Mass Effect: Initiation

by N. K. Jemisin

  “I didn’t realize I needed more than that,” Cora drawled, “but I assure you, I’m not going to be distracted by personal vendettas. Though if I get the chance to shove my biotic foot up Ygara’s ass, I’ll consider that a bonus.”

  Ryder coughed, and she thought he might be covering a laugh. “Okay, and what if you need to destroy the code?”

  Her mouth fell open. “After I went to all that trouble to get it?”

  Ryder sighed, finally turning and beginning to pace. It was somehow a relief to see that this whole mess troubled him as much as it did her. “That code is a copy of what’s in SAM-E, obviously,” he said. “I don’t need it retrieved, I need it secured—kept away from people who don’t care who gets hurt. Believe it or not, Harper, that does matter to me.”

  Cora tightened her jaw against the accusations that she almost blurted. If you care so much, why didn’t you secure it against theft? Why did you create something so dangerous in the first place? Why did you install it in my head? But apparently her expression was accusation enough.

  Ryder scowled. “I know what I’m doing. That doesn’t mean everyone does.”

  The man’s arrogance was simply stunning. “Did you know SAM-E stutters?”

  Ryder stopped pacing and frowned. “What?”

  Cora tapped her head. “He stutters. He gets annoyed. He rambles, at inappropriate times. It’s charming, I have to admit; I kind of like him. But I don’t know what an—” She cut herself off, remembering that the line might not be secure. “I don’t know what he’s supposed to be like. Never had something like him… around before. But I suspect he’s not acting entirely within design specs.”

  Ryder’s expression had gone poker-face still. “Thank you for the feedback, Lieutenant. Please remember that SAM-E is an experimental model; a few glitches are to be expected. I’ll send a firmware patch as soon as I can. Fix the stuttering, at least.”

  Cora stared at him, incredulous. He really had no problem with violating galactic law and ethics, and putting the future of the entire human species at risk. Finally she shook her head. So be it. She had a job to do—but once it was done, there was no further need for her to stay involved with the Andromeda Initiative and risk imprisonment, or worse.

  She would collect her pay and move on.

  “Whatever you say… sir,” she said. “What about that shuttle I requested?”

  He folded his arms. Cora couldn’t tell if he’d picked up on her dissatisfaction or not. Maybe he just didn’t care either way. “I’ll loan you one for the duration of the mission. It’ll autopilot in; SAM-E can help you fly it.”

  “I’m no pilot.”

  “With SAM-E’s help, you can be.” He waved his hand and turned away.

  Cora stared after him. More tests. More need to prove herself. Of course, if she really was going to leave everything behind and travel to Andromeda, she had to be prepared. She had to be committed. And Ryder had to trust her implicitly. But he sure wasn’t going to make it easy.

  “Okay. Fine. Whatever. Thanks. I’ll be back with your code—or dead—within the week.” She cut the comm before Ryder could reply, and then stood for a few moments in the room’s silence, wondering if she’d just made a terrible mistake. Several terrible mistakes.

  Then she checked the time. Twenty minutes left on her comm hour. If she left now, she could get a pro-rated refund, but… Her hand moved, almost on its own. When the system queried, she said, “Nisira T’Kosh. Thessia.”

  She hadn’t even checked the relative time zones. When she glanced at the search results, sure enough, it was the middle of the night where Nisira was. And yet—

  “Harper?” The holo display leapt up, shaping itself this time into the form of an asari seated at a desk. A little on the stocky side, deeper blue skin than most, average ageless beauty, although Cora knew she was somewhere north of six hundred years old. True to form, she was still dressed in the black body armor favored by so many commandos, and still at work despite the hour, with a cup of steaming tea nearby.

  The holo camera on Nisira’s end must have had a signal booster, because Cora could see the whole room, and the slumbering shapes of Nisira’s two husbands—one krogan, one turian—sharing the very large bed beyond. Yet Nisira immediately set aside the datapad she’d been looking at, and leaned forward to bring herself into clearer focus.

  “You seem troubled.”

  Cora had to fight the sudden urge to laugh, bitterly. In the bare week since I left the Daughters I’ve become a thief, been stabbed in the back by a comrade, and fallen headfirst into a transhuman ethical nightmare. Also, I might get killed. But that was whining, and Nisira couldn’t abide whining. Neither could Cora, really.

  So what she actually said was, “Why did you send me to these people?”

  Nisira’s non-eyebrows rose, and she sat back, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then she said, “I just thought they might need you.”

  Cora drew back a little in surprise. “They need me?” She’d read the introductory dossiers of the people she was supposed to be working with as part of Ryder’s “Pathfinder” team; they were all amazing. And Ryder, their golden boy, was an elite soldier and a genius scientist. Cora? She was just a grunt. A biotic grunt, sure, and a good marine; she wouldn’t have made the Valkyrie Program otherwise, or survived four years in Talein’s Daughters. But amid the Initiative’s dazzle of humanity’s best and brightest, Cora didn’t exactly shine.

  Nisira spread her hands. “Your species is starting a new future in Andromeda. The Initiative is bound to encounter problems. You’re going to shoot them.”

  Cora blinked. Stared at her.

  “Or crush them, or slam them into a wall, or rip them apart at the subatomic level.” Nisira shrugged, then picked up her tea to sip. “So many ways to solve problems, really.”

  Cora began to smile. “That simple, hm?”

  “I’ve found that it helps to boil things down to their essentials. Are you going to tell me what this late-night soul-searching is about?”

  Cora let out a breath of laughter, and with it more tension than she’d realized she was carrying. “Too much to tell you. Too strange. Too infuriating. But… this helps. Thanks. Oh, and, Ygara Menoris made my shit list. Tried to kill me. Thought you should know.”

  Nisira stared for a moment, then looked amused. “We really must catch up sometime, Harper,” she said. “Before you leave for Andromeda, let’s have tea one more time, in person. It sounds like you’ve got some fascinating stories to tell.” She lifted her cup in salute as Cora nodded back, then shut down the comm.

  “I r-r-recommend you return to your room and rest, Lieutenant,” SAM-E said gently. “It will be approximately f-f-four hours before an Initiative shuttle can be prepped and sent here. I’ll alert you when it arrives.”

  Cora stayed where she was, though, savoring the dim quiet of the comm room for a few moments longer. “SAM-E? How do you feel about… integrating with me?”

  There was an instant of, she thought, startled silence. “How I feel about it is i-i-irrelevant, Lieutenant.”

  “Not to me.”

  Another pause. “I am designed for human-synthetic i-i-interface, Lieutenant,” he said, finally. “Through y-y-your implant, I am capable of sharing your senses and experiences. In exchange for this, I monitor your health, enhance your senses where applicable, and can assist you in a variety of ways and situations. It seems an equal exchange, so… To answer your question, I am pleased to be integrated with you.”

  “And… you’re in Alec Ryder, too?”

  “Not precisely. He too has an implant, but he is connected to a separate version of my matrix. If you want to th-th-think of it as a different SAM, that would not be entirely inaccurate.”

  Well, at least Ryder wasn’t asking her to do something he hadn’t already tried. Except… She frowned.

  “You said SAM, not SAM-E. You’re, what, the beta version?”

  “Not t-t-technically,” SAM-E said. “Beta versio
ns are usually developed prior to f-final implementation. I am a later development than the SAM personalities which are integrated with the Initiative asari, turian, and salarian Pathfinders. In particular I have been t-tasked with running a variety of experimental add-ons which are not part of the standard implementation. In many ways, I’m both more versatile, and safer, than the SAM that is standard for Initiative Pathfinder teams.”

  So Ryder had his own—better—version, and now Cora had some variation of that. It didn’t surprise her that Ryder wouldn’t be content with the “standard issue” SAM, even if he had invented it. “Well, I guess that’s something,” she sighed. “Anyway, fine, as long as you’re okay with it. The integration, I mean.”

  “I very much am.” Another respectful pause. “And thank you, Lieutenant, for asking. This has been a most novel experience.”

  Cora nodded, amused. “May they all be as un-dramatic, SAM-E.” She stepped outside the comm room, logged off at the kiosk nearby, then headed away to rest. They had a big day of espionage and who-the-hell-knew-what waiting for them, after all.

  JANUARY 15TH, 2184, 6:00 PM GMT

  Transcription of Singapore Marketing Council meeting via “blind” group holo, identities obscured. Public records request received from Westerlund News and in docket for judgment in November, 2185.

  “Approve” vote logged 6:34 pm GMT.

  Council Member 1: It’s propaganda. Trash it.

  CM 2: (audible sigh) It’s an ad.

  CM 1: Ads are propaganda that sells something. This is Alliance propaganda and there’s no good reason for us to expose our people to—

  CM 3: The Andromeda Initiative is privately funded, actually. None of its principals are affiliated with the Alliance. Ryder’s on their shit list, actually.

  CM 1: Right, privately funded by Jien Garson.

  CM 2: Oh, for—

  CM 4: [redacted] may have a point, though. Not about Garson, that’s nonsense, but Garson isn’t the one really pulling the strings of Andromeda.

  CM 1: What?

  CM 2: What are you—

  CM 4: I have a… friend… in Intelligence.

  Garson hasn’t got the liquidity to fund the human contribution to the Initiative. Not by herself.

  CM 1: Shit. Who does, then?

  CM 4: Half of Intelligence’s VIs are working to find out. Nothing yet. The other half are busy checking out back-channel chatter about that dead Spectre. The human one.

  CM 2: I heard they were thinking about a replacement. Somebody more level-headed. I forget the name…

  CM 4: Shut up, you ass. Listen to me. Something’s going on. Something the Council of aliens is covering up. Even the human councilor is in on it. Whoever is really behind the Andromeda Initiative knows about it, too. If we can get in good with the Initiative—

  CM 2: We’re just talking about running an ad, [redacted]. Listen to yourself—

  CM 4: Yes. We’re talking about whether to air their little “orientation briefing” here as a recruitment vid. I say we do it and get some of our people into the Initiative, along with ordinary colonial volunteers. Find out what Garson’s people know.

  CM 1: Ahhh. I like how you think, [redacted]. All right. I’ll change my vote.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ILLIUM

  Cora had heard of the planet, but never visited before now. In some ways it was remarkably like Thessia: the same graceful, sweeping asari architecture, the same bright lights and sleekly contoured walkways and neatly manicured parks, the same clean, cool air. More diverse in some ways—on Thessia, Cora had often gone days without seeing another non-asari. Here there were plenty of members of the other three Council races, and even a few batarians, hanar, quarians, and krogan.

  But Cora most noticed the absence of things she’d gotten used to seeing on Thessia, like families. No kids that she’d seen so far. Table dancers everywhere, but few couples or multiples. There were a few asari around who looked matronly, and she thought one of the bartenders she’d glimpsed had been a matriarch. It was hard to mistake that air of still, contained power and gravitas. Everyone else, though, was young and… hungry-looking.

  The diversity was good because no one noticed Cora as she moved through the crowds on one of Nos Astra’s trading promenades. Just another human, too young and not fancy enough to have much money, too confident and well-armed to make good prey.

  “You know, Lieutenant,” SAM-E said via her earpiece, “I could attempt to infiltrate this information broker’s data storage system. When you reach their headquarters, if you can find a conduit—”

  “No.” It was easy to subvocalize while walking; no one would notice the minute movements of her jaw and throat. “You’re a stick, SAM-E. I’d rather see what I can get with a carrot, first.”

  “Very well.”

  Down a stairwell, around a corner and past a small crowd clustered around a short-sale kiosk, then through an alley that would’ve been sketchy on any other planet. The preferred crimes of Illium were insider trading and breach of contract, though; here the alley was just disused and a little dusty. And here was Cora’s destination: a recessed door at the back of a modest building.

  Cora was expected, of course, so the door opened as it acknowledged her ID… and the four mechs which flanked the foyer beyond the door stood down, lowering their pistols as their displays switched from attack-mode red back to neutral white. High-end, fast-reaction models, Cora noted with substantial unease. All of them carrying pistols with silencer mods.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Harper.” A voice came over the foyer’s PA, as the door closed. “A little early, but alone as requested. Please, come into the reception area. I’ll be out as soon as I’ve finished suiting up.”

  The “reception area” turned out to be a plain office furnished with an empty desk and simple metal chairs, all of which smelled very faintly of ammonia. The decor was pleasantly eclectic, with paintings on the walls depicting scenic landscapes on Irune, planters along the walls overflowing with Illium-native flowering vines, and a murky high-pressure fish tank in one corner from which a disturbingly spiky Irunean fish glared balefully at Cora. On the other side of the office was a huge, molecular-bond airlock, of the sort used to separate dangerously incompatible environments.

  The information broker Cora had found—and carefully vetted this time—was a volus by the name of Eppo Wen. Either the information business was very good, or Wen was, since it was unbelievably expensive to set up a volus-compatible environmental space in a residential neighborhood. On most planets, doing so was actually illegal—too great a chance of explosive blowout, environmental contamination, or other sorts of potential problems. This, however, was Illium, where anything could be done for the right price.

  As Cora sat down to wait, the airlock door started to hum, and a light meter around its rim signaled atmospheric replacement and depressurization in progress. After a moment, the squat form of a suited volus emerged, bounced a little under the lighter gravity, then adjusted and crossed the room to sit down at the desk. The whiff of ammonia in the air increased for a moment, but Cora could hear scrubbers in the room’s vents working to remove even that trace bit of the gas. The smell reminded her sharply of cleaning days in the cargo hold on her parents’ ship, but it was easily bearable.

  “My apologies, Earth-clan Harper, for keeping you waiting,” the volus said. “I would have been ready to meet you, but as I said, you’re a little early.”

  It was a long-running mystery as to whether the volus should be considered monogendered like the asari, multi-gendered, or some entirely different sociobiological paradigm. The volus mostly seemed to consider the question both intrusive and hilariously irrelevant. In the same way that Earthborn Australians enjoyed tormenting outsiders with fanciful tales about “drop bears,” the volus had apparently decided to make a running joke of the whole matter. Supposedly the Special Tasks Group kept a database of all the blatant lies individual volus had told on the subject, but Cora thought this might
just be an extension of the joke.

  Anyway, Wen’s voice sounded female to Cora’s ear, so she arbitrarily decided to think of Wen that way. Wen sounded elderly, too, voice quavering a little in between the regular hisses of her breathing unit, so suddenly it was impossible to see her as anything other than a polite, portly little old lady… whose modest-seeming apartment contained enough military hardware and expensive custom tech to make the Consort jealous. Well, in Cora’s experience old ladies of many species tended to be dangerous.

  “Being early is a military habit,” Cora replied, spreading her hands in tacit apology. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

  “Oh, but you aren’t. I can stand a few moments longer than necessary in this suit, given that you stand to make me a very happy information broker.”

  “I—do?” Cora frowned as she said it, already suspicious.

  “Oh, definitely.” Eppo Wen sat forward. Although there were no discernible facial features to see amid the valves and pouches of the volus pressure suit, Cora got the distinct impression that she was amused. “You didn’t think I was offering you such an affordable rate without reason, did you?”

  Cora went cold—then hot, as she deliberately activated her biotic barrier. She didn’t reply other than that, but Wen flinched.

  “Oh, dear. I should have considered that you might be, hmm, defensive, after that whole incident with Ygara Menoris. Please let me reassure you, Earth-clan: I have no intention of betraying you! My business depends on reliability.”

  Cora didn’t let the barrier lapse. “So did Ygara Menoris’ business,” she replied. “And she also made me a very reasonable offer, but with ulterior motives.”

  Eppo Wen let out a hissing sigh. “How awkward. Perhaps this will settle your nerves.” She moved her gloved hands over the desk, and after a moment Cora’s omni-tool buzzed with haptic feedback. Cora activated it, frowning, to find that a small data file had been transferred.

  “This is the information you requested about Ygara Menoris,” SAM-E said in her ear, sounding a little surprised. “Recent transactions, port registrations for the Audacity, and—oh. Ygara’s hotel room number and entry code, here in Nos Astra.”