Post by Maelstrom on Apr 2, 2015 12:04:17 GMT -6
(Author note- This is a collaborative work between myself and Eric Lysander. These events take place after the events of Chapter 12's party, as the ship continues en-route to the Citadel.)
Maelstrom was grinding his teeth, as he sat hunched over the main control panel in the cockpit of the Vengeance. He was trying to backup the intelligence he had on Cerberus, but the connection between the ship's computer and the removable drives he was using as backup storage were intermittent. Again, the connection had broken, so he was once again fiddling with the wires under the panel to restore the link between the two devices. As the upload continued, Maelstrom returned to the message he was writing.
Shala'Bekk vas Neema,
I hope everything is well for you on the Citadel. Things have not gone very well for the rest of us here. Our most recent mission has taken an emotional toll on many of the team, and a few are injured, including Meldom and Doctor Narei. No one else you know is physically hurt.
The Vengeance got pretty shot up. I'm not sure if the computer will even hold out until we get to the Citadel. Thankfully, Bridges is being a man of his word. He's promised to fix up the ship or pay to have it restored to its previous condition. I trust him to handle most of it, but I was hoping that you'd be willing to take care of the computer and security systems. As much as I respect the man, there's just too much of a risk that our interests may someday conflict for me to put something this important in his hands.
If you feel you would be able to do this, please, respond as soon as possible, and we'll work out a time and place to meet.
Sincerely,
Maelstrom
"Emily, can we transmit this message securely using the long-range transceiver?" he asked.
"A... a... af... affirmative... affirmative."
He hung his head for a moment. "Transmit."
Emily did not respond that it was done. Merely a confirmation beep signaled the success of the endeavor.
There was a knock at the open shuttle door, causing Maelstrom to swivel in his chair, hand going instinctively to his SMG. He felt a little wobbly as he brought it the chair to a stop, cursing the amount he drank with the other men earlier.
"Mal, you home...? It's me, Eric. I know you're real busy at the moment but can ya spare a minute?"
"Yeah..." he said. Remembering he was safe with Lysander, he forced himself to remove his hand from his gun. He had been expecting such a visit for a while, after all. "Yeah, come on in. You can have the co-pilot's seat."
A signal sounded, indicating the upload of the Cerberus intel was disrupted again. "Just be careful sitting down," Maelstrom added, as took a moment to right the wires again. "I can't make promises about anything on this boat staying in one piece right now."
Eric eased gently down in the seat. He seemed momentarily startled when it creaked, before realizing it was just a normal metal normal squeak in the mounting and that the seat was one of the few intact things on the shuttle.
It was almost enough to make Maelstrom chuckle. Almost.
"I... tried offering ta help earlier but -ah... your friend, Anelya, hinted that you were a little outta sorts... anything I can do or you've got it?"
Maelstrom sighed, slumping back in the chair heavily, "I don't know if there's anything you can do. I just know there's nothing more I can do... well, beyond trying to salvage whatever I'm able from the hard drive. Guarding against if the worst should happen." He held up his hands in surrender. "Believe it or not, my technical expertise is rather basic. I can manage some simple things well enough. More advanced ones with the system's guidance. Emily's my crutch in that regard. A rather fatal flaw for me, should she be irrecoverable."
Eric sighed. "Well, speakin' for all of us I know letting other people on your ship for these missions couldn't been an easy thing to do. We all appreciate it, 'specially Mr. B... I'm sure his pockets can help fill in the gaps in your repairs, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, he's already agreed to do the repairs. We don't have everything on-board, though, and the main computer's failing. Emily's fully-integrated. Besides that, there's too big of a chance of his and my interests conflicting someday. I'm going to take her to an old acquaintance before letting Bridges do the rest, I think."
He was quiet for a moment, swaying in his seat a bit and then with his eyes on the deck said. "Hey, Mal...? That message you sent... right before you headed inside the base..."
He looked up at his friend. "Were you not plannin' on comin' back?"
Maelstrom was quiet for a long moment. He spun around once in the chair, as he gathered his thoughts. "Not sure what I was planning. Don't know that I was really planning anything."
He sighed, as he spun around again. "The place where I became Maelstrom... it was a lot like that base."
"I wasn't always a biotic." Pointing to the faint scars he still bore, he said, "Acquiring those abilities wasn't exactly pleasant."
Slumping forward so his elbows were on his knees and he was facing Lysander, he explained, "I didn't know what was going to happen. When I saw that pile of corpses in the docking bay... well, I just needed to draw blood for the people they killed. I realized it might be more than I could handle on my own, and, for the first time, I felt concerned that if I died, no one would know my real name. I don't pretend to understand it."
Eric leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
“I think I kinda understand… I didn’t set out to be a soldier. By all rights I shoulda been killed or wound up as some pistolo in a gang back on Earth. Even after Shep’s parents helped get me a second chance by serving I still thought that it was all a fluke, thought it wasn’t gonna last. Sooner or later fate would track me down n’ snuff me out; how dare I try to rise above my station, escape my fate…”
The N7 leaned back into his chair and sighed, swaying slightly in his seat.
“There’s a little N7 graduation tradition where you would act on Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote about doing something every day that scares you. Lasts for ‘bout a week. Course the acts had to be within reason – nothing illegal. It’s all about facing your fears: heights, public speaking, what have you. When it was my turn I declined. I said I already was doing something each day that scared me… I still do…”
Maelstrom nodded at Lysander's story.
"You know, there was a time when I was being considered for the N-program. Never got my invitation, but one of my senior officers let slip that my name was in the hat," Maelstrom said.
"It doesn't happen often- I don't let it- but I sometimes think about how things might have been different. Think about what life could have been. Usually just makes me mad, though, so I try to avoid it.
"I don't enjoy what I've become, Lysander, and I don't want to be this person forever. Someday, I want to get back to real life. As a realist, though, I know I'll probably never live to see Cerberus taken down, and I know that, if I do, there probably won't be enough of my old self left to come back. I try not to think about it, though. For now, I just do what others can't... or won't."
Eric’s lip pursed and skewed to one side. “… I guess that’s all we can do for now, especially with what we’re up against.”
He leaned forward again, possessed with an observation.
“Some folks say there’re no accidents in life. Maybe… in some really fucked up way… what went wrong for both of us… maybe… was actually right? I mean if we both had regular, ordinary lives like everyone else… we’d be with those prisoners back at the Collector base. We’d be among the dead at Mr. B’s dig site. We’d be like everybody who says they’re no such things as Reapers, who panic and run when they show up n' start tearin’ down th’ Citadel. But we’re not. We’ve had shit handed to us but we learned how to fling it right back. We had to because we were tired o’being scared n’ helpless – no one else was gonna help, right…? Maybe we’re not really cut out for normal but it doesn’t mean we can’t make it work. We’ve got feelins n’ needs too. Were just another exclusive group. Like politicians, rich folk…”
Eric grinned. “N7s, veterans and nominees. Just hafta find others like us… maybe find that one special someone who’s been there… who knows what’s she’s getting into by being with you… who can fight beside you when your life catches up to you…”
Maelstrom was with Lysander up until that last bit. Leaning back and raising his hands in a slowing gesture he said, "I can't imagine pulling someone else into this life with me, whether they knew what they're getting into or not. The only way I could see someone ending up with me is if they were in the same boat as me, and I sure as Hell wouldn't wish that on any person worth being with."
"Others who can stand with me, though... there's a thought. Might be a few people out there as pissed at Cerberus as me. Could be handy," he said. Then his head cleared for a moment, his caution kicking back in. "No. No. Too risky. Too much chance for someone to try to sell me out to get clear themselves. No."
Straightening, he said, "You... you I think I can trust. Shala'Bekk too. Iskra... I used to think I could, but I don't know anymore. We'll see when she wakes up, I guess. Bridges... well, he's a whole different ball of wax."
"You can also trust in th' Lord, my son," said Eric in the lilting manner of a preacher at a sermon before laughing and adding. "On second thought, better not. Too busy runnin' th' universe and tends to be a bit vindictive when people interrupt 'im."
Eric tapped lightly on one of Maelstrom' knees with a fist."You're all right, Mal... "
Eric hesitated, wanting to use his friend's real name but relenting.
"It's good having a friend you don't hafta wave credits or a gun over ta keep."
"Definitely. It's a pleasant change of pace," Maelstrom replied. He found himself lost in thought, much the way he did after one of his counseling sessions with the twins. So much had been said that it was just overwhelming for him to process it all.
There was a moment of awkward silence before Eric leaned forward and gestured with his hands, holding an imaginary object.
“That –uh- splash grenade I cobbled together back at the base…? Nothing much to it, really. Basic high-ex grenade, about 2 ½ to 3 feet of K417B plasma det cord wrapped about it evenly for a good spread. The key is settin’ th’ grenade to go off just as the plasma leaks out and before it eats through your ordnance.”
Maelstrom was grinding his teeth, as he sat hunched over the main control panel in the cockpit of the Vengeance. He was trying to backup the intelligence he had on Cerberus, but the connection between the ship's computer and the removable drives he was using as backup storage were intermittent. Again, the connection had broken, so he was once again fiddling with the wires under the panel to restore the link between the two devices. As the upload continued, Maelstrom returned to the message he was writing.
Shala'Bekk vas Neema,
I hope everything is well for you on the Citadel. Things have not gone very well for the rest of us here. Our most recent mission has taken an emotional toll on many of the team, and a few are injured, including Meldom and Doctor Narei. No one else you know is physically hurt.
The Vengeance got pretty shot up. I'm not sure if the computer will even hold out until we get to the Citadel. Thankfully, Bridges is being a man of his word. He's promised to fix up the ship or pay to have it restored to its previous condition. I trust him to handle most of it, but I was hoping that you'd be willing to take care of the computer and security systems. As much as I respect the man, there's just too much of a risk that our interests may someday conflict for me to put something this important in his hands.
If you feel you would be able to do this, please, respond as soon as possible, and we'll work out a time and place to meet.
Sincerely,
Maelstrom
"Emily, can we transmit this message securely using the long-range transceiver?" he asked.
"A... a... af... affirmative... affirmative."
He hung his head for a moment. "Transmit."
Emily did not respond that it was done. Merely a confirmation beep signaled the success of the endeavor.
There was a knock at the open shuttle door, causing Maelstrom to swivel in his chair, hand going instinctively to his SMG. He felt a little wobbly as he brought it the chair to a stop, cursing the amount he drank with the other men earlier.
"Mal, you home...? It's me, Eric. I know you're real busy at the moment but can ya spare a minute?"
"Yeah..." he said. Remembering he was safe with Lysander, he forced himself to remove his hand from his gun. He had been expecting such a visit for a while, after all. "Yeah, come on in. You can have the co-pilot's seat."
A signal sounded, indicating the upload of the Cerberus intel was disrupted again. "Just be careful sitting down," Maelstrom added, as took a moment to right the wires again. "I can't make promises about anything on this boat staying in one piece right now."
Eric eased gently down in the seat. He seemed momentarily startled when it creaked, before realizing it was just a normal metal normal squeak in the mounting and that the seat was one of the few intact things on the shuttle.
It was almost enough to make Maelstrom chuckle. Almost.
"I... tried offering ta help earlier but -ah... your friend, Anelya, hinted that you were a little outta sorts... anything I can do or you've got it?"
Maelstrom sighed, slumping back in the chair heavily, "I don't know if there's anything you can do. I just know there's nothing more I can do... well, beyond trying to salvage whatever I'm able from the hard drive. Guarding against if the worst should happen." He held up his hands in surrender. "Believe it or not, my technical expertise is rather basic. I can manage some simple things well enough. More advanced ones with the system's guidance. Emily's my crutch in that regard. A rather fatal flaw for me, should she be irrecoverable."
Eric sighed. "Well, speakin' for all of us I know letting other people on your ship for these missions couldn't been an easy thing to do. We all appreciate it, 'specially Mr. B... I'm sure his pockets can help fill in the gaps in your repairs, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, he's already agreed to do the repairs. We don't have everything on-board, though, and the main computer's failing. Emily's fully-integrated. Besides that, there's too big of a chance of his and my interests conflicting someday. I'm going to take her to an old acquaintance before letting Bridges do the rest, I think."
He was quiet for a moment, swaying in his seat a bit and then with his eyes on the deck said. "Hey, Mal...? That message you sent... right before you headed inside the base..."
He looked up at his friend. "Were you not plannin' on comin' back?"
Maelstrom was quiet for a long moment. He spun around once in the chair, as he gathered his thoughts. "Not sure what I was planning. Don't know that I was really planning anything."
He sighed, as he spun around again. "The place where I became Maelstrom... it was a lot like that base."
"I wasn't always a biotic." Pointing to the faint scars he still bore, he said, "Acquiring those abilities wasn't exactly pleasant."
Slumping forward so his elbows were on his knees and he was facing Lysander, he explained, "I didn't know what was going to happen. When I saw that pile of corpses in the docking bay... well, I just needed to draw blood for the people they killed. I realized it might be more than I could handle on my own, and, for the first time, I felt concerned that if I died, no one would know my real name. I don't pretend to understand it."
Eric leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
“I think I kinda understand… I didn’t set out to be a soldier. By all rights I shoulda been killed or wound up as some pistolo in a gang back on Earth. Even after Shep’s parents helped get me a second chance by serving I still thought that it was all a fluke, thought it wasn’t gonna last. Sooner or later fate would track me down n’ snuff me out; how dare I try to rise above my station, escape my fate…”
The N7 leaned back into his chair and sighed, swaying slightly in his seat.
“There’s a little N7 graduation tradition where you would act on Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote about doing something every day that scares you. Lasts for ‘bout a week. Course the acts had to be within reason – nothing illegal. It’s all about facing your fears: heights, public speaking, what have you. When it was my turn I declined. I said I already was doing something each day that scared me… I still do…”
Maelstrom nodded at Lysander's story.
"You know, there was a time when I was being considered for the N-program. Never got my invitation, but one of my senior officers let slip that my name was in the hat," Maelstrom said.
"It doesn't happen often- I don't let it- but I sometimes think about how things might have been different. Think about what life could have been. Usually just makes me mad, though, so I try to avoid it.
"I don't enjoy what I've become, Lysander, and I don't want to be this person forever. Someday, I want to get back to real life. As a realist, though, I know I'll probably never live to see Cerberus taken down, and I know that, if I do, there probably won't be enough of my old self left to come back. I try not to think about it, though. For now, I just do what others can't... or won't."
Eric’s lip pursed and skewed to one side. “… I guess that’s all we can do for now, especially with what we’re up against.”
He leaned forward again, possessed with an observation.
“Some folks say there’re no accidents in life. Maybe… in some really fucked up way… what went wrong for both of us… maybe… was actually right? I mean if we both had regular, ordinary lives like everyone else… we’d be with those prisoners back at the Collector base. We’d be among the dead at Mr. B’s dig site. We’d be like everybody who says they’re no such things as Reapers, who panic and run when they show up n' start tearin’ down th’ Citadel. But we’re not. We’ve had shit handed to us but we learned how to fling it right back. We had to because we were tired o’being scared n’ helpless – no one else was gonna help, right…? Maybe we’re not really cut out for normal but it doesn’t mean we can’t make it work. We’ve got feelins n’ needs too. Were just another exclusive group. Like politicians, rich folk…”
Eric grinned. “N7s, veterans and nominees. Just hafta find others like us… maybe find that one special someone who’s been there… who knows what’s she’s getting into by being with you… who can fight beside you when your life catches up to you…”
Maelstrom was with Lysander up until that last bit. Leaning back and raising his hands in a slowing gesture he said, "I can't imagine pulling someone else into this life with me, whether they knew what they're getting into or not. The only way I could see someone ending up with me is if they were in the same boat as me, and I sure as Hell wouldn't wish that on any person worth being with."
"Others who can stand with me, though... there's a thought. Might be a few people out there as pissed at Cerberus as me. Could be handy," he said. Then his head cleared for a moment, his caution kicking back in. "No. No. Too risky. Too much chance for someone to try to sell me out to get clear themselves. No."
Straightening, he said, "You... you I think I can trust. Shala'Bekk too. Iskra... I used to think I could, but I don't know anymore. We'll see when she wakes up, I guess. Bridges... well, he's a whole different ball of wax."
"You can also trust in th' Lord, my son," said Eric in the lilting manner of a preacher at a sermon before laughing and adding. "On second thought, better not. Too busy runnin' th' universe and tends to be a bit vindictive when people interrupt 'im."
Eric tapped lightly on one of Maelstrom' knees with a fist."You're all right, Mal... "
Eric hesitated, wanting to use his friend's real name but relenting.
"It's good having a friend you don't hafta wave credits or a gun over ta keep."
"Definitely. It's a pleasant change of pace," Maelstrom replied. He found himself lost in thought, much the way he did after one of his counseling sessions with the twins. So much had been said that it was just overwhelming for him to process it all.
There was a moment of awkward silence before Eric leaned forward and gestured with his hands, holding an imaginary object.
“That –uh- splash grenade I cobbled together back at the base…? Nothing much to it, really. Basic high-ex grenade, about 2 ½ to 3 feet of K417B plasma det cord wrapped about it evenly for a good spread. The key is settin’ th’ grenade to go off just as the plasma leaks out and before it eats through your ordnance.”