Salvation: Episode I - The Taking of the Carmenta Illustria

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is part of an episodic series taking place after Salvation: A Half-Life/Mass Effect Universe Fan Fiction, which will lead directly to its sequel, Salvation II: Project Prometheus. These episodes and sequel take place OUTSIDE of the Mass Effect 3 continuity. Characters property of their respective companies, Half-Life created by Valve and Mass Effect created by Bioware.

Chapter 22: The Children of Men

“My word…” Uttered the awestruck, fair-skinned, brunette beauty, who sat on the floor, besides Jacob, and an elite team of captives, enrobed in nothing but a tan sport coat, and a towel. “And you survived all of that…?”

Jacob responded by closing his eyes, raising his eyebrows, and giving a bit of a slow, cocky nod. A loud murmur teemed in the Promenade Deck now, as spirits grew restless, and the thousand-plus voices of the souls under duress blended together into a blaring, unintelligible, commotion. The fear and anxiety persisted in their hearts, but much of the initial terror had abated. And numerous demands from the security force malefactors to “Shut up!” and “Keep quiet!” were shortly thereafter disregarded. Now, as a handcuffed turian sat at the head of the unruly crowd, regularly starring up at a large, illuminated, holographic clock, near the ceiling, he wondered to himself what had become of his friend, and Commander, and how much longer he could endure this excruciating wait, before his compulsion to take action would kick in…

“Mr. Taylor…” Vanessa Masters, the spirited, and rebellious young corporate executive began again, as she sat nestled close beside the former Cerberus Operative.  “You have my deepest, and most profound admiration, and gratitude for all you have done…” She said in a demure tone, though her words resounded with sincerity. She cringed, just then, with a pained, sorrowful look overtaking her expression. “I can’t imagine what hell it must’ve been for all of you… Fighting against those ungodly, mechanized monsters…” She offered sympathetically, as she laid a kindly hand upon his knee, and gently stroked it. “You are, undeniably, the epitome of valiance…”

“Heh, well I wouldn’t say all that…” Jacob replied, with a subtle smile - feigning a bashful reserve. “At least, not out loud, anyway…”

The two laughed together and continued to converse - finding a blithe little brightness, in an otherwise bleak situation. Quite in fact, were it not for the tension and stiffness setting into his arms, and his back, from the prolonged period of time sitting in this unnatural, restrained position, Jacob would’ve long since forgotten that he was actually being held prisoner. Their whole time there together, his besotted eyes never drifted away from hers for more than a moment. Even wrapped in a bath towel, this raven haired enchantress could achieve a look of elegance, which made even the most chicly dressed aristocrat appear dowdy, by comparison.

“And I can’t believe that now… after ALL that… THIS is what you get, as your reward…” Vanessa added, sighing and shaking her head with disgust, as her words grew louder and angrier, by the second. “All because a bunch of lousy… greedy… low-brow, bottom-feeding, FESTERING BALL OF LIZARD SLIME RENT-A-COPS--!” She took a breath. “--came up with a new ‘get-rich-quick scheme’!”

Vanessa’s raving, sputtering string of scornful insults managed to catch the attention of one of the said security officers, in particular. And as she sighed, and shook her head in frustration, she took a quick glance around the guarded deck. As her lilac colored eyes panned over towards the other hostages, she noticed the one handcuffed security officer sitting among them, reflecting a look of disapproval back at her.

“Yeah, that’s right!” She asserted - eying Officer Zdrawkoh down, with an unforgiving glare. “I mean you too, gomer. A lot of this is your fault, you know…!”

“M… My fault?!” Zee snapped back, nearly choking on his own words, in surprise, as he swiveled around, on his rear, to face her. “How is this my fault?! I had nothing to do with this!”

“Oh, don’t play so innocent...!” Vanessa chided, with a disparaging frown, as the developing spat quickly garnered the attention of the nearby, handcuffed, onlookers - particularly Garrus and Jacob. “Another few weeks, and I’m sure you would’ve been looting this place dry right along with the rest of these reprobates…!” She added. “And besides, I didn’t exactly see you putting up a fight, Mr. Zodoku… Zimbabwe… Whatever your name is...!”

“Zdrawkoh!”

“Whatever!”  

“Listen, lady…” Zee retorted, with an austere tone, and condescending roll of his eyes. “There’re about eighty other guards on this ship… What the hell would you have had me do? Catch bullets with my mandibles?”

“Well, I don’t know…!“ Vanessa replied, rolling her head around, in angry frustration. “You could’ve… You could’ve tried to keep a concealed weapon on you, or something…”

“And just where the hell would I have kept it?!”

“Use your imagination!” The fiery woman exclaimed. “All I’m saying is that thanks to you, and your goon squad friends, this fine, heroic Adonis-ngh… I-I-I mean, uh--” Vanessa stammered to a stop, embarrassingly retracting her words, as Jacob chuckled, and coyly grinned, behind her. “--I mean these… these fine, heroic, people… have to suffer through their vacation chained up as hostages…!”  

Zee sighed, as he bowed, and shook his head. “For spirits’ sakes, lady… Gimme a break. Those guys are NOT my friends. Hell, this was only my first week on the job… They caught me off guard, and stripped me of my gear before I even knew what was happening. There’s nothing I could’ve done…”

“No… No, I suppose you’re right...” Vanessa concurred - sounding, for the moment, completely empathetic, as her tone and glare softened. A momentary regress… “Besides… It’s not like you have the markings to even try… Do you, youngan?”

Zee couldn’t help from gasping, as his eyes flew wide open at the brazen display of audacity by this woman.

“Ooh… Ouch!” Even Garrus cringed, and recoiled a bit from the comment. It would seem; derogating one’s markings was obviously a profound and deep cutting insult among turians.

“W… Y-you… H-how dare...! Grrr…!” Zee fumbled with his words, struggling to interpose a rebuttal, before giving up all together and clenching his brow with a wrathful glower. “You are a real piece of work lady, you know that?! You know I don’t hit women, but damn it, you tempt me…! Why, if I wasn’t handcuffed right now, I’d--“

“Hey, now! Hold it, let’s not get--“

“Oh-ho, just try it, gomer!” Vanessa retorted, cutting both Zee and Jacob off, as she cynically scoffed at the target of her hostility. “We’ll see who knocks who down... Here. I’ll even put my hands behind my back, for you!” She stipulated, as she locked her hands behind her. “How ‘bout that, huh?! Come on!”  

“Lady, you’re crazy!”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa…!” Garrus immediately interceded, as the dispute showed signs of escalating out of control. “Let’s all just calm down, okay? Remember, we’re all in the same mess, here…” He explained, as he sat forward, leaning past Zee for a better look over at Vanessa. “I know the situation has got us all a little edgy, but there’s no reason to be at each other’s throats just yet.”

The towel enrobed beauty, with eyes of sparkling amethyst yielded to Garrus with a humble, yet hesitant nod. As did the young turian officer. Vanessa then turned back towards Jacob, and the two carried on with their own private palaver.

“Hmph…” Grunt chimed in with a snicker, just then, addressing Garrus from his place further down the front row. “Why’d you stop them? I thought things were finally about to get interesting…”

“Yeah, well I’m sick of interesting…” Garrus replied, muttering through his teeth, annoyed, as he rose to his feet and stretched. He pivoted his head around, making large circles, as he stretched his cuffed arms back, and rotated his shoulders, bringing about a series of relieving pops.

“Hey!” An authoritative voice suddenly yelled out, as Garrus continued his unwinding routine.

One of the many felonious officers, a salarian to be exact, who was on guard duty around the Promenade Deck, took quick notice of the large, dangerous turian stretching on his feet, and befittingly acknowledged this as a threat.      

“Hey! You sit back down!” The salarian forcefully decreed - keeping his distance, as he made a slow, wary approach towards Garrus, with his hand on his holstered gun. Seeing this, a second salarian, and an asari guard joined him, and followed suit.

“Hey, yourself!” Garrus hollered back, indignantly, with no intent of sitting back down. “Now, you’ve had us sitting here, crammed together like a bunch of canned zefrings, for almost two hours now! We’re all tired and on edge here. And I, for one, have to go to the bathroom. And I’m sure I’m not the only one!” He announced, in a resounding voice, as he twisted his torso around to address the congested crowd of hostages sitting behind him. “Am I, people…?!”  

“No, he’s not!”

“How dare you keep us here like this!”

“Yeah, leave us alone!”

“Let us go, you ruffians!”

The rabble of hostages quickly rose to dissension - their hostile, clamoring voices coalescing together into a single, blaring, incomprehensible uproar. Garrus turned back to face the trio of guards, which looked on at the agitated mob with angst and apprehension.

A brash smirk came over his expression, as he began again. “If you don’t, at least, start giving these people restroom breaks, then--“ He paused for a moment, as a peculiar look shone in his eyes. “--you’re either gonna have a riot… or one hell of a mess to clean up, on your hands…” He explained, wincing his eyes, with a slow shake of his head. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Uhm, uh…” The salarian at the head of the small group of guards stammered in response, as he looked back and forth between his compatriots - either of which only seemed capable of providing him with an indeterminate shrug. And as they stood there, indecisive, the crowded mass seemed to grow even more boisterous and turbulent.

“Uh-a-alright, alright!” He conceded, projecting his, and holding his hands up haltingly, in an effort to pacify the riotous rabble. “We’ll uh… We’ll start taking people two by two to the restrooms. But stay orderly, or we will use force, you got that?!”

With that, the conglomeration began to quiet and settle down, at least partially appeased.

“There’s about a thousand people here, and you’re only gonna take ‘em two at a time…?” Jacob queried, raising a dubious eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s right.” The salarian officer affirmed, with a stringent, cocksure nod.  “But, not you seven, though.” He added, pointing a finger at Garrus, and sweeping it back and forth across the front row, to include; Legion, Grunt, Mordin, Garrus, Zdrawkoh, Jacob, and Ms. Vanessa Masters - seated respectively, in consecutive order.

“We’ll get the lot of you a nice bucket, or something, you can use…”

“A bucket?!”  Grunt, Garrus, Zee, Jacob, and Vanessa all made the same appalled, wide-eyed exclamation, nearly in unison.  

“I’ll bust your face in with a bucket, how ‘bout that?!” Jacob threatened, in a rage.

“Hey, you don’t like it?” The blackguard salarian continued, with an overbearing timbre, and an apathetic shrug of his shoulders. “Then I’ll just radio Commander Kim, and you can take it up with the next hostage he decides to waste. Clear?”

A seething grimace burned in Jacob’s eyes, as he furrowed his brow, and clenched his lips in vile contempt. “…Clear.” He conceded, through his teeth, finding little room to do otherwise.

Meanwhile, Garrus sighed. “You know… On second thought--“ He began, as he slowly sat back down, defeated. “--I don’t gotta go after all...”  

“Alright, you two… Let’s go.”

A short distance away, an amber haired woman, in a silky, dark green dress, sat on the floor watching as the guards took the first pair of hostages to the restroom. It was a yellowish-brown skinned salarian man, taking a little asari girl - likely his daughter - with him, by the hand.

“Karin, look…” She urged to the woman sitting across from her, as she watched. “That turian got them to allow us restroom breaks…”

Dr. Karin Chakwas looked up, after doing a brief check on her patient; a stately dressed, unconscious gentleman lying peacefully, on a bed of pillows, between the two of them. The collar and shoulders of his white dress shirt were stained in a pronounced, crimson blotch. But bandages were visible from around the back of his neck, and skull, where his gaping wound had been treated. And a stable set of vital signs shone on a holographic display, projecting from the metallic device clamped around his arm, which also fed a clear liquid solution, from a vial, into his bloodstream.

“Hmph…” Dr. Chakwas’ chest bounced from a reserved chuckle, as she smiled and looked on. “Yeah, that’s Garrus for you; ever valiant, if a little hot-tempered, at times.”

The woman in the green dress squinted, as her mind conjured an idea. “I wonder if I can find a way to sneak out, and look for our son, if I say I need to use the lady’s room…” She pondered, aloud.

“Angela, no...” Dr. Chakwas immediately denounced. “Don’t try it. Don’t give these brutes an excuse to hurt you. You know they won’t hesitate. They’ve already executed the Captain, in cold blood…”

“Well, what would you have me do, Karin?” Angela pleaded - her voice growing shaky, and distraught, as her eyes quickly welled up with tears. “I can’t just keep sitting here, doing nothing, when I don’t know what’s happening to my precious, little boy. This is torture, I can’t stand it anymore…!” She grievously exclaimed, as she rocked back and forth, restlessly.

“Oh honey, I know. I understand, believe me…” Dr. Chakwas offered, in an attempt to assuage the panicked mother’s fears - Her eyes reflecting the deepest sympathy and compassion for her, as she continued. “But if you try to leave now, the only thing you’ll accomplish is getting yourself killed… I’m asking you to please give Shepard, and the others, a little more time. I’ve seen those people do things that were… BEYOND impossible. And although these hoods may not hesitate to kill us, they’ve taken great strides to keep us all alive, thus far. We’re valuable to them, so there’s no reason why they’d harm your son.  I’m sure they just haven’t found him. Trust me. Wherever he is, he’s safe… I’m sure of it.” She assured, with conviction.

“Oh, may the merciful heavens hear you, Karin…” Angela begged, with a sniffle, as she cradled her eyes and forehead into her palms. “I hope to god you’re right… Oh, my poor, sweet, little Matty…”

“M… Ma-matt…” Angela and Dr. Chakwas both looked down, as Alex unexpectedly began to stir - slurring and muttering, as his brow twitched, and his pupils began to flicker behind his eyelids. “M… Matt… Matthew!” He shouted out, as his eyes split wide open, and his head shot up, off its pillow. “Matthew! Mathew, where are you?!” He exclaimed, frantically, as he struggled to sit up, only to be held down by Dr. Chakwas. “Where am I?! Where’s my son?!”

“Mr. Farrell! Mr. Farrell, please! You have to calm down!” Dr. Chakwas implored, as she wrestled to keep the frenzied man in a horizontal state. “You’re not well, sir! Your wounds are still fresh, and prone to further laceration!”  

“Alex, Alex, shhhh…!” Angela urged soothingly, as she took hold of his flailing hand, and squeezed it tight. “Shhhh… Calm down, my love. It’s me.”

“Angie…?!” He questioned, looking up at her with pleading, fearful eyes, as his thrashing was suddenly pacified. “What’s going on? Where’s Matthew?” He beckoned, as his glassy pupils rolled around the vast room, in a disorientated stupor. “Why isn’t he here with you?!”

“He’s… He’s not here, Alex… He’s still lost, somewhere on the ship…”

Her words were somewhat drowned out by a sharp ringing in his ears. And his head throbbed like the pounding of a kettledrum. But he could still distinguish enough to understand the words: “He’s still lost.”

“What?!” The wounded man exclaimed, nearly gagging from the shock, as his frenzied state returned. “Why did you stay here, with ME?! Why didn’t you go look for him!?” He demanded, with an amalgam of terror, anger, and desperation, etched on his face. Just then, his gazed turned to the woman holding him down. “Who the hell are you?! Get your hands off of me!” He ordered, as he tried to pry her hands off his chest with his own. He was still too weak to succeed, however.

“Alex, this is Karin Chakwas. She’s a Doctor!” A teary eyed Angela explained, as she began caressing the side of his face, in an attempt to quell his frenzy. “She’s the one that saved your life…!”

“I don’t care who she is, I’m going to find our son! Move!” He demanded, as he mustered a burst of strength, and shoved her aside. It wasn’t a hard shove, mind you. Dr. Chakwas simply landed back, seated on her hands and rear, from the knelt position she was in. But Alex was determined to go out and look for his little boy.

He bore an adamantine will, but his body was still far too weak and debilitated to be of any help to him. He struggled to get to his feet, wobbling, and shaking on spaghetti legs all the while, before simply collapsing back down hard, onto his side, with a painful grunt. “Umph!”

“Alex, stop…!” Angela pleaded, rushing to his side, on her knees, as he clawed at the floor, trying to drag himself to an upright position.

“Mr. Farrell, you have to listen to me!” Dr. Chakwas implored, pulling at Alex’ shoulder, and turning him onto his back, while he persistently tried to rise to his feet again - this time, however, being restrained by both women. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere! You can’t even stand on your own two legs. If you keep struggling, you’ll only exacerbate your condition…!”

“Alex, please. Listen to her!”

“You’re suffering the onsets of a mild concussion, as well as an acute anemia from the blood loss.” Karin continued to explain, as the two women held the thrashing man down. “I’ve stabilized your condition, but you’re not completely out of danger. If you try to leave now, the only thing you’ll accomplish is leaving your wife a widow and your little boy fatherless…!”

“I don’t c… I have to try…!” Alex declared, pleading with his eyes, as they glazed over with tears. “He’s my son, don’t you understand?!”

“Yes, of course I do…” Karin sympathized - relaxing her hold on him, once he showed signs of placidity. “But Mr. Farrell, they’ll never let you leave here. And they nearly killed you once…” She said, with a grim look in her eyes. “Without medical attention, you would surely have died. If you try to resist again, they WILL kill you, for certain…”

Alex exhaled a shaky sigh, as he shut his eyes, and turned away, forcing twin tear drops to stream out, and drip onto the carpeted floor.

“Don’t either of you lose hope…” Dr. Chakwas beseeched, in a soft, compassionate tone. “I know your son’s safe… I’m sure of it.” She proclaimed, utterly convinced. “He’s small. There are a million places, on this ship, where a small boy, like him, could hide and stay safe… They won’t find him…” She assured, as Alex turned back to look at her. “…And neither would you.”  

With a knot in his throat, and his brow quivering, Alex turned to the other woman at his side - the one squeezing his hand. He looked up, watching as she fought a losing battle to hold back her own tears.

“…Angie?” He whispered questioningly, as if looking to her for wisdom, or divinity.

“What else can we do, my love…?” She replied, with a sniffle, as she wiped away the tracks of his tears, from his cheeks. “What else can we do…?”

“And Mr. Farrell, there’s one other thing you should know…” Dr. Chakwas added, causing Alex and Angela to look back to her. “Your son… He isn’t the only straggler loose on this ship…”

---

“Ah… Ah…! Ah!!! PBFFFT!!!”  Cameron sputtered a muffled sneeze into her left palm, which still managed to reverberate off of the confined, metal walls, as she stepped off the bottom rung of a ladder.“Ugh… I hate this.” She declared in a dreary, nasally voice - her eyes red, and watery, as she turned and stepped up, behind Miranda, preparing to follow.

“You can’t possibly still be THAT cold, with that coat on!” Miranda grumbled, looking up from the holographic map of the ventilation network, projecting from her omni-tool.

She, Gordon, and the under the weather McClane, had just descended from the ladder, down into a long, cramped, metal chamber which appeared to be a ventilation shaft junction, of sorts. There were a few, sparse utility lamps mounted onto the walls, but nary enough to provide any sort of adequate lighting. So Gordon illuminated the way with his omni-tool flashlight, out in front. But even if the chamber was aglow in fulgent, crystal luminescence; maneuvering around would still be a somewhat arduous task, as a variety of ducts and shafts extended from wall to wall, and from floor to ceiling, in every which way, creating a labyrinth of obstacles.  

“It’s not the cold…” Cameron nasally explained, with a series of runny nosed snorts, as she followed Gordon and Miranda through the chamber - squeezing her way past the metallic hurdles, like trying to navigate through an aluminum jungle.  “It’s all this… this-Ah… Ahh! AHHH! PBFFT! Ugh…” She creakily groaned, as she pulled her now mucus covered hands away from her nose. “All this dust…! It’s really wreaking havoc with my allergies…” She said, as she loathingly wiped her hands off on the dust imbued bottom of her sky-blue dress, after finding herself unable to contrive and alternate solution.

“Watch your heads, here.” Gordon advised, from his place at the head of the trio, as he crouched down to get under a low mounted air duct tunnel. “Oh, and Miss--“ He added, looking back over his shoulder a little. “--if it helps, there’s a handkerchief in the coat’s inside pocket.”

Cameron’s red, fluid filled eyes shot open in disbelief, as she immediately looked down at the coat, and pulled the lapels away from her chest. “Oi, now you tell me…” She said, as she caught sight of the handkerchief corner sticking out of the inside pocket. Before another sneeze could come, she pulled it out, and unfurled it with a swift, flapping motion. When she felt her nose start tingling again, she quickly smothered it in the white cloth, and blew it like a raucous trumpet, sounding a cavalry charge.

“Ugh…” The loud, bothersome noise grated on Miranda’s nerves, forcing to roll her eyes. “You are just a bloody bundle of whine, aren’t you?”

“Watch it here. Be very careful…” Gordon advised.

But between Miranda’s condescension, and the blowing of her own nose, Cameron neither heard Freeman’s warning, nor did she see them turn the darkened, narrow corner, just ahead.

“I’m not whining, I’m sneezing…!” The defensive reporter proclaimed, as she continued on - her vision impaired by the darkness, and the water in her eyes. “And I can’t help it…” She said - her head reeling further and further back again, as she bumbled forward. “Ah… Ah…! Ah!!! Ow!” She suddenly cried out in distress, as she felt a sharp pain jolt through her scalp, from something snagging her hair, and jerking it back hard.

“Hey!” Cameron snapped, as she instinctively reached up to the back of her head, and felt a hand holding on tight to a wad of her golden hair. “What’s the big ide…” At that moment, her eyes split open, and she was met with a rather sobering image. A few inches in front of her face were the exposed blades of a small, but rapidly spinning, outward blowing, metal fan. “Oh… My…”

“How about you help where you’re going, and keep your eyes open?” Miranda sternly admonished, as she released her clutch on the reporter’s hair.

Gordon had since turned back around, and watched as Cameron took a few slow, speechless steps back, away from the spinning blades. She hadn’t felt a breeze, because the fan’s current was aimed outward, into one of the many ducts surrounding them. But one more maladroit step in that direction, and she would have been met with grave misfortune.

“Ooh, I’m REALLY starting to hate fans…” Cameron said, with a shudder, finally breaking her dumbstruck silence, as she turned to Miranda. “…Thank you, I… I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t… I didn’t think that…” McClane stopped, and exhaled a slow, tranquil breath to regain her composure. She then looked to Miranda, bestowing her gratitude with her eyes, before reiterating it verbally. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“It’s fine…” Miranda forgivingly acknowledged - her stoic demeanor moderately softened now. “Just… Be more careful, would you? This isn’t a vacation anymore.”

Cameron smiled bashfully at Miranda, and nodded - her eyes still gleaming with appreciation and gratitude. And as Miranda turned back around, she was surprised to find Gordon staring intently at her, with a wide-mouthed, contented grin engraved on his face.

“What…?” The operative in the red dress beckoned, perplexed.

“…”

“What…?!”

“Oh, nothing…” Gordon eventually answered - casually turning back around, and pretending to shrug the whole thing off, though unable to fully dispatch the smile from his face. “Nothing at all… I’ve always known that that ‘tough girl’ routine of yours was just to cover your softie side…”

“Softie side, huh…?!” Miranda jokingly chided, as she gave him a playfully gentle shove, from behind. “Keep it moving, egghead, or I’ll SHOW you a tough girl routine...”

Gordon chuckled, in spite of the pressing situation, as he continued along. “Is this the one?” He asked, still laughing a little under his breath, as he came up to a wide, horizontal expanding duct, running along the ground, and into the wall.

“Yes, this is the one.” Miranda confirmed, double checking her omni-tool map just to be certain. “This’ll lead us across the ship’s main galley, on the Mezzanine Deck, straight to the engine room.”

“Perfect…!” Gordon cheerfully expressed, as he reached down, and worked his fingers into a grate situated on the roof of the air duct. He tightened his grip on the bars, and pulled with all the strength he could muster - grinding his teeth, and clenching his lips as he did so. After a few seconds, he gave up all together, retracted his arms, and began rubbing his sore, left appendage, starting from the cast around his forearm, and running up, past his elbow, to his shoulder, with a slightly pained look on his face. Just then, he remembered the Stillson pipe wrench he had acquired, which he now kept holstered at his abdomen, behind his belt. He slid it out, and raised it above his head, preparing to bash the grate in. Just before he could bring his arm down, the grate suddenly became aglow with a shimmering, blue, radiance before simply popping off of the duct, with ease, and levitating away, to the side.

“Having a little trouble without your gravity gun, Dr. Freeman?” Miranda said, in a sly, flirtatious tone, as the glow around her hand faded.

“Oh, not so long as I have you, Ms. Lawson.” Gordon replied, matching her timbre, as he replaced the wrench behind his belt, and stepped into the newly opened cavity. “Shall we?” He asked, as he extended his hand towards the porcelain skinned brunette, just as though he were inviting her to dance.

“Wait, wait, wait…” Cameron interjected, just then, as Miranda took his hand, and climbed into the broad sized air duct, behind Gordon. “You mean you have a gravity gun, too?!”

---

Young Matthew Farrell slowly strolled across the small, confined bridge, gazing up at the darkened, inert helm controls, and the two empty seats behind them. He was too small to get a good look out of the forward windows, but he could still see the stars zooming by outside, like vibrant ribbons of pure light.

Finding little of interest here, he turned his attention to the rear, right-hand corner of the bridge, and to a tall, tower-like device situated there. It was silver, bulky, and plain, extending from the floor, all the way to the ceiling. There were three large antennas, of varying size, protruding from the very top of the apparatus, and a sizeable, dull blue colored transmitter dish mounted onto the front, and angled in an upward skew. There were also a number of small, holographic control panels shinning on the front; most of which radiated in bright, deterrent red - probably indicating that the use of said controls were restricted to a particular user.

“Whatcha doin…?” Matty curiously questioned, as he stood by, watching Tali work.

The skillful quarian was laid out, on her side, with her upper body curved around towards the rear of the tall transmitting structure. Her arms were elbow deep into an opened compartment at the bottom, back of the device, and the small, personal, tool case she had recovered from their former stateroom laid beside her, close to her knees - split open like a book, with a few tools missing, and a few others scattered on the floor next to it.

“Well…” Tali started to explain, as she worked. “This thing is called a comm jammer. And what that means; is that the bad people can use it to keep us from sending messages, or making calls. What I’m trying to do is fix it so that I can open up a new line, and send out a call for help.”

“So you’ll be able to call people again?!” The inquisitive boy beckoned, with a sudden eagerness.

“That’s right.”

“Does that mean we can call my mom and dad, and see if they’re okay…?”

The painfully hopeful question caused Tali to stop working, cold. She sighed, as she pulled her busy hands out of the device, and sat up to face the boy.

“No… I’m sorry, kresha…“ She began, with a voice mired in regret, and a sympathy showing in her eyes. “But we won’t be able to call your parents. To call them, I’d have to completely turn this thing off. And if I do that, the bad people will know exactly where we are, on the ship.”

“Oh…” Matty said, bowing his head, saddened and disheartened. “And they’d find us…?”

Tali bit down on her lip, behind her mask, as a knot formed in her throat, on the boy’s behalf. All she had in her to do at that moment was to give him a slow, apologetic nod.

“But… You will get them back, right?!” Matty beckoned, as he looked back up - his previous optimism returning, at least partially. “You promised…?”

“I promise.” Tali immediately acknowledged, as her eyes beamed with a reassuring glow.

“…Okay.” Matty reluctantly accepted, as he bashfully placed his hands behind his back, and looked down at Tali’s opened tool case. Meanwhile, Tali lay back down, wasting little time in going back to her work.  

“Can I help…?” She heard the little boy ask. Not wanting to squelch his enthusiasm, Tali turned onto her back for a better look at him.

“Well, actually I’m almost done here.” She genially informed. “But if you’d like, you can hand me that anodic shunt transposer.” She said, pointing towards a small, dark, discus shaped apparatus still embedded snugly in her opened tool case. “It’s the round, black thing, there in the center of my toolkit. Just be very careful not to touch the little pen shaped thing next to it, okay?”  She instructed in a cordial, yet earnest tone of voice - fearful that he may want to fiddle with her hazardous micro-laser cutter.

Matty approached her tool case, and bent down to retrieve the instrument in question, with Tali looking on. “You mean this thing that looks like a hockey puck?” He asked, as he pulled the small gadget out of its bedding.

“Uhm, yes, that’s the one.” Tali affirmed, sounding a bit bewildered at first, as Matthew handed her the device. “Thank you.”

“What’s a hockey puck…?” She wondered to herself, as she went back to her work - summoning a small set of holographic keys on the device’s face, and adeptly starting to punch away at them.

“Anything else…?”

“No, little one.” Tali graciously answered the helpful young lad. “I’ll be done here, in a few minutes, but thank you for your help. You’re a perfect, little, gentleman.”

Matty smiled, as he watched Tali lie back down, and delve her arms back into the transmitter’s inner workings. And as his grin faded, he turned his attention towards the opened bridge door, leading to the cargo area of the ship. Finding little else to do here, he decided he might be of use elsewhere.

***

A long streak of crusted, dried blood stained the right side of Commander John Shepard’s face. It etched his skin from the gash in his right temple, where it originated from, all the way down to his neck and shoulder. The opened laceration had since clotted over and stopped bleeding, but it left a lasting, crimson imprint on his once spotless, white dress shirt collar. The steadfast soldier stood poised and alert, with the guise of a covert commando preparing to stealthily burst into an enemy occupied room, and neutralize its occupants. Shepard had positioned himself just inside the small ship’s cargo bay, peeking around the corner, past the umbilical, and into the neighboring ship. He held his back firmly against the wall with his gun gripped tightly in both hands, aimed down towards the floor. He was completely absorbed by his task, guarding the entrance of the small cargo ship - watching for the subtlest movement and listening for the faintest sound. Which at that moment, he heard.

“Matthew…” He acknowledged, mildly surprised, as he turned for a split second, to see the young boy approaching, after hearing the sound of his small footsteps. “Hey… You really shouldn’t be out here. You should be back on the bridge, with Tali.”

“Oh…” The boy uttered penitently, as he stopped cold in the middle of the short corridor leading from the bridge, to the cargo bay. “…I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.” Shepard pardoned, still keeping his focus toward the outside. “You can stay if you want, just… Don’t come out here, okay? Stay there. And if you hear me tell you to go to Tali, you go as quick as you can, alright?” As John presented his conditions to the boy, he managed to glimpse him acknowledging with a nod, out of the corner of his eye.

“So…” He began again, trying to assume a casual, relaxed demeanor. “How you holdin’ up, trooper? You okay?”

“Uh-huh, I’m okay…” Matty assured, sounding a little down however, as he browsed around the walls of the short corridor. “But I miss my mom and dad… I was sorta being bad when the bad policemen took them away…” He confessed, with his eyes sinking, and his head drooping down, over his chest.

“Ah, don’t worry about that. I’m sure they forgive you.” John encouragingly consoled, as he continued to peer past the rocking umbilical, into the Illustria’s disarrayed loading bay, with his weapon at the ready. “And we’re gonna get them back for you real soon, okay? Don’t you worry.”

“Okay…” Matty said, trying hard to be brave and optimistic - a semblance that was easily betrayed by the despondence in his shaky voice. He sighed, with a knot in his throat, as his lip and chin began to quiver.

From the corner of his eye, John watched the sweet little boy turn away, and start wiping his face. He could see him quivering, and hear him sniffle, and whimper… And it pained him.

“Hey…” John called out, trying to keep his attention adequately divided between the entrance, and the anguished child. When Matty heard, he turned back around, swiftly trying to wipe any traces of fluid from his eyes and off his cheeks.

“It’s okay to be scared, Matthew...” Shepard admitted, in an earnest yet empathetic voice, as the two locked eyes. “But no matter what it takes… We’re gonna get them back for you.“ He asserted with a single, determined nod, and a stone resolve carved into his expression.

“I know…” Matty acceded, with the traces of smile starting to creep back onto his timid face. “Uhm…” He began again, stuttering and twiddling his fingers, as he tried to change the subject. “Tali says that the… the’uhm… the-the big thing that’s so that we can’t make calls… She says she’s almost fixed it.”

“Oh… Well that’s good.” Shepard cheerfully replied.

“Are… Are you mad at each other for something?” The inquisitive boy reluctantly put forward.

“Heh…” The question made John chuckle, as he gave a dismal shake of his head. “No, not exactly, buddy. She’s the one who’s mad at me. And she’s got every right to be…” He conceded, with a sigh. “I was… a little hard on her… And I had no reason to be… She didn’t do anything wrong.” He confessed, shaking his head, as he bit down on his lips - never taking his eyes away from the entrance, however.

“Does that mean you’re in the varren hut, tonight?”

“The varren hut…?” Shepard questioned, perplexed.

“Whenever my mom and my dad get mad at each other--“ The boy started to explain. “--my dad tells me; ‘son, if you ever have a wife, make sure you keep her happy, or you’ll end up in the varren hut, like me…’”

John grinned, as he suddenly understood.

“But, I don’t really know what he means, ‘cause we don’t have a pet varren, or nothing…” Matty continued, sounding a bit perplexed himself, now. “And my dad never leaves to go to any hut… I just see him go to sleep, on the couch, in the living room, sometimes…”

“Heh… Well, your dad’s right. You should always keep a lady happy. And I do think I’ll be ending up in the varren hut, tonight…”

“They never stay mad for very long, though…” The boy elaborated, casually shrugging his shoulders. “And they’re almost always happy.” He stopped, and looked at Shepard intently for a while - something clearly on his mind, though he was too hesitant to say it. But it didn’t take long for him to get over his qualms. “So…” He started again, swaying back and forth, as he made small circles on the floor, with the tip of his shoe. “Do… you and Tali have little kids?”

“Kids?!” John blurted out, practically jumping, as he completely turned his attention away from the umbilical passage, for the first time. “Uh, no… No, we don’t have any children of our own…” He uneasily informed, before quickly bringing his attention back to the corridor.

“How come?” Came another inquiry, causing Shepard’s eyes to bounce open again, and forcing him to sputter about nervously.

“Uhm… Well… Well, because we don’t… I mean, we’re not even… I suppose we could always… adopt, but… Well, I’m not even sure if she’ll…” John stopped and exhaled a deep breath. “Heh.” He let forth an ueasy chuckle. “Why are you asking me this…?” He beckoned, trying to mask his discomfort with an amicable laugh.

“Uhm, I dunno…”  Matty coyly put forth, as his pupils wandered listlessly across the ceiling. “I was just wondering, ‘cause I think you and Tali would be a good mommy and daddy…”

The sentiment put a smile back on Shepard’s face. “Oh yeah…?” He asked, flattered. “You think so, huh?”

Matty nodded - his face beaming with the glint of a child’s innocence and honesty.  

“Well, thanks.” The Commander bestowed, giving a gracious nod in the boys direction. “That’s nice, it means a lot.”

“…Do you want some, someday?”

“Do I want some, what…? Kids?”  Shepard posed, making sure he understood the question. Once again, he spied the boy nodding genially, out of the corner of his eye.

“Uhm…” With his eyes still on the entrance, his mind began to wander a bit. And as it did - as he heard the gleeful sounds of laughter, and a little voice call out “daddy!”, a sanguine smile involuntarily began to creep in on his face. “Well…” He began, still somewhat mired in a day dream. “I think maybe--“

“Matty…!?” A female voice unexpectedly called out from the bridge, just then, cutting the Commander off before he could answer. “Ma… Oh, there you are…” Tali expressed, with relief, as she walked into the small corridor, behind the boy. “You okay?” She asked, as she laid her hands upon his shoulders, and massaged them a little.

“Uh-huh...” Matty answered, looking up at her. “I was just talking to Mr. John.”

“Oh…” Tali replied, still carrying a heavy hint of spite in her voice. “Well, Mr. John… Or Mr. Commander Shepard, sir…  We’re ready to transmit communications… SIR.”

Shepard groaned and laughed all at once, as he drew his head all the way back, looking up towards the ceiling, in dejection. “Oh, bosh’tet, what have I done…?