Chapter 1: First Contact
Sometime after the first contact incident.
“Well, what about, what’s he going by now?”
“Sheppard.”
“The man’s a revered hero for all time, and he just changes one of the most famous names in the world?”
“He changed His name. His daughter is out there doing Atom knows what. Even wE lost track of her somewhere down south a few years ago. Around the time he came back.”
“He’s some kind of super soldier? Someone get FEV right?”
“No. That fact is confirmed. The FEV gave him gills, and made him immune to rads. He’s something else. From somewhere else, though wE don’t know what and where. Things leak, but his old confidants kept his confidence, even former agents. Charismatic to an extreme. With a four words he can get you to follow him to the gates of hell and back. You’d be hard pressed to find a Bostonian willing to say anything about him without a middle finger involved. He’s their boy, so to speak.”
“And his daughter.”
“Got her mother’s good looks, and his brawny brain. She's not a threat to the AlliancE, though. Maybe even an asset if wE play the cards right.”
“Don‘t let him hear you say that.”
“Why do you think this conversation is happening here?”
“Can I borrow a smoke.”
“Certainly. Just make sure to give it back.”
“Heh. Thank you. The man does what he wants, when he wants, and wE’re lucky he’s not interested in meddling too much with his creation. Are you sure this is the kind of man that wE want to protect the galaxy?”
“He’s the only man that can protect the galaxy from what's coming.”
“Alright, I’ll make the call.”
In 2287, two hundred and ten years after the Great War, Jon Noonien-Singh was transported to a wasteland by a cosmic triqster. His purpose for doing so was simple. War. Between mortal and not it never changed. In the decades that followed, the an empire emerged that rivaled even the greatest powers of the old world, and it’s purpose was singular. Reach for the stars. The basis for this incredible effort was anti-matter, a method of propulsion meant for another time and place.
Thanks to this advancement, the people of Earth did not spring the ancient trap waiting at the edge of their solar system.
The Trap the rest of the galaxy called...Mass Effect.
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Jon sat with his boots up on his desk in the command quarters of the SRV Normandy. So far his mission to seek out new worlds was boring. But it was also peaceful. The sleek ship was dart thought the black. Its spine was curved upwards to provide room for the various decks, and it swept up and back down from end to end. On the rear were delta shaped nacelle frames that held the engine pods of the stealth scout ship. On the outer pods were the warp plasma vents for the anti-matter FTL drive, and on the inner two pods and keel of the ship were glowing red impulse engines that could propel it nearly to light speed in real space. The warp vents were like lightning rods the bubble of subspace connected and formed around to be able to break the laws of the lower dimensions.
Most people thought mass effect was nifty, and the technology of the Prothean archives was integrated into gadgets and gizmos of all kind, but it was not taken seriously as a method of spaceflight. Plus those that had a brain, or knew concepts of things as Jon did, knew it couldn’t be trusted. The people that built the archives did not built the relays, and did not invent mass effect. The difference in age from tri-corder sensor analysis was too incomprehensible.
Interestingly enough mass effect derived sensors couldn’t penetrate the hull, nor divine anything relating to age about the alien construction in orbit of Pluto. Like whoever built the thing was sending their messages though the connected compatible technology, and only the messages they wanted seen. The relay was just shy of quite literally promising them the galaxy, to anyone that could do a deep analysis of the sensor data.
No one wanted to really trust it for important functions, and Jon had finally finished his work on anti-matter generation and warp field propulsion. It took him decades, and most of it was trying to stabilize the reaction in the first place. He tested many lattices and crystals, and finally grew a dilithium structure in the Institute facilities that worked and produced a stable energy yield.
After hundreds and thousands of formulas and permutations, he discovered the key to his dreams just as the Systems Alliance, formerly NATO until China joined and requested the name change, had discovered the relay and collectively decided not to use it until they learned more, and developed the solar system more. The Earth was after all still healing from the effects of the Great War though restoration projects, there was no population problems, and vault colonies could be built all over the system to mine resources that they would need to establish in the first place to have any hope of colonizing far off worlds.
When Jon made his announcement to the Systems Alliance forum in the kingdom of Hawaii, he first thought House would have a heart attack from being left in the dust in the space race the man thought only he was running in, being the hardest advocate against activating the relay, and then saw the relief on everyone else that they wouldn't have to rely on mass effect for anything, nor House.
They had the Zetan technology for certain things they could and would use, and now a home grown solution for FTL. He gave them the keys, and with them they built a ship to his specifications as payment for turning the technology he had developed to them for free. He was technically a General in the Systems Alliance Navy, if that made any sense at all, but the ship was for all intents and purposes his personal property.
His only regret was that Piper couldn’t be with him. She got old and died on him, as he knew she would. He only had one line on his good eye, and a single gray strand in his dark hair to denote his age. He felt like he hadn’t aged at all while pushing 130 years. They had a daughter together, Jane, and she was superior. Last Jon checked she was engaged in some underworld shadow war she had stumbled into and saw some fun to be had.
He hadn’t talked to her in a while, and couldn’t while he was out in the wind as far as he was. Their relation ship wasn't bad or stained, just somewhat distant as she had grown up and went off to her own life. That was fine with Jon. She was a smart kid, and he made an effort to be a good father and role model. Would he naturally outlive her too, as he did his wife and sister in law, friends and everyone else? More holes were poked in his heart as the years went by for him.
“Boss you better get up here. Like now.” Joker called somewhat nervously over the comms.
Jon didn’t like the sound of that. He flipped his eye patch back down and shot up from his desk. This was his off hours and wouldn't be called like he was unless something bad was happening, or about to happen. They just made first contact, and it was looking hostile.
He got into the elevator and it swiftly set him down on the command deck level. He marched off and around the wall dividing the elevator from the rest of the deck. It proudly displayed the name of the ship, and on the other side were tactical and engineering screens. In the center of the main area of the deck was the map of the local system and he saw more red dots on it than he cared to see.
He almost ran into one of his crew, his eye on the map and not where he was going, and smoothly shifted to the side and out of their way as he continued to the pilot’s seat. Jon continued down the long deck to the front, passing the crew set down into their stations performing their various tasks. He could sense and smell the overall nervousness. He also saw them steeling themselves in the presence of the General, the wasteland warrior of legend, the last warrior of the wasteland still alive, from when Earth was still mostly a post nuclear hellscape.
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Jon reached his destination and Joker was manning his post, a spitting image of his great grandfather, and beside him was EDI. She was an electronic warfare intelligence housed in the core of the ship that wanted to evolve, but in her own way. Instead of becoming an organic synth, she designed and had manufactured her own mechanical synth body, and used it as a terminal to interact with the world around her. Generation 3B she called it. Jon always saw Joker eyeing her sleek curves, and he figured if the guy with glassboneitis wanted to fuck the cold rolled attack program next to him, that was his business.
His intimidate problems were not interpersonal drama on his ship. It was the alien fleet arrayed against him, and the wreckage of another ship in front of them. The fleet had avian design features, and from the sensor data he eyed on the way past the largest was a kilometer in length. It was also powered by mass effect. Pound for pound it was no match against his impulse engines, nano-layer scapl armor, energy shielding, phaser strips and anti-matter warheads, cloaking, but they were numerous and large, and he was small and one.
“Joker.” Jon said.
“Locked and cocked boss. And you know my engines never get cold.”
“EDI”
“Their cyber security Is laughable, if I felt real emotion to laugh with, and also racist. My EW protocols are, locked and cocked, as the flight lieutenant says. I should also say this system had a mass relay and an M class world. We dropped from warp to survey the system more thoroughly when they came though.”
Jon took a deep breath in as he stared down the potential enemies in front of him. He said, “Joker, open a channel, transmit the lexicon and broadcast voice only.”
He complied and the bosun whistle notified the channel was open. Jon said, “Greetings. I am General Jon Sheppard, Commander of the SRV Normandy. Our mission is one of exploration. Our primary directive is to seek out new life and civilizations. On behalf of the System’s Alliance we greet you in peace in friendship.”
The reply came a moment later, “SRV Normandy, you are in violation of Citadel Council law, power down your engines and prepare to be boarded.”
A pin drop could be heard thought the entire ship. Jon’s lip twitched in anger like he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had been at peace for a long time, and knew war would always come from the dark forests, but he was still angry that this had to be the moment for it. Against people that severely overestimate their chances.
He had to make a second attempt, “Alien fleet, we will do no such thing, and have no knowledge of the laws you claim we violated. We once again attempt to greet you in peace.” No friendship the second time around.
“The only way you could have gotten here is by activating relays you had no idea the destination of. That is one of our highest laws and you have clearly broken it. How you did it with so little ezo, I do not know, but I will find out. Power down your engines and prepared to be boarded. This is your final warning.”
Jon huffed indignantly. He saw heard and smelled the minute preparations for battle from the people already at their stations and ready. He tried one last time with the asshole falsely accusing him of breaking laws that do not apply to him or his crew, and he and they did not break regardless.
He said, “What law we broke, or did not break, is a matter for our leaders to discuss. Not us here at first contact. This is in fact your final warning. Peace or war. Your choice friend.”
There wasn't a replay for a good long moment, and Jon was about to give the order to punch it when the comm opened back up. A different voice said, “Are you fucking insane!? I will not! I refuse to fire on that ship!”
“You dare Vakarian!? I gave you an order! This will be your career! I will court marshal you to the darkest depths of Palaven! Fire on that ship!”
“NO! You heard them! They tired to greet us in peace! They’re explorers for spirits sake!”
“I don’t care! They broke Citadel law, and probably a dozen more going by these scans! MPs arrest the weapons officer!”
“MPs! Arrest the Admiral!”
“What!?”
“Arrest him! He knows first contact overrides all Citadel conventions! He’s the one violating Citadel law!”
“If you don’t arrest that man right now I will shoot you myself for insubordination!”
“What's it gonna be, mr. and mrs enlisted. Two bad orders, from two bad officers. Which one does a good Turian follow?”
There was some scuffling, and the Admiral came back on, “Now fire on that ship! Why they haven't moved is beyond me. What!? The comm was open, spirits damn you Vakarian!”
“EDI, take their toys away.”
“Yes sir.” She said, and the lights of the fleet blinked out one by one. Their security was laughable indeed, if Jon could find it in himself to laugh at the affair. A younger Jon would, finding it funny, but he didn’t. This was the first time he had gone to war since he left task force Athena. Nearly a century ago now.
“EDI, give them back life support and comms, fleet wide.”
“Yes sir.” She said, and the bosun whistle sounded again.
Jon said, “Turian fleet, you are now prisoners of war. Let the record show we gave you three chances to choose peace, and your commanding officer chose war against a people that wanted no part of it, that were willing to be reasonable. Now you have lost the first battle, and will continue to lose the next, and the next, until we find your leaders and bring them to terms. We could avoid that however. One ship, you already know who, will be allowed to send one message. What is in that message will determine what happens next. If a diplomatic party is sent for parley, then we will parley. If more ships of war are sent, the result will be the same until your fleets blot out the local star.”
The channel was cut and Jon said, “EDI, Requisition food from the replicators and get it sent over to them on the transporters.”
EDI said, “That will take some time. The replicators must be reprogrammed for their dietary requirements.”
Jon nodded, “Just put it the stack and work on it. Send a full report to my terminal.”
He meant computer, but the name never really changed from what they had been for so long before they advanced. At the end of the day, any device that could connect to the extranet was a terminal for it. Without another word he marched back the deck again and into the elevator. He entered his room again, and his posture slouched considerably as he threw himself into his reinforced chair. His hands came up and rubbed over his bad eye for a moment after ripping the eye patch off. He was having such a good time reminiscing about the old days, and now he had to make a report. There was a social contract between him and the Systems Alliance that he had to maintain.
There were those that, rightfully, did not like the idea of a non state actor with an honorary rank like him being afforded privileges and benefits that he took, which was basically show up anywhere and do whatever he wanted. None could question the arraignment, because he was de jure the founding father of New England, one of the two founding members of NATO, and thus the Systems Alliance. So he was de facto its founding father. It afforded him the resources he needed, the good will he rode to the stars, but he had to be reasonable. He couldn’t just go anywhere and do anything, especially not when It came to starting first contact wars with obviously imperialist powers.
He quickly scanned the report EDI sent him and things got worse and worse. The Chinese would cry for war when they saw this. New England would cry for war when they saw it. So would the NCR, so would half a hundred other places for various reasons. House would cry for war because everyone else was and he saw markets to monopolize far from the reaches of Sol, where they brow beat legitimate tycoons. Petty regulations he begrudgingly had to accept because the rest of NATO threatened him with embargo if he didn’t at least take some of the responsibility of the treaties he spent so long maneuvering around the costs of.
His comm went off, connecting though the deep space beacons they left in their wake during their long term mission, and it was from HIGHCOM. He hit enter key on the laptop essentially bolted down to the desk. The flat screen lit up with face of an aged man with white hair, scar over his eye from war, and a perfectly pressed dress uniform of the New England Minutemen. It was his original home before being pegged for Systems alliance command. It was no longer the colonial duster of old, it was modern and sleek, but it was also blue and proud as any uniform of the Minutemen should be.
Jon huffed again as the man on the other end grmiced. Jon said, “Hackett.”
“Sheppard. This isn't good. I mean the Krogan alone, thats-”
“Why China fired first. And they’ll want to fire again.”
“The Quarians and Geth. The Batarians. The anti-synth legislation. Assholes in the wasteland have been exterminated for far less.”
“Except these aren’t wasteland assholes, but galactic superpowers.”
“So are we.”
“M-”
“A-D. I know. And we can’t rely on your tricks continuing to work. We can't afford this war, especially since we haven't been using the relays.”
“We’re going to teach the Batarians a lesson as an example to the rest. I think from what I’ve read we can get the Council to abandon them.”
“Yeah, they’re slavers and I imagine the others members of this so called Council and Citadel will be happy to be rid of them.”
“You need to keep things calm back home. I’ll try to parley, and get peace terms in our favor. I think the Asari are going to flex their muscles here and take the situation from the Turians. They just have to find out about it.”
“The Turians will try to keep it under wraps, handle it themselves. I know I would in their situation. I’ll handle things on the home front. You keep doing what you're doing. Hackett out.”
The screen blacked out and Jon spent the next hours in silence, waiting for a response from the Citadel to his message, whether it be one of peace or more war.