a bullshit answer, or a real answer?"
Refusing to let Shepard rattle her, Artemis smiled sweetly. "Here at the ANN we just want the truth."
The young Commander, leaned back in her chair. Her expression was pinched, but she finally responded. "Some of it was okay, and some of it sucked." A deliberate pause. "…I wasn't supposed to be born on Earth, though."
"Tell me about it," Kingston pressed gently.
"Well, I was supposed to be on Terra Nova, living some different life. My family was moving to the colony to be closer to my dad's family. That was before the accident, though." Shepard spoke nearly in a monotone, but Sam recognized a twinkle in her eye. Is she playing to the crowd? Building suspense?
The reporter was pleased, though still professional. "What accident was that, Marine?"
"Everyone knows about Singapore," Shepard said with a hand wave.
…Singapore? Sam had to think for a second.
Traynor, you bloody idiot: the ship accident? Widespread eezo contamination? Sort of famous since it sort of created human biotics?
Oh, that Singapore. Why didn't you say so?
"But not everyone knew about Atlanta. Or Copenhagen. Lima. Jakarta. My dad and brother were heading to Terra Nova while my mother was pregnant with me back on Earth. There was some sort of industrial accident along the highway with a transport hauling unprocessed drive cores. My mother wasn't even involved in the accident, but the eezo dust cloud covered a quarter mile stretch."
Artemis asked something inane like "And then what happened?"
Shepard balled up a bright, glowing fist. "I was born four months later, diagnosed with 'moderate element zero nodular neoplasia.' Mother got full-blown cancer and wasn't the same. She stuck it out for a couple years but treatment got too expensive. And Conatix wasn't paying eezo accident reparations in those days, since the Alliance hadn't stepped in yet. We were on our own."
A producer off-camera mumbled about editing out that Conatix part.
"What sort of life do you think you would have had on Terra Nova, Shepard?"
Scoffing lightly, Shepard's head dipped back. A tendril of hair from her bun worked loose. "I don't really think about it. I'd probably be worse off, actually. The other Shepards were pieces of crap. All Terra Firma rednecks who'd sooner shoot a turian than look at one. I'd probably be polishing a rifle on a pre-fab porch or working on my third kid. Not my idea of living the dream," she trailed off with a wry smile.
Kingston knew better than to make any disparaging remarks about potential viewers. "Aren't you worried they'll see this?"
"Not really. They hate the Alliance, so the chances of them seeing this are pretty small," Shepard smirked. She sobered quickly and her expression darkened. "They didn't come visit when mom died. Or when dad dragged John and me to Seattle. They never even sent me a birthday present. The one vid-mail I got from them, they made a joke about 'I didn't know they even made redheads anymore!'" Her voice deepened to a thick, accented drawl, followed by a fake laugh.
"Let's talk about your childhood, Shepard," Artemis redirected, though she paused a moment to orient the audience. "Normally, child biotics are identified at an early age and registered with the Alliance for training and credit vouchers for medical care. But Shepard was different."
Shepard's mouth narrowed to a hard line though her voice softened. "Dad wasn't the same after mom died. I was too young to remember her, though he said I look like her. My older brother John practically took care of me. Instead of engineering aquaponics on Terra Nova, Dad had us living in condemned buildings in Seattle. He actually made some really incredible plots where we could grow up to nine different kinds of crops with minimal water and sunlight, on the roof of a building! My dad had an amazing mind… except he gambled and drank and got hooked on red sand."
There was a muted spark of glee in the reporter's eyes, that hunger for juicy drama. Her professionalism was evident in her restraint. "That must have been difficult growing up."
Bloody hell, Sam exhaled. Commander Shepard was raised as a squatter?
"Dad was actually worse sober, because then he had time to think. And let his anger boil over about everything. Everyone was to blame for the Shepards' problems. The Alliance failed. Conatix fucked us over. Government. Corporations. Big cities. They were all what was wrong with humanity. He quietly resented me, too, for what happened to mom. BAaT was out of the question because it was run by Conatix, so I had to figure my biotics out on my own. Thank God John had his head on straight. He was an amazing big brother. He enrolled us in school and kept us fed and worked as a courier so we had credits for clothes and stuff."
"You use past tense when talking about your father and brother," Artemis observed. "Where are they now?"
Shepard's cheek twitched. Her entire face seemed to tighten on itself. "Gone. Dad was bombed in some red sand den when John died. It happened outside that shithole, too. John had gone in there to convince Dad to come home, but he wouldn't budge. Stubborn bastard. Then John got a message on his Omni-tool about picking up a delivery a block away."
"Where were you?"
"Just getting out of school like seven blocks away. I was walking with… what was her name?" Another sliver of red hair came loose as Shepard's head swung to the side. She stared intently at the ground for a moment before snapping her fingers. "Lindsey Devereaux! Lindsey and I would play in the basement of my building a couple days a week. I got a ping on my communicator from John. He was mugged. Stabbed in the stomach for his shoes and a couple of lousy credits."
Sam didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she finally had to let it out. Oh… oh god.
Clearing her throat, Shepard's voice dropped. "I'll never forget what he sounded like. Scared. It scared me. He didn't call Dad from the side of the road, instead he called me first. I've never run faster in my life. I think I did a biotic charge the entire time. Practically went through a bus that stopped in front of me. He was dead by the time I got there. Dad was holding him and shouting at the med team that had arrived. Yet another organization that had failed the Shepard family."
Artemis softly asked, "How old was your brother?"
"15. He had been working himself up to ask a girl out and never got the chance. He wanted to enlist and be a soldier and help people. He loved reading about knights and dragons. I was 13. And Dad didn't know what to do with himself. Or me. He blamed the sand for John and quit, but the withdrawal made him even more unstable."
When talking about her brother, Shepard was almost hushed, but the topic of her father was the complete opposite. She was bored, annoyed, unsympathetic.
"The city was long overdue in evicting us from the building, which was finally scheduled for demolition. I didn't care, I wanted to be out of that place anyway. Too many reminders of John. But Dad refused. Something about the government had taken everything from him, but not one thing more. He started a fire, but couldn't control it. He trapped himself inside. I was walking back from Lindsey's when I saw the flames. I didn't go to him, though. I ran away from it."
Shifting her datapad, Artemis gently prodded. "Where did you go?"
Why do I get the feeling it gets worse? Samantha dreaded. Shepard's expression was back to a neutral mask.
"Everyone thought I was dead. I didn't know what to do. As much as I hated my dad's crazy conspiracy bullshit, I was too young to think it wasn't true. I was afraid to go to the government or the police. For a little while I was sleeping on benches, stealing from dumpsters and bathing in fountains until some rent-a-cop spotted me and I had to run again. Then I met Andy."
Shepard's lip curled slightly at the corner. What does that face mean? It almost looks like… glee. Pleasure? ...attraction.
A little tremor creeped below (inside?) Samantha's heart, stealing a breath of air from her lungs. It was disorienting for half a second with a tight pressure. But then it was gone. She couldn't remember feeling something like that before.
Traynor. Are you …disappointed?
"We were both trying to steal the same stack of protein bars from a street vendor. Neither of us got it," Shepard's grin widened. "Andy and I pinched an entire case of dense nutrient bars from a store a little later and became best friends. The streets were as good a home as any. Pull your weight, you can have a warm bed and a hot meal. But she was the first person, other than my brother, to see my biotics and not call me a freak."
She. Andy was a girl.
No tremor this time.
A mumble sounded off-camera, which turned Artemis' head for a moment. "My producer is asking to tread lightly on this topic. Your juvenile records are sealed so I can't ask you any direct questions. It's also not common practice to celebrate someone with a possible criminal record."
Snorting slightly, Shepard let a fleeting expression of amusement escape her stoic face. "Yea, wouldn't want everyone to think their great 'hero' beat up nuns and stole bread from starving orphans, huh?" She paused to stare directly into the camera. Impossibly serious, Shepard intoned, "Children. If you want to get a medal, all you have to do is be a really good criminal, get noticed by the government, and then profit."
The vid suddenly cut out and the timestamp jumped 14 minutes. Shepard's loose hair was back into place and she seemed more irritable than ever. A young brunette makeup artist with a pair of large round brushes scurried off set while Artemis fluffed her hair. Took a break to get pretty, hmm?
An older man with a moustache stood next to Kingston. Her mic barely picked up on his muttering about all the edits this was going to need in post and to get better soundbytes. He backed out of the shot and Artemis resumed her interview. "Let's talk about what made you join the Alliance."
"Puberty for a biotic is a bitch," Shepard continued with a sigh. That slightly monotone voice again. "Not only are you a regular crazy teenage girl, but making crap float in your sleep or punching through walls when you're angry tends to scare people. By that point, BAaT was already shut down and they just commissioned Grissom Academy last month, so there weren't many biotic outlets for human kids other than the military. Conatix's long history of propaganda saw to it that biotics were second-class citizens, too."
A man's throat cleared loudly in the background.
Shepard grumbled sarcastically. "Oh, sorry. I forgot that wasn't a sanctioned topic for our little chat."
The vid jumped ahead another few minutes, with a timestamp marker on the bottom left. "[Redacted]" was all the note said. What's that all about, Samantha wondered.
Before Sam could decide what this hidden information even meant, her Omni-tool bracelet chirped. An update on Menae. "Operative Vakarian, Garrus" was just added to the security protocols with high-level access. Oh jolly good, another QEC mouth to feed. So to speak. I hope the turians appreciate how impossible their bloody algorithms are to integrate into my data feeds.
Back on the vid, Artemis had her hand pressed to her chin, listening intently.
"I got in with the wrong crowd," Shepard droned on in a rehearsed way. "I did what I had to to survive, but when I was 17, I wanted out. I met up with a social worker at a shelter, who offered to help me with school and get me enlisted in the Alliance. I didn't want to be locked up or put in the system, so I laid low. I barely left the shelter for eight months. The morning of my 18th birthday, I strolled right into the local recruitment center and enlisted. I said I wanted help. They said they could help."
The camera cut back to Kingston, whose voice dropped to a low, serious tone again. "And help they did. The Ascension Project, started in 2170, tutors and assists children with biotic talent. This Alliance initiative equips biotic recruits with bio-amps to control their abilities, trains students to improve their talents, and helps them find careers not exclusively limited to the military. Despite being too old for the Ascension cut-off, Shepard demonstrated a high aptitude and was quickly recruited for the Alliance's elite N7 program, where she emerged as a Vanguard-class biotic."
Lifting up her right hand, Shepard smoothed it over her hair in a fidgety way. Samantha paused the vid and fiddled with the settings for a moment.
What is that? On her hand?
The resolution blurred some, but held up. On young Commander Shepard's right palm was an intricate pattern of tan, swirling lines. A small red hammer could be seen in the middle of her palm. Tattoos, Sam realized. She backed up the segment to try and look at her other hand clenched in her lap, and could barely make out more curling henna lines snaking around her fingers.
But… she didn't have those when we first spoke. Samantha remembered when Shepard held up her hands to try and reassure her up outside the Captain's Cabin. Shepard's palms were just smooth, pale skin.
Another mystery.
Sam hit play. Some of these details she did know from half-listening to the ANN back in Vancouver. About Shepard's training on Titan. A funny, benign moment with some pirates on Yandoa. The set-up to the Skyllian Blitz.
"We now know the Skyllian Blitz offensive was partially funded by batarians slavers angry about humanity's encroachment in the Skyllian Verge. But the actual assault included pirates of all races banded together with one goal: destroy the human colony of Elysium," Artemis paused with dramatic flair. "Human. Turian. Batarian. Krogan. Salarian. Even asari commandos were among the over 30 merc bands that landed on Elysium that day. Only a light garrison force was stationed on Elysium. The attack was precise and crippled the colony's communications first and overran key defense towers second. Our men and women in blue on the ground were divided."
Shepard cleared her throat lightly. The reporter's overly theatric retelling was making her uncomfortable, and the young Commander shifted in her seat.
"What those pirates didn't count on, was Lieutenant Annelise Shepard." Artemis leaned forward eagerly, savoring a few seconds of silence to punctuate her statement. "What were you doing in Elysium, Shepard? You weren't stationed on the colony."
Is she blushing? "I was—I was on furlough," Shepard started uncertainly. "I hadn't taken a vacation since I'd joined the military. Or, now that I think about it, I'd never actually been on a vacation." She deflected by rushing into the next sentence. "Anyway, I was on my way to the firing range to blow off some steam when the pirates attacked. I heard the shots in the distance and knew they weren't Alliance, so I headed for the closest barracks to suit up. It was just starting to get infiltrated by a turian squad. We pushed them back."
"And kept pushing." Artemis glossed over some of the classified details of Shepard's deeds, but she at least gave the marine a reprieve from having to talk about herself. The young Commander led a bunch of hapless security guards to barricade a shopping center. Then a group of snipers to setting up nests on satellite towers and on top of public transport awnings. Then charged in to a batarian band setting up defenses in the spaceport armed with just a shotgun and a protein bar.
Artemis made some gestures to her left and right, which held orange holo placeholder boxes where updated footage from the battle would likely go. "'Sometimes, to be the best soldier, you have to listen to the orders your commanding officer doesn't give.' This advice was given to Shepard by the ranking officer on Elysium, Major Anthony Guillarme, just before his death. The last desperate ploy by these vicious mercenaries was to blow up a wall near the hospital. Knowing these monsters would show no mercy to the weak or infirmed, Lieutenant Shepard singlehandedly held off nearly 30 pirates. Not a single civilian was harmed in the attack."
The camera swung to capture Shepard's reaction, which briefly showed disbelief before settling back into a pensive mask. Hmmm. I wonder how much of that is true, and how much is inflated.
"By the time reinforcements from the Alliance had arrived, the pirates were in complete disarray. The SSV Agincourt was credited with wiping out the final wave of mercenaries. The colony was safe again.
"And what's next for Staff Lieutenant Annelise Shepard?" The reporter looked into the camera with a calm, smug expression. "This Star of Terra recipient has been commissioned a Lieutenant Commander with high honors by the Alliance brass." She turned to congratulate Shepard, who looked surprised. "Beyond that? Who knows. I, for one, feel much safer at night knowing someone like her is following the orders no one gives. And I'm sure Elysium can agree."
[End Recording]
Slightly exhausted, Samantha sighed. So, what did we learn?
Other than she had the worst childhood I've ever heard of. Dickensian novels could take a page or two from Shepard's bio.
Standing up to stretch, Samantha's stomach growled in protest. I did skip breakfast to piss and moan about Xian. Hopefully Allers saved me some coffee. She chugs it by the pint.
Shepard's little smile kept creeping back into Sam's thoughts as she made her way to the elevator. She'd never seen anything like it on the stoic Commander. Even when seeing the woman tease, Sam felt hesitant. The situation always seemed delicate and in danger of breaking. Shepard had a gruffness, a deliberate distance that she seemed to put between herself and everyone around her. To know she was capable of even a trace of happiness was foreign to Sam, and if she hadn't just seen video proof of it she would swear it didn't exist at all.
Why do you even care, Traynor?
Before Samantha could answer, the elevator doors opened slightly. Then the power went out. She heard Allers squawk down the hall. "Who the fuck turned out the lights?!" An older woman with a soft accent (I know that inflection! She's an Aylesbury woman! My side of the pond!) patiently asked for calm.
"EDI, status report," Sam demanded into the ceiling.
Nothing. Joker's voice sounded through the ship intercom, also demanding a status update.
Squeezing through the partially open elevator doors, Samantha found the ridged plates of the memorial wall before unsteadily making her way to the AI core. The emergency lights finally flashed on, bathing the Crew Deck in a harsh red-orange glow. She saw Diana and a male ensign standing up at the mess table poking at their Omni-tools. The door to the Med Bay was open and an impressive older woman with a groomed crop of gray hair sat at a console. She must be the medical doctor added at the last minute before we left the Citadel. What was her name?
"Dr… Chawkis?"
"That's Chakwas, dear. You're the comms specialist. Do you know what happened? Are we under attack?" Her motherly voice was laced with fear.
Samantha thought a moment. "I don't think so. I didn't feel anything hit the kinetic barrier, and there aren't alarms about any breaches. I'm going to check the AI Core."
The flashing emergency lighting was strobing a little fast for Sam's liking, making her feel like she was at some boring, dangerous nightclub. The door to the AI Core was jammed, but a medical instrument on the nearest table (borrowed with Dr. Chakwas' permission, of course. I'm not a total arse) jimmied the metal door just enough to get a hand in.
Just as Samantha gripped the frame to pull it aside, she screamed. A silver, metal hand had appeared above hers, also gripping the door. The door slid open easily as a cloud of smoke poured out of the AI Core. And stepping out from the murky lighting inside the small server room, stood a tall robot with a glowing orange visor over its eyes. The (naked?) body was curved and feminine, and still bore charred dents and cracks.
Sam fell backwards in horror. She had seen the replay vid from Shepard's hardsuit cam from Mars. This AI, Eva Core, had nearly killed Ashley Williams. And now it was reaching for the comms specialist.
Flinching, Samantha covered her head with her hands and waited for the telltale feel of metal hands around her throat. I didn't even get a chance to—
"Specialist Traynor."
Sam screamed something incredible, like an unintelligible mix of "No!" and "Don't!"
"Specialist Traynor! Why are you on the floor? Do you require assistance?"
Lowering her tense shoulders, Sam peered up at the robot which hadn't moved from the doorway. It—She stared down at Samantha curiously.
Wait, she almost sounded like—
"EDI?"
